#their light is divine and they were hallowed after that!! that's special. like the light of elwing's silmaril in the phial of galadriel? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hunterartemis · 3 years

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Indian Magical School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Headcanon #1: The legends of it’s foundation

I love JKR and her magical world, but she completely ignored the South Asian region and a culture diverse as India, which could have been a great background for magical population. So I took the matters in my own hands and created some headcanons like I did previously with Mahoutokoro. Hope you will appreciate it.

The legend and the history of the school is so very overlapping that it is sometimes hard to distinguish between what is truth and what is myth. However the story goes something like this.

When the First Emperor of Aryavarta (Ancient India) Daksha was given the job to bring all earthly prosperity to the world, he was assisted by Seven Sages. These Seven Sages were the seven stars of the Great Dipper Constellations, who were called: Marichi, Atri, Angira, Pulascha, Pulaha, Kratu and Vashistha. To other Interpretation, these seven sages were called, Atri, Agasthya, Bharadvaja, Bhragu, Kashyapa, Jamdagni and Gautama. These Seven sages were wise and learned an knew many supernatural powers that governs the land of man without their common knowledge. Emperor Daksha wanted to control the seven sages and therefore made relations with them by marrying off his daughters with Bhragu, Kashyap and the sons of other sages: his demand was to have their power to his disposal only. The seven sages could do nothing, as in the Law of Dakshraj, harming or betraying the Kutumba (relatives and in-laws) were considered High Treason.

But the sages being the wise and kind men they were wanted to spread the greater knowledge of supernatural powers to the common man in order to help them understand their infinite potential. So they started to sought resources from the sages who were considered “outcasts“ in Daksha’s rule for learning about the end of things (because Daksha wanted his kingdom to be eternal, these concepts were forbidden). One sage, named Dadhichi came to help the Saptarshi (the seven sages) and instructed them to journey southwards to the door of the Yama (the God of death). It was shocking enough for the sages, but one of the sage: Agasthya or in some other texts Marichi agreed to journey southwards. He bid his colleagues farewell and told them not to look for him and return to the capital; if their calling is true there would be a day they would meet again.

when the sages returned, they found themselves in a chaotic position. Daksha had insulted his youngest daughter and her husband in the front of the Royal Court and to protect her honour the youngest has self-immolated. The Husband of his youngest daughter was Shiva, the God of Destruction who was not worshipped or even mentioned in Daksha’s kingdom as something “unholy”. Although the sages did not mention Shiva in Daksha’s presence, but they knew that the Creation cannot last forever and to exist, it must always be destroyed and transformed. Thus when the sages could not convince Daksha to ask forgiveness from Shiva, they publicly renounced their special status and that of their being the Princes Consort and left the palace forever. Later Daksha was slain by the God of destruction Shiva in the crime of Pride and pushing his own flesh and blood to kill herself.

In the path away from the Capital, the Sage Agasthya appeared before the rest. The sages knew that it was not real Agasthya, but his astral projection. He did not speak but pointed towards the south, towards the deep forest surrounding a mountain that no human can cross. The sages understood that Agasthya had given his life to seek it. The sages, after thinking day and night, could think no other plan to reach the place, let alone establish a school there, because it was not ordinary mountain, but a Volcano. After great thinking, Bhragu, the master of Astrology came up with a plan and decided to summon Seven Celestial Planets and pray them to guide there. The Planets summoned were: Surya (sun), Soma (moon), Budha (Mercury), Shukra (venus), Mangal (Mars), Brihaspati (Jupiter) and Shani (Saturn).

The sages prayed for 14 lunar days and the Seven Celestial Planets were pleased with their dedication and each one promised one reward to the sages. The sages told them everything about their wish to build an establishment to teach sons of man about the infinite power of the universe, but they didn’t know how to go to the place Agasthya had instructed them to go.

After hearing everything the Sun said “I shall rise from the east, pure white on the blood smeared sky and my light shall point the way to the hallowed place.”

Then came Mars said “I shall follow the path of the sun and destroy every obstruction that stands on the way to put the standard of victory on the hallowed land I won in the name of the Sun”,

After Mars, the Moon said, “I shall call upon the sky, ask it to rain on the Volcano so that the lava solidified and creates ground for the building”,

after Moon Mercury said “I shall bring about such designs with my mind that no human has ever seen, A house that shall be marvelous and impenetrable to any ill-wisher”.

After Mercury, Venus says, “I shall give that design a habitable form, strengthen and beautify it with the igneous stones from this volcano”.

Then Jupiter said “Like my illusive body, I shall expand it to 1000 times greater, and bless it so that no occupant in this house ever experiences obstruction in learning and nourishment. And as the Eldest of the Planets, I name this house Vishakhtantra , a house where high magic spreads out like branches of holy banyan tree”

when all of the planets were done doing their jobs, everyone looked at the dark figure that lurked at the background, with a smirk in his lips. The sages asked why the last one, Saturn did not come forward and requested him to contribute. Smiling he said “illusive planets and sages, you are all brilliant but you have done wrong.” It evoked fear amongst the sages because Saturn, the God of Justice and Time is elemental to any establishment and angering him could be catastrophic. Bhragu asked Saturn’s pardon and asked him to correct them. Saturn smiled and said, “The mistake, illusive sages, was committed when you called us. You have forgotten that we are Navagraha (Nine Celestial Planets), not Seven. You have chose to ignore two and I know why. You fear that the North and South Node might Eclipse the Sun and Moon and chose to ignore them. But you have forgotten, they too have purposes and are deserving of contribution.”

This statement angered Sun and the Moon. The great luminaries decided to withdraw if Rahu (North node) and Ketu (South Node) joined, but Jupiter mediated amongst Saturn, Moon and Sun. Jupiter, the Eldest planet vowed to keep the mischievous side planets in check and implored Saturn to return. Saturn then called upon Rahu and Ketu, and a great bodiless head appeared through a storm.

Jupiter came forward and addressed Rahu and said “This hallowed house shall be the home of instruction, of sacred knowledge. We the planets and sages have summoned you to contribute and correct the unjust. Are you willing to help us?” Rahu being the cunning demon that he is, said “yes, upon one condition. I want the highest place amongst all. I am a headless body and my wishes are infinite. It is the only way I would help you all.”

Saturn knew this would happen, he smiled and said “it shall happen” to everyone’s great dismay. It hurt Sun’s pride greatly but knowing Saturn, no one could protest. Jupiter and Saturn then turned to the great headless snake that coiled the entire mountain. When Jupiter addressed it, it said “Greetings my elders, I am glad that my other body, Rahu had his position acquired. But I am most perplexed because I could feel all the pains of creatures, demonic and divine who have been displaced for the creation of this place. Their souls will not leave the place in peace.”

Saturn came forward and asked him, “oh headless body, the giver of results of past life, lord of the isolated, reside as the Vastu Naga and the Bhitti (Foundation) of the hallowed place. Upon your great coil shall the institution stand and the lives lost shall receive the result for their sacrifice.”

With the Ketu entering underground, the head of Rahu had to choice but to reside exactly at the opposite side of his other body. Saturn grabbed Rahu by the hair and said “Sun the the highest light, Jupiter is the Highest Wisdom and none in the universe, not even me can exceed their position in the universe. So reside at your highest place, on the topmost towering peak of this place. I forcibly command you so that you can eclipse every form of mal-spirit and power from above.”

With that done, Saturn returned to the final place and said “and I, Lord of limitation, time and justice, mark the boundary of this place and veil it with the Tamas, so it could be hidden from the common eye.”

The sages were eclectic after the creation. The eldest, Atri said, “heavenly presences, you are the influences that govern the actions, fates and deeds of the world, would you be so kind to reside in this place as guiding principles so that we the Acharya (teachers) and the shishya (pupils) shall prosper in their ways.” Saturn called upon the sages: “so it shall be Illusive sages but do not disregard the shadow planets, Rahu and Ketu, who represent the base and the peak of the house also have the right to represent: I deliver the choice to you.”

“Very well“, said Bhragu, master of Astrology: “Since the shadow planets are unstable on their own, I assign them to the Two Intellectuals: The Head Rahu with Mercury, and the Tail Ketu with Jupiter.“

Thus formed the Seven Sacred Houses of Sapta Kula of Vishakhtantra.

Uttarashada (Sun), Anantasoumya (Moon), Punarvasu (Jupiter and Ketu), Bhadrapada (Saturn), Yajurmitra (Venus), Ksharagam (Mars) Rahavyasa (Mercury and Rahu)

#harry potter #harry potter headcanon #indian harry potter #11magicalschools #hpheadcanons #indian wizards #indian potterheads #astrology #india deserves it's own magical school

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ficsnroses · 4 years

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Used To Be - John Wick x Reader

❧ Prompt : “Did you at least think of me, when you were having sex with her?”

Summary : John and you were in love, and still are. Only difference is, you’re now married to other people. You meet secretly often, and on this particularly emotional night you spend together, John decides he can’t be without you any longer.

Warnings : smut. car sex. loads of angst, loads of fluff.

Word Count : 3.8K

A/N : This was originally a drabble for my prompt fics, but it spiraled into a full length fic because I loved it quite a bit. Love me a good angsty smut! Feedback is so greatly appreciated 🖤

John’s wife’s name will be Helena in this cuz I can’t do my girl Helen like that lol

The sun sinks down the New York horizon, traces of earthy light; vanishing. Tonight, no stars seem to peak the sky. Tonight, it seems the sky understands. Tonight, the sky holds deep ash clouds, blackened shadows drifting with the wind.

The heavens cease to exist, for tonight- the sky mimics a ceiling of gray black rocks, trapping, confining her to the depths of her soul.

Tonight, she feels suffocated, in more ways than just one.

In the dull passenger seat of his car, John holds one sturdy hand firm on the steering wheel, gaze intent on the ash clouds that drift by out the crystal windshield. She sits adjacent, hands folded delicately in her lap, images, reminders of what they used to be channeling each crevice of her mind.

What her and John used to be.

How had they ever let it get to this? It was never supposed to come to this. It was always supposed to be her and John, and perhaps if she’d realized that earlier, she would have saved herself the guilt. The shame, the pain, the energy drained in weary half attempts to carry on their lives as they were; make do with what they’d done.

But she couldn’t, and neither could John. For her and John, it seemed that time had only made things worse, hung their hearts on a frayed loose thread that never seemed to break, despite how hard, how long they’d fought to forget each other.

By now, the rain had been long pattering on the car windows, John’s features softening when he notes the drown of ache on her lips, the glint once coated on her eyes long forgotten. It scrapes him each time to see her this way; hurts him deeper, burns him harder. A never ending burn, each time they’d end up back here, back together within the regret ridden walls of his Mustang. Back within the graveyard walls of a dream. Back within the death, the slaughter of the dreams they’d once dreamed together.

Coursing the tense air, John begins, a callous hand moving into his lap.

“How’s Ben?” John asks, awkwardly, tone thick with unease. With his hand firm on the wheel, he squeezes. Clenching, grasping, anything to ease the aching burn in his chest, with the words flying off his tongue as if normal.

-as if they didn’t break a piece of him each time they soared into the air; as if each time they fled, they weren’t building a burial ground of debris. Weren’t killing him inch by inch.

As if the words didn’t rationalize. Didn’t prove that his Y/N, had gone to another man. Had ended up in someone else’s arms when perhaps, it was all

his

fault.

“John, please come back. Please come home.”

“John, I’m falling weak here without you. Please come back.”

She’d begged him time after time, again, and again, and again.

But he hadn’t come. He didn’t come for her when she needed him the most. He wanted to be more; wanted to leave the life of sin behind him for good before he returned. Wanted to be good enough for her to ask for her hand in marriage;

Yet, when his dreary bones returned that somber evening to the town he called home, she was gone. She’d been married off, and there was nothing he could do to get her back.

Features stoic, yet her insides burn. A never ending burn, that only seemed to intensify with John around. The memories. The burning, sweltering, heart wrenching memories as they sat together now, a shell of what they used to be.

An empty, broken, hallow shell.

Lips taut in a straight line, she looks out the window, all efforts to keep her tears at bay failing nonetheless. With a burning globe seared out her soft orbs, she swallows thickly, the mere mention of her name bringing never ending hallow to her chest. “How’s Helena?”

John’s head turns out the window, unable to meet her eyes. Gaze softened, he barely turns and catches her from the peripherals of his eyes; her lips a gentle quiver, how her knuckles strain under the fragile skin.

His heart hurts for her, but he manages.

He manages, for her. “She’s alright.”

The air in the car space stills, and for a moment, just for a moment, John swore he’d heard the thud of his heart in his chest. Beating, thumping, waiting for her to say something.

But she doesn’t. She only stares out the window,

And stares,

And stares, and stares.

“Y/N,” John whispers, the scald on his heart intensifying by the second. His hand reaches for hers, palm resting over her hand that rests to her thigh, and when he squeezes ever so gently, gaze locked intently to her face, he sees the teardrops that singe her cheeks.

He sees in her, the same burn. The same never ending, agonising burn. “Sweetheart, I,” John starts before she cuts him off, a single finger to his lip.

“No, John.” She argues, moving from her seat, rising slightly out to lean over to his side. John watches her, as she moves over to the driver’s seat, positioning herself to straddle his lap. He pushes the lever of the seat back to generate more space, steering wheel poking at her back as she sits, so close to the man who held her heart.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.” She quietly speaks, gaze disheartened to their laps. Her eyes drag dreary, John’s arms curling around her to haul her body in closer. He studies each inch of her face, drinking her in. Something he wished he could do every morning as he woke, every night before he slept.

A life together was all they’d ever wanted. Yet here they were, locked away, confined and restricted,

in more ways than just one.

So close, their noses almost touch. John feels that flutter in his chest, the same flutter he feels each time he sees her. She always does this to him. Makes him feel this vulnerable, this fragile, this full of warmth that it practically scorches him to the bone. With his thumb soft and gentle, he cups her cheek, soothing softly under her eye. “I adore you, you know that right?”

She nods, feeble and fragile, more warm tears gliding her skin. Shaking her head, she places her hand to his chest, trying her best to keep at bay choked sobs and broken cries. Her time with John was special, limited, and she didn’t want it wasting away within her lifeless dirge of their remembrance of past. She watches John’s sad eyes gloss over her features, lips moving in to kiss away her tears.

Kiss away all the hurt he could. Because John knows, and John knows well.

John knows exactly how it feels to have everything in front of you, yet being utterly powerless to take it.

“Hey, no tears when we’re together.” John hushes, kissing her forehead as his hand takes hold of hers. “This is our time, right?”

And with a passionate kiss to his lips, Y/N cups his face in both her hands, whispering against his tender mouth. “I just need to feel you right now, John.” She manages, swallowing thick tears and throaty sorrow; her hands unzipping the buckle of his jeans underneath her. Hastily, she reaches into his boxers, pulling out his cock just enough to free into the air, enough for him to take her. Within a swift motion, she lifts herself gently, drape of her skirt pushed mindlessly away as she slides her underwear to the side, eyes never leaving John’s.

A feel of complete, full, uncompromised love. A feeling physical, to match. John found himself falling for her further, a little more each time they felt each other this way. A surrender of long overdue emotions.

Long built up fire that needed to be extinguished.

With John’s hands firm to her hips, he watches her take hold of his girthy cock, rubbing his swollen, rosy tip to her clit. Lining his member up with her entrance, she sinks down slowly, sat in his lap and they both sigh in unison. They sigh full of relief, full of each other, full of everything they’d ever wanted. With her arms looming around John’s neck, she feels him pull her body flush against his chest as she bounces, slowly, sensual up and down on him, soft moans and whimpers leaving both their lips.

This burn, is the only burn John ever wanted her to feel. A burn of pure, and utter, bliss.

Fragile body held close, John peppers kisses all over her skin, wherever his lips may reach. Her hair, her temples, her forehead, grasping so desperately, so wholly, in fear that she may just disappear. Disappear away from him again like she had before,

Disappear, to some place he may never be able to find her.

She feels divine around his member, warm, wet, perfectly fit as if a glove moulded just for him. Using both his hands to keep her hair out of her face, John admires her, cupping, grazing, touching her cheeks tenderly. She remembers how he likes it; slow, sloppy and wet. The way he bites his quivering lip when she clenches, the way his eyes flutter open and closed, the way his hands feel each inch of her skin as they mould together. She remembers every bit of him, every piece.

Every part of her John.

With each bounce, she holds him tighter, his toned arms and shoulders, the broad of his chest that heaves against her. The anticipation is building; it had been a while since either of them had been with someone.

Being with anyone other than each other, wasn’t right. It was never right.

Sex, without the one you love had never felt right.

“Please don’t stop, baby,” John moans quietly, pads of his fingertips bedding into her firmly held hips. “Please don’t stop.” Burying his face in the valley of her clothed breasts, John savours her, indulging in the feel of her so close. She’s here, she’s really here, and right now, in this moment, she’s his.

No one else’s.

Stifled praises for her leave his mouth as he watches, a muffle of messy moans under her touch. Picking up pace, she hears his groans get louder and louder, the sounds of her wetness bobbing his cock flood the car walls, swollen cock shining with her slickness each time she rises up, only to sink down again. Clenching tighter, she wills all efforts to feel him deep inside her, feel him pleasing her. It’s becoming too much; the memories, the past, the present.

She remembers of their lives now.

This love was only temporary, and soon, when the wash of relief would cast over them, and the few moments they could steal together would eventually fade into the light;

So would they. Back to reality. Back to the wretched, cruel reality. The one where they couldn’t be together. Slowly, yet so suddenly, she feels the tears brim her dreary eyes. Glossing her gaze, they glide her cheeks in steady, river streams. A tear drop falls to John’s skin, and he watches her in complete, and utter, sorrow.

“Baby…” John starts, cupping her cheek before he’s cut off cold, her voice raspy and broken to the tone. Movements halting, his cock stays buried deep, deep inside her to her end, her eyes fall downcast, quiet, barely above a whisper.

“Did you at least think of me, when you were having sex with her?”

And to the sound of her words, barely strung together through a quivering croak, John’s eyes sting. His heart breaks, yet again; shatters, yet again. His lips part to speak, yet the words choke in his throat. Choke as he watches the woman he truly loves break in front of him.

Gaze flickering, vulnerability shines in her weary eyes. His closeness, his familiarly, his warmth, all of him that came within his body holding hers, being this intimate with him again after so long,

it’s proving far too much.

“Why did you have sex with her, John?” She cries quietly, head shaking to the thought of her love with someone else. “Why?” Eyes clasping shut, she feels John’s arms hold her tighter now, a few tears brimming his own earthy orbs.

Thumb calloused, yet brimmed with the softest, most tender gentleness when he touches her, he wipes her tears away, holding her hand firm, tight, assuring her that he’s here. Slowly, his hands engulf in her own, soft and careful, staring as he rubs his thumb over the dips and bumps of her knuckles. “I love you, so much. He whispers. “You have no idea.” Her hands shake as her tears still fall, the built up dread bubbling inside, and she realizes that it was bound to come out.

Those words, those horrible thoughts, were bound to come out. She could only shelter them so long. With a deep and shaky sigh, her lips move to illuminate. “Every time I think of you, with her-” John’s words cut through hers, holding her so desperately in his arms.

“Y/N,” He saddens. “I only think of you, always, every minute of every day.” Jaw clenching to the thought, his gaze is intense, yet holds a softness. A softness reserved solely for her. “When I see this on you…” Eyes flickering to the engagement ring that gleams on her finger, John breathily exhales, collecting his words; vision growing blurry again with his fingers soothing over it. “It kills to think of this…that I didn’t give you this.” Voice breaking, her hands cup his face, locking eyes. “I miss you so much, Y/N.” John confesses unsteadily. “You have no idea how easy it was to fall in love with you. And for me to have to love you in secret now, I-” His words halt in his throaty croak, breaking.

She weeps quietly, holding him close. “I’m so sorry I let it get this way.” John apologizes, pulling her close with his face nuzzled in the crook of her neck. “I’m sorry I let us…I let you…” And before he can finish the aching words that threaten to fall, she stops him, a tender kiss pressed to his head.

