#Bronze Woman IV

[starsailorjannystan]

in honor of @bg3-apprecimaytion's event! for @again-please's iconic elusory wizard girlboss tav: neve nomani 🔮🪄 from Dancing With My Demons (please read the whole Mercurial World series btw)

@again-please if your character is misrepresented in any way just let me know and i'll delete it no questions asked ✨️this is all extrapolation

if i'm late no i'm not you didn't see anything

12. memories snippets of neve's last day in baldur's gate. look at the clock, it's sad girl hour. word count: 4419

storm's eye

"Do not take oaths when you graduate from Blackstaff Academy."

--Ka'a Orto'o, Gnomic Utterances, CC IV xvi

Norry's shop is little more than a hole-in-the-wall, humble stone and wood and washed-out sign ensemble of a storefront, nothing like the famed portal of children's stories you’d wander in hoping to stumble upon opportunity and adventure.

Fortune favours the ones who bet on losing dogs, so you could take a chance.

You’d push the door open and strings of bronze bells would chime the merry little tune of serendipity.

Worn out drapes over small tables and shelves lined with books, bronze and gammanium arcane tools, miniature astrolabes, the stray fire elemental trapped in a crystal globe, dancing dust particles visible in the dim sunlight filtering through the windows, strings of colourful cantrip-infused trinkets that do nothing to help the shop's reputation as a curiosity store that provides unreliable magical objects (it's an unfortunate side effect of being associated to the Enchanter's Guild's name, uncancellable subscription, no refunds).

Magic safely contained in vials, jars, airtight bottles, neatly labelled and organized the way you'd store food or legal documents or body parts in a mortuary. Not a single living thing, no skin-prickling excitement that awakens at the mere mention of 'magic'.

The place is a light inconsequential spring breeze to the pulsing cold storms of the Weave.

Behind the counter, a young woman with pleated locks of strawberry-blond hair, a pale freckle-dotted face, and magic spilling out the eyes. The scroll she'd hold in her hands would go up in flames, and you’d very wisely choose a less hazardous place of commerce.

Well, a few days ago, that's the sight you would have been greeted with.

You've only taken refuge in this empty shop to avoid the tentacled monstrosity abducting people outside, after all.

Neve should be sleeping, which signals to her brain that now is the perfect time to wake up fully and work on the eldritch cannons problem.

Mornings always come to her sharp and early, crisp like dried tea leaves--so many things to do, so many tasks to get started on, so many readings to pick back up. But the light bravely soldiering on through her round window is not even pink yet, bathing her room in blue-gray hues that do nothing to lure her away from the covers.

No matter. She's awake, now.

The silver cylinders are waiting for her on her desk, exactly where she left them last night.

Neve slips out of bed and goes through the motions of her routine--splashing frigid water on her face, putting on her brown robes laid out at the foot of her bed, braiding her hair--and her train of thought starts following the path she'd agreed on with herself a few days ago. The eldritch cannons belong to a patron, a monster hunter in need of a magic touch on top of their skills, and Norry dropped the order in Neve's lap on top of everything else.

She can't resist taking a look at them before starting her day. Cold and smooth metal under her hands. She can feel the magic embedded in the mechanism--human-made. That's not the interesting part, though. Loaded in the cannons are silver capsules, which can split open to reveal empty insides. Scattered across her desk, half-finished explosive scrolls that she keeps worryingly close to her few belongings. What's the worst that could happen, anyway? The attic going up in flames?

Yes. That's why she traced a ward of containment along the wooden rim of the desk.

The only scroll she's finished is sitting in a bowl filled with blackened remains of charred silver--a neat line of ink disables the spell, running like a seam in the middle of the scroll. This hunter's quarry requires full-silver weapons, which lowers the melting point of the material, but it cannot coexist with the scrolls that are supposed to fill the capsules. The very nature of the spell endangers the metal, reaching the too-low melting point too fast.

It's an impossible endeavour, which makes it excitingly infuriating.

How do you slow down an explosion? Or rather, force everything around it to hold together?

She's still trying to figure that part out.

The key is probably in the acceleration upon release of the mechanism's trigger, but the trick is to force the spell into holding together long enough—at least until it's out of the barrel, and out of the hunter's hand. Perhaps magical cooling would help? Books on frost magic are harder to find, but Neve is pretty sure she can get around that.

It's in cases like this that she bumps against the frustrating limits of her education. What ten-year-olds learn in academies, she has to knuckle her way through it, scraping together unrelated pieces of knowledge, reading between the lines written by long-dead archmages.

Well, no time like the present, right? First things first: harvesting the ingredients needed for the morning batches of potions.

On the roof, Neve's day dress sways on the clothesline, rippling in the wind. The chilled air carries the promise of rain, and even if she'll probably need to take her clothes to dry inside, it's a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere of the attic.

Her garden is a well-kept square made of orderly rows of magical herbs, culinary vegetables and berries. Along the neat edges of soil that turns downright frosty and hard in winter, complicated glyph patterns glow an eerie purple, keeping hungry insects away. They also form the base of an invisible energy dome protecting the plants from rain and hail--she cannot stomach seeing her little garden in ruins again, ever since a summer storm so sudden she didn't even have the time to pull the tarp up destroyed it a few years ago.

Away from the patch of earth sits a clay pot full of birdseed that she refills every tenday, when a couple of turtledoves stop on her windowsill, stretching their necks to peer inside her room. Sometimes, she'll put her work aside for a minute to get closer to them, and even if they're about to fly off, they'll change their minds and stay, letting her pet them. When she talks to them, they cock their little heads, beady black eyes watching her intently. They always stay when she talks, waiting until she's finished to leave.

It's the same couple, every time. She recognizes their matching white-spots.

