Chapter 32
3rd November
Lisbon, Portugal
"if the office on the Rua dos Douradores represents Life for me, the fourth-floor room where I live, on this same Rua dos Douradores, represents Art for me. Yes, Art, residing on the very same street as Life, but in a different place. Art, which gives me relief from life without relieving me of living, being as monotonous as life itself, only in a different place." ― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
Fernando sighed. Alcohol had taken his life decades ago, but not his melancholy. Not his ability to feel everything, to feel too much. Music itself never soothed the torments of his soul...and writing, when he was alive, had been his only remedy. But now?
Wandering from café to café, the writer's lare sighed.
"Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life."
― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
He, who had single-handedly, with only his pen and his melancholy as companions, made Portuguese literature modern...Reduced to this state? The worst punishment. He was condemned to write, write again and again, write always and always - and he no longer took any pleasure in it. Frozen in his ghostly state, he was no longer experiencing new things, thinking new thoughts - and therefore could not write anything truly new.
He could no longer write literature.
"Literature — which is art married to thought, and realization untainted by reality — seems to me the end towards which all human effort would have to strive, if it were truly human and not just a welling up of our animal self. To express something is to conserve its virtue and take away its terror. Fields are greener in their description than in their actual greenness. Flowers, if described with phrases that dene them in the air of the imagination, will have colours with a durability not found in cellular life."― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
Everything had become bland. He cursed the creative gods every day, no matter how non-existent they may be, blaming them for his condition. His refuge had become his prison. He could no longer look at a blank sheet of paper - which he knew had to be filled by virtue of who knew what curse - without feeling the urge to vomit.
"There are ships sailing to many ports, but not a single one goes where life is not painful."
― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
Hah, he had written beautiful things. He remembered. But he could write not longer.
Fernando Pessoa - or what was left of him - didn't look up when he heard the sound of a chair scraping next to him. Yet another human with whom he could not interact. His death had cut him off from social interaction and warmth. He did, however, deign to raise his head when the newcomer spoke his name.
"Fernando Pessoa, huh? The Visionary Wordsmith in the flesh…well, in the soul?"
He was a young man, rather handsome but perfectly ordinary and banal, if not for the strange aura that surrounded him and a smile that gave off something indescribable, both kind and cruel.
"I am Dionysos, and I came not to give literature back to you, but to give you back to literature".
He smiled again, and Fernando wanted to write something on that smile.
"I'll show you the Essence of Tragedy."
3rd November
Hueco Mondo
"That's it, kid! You've got it all figured out!" shouted Kenpachi Zaraki as he sliced a poor Hollow in half.
Thoas took another sip of spiritual whisky. Burp. Good shit. Following the Thirteenth Division captain's offer to Thoas to join his division, Kenpachi Zaraki had set out to prove to Thoas that he was a "good boss" and that staying with him would result in the most fighting. And so Thoas was taken on a semi-clandestine expedition to the Hueco Mondo, where they went to stuff themselves with Hollow. And Thoas had to admit, it was pretty cool. Especially the big ones, the ones who didn't move around too much and just stood there like idiots - even if they did shoot laser beams from time to time. Stylish.
Level Up!
Thoas
Shinigami
Drunkard and Son of Dionysos
Level 154/500 → Level 155/500
Ding! The Padre's quest!
Uh? Why is it written Ding? It should make a sound!?
You were a joke all your life - become a fucking Joker
Since you're dead, you can no longer meet your individual responsibilities as Club Jack. But that doesn't mean you can't be a part of it.
Become a Joker!
Objective 1: Kill 1,000 Hollows
Next Objective: ?
Signed: Your father who loves you and thinks of you.
Damn. Can't be sentimental.
"Come back here, you Hollows! Come and get chopped up!"
He was not crying, dammit!
24th October 2008
NYC, Goblin Dungeon
Rachel panted heavily. She spat on the body of the goblin shaman. She'd finally reached level 30 by soloing the dungeon - even though it was only level 15.
You have leveled!
You are now level 30
Class level up!
As a mage, you are now eligible to the following class specializations. Choose one !
Daughter of Volcanoes
(Unique Class)
Ember Enchantress: Harness the smoldering essence of embers to weave spells that dance with the enchanting beauty of fire, and let the flames of the volcanoes ignite your path.
Celestial Channeler
Stellar Sage: Tap into the celestial realms, drawing power from the stars and celestial bodies to unleash spells that embody the majesty and mystery of the cosmos.
Spirit Walker
Phantom Whisperer: Walk the ethereal realms, forging a connection with spirits and ghosts, using their spectral energy to cast spells that manipulate the boundaries between life and death.
Dionysian Priestess
(Unique Class)
Bacchanalian Sorcerer: Revel in the chaotic ecstasy of magic as you channel the spirit of Dionysus, casting spells that blur the line between revelry and mayhem in the name of the god of wine and madness.
Stormweaver
Tempest Enchantress: Command the fury of the storm, manipulating lightning and winds to create a tempest of magical chaos, and become a force of nature that bends to your will.
Moonlit Illusionist
Lunar Mirage Master: Embrace the mystique of moonlight and shadows, weaving illusions and manipulating reality under the pale gaze of the moon, casting spells that confound and deceive.