“No.” She kisses his lips again, fingers tangling his shadowy mane. “I don’t want to think about any of that right now.” Another kiss to the soft skin under his eye. “Right now is just for us, right?” She whispers, hips moving once again to slowly makes love to him, feel him slipping in and out of her as they relish. John nods, collecting his thoughts, eyes closing shut when he feels her bounce on him.

Their bodies together, so in sync, her heat throbs around him and she whimpers when his tip grinds her g spot. Bringing her hand over her lips, the cages in a particularly loud moan threatening to surface, the feel of John inside her, so heavy, so thick, the stretch of him filling her the best feeling to have ever felt. John’s hips buck up into her barely, sighing in sweet, sweet relief.

“Do you even take care of yourself?” She quietly asks, momentarily caught off guard by a rebellious strand of hair on his mane that never stills. Her finger lightly soothes over a mauve bruise just to the side of his temple, eyes falling sad thinking of John forgetting to give himself the care he needs. The care he deserves.

“Please, John, I need you to take care of yourself.” She pains, their hips still rolling into one another. “Do you…do you get enough sleep? Do the nightmares still come?” She inquires, gently soothing his nape.

With his lips planting a small kiss to her wrist, John lies through his teeth; he’d lie just for her. “No, sweetheart. They don’t. I’m fine, baby.” He assures, each vein, each curve and bump of his heavy cock pumping; twitching inside her. Breath hot on her lips, their foreheads connect, Y/N’s body trembling and whimpering from how good John is fucking into her now, how close to the brink of release they’re approaching. John’s member pumps, pounding spots inside her that nearly make her lose her breath, deeper, harder, pressure bubbling inside her core.

“I only think about you, sweetheart.” John whispers into her neck, lips leaving delicate, tender, soothing love bites into her skin. Nipping and sucking gently on her satin skin, John sighs at ease for the first time, in a long time. Pouring all his love into her, his lips move adoringly along her skin, spilling oblivion into her as his cock glides in and out of her pussy, her soft moans sending shivers down his spine as she strokes his hair, panting.

“John, please don’t leave marks,” She wearily asks. “I have to go home.”

She has to go home. She has to leave, eventually.

They’ll have to part, eventually.

“But you’re mine,” John quietly courses, voice gravelly, thick with ache. She’s his, but not. She’s his, but cannot be. “Please come home with me tonight?” John asks, taking hold of her hand again. “I need to be with you, Y/N.” Desperate, John laces their fingers, intent on her answer, although his wavering mind had already known well the response.

Eyes locking his, she kisses his lips softly, before replying. “You know I can’t, baby.” She hesitates. “I just can’t.”

The harsh reality. They can’t.

Their skin is flushed, clung to each other with piercing shocks snapping their nerves, John’s member hastily slapping against her bare core with each thrust in. She aids, tenderly moving on him, her own lips peppering kisses over his face, paying special attention to the violet bruises on his temples. The insides of her thighs coat with their mixed releases, staining the fabric of her clothes yet she doesn’t care. John pushes as much of himself into her as possible and she cries, yelps of bliss into his chest as she shudders for him, the burn building by the second.

John’s hands slip into her shirt, cupping her breasts as he kneads tender soothes to the swell of her chest, nipples hardening under his touch. He tries, yet his mind cannot seem to drift. The thoughts can’t seem to subside, the hurt piercing through each crevice of his mind.

“Do you sleep with him?” John blurts, unsure how the words had even slipped out. She feels far too good, far too divine, and he’s far too madly in love to bear the thought of her with another man. “Do you show him your body like you show me?”

With a whimper, she sobs from the pure ecstasy John feels like inside. Through barely attempts, she tries desperately to keep her eyes open, an assuring hand placed to John’s cheek. “Only you.”

Connecting their foreheads, she cups both his cheeks, jaw tightening with hard bites to her lip yielding minimal aid in encasing her cries of pleasure. She tightens around him harder, sizable cock making sinful noises as he slips in and out hastily, and she presses soft kisses to his lips through hot, trustful exhales. “I am only for you.”

Gaspy moans trudge both their lips as the end nears, John’s dick sloppily throbbing in and out her moist folds. She hasn’t felt this full in long, and he hasn’t felt this loved, this cared for in a while. With a few more particularly deep thrusts, the sting of each other’s bodies entwined together sending jolts of heat spiraling inside as they cum together, crying, sobbing, reciting each other’s names against the other’s lips through soft kisses.

She feels John’s cum spill inside her, buried deep, slick and heavy, warm to the feel inside. Proximate and close, John pulls her nearer in a bear hug as they collapse against each other, holding tenderly, arms circled around in the warmest, firmest embrace. His palms sooth up and down her back, lips pressing kisses to her luscious, tousled hair through highs ridden out. Chest heaving, their sweaty bodies cling together, entrapped within steamy glass windows and humid post sex air. He stops along with her hips, buried profound inside, still throbbing as her pussy pulses around him, tender, sore, delicate from the action.

With his voice deep and velvety, John tucks her head further into his neck, holding dearly, just as desperately as the entire session. Through warm succulence, he feels damp through the shirt on his shoulder again, knowing far too well that she must have allowed a couple more measly tears to slip her tired eyes, yet again.

Because even after release, even after desperate words of assurance, declared love for one another, their reality wouldn’t change. She would still go home, and so would he. They would still sleep in long empty, distant beds with the cold feel of another’s body beside them at night. They would still wake up alone, without the other’s warmth to subside any worries away.

Burn would return; the cold, foreign, unending burn that sears through out.

Blazes when without one another.

Staring out the window to the fallen rain, John realizes, that happiness won’t be, if they stay way.

“I don’t want to be without you anymore.” John expresses, more of a statement to himself in the dire nightfall that shadows outside. “No more.” She moves slowly, untangling from him just enough to meet his espresso gaze. Fingers soft, she soothes his cheek, empathizing, eyes shutting to the sound of his breathing. The assurance of knowing he’s real, he’s alive, he’s healthy, and he’s here.

And with his palms taking her hands into his, John whispers, confident, assured, threaded fingers fitting perfectly together, in the embrace of whom they were always meant to be within. “I’m done remembering what we used to be.”

She cups his cheek, and to the sound of the pelting rain dribbling the car windows now, the patter peppers down, gently, soothingly, a symphony of its own,

Pitter,

“What we are now, is what I want.”

Patter,

“What I need.”

Pitter,

“I lost you before, but I won’t lose you again.”

Patter,

And with a kiss to her palm, he locks their eyes, sincerely, genuinely, for her.

“I’ll make this right. I’ll make us right.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

#john wick x reader #keanu reeves x reader #john wick fanfiction #john wick imagine #keanu reeves x you #john wick x you

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seafleece · 4 years

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“do you think a divine can be selfish?”

caduceus pauses a moment and frowns, then keeps winding the bandage around beau’s arm, around and then over her shoulder and back again. the room smells clean, sharp, herbs and alcohol.

“i think they’re as selfish as anything can ever be. they are their goals, their desired outcome. furthering those is furthering themselves. the question is not whether it’s selfish, but what you think about things that are selfish.”

“huh. you thinkin’ about it, too, then?”

“fjord is curious. i need to know what i think before i can help him decide what he thinks.”

“didn’t know divines made hallows for people still questioning.”

“oh, of course! the mother loves a work in progress.”

caduceus cuts the end of the bandage roll neatly and stands back, smiling faintly. “you should be more careful.”

“easy for you to say. the grove takes hits like a champ. besides, i’ve usually got jes, but she’s. busy. thinkin’ stuff over.”

caduceus blinks, and gets it.

“the traveler isn’t a divine, beau.”

“i know.”

“he’s selfish, though. it’s not mutually exclusive.”

“yeah, yeah, i know, he’s got a purpose, too, i just worry.”

“no.” his voice loses that soft edge. “he’s the wrong kind of selfish.”

her throat winds shut, a little. “yeah, huh?”

“it’s not having the purpose, it’s how you go about it. the mother asked me to help her fulfill hers.”

“and jester?”

“he didn’t tell her what it is, when he asked.”

“you think it’s something bad?”

“no,” he says. “i don’t think he knows what it is, either.”

—

“so, uh, do we have to do it? the hallow thing, i mean.”

dairon raises an eyebrow.

“i do not usually hear receiving the blessing of a divine described as a chore, beauregard. but no.”

“isn’t that kind of the point, though? of being an expositor? that we know things other people don’t?”

“are you being obtuse on purpose?”

she is. “no.”

dairon sighs. “you know better than anyone an expositor is about personal capability. you learned dwarvish in two months. don’t sell yourself short.”

she’s still iffy, she doesn’t tell dairon, there’s this special future tense in halfling she picked up from veth that translates poorly into common and even worse into dwarvish but that she keeps slipping into anyway.

“what’s it like?” she says instead. “getting hallowed, or whatever.”

“i don’t know,” dairon says, and tilts her head up, to the big round window cut right into the ceiling. “i have not done it.”

“oh,” beau says, following her gaze, and then, “you think it’s gonna rain?”

“that is what i am trying to ascertain. if i were blessed by ioun, i suppose i would know already, from the motion of clouds.”

“but?”

“but,” and she stands, and offers a hand to beauregard. “it seems i shall have to go and see how the air outside smells for myself. what a shame.”

beau takes her hand and thinks of the sketchbook jester had loaned her, long since filled up. she thinks of meeting that smuggler and stumbling through a conversation.

(“pretty good,” she says, and resumes braiding the strands of her beard caught in her fingers. “except for the ‘if either shall pass’ thing. sound like a halfling.”

pretty good, she thinks, pride glowing raw and warm in her chest.

“beau,” jester says, voice fluffed with surprise, when she rejoins the group, “i didn’t know you spoke dwarvish.”

she shrugs. “just picked it up.”

“it’s not because of keg, is it?” jester asks, sounding more teasing than she manages to look. ahead, fjord is already frowning back at them, now they’re starting to flag behind.

“no, uh,” she scratches at the back of her neck, where it’s gone a little cold and prickly, “i never even heard her speak it. just thought it’d come in handy.”

“ja, it did, beauregard,” caleb says from further ahead. “she did not even mark us up. we seem almost respectable.”

jester loops her arm in beau’s, then. “yeah, and it’s sexy, too!”

she lets jester drag her forward, eyes trained fastidiously where the soft round of jester’s cheek is flushed faintly purple, like it had been bright and violent earlier and been fading ever since. “think so?”)

“yeah,” she says, “a shame,” and doesn’t mean it at all.

—

“hey.”

“hey, jes. can i come in?”

“sure.”

she stalls a moment longer, though.

the hull of the traveler is sleek, in a malleable sort of way. like a river. what are you, she thinks, do you even know? and then she ducks her head and steps inside.

“oh, that’s where all the blankets went.”

—

“i just wanted to feel close to him, you know?”

jester put glow-in-the-dark stickers on the inside of the traveler ages ago, and now they stretch out in the mostly-darkness of the cockpit like a tiny, green-tinted night sky.

“i almost wish he didn’t tell me.”

“it’s better that you know,” beau says, but jester had cried enough that she isn’t quite sure. it’s better that we know.

“am i an elect, do you think?”

jester sounds afraid. she thinks of caduceus and yasha and thinks that afraid is not what a divine should make its elect be. not that she knows, you know, they don’t know any elects, but call it personal capability, she thinks she figured it out alright all on her own.

“no.”

jester sniffles a little. “oh.” she shuffles closer in the puddle of blankets. “remember how i told my momma the traveler was a hallow?”

beau whistles breath in through her teeth. “yeah.”

jester laughs, a wet, teary sound. “that was pretty stupid, huh?”

the floor of the traveler feels cold, almost apologetic under the sheets.

beau turns to look at her. “no, i think you were right.”

jester frowns. “how—“

“it’s you, i think. i dunno if it works like that, but if anyone’s the divine, jes, it’s you.”

jester says nothing for a long moment. a few lights blink on and off further ahead, by the controls. in the faint glow of the stickers beau can see her eyes get wide.

“beau?”

“yeah?”

“can i kiss you?”

“um. yeah.”

jester’s mouth doesn’t feel like the radiant core of divine purpose itself. her teeth are sharp, and they nick beau’s lip, and they have to stop kissing after only a little while so beau can stop the bleeding.

it’s good, though. really good. jester kisses her again, close-mouthed and careful, and it tastes a little like blood but it feels a lot like a blessing. not like a god gives a follower, but like one person gives another.

#my writing #critical role #beaujester #beaujes #i'm experiencing full blown depression for the first time in years so take that as you will #fully a #partizan au #i can admit that #mech au #beauregard lionett #jester lavorre #caduceus clay

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burkesguidetodnd · 4 years

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Paladin

Whatever their origin and their mission, paladins are united by their oaths to stand against the forces of evil. Whether sworn before a god’s altar and the witness of a priest, in a sacred glade before nature spirits and fey beings, or in a moment of desperation and grief with the dead as the only witness, a paladin’s oath is a powerful bond. It is a source of power that turns a devout warrior into a blessed champion.

A paladin swears to uphold justice and righteousness, to stand with the good things of the world against the encroaching darkness, and to hunt the forces of evil wherever they lurk. Different paladins focus on various aspects of the cause of righteousness, but all are bound by the oaths that grant them power to do their sacred work. Although many paladins are devoted to gods of good, a paladin’s power comes as much from a commitment to justice itself as it does from a god. Paladins train for years to learn the skills of combat, mastering a variety of weapons and armour. Even so, their martial skills are secondary to the magical power they wield: power to heal the sick and injured, to smite the wicked and the undead, and to protect the innocent and those who join them in the fight for justice.

Almost by definition, the life of a paladin is an adventuring life. Unless a lasting injury has taken him or her away from adventuring for a time, every paladin lives on the front lines of the cosmic struggle against evil. Fighters are rare enough among the ranks of the militias and armies of the world, but even fewer people can claim the true calling of a paladin. When they do receive the call, these warriors turn from their former occupations and take up arms to fight evil. Sometimes their oaths lead them into the service of the crown as leaders of elite groups of knights, but even then their loyalty is first to the cause of righteousness, not to crown and country. Adventuring paladins take their work seriously. A delve into an ancient ruin or dusty crypt can be a quest driven by a higher purpose than the acquisition of treasure. Evil lurks in dungeons and primeval forests, and even the smallest victory against it can tilt the cosmic balance away from oblivion.

The most important aspect of a paladin character is the nature of his or her holy quest. Although the class features related to your oath don’t appear until you reach 3rd level, plan ahead for that choice by reading the oath descriptions at the end of the class. Are you a devoted servant of good, loyal to the gods of justice and honour, a holy knight in shining armour. venturing forth to smite evil? Are you a glorious champion of the light, cherishing everything beautiful that stands against the shadow, a knight whose oath descends from traditions older than many of the gods? Or are you an embittered loner sworn to take vengeance on those who have done great evil, sent as an angel of death by the gods or driven by your need for revenge? The Gods of the Multiverse section lists many deities worshipped by paladins throughout the multiverse, such as Torm, Tyr, Heironeous, Paladine, Kiri-Jolith, Dol Arrah, the Silver Flame, Bahamut, Athena, Re-Horakhty, and Heimdall. How did you experience your call to serve as a paladin? Did you hear a whisper from an unseen god or angel while you were at prayer? Did another paladin sense the potential within you and decide to train you as a squire? Or did some terrible event—the destruction of your home, perhaps—drive you to your quests? Perhaps you stumbled into a sacred grove or a hidden elven enclave and found yourself called to protect all such refuges of goodness and beauty. Or you might have known from your earliest memories that the paladin’s life was your calling, almost as if you had been sent into the world with that purpose stamped on your soul. As guardians against the forces of wickedness, paladins are rarely of any evil alignment. Most of them walk the paths of charity and justice. Consider how your alignment colours the way you pursue your holy quest and the manner in which you conduct yourself before gods and mortals. Your oath and alignment might be in harmony, or your oath might represent standards of behaviour that you have not yet attained.

A paladin tries to hold to the highest standards of conduct, but even the most virtuous paladin is fallible. Sometimes the right path proves too demanding, sometimes a situation calls for the lesser of two evils, and sometimes the heat of emotion causes a paladin to transgress his or her oath. A paladin who has broken a vow typically seeks absolution from a cleric who shares his or her faith or from another paladin of the same order. The paladin might spend an all-night vigil in prayer as a sign of penitence, or undertake a fast or similar act of self-denial. After a rite of confession and forgiveness, the paladin starts fresh. If a paladin wilfully violates his or her oath and shows no sign of repentance, the consequences can be more serious. At the DM’s discretion, an impenitent paladin might be forced to abandon this class and adopt another, or perhaps to take the Oathbreaker paladin option that appears in the Dungeon Master’s Guide.

HIT POINTS: 1d10 Per Paladin Level

HIT POINTS 1st LEVEL: 1d10 + CON

PROFICIENCIES

ARMOUR: All armour; Shields

WEAPONS: Simple weapons, Martial weapons

TOOLS: None

SAVING THROWS: Wisdom, Charisma

SKILLS: Athletics, Insight, Intimidation, Medicine, Persuasion, and Religion (Choose 2)

STARTING EQUIPMENT

1. A martial weapon and shield OR Two martial weapons

2. Five javelins OR Any simple weapon

3. A priest’s pack OR An explorer’s pack

4. Chain mail AND A holy symbol

FEATURES

DIVINE SENSE

The presence of strong evil registers on your senses like a noxious odour, and powerful good rings like heavenly music in your ears. As an action, you can open your awareness to detect such forces. Until the end of your next turn, you know the location of any celestial, fiend, or undead within 60 feet of you that is not behind total cover. You know the type (celestial, fiend, or undead) of any being whose presence you sense, but not its identity (the vampire Count Strahd von Zarovich, for instance). Within the same radius, you also detect the presence of any place or object that has been consecrated or desecrated, as with the hallow spell. You can use this feature a number of times equal to 1 + your Charisma modifier. When you finish a long rest, you regain all expended uses.

LAY ON HANDS

Your blessed touch can heal wounds. You have a pool of healing power that replenishes when you take a long rest. With that pool, you can restore a total number of hit points equal to your paladin level × 5. As an action, you can touch a creature and draw power from the pool to restore a number of hit points to that creature, up to the maximum amount remaining in your pool. Alternatively, you can expend 5 hit points from your pool of healing to cure the target of one disease or neutralize one poison affecting it. You can cure multiple diseases and neutralize multiple poisons with a single use of Lay on Hands, expending hit points separately for each one. This feature has no effect on undead and constructs.

FIGHTING STYLE

At 2nd level, you adopt a style of fighting as your speciality. Choose one of the following options. You can’t take a Fighting Style option more than once, even if you later get to choose again.

Defence

While you are wearing armour., you gain a +1 bonus to AC.

Duelling

When you are wielding a melee weapon in one hand and no other weapons, you gain a +2 bonus to damage rolls with that weapon.

Great Weapon Fighting

When you roll a 1 or 2 on a damage die for an attack you make with a melee weapon that you are wielding with two hands, you can reroll the die and must use the new roll. The weapon must have the two-handed or versatile property for you to gain this benefit.

Protection

When a creature you can see attacks a target other than you that is within 5 feet of you, you can use your reaction to impose disadvantage on the attack roll. You must be wielding a shield.

SPELLCASTING

By 2nd level, you have learned to draw on divine magic through meditation and prayer to cast spells as a cleric does. See Spells Rules for the general rules of spellcasting and the Spells Listing for the paladin spell list.

Preparing and Casting Spells

The Paladin table shows how many spell slots you have to cast your paladin spells. To cast one of your paladin spells of 1st level or higher, you must expend a slot of the spell’s level or higher. You regain all expended spell slots when you finish a long rest. You prepare the list of paladin spells that are available for you to cast, choosing from the paladin spell list. When you do so, choose a number of paladin spells equal to your Charisma modifier + half your paladin level, rounded down (minimum of one spell). The spells must be of a level for which you have spell slots. For example, if you are a 5th-level paladin, you have four 1st-level and two 2nd-level spell slots. With a Charisma of 14, your list of prepared spells can include four spells of 1st or 2nd level, in any combination. If you prepare the 1st-level spell cure wounds, you can cast it using a 1st-level or a 2nd-level slot. Casting the spell doesn’t remove it from your list of prepared spells. You can change your list of prepared spells when you finish a long rest. Preparing a new list of paladin spells requires time spent in prayer and meditation: at least 1 minute per spell level for each spell on your list.

