Tindalostalbot

skerrick: a small piece or quantity; a bit.

Nyctites form, in aggregate, nuclear shadows of their absent gods formed in the awful convulsion of the Nyctocaustic event. Ever-seeking derelicts of belief, they are curious about everything, but have faith in nothing. Unwilling to cede the personal power derived from conglomerated ideas they now know haven't worked for eons, their restlessness might render them true artists if only they could commit to anything long enough to get something done. As is, their projects are curiously incomplete.
 Typical Nyctite

AC: 12 (semi-substantial)
Hit points: 25 (as 5th level Cleric)
Saving Throws: Everything but Wisdom
Damage Immunities: Necrotic damage, Radiant damage

tourbillion: a whirlwind or something resembling a whirlwind.

Hi!

After almost eight years, this blog will be basically shutting down.

What?  Oh, no -  I'm not going away - I'm just moving to a new neighborhood!

Here's the deal: the first issue of The Mighty Andromeda is finally closing in, and the purpose of this blog is about to change in a drastic way - so drastic that it is easier to just create a new blog rather than try to repurpose this blog.  Understand that I love this blog - this is where it all started for me, and this is where I reached out to the online world, and the online world reached back, and in ways that I never imagined.  This is where it all began for me before I was ever on Facebook.

And speaking of Facebook, I still haven't heard a peep as to why my account got suspended.  Rather than create a new account and invite the possibility of being suspended again (since I don't know why I was suspended in the first place), I have chosen to not make a new account until I hear from FB; or until my old FB account is reactivated.  I wish they would tell me what I did.  Anyway...

There will be a new blog, with a new purpose, and it's to serve both for the comic, and for Araujo Arts, the company that brings you the comic, and that has brought me to you through this blog, and until recently, through FB.  I work for the boss of AA, whom you know through me as "the boss".  His name is John Araujo, and along with my continued role as a blogger and reviewer, he also will be contributing posts to the new blog, called (/drumroll):

Andi4Indies

Why "Andi4Indies"?  Because, along with promoting TMA, AA, and any other news concerning the company and its products, we will also be promoting the friends we have made over these past eight years, our fellow independent comic creators, who have had an indispensable role in helping to bring about the TMA comic.  In essence, the Andi4Indies blog is our thank-you for their assistance.  We couldn't have gotten this close without them!

So "Andi4Indies" means

"Andi" - that is, me, your friendly neighborhood blogger
"4" - that is, "for"
"Indies" - our independent comic creator friends.

Thus, it's "Andi for Indies".  Cute, huh?  :-)

Like I said above, the new blog will have me continuing my role as blogger and reviewer, and will also have the boss making contributions, but also - we will be encouraging guest columns and guest reviewers, and we will help promote our indie creator friends.  So basically we're expanding what we do with the blog, and now you see why it was easier to just make a new blog!

It's only recently made, and we're going to be experimenting with what we want to do, but we hope that it will serve its purpose of reaching out to the same online world that helped bring about The Mighty One to your home.

Thank you for reading Busty Superhero Chick.  This blog will always hold a special place in my heart.  :-D

But it's now time for new challenges, and new adventures.  Join me at the new blog, won't you?

See you there, my little nerdlings!  :-)

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RACES

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automagical: done, operating, or happening in a way that is hidden from or not understood by the user, and in that sense, apparently “magical.”

Another of these short stories that I have been writing of late. Sometimes the words that come feel like all that can be managed, but, sometimes, even Queen Tera can learn new things when she is …

 

Tired
By TeraS

 

There comes a time when one’s soul is worn. That can be due to any number of reasons, expectations, needs, wants or, more often than not, simply a point at which one’s soul, no matter how well intentioned, cannot give anything more.

It is, to be blunt, when one is tired.

However, Tera wasn’t a soul willing to say she was ‘tired’ as an excuse. Being who she was, it was perfectly acceptable for her to put her head down, gather her strength and keep pushing onwards.

Of late, the Realm had faced a moment which had cut deeply into Tera, her Eternal, and all of their family. A loss had been suffered, one that Tera knew, fully well, was going to be with her and those she loved for the rest of time. She didn’t want to say she was tired—not exactly—so, when she was asked how she was, her answer was to smile, wave the question off, and then focus herself upon the soul that had asked the question.

She might be tired, but she would manage.