(This grave is no home, they chirp. A heart-shaped hole in an axe's blade does not make it less of an axe.)

It's only her on the roof today, though.

She kneels in the madder soil of her much smaller plot of herbs--this one is surrounded by a much more potent combination of blue glyphs to keep the plants inside. That's where she grows the less appealing spell components, like daggerroot, oleander, henbane, aberrations of mugwort and rogue's morsel unfit for consumption and healing potions. Insects end up here, crushed by creeping vines, mixing with oxblood provided by the butcher's shop.

She pulls the roots and the soil stains her fingers, gets under her nails, the blood-fed stems rough to the touch.

Sharp pain lances through her wrist when she puts the roots in her woven basket, and she braces for the uncomfortable nerve-tingle that follows in her fingers. She'll try to write more with her other hand today, then.

She gets up and dusts herself off, her trousers spotted with earth and unfortunate ants.

No weavemoss here, she thinks wryly.

Neve blinks sweat out of her eyes and huffs. One more batch and she'll be done with today's first set of chores.

The fumes rising from the cauldron's surface press against her cheeks in hot swirls, and she cannot wait to wash it all off. Her eyes sting and her back is smarting with pain again and her stomach makes her acutely aware that it's almost noon.

Once she's satisfied with the colour and consistency of the mixture, she starts filling the pear-shaped glass vials that she'll have to label and put on the shelves later--but first she'll probably have to postpone lunch, she has to be in the shop to receive a shipment of wolfsbane and leave it in the decontamination salt circle for at least five days before using it, it has a bad habit of sucking the nutrients out of the soil and being a menace to the other plants, oh and there's still autumn crocus in the stocks, is there not? If not she'll have to make a quick trip to the botanical gardens, get more seeds, because the way they grow crocus (next to the strawberry stolons) is absolutely horrendous.

The cauldron is emptied until only dregs are left.

Neve settles at her workbench and starts grinding the mugwort roots she dried using her homebrewn rid-of-moisture spell. Once thoroughly crushed into a fine brown powder, she sifts it before mixing it with the pressed daggerroots in a clay bowl. She could keep going and turn this mixture into a proper oil, but that's not her end goal. Well, she is going to use it to coat the capsules and enhance their accuracy to the point that they'll never miss their target--better keep these explosions very, very localized.

However, this doesn't solve the melting off problem. The heat is dangerous for the cannons but also for the handler, who must take their mission seriously if they're willing to waste that much pure silver into a weapon, and as a result of its use, into, well, corpses (Neve tries not to think about that part too much. Yes, she's daydreamed about fire-bolting the careless cart-drivers who rush past her in the street while almost flattening playing children, but it stays what it is. A thought. She has more than an inkling that the client chose Norry's shop for its unobstrusiveness rather than for its quality of service.)

She needs something else. Something that, used in a different way, could solve her problem. Deerskin pouches rest on the shelves, but she knows none of them contains what she's looking for.

"What do you think?" She asks the cow doll slumped against her window--a gift from a little girl after she'd given her a healing potion for free three years after the start of her apprenticeship.

Black mica eyes stare back at her.

Oh gods. Two more years like this and she'd start animating the doll to get an answer.

Supply lines from the southern Sword Coast have been cut for weeks, narrowing the range of ingredients at her disposal. The Merchant's League is supposedly working on it, but most of the shops she frequents have been relying on stocks and seaborne trade. With certain components missing, one has to get creative and be willing to crack some eggs at random for... mixed results, to say the least.

Neve doesn't need to go through a lot of trial and error. She just knows. She sees the experiment failing before even setting up the materials.

She has to. She's running on limited reserves of time and energy.

Experiments play out to the end in her head, or stop when something goes awry--a misshapen ward, an ingredient shortage, too much heat under the cauldron, unsought results. When she encounters a problem that needs many steps for solving, she lays them out neatly, holds them each in her mind's eye, spins them in six or seven different directions to establish the most efficient and cost-effective way of accomplishing her task. Sometimes, an unexpected development prompts her to drop lines of thought, or add new ones.

Ingredients don't behave in unexpected ways unless you make them.

When she sees the solution too soon, it leaves her with mixed feelings. Yes, it's gained time, but she likes the challenge, and the feeling of being right that follows.

Small victories. She'll take them.

Maybe a temporary seal on the capsules to isolate them?

Norry is (or, rather, was a long, long time ago) a sealing specialist, and the back of the shop houses stacks upon stacks upon stacks of books on ward technique left to gather dust and cobwebs. Neve's made her way through a solid third of the collection, but quickly realized this was more a hoarder's trove of mostly dead languages than useful accounts of sealing spells. Still, she keeps a new tome on her bedside table, writing down any new information she can make out of it, referring to her translation notes and inferring purpose and spell components from context and common sense.

Her old master doesn't care much for frivolity or obvious displays of sentimentality, but he treasures most of his books like they're his own children.

He sure cares about them more than he does about Neve, not that his indifference comes from a place of genuine malice.

At least she's not on the streets selling her backside to the highest bidder, but there are some nights when even this thought offers only meagre comfort, nor does the knowledge that this alternative wouldn't have bothered anyone, least of all her parents.

Nights become the theatre of uncomfortable dreams--a cottage in faraway farmlands, where she'll be blessedly alone and only worry about her raspberry bushes and honeysuckle flowerbeds that she'll grow only for tea, no more soulless potion brewing in a dark room, coffee in the morning and getting dressed up to go nowhere, free to do whatever she wants with her days.

A place that's hers, no conditions attached, and in her wildest dreams, it's built for two.

She dreams of a slow, peaceful, rose-tinted life and doesn't think about the implications of retirement, because to retire she'd first have to live through something, anything, and it hurts and it doesn't stop there, because even though it's been ten years memories and dreams still blur together.