Spellcasting Ability

Charisma is your spellcasting ability for your paladin spells, since their power derives from the strength of your convictions. You use your Charisma whenever a spell refers to your spellcasting ability. In addition, you use your Charisma modifier when setting the saving throw DC for a paladin spell you cast and when making an attack roll with one.

Spell save DC = 8 + your proficiency bonus + your Charisma modifier

Spell attack modifier = your proficiency bonus + your Charisma modifier

Spellcasting Focus

You can use a holy symbol (see the Adventuring Gear section) as a spellcasting focus for your paladin spells.

DIVINE SMITE

Starting at 2nd level, when you hit a creature with a melee weapon attack, you can expend one spell slot to deal radiant damage to the target, in addition to the weapon’s damage. The extra damage is 2d8 for a 1st-level spell slot, plus 1d8 for each spell level higher than 1st, to a maximum of 5d8. The damage increases by 1d8 if the target is an undead or a fiend, to a maximum of 6d8.

DIVINE HEALTH

By 3rd level, the divine magic flowing through you makes you immune to disease.

SACRED OATH

When you reach 3rd level, you swear the oath that binds you as a paladin forever. Up to this time you have been in a preparatory stage, committed to the path but not yet sworn to it. Now you choose the Oath of Devotion detailed at the end of the class description or one from another source. Your choice grants you features at 3rd level and again at 7th, 15th, and 20th level. Those features include oath spells and the Channel Divinity feature.

OATH SPELLS

Each oath has a list of associated spells. You gain access to these spells at the levels specified in the oath description. Once you gain access to an oath spell, you always have it prepared. Oath spells don’t count against the number of spells you can prepare each day. If you gain an oath spell that doesn’t appear on the paladin spell list, the spell is nonetheless a paladin spell for you.

CHANNEL DIVINITY

Your oath allows you to channel divine energy to fuel magical effects. Each Channel Divinity option provided by your oath explains how to use it. When you use your Channel Divinity, you choose which option to use. You must then finish a short or long rest to use your Channel Divinity again. Some Channel Divinity effects require saving throws. When you use such an effect from this class, the DC equals your paladin spell save DC.

ABILITY SCORE IMPROVEMENT

When you reach 4th level, and again at 8th, 12th, 16th, and 19th level, you can increase one ability score of your choice by 2, or you can increase two ability scores of your choice by 1. As normal, you can’t increase an ability score above 20 using this feature.

EXTRA ATTACK

Beginning at 5th level, you can attack twice, instead of once, whenever you take the Attack action on your turn.

AURA OF PROTECTION

Starting at 6th level, whenever you or a friendly creature within 10 feet of you must make a saving throw, the creature gains a bonus to the saving throw equal to your Charisma modifier (with a minimum bonus of +1). You must be conscious to grant this bonus. At 18th level, the range of this aura increases to 30 feet.

AURA OF COURAGE

Starting at 10th level, you and friendly creatures within 10 feet of you can’t be frightened while you are conscious. At 18th level, the range of this aura increases to 30 feet.

IMPROVED DIVINE SMITE

By 11th level, you are so suffused with righteous might that all your melee weapon strikes carry divine power with them. Whenever you hit a creature with a melee weapon, the creature takes an extra 1d8 radiant damage.

CLEANSING TOUCH

Beginning at 14th level, you can use your action to end one spell on yourself or on one willing creature that you touch. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier (a minimum of once). You regain expended uses when you finish a long rest.

AURA IMPROVEMENTS

At 18th level, the range of your auras increase to 30 feet.

SACRED OATHS

Becoming a paladin involves taking vows that commit the paladin to the cause of righteousness, an active path of fighting wickedness. The final oath, taken when he or she reaches 3rd level, is the culmination of all the paladin’s training. Some characters with this class don’t consider themselves true paladins until they have reached 3rd level and made this oath. For others, the actual swearing of the oath is a formality, an official stamp on what has always been true in the paladin’s heart.

OATH OF DEVOTION

The Oath of Devotion binds a paladin to the loftiest ideals of justice, virtue, and order. Sometimes called cavaliers, white knights, or holy warriors, these paladins meet the ideal of the knight in shining armour., acting with honour in pursuit of justice and the greater good. They hold themselves to the highest standards of conduct, and some, for better or worse, hold the rest of the world to the same standards. Many who swear this oath are devoted to gods of law and good and use their gods’ tenets as the measure of their devotion. They hold angels—the perfect servants of good—as their ideals, and incorporate images of angelic wings into their helmets or coats of arms.

TENETS OF DEVOTION

Though the exact words and strictures of the Oath of Devotion vary, paladins of this oath share these tenets.

Honesty. Don’t lie or cheat. Let your word be your promise.

Courage. Never fear to act, though caution is wise.

Compassion. Aid others, protect the weak, and punish those who threaten them. Show mercy to your foes, but temper it with wisdom.

Honour. Treat others with fairness, and let your honourable deeds be an example to them. Do as much good as possible while causing the least amount of harm.

Duty. Be responsible for your actions and their consequences, protect those entrusted to your care, and obey those who have just authority over you.

OATH OF DEVOTION SPELLS

You gain oath spells at the paladin levels listed.

3rd LEVEL – CHANNEL DIVINITY

When you take this oath, you gain the following two Channel Divinity options.

Sacred Weapon. As an action, you can imbue one weapon that you are holding with positive energy, using your Channel Divinity. For 1 minute, you add your Charisma modifier to attack rolls made with that weapon (with a minimum bonus of +1). The weapon also emits bright light in a 20-foot radius and dim light 20 feet beyond that. If the weapon is not already magical, it becomes magical for the duration. You can end this effect on your turn as part of any other action. If you are no longer holding or carrying this weapon, or if you fall unconscious, this effect ends.

Turn the Unholy. As an action, you present your holy symbol and speak a prayer censuring fiends and undead, using your Channel Divinity. Each fiend or undead that can see or hear you within 30 feet of you must make a Wisdom saving throw. If the creature fails its saving throw, it is turned for 1 minute or until it takes damage. A turned creature must spend its turns trying to move as far away from you as it can, and it can’t willingly move to a space within 30 feet of you. It also can’t take reactions. For its action, it can use only the Dash action or try to escape from an effect that prevents it from moving. If there’s nowhere to move, the creature can use the Dodge action.

7th LEVEL – AURA OF DEVOTION

You and friendly creatures within 10 feet of you can’t be charmed while you are conscious. At 18th level, the range of this aura increases to 30 feet.

15th LEVEL – PURITY OF SPIRIT

You are always under the effects of a protection from evil and good spell.

20th LEVEL – HOLY NIMBUS

As an action, you can emanate an aura of sunlight. For 1 minute, bright light shines from you in a 30-foot radius, and dim light shines 30 feet beyond that. Whenever an enemy creature starts its turn in the bright light, the creature takes 10 radiant damage. In addition, for the duration, you have advantage on saving throws against spells cast by fiends or undead. Once you use this feature, you can’t use it again until you finish a long rest.

OATH OF HEROISM

The Oath of Heroism is an affirmation of a destined path, one laid out for you by divine hands. For whatever reason, a god or a group of gods has included you in their machinations. You are not a reluctant hero, but one who fully embraces the idea that great deeds are yours to achieve. You train diligently, sculpting your body and refining your skills so you’re ready when destiny calls.

TENETS OF HEROISM

The tenets of the Oath of Heroism reflect a paladin’s commitment to fulfilling their calling as a hero worthy of legend.

Actions over Words. Strive to be known by deeds not words.

Challenges Are but Tests. Every hardship serves to challenge your abilities and harden your resolve.

Embrace Destiny. You didn’t choose this path, but it’s yours to walk. And it will carry you into legend.

Hone the Body. Like raw stone, your body must be worked so its potential can be realized.

OATH SPELLS

You gain oath spells at the paladin levels listed in the Oath of Heroism Spells table. See the Sacred Oath class feature for how oath spells work.

3rd LEVEL – CHANNEL DIVINITY

You gain the following two Channel Divinity options. See the Sacred Oath class feature for how Channel Divinity works.

Peerless Athlete. You can use your Channel Divinity to augment your athleticism with divine favour. As a bonus action, you gain advantage on all Strength (Athletics) and Dexterity (Acrobatics) checks for the next 10 minutes.

Legendary Strike. You can use your Channel Divinity as a bonus action to guide your attacks: for 1 minute, your weapon attacks score a critical hit on a roll of 19 or 20 on the d20.

7th LEVEL – MIGHTY DEED

Your actions on the battlefield can supernaturally bolster your allies and demoralize your enemies. Whenever you score a critical hit or reduce a creature to 0 hit points, you can choose one or more creatures that you can see within 30 feet of you, up to a number equal to your Charisma modifier (minimum of one creature). All the chosen creatures are affected by one of the following effects of your choice:

The creature gains temporary hit points equal to 1d6 + your Charisma modifier (minimum of 1 temporary hit point).

The creature must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw against your spell save DC or be frightened of you until the start of your next turn.

Once you use this feature, you can’t use it again until the start of your next turn.

15th LEVEL – GLORIOUS DEFENCE

Your blessed glory on the battlefield can misdirect an attack. When a creature you can see hits you with an attack roll, you can use your reaction to gain a bonus to AC against that attack, potentially causing it to miss you. The bonus equals your Charisma modifier (minimum of +1). If the attack misses, you can make one weapon attack against the attacker as part of this reaction.

20th LEVEL – LIVING MYTH

You can now empower yourself with the legends—whether true or exaggerated—told of your great deeds. As a bonus action, you gain the following benefits for 10 minutes:

You are blessed with otherworldly comeliness, gaining advantage on all Charisma checks.

Once on each of your turns when you make a weapon attack and miss, you can cause that attack to hit instead.

If you fail a saving throw, you can use your reaction to succeed instead.

Once you use this feature, you can’t use it again until you finish a long rest.

OATH OF THE WATCHERS

Paladins who vow the Oath of the Watchers seek to protect the mortal realm from the predations of extraplanar creatures, many of which can lay waste to mortal soldiers. Thus, the Watchers hone their minds, spirits, and bodies to be the ultimate weapons against such threats. Paladins who follow the Watchers’ oath are ever vigilant in spotting the influence of extraplanar forces, often establishing a network of spies and informants to gather information on suspected cults. To a Watcher, keeping a healthy suspicion and awareness about one’s surroundings is as natural as wearing armour. in battle.

TENETS OF THE WATCHERS

A paladin who assumes the Oath of the Watchers swears to safeguard the mortal realm from otherworldly threats.

Vigilance. The threats you face are cunning, powerful, and subversive. Be ever alert for their corruption.

Loyalty. Never accept gifts or favours from fiends or those who truck with them. Stay true to your order, your comrades, and your duty.

Discipline. You are the shield against the endless terrors that lie beyond the stars. Your blade must be forever sharp and your mind keen to survive what lies beyond.

OATH SPELLS

You gain oath spells at the paladin levels listed in the Oath of the Watchers table. See the Sacred Oath class feature for how oath spells work.

3rd LEVEL – CHANNEL DIVINITY

You gain the following Channel Divinity options. See the Sacred Oath class feature for how Channel Divinity works.

Watcher’s Will. You can use your Channel Divinity to invest your presence with the warding power of your faith. As an action, you can choose a number of creatures you can see within 30 feet of you, up to a number equal to your Charisma modifier (minimum of one creature). For 1 minute, all the chosen creatures have advantage on Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma saving throws.

Abjure the Extraplanar. You can use your Channel Divinity to castigate unworldly beings. As an action, you present your holy symbol and each elemental, fey, fiend, or aberration within 30 feet of you that can hear you must make a Wisdom saving throw. On a failed save, the creature is turned for 1 minute or until it takes damage. A turned creature must spend its turns trying to move as far away from you as it can, and it can’t willingly move to a space within 30 feet of you. For its action, it can use only the Dash action or try to escape from an effect that prevents it from moving. If there’s nowhere to move, the creature can use the Dodge action.

7th LEVEL – AURA OF THE SENTINEL

You emit an aura of alertness while you aren’t incapacitated. When you and any creature of your choice within 10 feet of you rolls initiative, you each gain a bonus to initiative equal to your Charisma modifier (minimum of +1). At 18th level, the range of this aura increases to 30 feet.

15th LEVEL – VIGILANT REBUKE

You’ve learned how to magically chastise anyone who dares cast unwanted spells at you and your wards. Whenever you or a creature you can see within 30 feet of you succeeds on a saving throw against a spell, you can use your reaction to deal 2d8 + your Charisma modifier force damage to the spellcaster.

20th LEVEL – MORTAL BULWARK

You manifest a spark of your deity’s power in defence of your sacred oath. As a bonus action, you gain the following benefits for 1 minute:

You gain truesight in a 120-foot radius.

You have advantage on attack rolls against elementals, fey, fiends, and aberrations.

When you hit a creature with an attack and deal damage to it, you can also force it to make a Charisma saving throw. On a failed save, the creature is magically banished to its native plane of existence if it’s currently not there. On a successful save, the creature can’t be banished by this feature for 24 hours.

Once you use this bonus action, you can’t use it again until you finish a long rest.

#dnd #D&D #classes #paladin

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diveronaevents · 4 years

Photo

DATE: March 26th

TIME: 10 PM

LOCATION: The Cathedral

Triggers: injury TW, violence TW, humiliation TW

In the weeks following the uproarious battle in Hotel Emelia, a peculiar quiet had begun to stain the unruly canvas of the city, shrouding crimson corners with mournful blues and clouding vermillion peaks with misty greys as both ends of Verona’s scale of war came to a standstill.

The Capulets had settled into their flock, leaning into one another to fill the fissures and nurse each other back to soaring flight. The Montagues raised their drawbridges and dammed up their gates, honing their focus on the conflict roiling within their mighty walls rather than on that which brewed beyond them. And the people, those who were left to gather the scraps and choke on prayers, they could do nothing but bide their time and wonder when Verona would grow hungry again.

Its first moan came in the form of light shining from within the Cathedral, gentle and pearl-pure.

It soothed those who laid their awed gazes upon it, drawing the eyes of cynics and wanderers alike as they walked past the building, blissfully oblivious, caught in Verona’s grasp only as far as its beauty could allow; blind to the grinning terrors that it so savagely concealed.

However, the same couldn’t be said of those who resided within the Cathedral, hovering in the divine heart of its beacon. Indeed, they were intimate with Verona’s horrors to the utmost degree -- and that was precisely why they had gathered tonight. To celebrate their hellish affair with the dark and pull it closer by the shadows on the holiest night to ever grace Verona’s timeless years.

The night of the Capulet anniversary.

No expense had been spared and no resource had been wasted in the refurbishment of the Cathedral’s third level for the long-awaited ceremony. The entire floor was now drenched in proud silvers and blues, its elegance accentuated with simplistic yet refined decoration, with ornaments and sculptures gracing every corner and breezy classical music drifting from a nearby piano. Tables brimming with an assortment of delicacies and vices lined the walls, leaving the center of the room open for Capulets to linger and revel however they pleased. Everyone, aside from those tasked with patrol and security, had been relieved of duties to take part in the celebration and rejoice alongside the rest of la famiglia.

Cosimo Capulet took his royal perch on the outskirts, taking it all in with unfettered pride and unconcealed self-congratulation.

This was his empire, after all. Whole once again. Thriving and marking down yet another eventful year in its glorious history, right before his eyes.

Cosimo rose from his seat, snagging a drink from the nearest table as he walked up to the center of the room. He came to a stop upon an ornate wooden platform that he had had installed precisely for this evening, settling before the microphone where performers had sung and Capulets had offered halfhearted words throughout the night. A broad, maroon veil loomed behind him, concealing the backdrop of the platform and what Cosimo had claimed was a special gift for his people.

If one looked closely enough, the set-up resembled a miniature stage.

If it roused a specific memory in the Capulets’ minds, no one seemed willing to voice it.

All the better, Cosimo thought as he cleared his throat, it would make for an awfully dull celebration if his surprise were to be spoiled.

There was no need for him to clink his glass or announce himself -- everyone’s eyes had already settled upon him from the moment he took the stage. A few gazes were dulled by inebriation, while others were sharpened by lucidity, yet the attentive focus was a commonality among all. He needed nothing more.

“You all know what you’re gathered here for. You all know what tonight means for us.” He began, leaning into the mic with a sober yet bright expression. He paused, waiting until the hum of conversation gave way to complete silence before continuing on. “To me, it feels like this celebration is what we work towards each and every year. We have our goals, of course; between building Verona into the monument that it deserves to be and tearing down whoever dares to stand in our way. But in the end, we march towards those goals with our eyes set on nothing but this exact moment, when we get to look back on the paths that we carved behind us and remember all that it took for us to come this far. As always, we exceed all expectations.” He nodded with a smile, the expression widening as he received a few in return.

Searching the familiar faces among the huddled crowd, he continued on to say, “Every year that the Capulet name continues to ring throughout Verona is a testament to that. To all that we’ve given and will continue to give. To all that we’ve taken and will continue to take. We can never let ourselves forget that. And if anything, that’s why we’re here… “

He looked at JULIET, eyes softening at the corners. “To remember all that we can do, for Verona and for each other.”

He looked at TYBALT, raising a clenched fist. “To remember what we have, and what’s at the stake.”

He looked at ROSALINE, mouth tightening. “To remember what is easy to forget, and hold it close.”

Finally, he looked at TITANIA. “To remember what we’ve lost, and make it mean something.”

Focus returning to the bulk of the crowd, Cosimo bid his smile to return, raising his glass and stretching his other arm outward. “And so, with all of that being said, I give this toast to us, my friends! To all of our past years and all the years to come! To the Capulets!”

“To the Capulets!” Came the resounding echo from the crowds, the room dissolving into momentary silence as everyone took a sip of their drinks.

The veil shivered at Cosimo’s back. He paused with the glass still held to his mouth.

He slowly lowered it, lips split into a dastardly smile as he swallowed with languor, savoring every drop and every second.

Across the ruins, Damiano Montague shared none of his adversary’s thrill.

That is, unless the emotion he was wrestling with could be counted as a rotten, ravenous variation of the sentiment. Whatever it was, he had no idea how to identify it or come to grips with it; instead, he could only simmer while it steamed through his nose and struck smoke beneath his heels.

He paced across his office, restless and overcome. Meanwhile, ANTONY took his vigilant post by his desk, arms crossed and lips sealed tight, as still and watchful as a stone-carved sentinel. Damiano wasn’t sure if he was grateful for his presence or resentful of it.

He paced faster.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t fucking believe it.” He seethed, each word an ember that further fed into his rage as he voiced the thoughts that had been eating away at his mind for months on end. “After all the years I’ve given to build this legacy, after all the sacrifices, all the spilled blood and wasted lives, it all ends up hanging in the balance so fucking easily. In the blink of an eye. And at the hands of my own son, no less.”

ANTONY said nothing, which he was grateful for. He wasn’t sure he could stand being faced with his faults any more glaringly than he had already been -- but that was ultimately what his consigliere was here for, wasn’t it? To throw him before the bitter truths that he didn’t dare to confront on his own.

It was for that reason that Damiano halted, turning towards ANTONY and readily demanding his input by asking, “Did I do this? Could it be that I was the one to bring upon my own ruin?” Exhaling a heavy rush of breath, Damiano resumed his stride, albeit at a slower, more introspective yet no less frustrated pace. “I did everything that I could to encourage Roman, after all. I pushed him, again and again and again.”

“You did push him, in ways that fostered more resentment than respect,” ANTONY responded, speech slow and careful, almost as though he was entirely aware of the landmine he was rigging with his words. “And I can’t say that you haven’t done the same with the mob as a whole.”

A pause. “But regardless, this was inevitable, and you have to accept that if you mean to respond to this, Damiano. If you hadn’t pushed him, he would have found other reasons to resent you -- even come up with them, if necessary. If you weren’t aware of this in one way or another, you wouldn’t have introduced him to this life.”

Damiano’s steps had come to a stop, rousing a stifled silence in their wake as he ground his teeth and chewed on the consigliere’s words.