This was how she explained things to everyone that asked the question of her. The slight dip in her tail, the wan smile on occasion when she thought no one was looking, however, couldn’t hide the truth from those that knew her well.

She was tired.

The offers of help, of taking some of the load from her shoulders, were, of course, kindly refused. She couldn’t possibly ask of others to do the things she needed to do. After all, the Queen of the Realm couldn’t possibly allow herself to be tired, to falter … to be … less than perfect, after all.

But she was tired.

She’d push herself to the limit and then some, for that was how her mind worked, of course. It didn’t matter that some mornings she didn’t want to get out of bed. Or that, one afternoon, she found herself curled up on the leather couch in her office.

She was tired, so the Receptionist didn’t wake her.

When Tera awoke, somewhat miffed at herself for resting for a time, the Receptionist replied: “You were tired. I took care of things.” Being pushed out the door and sent home was a surprise. But she was tired and Tera couldn’t quite manage to be that upset with her.

She was tired, and that took a bit out of her.

She was surprised to find her Heart waiting outside for her. When she asked why he was there, his answer—“You’re tired. I’ll drive”—was one with which she couldn’t argue. She curled up beside him, sleeping as he drove her home.

She was tired, too tired to drive herself.

She stirred when he gently touched her hand—they had arrived home—but she didn’t wake. She didn’t notice the door being opened, her Eternal thanking her Heart for looking after them both. She wasn’t really aware of being carried inside, either. When one is very tired, one simply is.

And she was tired … very tired.

She didn’t wake when her Eternal laid her in bed, but she knew when he curled up with her. Her breathing calmed when their souls touched, their heartbeats matched, and they both managed to fall asleep.

They were both tired, even if they didn’t want to admit it.

It is a strength to give of oneself selflessly, but it is not selfish to admit to the ones you love that you are tired. They are there to help, to love, to support, and to be there. Being tired isn’t an excuse not to ask. Accepting the help of those that love you is not being poor in one’s soul.

Even Tera can accept that … eventually.

Though she will try to repay that kindness twice over, though she will work herself to the edge and beyond in order to make up all that she feels that she needed to do. Being tired is only for this moment and not in the thing that matters the most.

Even so, she and her Eternal will awaken to some nice salads, a carafe of iced tea, and some cookies, all in a basket on their porch, along with huggles from her heart.

Her love will never be tired … neither will the love of all those around her.

Holidays & Days of Note for June 24, 2016

*   St. John’s Day. Use to be a big deal, as big or even bigger than Christmas in some places, day for lighting bonfires for St. John the oldest of the saints’ days in the Greek and Latin calendars.

*   Feast of the Sun (Aztec)

*   It was on the 24th in 1717 that the Masons went public in London.

*   This is the day on which Shakespeare’s Mid-Summer’s Night Dream took place, it is also the date that people thought Fairies were most likely to be active.

*   Festival of Mati-Syra-Zemlya “Damp Mother Earth” & Zemlya’s Night (Slavic Lands).

*   The 24th is the Day King Edward III founded the Order of the Garter in 1348, which some believe was secretly tied to the pre-Christian Pagan beliefs of Europe.

*   By tradition this is the day the Pied Piper lead 130 children out of the town of Hamlin and into a mountain.

*   It was on this day in 1694 that the Utopian community known as Woman of the Wilderness (which was all male) made up of Primitive Christians, alchemists, & mystics landed in what would come to be known as Germantown, Pennsylvania.

*   It was on this day in 1701 that the above community said they were visited by a glowing white sphere while burning their St. J Day fires.

*   This is also the day in 1947 that Kenneth Arnold claimed he sighted a number of crescent shaped objects “flying with a motion like saucers skipping over a lake.

A story with at least somewhat of a connection to reality today. At some point along the way, we all need some sort of place to go and gather ourselves—a place to try, as one can, to find that calm, that missing part of oneself. Sometimes all any of us needs is a bit of …

 

Quiet
By TeraS

 

There is a place in the Realm which is known formally as the Realm Retreat. Few have been there, know of it, or, for that matter, really understand what is there. Some believe that it must be some kind of grand palace, fit for the Queen and her King, an estate at which they hold gatherings for important beings, tend to state business, and so on.

The truth is far more important.