The in and out of a sewing needle, the embroidered bodice of a recently-mended pinafore dress that will be outgrown in a year and never mended again, lilac-scented hair she buried her face in, the forgotten feeling of laying her head on someone's shoulder, of a hug--

--a feral smile dripping with blood, the cut of a diamond, magic coursing through her marrow, splitting the skies, shattering the earth--

--waking up, the dream already evaporating, leaving her with the ghost of it, sitting on the edge of her bed, her guts twisting with aching loneliness, lack and emptiness all around her.

Others she spends in the throes of nightmares that never end nor clarify. Undefined. Black chasms and the slow agony of breath forced out of her lungs, burdened down, down, and this single thought like a death sentence, like cold truth: forever. this life all alone forever and ever and ever.

Those nights end with her eyes snapping open like a mechanical toy's from the artificer's shop, her brain leaning back in its chair, satisfied like a cat who got the cream of despair, I'm done! Please go on with your day! and she does, of course she does, because what other choice does she have?

Adjusting the shoulder strap of her satchel across her chest, Neve smooths the rumples of her day dress and locks up the shop, checking the defensive wards one more time--Norry left for an astronomy conclave with old colleagues in the countryside, entrusting her with the completion of the ongoing commissions and the never-ending list of magical items of service that need enchanting.

She's got some way to go before reaching Rivington, where she is to post a letter to Candlekeep.

Despite her earlier predictions, it hasn't rained yet.

She walks past busted open crates, wine spilling on the cobblestone path, broiling low clouds casting shadows across the buildings, wind carrying the smell of salt and fish and rotting fruit from the docks, the mix cloying in the back of her throat. It could have made for an unappealing brew if Neve didn't relish every second spent outside. Everything beats feeling like an old maid sealed off away from civilisation. Conversations no longer muted by walls reach her ears, the hum of the city, the hustle and bustle of shopkeepers.

Being lonely in a crowd rivals being alone in the attic.

Her path leads her closer to the docks, zig-zagging between sailors unloading ships, coming and going and dragging crates that clink with the tell-tale sound of wine and whiskey and rum bottles, the rumble of their steps on the gangplanks like the familiar ticking of clockwork.

Ivory tiles of Bite and Sting blink at her from a draughts stand, hand-painted bees and foxes and wolves laid up or down, sailors swearing and mutually accusing each other of cheating. Its companion card deck lies ignored in the muddy puddle at the sailors' feet. A few paces away, a lanceboard is perched on a barrel where two lanky laundresses are leaning on their elbows. Neve slows down, just enough to check out the board, and she can tell they're playing by Moonsea rules, if the broken Mystras laying on their side are anything to go by.

Near a warehouse, elderly seafarers skewer and skillet fish gasping for water. A rivulet of blood serpents around the lumps of wood and drips to the ground, carrying ripped scales.

High noon sunrays glint off Steel-Watchers patrolling on the piers. Neve can't say she likes seeing them around, but she can't deny she's curious to know what kind of spell animates them. She put aside incredibly rare books on armor magic from Khorvaire that Norry keeps in boxes in the attic like they're worthless junk but it seems she never has enough time to settle down and catch up on all her reading.

Watching the ebb and flow of low waves against the wooden pier pillars reminds her of all her compiled notes on elemental magic. She has no one to share them with, no one to comment on the capillaries-bursting focus she's attained to channel lightning, crackling wisps of blue light between her fingers, she'd been so ecstatic over finally managing to do it that she'd immediately broken her concentration the first time. No one to remark on her control of water, which she primarily uses to conduct electricity. No one to talk to, at all.

It's fine, though. She's spent ten years virtually on her own in Baldur's Gate. She can handle herself.

And if she hugs herself at night pretending to be held by someone else, and if she sometimes goes to Umberlee’s temple and skims her fingers over the flowers floating in the fountains and holds them in her hands long enough to convince herself she has someone to give them to, and if she dreams of curling up and laying her head against someone’s chest to fall asleep to the sound of their heartbeat, well.

No one has to know.

The carrier pigeons of Sword Coast Couriers lounge under the sun, coats of feathers puffed up around them, looking like satisfied, plump, red and brown balls.

They look so peaceful to Neve, unburdened by debt and earthly matters and free to go wherever they wish.

They tweet at her as she enters the post office.

Danzo Arkwright, dwarven head honcho of the postal service, stands behind the counter, arguing with a customer--a darkling, hood lowered.

"No, no, no! Your hells-spawned bird already murdered seven of my carrier pigeons!"

An outraged gasp. "Hells-spawned? How dare you? He's as pure and innocent as the day he hatched from his egg! These were all unfortunate--"

"Well, I'm afraid I cannot let it join the ranks of the carriers."

The darkling clicks his tongue, pulls his hood up, draws himself up to his full height--Neve's, give or take the thickness of a hair--and turns on his heels.

On his way out, Neve catches a small flash of grey feathers and yellow-ringed eyes of the cuckoo he cradles in the crook of his elbow.

(He's saying Kill your whole family with an oyster knife. Do it and you'll be free. He's really fun at parties though, and this whole cannibalism affair in 1487 was a complete misunderstanding.)

Danzo glares daggers at his back until he recognizes Neve and smiles.

"Miss Nomani," he greets, crow's feet deepening around his eyes. He used to see a lot of her when she still sent letters to her father, and winked at her conspiratorially whenever she slipped a new letter to The Baldurian Post's editor across the wooden counter.

Still, his gaze quickly leaves hers when he spots another regular behind her.

She hands him the letter and thanks him before leaving.

The darkling is nowhere in sight, and she decides to allow herself one wishful trip to Sorcerous Sundries before going back to the shop.