“Part of you considered that this might happen, but you took the risk anyway,” ANTONY continued, approaching him with light, resounding steps. “Because you knew, and I think you still know, that your true legacy has always been Roman. Isn’t that right?”

The furious splay of Damiano’s features cracked, overtaken by a vulnerable, nameless emotion that had once been more familiar to him than his own being. It sent split-second images of his son flashing before his fogged-up eyes; as a small, ungraceful, overly bright child and as a proud, determined, dim-hued man.

ANTONY’s following words only served to entice a burst of color in the reminiscent vision. For a seemingly endless moment, Damiano could see nothing else.

“Just as you’ve built up the Montagues, you’ve built up your son.”

The vision splintered, now fractured and distorted as it trembled before his eyes.

“The power he has was yours to give… and it’s yours to take away.”

Damiano blinked. His sight returned slowly, drawing focus. He turned his head with a disoriented scowl; ANTONY was standing at his shoulder, lending support with speech and presence alike.

The sight only served to highlight just how much his allies have now dwindled, and a leader who stood alone was nothing but a follower of his own whims and desires.

Was this truly what his son’s determination had reduced him to, in the end? Was this truly all that he had left to his hallowed name?

“It’s only too late if you convince yourself that it is, Damiano,” Came his consigliere’s oddly insightful response, voice dropping to a murmur not unlike a serpent’s hypnotic hiss. “Look at all you’ve achieved over the years. All the experience, power and bodies that you’ve wracked up and harnessed to build what we all have now. Roman’s small victories could never amount to that. Your shortcomings could never overshadow it, either.”

He turned around to face Damiano, the renewed firmness of his words failing to take away from the careful lilt of persuasion that carried them forward.

“The throne is yours. You’ve earned it with blood, sweat, and carnage. Tears are all that Roman has, and he’s done plenty to prove it… “ A pause. A derisive tilt to his tongue as it wrapped around his following words. “Let’s not forget that he aided in Rosaline’s rescue.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” Damiano rumbled under his breath, rage rejuvenated by the mere reminder of his son’s ever-yearning brand of failure: his heart.

If such was to be his son’s downfall, Damiano couldn’t allow it to be his.

The thought cast a funeral veil over Damiano’s sentiments; the last remaining bulwark against the conquest of his madness. It hardened his heart against any hope of bringing his son back at his side.

Now he could do nothing but stand against him.

This conversation was one out of many that he and the consigliere had shared across the recent months, yet as it came to a close, it seemed to carry an undercurrent of finality that Damiano hadn’t realized the others had lacked.

Then came ANTONY’s response, almost in a direct affirmation of the thought. “Good. Remember, and use it to take back what’s yours.”

They only had a moment to let the words settle their dead weight between them before the door was bursting open to reveal ROMEO on the other end of it, eyes wide and knuckles blanched around the handle.

He looked between them, urgency evident in his gaze as he made his damning declaration. “Father, a messenger’s arrived.”

“A messenger? From who?” Damiano asked incredulously.

ROMEO paused, mouth grimly coiled. He took a deep breath.

“From the Capulets.”

Back at the Cathedral, Cosimo Capulet was still lingering on the sweet, ruddy taste buzzing along his tongue, glass hovering at the edge of his mouth.

He lowered it, looking over his people as they soaked up his speech.

He hoped they could spare some room for everything else that he still had in store.

“Now, I hope you’re all sated and enthused because we’re not done rejoicing just yet.” He announced, blood thrumming as the crowd’s attention slowly slid back into his grasp. “In honor of this evening, I have a gift to share with you all.”

Cosimo paused, all cheer melting away from his expression as it was slowly overtaken by scorn.

Yet it failed to take away from the scythe-like curve of his smile as he declared, “The slow, delicious agony… of a rotten Montague spy.”

As an array of responses began to bloom across the expanse of his audience, Cosimo began to walk back and forth across the platform. “For months and months, this rat walked among us like they were one of our own. Fighting at our side, sharing our victories, learning our stories -- all while reaping our secrets and selling them for cheap to the rabid dogs on the other side of the ruins.” He jabbed a finger at one of the windows, the harsh timbre of his voice bouncing off the elegant planes of the room and all but echoing the atrocity all across the city that peered in through stained glass. “It took us too much time, but we found them, and I thought that there was no better night than this for them to be brought to their knees before you, grovelling and begging for mercy while they fall prey to justice. Our justice.”

Cosimo!

Suddenly, the doors burst open across the room, the newcomers’ entrance marked by a sharp, guttural call of Cosimo’s name as ROMEO declared his presence through gritted teeth.

Cosimo looked up, face splitting into a joyful grin as he spread his arms and indicated the encroaching group. “Ah, I see our guests of honor have finally arrived! My beloved Montagues, welcome, welcome. I’m so glad to see that you’ve decided to share in our celebration.”

“I will not let you do this.” ROMEO gritted, flanked by MERCUTIO who sneered at every Capulet who dared to lay their eyes on them.

“Ha!” Cosimo hollered, turning to exchange a lazy look with VOLUMNIA who instantly began to place their soldiers in position with swift commands. “Go ahead and stop me then, infant king.”

ROMEO charged at the throng of Capulets with a hollered command to the rest of his team, launching himself at LADY MACBETH with fiery eyes and a poised gun. While lilting words and cutting brands of cunning were often reliable weapons for her, they failed to withstand ROMEO’s brutish assault in this instance, and so the tension between them was swiftly cut when she was forced to brandish a weapon of her own. The close range of the fight paired with restricted breadth of movement didn’t allow them to fully utilize their arms, however, and so they quickly devolved into physical combat.

MERCUTIO couldn’t do more than kick LADY MACBETH off of ROMEO at one point in their fight before OTHELLO tackled them away. Teeth bared and will alight, MERCUTIO bared their teeth and engaged him wholeheartedly, although their focus remained divided as they kept themselves in tune with ROMEO in case he ever needed their aid.

Hoping for another chance at revenge, albeit with a different foe, HAMLET set his sights on IAGO as soon as he entered, the memory of his defeat at the Capulet’s accursed hands too bitter for him to properly bury. Enclosed within the erupting chaos as they were, IAGO had no choice but to engage him, lacking the leeway that their last encounter had granted him.

As his partner for the mission, GONERIL was right on HAMLET’s tail as they made their entry into enemy territory, yet she was far from devoted to the Montague cause. She was merely set on whetting her appetite, depthless eyes scouring the crowds for interesting prey with no distinction between friend and foe. The ensuing fight between HAMLET and IAGO was interesting enough to detract her from her hunt, however. She lingered on the outskirts of it, taunting both men and toying with their conflicting expectations towards her -- until a gratingly familiar voice eventually lured her away. It belonged to none other than CORDELIA, and the mere echo of it was enough to draw GONERIL back towards her neglected whim, blades whispering along fabric as she slowly extracted them and faced off against her sister.

BENVOLIO and ROSALIND were the next Montague pair to pierce through the chaos, BENVOLIO instantly setting his sights on ROMEO and MERCUTIO’s entanglements a short distance away. Yet before he could make any move to lend them his support, he found himself intercepted by EDGAR. Driven by explicit orders, deafened by the brimming havoc, EDGAR went on to block BENVOLIO’s every attempt at communication. And so they were futile, both when it came to convincing the man to clear BENVOLIO’s path and when it came to preventing the dreadful prospect of violence. Neither one of them had any choice but to draw their weapons on one another.

In a similar fashion, ROSALIND was kept from offering any aid to her partner when MACBETH began to prowl around her. The two devolved into a ferocious clash, with ROSALIND piercing MACBETH’s arm with a blade aimed at his throat and MACBETH retaliating by branding her with a ruthless smattering of wounds and bruises. Though the conflict wavered, its end was marked the moment MACBETH’s bloodied arm lodged itself against ROSALIND’s tender throat.

MALCOLM and OPHELIA lingered a short distance away, combining their efforts to fend off the enemy, yet the moment MALCOLM’s eyes caught sight of ROSALIND as she thrashed in the grasp of his mark, his blood was lit aflame. He threw himself into MACBETH’s side like a raging bull, pounding into him until the proud angles of his face were lost to the murky overflow of his own blood. Under VOLUMNIA’s urgent orders, EDMUND came to MACBETH’s rescue, successfully drawing the Montague hellhound off of him only to end up taking his place between MALCOLM’s gnashing jaws. The two engaged one another, EDMUND drawing the enemy’s focus long enough for MACBETH to be dragged away by a stray Capulet.

OPHELIA, frozen in fear for her partner and shock at his lightning-quick assault of the enemy, was taken off guard by a prowling ORSINO. However, she gave him no chance to taunt her with the torment that she had once experienced at his hands, savagely launching herself at him and tackling him into a long-awaited confrontation.

While the league of Montagues clawed their way through the Capulet sanctum, another team was infiltrating it with hushed footsteps and the aid of shadows.

A horrendous threat upon loved ones and a hefty promise of wealth and safety had swayed a desperate priest towards helping the Montagues infiltrate the celebration through the first level of the Cathedral. They had known that they would be walking into a trap, overwhelmed with the full brunt of the Capulet ranks and the territorial advantage they possessed, and so they had employed the best strategy they could come up with to combat those shortcomings. The covert Montague team was meant to enter the hall through the exit on the other side of the room; to take advantage of the Capulets’ distraction as they were occupied with the other team and steal enough time for themselves to locate their seized soldier and set them free.

Such was the goal that drove GERTRUDE forward as she led the team into the hall, flanked by CELIA and supported by the Montagues that lingered at her back.

She had expected to locate their target immediately, yet she caught no sight of them as her eyes scoured the room.

Their spy was nowhere to be seen.

And thus a poisoned spear was quick to lodge itself into the cracks within the Montagues’ armored strategy, halting the progress of GERTRUDE’s team as she maintained her rigid position, scouting the room as much as their borrowed time could allow. But it quickly ran out once JULIET spotted them, declaring their presence to her comrades before breaking away from VOLUMNIA’s side and throwing herself into GERTRUDE’s path. The two confronted one another as PARIS launched himself at CELIA, rendering her unable to aid her superior as the two ferociously grappled with one another.

With the team exposed and vulnerable, it took no time for Capulets to surround it and damn its mission to certain failure.

And the Montagues were quickly realizing it, the first of which being BENEDICK who found himself cornered by CORIOLANUS. The two devolved into violence which in turn left CRESSIDA stranded without a partner. REGAN, attuned to the scent of blood-filled opportunity, threw herself into her path, slinking out of the shadows to draw her arm around CRESSIDA’s neck and settle a blade against her throat. Just before her fate could be sealed, CRESSIDA jabbed the butt of her gun into REGAN’s gut with a harsh strike that threw her out of the Capulet’s grasp. REGAN was relentless, however, only wavering from the attack for a moment before launching herself at CRESSIDA once again.

TROILUS’s heart soared into his throat from where he stood, shackled to RICHARD III’s side. He had been coerced into reluctant spectatorship by the Montagues who had forcibly brought him along to cement the Capulets’ crude decadence in his eyes and further draw him away from the devotion they believed he harbored for the heiress. There was no room for any such thoughts to fester in his mind, however, petrified as he was to witness his wife struggle in REGAN’s grasp, horrified and scorned that the Montagues were forcing him to bear witness to the sight and leaving him no room to do anything about it. An argument broke out between himself and RICHARD III, and TROILUS quickly took advantage of what little he knew about the man before him, wondering if perhaps the tides would turn were RICHARD III to focus more on the fight than on someone with such little stakes in the game.

TROILUS’ escape was narrow, as RICHARD III was quickly intercepted by VOLUMNIA. Confident that the reins of the battle were firmly within their grasp and keen to learn more of the neutral fellow who had run to their principessa’s side not too long ago, she approached RICHARD III with inquiries on TROILUS, having seen them together from across the room. These inquiries which quickly mutated into demands as RICHARD III continued to expertly dangle the answers she sought out of her reach. BEATRICE, his partner, couldn’t help but interfere in an attempt to prevent the confrontation from succumbing to simmering hostility. And thus the three of them remained caught within the tangle of tension, each balancing on a tightrope of their own making.

Having broken off from her partner to chase her appetite, TAMORA drifted around the knots of fights roiling within each corner of the hall -- until she caught sight of ROSALINE who lingered near the warded area where VOLUMNIA had been issuing her orders and Cosimo Capulet was currently spectating the chaos. Her approach only fueled a collision between her and DESDEMONA, however, as she had been ordered to support a weakened ROSALINE and guard her in case the conflict drifted too close for comfort. They engaged one another, TAMORA toying with DESDEMONA more so than quarreling with her, driven by the desire to swat her aside and sink her teeth into the once-infallible ROSALINE.

The tides of violence were quick to cast PORTIA and KATHERINE onto each other’s paths, an encounter which succumbed to hostility as PORTIA taunted KATHERINE with her recent defeat in Hotel Emelia. The two clashed with one another, which left PERDITA, PORTIA’s partner, to stumble upon a bored, ravenous BIANCA who was scornful of the fact that she had been tasked with watching over the wounded MACBETH while everyone else got their fill of the fun. Noting the wide-eyed tinge to her gaze and the fleet-footed signs of inexperience, BIANCA began to toy with PERDITA, making room for mischief even in the heart of a battlefield.

On the outskirts, ARIEL, who had been invited to perform during the celebration, was sinking to the floor in an anguished haze, caught in the shoulder by a stray bullet. Luckily, MIRANDA was around to catch them as they fell, far enough away from her superiors that she was able to help them up and lead them outside to safety.

By the time MIRANDA was able to order a taxi and have ARIEL taken to the hospital, another volatile encounter was brewing inside the Cathedral. LAVINIA was approaching IMOGEN with all the firmness she could muster, under Cosimo Capulet’s orders. He had recognized the famed journalist, who had snuck into the celebration with the stolen identity of a recent Capulet initiate, and so had ordered LAVINIA to escort her out. IMOGEN argued, and although LAVINIA was unwilling to indulge the journalist’s frustration, she refused to waver on her task. IMOGEN eventually complied, walking by LAVINIA’s side as they made their way through the hall -- only to suddenly pummel her fist into the Capulet’s delicate jaw. IMOGEN refused to leave themself pliant to the mobs’ hands for a second time, and so they launched their attack and swiftly made their way back into the fray. They didn’t get too far, however, as they were intercepted by TITANIA who had witnessed what happened and thus set out to finish what her comrade had started. With their sound arguments and peaceful demeanor, they were able to convince IMOGEN to seek their answers elsewhere, though their success came after much, much effort.

While IMOGEN was lured towards escape with reluctant steps, BERTRAM was actively searching for it, stumbling through the labyrinthine corridors and stairways of the Cathedral as he ran from the battlefield that had almost dragged him into its depths. He ended up coming across a lone figure in a dark hall, hunched into a corner and fiddling with shadows. It was NICK BOTTOM, who had been tinkering with a neat little gift for the mobs entangled only one floor away. He was inclined to ignore the intruder -- until the man began to ask for his help in escaping the Cathedral, incessantly and slyly enough that NICK BOTTOM became certain his work would never be finished until he gave the man what he wanted. He shoved BERTRAM ahead of him, leading him out of the Cathedral and the furious battle that it harbored.

Back inside the Cathedral, ROMEO was abandoning a defeated LADY MACBETH and making his way towards Cosimo Capulet, who was still sipping wine atop his ornamented pedestal, as entertained as ever while he watched the war rage on before him.

ROMEO looked around at his people.

MERCUTIO and OTHELLO were still clashing with one another, equally exhausted yet determined to steal the victory of their fight. HAMLET was looming over a prone IAGO, teeth bared and gun rigidly pressed to his temple. GONERIL and CORDELIA were caught in a stalemate, too many conflicts roiling between them to allow for a clear-cut outcome to their confrontation. BENVOLIO was on his knees before the barrel of EDGAR’s gun, gaze locked daringly with that of the enemy despite his apparent surrender. EDMUND was caught in MALCOLM’s vicious grasp, though the blade lodged into the man’s flesh made EDMUND’s defeat an uncertain one. OPHELIA had fallen prey to ORSINO’s advances, but she still refused to cower before him.

ROMEO turned his gaze to the other side of the hall, where their feeble attempt at balancing the scales lay in tatters across from him.

JULIET had her gun trained on GERTRUDE. CELIA was holding PARIS in a chokehold. CORIOLANUS was perched atop a prone BENEDICK with a blade to his throat. CRESSIDA was in the midst of crawling away from an advancing REGAN, quickly joined by TROILUS who had finally found the leeway to make his way to her. Never one to waste her time, VOLUMNIA was steadily making her way back to Cosimo’s side, leaving RICHARD III and BEATRICE to join their efforts in taking down the advancing Capulets.

ROMEO finally ground up the courage to look away, eyes closing momentarily before flaring open and settling their infuriated gaze on Cosimo.

“Where is she?” He hoarsely demanded, breath fractured and posture unsteady, hand held up to his side.

Cosimo uncrossed the arm on which his elbow had been perched, lowering his hand and glancing thoughtfully at the peaks of red along his glass as he twirled it.

“You mean your spy?” He finally responded, looking up at the heir with a scornfully hiked brow.

“I won’t ask again. You brought us here for a reason.”

Cosimo was silent.

He watched the heir for a long, heavy moment. Then he scoffed.

“It’s always the same with you Montagues,” He said, quietly, eyes on his glass as he continued to twirl it. “Your approach is always demanding. Forceful. As if you’re entitled to all that you desire even when you’ve done nothing to earn it.”

Ominously, he murmured, “That was your mistake with the Witches. I had no intention of repeating it.”

Just a slithering trail of blood began to trickle from beneath the veil and glide between his leathered feet.

Then, with his eyes locked on LAMPRIUS who keenly observed from the shadows, Cosimo dug his fingers in and tugged.

ROMEO’s breath froze in his lungs.

The spy was bound against the wall, on display for all to see. She hung with her arms spread wide, limp and barely breathing; though there was no cross present on Cosimo’s stage, she was clearly bound in the shape of one, calling back on the executions of old and sure to make a dramatic display. Her mouth was gagged and her wrists chafed heavily, blood flowing from both in slow rivulets, slinking down from two long vertical cuts along her forearms and soaking into the wood beneath her feet in a broad, harrowing stain.

It was VIOLA, strung up and left to bleed out as she locked tearful eyes on her liege.

Hers was to be a cruel judgement, yet a far more merciful one than what Judas had received.

OVERVIEW: And so the trial for our beloved Viola begins! Boy, there is a lot to unpack here, but one thing certainly shines above all else and it’s that the path ahead is only going to get more brutal and bloody from this point forward -- and we’re absolutely thrilled about it! As you’ve all just witnessed, the Capulets are finding unity in their punishment of the spy, while the Montagues are crumbling beneath the rift that’s steadily growing between their leaders. To further clarify, after aiding in the rescue of the Capulet consigliere, ANTONY has taken his own treacherous act and branded it onto ROMEO, not only to manipulate Damiano Montague and cement himself as the only ally he has left, but also to fuel the conflict between him and his son by invalidating ROMEO’s character and his potential in his father’s eyes. The heir certainly isn’t the only one who covets the Montague throne.

On one another note, you’re not restricted to the events of the plot drop in your threads. Capulets are free to plot interactions during the anniversary celebration earlier in the evening, and Montagues are free to plot whatever activities they were engaged in prior to receiving the Capulets’ invitation, and explore their sudden interruption once they were called out onto the battlefield. We know we’ve left you on a cliffhanger here, but we assure you, you won’t have to hold your breath for long. All threads for PART I should be dated for the March 26th only. PART II of the plot drop will be released next week on TUESDAY, APRIL 28TH, and extend the current timeline, so be on the lookout! Have fun!

#diveronaevent #injury tw #violence tw #humiliation tw

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circeart · 4 years

Photo

Daily Angel Oracle Card: You, Who Show The Way, from the RUMI Oracle Card deck, by Alana Fairchild, artwork by Rassouli

You, Who Show The Way:

“The logical mind runs away from drowning. Lovers accept drowning in the sea as their destiny. The logical mind finds consolation in reaching a level of comfort in life. Lovers are focused beyond their own comfort.”

