June 16th, 2009

Tiala - xana art


Post by one_hoopy_frood, via misshallelujah:


If you are reading this right now, you have more luxury than someone in Iran could ever hope for right now. If you are watching TV or a video on youtube, updating your status on Facebook, Tweeting, or even texting your friend, you are lucky. If you are safe in your home, and were able to sleep last night without the sounds of screaming from the rooftops, you need to know and understand what is happening to people just like you in Iran right now.


They are not the enemy. They are a people whose election has been stolen. For the first time in a long time, a voice for change struck the youth of Iran, just as it did for many people in the United States only seven months ago. Hossein Mousavi gained the support of millions of people in Iran as a Presidential candidate. He stands for progressiveness. He supports good relations with the West, and the rest of the world. He is supported with ferver as he challenges the oppressive regime of Mahmoud Amedinejad.

On Friday, millions of people waited for hours in line to vote in Iran's Presidential election. Later that night, as votes came in, Mousavi was alerted that he was winning by a two-thirds margin. Then there was a change. Suddenly, it was Ahmedinejad who had 68% of the vote - in areas which have been firmly against his political party, he overwhelmingly won. Within three hours, millions of votes were supposedly counted - the victor was Ahmedinejad. Immediately fraud was suspected - there was no way he could have won by this great a margin with such oppposition. Since then, reports have been coming in of burned ballots, or in some cases numbers being given without any being counted at all. None of this is confirmed, but what happened next seems to do the trick.

The people of Iran took the streets and rooftops. They shout "Death to the dictator" and "Allah o akbar." They join together to protest. Peacefully. The police attack some, but they stay strong. Riots happen, and the shouting continues all night. Text messaging was disabled, as was satellite; websites which can spread information such as Twitter, Facebook, Youtube, and the BBC are blocked in the country. At five in the morning, Arabic speaking soldiers (the people of Iran speak Farsi) stormed a university in the capital city of Tehran. While sleeping in their dormitories, five students were killed. Others were wounded. These soldiers are thought to have been brought in by Ahmedinejad from Lebanon. Today, 192 of the university's faculty have resigned in protest.


Mousavi requested that they government allow a peaceful rally to occur this morning - the request was denied. Many thought that it would not happen. Nevertheless, first a few thousand people showed up in the streets of Tehran. At this point, it is estimated that 1 to 2 million people were there. (Personal note: I've heard reports that it might have been 3 million-- but nothing is confirmed at this point). Mousavi spoke on the top of a car. The police stood by. For a few hours, everything was peaceful. Right now, the same cannot be said. Reports of injuries, shootings, and killings are flooding the internet. Twitter has been an invaluable source - those in Iran who still know how to access it are updating regularly with picture evidence. Women are being brutally beat.

Tonight will be another night without rest for so many in Iran, no older than I. Tonight there is a Green Revolution.

For more information:

Here - from Boston.com
Here - on Flickr

Andrew Sullivan's Daily Dish - near constant updates
ONTD_political live post - Collated information, pictures & etc in the comments

@Change_For_Iran <-- no tweets for a while, which is worrying :(
@NextRevolution <-- absolutely heartbreaking

ETA: SIGN THE GLOBAL PETITION! 25,000 signatures and growing! http://www.gopetition.com/petitions/protest-against-the-june-2009-coup-detat-in-iran.html

دنیارابگوییدچطورآنهاانتخاباتمان دزدیده اند
Tell the world how they have stolen our election

(original post by one_hoopy_frood here - please repost!)

Tew's Day!

Blew out my wrist with yesterday's relentless tweeting. *wince* Slept with the new brace Spooky gave me, which was way comfier than my old brace. Taking it easy today.

Retweeting the Revolution
History in the making, for real. I have been drinking overmuch from the firehose, and just trying to sift wheat from chaff and disseminate information.

It Reminds Me
Of the Purges in Shayara, but more than that, of the last part of "A Light Against the Darkness", which I'll post today - and the Alanna half of that, the sponsor bonus, which I'll post the relevant part of.

No Link Soup or Daily Science today, because really I've only been looking at one thing.

Pondering going to the protest tonight.