Beast Whisperer
Primal Conjurer: Form a bond with the creatures of the wild, summoning and commanding them in battle, and harness their primal energies to cast spells that echo the untamed forces of nature.
Clockwork Arcanist
Gearforged Artificer: Imbue machinery with arcane energies, becoming a master of clockwork constructs and animated objects, and use your knowledge of ancient technology to cast spells that manipulate the gears of reality.
Old One Adorator
(Unique Class)
Eldritch Harbinger: Commune with the ancient, cosmic entities beyond the veil, drawing upon eldritch powers that defy comprehension, and weave spells with a touch of unfathomable, otherworldly energy.
Aetherial Alchemist
Essence Transmuter: Delve into the mysteries of the aether, transforming raw magical essence into potent elixirs and potions, and use your alchemical prowess to cast spells that manipulate the fundamental building blocks of magic itself.
"Mmmhhhh," the choice was hard. And Old Ones? She was an avid reader of Lovecraft. If they were real…
But Rachel didn't hesitate. If her hunch was right…
You have chosen [Dionysian Priestess], subclass [Bacchanalian Sorceress]
As Rachel surrendered to the power within, a primal scream erupted from the depths of her soul. Her crimson locks appeared to catch fire, a manifestation of the inner inferno stoked by the chaotic essence of Dionysus. Rachel's eyes transformed into portals to a realm unseen, reflecting the divine madness coursing through her being Her every movement became an echo of the chaos and ecstasy bestowed upon her by the enigmatic Dionysus.
You gained a soul-bound item : [Zarathustra's Notebook]
24th October 2008
Playboy Mansion.
Luke fell to the ground and vomited as he appeared in front of the entrance to a huge mansion.
"Apparition can do that the first time. After that, you get used to it," said the strange woman who seemed to have teleported him. Who was she? A witch? Medea? Circe?
"Mm...My name is Bellatrix, little One".
Luke was on his guard... and the woman walked past him. She moved towards the large gate depicting grapes, without bothering to ask him to follow - but the invitation was clear. His eyes lingered for a few seconds on her imposing buttocks, which swayed with each step. Damn.
Shaking his head, he decided to follow her. Looking around, he easily deduced that he was in one of Dionysus' lair. The garden was both manicured and full of wild and lush species from all over the world. Large statues of men, women, nymphs and satyrs in activities of debauchery - so realistic they made him blush - were placed on the rare patches of grass. After a few dozen metres they came to the end of the small garden path and passed through the main entrance door.
"He's waiting for you in the red sitting room. Straight ahead, turn right and go through the third door at the end. Too bad he's in a hurry... I would have made you my four o'clock..." the woman licked her lips, then disappeared in a pink cloud that smelled of... lubricant. Damn, it must be good to be Dionysos.
Trying not to get lost in the long maze of corridors that made no sense, politely greeting the satyrs, mimes, clowns and... US MPs fucking with said clowns... who were in his way, he finally arrived.
Luke pushed open the door marked "Red Room". The room was entirely purple.
"Ah! Luke! How lovely! Sit down, sit down... whisky?"
W…What? A Titan? He thought it would be Dionysos!
Dressed in shorts, flip-flops and a Hawaiian shirt - probably his autumn and winter attire - the Titan of Forethought was waiting for him in his human form. They were about the same height, although the god looked noticeably older - more mature.
Luke swallowed and sat down. He had been very stressed thinking it would be Dionysos : it wasn't just that the god of wine seemed aware of his work for Kronos and his role in the Titan's unfinished awakening. But of all the Olympians, Dionysus was the only respectable one, the only one who had acted for the good of the demigods... And Luke had to admit that he didn't feel very good about letting him down - on top of the non-zero chance that he'd be beaten to a pulp or tortured for eternity.
But, apparently, the god of wine was working with the Titans. For the titans?
Prometheus, as if he could read his thought - and he probably could, considering his domains - answered.
"Ahaha! I'm afraid you are quite mistaken, young hero. I'm not working for Kronos at all. It's a nasty business, bringing this eater of men and demigods back to life. No, I serve Dionysos, the one who truly understood what it meant to be a god. Well, he would not want me to say I serve him…and indeed, I am Free. But I choose to serve. I want to serve. I will serve him until I fade, with my brain, my heart and my sweat. So, your little stunt with Kronos… to knock down the gods - and Dionysos! Even though he often forget it, he is an Olympian! But at the end of the day... he doesn't give a fuck.".
And the titan let out a hearty laugh. What was that?
"No... The point is that his son Thoas is dead. I mean, he's turned into a Japanese god of death. Oh yes, there are other pantheons.
Wait, what? WHAT?
"Anyway, he's no longer available to manage Dio's nightclubs and stuff... You know how to manage people, don't you, Mr Archon? And you're nineteen, it's about time you got a job... and the Sons of Hermes in general like pranks, commerce and big parties!
Huh?
The titan slid him an old playing card depicting a Jack of Diamonds.
"But you have to earn it! You have to prove yourself! And the alternative, well, as a traitor that conspired to bring the king of titans to life…"
Luke gulped…
"And, you see, apparently, there is a city I need to build…"