~ By RUMI

“I have looked to you in my darkest moments, searched for you as though fumbling for the candle and matches during an unexpected and interminable blackout. I am the ship at sea, seeking you as my guiding light. Nay, I am the sea, rising up to the horizon because I yearn to be closer to you. Then, oh to my greatest relief, you rise like a phoenix from the ocean, casting hallowed golden light all around you – this great blazing angel of holy fire! In a sweet instant, my soul rests in your presence. The sea becomes calm, the darkness abates. Your light reveals truth and, through your living presence, I know my true self again. I am what you are. Even when it appears I am returning after being lost in darkness, as though I could ever be extinguished. I am divine light, I am you. A living sun.”

“Even in your unquenchable passion for service to humanity, to the world that offers you so much, there is a time when your most powerful offering is actually and most simply that of your presence. You show the way: you, who inspire through how you choose to live and be; you, who sometimes think yourself to be invisible; you, who consider yourself to be of no particular or exceptional worth. Yes, you – you, who through your choice to live your truth, reveal my face, demonstrate my love, embody my presence, heal my beloveds and love my creations.

This oracle comes to you with a special message. You are an inspiration. You are helping those around you and even many of whom you are unaware. You are doing this because this is your path, this is your way, this is your gift – to live a life dedicated to the growth of consciousness and, through that dedication, inspire others to receive the loving consciousness of the Great Beloved that can benefit them so greatly, no matter what their situation or circumstances. You are not doing this through any effort or will. Just as the sun breaks through darkness with its own light, shining light with its presence by simply being, so too does your inner sun, your soul. You don’t have to understand this or do anything with the information given, although you may find it of comfort or even be shocked by it, pleasantly perhaps. It is just an acknowledgment of who and what you are, given freely because you are ready to receive such an acknowledgment.

You are also being gifted through this oracle with a sign, a portent. This oracle is an omen: an issue too difficult for you to understand, no mater how hard you have been working on it, is about to be resolved. You have no need to hold onto it or become ‘more worthy’ of that resolution. It is going to happen according to the grace of the Great Beloved, and your job is to allow it to happen, to simply bear witness to the resolution, even if you have no idea what is going on in the process. You may find that whilst you are letting go, the resolution happens without you being aware of it until after the fact. Then, apparently all of a sudden, what was an issue is no longer so.

You, who help others, are a worthy recipient of the help of the Great Beloved. Be prepared to surrender all plans and convictions about what can and cannot be, about what you think you know and what you think you need. Allow the benevolent grace of the beloved to take you through the great waves, as the seas become calm and serene under the living divine light.

This oracle brings the message that if you have a situation in your midst that feels impossible to resolve, the Divine has it covered. Do the sacred honouring ritual and let it be sorted out by a power greater than your own. It shall be sorted out, and your sun shall rise. Just as day follows night, again and again, so too shall your sun rise after any issue or struggle. Have faith and hope, and know that this is a sensible approach to any dilemma, no matter how serious it may seem. For what use is it to bemoan the absence of day, even on the longest night, when you know, in ever moment, dawn is ever closer to breaking once again? Your hope then is not foolish, but wise.”

Sacred Honouring Ritual: “Place your hands on your heart ans say: “The Divine, who loves me unconditionally, blesses me now with such grace that my life aligns with divine order and all becomes golden, blessed, and mercifully held in the compassionate consciousness of the Creator. I thank you for the courage and faith I have needed to endure the night, and I now celebrate the coming dawn. I see it breaking: I see its light, and I thank you for this mercy. With RUMI, who loves me unconditionally, I am now shown the way to the dawn. It is at my feet, and together we step into the gift of a new day. So be it.”

“If you have a specific issue you would like addressed, hand it over to the Divine Beloved now by talking about it – just as if you were having a conversation with your oldest and dearest friend (for that is exactly what will be taking place). Then, when you have explained your feelings, your doubts or fears, let it go and know that the situation is held in the grace of the Great Beloved.

You have completed your sacred healing honouring ritual.”*

~ by Alana Fairchild

As you step into your truth, the most wonderful thing happens: your gifts rise to the surface to be explored and shared. When we are no longer burdened with keeping up appearances, compromising, holding on to falsehoods and masks, then hidden talents, skills, and passions have space to expand. We can really delve into what we Love. We can feed our Souls doing what we are most drawn to. This is how we get back on our Life Path; by following the guidance of our hearts.

When we are no longer held back by limiting thoughts and belief systems, we can finally let our true lights shine. We can learn; we can teach; we can share. We can let go of all the fear and doubt and embrace our new self worth. We can have the confidence in ourselves and our abilities. We know we can create magic and now we have the chance to get in there and actually do it!

As you expand into yourself, you inspire others to do the same; you literally give them permission to follow their own hearts. We support each other and we grow together. We share our unique perspectives on the world. We link arms with those who would follow similar paths and we all move forward together.

A sign is coming your way, watch for it. The Universe is going to throw a door open wide for you; anticipate it. For this is going to change everything.

Namaste

Dee

~Archangel Oracle

#you who show the way #rumi oracle #6 october 2020

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rethinkingthefaith · 4 years

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Wanted: An End to Dogmatic Religion

Dogmatists think it their sworn duty to pass judgment on their brethren. They see it as a great commandment to spatter fellow Christians with the title "heretic," and that duty they discharge with all diligence.

They also use such terms as "deceiver" and "false teacher," sometimes even “antichrist”, but their relationship with the word "heretic" is special. It echoes through the ages of religious bigotry. In a bygone era, the cry of "heretic" sent men and women to the flames and a host of unspeakable tortures at the hands of "the orthodox." It is only fitting, then, that today’s super-orthodox should have such an attachment to the word.

The amazing thing is that the issues that distinguish the "heretics" from the "orthodox" are highly abstract with few, if any, practical applications. Neither the precise natures of God and Christ, the dynamics of the atonement, nor the means of creation, produces the Christ-like goodness so essential to discipleship.

Dogmatism convolutes the mission of Christ. Why did Jesus walk among sinners and preach his message? Was it to make men theologically astute? Did Jesus come chiefly to give us right metaphysics, to present dogmas to the mind?

The doctrinal stalwart believes so, at least in part. To him, one of the great duties before God is to mark the right doctrinal box on the Christian checklist and to drive from the church all who don’t. The doctrine may have nothing to do with whether he loves God or neighbor, but to him, it is a matter of spiritual life and death. The dogmatist must expose all who deviate. He must ruin their reputations in the Christian community, and for this, he expects someday to hear the words, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

Many heretic hunters will respond by quoting New Testament passages that condemn false teachers. There must, therefore, be such a thing, and it must be incumbent upon the church to find them and drag them into the light of day. So goes the reasoning.

But the reasoning is flawed. Virtually every false teaching attacked in the New Testament is ethical in character. The biblical authors oppose these teachings because they led to either immoral living or harsh asceticism. The condemnation is not over the doctrine’s technical incorrectness, but over the consequences of belief in it.

Gnosticism, for example, in one form taught that matter was unredeemable. It made no difference to Gnostics, therefore, what one did with the body. This led to sexual promiscuity and perversion. The early churches were infected with this teaching. It endangered Christian purity. The New Testament writers condemned it on these grounds.

The Judaizing sects also caused problems in the church. They took the unfettered character of the faith and killed it. Austere Christians (as they do today) put heavy burdens on the saints. But Jesus never imposed any of these laws on his followers. Such things were never his emphasis. He knew they engendered only pride, an outward show of piety. This was the "other gospel" anathematized by Paul in Galatians. It was not an abstract belief about the nature of Jesus or the mechanics of salvation. This is a point the dogmatists always miss.

Another is that false teachers of Paul's day openly withstood the apostles and led away disciples after themselves. They shouted down the very messengers that Christ had sent into the world. For this Paul, John and others issued stern rebuke. But honest dissenters from orthodoxy today (at least the responsible ones) do not rise up and demonize Paul. They, like their orthodox detractors, acknowledge the New Testament authors as authoritative. It is a matter of differing interpretation of the same data, not a flouting of apostolic authority.

Still, the objection is common: The Bible enjoins us to follow sound doctrine, but the word "doctrine" simply means "teaching." We would really be better off if we discarded the old term "doctrine," for it is misleading. Many Christians think it means "abstract, theological concept," but there is no justification for this thinking. Any teaching is a doctrine. Jesus’ statement "love your enemies" is a doctrine, a teaching.

Another misunderstood word is "heresy." Look up the word in a concordance or a lexicon. You will find that it does not address doctrine per se, but only division. A heresy is anything that proves divisive. A heretic is one who ruins unity among brothers and sisters. Yes, false teaching can divide Christians, and thereby be a heresy, but so can true teaching and the insistence upon theological purity. Dogmatism is itself a heresy, maybe the worst. Few things have so severed the communion of saints. Few things have so pitted brother against brother, as William Ellery Channing so eloquently points out:

"It is truly wonderful, if excommunication for supposed error be the method of purifying the church, that the church has been so long and so woefully corrupted. Whatever may have been the deficiencies of Christians in other respects, they have certainly discovered no criminal reluctance in applying this instrument of purification. Could the thunders and lightnings of excommunication have corrected the atmosphere of the church, not one pestilential vapor would have loaded it for ages. The air of Paradise would not have been more pure, more refreshing. But what does history tell us? It tells us that the spirit of exclusion and denunciation has contributed more than all other causes to the corruption of the church, to the diffusion of error; and has rendered the records of the Christian community as black, as bloody, as revolting to humanity, as the records of empires founded on conquest and guilt." [1]

But, says the detractor, how do we know what to believe unless we have an orthodoxy pointing the way? The answer is that only those things that are obviously Christian – part and parcel of the church’s witness from day one – should be deemed indispensable. These are the great themes that traverse the sacred scriptures from cover to cover, then the life of the church from the first century to the 21st. They shape the character into the image of Jesus. These, and only these, are the non-negotiables.

I believe we must each decide for ourselves what these central tenets are. (The alternative is to let someone else decide for you.) I’ve come up with my own list of non-negotiables. They are small in number, but are believed by nearly all Christians in one form or another. Dogmatists complain that these things are "least-common denominators," but in today’s increasingly secular age, they may yet be revolutionary.

I would include the following:

God is a Heavenly Father, characterized by love, goodness and justice.

Jesus bore a profound relation to God and exhibited the divine characteristics to a profound degree.

He was crucified as a supreme act of self-sacrifice. Three days later, his followers had an encounter with him that shook their lives and changed the world.

By the Holy Spirit, he bears a special relation to his people, who have found him to be a source of strength, healing, inner peace.

There is a future life.

Wickedness and righteousness will be recompensed.

God desires that we live in faith, peace, love, goodness, self-control, servant-hood.

Prayer is of great benefit.

There exists a family of saints, an intimate connection between members of the faith family. They meet regularly, become involved in each other’s lives, partake of the Lord’s Supper and practice baptism in one form or another.

No, this is not a creed. Creeds are meant to condemn non-conformists. It is a personal interpretation of what is basic to Christian faith. If someone wants to omit baptism, for example, for his or her belief system, I won’t hurl insulting names at them or deny them the Christian name. I will simply realize that not all Christians see things as I do.

My list omits doctrinal refinements, such the nature of God, the atonement, the meaning of inspiration. I believe these are side issues. To be openly dogmatic about them is to sow dissension and, thereby, become a true heretic.

If we must adhere to a creed, let it be that ancient minimalist statement of faith, the Apostle's Creed. Here is a basic set of truths that most Christians can agree upon (give or take a few points). For large portions of Christendom, this sufficed for a long time. Not until Christ's people drank deeply from the well of Greek speculation did the arcane become binding.

The world is unimpressed with our erudite arguments. Our metaphysics seldom lay hold of the human heart. But when a group of social-minded Christians moves into a disaster area to fix houses, people notice. When a man accustomed to wild, self-centered living, adopts a Christian character, it astounds all who know him. Nobody cares whether he embraces one of the historic creeds. They see life, and that's all that matters to them.

It is time, more than ever, to unite on the heart of Christian faith, to live it rather than demand conformity to somebody’s idea of "essentials," and to exalt the parable of the Good Samaritan above the churches’ most hallowed creeds and confessions.

Dogmatism has had its day. Its chronicles reek of shed blood. Broken lives and relationships litter its halls. But a new day is here, theological bigotry must now be relegated to the dead past.

Dogmatism needs a stake through its heart.

Footnotes

1 Channing, W.E., "The System of Exclusion and Denunciation in Religion Considered," from The Works of William E. Channing, D.D, (Boston: American Unitarian Association) 1889, p. 488.

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 6 years

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The Privilege of Prayer

by James Hamilton

“Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing.” - 1 Thessalonians 5:16-17

Few expressions in theology are older than that which speaks of the "privilege of prayer." But nothing could be a greater novelty, in the history of some who now hear me, than to find prayer an actual privilege. Am I wrong? "The privilege of prayer!" Do not some feel that the burden of prayer, the obligation, the duty, would be a truer name for it? Do not some of you feel that to call it a privilege is just to give a pleasant name to an irksome thing? If so, instead of initiating you in a new science, that individual would do you a better service who should give you fresh light on this old truth, and make you feel that not only has prayer power with God, but [that it] is very nearly the highest privilege of man.

Let us make a supposition. Suppose that the individual in this kingdom, who combines in himself the greatest wisdom and goodness, were accessible to you. Suppose that when anything pressed upon you -- a difficulty from which your own sagacity could not extricate you, or an undertaking which your own resources could not compass -- you had only to send him a statement of the case, and were sure, in good time, to get his best and kindest counsel. Would not you deem this a great privilege?

Would not something of this sort just meet the case of many here? One is entering on a new course of occupation, and in its very outset meets with problems that fairly baffle him, but which a friend of a little more experience or perspicacity could instantly solve. Another is overtaken by a sea of troubles -- a concourse of trials which quite overwhelm him, but through which he perfectly believes that a stronger arm or a more buoyant spirit could carry him. But where shall he look for that wiser friend -- that stronger arm?

Suppose again that when in sudden danger or in deep distress there were some way by which you could make known your situation to a spirit departed. That spirit is now far wiser than he was when on earth. He has sources of knowledge that are not open to you, and he has powers not yet possessed by you. Suppose that in grief or in difficulty you could invoke him. Suppose that there were some process by which you could arrest his ear among the glorified, and in the lapse of a brief moment bring him, though unseen, to your side. And suppose that to this spirit made perfect (the spirit of your departed parent or of someone remarkable for his wisdom and sanctity) you could detail the whole matter that grieves and perplexes you; and though there should be no response from the viewless shade, you knew that he had heard you and was away to interpose effectively on your behalf. Would you not feel much comforted and lightened? Would you not resume your own active exertions with far greater hopefulness, assured that there would now attend them a power beyond what was proper to them or inherent in yourself?

But further, suppose that instead of any wise or influential personage on earth or any glorified spirit in paradise, it was possible for you to secure the ear and engage the help of one of the principalities or powers in the heavenly places, some being of such bright intelligence that he can smile at all our wisdom, and [of] such commanding might that he can do in a moment what would occupy our race for a millennium. Could you for an instant bespeak his attention and gain assurance of his willingness to help, would you not feel that your object was unspeakably promoted, or your burden amazingly lightened? To have enlisted such ability and skill upon your side [by means of] the few minutes spent in securing such superhuman help, would you not feel that they [those minutes] were a larger contribution towards eventual success than a lifetime of your personal efforts?

But rise a step higher -- an infinite step! -- and suppose that it were possible to arrest the ear and secure the help of the Most High. Suppose that you could, by any possibility, gain the attention of the living God, that you could secure not the cold and distant on-looking but the interested regard and the omnipotent interposition of Jehovah himself. Would not this be a privilege? But this is precisely what prayer is.

Some have no friend of extraordinary sagacity or power to go to. The spirits of the departed cannot come to us; and neither to them nor to angels are we warranted to pray. And even though we could evoke a Samuel from the sepulchre or bring down Gabriel from above the sky, the blessings which are most needful for us are such as neither Samuel nor Gabriel can give -- blessings of which the treasure lies within the light inaccessible, and of which Omnipotence alone preserves the key. That Almighty hand prayer moves. That incommunicable key prayer turns. That unapproachable treasure prayer opens. The blessings which Solomon in all his glory, and Abraham in the bosom of his God, and the seraphs who overshadow the throne, -- the blessings which these have not to impart, it is the privilege of prayer to procure.

But set it in another light. Imagine that there had been certain limitations on prayer. Imagine that there had only been one spot on the earth from which prayer could arise with acceptance. Imagine -- by no means inconceivable, for there was once something very like it -- imagine that the Lord had selected some little spot of earth, a Mount Zion or a Holy Land, and said that here and here only was the place to worship. Imagine that from this hallowed spot alone there had existed a passage into heaven for the prayers of earth, and that all supplications, however earnest, uttered on the profane soil of the common globe had gone for nothing. What a resorting we should have seen to this place of only prevalency! When there occurred some conjuncture [crisis] decisive of weal or woe to an individual or a family, or when a man became so anxious about his soul's salvation that nothing could content him save light from above, [then] we should have seen the busy trader arranging for his protracted absence, and the cautious untraveled husbandman preparing for the perilous pilgrimage, and multitudes on their own behalf or on behalf of others resorting to the place where prayer is heard and answered.

And imagine, further, that there had just been one day in the year when prayer was permitted; that those who arrived at the appointed place too late found the gate of access closed for the next twelve months; and however sudden the emergency and however extreme its exigency, that it was impossible to do anything for it till the weary year moved round and brought back the one propitious day. Even thus restricted, would not prayer have been felt to be a privilege worth a pilgrimage and worth a long on-waiting?

Just fancy that in our earth's yearly revolution round the sun there was disclosed a crevice in the sky; that on one night in the year and on one mountaintop there was a vista opened through the encircling vault and a sight of dazzling glories revealed to all who gazed from the favored summit. And fancy that through the brilliant gap there fell a shower of gold and gems, and that this recurred regularly on the self-same evening every year. What a concourse to that Pisgah might you count upon! How many eager eyes would strain the breathless hour beforehand till the first streak of radiance betokened the bursting glory! And how many emulous hands would rush together to catch the flaming rubies and the diamond-rain!

And just conceive -- the only other supposition we shall make -- that certain costly or arduous preliminaries were essential in order to successful prayer. Suppose that a day's strict abstinence or some painful self-punishment were exacted; or that each worshiper were required to bring in his hand some costly offering -- the choicest of his flock, or a large percentage on his income. And who would say that this was unreasonable? Would not access into God's own presence -- a favor so ineffable -- would it not be wisely purchased at any price? And might not sinful "dust and ashes" marvel that after any ordeal or purifying process it was admitted near such Majesty?

But how stands the case? Prayer is not a consultation with the highest wisdom which this world can supply. It is not intercourse with an angel or a spirit made perfect. But it is an approach to the living God. It is access to the High and Holy One who inhabits eternity. It is detailing in the ear of Divine sympathy every sorrow. It is consulting with Divine wisdom on every difficulty. It is asking from Divine resources the supply of every want. And this not once in a lifetime or for a few moments on a stated day of each year, but at any moment, at every time of need.

Whatever be the day of your distress, it is a day when prayer is allowable. Whatever be the time of your calamity, it is a time when prayer is available. However early in the morning you seek the gate of access, you find it already open. And however deep the midnight moment when you find yourself in the sudden arms of death, the winged prayer can bring an instant Saviour near. And this wheresoever you are. It needs not that you ascend some special Pisgah or Moriah. It needs not that you should enter some awful shrine or put off your shoes on some holy ground.

Could a memento be reared on every spot from which an acceptable prayer has passed away, and on which a prompt answer has come down, we should find Jehovah-shammah -- "the Lord has been here" -- inscribed on many a cottage hearth and many a dungeon floor. We should find it not only in Jerusalem's proud temple and David's cedar galleries, but in the fisherman's cottage by the brink of Gennesaret and in the upper chamber where Pentecost began. And whether it be the field where Isaac went to meditate, or the rocky knoll where Jacob lay down to sleep, or the brook where Israel wrestled, or the den where Daniel gazed on the hungry lions and the lions gazed on him, or the hillsides where the Man of Sorrows prayed all night, we should still discern the prints of the ladder's feet let down from heaven--the landing place of mercies because the starting point of prayers.