During the day? Likely the cleaning I wanted to get done yesterday, with a run to the library and post office. Maybe I'll get that BPAL sorted. Things that keep me away from the computer, and keep my wrist from getting worse.
Tiala - xana art

Shayara: A Light Against the/Darkness

(Note: This takes place in my fictional city, Shayara. Five years ago, the malevolent Council took action against their political opponents, massacring House Tamra and decimating House Bartomn, as a very definite Statement. This got called the Purges. Over the course of the next five years, the city went from shock to resolve - their process is partially documented here.

Capri is one of the last surviving Tamrani female in the city, the last person who could potentially challenge Alanna herself - so she is well-guarded, and has been living in a tightly-shielded building with the city's militia, her soulbonded not-yet-lover, and the man she's not supposed to know is her father. Long story.

The bit that follows is the same night from puppet queen Alanna's perspective. This story was originally a Wind Tunnel Dreams story, and Alanna's perspective on all five of those anniversaries was the sponsor bonus. This slice is posted openly for the first time. (Note: Spooky made me those statues!) I feel weird putting a PayPal button out there today, especially as this is getting reposted because the Iranian revolution reminded me of it - but you can hit the PayPal button on Shayara.com if you want the rest of the story or just wanna tip

Year 5: Capri

Kieran adjusted Capri’s mask, letting his fingers trail from the soft leather to her soft skin. “You sure you’re all right in those boots?”

She danced a few steps back, executed a neat pirouette, and bowed. The boots made her several inches taller - markedly taller than the average Tamrani. With her height camouflaged and her features obscured, she could pass, shouldn’t set off any red flags for any Councillors or Hounds. The Council had been more active lately - more along the lines of skulking malevolently than an outright attack. But if they were going to attack, this world be the night to do it. Halloran hadn’t wanted to let Capri join the vigil, but she’d insisted.

She had not been outside the Tower these five years, after all.

Halloran paced, peering out the windows. Even Fenris seemed quieter than usual. He handed Capri a cloak - full-length, to hide the boots and maintain the illusion of average height. She fastened it, three silver buttons over her chest. “Be careful,” he said, his reticence clear. “Vic and Joseph are assigned to you, and Halloran-”

She hugged him. “It’s okay. I promise. I’ll be careful, and it will be okay.”

Fenris nodded and stepped away. “Let’s move out,” he called, and the Kirayth mobilized - clad in black leather with their silver flame logo emblazoned on the backs and arms of jackets. Armed to the teeth. Wary, but with their practiced calm. They had held the line five years ago. They could do it tonight, if they had to.

Halloran stood by the door, lighting candles; he followed Kieran and Capri out. The Kirayth fanned out into the twilight.


Capri suppressed a gasp. Halloran felt it, but Kieran was distracted, being hugged by a small mob of chattering Narsani. He flashed a grin at them, and Halloran slipped his hand into hers. She leaned back against him, breathed deeply.


She recognized some of those parading. Grown-up old friends, shadows of a past - intimations of some alternate world where she wasn’t officially five years dead. Halloran squeezed her hand again, waves of strength and comfort flowing over the soulbond. He did not need to ask her if she was ready, and she did not have to tell him.

They stepped out into the flow of Dasaroi. Was anyone in their home tonight? It felt like the entire city had poured out into the street. A river of their people. A river of light, wending its way down narrow cobblestone paths, flowing toward the deep and ancient heart of the city. Those not carrying candles carried drums, pounding the ancient call of House Bartomn; as they emerged from beyond the Tower’s shadow, there were other instruments, guitar and flute and voice. There were masked dancers - masked for fear of Council retribution, but free in their anonymity. Capri clutched her candle, willing the tears to stay in her eyes and not spill forth.

Singing and walking, hundreds of thousands of candles burning, down to the heart of Shayara. As close as they could get to where their race began.

The outer wall of the castle, impassable to any until the true Lishaya returned.

Someone had reproduced the mural from the city’s entrance on the castle wall - Tiala na’Roth, the Firstborn, war-torn, cradling the city in her outstretched hands. And a makeshift shrine had sprung up around it - candles and flowers, written prayers, scattered beads. Driftwood Angels stood by the castle gates, tuning up, as the light swept in from all over the city - and Sara Tallart’s voice rose, rich and strong, singing their new song.

Singing an invocation - turning a vigil into a summoning.