A month ago, the Castle of Tomes issued a challenge: every scholar of magic was invited to send a new classification of the complete works of Ka'a Orto'o. If the classification was deemed an improvement compared to the previous one, the scholar would win the privilege of hearing their name added to the prayers of the Avowed.

And nine thousand gold coins.

Mostly nine thousand gold coins.

Of course, a wizard always pursues knowledge for knowledge's sake.

But nine thousand gold coins can't hurt someone's pride, which is a crucial aspect to consider when one has to deal with wizards, and it's a good carrot to convince scholars to dive back in Orto'o's works.

The true order of composition of Gnomic Utterances is a hotly debated topic in a pinpoint niche of the wizarding community. Voluntarily published out of order and purposefully mislabelled, it comes only second to the complete works of Volothamp Geddarm in terms of inanity and usefulness.

These works have nothing to envy to each other--rife with historical inaccuracies, bad puns, and piecemeal points of interest. It's a colossal waste of ink and paper and breath in arguments--in the year 1432, two wizards destroyed an entire reconstructed spelljammer fleet outside of Melvaunt in an explosion of magic after their discussion got too heated.

Unlike most wizards, Norry seems to have lost the need for posturing and constant ego-stroking, and thus didn't even spare a glance for the letter informing him of this challenge, resuming his tasks with the characteristic unhurried pace of an immortal being.

Which was tacit permission for Neve to sign up.

(To be quite honest, it's the hotly debated part that attracted Neve in the first place.)

It's the kind of work that relies on the reader to understand. But understand what?

Neve is a self-taught wizard through and through. She's used to figuring things out on her own. She's studied books until her eyes started weeping blood.

This proved not to be much different.

Of course, these books are an assortment of the most moronic, even if somewhat amusing in an absurd way, thoughts to have ever crossed anyone's mind since Ao created the Realms.

That's not what's important about them.

People have spent so much time unable to see the forest for the trees and dismissing Ka'a Orto'o as a bumbling old fool of a gnome that they've missed what was always sitting in front of them.

Because Gnomic Utterances paints a bigger picture: a complete map of Baldur's Gate ley lines--the most basic of basics of a wizard's education. There's a reason why the city is more often than not simply called "the Gate". It's not enough to read the words--a cryptographic approach suited this endeavour a lot better. In the right order, sentences bounce off of each other to create a brand new text.

The city is a gate for what Orto'o calls "the Swarm", some sort of collective-consciousness entity sealed off somewhere hundreds of years ago.

Even if Neve wasn't positive her proposition is the right one, she knows it's at least an interesting interpretation backed up by textual and magical evidence.

She's put in all the work she could. Now she can only wait for a response.

She signed the letter with her own alliterative initials, N.N.

Usually, everything that leaves Norry's shop bears Norry's seal. It's a frustrating erasure of Neve's work, and at the same time a safety net that fuels Neve's fear of being found out. That one day she'll be looked at and looked through and she'll have to make up for the fact that it's only her. That hypothetical people will assess and dismiss her in the same look.

As long as no one knows, as long as it's only her with herself, she's safe.

The solution hits Neve as she cracks an egg against the counter.

Yellow yolk spills in the pan and instantly starts sizzling, and she looks for her inkwell to write it down before she forgets. She's too tired to work on anything more tonight, but she'll get it started first thing tomorrow morning.

It's well into the night already, and she's barely pep-talked herself into eating a little before finally passing out on her bed.

Her brown robes are neatly folded and laid out on her small coffer, ready to be put on tomorrow, and there's nothing but the grating sound of her feather against parchment in the bare room.

A clutter of meaningless knick-knacks that see her leave in the morning and come back in the evening. Ropes of thyme and mint to drown out the burnt stench of cauldron dregs. Half-hearted attempts to decorate the place over the past ten years, but it'll take more than her good will and the smell of humid wood on rainy days to turn this attic into a home she'll be happy to go back to.

The space is lived in because she lives here, not because it's hers.

Surely, there are better ways to fall asleep that don't involve the gnawing feeling of being part of the book and arcane tools collection, left to be coated in dust and dashed hopes.

Surely.

Her scarce belongings are exactly where she left them.

Her abandoned and creased day dress, the bundle of unsent letters she keeps under her pillow, the little cow plush slowly losing its fluff. Dusty books on a bedside table, notes sticking out from various pages. Outside, the garden left to wither under a protection dome that's slowly killing it now that no one's here to renew it properly. Turtledoves pecking at an empty clay pot.

The little attic doesn't miss her, or wait for her return.

Don't think it cold-hearted.

It's just glad she got away.

#bg3apprecimaytion2024 #did i write this whole thing just to make a “animals talk but you don't have speak with animals on” joke? #yes #also she should be at the club imo #if neve had drawn cards on the wharf she would have gotten #one of squids #two of bats #three of hydras #which is not a nice suite but! #it would have been topped by six of crows #i love her your honor #btw know that management apologizes if the quote wasn't irrelevant enough pls forgive us

[daenerystargaryen06]

Times Daenerys has Shown Compassion

A Game of Thrones:

"She brought back a haunch of goat and a basket of fruits and vegetables. Jhiqui roasted the meat with sweetgrass and firepods, basting it with honey as it cooked, and there were melons and pomegranates and plums and some queer eastern fruit Dany did not know. While her handmaids prepared the meal, Dany laid out the clothing she'd had made to her brother's measure: a tunic and leggings of crisp white linen, leather sandals that laced up to the knee, a bronze medallion belt, a leather vest painted with fire-breathing dragons. The Dothraki would respect him more if he looked less a beggar, she hoped, and perhaps he would forgive her for shaming him that day in the grass. He was still her king, after all, and her brother. They were both blood of the dragon. She was arranging the last of his gifts—a sandsilk cloak, green as grass, with a pale grey border that would bring out the silver in his hair—when Viserys arrived, dragging Doreah by the arm. Her eye was red where he'd hit her. "How dare you send this whore to give me commands," he said. He shoved the handmaid roughly to the carpet. The anger took Dany utterly by surprise. "I only wanted … Doreah, what did you say?" [..] "Khaleesi, pardons, forgive me. I went to him, as you bid, and told him you commanded him to join you for supper." [..] "No one commands the dragon," Viserys snarled. "I am your king! I should have sent you back her head!" The Lysene girl quailed, but Dany calmed her with a touch. "Don't be afraid, he won't hurt you. Sweet brother, please, forgive her, the girl misspoke herself, I told her to ask you to sup with me, if it pleases Your Grace." She took him by the hand and drew him across the room. "Look. These are for you." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IV

"Across the road, a girl no older than Dany was sobbing in a high thin voice as a rider shoved her over a pile of corpses, facedown, and thrust himself inside her. Other riders dismounted to take their turns. That was the sort of deliverance the Dothraki brought the Lamb Men. I am the blood of the dragon, Daenerys Targaryen reminded herself as she turned her face away. She pressed her lips together and hardened her heart and rode on toward the gate. "Most of Ogo's riders fled," Ser Jorah was saying. "Still, there may be as many as ten thousand captives." Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver's Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne. "I've told the khal he ought to make for Meereen," Ser Jorah said. "They'll pay a better price than he'd get from a slaving caravan. Illyrio writes that they had a plague last year, so the brothels are paying double for healthy young girls, and triple for boys under ten. If enough children survive the journey, the gold will buy us all the ships we need, and hire men to sail them." Behind them, the girl being raped made a heartrending sound, a long sobbing wail that went on and on and on. Dany's hand clenched hard around the reins, and she turned the silver's head. "Make them stop," she commanded Ser Jorah." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys VII

"The girl was trembling, her eyes wide and vague. Her hair was matted with blood. "Doreah, see to her hurts. You do not have a rider's look, perhaps she will not fear you. The rest, with me." She urged the silver through the broken wooden gate. It was worse inside the town. Many of the houses were afire, and the jaqqa rhan had been about their grisly work. Headless corpses filled the narrow, twisty lanes. They passed other women being raped. Each time Dany reined up, sent her khas to make an end to it, and claimed the victim as slave. One of them, a thick-bodied, flat-nosed woman of forty years, blessed Dany haltingly in the Common Tongue, but from the others she got only flat black stares. They were suspicious of her, she realized with sadness; afraid that she had saved them for some worse fate. "You cannot claim them all, child," Ser Jorah said, the fourth time they stopped, while the warriors of her khas herded her new slaves behind her. "I am khaleesi, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, the blood of the dragon," Dany reminded him. "It is not for you to tell me what I cannot do." Across the city, a building collapsed in a great gout of fire and smoke, and she heard distant screams and the wailing of frightened children." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys VII

"I will carry you, blood of my blood," Haggo offered. Khal Drogo waved him away. "I need no man's help," he said, in a voice proud and hard. He stood, unaided, towering over them all. A fresh wave of blood ran down his breast, from where Ogo's arakh had cut off his nipple. Dany moved quickly to his side. "I am no man," she whispered, "so you may lean on me." Drogo put a huge hand on her shoulder. She took some of his weight as they walked toward the great mud temple. The three bloodriders followed. Dany commanded Ser Jorah and the warriors of her khas to guard the entrance and make certain no one set the building afire while they were still inside." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys VII

"Mago seized her, who is Khal Jhaqo's bloodrider now," said Jhogo. "He mounted her high and low and gave her to his khal, and Jhaqo gave her to his other bloodriders. They were six. When they were done with her, they cut her throat." [..] "It was her fate, Khaleesi," said Aggo. If I look back I am lost. "It was a cruel fate," Dany said, "yet not so cruel as Mago's will be. I promise you that, by the old gods and the new, by the lamb god and the horse god and every god that lives. I swear it by the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. Before I am done with them, Mago and Ko Jhaqo will plead for the mercy they showed Eroeh." The Dothraki exchanged uncertain glances. "Khaleesi," the handmaid Irri explained, as if to a child, "Jhaqo is a khal now, with twenty thousand riders at his back." She lifted her head. "And I am Daenerys Stormborn, Daenerys of House Targaryen, of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and old Valyria before them. I am the dragon's daughter, and I swear to you, these men will die screaming. Now bring me to Khal Drogo." He was lying on the bare red earth, staring up at the sun." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

A Clash of Kings:

"We follow the comet," Dany told her khalasar. Once it was said, no word was raised against it. They had been Drogo's people, but they were hers now. The Unburnt, they called her, and Mother of Dragons. Her word was their law. They rode by night, and by day took refuge from the sun beneath their tents. Soon enough Dany learned the truth of Doreah's words. This was no kindly country. They left a trail of dead and dying horses behind them as they went, for Pono, Jhaqo, and the others had seized the best of Drogo's herds, leaving to Dany the old and the scrawny, the sickly and the lame, the broken animals and the ill-tempered. It was the same with the people. They are not strong, she told herself, so I must be their strength. I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt. However frightened my heart, when they look upon my face they must see only Drogo's queen. She felt older than her fourteen years. If ever she had truly been a girl, that time was done. Three days into the march, the first man died. A toothless oldster with cloudy blue eyes, he fell exhausted from his saddle and could not rise again. An hour later he was done. Blood flies swarmed about his corpse and carried his ill luck to the living. "His time was past," her handmaid Irri declared. "No man should live longer than his teeth." The others agreed. Dany bid them kill the weakest of their dying horses, so the dead man might go mounted into the night lands." -A Clash of Kings - Daenerys I