And all this whatsoever you are. It needs no saint, no [one] proficient in piety, no [one] adept in eloquent language, no dignitary of earthly rank. It needs but a simple Hannah, or a lisping Samuel. It needs but a blind beggar or a loathsome lazar [leper]. It needs but a penitent publican or a dying thief.

And it needs no sharp ordeal, no costly passport, no painful expiation to bring you to the mercy seat. Or rather, I should say [that] it needs the costliest of all. But the blood of atonement, the Saviour's merit, the name of Jesus -- priceless as they are -- cost the sinner nothing. They are freely put at his disposal, and instantly and constantly he may use them. This access to God in every place, at every moment, without any price or any personal merit, is it not a privilege?

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ccjinxxandjake · 6 years

Text

Done for You

Chapter Title: Exordium

Author: Max

Word Count: 6,348

Warnings: Fluff, angst, smut, suicide, suicide notes, character death, minor character death, implied/referenced character death, original character death(s), temporary character death, past character death, near death experiences, child death, animal death, not really character death, possible character death, near death, slow burn, slow to update, slow romance, tags may change, rating may change

Rating: Teen audiences and up

Summary: A fanfiction based off of Wretched and Divine and Vale aka an overhaul of a fanfiction that I had been writing for a few years.

Main pairing: Undecided

Author’s Note: Don’t forget to comment because comments are what keep me going and make me want to continue writing. I do not get paid to write this and I could be using this time to study for my AP Government and Politics exam and all of my college courses (I’m a dual enrollment child). Comments are your way of giving me my “paycheck” and feedback on my writing so I can improve to actually earn a paycheck from this in the future. So please help me put by commenting, liking and reblogging this.

I wasn't meant to survive this. I wasn't meant to be the last one alive. I wasn't meant to be the only survivor of this attack. I had friends whose lives were more valuable than mine. My best friends who knew I wasn't meant to have this life. I wasn't meant to be the last one here. The last one to survive this attack. I was meant to take my last breath with them, or without them as they would have been the ones to survive. But now they were dead, in a circle around me. My best friend's head laid on my lap. His light brown eyes looked up at me. A smile was painted on his face. He seemed so peaceful and I wished I was with him but I wasn't. I couldn't handle the pain of having him in my lap. He was dead, there was a dead body in my lap. I lost my best friend and the pain was too much too bear. My heart was in pieces as I looked at my other friends. They were my favorite people on the entire planet. "Police! Come out with your hands on your head!" The door was locked but I could hear the knob jingling. I didn't want to move. He was still here, still in my lap. I looked up and put my hands on my head. I pulled my eyes off of my dead friend and looked up. My eyes drifted to the only door in the room. A shadow appeared in front of the frosted glass window. “Come in, please, don’t hurt me! My friends are dead and three of them are on me. I can’t move them. I’ve been in here for days.” I really couldn’t move them at all. I had been here for a few days with no food. My body was too weak to move three grown men off of my small body. The door came down after three large thuds, probably from a policeman banging against it. The door gave way and three policemen, full SWAT gear, came in. My friends were light up by flashlights. My hands were on my head still. The police looked me over and my weak body. I probably looked like I was going to die. I probably would have if the police hadn’t found me. “What are you doing here?” One man lifted his mask and looked at me. He had dark brown eyes and cropped blonde hair. My heart sped up as I looked up at him. “That’s a bit classified.” I replied as snakily as I could while in my position. I raised an eyebrow and looked up at him. His smile grew as I looked at him. A smirk grew on my face. He chuckled and bent down to look at me. “Now baby, I don’t think you want to say that around someone who could move these bodies.” I rolled my eyes and looked at me as I turned to look at the dark haired man next to me. “Then I guess I’ll just have to move them myself.” I shrugged as a glow began in my stomach. A deep, rich red that began to flow through my veins and towards my hands. A ball slowly began to form within my hands. I smiled and touched the body of the friend’s who herd was in my lap. His eyes glowed red and moved closer to me, pulling himself up. I smiled lightly, touching the two friends next to me. They did the same and looked at the police man. He looked on in terror as I touched my last friend. He also stood and began to work his way towards the policeman as I stood up weakly. A smile appeared onto my face as my ammoniated body began to move. “W-w-what the hell? What are you?” He asked, shuffling backwards. His friends turned from inspecting the rest of the room. Their eyes widened as they looked at me. I smirked and looked at his partners. My friends moaned, drooling lightly. I smiled and looked at the man’s friends. My friends screeched an ungodly noise and lunged towards the police. In a flash of blood, guts and flesh, the police were gone. I smiled and brought the friends back towards me. They collapsed into a pile of guts and onto the tarp I had brought with me. I wrapped them up and smiled lightly, throwing the wrapped up bodies over my shoulder. I turned and ripped the police badge off of the man’s chest. I also took his friend’s badges and shoved it into my back pocket. I turned and walked down out of the room. My body was hurt but I knew that I had to get out of here as fast as possible. I turned and looked at the empty room, well empty expect for the fact that there were dead bodies in there. We smiled and looked in front of me. The light from the sun came in from small skylights above my head and a small door, the one I had come through when I was sent on this mission. I smiled and headed towards it. I giggled and looked at the sun as soon as I got outside. The sun hit my face and giggled as I looked up. I smiled and looked at the dessert ahead of me. We won’t call it a fight when we know it’s a war. I always felt sorry for the people we lost. I’m sorry if you want to call this a fight. I’m sorry that you have such bigoted views that you want to say that this whole situation that you left us in is a fight. That a lot of people were too extreme when all we wanted was equal rights. That’s all we wanted were our rights and that’s all we wanted. We were slaughtering ourselves with our bad decisions. These bad decisions lead to a war. A civil war, to be more honest. A war of which was worse than any of the world had ever seen. The bloodshed came in the tons of gallons and the bodies came in the hundreds of thousands. The bodies were so high in number that no one knew where to put them. So, there were mass graves underneath the cities. These were the biggest cities, of course, as they had the highest populations. There were tons of dead. Tons of dead bodies. All of which decaying right now. There were also loads of lost spirits. All Hallow’s eve was the worst. We were overrun. When all the spirits came to play, we hid. We hid like madmen. Ghosts ran free. We had been trapped. There were humongous catacombs under the cities. People could go and visit them anytime they wanted. But only on special, designated holidays. The catacombs were closed the rest of the year. They were very eerie and creepy when you moved through them. They were filled with cobwebs and bones, no shit. Bones filled the floors and if you weren’t careful, you’d crush the bones. We weren’t supposed to crush the bones. You would be cursed if you crushed a bone. Then you weren’t allowed back into the catacombs. You would never be able to see your family or ancestors again. I guess that wasn’t okay for most, but okay for others. I never knew someone who was banished from the catacombs. Technically all Wild Ones were banned though, but we all snuck in anyways. Well, everyone but me since I had no family. Not many Wild Ones had families either. Not many of us did and we were able to sneak those who had families. We were happy to help them out to see their families. But it was highly illegal and just one of the many rights we had lost to the Free Ones, or normal people. Wild Ones were outcasts from society and most people were. Some outcasts even were able to assimilate into the culture. They hid in plain sight. We were just the outcasts from the outcasts. We were the worst of the worst. The most terrible of society, the unfixable. We were mostly anyone who wasn’t white, and even some white kids were here, and who weren’t fitting into the norm. People hunted us all down because some of us had this special blood. They needed us to make some special serum and we were going against that. We needed to run away from them. We were not going to leave our fates in the hands of some weirdo. The end of the world as we know it did not come quickly. The end came very slowly, in fact. Laws were slowly passed and people were taken away to government facilities. There were no bombs and there were no wars. That war was called The War on F.E.A.R by news outlets. People who rebelled were called Wild Ones. Wild Ones were the outcasts of society. They were the rockers and the metalheads. Wild Ones were what “normal” and “regular” people called emos, goths and scene kids. Of course, some of them are emo, goth and scene. But not all of them were. The people who didn’t rebel were normies. They were the one hundred and eighty degree total opposite of the Wild Ones. Then there was F.E.A.R, the religion and idea that controlled every little movement of everyone. The government religion that was created out of fear, obviously, of the religion of Islam. They wanted to be able to keep different people out of our great United States of America. The president even decided to build a wall separating America from Mexico. That’s when it all started in my mind. Others trace it back to that election. They said too many people were blind to the right choice. There were too many bigots in the world and that election showed it. The War on F.E.A.R has been raging for years, generations in fact. The war stretched back as far as anyone could remember. Children were left homeless orphans, cold and hungry as they were left in the streets. Parents were left in the dusty streets. All because they didn’t conform to the regulations that the new government had set in place. The rules were so strict that even people complained that we were no better than the robots we had long since destroyed. This happened way before any of us were born. We are children of war. We don’t know any different. We know nothing other than tears and bloodshed. We are one heartbeat, one life. We just did not know it yet. We were ignorant to that fact until half of our population was dead or dying. Normalcy was not a subject the world was used to. It had never been used to normalcy. It had been constantly changing and growing since Pangea, the supercontinent. They were still pulling out of conflicts caused by a president who will go down in infamy as one of the most hated presidents in the history of America. No one thought to make an attempt on his life. Many people talked a big game but all of them were too cowardly to actually do anything about it. That was until the president was killed by a man named William. He and his Shadows killed the president to take over for themselves. I sat inside an old cathedral. It was wood and stone, mostly crumbling and beautiful. The stained glass windows were broken for the most part but the desert sun spilled through the unbroken glass splattering colors on the golden dirt ground. I moved like I was on broken glass. My back never to the door for long. I was scared of being tracked down by my old boyfriend and his Shadows. I had betrayed him and the cause we had worked for. That and the cathedral was off limits for F.E.A.R was always watching. They were especially watching me, for I had been one of them once way back when I strayed from the light of the Wild Ones and had believed in the power of F.E.A.R. The cathedral was on the outside of a run down Los Angeles. I learned from war lessons that Los Angeles was a bustling city and was a major hub for F.E.A.R supporters. Los Angeles was one of the first major cities to be taken over. Los Angeles, then Seattle, Washington D.C and Cleveland were in the first wave. Slowly other cities feel to the power of F.E.A.R. When they, F.E.A.R, were found out to be a pretty bad group in their own right, a group of rebels formed. Their name was unestablished until F.E.A.R deemed the rebels “The Wild Ones” after their wild and unpredictable nature. I was apart of them as soon as I learned of their plans to kill off anyone with special powers. Let me pause for a second and talk to about F.E.A.R for those of you who somehow stumbled upon this story by accident and I hope you stay until the end. I hope I make it to the end, to be honest. I guess the both of us will see who makes it farther, me or you. Last one to the last sentence is a goner. They’re the one who avoided and probably read the most spoilers. They’ve probably even see some awesome fanart. I really hope that there’s fanart of me. I don’t want to become one of those stories. I want to have a cult following and everything. I don’t want to be forgotten. I normally came to this cathedral to pray and meditate. Though, I never really took in the beauty of the run down place I came to on a weekly basis. I had been coming here once a week for most of my life. This was the only place where I truly felt comfortable with myself. I wasn’t overly conscious about my weight or appearance when I came here. It’s not unlike the US government to make everyone’s life a little bit worse. Some of us were rightfully pissed. Others turned to the church set up by the government. Those who turned to the church ended up seriously messed up. The whole church was just a set up. They brainwashed people and spit them out into the world. Those who were brainwashed had a mission. A mission to brainwash and control other people. The church controlled the whole government. People were just too blind to see what was really going on in the world. The human race was clearly fucked up. The president of the United States of America was going batshit. He mocked disabled people. He was clearly a misogynistic asshole. He was homophobic and transphobic. He lead the entire country to hate instead of love when just a few years early gay marriage was legalized. The president was just so aggravating and terrible. The whole world was fucking crushed. The US president brought our world to its knees. I had been taught by one of the Wild Ones. A man who went by the name of Mystic. I called him Jinxx and he had allowed me to harness my elemental powers safely, even if he only knew how to control fire. Fire was the easiest one to learn as Mystic was a good teacher. Luckily, I had learned one of the more dangerous of my powers first. Then the Prophet, a pretty douchey guy by the name of Andy, taught me how to control my seeing powers. Now I was on a whole new watchlist for F.E.A.R. I was never put on any kind of wanted list or anything, but I knew that I was being watched. Being this far away from base with my warpaint on was dangerous. My warpaint wasn't subtle to say the least. It consisted of red and gold feathers that extended from the middle of my forehead all the way and into my hairline. A mask covered everything from my forehead and down to my top lip. It was an old bird masquerade mask that we had picked up on one of our raids. One of the people on the raids had said that the mask suited my fiery personality and said I should take it for my own. So, I did and it became apart of my persona ever since. My life as a Wild One definitely wasn’t very conventional. I’ll admit to that fact almost immediately. I started off basically on the other team in my first few years of life. Then I was taken to the other side of the war. Eventually, by my own will and someone else’s, I was pulled back to the other side. From there, I bounced back to the other side and that’s where I am right now. From there on, I was being watched for any time that I was alone. I was sure that I would be pulled back to the “evil” and “terrible” side sooner than later. I’m not essentially evil or immoral. My “magic” isn’t evil or immoral. It’s just shades of grey instead of black and white. I have done evil or immoral actions in my life. Every human has done those types of actions in their lives. Does allowing a singular evil or immoral act to consume your life evil or immoral? Welp, that depends on the human being asked. I do believe that does make a person evil or immoral. If you let those feelings of guilt consume you, you become evil and immoral. I sat down in a dusty and old oak pew who’s hinges groaned in disgust as I sat down. I looked at the man people called Jesus in the old times. I dropped my bag of people on the floor. I looked over at the room and sighed lightly. I smiled and looked at the stained glass windows. What if there was a huge city here once? One with more churches like this. One with more freedoms and more rights given out. A world where America was actually a good country. I wouldn’t know if it would have been the best for me, living in the past, but I knew it was good for some people. I just felt bad that I had to fight for these rights. I sighed and looked down and picked up a bible from the back of the pew in front of me. “‘The kingdom of God is inside you, and all around you. Not in a mansion of wood and stone. Split a piece of wood and God is there. Lift a stone and you will find God.’ It honestly sounds like a bunch of bullshit. Hmmm, I wonder if anyone actually believed in this stuff. Like really believed in it. So much so that they went to this place to worship their gods. I guess not considering that the world almost at its end. Maybe they did and they watched the world end as they prayed for the world not to end.” I got up and brushed off the dirt my ruined leather jeans and walk away, leaving the book. I hurried back and pick up the book, taking it with me. I had changed my mind, it might turn to be useful later. I don’t know how it would be useful to any of the Wild Ones, but it just might save our lives one day. It wasn’t like we needed to be saved from anyone other than F.E.A.R. But, F.E.A.R was just a concept made to confine the United States citizens and other select groups in the world. This book might allow for the Wild Ones to gain some knowledge for F.E.A.R. F.E.A.R was a construct created by the angry cheeto known to some as the forty fifth president. His name has been wiped clean of anyone who was there to see his term as president. We choose not to remember what he did because it was just that abominable. He was not our president, he was a way to get F.E.A.R into power. He let them take over and he let them start a war on us. He saw when we were at our most vulnerable. Then he launched his carefully thought out plan to exterminate us. He may have seemed very dumb at the time. He went on twitter rants and made obscene comments. Yet, he was much more cunning than the rest of us gave him credit for. He was the most cunning man to grace this earth, other than Hitler. You must give both men credit where credit was due. They were cunning man who knew how to manipulate people. If you could manipulate people, you could have anything you wanted. From a strategic standpoint, both men were utter geniuses. This doesn’t excuse their behavior at all. Yet, many people only look at what horrible actions they took. If only they looked at their actions like actual war. The games that they played with actual human beings. Instead, they thought of them were pawns. All humans were in their minds were pawns. They were just a bunch of chess pieces to them. As a matter of fact, humans are still pawns. They are the pawns of their religion, their beliefs, their values and their moral codes. They will never truly be free minded humans. Feebleness is not a weakness as some might lead others to believe. Every person has a weakness that they won’t show to others. Some mess up and their weakness gets them in trouble with the laws set up by society. Pedophiles and caregivers to non-age regressing littles are weak for little children and have an innate desire for sex with young children or those who act like little children. Rapists are weak for non consensual sex with other people. Serial killers have a weakness for their untreated mental illness which bring them to kill or just kill even though their mental health is in wonderful condition. Others have more physical constraints to them. Some people suffer from arthritis in certain joints. Others suffer from less serious mental illnesses. Either way, we will be tested, not only on our physical capabilities, but our mental ones as well. In high school, people always talk about grade point averages and test scores. The higher a person ranks, the more likely that person will have a better life. More opportunities are set before these people. They are allowed to live the high life if they so choose to take it. The lower scoring people are looked down upon. They are given the jobs no one else wants. But that does not mean that people can rise and fall in ranks. Scandals and miracles happen all of the time. This all depends on the person’s willingness to move forward in life and the laziness of the people who are accustomed to the luxurious lifestyle. I trudged back to the flattened city, my legs paining me with every step. My legs were so sore and they had been for nearly three weeks. I had taken the hike back to the compound like this almost every day. Sometimes I would have someone accompany me with a set of wheels. Then we would make our way back in record time. I had had enough energy to essentially fly myself here, but my powers in the element of air were pretty weak. They drained me if I used them for long. Too long essentially means like five seconds and that is quite depressing. I needed more training with my wings but Jinxx was never free. He always had some other trainee in the room with him. So now I had to walk ten miles back to the town square with a constant fear of being captured. It’s not like I would get captured on my way back home, it was just another fear of mine. Fear is what had always controlled me. I turned and looked over my shoulder as I looked at him. I just had to make sure that I was alone. It wasn’t like I was paranoid or anything. But I just needed to. I kept walking and sighed lightly. I wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. I didn’t need to be here anymore. I wasn’t meant to meant to be here and I knew it. I didn’t need to be here. I smiled and looked down lightly. I sat down on the hot sand and looked up. It reminded me of the day Andy picked me up. One day I was reminded of very often. Especially here in the desert so near to when I was found. ~ The hot afternoon sun beat down upon his back. Andy moved closer and closer to the funeral pyre. Ashley stood behind him, his chocolate brown eyes wide in fear and wonder. The pyre still smoked and it seemed like it had gone up in flames only a few hours before. Andy slowly moved closer to the skeleton of a Shadow. Its cloak and clothing had burned easily as cloth was always the first to go when lit on fire. The air stank of burning flesh. Andy pulled a bandana over his face and moved even closer. The skeleton moved slightly and Andy pulled back, holding out an arm to stop Jinxx from moving any closer to the skeleton. All of the kids were between ten and seventeen. “I have to investigate Andy. You know how important this discovery is to my research.” Jinxx held up his ripped up black leather journal and a stubby pencil. Andy shook his head and Jake pushed forward. Ashley stopped him and CC sat on the ground, pulling out a bag of M&Ms and munching on them. Andy looked back at CC with a fire in his eyes. CC rolled his eyes and stowed the M&Ms away. He slowly stood up and glanced over at Jinxx who gave CC a nod and a knowing glance. CC took this as permission to keep eating his candy, so he opened his bag back up and began munching on the candy once again. CC sat down again and a plume of soft dirt flowed up behind him. “I don’t give a crap about your freaking research Jinxx.” Jinxx gasped, astonished by Andy’s language. CC smiled and leaned back, taking in the sun on his, at the time, pale face. Jake moved up and behind Jinxx. Andy nodded and let Jinxx move forward. Andy watched on as Jinxx leaned over the Shadow. He checked over the skeletal figure and poked at it with his pencil. Flesh clung to the figure like wet clothes to a person after a long storm. The fire must have been put out before the skin had been completely burned off. Most of the skin was charred and it was next to impossible to see what age, race and gender the Shadow was originally. Jinxx was launched back in fear when a ten year old rose out of a pile of ashes underneath the Shadow’s stomach. “Who am I? Where am I?” A young girl said. She had raven black hair, one baby blue eye and another flame orange eye. She was tall and lanky. She was crying, the tears on her face sparkling in the desert sun like diamonds. CC stood up and slowly walked towards the girl. Jake pulled a First Aid kit out of Jinxx’s sack, which Jinxx had dropped when he went to go investigate the Shadow. Andy watched on as the rest of his team went into action, pulling the girl into a standing position. They looked over her, checking for any injuries. Andy moved closer and closer, eventually he was standing near her. The girl smiled at him as Ashley pulled her hair back. “She’s got a tag!” Ashley said, urgently. Everyone crowded around her neck. There were a few numbers tagged onto her neck, almost burned like a brand. Those letters and numbers called her to a place, location, owner and date. The date was too hard for anyone to read as it had been burned off. “HOT dash CLE dash SHA dash FIV. The rest is burned off. We don’t know a date.” Tags were always written in three letter code. HOT meant hotel, CLE meant Cleveland, SHA meant Shadow and FIV meant five or the fifth month of the year, May. Dates were everything in this kind of branding. That was when a slave or Shadow was born. That determined when they could be sold off to other pods. Pods were basically small forms of people put under the watch of a voice of F.E.A.R. Shadows and slaves were then sold off to other pods and constantly shifted around. ~ I kept moving and sighed to myself. Nothing else would work and I would be missed. If I dropped and never came back, someone would know. My body dropped and I sat on the hot sand. Someone would come for me. I was the most valuable asset to the Wild Ones. I was their last hope for any kind of salvation. Andy said I was some sort of angel fallen from heaven. That I had fallen when I was a baby because whoever was up there dropped me. That I was meant to save them. I didn’t know how true that was. Rumors swirled that he needed me to be an angel because he was losing support. That he needed me to make his support from other people grow stronger. I didn’t want to believe the rumors either. I didn’t want to think about him being a liar. Or at least, him deceiving me all of these years. I wanted to believe the memories he gave me. I wanted to believe in him, a prophet. I really did and he never seemed to want to be able to give into what actually happened. I sighed as I stood up and kept walking towards the city. Someone was bound to notice my absence. I had been gone half the day. Andy was sure to notice my absence. I turned and began working on my way back. The sand hit my eyes, making me tear up, and I pulled some goggles over my eyes. I smiled and looked down. I was heading home. I was heading back to the only home I ever knew. I only knew this home. I smiled and looked over at the city. It was gorgeous from way out here. I smiled and looking at him. I looked down a bit. I smiled and looked at him, the city. He smiled at me. I was amazing and I knew that much. I was this city’s savior. The only one who could save anyone. I walked and walked. I was miles away from the city. My absence would sure to be noticed. I was going to be noticed as soon as I got home. My feet pounded on the hard ground as I looked around, nothing to be see for miles. The sand hit my face as the wind picked up. A sandstorm was on its way. I needed to get home soon. I was going to be caught in the storm. I turned and looked at the city. It was getting closer to me. The city looked at me as I sighed I did the same. I was going home. The wind kicked up as I pulled my goggles closer to my eyes. Sand was already pushing into my eyes. I sighed and looked down lightly. Tears filled my eyes as I tried to get the sand that had entered my eyes out of them. My pace picked up as I began to jog back to the compound. I was still a few miles around and I would take awhile to get home. I sighed and kept jogging. I jogged all the way home, hoping that no one would miss me. I walked past the receptionist and smiled, knowing she wouldn’t complain about the dead body smell or look. I put the bodies back into their animated state and they began to move around freely. I never kept my friends dead for long. They were my favorite people and they willingly died for me every once in awhile when I had to do a mission. Luckily they were cool about maybe being dead for a few hours to a few weeks. “What’s up with us staying dead for like a few days? That rigor mortis shit really fucking hurts.” Chris came out of his room and smiled lightly as he stretched. “It’s not my fault that the police took three days to come find me. It’s not like my phone was fully charged that entire time. Not like we set up near an outlet or anything.” I smiled and giggled as I looked at Chris. Vinny walked out of his room and smiled at me, sitting across from me at the table. We had gutted the whole top floor of the apartment, much to our amazement as we thought that the landlord would shut down, and now I lived here with ten other men. “Chris, you should go shower. You smell like death.” Vinny pinched his nose and giggled lightly. I smiled and looked at him, nodding lightly. “Of course, but you need to shower after me.” Chris smiled and looked at Vinny as he nodded. I turned and looked at the maps spread out across the table. I smiled and played another pin in the map, right where the school was. “How was the mission, did you kill Justin?” Andy leaned on the door frame of one of the old apartment buildings. I smiled and looked at him, nodding lightly. I produced the badges from my back pocket. I smiled as Andy took the badges. His hands moved lightly as I giggled lightly, proud of my accomplishment. He nodded and looked at me, heading back into his room. "Hey, good job on the mission." Ashley looked at me and smiled lightly, patting my shoulder lightly. I smiled and blushed lightly. Getting praise from Ashley was possibly the best part of doing any mission. I thought he was super cute and I had developed a small crush on him. He smiled and looked down at me. "Thanks." I smiled and looked at him, he smiled and looked at me. I broke eye contact and looked over the maps. What would be the next mission? Who would I take down next? "I think you need to take a break from doing missions." He looked at me and smiled lightly, touching the small of my back, electricity shot up my spine. A blush creeped up to my cheeks. "No, no I don't. I want to take up another mission. A lone mission." I turned and looked at him, bouncing on the balls of my feet lightly. He shook his head and crossed his arms. Ashley tapped his foot and bit his lip as he looked over the map. He clicked his tongue a few times, eyes scanning the California map. "I know taking down F.E.A.R means a lot to you but, I don't think that you need to go on any more missions. I mean, look at you, you need to at least eat." He looked me over and sighed. I rolled my eyes and sighed lightly. He was right and I couldn't deny it. I definitely hadn't eaten in a few days. "I'll at least eat, do we have any food in the house or do I have to make a grocery run?" I raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "You need to make a grocery run." Ashley raised an eyebrow, smiling lightly as I nodded lightly and smirked a bit. I ran into my bedroom and grabbed a black down jacket. A grocery run basically meant that I was going to go to a Target or somewhere else that sold food and necessities. Someone else would accompany me and I would take as much as possible. Normally Ashley would accompany me. We would stuff my coat and pockets with food. Most time we would go during the morning, when there were less people there. We would only take what wouldn't get us dinged at the security scanners. But we had found other ways out, like the emergency exits. A few employees would help us a bit but those were the people who hated working at the stores. Ashley and I had a lot of fun doing these "raids". "Ready to go?" I asked, coming out of my room and smiled. Ashley nodded as he finished tying his hair back into a bun. CC came out of his room and smiled, looking us over. "Going on a raid?" He asked as turned towards the fridge, opening it up. I heard his stomach growl as I looked at him. I smiled and looked at him. He shrugged and looked at me. "Yeah, might have want to let me answer that before you opened up the fridge." I laughed and looked at him lightly. CC walked over to me and looked at me. "Can I come with you then? Pick up a bit of food for myself?" CC asked as I prepared to go out on the raid. I smiled and looked at him, finishing up my job. "Of course you can come with us, the more fingers the better." I smiled and looked at him. He smiled and nodded, throwing on some sandals and heading out with us.