There are a few places in the universe that intersect: points in space and time where two or more realities overlap, more or less. Where this happens, something special comes to be. That something can take many forms, many possibilities. Regardless of all else, that place is special to those that know of its existence.

Many years ago, two linked souls searched. They wanted to discover something special: a spot in which they could go, be away from the hustle and bustle of the city and their lives; a place for him to fish—for that was his only other passion; his soulmate came first—a place for her to rest, occasionally sunbathe, her own passions being more of a moment’s respite before continuing on with their lives. They had searched for quite some time, having seen many a place nestled in a wood, near a stream, over by some hills. Nothing really quite was right, called out to them, suggested that they had found what they had been looking for …

… until, of course, they found what they were looking for.

Many years ago, they signed the deed, agreed to the deal, and, in time, came to own that which they had been searching for. Over time, they brought into the world a family, one in which they all came to visit, doing the things that family do. The family grew, the children became adults and, in time, they married. They and their soulmates would visit, sometimes alone, sometimes with the other souls to whom they were linked.

Time passed, things change, as they do. But one thing never really changed very much: the place they all thought of as their sanctuary. It was a small, white cottage with red-trimmed windows, a single chimney to one side. A long pathway led from the water’s edge to the welcoming door. A dock at the water’s edge hosted a white boat bobbing in the waves. All of it formed the reality of a cottage, on the edge of a river, where a family grew.

In the Realm, there are many streams and rivers to be found. Some of these are set aside, never to have buildings beside them, so as not to disturb the tranquility. Others have a smattering of places where, at some point, someone thought they would be a nice spots to be.

Some distance from the Palace—at least a good three or four hours away by carriage, or car, or other such transport—stood a bridge, straddling a deep chasm. If one was so inclined, if they were travelling upon that road, and cared to look over the edge of the bridge, they would notice a river flowing beneath. Few knew the river had a name, fewer still knew that if one was to find themselves a boat, or canoe, or kayak, and travel in one particular direction, they would find themselves bobbing in the waters by an island with a cottage situated there. A small white cottage, by the way, with red-trimmed windows, a single chimney to one side, a long pathway leading from the water’s edge to the welcoming door, and a dock at the water’s edge, hosting a white boat bobbing in the waves. All of it forming the reality of a cottage, on the edge of a river, where a family’s dreams grew.

Each year the family would gather after the passing of the winter and make their way to the cottage, to the annual opening of their place of refuge—or, as some would say, retreat. This year, however, the time came and passed, the cottage not feeling the presence of those that normally came there. Time passed, the cottage still waiting. Then, finally, one day, the little white boat came around the bend, across the bay, and made its landing upon the sandy beach there.

Three souls were there. The fourth, who had been there from the first day, was not with them. The soul that was linked to the other for so long … seemed to be alone. Not alone in the sense of being there by himself, for he was accompanied by another pair of linked souls, while the echoes of the first two were very clearly felt.

They all set to work; there were things to be done. The dock was pushed into the waters, the boat tied up neatly there soon after. Windows were opened, the cottage aired out after the long winter’s nap. Linens were changed, dishes washed, all of the minutia of setting things out for the new season there undertaken.

The day continued on, some problems being addressed, notes made for things to do on the next visit. A pause for lunch, some memories shared, the cottage protecting those within as a single rain cloud made itself known for a time.

Afternoon came, with a father and his son gathering their things for a bit of fishing on the river. An embrace was shared and then they untied their boat, set out on the river, and disappeared from her view.

In both worlds, a ebon-haired woman came down to the dock soon after. In one world she had a pair of red horns in her hair; in the other, they were only visible to those who knew how to look. In both, she carried two chairs to a specific spot on the dock, setting them up there. In both, she returned to the cottage, then came back carrying two tall glasses of iced tea. She placed one on the chair to her left, then settled into her own chair, looking out over the river.

She began to speak, talking about the day, the travel to this sacred, important place. She mulled over her thoughts as the sun caused little diamonds of light to play over the river’s waves. She looked out towards the last place she had seen the little white boat disappear around the river’s point.

She continued to look there, sometimes sipping her iced tea, sometimes speaking again as the thoughts came to her. In one reality there was no one there beside her in the empty chair with its refreshment resting there. The other was slightly different.

As she looked over the waters, the outline of a woman came into view, the chair once empty now the resting place of a visitor. The visitor looked at the one beside her, listened to the stories. She smiled, frowned, sometimes shook her head, but said nothing as the red-tailed one continued to talk and sip at her iced tea.