"Dany hungered and thirsted with the rest of them. The milk in her breasts dried up, her nipples cracked and bled, and the flesh fell away from her day by day until she was lean and hard as a stick, yet it was her dragons she feared for. Her father had been slain before she was born, and her splendid brother Rhaegar as well. Her mother had died bringing her into the world while the storm screamed outside. Gentle Ser Willem Darry, who must have loved her after a fashion, had been taken by a wasting sickness when she was very young. Her brother Viserys, Khal Drogo who was her sun-and-stars, even her unborn son, the gods had claimed them all. They will not have my dragons, Dany vowed. They will not." -A Clash of Kings - Daenerys I

"Yet even as her dragons prospered, her khalasar withered and died. Around them the land turned ever more desolate. Even devilgrass grew scant; horses dropped in their tracks, leaving so few that some of her people must trudge along on foot. Doreah took a fever and grew worse with every league they crossed. Her lips and hands broke with blood blisters, her hair came out in clumps, and one evenfall she lacked the strength to mount her horse. Jhogo said they must leave her or bind her to her saddle, but Dany remembered a night on the Dothraki sea, when the Lysene girl had taught her secrets so that Drogo might love her more. She gave Doreah water from her own skin, cooled her brow with a damp cloth, and held her hand until she died, shivering. Only then would she permit the khalasar to press on." -A Clash of Kings - Daenerys I

"They saw no sign of other travelers. The Dothraki began to mutter fearfully that the comet had led them to some hell. Dany went to Ser Jorah one morning as they made camp amidst a jumble of black wind-scoured stones. "Are we lost?" she asked him. "Does this waste have no end to it?" [..] "It has an end," he answered wearily. "I have seen the maps the traders draw, my queen. Few caravans come this way, that is so, yet there are great kingdoms to the east, and cities full of wonders. Yi Ti, Qarth, Asshai by the Shadow . . ." [..] "Will we live to see them?" [..] "I will not lie to you. The way is harder than I dared think." The knight's face was grey and exhausted. The wound he had taken to his hip the night he fought Khal Drogo's bloodriders had never fully healed; she could see how he grimaced when he mounted his horse, and he seemed to slump in his saddle as they rode. "Perhaps we are doomed if we press on . . . but I know for a certainty that we are doomed if we turn back." Dany kissed him lightly on the cheek. It heartened her to see him smile. I must be strong for him as well, she thought grimly. A knight he may be, but I am the blood of the dragon." -A Clash of Kings - Daenerys I

"Dany smiled. "Perhaps it's the camels you're smelling. The Qartheen themselves seem sweet enough to my nose." [..] "Sweet smells are sometimes used to cover foul ones." My great bear, Dany thought. I am his queen, but I will always be his cub as well, and he will always guard me. It made her feel safe, but sad as well. She wished she could love him better than she did. -A Clash of Kings - Daenerys II

A Storm of Swords:

"No," said Dany. Groleo watched them from the forecastle, and his crew was watching too. Whitebeard, her bloodriders, Jhiqui, every one had stopped what they were doing at the sound of the slap. "I want to sail now, not on the tide, I want to sail far and fast and never look back. But I can't, can I? There are eight thousand brick eunuchs for sale, and I must find some way to buy them." And with that she left him, and went below. Behind the carved wooden door of the captain's cabin, her dragons were restless. Drogon raised his head and screamed, pale smoke venting from his nostrils, and Viserion flapped at her and tried to perch on her shoulder, as he had when he was smaller. "No," Dany said, trying to shrug him off gently. "You're too big for that now, sweetling." But the dragon coiled his white and gold tail around one arm and dug black claws into the fabric of her sleeve, clinging tightly. Helpless, she sank into Groleo's great leather chair, giggling." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

"Dany's mouth surely twisted at that. Did he see, or is he blind as well as cruel? She turned away quickly, trying to keep her face a mask until she heard the translation. Only then did she allow herself to say, "Whose infants do they slay?" [..] "To win his spiked cap, an Unsullied must go to the slave marts with a silver mark, find some wailing newborn, and kill it before its mother's eyes. In this way, we make certain that there is no weakness left in them." She was feeling faint. The heat, she tried to tell herself. "You take a babe from its mother's arms, kill it as she watches, and pay for her pain with a silver coin?" -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

"None." Was it Mormont she was angry with, or this city with its sullen heat, its stinks and sweats and crumbling bricks? "They sell eunuchs, not men. Eunuchs made of brick, like the rest of Astapor. Shall I buy eight thousand brick eunuchs with dead eyes that never move, who kill suckling babes for the sake of a spiked hat and strangle their own dogs? They don't even have names. So don't call them men, ser." [..] "Khaleesi," he said, taken aback by her fury, "the Unsullied are chosen as boys, and trained—" [..] "I have heard all I care to of their training." Dany could feel tears welling in her eyes, sudden and unwanted. Her hand flashed up and cracked Ser Jorah hard across the face. It was either that, or cry." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

"When Aegon the Dragon stepped ashore in Westeros, the kings of Vale and Rock and Reach did not rush to hand him their crowns. If you mean to sit his Iron Throne, you must win it as he did, with steel and dragonfire. And that will mean blood on your hands before the thing is done." Blood and fire, thought Dany. The words of House Targaryen. She had known them all her life. "The blood of my enemies I will shed gladly. The blood of innocents is another matter. Eight thousand Unsullied they would offer me. Eight thousand dead babes. Eight thousand strangled dogs." [..] "Your Grace," said Jorah Mormont, "I saw King's Landing after the Sack. Babes were butchered that day as well, and old men, and children at play. More women were raped than you can count. There is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a sword or spear and send him forth to war, the beast stirs. The scent of blood is all it takes to wake him. Yet I have never heard of these Unsullied raping, nor putting a city to the sword, nor even plundering, save at the express command of those who lead them. Brick they may be, as you say, but if you buy them henceforth the only dogs they'll kill are those you want dead. And you do have some dogs you want dead, as I recall." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