#my superman #jake pitts #unicorn #ashley purdy #lion haired man #christian coma #koala bear #jinxx bvb #andy biersack #done for you

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circe-poetica · 4 years

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33.You, Who Show The Way:

You, Who Show The Way, from the RUMI Oracle Card deck, by Alana Fairchild, artwork by Rassouli

~ By RUMI

You have completed your sacred healing honouring ritual.”*

~ by Alana Fairchild

A sign is coming your way, watch for it. The Universe is going to throw a door open wide for you; anticipate it. For this is going to change everything.

Namaste

Dee

~ https://archangeloracle.com/

#you who show the way #18 december 19 #rumi oracle #rumi

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tipsycad147 · 5 years

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Cauldron Magick (Vessel Magick)

By Ardriana Cahill

“Every hollow holds a hallow.”

This essay began as an essay on cauldron magick but it was impossible for me to not see the comparison of certain kinds of magick and divination that can also be done where chalices or bowls are employed, such as in my family magickal tradition. So although it is primarily regarding cauldron magick, I will touch on other vessels.

The cauldron’s life began as a simple cook pot. It was a practical well of nourishment to a family. To the herbal wise woman or man, that definition was extended as a vessel for boiling healing brews and poultices. To the witch, its use moved a step away from the practical to the magickal where potions were brewed. The lines over the centuries have blurred trying to define when it took on magickal properties.

At its very essence the cauldron is made of metallic earth, heated by fire, cooled by air and tempered by water. It is a vessel of the elements. In contemporary Witchcraft, a cauldron will be a pot made of cast iron which stands on three legs and has a handle. For safety’s sake, it should also have a lid.

In modern witchcraft, the very shape of a vessel evokes the feminine divine, the sacred womb and the origins of life. This tradition is evoked and repeated from many cultures.

“This nine-fold power of the goddess, known as the Toradh of Ana, is especially potent in wells, springs and sacred vessels, such as cauldrons. The specific components of the Toradh are described in:

“Nine Gifts of the Cauldron”

The Cauldron of Life-Work gives and is replenished, promotes and is enlarged, nourishes and is given life, ennobles and is exalted, requests and is filled with answers, sings and is filled with song, preserves and is made strong, arranges and receives arrangements, maintains and is maintained. Good is the well of measure.”

Cauldron Lore

More than just a symbol of the goddess, the cauldron and its contents have specifically represented abundance, poetic inspiration (i.e. knowledge, wisdom and eloquence), physical restoration, regeneration, alchemical transformation, spiritual or psychic awakening or vision and the ability to discern truth.

In Celtic mythology, these abilities were gained from being near or in the cauldron or eating or drinking the contents mixed in a cauldron. Similar stories can be found using a chalice, a bowl or a horn.

The most commonly known stories of the cauldron can be found in Celtic mythology. In Irish lore, Eochaid Ollathair, also known as the Dagda, possessed a cauldron that was one of the four sacred objects brought to Ireland by the Tuatha De Danaan. Its name was Undry and it had the magical capability of providing infinite sustenance doled out by each man’s merit. In Tara, the home of the High Kings of Ireland, this was used to magically grant a royal claimant the authority of divine kingship after eating a meal prepared within it. Sacred vessels of the goddess often bestow sovereignty and kingship in the myths of Irish High Kings.

In Welsh lore, Cerridwen’s cauldron, Amen, bestowed knowledge and inspiration. Bran the Blessed had the Cauldron of Rebirth which resurrected slain warriors. His legend may be the forerunner to the Keeper of the Holy Grail, the chalice of Jesus. On the Gundestrup cauldron, a Celtic horned God popularly believed to be Cernunnos, is depicted being reborn after having been torn apart and boiled in a cauldron. In Norse mythology, a draught which bestowed poetic inspiration and knowledge was brewed in the kettle/cauldron, Odhroerir. In Greece, even today, every four years the modern Olympic flame is lit in a cauldron during a ritual at the site where the Greek temple of Hera used to stand. The great flame that oversees the games is carried by a torch but the vessel that holds that overseeing flame is called a cauldron.

The Gundestrup Cauldron is thought to have been crafted in Gaul circa. 100 BCE. It was discovered in a peat bog in Denmark in 1891 where scholars suggest the Druids may have placed it as an offering to the deities of Nature. One of the cauldron's 13 panels clearly shows the Celtic horned God known as Cernunnos.

Other forms of a cauldron with identical or similar lore include fire pots which have historically symbolised the god himself and were special pots made for the protection of a sacred flame. Censors are another form of cauldron used as a fire pot or bowl to hold either sacred fire or sacred incense.

Magickal Vessel uses:

The modern use of a witch’s cauldron is to represent the God on an altar or on the ground representing the element of Fire within the ritual circle. Placed on an altar or on the grass one must make sure it sits on a fireproof ceramic tile or hotplate.

Pour rubbing alcohol over the salts until the alcohol is about an inch higher than the salts. Hold a lighted match just above the alcohol. The liquid will light and produce a strong orange flame. The flame burns cool, unlike a wood fire, and is difficult to burn things in. When the flame gets low, cover to snuff out completely. Add more rubbing alcohol to the cauldron and relight carefully. The warmer the rubbing alcohol, the quicker it ignites. This fire recipe leaves a significant amount of sediment in the cauldron.

Other times the cauldron is filled with soil or sand to hold a small charcoal brick which is lit for loose incense to be burned upon. Cone incense can also be simply placed on the sand or stick incense is stuck into the sand and burned that way.

Letters to the divine or the ancestors, burnt spells and burnt offerings are often lit and place in the cauldron to burn.

Divination is one of the key uses for the cauldron given its historical nature to impart vision and truth. Several forms of cauldron divination can be done with fire or dry ice. Create the cool alcohol fire as above and look into the flames for images and their symbolic meaning.

In a cauldron filled with sand, (or as in my tradition use a sand-filled ceramic bowl) we do smoke divination. We judge the curl of the smoke from dried herbs or incense burnt on a charcoal brick placed in sand. Blow the smoke softly away from you as you concentrate on a question. Smoke twisting deasil (clockwise) means NO. Smoke twisting widdershins (counter or anti-clockwise) means YES. Burn dried Rose or Cherry blossoms for divinations of love. Use Pecan for questions of employment. Burn Mugwort to ask about prophetic dreams and Lilac for questions concerning the ancestors. Use Mint, Clove or Basil for money questions. Use Cinnamon or Sandalwood for questions of success. Try Carnation, Apple, Bayberry or Cedar for insights into health issues.

You can also fill the cauldron or a bowl with warm water and, with a pair of tongs, drop many small pieces of dry ice into it. (Dry ice can be purchased from a grocery store.) Keep adding warm water and more ice as needed to create a steady rise of mist. As the mist rises, look for images and their symbolic significance that may reflect your hidden desires.

Scrying with a cauldron or bowl filled with water or wine is an ancient practice. It is a meditation device whereby, if you can relax your mind and eyes, you may see images or get impressions of those things you need to attend to or might be calling to you to investigate further. If meditation is more difficult for you, add a teaspoon of olive oil or other sacred oil to the water. Stir with you finger and watch how the oil merges and separates to mesmerise or form symbolic pictures.

In my tradition, we never used a cauldron. We use a ceramic bowl on the altar for sympathetic or small burnt offerings such as herbs or flower petals. (Cauldrons were way too witchly for witches in hiding. A magickal bowl could be left on a table unnoticed.) I often place glass enclosed spell candles dressed with oils in the bowl then surround them with stones and sprinkle appropriate herbs. Here, I place written spells under the candle at the beginning of a spell or burn them before or after the completion of the spell. The bowl becomes a magickal altar unto itself, much like the cauldron which is used for many sacred purposes with or without an altar. Like the cauldron, the bowl is feminine in nature but is largely used with element of Fire in the tradition of Helios, the sun god, who completed his daily rounds “floating” back to his Eastern palace in a golden bowl.

Bowls called Phiales were also used by the ancient Greeks for oil or wine libations, poured into the ground or river to honour the dead or the gods. The Patera, a broad, shallow dish was used for ritual drinking and was thought to impart blessing. Much like the food or drink from the sacred cauldron, these vessels were first designed for material sustenance and later interpreted for use in spiritual sustenance. The cauldron or bowl can also be used filled with water for a floral offering to celebrate joy or to burn flowers in to denote sorrow.

Chalices of oil were burned on ancient Greek and Roman altars. In modern witchcraft, the chalice is another vessel of the goddess or feminine divine and not often used with the element of fire, but it could be with the same precautions of sand and fireproofing that metal cauldrons and ceramic bowls use. However, never try this with glass chalices. Chalices may also be placed on an altar or on ritual ground as a symbol of the element Water. Magickal chalices evolved in history much the same way cauldrons did, imparting the gifts of transformation, healing and immortality.

Ardagh Chalice, c. 800-899 AD. Found in 1847 by a small boy digging for potatoes

The most famous chalice is the cup of Christ as told in Authurian lore which bestows immortality to anyone who drinks from it. The Cup of Jamshid, was a cup of divination and also bestowed immortality in Persian mythology. In Greek mythology, the cup of Circe brings Ulysses under her control. Apollo had a magickal cup called Crater. And Dionysus had a magickal cup called a kantharos, that like so many magickal vessels, would never empty.

What is stated in James Joyces’ Finnegan’s Wake is a long established tradition that “every hollow hold a hallow.” These “hollows”, be they cauldron, bowl or cup, have been used throughout mythology as magickal tools for divination, transformation and rejuvenation. Let these serve you this Samhain, to evoke abundance, poetic inspiration, restoration, regeneration, transformation, spiritual or psychic awakening or vision or the ability to discern truth. Or if not these, use them to connect you to the history of your magickal heritage.

Sources:

Finnegan's Wake, James Joyce p.25 The Encyclopedia of Celtic Wisdom ~ By Caitlin Matthews, and Matthews John, p. 229 Circle Round: Raising Children in the Goddess Tradition ~ by Starhawk, Anne Hille and Diane Baker

Other References:

Wikipedia Celtic Religion in Roman Britain ~ By Graham Webster Giants, monsters, and dragons: an encyclopedia of folklore, legend, and myth ~ By Carol Rose The Sacred Bee in Ancient Times and Folklore ~ By Hilda M. Ransome Wake Rites: The Ancient Irish Rituals of Finnegan’s Wake ~ by George Cinclair Gibson

Ardriana Cahill lives in Western USA and is a Hereditary Witch, den of Clan McCormick and a Kell of Brighid since 1998.

www.ArdrianaCahill.com

https://www.controverscial.com/Cauldron%20Magick.htm

Picture https://www.merriam-webster.com

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godssea7-blog · 5 years

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Now notice another eye-opening reason why only the true Sabbath day can be the day for assembled Christian fellowship.

Jesus Christ said, in John 15, “I am the vine, ye are the branches …” (verse 5). We are told to abide in Him (verse 4), or, spiritually, we can do nothing. A grape branch cannot produce grapes unless joined to the vine.

A Divine Fellowship

Next, notice the basis of Christian fellowship, in 1 John 1: “That which we have seen and heard declare we unto you, that ye also may have fellowship with us: and truly our fellowship is with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ. … If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness [that is, disobey His commands], we lie, and do not the truth: But if we walk in the light [live by every word of the Bible as our way of life, being doers of His law, not hearers only—being obedient], as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin” (verses 3, 6-7).

We can have true Christian fellowship only when each individual Christian is joined to Christ, and to the Father—as a branch of a grapevine joined to the vine.

Now what joins the many branches of that vine to one another? When people meet on their own human-appointed day, trying to join themselves together in a church group, Christ is not present with them in that fellowship. He never put His presence in that day! They are like a lot of grape branches, cut off from the vine, trying to join themselves together!

Now, how did we find that Jesus Christ put His presence in His Sabbath? On that day He rested, and was refreshed. On that day, while resting, He blessed that day—He set it apart for holy use and purpose as His day—He hallowed it and made it holy time.

But how did He make it holy? Remember, I showed you plainly before, that just as the very ground where Moses stood, near the burning bush (Exodus 3:1-5) was holy ground—because Christ’s presence was there, and Christ’s presence makes holy whatever or wherever He is—just as we can be holy if, and only if, Christ’s presence, by the Holy Spirit, is within us—so Christ’s presence in the Sabbath makes that space of time holy.

When the Lord of the Old Testament, the Word (Greek, logos) (John 1:1-3) was made human flesh (verse 14), and was named Jesus Christ, some 4,000 years after He rested originally on the Sabbath, putting His presence in it (Genesis 2:1-3), He still kept the Sabbath, and put His presence in it (Luke 4:16) “as his custom was.”

He had not changed. Jesus Christ is the same still today (Hebrews 13:8).

So His very presence is in His day, the same today as then. When God’s own obedient children, each joined to Christ—each walking with Christ in harmony, obedient—assemble on His holy day, they actually have fellowship with Christ. He is there, in their midst, in Spirit! And then Christ joins them together in fellowship with Him and the Father!

When people assemble on Sunday, Christ’s presence is not in that day! You may argue to have your own way, rather than surrender to this truth, but this is truth which will judge you when you face Christ in the Judgment!

Can You Worship Christ in Vain?

Then what about public or church-group worship in a weekly service on Sunday—or Friday?

Listen and heed! Your Bible says: “God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in TRUTH” (John 4:24).

What do the churches of this world say? “Worship God according to the dictates of your own conscience.” That is contrary to what God says!