The sun continued on its path across the sky, the day turning slowly towards the night. As the sun touched the horizon and began to set, the little white boat came into view once more. She remained where she was, watching them return, the small worry she had for them both leaving her. The boat glided to the dock, bumping against it.

“How was the fishing?”

The older soul replied: “Nothing this time. But it feels good, like we’re all here.”

The younger soul asked: “Had a good time?”

In both realities, the ebon-haired soul turned to look at the empty chair beside her, the glass there as empty as the one she held in her own hand.

“We had a quiet day together.”

Hovertext: Until you teach someone calculus, they can't even walk finite distances. But they can get reallllllly close.

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sniglet: any word coined for something that has no specific name.

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zeitgeber: an environmental cue, as the length of daylight, that helps to regulate the cycles of an organism's biological clock.

jamboree: a carousal; any noisy merrymaking.

cater-cousin: an intimate friend.

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Yesterday we held a memorial for my Eternal’s mother. It was everything she wanted the moment to be, at least we both hope so. One of the hopes she had was that those that attended were souls that knew her, thought well of her. She wanted to be remembered as the vibrant woman she was. There is no question of that. Those there told stories about Mom, remembered all the things she did. There were moments coming and going as sympathies were shared, hugs given. Perhaps the one thing that was said, more than anything else, was the promise that she was …

 

With You
By TeraS

 

The passage of time, it is said, heals all wounds. Given time, the most terrible of losses, and the pain that comes with such things, will ebb away until it cannot do so much harm. Time has a way of building up walls around the pain, boxing it in.

But not all of the pain becomes trapped by time. There are, without doubt, moments in which pain flares back into being, to assault the soul, to drive the hurt, the loss, and, yes, the guilt, back to the fore. Pain, in whatever form it takes, does take a small measure before it leaves.

On this day, time hadn’t managed to start building that box or containing that pain. At this moment, the pain was there, clearly seen, and could not be ignored. It pushed at the souls nearby, taking the measure of them all.

But there was a means to push back.

The dawn in the Realm came with a break in the rains that had been falling for so long. The clouds were still there, the skies were not completely blue. The calls had been made, as they needed to be. With small messages, little notes, and the occasional hand-delivered notice, the news had traveled quickly. Really there wasn’t a need to explain, but they had nonetheless.

The card read: “The King of the Realm, along with her Majesty, the Queen, request a moment of reflection for the loss of His Majesty’s most beloved mother. A small memorial service will be held.”

Keith looked at the notice once more, held in his hand. Two short sentences that couldn’t manage to express what he was feeling at that moment. The thin white card didn’t have to say anything more, the words stated what had happened, what they intended to do.

She would have liked things that way. He recalled how she never wanted anything elaborate done, how she was more concerned about others, about not causing them all complications in their lives. She didn’t care for the idea of being put on a pedestal, even if he, as her son, did so regardless. He slipped deeper into his memory.

When she had passed, the Realm’s etiquette director had come to him, offering her services. She brought in vast plans of how to honour her: talk of dragons soaring overhead, a vast processional of dignitaries, officials—and, of course, eventually, well-wishers. Descriptions of urns of gold, silver, or other immensely valuable materials were being bandied about. Then came the talk of statues, or some sort of memorial being built for her, to be placed somewhere in the Realm. On and on it went, the discussions becoming more and more elaborate as they did so.

At one point, Keith asked a simple question: “Is this what she would have wanted?” He was told that her wants would be respected, of course, but that, as well, there needed to be a certain level of accommodation for those that would need to pay their respects. After all—so it was explained—this wasn’t so much about her as it was about their Majesties.

Moments later Keith had left the discussion, adding a comment as he did: “No. It is about her.”

Tera found him standing by a window in the Palace, looking out at the light drizzle. She approached him, taking his hand in hers and twining their tails together.

“You know they mean well, don’t you?”

“Oh, I do.”

“Tell me what you are thinking.”

Keith was silent for a time, Tera not letting go and waiting. Then Keith explained: “I’m thinking that mom would be telling me off right now. That I know what she wants, not anyone else.”

Tera smiled: “Even me?”

Keith chuckled, something that Tera hadn’t heard in some time: “No, not you, little Miss Exception To The Rule.”