"Valar morghulis," said Missandei, in High Valyrian. "All men must die," Dany agreed, "but not for a long while, we may pray." She leaned back on the pillows and took the girl's hand. "Are these Unsullied truly fearless?" [..] "Yes, Your Grace." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys III

"Within the perimeter the Unsullied had established, the tents were going up in orderly rows, with her own tall golden pavilion at the center. A second encampment lay close beyond her own; five times the size, sprawling and chaotic, this second camp had no ditches, no tents, no sentries, no horselines. Those who had horses or mules slept beside them, for fear they might be stolen. Goats, sheep, and half-starved dogs wandered freely amongst hordes of women, children, and old men. Dany had left Astapor in the hands of a council of former slaves led by a healer, a scholar, and a priest. Wise men all, she thought, and just. Yet even so, tens of thousands preferred to follow her to Yunkai, rather than remain behind in Astapor. I gave them the city, and most of them were too frightened to take it. The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. Perhaps one in a hundred had a donkey, a camel, or an ox; most carried weapons looted from some slaver's armory, but only one in ten was strong enough to fight, and none was trained. They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me. She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh. She might have the best footsoldiers in the world, but she also had the worst." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys IV

"The chant grew, spread, swelled. It swelled so loud that it frightened her horse, and the mare backed and shook her head and lashed her silver-grey tail. It swelled until it seemed to shake the yellow walls of Yunkai. More slaves were streaming from the gates every moment, and as they came they took up the call. They were running toward her now, pushing, stumbling, wanting to touch her hand, to stroke her horse's mane, to kiss her feet. Her poor bloodriders could not keep them all away, and even Strong Belwas grunted and growled in dismay. Ser Jorah urged her to go, but Dany remembered a dream she had dreamed in the House of the Undying. "They will not hurt me," she told him. "They are my children, Jorah." She laughed, put her heels into her horse, and rode to them, the bells in her hair ringing sweet victory. She trotted, then cantered, then broke into a gallop, her braid streaming behind. The freed slaves parted before her. "Mother," they called from a hundred throats, a thousand, ten thousand. "Mother," they sang, their fingers brushing her legs as she flew by. "Mother, Mother, Mother!" -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys IV

"Ser Jorah looked unhappy. "We'll starve long before they do, Your Grace. There's no food here, nor fodder for our mules and horses. I do not like this river water either. Meereen shits into the Skahazadhan but draws its drinking water from deep wells. Already we've had reports of sickness in the camps, fever and brownleg and three cases of the bloody flux. There will be more if we remain. The slaves are weak from the march."[...] "Freedmen," Dany corrected. "They are slaves no longer." [..] "Slave or free, they are hungry and they'll soon be sick. The city is better provisioned than we are, and can be resupplied by water. Your three ships are not enough to deny them access to both the river and the sea." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys V

"It is known," Jhiqui agreed, as she poured. "Not to me." Dany set great store by Ser Jorah's counsel, but to leave Meereen untouched was more than she could stomach. She could not forget the children on their posts, the birds tearing at their entrails, their skinny arms pointing up the coast road. "Ser Jorah, you say we have no food left. If I march west, how can I feed my freedmen?" [..] "You can't. I am sorry, Khaleesi. They must feed themselves or starve. Many and more will die along the march, yes. That will be hard, but there is no way to save them. We need to put this scorched earth well behind us." Dany had left a trail of corpses behind her when she crossed the red waste. It was a sight she never meant to see again. "No," she said. "I will not march my people off to die." My children. "There must be some way into this city." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys V

"Children ran behind their horses, skipping and laughing. Instead of salutes, voices called to her on every side in a babble of tongues. Some of the freedmen greeted her as "Mother," while others begged for boons or favors. Some prayed for strange gods to bless her, and some asked her to bless them instead. She smiled at them, turning right and left, touching their hands when they raised them, letting those who knelt reach up to touch her stirrup or her leg. Many of the freedmen believed there was good fortune in her touch. If it helps give them courage, let them touch me, she thought. There are hard trials yet ahead." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys V

"Do all gods feel so lonely? Some must, surely. Missandei had told her of the Lord of Harmony, worshiped by the Peaceful People of Naath; he was the only true god, her little scribe said, the god who always was and always would be, who made the moon and stars and earth, and all the creatures that dwelt upon them. Poor Lord of Harmony. Dany pitied him. It must be terrible to be alone for all time, attended by hordes of butterfly women you could make or unmake at a word. Westeros had seven gods at least, though Viserys had told her that some septons said the seven were only aspects of a single god, seven facets of a single crystal. That was just confusing. The red priests believed in two gods, she had heard, but two who were eternally at war. Dany liked that even less. She would not want to be eternally at war." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys VI

"Dany was shocked. "They want to be slaves?" [..] "The ones who come are well spoken and gently born, sweet queen. Such slaves are prized. In the Free Cities they will be tutors, scribes, bed slaves, even healers and priests. They will sleep in soft beds, eat rich foods, and dwell in manses. Here they have lost all, and live in fear and squalor." [..] "I see." Perhaps it was not so shocking, if these tales of Astapor were true. Dany thought a moment. "Any man who wishes to sell himself into slavery may do so. Or woman." She raised a hand. "But they may not sell their children, nor a man his wife." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys VI