The light was a tide, golden and bright, and Halloran wrapped Capri in his arms; they joined Sara on the chorus, they and everyone there - come home, come home. Capri’s alto and Halloran’s baritone, her feeling him singing, his chest pressed to her back. Capri tilted her head back and sang, willing the message into the night; Kieran joined them, and she could feel his hope and his longing, his soulbond with the true Lishaya, wherever she was, extending out - Capri wove her song, her hope, in with his. Come home.

The heart of the city glowed, pulsed, and the voices and hope rose into the night - come home.

Year Five: Alanna

The parade is visible from the balcony of the house that was once House Bartomn. Alanna stands, clutching the rough grey stone, watching the river of light. Rivers. Several of them, like spokes in a wheel, converging upon the heart of the city. The one place I cannot go.

Behind her, the rest of the Council debates. The Hounds are in position, flanking the parade. It is the perfect time, the perfect place, to wreak havoc upon their little rebellion. To slap them down again. Another purge.

Because that worked so well last time.

Their voices fade, blur together. So much static. So much white noise. Alanna sits and contemplates the thing Janos brought to her. It is a statue, small and fairly simple. A raven-haired woman with a cruel expression, black-clad, wearing a green sash that reads “Lishaya”. Before her, a parade of skeletons.

This is how they see me. Alanna, bringer of death.

And the other thing. The other statue. It radiates peace, this thing. It is in the style of that human icon, the Virgin Mary, green-cloaked and golden-haired. Silver wings spread behind it.

One an icon of death, and one of hope.

They are all over the city, Janos says. Her city. No one has witnessed their placement. No one knows where they come from. Different styles suggest multiple artists.

A defiance, and a prayer.

“She was a warrior queen,” Alanna mutters.

The balcony falls silent, save for the music the breeze carries over from the castle. “Lishaya?” Olivia ventures.

She finds herself gripping the icon of peace. “Tiala na’Roth was a warrior queen. Not this sweet-faced thing. She led her people to war, lifetime after lifetime. She is not this thing. She has more blood on her hands than I ever will, and they worship her, they build little shrines, they -” With a sob, she flings the statue at the wall - it shatters, small silver wings picked up instantly by the breeze, swirling through the air, then gone. She spins away, leans on the ledge again. Gathers herself. Breathes.

Looks at the image they have made of her.

Let them fear me, then.

“Release the Hounds,” she says, feeling the phrase echo down the years. She takes less joy in it now. “Have them harry the edges. Do not kill unless provoked to do so. Terrorize. Wound. Make them suffer. But do not let them die.”

She feels his presence behind her, and his approval; she closes her eyes.
Tiala - xana art

Snapshot of the Telenias

(More from Shayara. The night of the Purges.)

The world is dying around him, but he is perfectly calm.

He sits alone in the center of the coffeehouse, aqua eyes half-closed, loosely holding a glass of water. His waist-length hair, a straight fall of sandy blond, is pulled back into a simple black elastic - he is not decorative. Behind him, Tyka and her waitstaff are organizing a makeshift hospital on the tables, on the stage. Before him, Quint and Joseph guard the doors, ready to pull in civilians and repel Hounds. The coffeehouse is full of activity, but around the Telenias, there seems to be a bubble of silence. None will speak to him - none will interfere with his duty.

The age-old duty of the Telenias is to remember. The Telenias, two per generation, are the only Dasaroi to remember the Fall; mercy has been granted to the rest of the Dasaroi. This burden is his alone, his and Martin's.

On the inside of his left wrist, the words teneo casiens are tattooed.

Tonight, his duty is more active.

House Tallart, from where the Telenias are born, chosen, is not as consistent as the seven Great Houses. The Tallarts are wild cards. Unpredictable in their gifts. The Telenias's gift is telepathy - not the keen, deep telepathy of House L'Arath, but an incredible ability to multitask, one might say, bolstered by the additional power given to those who take on the duty of Telenias, of remembering. There is a price, yes, but there is also a benefit.

The Telenias's duty within the Kirayth? He's a living switchboard, connecting the city's warriors. If you look at him with your mind rather than your eyes, you might see him as a spider in the center of his web. You might see him as a living heart - channels of power extending to Quint and Joseph, and farther out into the night to all of the Kirayth. Capillaries extending from the Kirayth to their bondmates.

Fenris directs, and he relays, effortlessly. Reports come in of the Hounds closing off the Carnival District, and the rest of the Kirayth know in seconds.

The first of the Kirayth falls, the psychic backlash streaking like lightning into Telenias.

He does not flinch.