How do you worship God in spirit and in truth? What is truth? Jesus said plainly: “[T]hyword is truth.” God’s Word is the Bible!

The Bible authorizes only the Sabbath as God’s weekly holy day for joint assembly and worship. The Bible is the authority of God! What authority do people have forSunday?

To worship God in spirit and in TRUTH is to worship Him how and when (so far as congregational assembly is concerned) He says in His Word, which is truth!

God Himself set apart the one and only day that identifies Him as the Creator! He set it apart for a blessing! For our physical rest! For spiritual refreshing!

And the day on which we cease from our business or labors, He set apart as “an holy convocation” (Leviticus 23:2-3), which means a commanded assembly, at which our presence is commanded. It is the very day when His divine spiritual presence is there, also. He set apart as the day for that joint worship together the one day which identifies the God whom we are to worship!

No other day can fulfill that great and glorious purpose!

Yes, God has a reason for the Sabbath—a purpose in it!

Those who assemble to worship God and the Lord Jesus Christ in any way contrary to the way or the time God’s Word commands are not worshipping Him in spirit and in TRUTH.God will not accept their worship.

Did you realize that Christ Himself said you can not only profess His name and call yourself a Christian, but you may actually worship Him—and do it in vain? Still totally “unsaved”?

Listen to the very words of Christ: “Howbeit in vain do they worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men. For laying aside the commandment of God, ye hold the tradition of men …. [Y]e reject the commandment of God, that ye may keep your own tradition” (Mark 7:7-9).

Assembling for worship on Sunday is nothing but the tradition of men—and a pagan tradition at that! Those who do so reject the commandment of God, disobey God’s commandment to keep His Sabbath day holy, are guilty of committing sin, and such worship is utterly in vain!

Jesus Christ said so!

NOT “Jewish” Sabbath

Yet, in spite of all the scriptures in the whole Bible—in spite of direct commands from God—many have heard or read of the Sabbath being called “the Jewish Sabbath” so many times that their minds will argue immediately: “Yes, but all this about the Sabbath being holy—about the Sabbath covenant—doesn’t apply to me; all that was for the Jewish people—and I’m a Gentile.”

O yes, this does apply to YOU!

Jesus Christ says, “The sabbath was made for man”—for all mankind! Remember? It was made when man was made—at the time of Adam! There were no Jewish people then! God Almighty does not have one standard for Jewish people and another for Gentiles. No Gentile can become a Christian until he becomes an Israelite—read Ephesians 2:11-22. God says, through the Apostle Paul, to Gentiles: “There is neither Jew nor Greek … for ye are all onein Christ Jesus. And if ye [Gentiles] be Christ’s, then are ye Abraham’s seed [children], and heirs according to the promise” (Galatians 3:28-29).

You cannot find any such term as “the Jewish Sabbath” anywhere in the Bible! That is a derisive, scornful, contemptuous epithet. It came from non-Christian wolves in sheep’s clothing, as Christ labeled them. They intended to deceive by creating prejudice against the truth of God. It is the slurring, discrediting, misleading language and terminology employed by deceivers, false prophets, and upholders of pagan doctrines and customs contrary to God’s Word.

It is NOT Bible language!

Yet, perhaps even most of you who read this have been so prejudiced by that contemptuous term that it is very difficult for your mind to comprehend, and to accept, the plain truthof your own Bible!

Read again Ephesians 2:11-12. You have to become an Israelite to be saved! You have heard a lot of false and anti-scriptural teaching leading you to suppose salvation is for Gentiles. It is not!

All the promises were given to Israel. Why?

Listen! Read carefully, and understand! All nations had gone into anti-God, false, pagan religions. In such a God-rejecting world, God raised up, from the children of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, in the days of Moses, a special nation to be His nation—to be a light to the non-believing Gentiles. Incidentally, the very name Gentile means unbeliever.

God gave this special called-out nation His right ways of life—and to them were given the promises which include salvation (Romans 9:4). But, when a Gentile-born person repents, accepts Christ and receives God’s Holy Spirit, then he becomes, spiritually, an Israelite, a child of Abraham, and an heir of the promises (Galatians 3:28-29).

Salvation is of the Jews (John 4:22). Salvation, however, is for everyone that believes (in living faith, not dead faith)—to the Jew first, and, through Christ, also to the Gentile (Romans 1:16).

You can have no salvation unless you become, spiritually, a Jew! (Romans 2:28-29). Of course, through disobedience, all natural-born Israelites have been cut off from the promises and God’s salvation—but they may receive it, like all others, through Christ! (Romans 11:17-18, 23-26).

So the true Christian will put out of his heart that prejudice and hatred against Jews.

Is Christ IN You?

Once again, does it make any difference which day, or whether we keep it?

The Bible definition of a Christian is one who has received the gift of God’s Holy Spirit, and is being led by the Spirit of God. In other words, Christ IN you is your hope ofglory! (Colossians 1:27).

The Holy Spirit is the life-imparting Spirit that emanates from the very Person of the Father, and of Christ! The Holy Spirit IN you puts in you not only the love, the power,the faith and the life of the ever-living Christ—but also the mind of Christ (Philippians 2:5).

It means, literally, that Christ Himself is IN you—not in Person, but in Spirit (Galatians 2:20). Jesus Christ is a Savior who literally comes inside us—in our minds—to clean us up and save us from within!

It means that Jesus Christ is living His life within us! Or, in other words, it means that we yield to let Jesus Christ live our lives for us!

Now IF Jesus Christ is IN YOU (and you are not a truly converted Christian unless He is!), will He, in you, profane His holy day, and observe a pagan day?

IMPOSSIBLE!

Jesus Christ has not changed. He is the same, yesterday, today and forever! (Hebrews 13:8).

It is Christ who made the Sabbath. It is Christ who rested on that very first Sabbath! It is the Eternal (YHVH) who became the Christ who spoke to the Israelites on the Sabbath (Exodus 16). It is Christ who kept the Sabbath as His custom was (Luke 4:16).

Jesus Christ has always put His presence in His own holy day! IF Christ is IN you—He, in you, can keep no other day now! And IF you, having read the truth in this booklet, now make excuse, or rebel, and refuse to keep holy Christ’s holy day, then on His infallible authority, I say to you that He is not in you!

It is just that serious!

God gives His Holy Spirit only to them that OBEY Him! (Acts 5:32.) The conditions to receiving the Holy Spirit as God’s gift are: Repent, and be baptized (Acts 2:38).

Sin is the transgression of God’s law (1 John 3:4). That law is a spiritual law (Romans 7:14). The penalty for transgression is death—for all eternity! (Romans 6:23). The Fourth Commandment of that law commands you to remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy! It also says the seventh day, not Sunday the first, is the Sabbath of the Eternal thy God! And it is the seventh day of the week—the day before the first day of the week (Matthew 28:1)—not just any seventh day—not any one day out of seven.

There are no loopholes! There is no escape, for those who disobey! God’s laws are enforced automatically! God needs no human policemen to catch you! There will be no human court trial with a jury of 12 fallible and easily misled human jurors.

No, there will be no escape! This is the Almighty God you are dealing with, on this question!

God is love! God loves mankind. God loves YOU! God made His Sabbath holy for a purpose—to keep YOU in His fellowship! His law is love. It takes love to fulfill it! It requires a spiritual love to fulfill the spiritual law. You were not born with that love. God freely offers it to you—His own love, “shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy [Spirit]” (Romans 5:5). When you surrender, repent, believe, God promises His Holy Spirit. His Spirit imparts to you the spiritual love to fulfill His law!

It is truly wonderful!

It keeps you in Christ’s own fellowship—in close contact. It bestows upon you His security, peace of mind, happiness, abundant living!

“But,” one may still object, “how could I live, if I can’t kindle a fire on the Sabbath, or even eat any food?”

Let’s understand! The prohibition against “picking up sticks,” or “kindling a fire” on the Sabbath was part of the added civil and ritualistic, or ceremonial, law of Moses—no part of the Ten Commandment spiritual law!

Because of transgressions—that is, because the spiritual law was being broken—God added,430 years after Abraham, through Moses, a material and physical law of rituals and ceremonies (Galatians 3:16-19). That law was a physical law, including animal sacrifices. It was a substitute for Christ’s sacrifice and the Holy Spirit, which was not given to Old Testament Israelites. The Holy Spirit gives us, now, power to obey. These rituals and sacrifices consisted of physical labor—things to do morning, noon and night—to instill in them the habit of obedience. Why? Because they had been disobeying! The physicalrituals were to teach them obedience! Therefore they were a “schoolmaster” lasting only until Christ came (Galatians 3:24).

When the reality came (Christ—and the gift of the Holy Spirit), the substitute ended.

The Sabbath command is a spiritual command. It has to do with our fellowship, assembly, and worship of God. It forbids our regular weekday work or labor by which we earn a living—our job, or business.

But the Sabbath was made FOR man—as a blessing to man! It was made to be enjoyed—to spiritually refresh, in blessed fellowship and communion with Christ!

Jesus Christ kept the Sabbath while He lived as a human on Earth. And whole chaptersin the four Gospel books are devoted to recording how He taught us to keep the Sabbath.

The Pharisees of Jesus’ day observed some 65 stern regulations of “do’s and don’ts” which the human rabbis had instituted to make Sabbath observance a “yoke of bondage.” Jesus Christ swept those human regulations aside.

On one Sabbath He and His disciples were going through a cornfield. The disciples plucked ears of corn to eat. The Pharisees complained. But Jesus rebuked them—showed it is rightto do minor work to gather or prepare food to eat on the Sabbath. That was the very experience that caused Him to say, “The sabbath was made for man, and not man for the sabbath,” and to proclaim that He is Lord of the Sabbath—and therefore the Sabbath is the Lord’s day!

Jesus healed the sick on the Sabbath. This was not doing business or labor by which He earned a living. It was an act of mercy—and of love. Jesus said it is right to do good on the Sabbath day.

He showed it is even right to pull an ox out of a ditch on the Sabbath—but too many today would throw the poor ox in the ditch on Friday, so they could have an excuse to pull it out on the Sabbath! Jesus expected us to use wisdom and judgment—and be honest!

Many, having read this far, will say—“But I can’t keep the Sabbath. I’d lose my job.”

Let me tell you something! I have known of hundreds of such cases! It takes living faith to OBEY God! Can you trust HIM, even with your job? Unless you can, I wouldn’t give you a counterfeit penny for your chances of escaping the lake of fire!

Never ask an employer if you can have Saturdays off. Use a little wisdom—and pray for God’s help. Then tell your employer, in a quiet but earnest and positive manner, that you have learned that those hours from Friday sunset to Saturday sunset have been made holy by God, and that He commands you to keep them holy. You are very sorry if it inconveniences him in any way—but you will not be able to work any more during those hours. Say it in a friendly, but firm manner. Tell him you are willing to work Sundays, if that would help.

Out of hundreds of experiences, I have found that nine in ten do not lose their jobs! If you first pray, and ask God sincerely to give you grace and favor in your employer’s eyes, and then tell him firmly but politely and kindly, it makes it pretty hard for an employer to interfere with your religion!

Nine in ten have not lost their jobs, as they probably expected they would. And the one in ten who did? Nearly always, the few who did lose their jobs soon found better ones.

You can TRUST God!

This is where you have to mix living faith with obedience!

Finally, remember once again, God has decided what is sin—He compels you to decide WHETHER to sin, or to obey!

Now It’s UP TO YOU!

It is now up to YOU!

I have given you God’s Word faithfully. It is not popular. It is not what the popular majority tell you.

But now you KNOW! You will be judged by what you do with this knowledge!

You must make your own choice. Rebellion means eternal punishment of everlasting death. God will save no person He does not rule.

You must choose between God’s ways, and man’s ways he falsely calls “Christian.”

My responsibility ends with telling you. I have cried aloud. I have lifted my voice. I have told you your sin in this regard. God calls you to repentance. But He will not force you. You must make your own decision, and what you sow you shall reap.

You shall be saved by grace, but God does lay down conditions. You can comply, and receive glorious grace—or you can rebel, and pay the death penalty—for eternity!

Where to Keep the Sabbath?

Often, when people learn about the Sabbath, they seek some religious group to assemble with. But it is not enough to meet with just any religious body because it may accept the “Sabbath argument.” This does not necessarily mean it is the true Church of God.

God commands us to seek the body—the work—which is empowered by God.

There is only one such Church!

It is doing the work of God. It is, as Jesus said it would be, a “little flock,” persecuted, despised by the world. But it does have dedicated, consecrated, converted, fully instructed and trained, ordained ministers around the world—available to call on you, visit you in your home, answer your questions about the Sabbath, explain the Bible to you—IF YOU REQUEST IT! But none of them will EVER call on you, unless you of your own free will request it.

But if you, of your own volition, want to know more about the very Church which Jesus Christ founded, and heads today—if you’d like to ask questions about it, why not request a personal visit? We may be able to have one of God’s own ministers call on you quite soon.

Some, not realizing one of God’s own called and consecrated ministers could call and explain, and answer questions, have joined one of the churches of this world. You cannot join the true Church of God—the Almighty God puts you in.

But if you have questions about the Sabbath, Christian fellowship, doctrines or practices—or any questions about the Church or the Bible, or the Christian life, write us.

Weigh carefully the facts, according to your own Bible. Then make your decision and take what steps God shows you.

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renu-m · 7 years

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🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸 SWAMI SHYAMANANDA’S Vision of Babaji, Finding the ‘Autobiography’ and the Guru SWAMI SHYAMANANDA GIRI, HEAD OF YSS until 1971 DAYA MA~~ “I would say that in his own way he was Rajarsi’s Indian counterpart.” In 1946 Shyamanandaji was on a pilgrimage to Rajgir and Bodh Gaya, hallowed by Gautama Buddha’s fervent search for truth and his ultimate illumination there under a spreading Bo tree. Shyamanandaji had spent the greater part of the day meditating under that tree in Bodh Gaya and in walking among the ruins of the temples and monasteries of nearby Rajgir. He retired in the late evening to his room at a government rest-house in Rajgir. Around 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. he was suddenly awakened, and leapt out of his bed as he beheld a beautiful blue light in his room. He recounted the experience: “It emanated from one corner of the room, a deep blue light; then the whole room became filled with light. The blue light in the corner started revolving. A face appeared, then the whole bust, and finally the entire form. The face was so serene, so sweet—oh, so sweet! I thought, ‘Who could it be? Buddha? Shiva?’ No, this divine personage did not have the long pierced ears of Buddha, nor his short curly hair. Neither did he have the necklace of snakes and the long matted hair of Shiva. The face was beautiful and serene like theirs, but the hair was pulled straight back. He spoke to me and gave me a mantra. It was a most wonderful experience. For the next twelve years I was always searching to find that face. “In 1958, I decided I would try to find a quiet ashram near Calcutta where I could retire from responsibilities and meditate. I had heard of Yogoda Math, which was a short distance from Kali temple at Dakshineshwar. I went there and found that it was indeed secluded; not many visitors came, and it was beautifully situated on the banks of the Ganges. I talked with one of the monks about possible accommodations. He told me about the founder and showed me his book, Autobiography of a Yogi. I bought the book and went away. “I was skeptical about a yogi who would write his autobiography, and especially one who had spent many years in the West. But as I casually leafed through the pages, I saw this was no ordinary text–whatever passage I chanced to read rang with spiritual vitality and truth. “But imagine my astonishment when I turned to the page on which Mahavatar Babaji’s picture appears. ‘It is he!’ I exclaimed, ‘the one in the vision, for whom I have been searching these many years! Can it be? or am I only imagining?'” Then he remembered that the monk at Yogoda Math had told him they were making preparations for the visit from America of the president of Paramahansa Yogananda’s society. He also remembered his sceptical reaction: “An American Spiritual leader? And a woman at that? Absurd!” Such were his thoughts. Yet he felt somehow drawn, and within a few days he found himself talking to Sri Daya Mata. “When I came away from that meeting, I knew she had supplied the ingredient that had been missing in my sadhana. I had been following the path of Jnana Yoga, inspired by the illustrious example of Swami Vivekananda; but my own sadhana remained dry and empty. “Ma told me I must cultivate more devotion, more love and longing for God. My heart began to fill and I knew she was right. Strange, that first meeting with Ma was on the very day, twelve years after, of my vision of Babaji in Rajgir; I felt my search had ended.“ Yet doubt waged a battle in his mind. The whole of his life and search would be wasted of he were misled by delusion now. He kept at a distance, coming to the ashram to meditate quietly, and then slipping away. He even tried staying away for long periods of time. But when he came again, the same peaceful assurance crept over him. Sri Daya Mata had already singled him out of the crowds as the one outstanding soul she had thus far met in India who was deeply seeking God. He traveled to Ranchi when Daya Mata went there on her visit to the place in India where Paramahansaji’s work had started with a flourishing boy’s school. There they had many heart-to-heart talks about the work. Daya Mata poured out to him her heartache at finding her Guru’s work in India badly neglected and deteriorated–it was a dying institution. She felt his keen response and understanding. Swami Shyamananda Giri also accompanied Sri Daya Mata’s party to the Yogoda Satsanga ashram of Swami Yukteswar in Puri. If any doubts remained in Shyamananda’s mind, on this trip they were to be dispelled forever… Swami Shyamanandaji (first head of YSS under Daya Mataji) tells of his witnessing a great spiritual experience of Daya Ma that convinced him to take Paramahansaji and YSS as his Guru and spiritual path. Daya Mataji ~~ “I knew it would be impossible to accomplish anything worthwhile for Guru’s institution in India without the support of some staunch, capable devotee who was a native of that country. … Swami Shyamananda has been the very backbone of our work throughout India. And wherever he has traveled in India and abroad in serving the work, he has commanded not only the respect but also the deep love of the people. … Shyamananda was much inspired by the life of our saintly second president, Rajarsi Janakananda. Rajarsi became his ideal, and I would say that in his own way he was Rajarsi’s Indian counterpart.” …Swami Shyamananda Giri also accompanied Sri Daya Mata’s party to the Yogoda Satsanga ashram of Swami Yukteswar in Puri. If any doubts remained in Shyamananda’s mind, on this trip they were to be dispelled forever. Jagannath Temple at Puri is considered one of the holiest in India. It held a special reverential place in Shyamananda’s heart. He had made pilgrimages there many times, and his meditations in its sacred environs had always been blessed deeply. By special concession granted by His Holiness Sri Shankaracharya Bharati Krishna Tirtha, Sri Daya Mata was the first American ever to be allowed to enter Jagannath Temple. Shyamananda was in her party that day.** As she meditated before the altar–on which are images of Krishna in the aspect of Jagannath, Lord of the Universe…she went deep into an ecstatic state, becoming totally oblivious of all around her. Shyamananda related his own experience at that time: “I stood at a distance on one side, against the wall, watching Ma in meditation. Suddenly her form began to disappear into light. I looked at Jagnnath’s image at the altar, then back to Ma, and again at the altar; several times I did this, shaking my head to be sure I was not imagining. I knew they were One! This experience continued for a long time, then gradually Ma’s form began to reappear. After a while she got up and left the temple. As she did so I noticed that she dropped her ochre handkerchief. I wondered why those who were with her did not pick it up. I was extremely reluctant to touch it. In that sacred place, witnessing what I had just witnessed, that handkerchief was a symbol. To pick it up was to commit myself before the Lord, as if picking up her banner. I had never thus committed myself to anyone or any organization. Yet I couldn’t leave it lying there. I looked frantically at the altar and prayed, “Lord, what are you doing? What are you asking?’ Finally I said, ‘What is to be, let it be, O Lord.’ And I picked up the handkerchief and carried it outside to Ma.” Sri Daya Mata had been only dimly aware of dropping the handkerchief, and of sensing his reluctance to pick it up. She also understood it was a symbol. When he handed it to her, it was a confirmation of what she already knew: God had chosen him to help rebuild her guru’s work in India. Since its founding, centuries ago, the temple had been closed to non-Hindus and Westerners. That restriction had been lifted coincidentally with Sri Daya Mata’s visit to Puri. Not long afterward, the restriction again became the rule.] extract from ‘In Memoriam: Swami Shyamananda Giri’ from the SRF Magazine – Fall 1971.

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