She kissed his cheek: “Just checking.”

He continued his thoughts: “Mom would have wanted a simple urn–red, of course. Flowers carved in white I think, all things considered, would be a nice pattern.”

Tera placed her head against his shoulder: “Yes, absolutely. That’s Mom. What else?”

“She’d want a simple memorial service: family, a few friends. I’d want your heart to be there. He’s family, he knows us, knows Mom.”

“Of course.”

Lacing his fingers with hers, he pondered: “I think we’d hold it by the flower garden, over where the carnations and roses meet. She’d like that, she did love her flowers.”

“That she did. Many of those flowers are from her garden, after all.”

He made a non-committal sound, gathering his thoughts.

Tera mused: “I’d like to say … something.”

“We both would.”

“What would you want to talk about?”

“Mom’s love for us, more than anything. Oh, there would be more, without doubt. I don’t want to read from a piece of paper, though. I know what I want to say, sort of. I think I can manage to do so without losing myself.”

Touching his cheek, Tera guided her Eternal to look into her so-green eyes: “You will be fine.”

He nodded: “Hope so.”

“Know so. Anything else?”

“Just some time afterwards to talk about her. Knowing you, that will be over tea and cookies and …” Noting a bit of movement out of the corner of his eye, Keith caught sight of the etiquette director making notes in a vestibule nearby. A small smile tugged at his lips: “Your idea?”

Tera kissed that smile, then explained: “Sometimes you listen too much, my Eternal. Sometimes you have to say what’s on your mind to get things done …”

The memory faded away. Keith was once more looking at the card in his hand with the announcement.

The time had come.

There wasn’t a procession through the Realm, or a parade, or anything else. There was only Keith and Tera walking together from the Palace to the Gardens. Life in the Realm continued around them, but there was no question that everyone knew what was happening. Some nodded, others smiled. There were the occasional tears; sometimes a hand or tail would reach out to touch, then draw away. The souls around them offered their support, help, whatever needed to be was offered without a word.

Upon entering the Gardens, they found Her Majesty’s heart waiting for them, standing vigil. He smiled, stepped back slightly, and waited.

Resting in the midst of the roses and carnations was a small red urn trimmed in gold, white flowers carved into the red. The gold was not overpowering, more of an accent to the red and white. The light played over the surface, a shimmer of light tracing its way over the curves, along the carvings, and about its form. For a time, the two Eternals held hands and spoke quietly. They told stories, some with tears, some with joy. They spoke of the love shared, the promises made, the joy of having had the time they had been given with her.

When the words were all said, when the last story was told, a tear wiped away, a love told in all of the fullness that was given, they offered their hands to Tera’s heart.

He took their hands and spoke of the truths that he knew: of how she lived within them both; of how she would dwell with Goddess; of the promise that they would always hold her and that, someday, they would all be reunited.

A prayer was spoken, a hope expressed. Then the moment came to a close …

… but not the remembrance.

From all around, from near and far, they came: family; the lives that she had touched coming to join in this moment with them. Some carried picnic baskets, others carried tablecloths … all with a single purpose, a purpose that had been expressed in the note: to remember her.

The tears were replaced with laughter, stories being told of love and hope. The tea she loved was shared, those particular cookies she loved, as well. Life came to surround her, to bring to the fore all of the good she had done, the miracles she had made real.

When night fell, as it was want to do, the family embraced one another, made a promise, and then began to drift away, their own lives calling them once more. Tera and Keith moved to thank her heart for his kindness, but, rather than accepting the thanks, he guided them back to where her urn was.

Emphasis on … “was.” A glowing nimbus of light was in its place, a warm familiar glow of love they both knew well. Rising into the air, this light representing her spirit paused, shimmered, then arced away, vanishing into the starry skies above that peeked out from between the clouds.

The promise was kept. For always.

Keith had the last word this time: “Love you, Mom. See you soon.”

iatrogenic: caused by the diagnosis, manner, or treatment of a physician.

paranymph: a groomsman or a bridesmaid.

Scenes From A Multiverse is on hiatus while I heal up from a recent trip to the hospital. I’m doing fine! Thanks for asking.

I’ll post here when I know I’m coming back. Maybe August. We’ll see.

For more info and updates, be sure to follow me on Twitter or Facebook or whatever.

Hovertext: I mean, wouldn't that just be downright terrifying?

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