"Your Grace, the slavers brought their doom on themselves," said Daario Naharis. "You have brought freedom as well," Missandei pointed out. "Freedom to starve?" asked Dany sharply. "Freedom to die? Am I a dragon, or a harpy?" Am I mad? Do I have the taint?" -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys VI

"A dragon," Ser Barristan said with certainty. "Meereen is not Westeros, Your Grace." [..] "But how can I rule seven kingdoms if I cannot rule a single city?" He had no answer to that. Dany turned away from them, to gaze out over the city once again. "My children need time to heal and learn. My dragons need time to grow and test their wings. And I need the same. I will not let this city go the way of Astapor. I will not let the harpy of Yunkai chain up those I've freed all over again." She turned back to look at their faces. "I will not march." [..] "What will you do then, Khaleesi?" asked Rakharo." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys VI

A Dance with Dragons:

"She had not forgotten the slave children the Great Masters had nailed up along the road from Yunkai. They had numbered one hundred sixty-three, a child every mile, nailed to mileposts with one arm outstretched to point her way. After Meereen had fallen, Dany had nailed up a like number of Great Masters. Swarms of flies had attended their slow dying, and the stench had lingered long in the plaza. Yet some days she feared that she had not gone far enough. These Meereenese were a sly and stubborn people who resisted her at every turn. They had freed their slaves, yes … only to hire them back as servants at wages so meagre that most could scarce afford to eat. Those too old or young to be of use had been cast into the streets, along with the infirm and the crippled. And still the Great Masters gathered atop their lofty pyramids to complain of how the dragon queen had filled their noble city with hordes of unwashed beggars, thieves, and whores. To rule Meereen I must win the Meereenese, however much I may despise them. "I am ready," she told Irri." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys I

"If he proposes again that I wed King Cleon, I'll throw a slipper at his head, Dany thought, but for once the Astapori envoy made no mention of a royal marriage. Instead he said, "The time has come for Astapor and Meereen to end the savage reign of the Wise Masters of Yunkai, who are sworn foes to all those who live in freedom. Great Cleon bids me tell you that he and his new Unsullied will soon march." His new Unsullied are an obscene jape. "King Cleon would be wise to tend his own gardens and let the Yunkai'i tend theirs." It was not that Dany harbored any love for Yunkai. She was coming to regret leaving the Yellow City untaken after defeating its army in the field. The Wise Masters had returned to slaving as soon as she moved on, and were busy raising levies, hiring sellswords, and making alliances against her." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys I

"The noble Grazdan had once owned a slave woman who was a very fine weaver, it seemed; the fruits of her loom were greatly valued, not only in Meereen, but in New Ghis and Astapor and Qarth. When this woman had grown old, Grazdan had purchased half a dozen young girls and commanded the crone to instruct them in the secrets of her craft. The old woman was dead now. The young ones, freed, had opened a shop by the harbor wall to sell their weavings. Grazdan zo Galare asked that he be granted a portion of their earnings. "They owe their skill to me," he insisted. "I plucked them from the auction bloc and gave them to the loom." Dany listened quietly, her face still. When he was done, she said, "What was the name of the old weaver?" [..] "The slave?" Grazdan shifted his weight, frowning. "She was … Elza, it might have been. Or Ella. It was six years ago she died. I have owned so many slaves, Your Grace." [..] "Let us say Elza. Here is our ruling. From the girls, you shall have nothing. It was Elza who taught them weaving, not you. From you, the girls shall have a new loom, the finest coin can buy. That is for forgetting the name of the old woman." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys I

"Reznak wrung his hands. "N-nine, Magnificence. Foul work it was, and wicked. A dreadful night, dreadful." Nine. The word was a dagger in her heart. Every night the shadow war was waged anew beneath the stepped pyramids of Meereen. Every morn the sun rose upon fresh corpses, with harpies drawn in blood on the bricks beside them. Any freedman who became too prosperous or too outspoken was marked for death. Nine in one night, though … That frightened her. "Tell me." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys II

"Reznak mo Reznak gasped. "Magnificence, where is the coin to come from to pay wages for so many men?" [..] "From the pyramids. Call it a blood tax. I will have a hundred pieces of gold from every pyramid for each freedman that the Harpy's Sons have slain." That brought a smile to the Shavepate's face. "It will be done," he said, "but Your Radiance should know that the Great Masters of Zhak and Merreq are making preparations to quit their pyramids and leave the city." Daenerys was sick unto death of Zhak and Merreq; she was sick of all the Mereenese, great and small alike. "Let them go, but see that they take no more than the clothes upon their backs. Make certain that all their gold remains here with us. Their stores of food as well." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys II

"How else, to grow a soldier? Your Radiance enjoyed my dancers. Would it surprise you to know that they are slaves, bred and trained in Yunkai? They have been dancing since they were old enough to walk. How else to achieve such perfection?" He took a swallow of his wine. "They are expert in all the erotic arts as well. I had thought to make Your Grace a gift of them." [..] "By all means." Dany was unsurprised. "I shall free them." That made him wince. "And what would they do with freedom? As well give a fish a suit of mail. They were made to dance." [..] "Made by who? Their masters? Perhaps your dancers would sooner build or bake or farm. Have you asked them?" [..] "Perhaps your elephants would sooner be nightingales. Instead of sweet song, Meereen's nights would be filled with thunderous trumpetings, and your trees would shatter beneath the weight of great grey birds." Xaro sighed. "Daenerys, my delight, beneath that sweet young breast beats a tender heart … but take counsel from an older, wiser head. Things are not always as they seem. Much that may seem evil can be good. Consider rain." [..] "Rain?" Does he take me for a fool, or just a child? "We curse the rain when it falls upon our heads, yet without it we should starve. The world needs rain … and slaves. You make a face, but it is true. Consider Qarth. In art, music, magic, trade, all that makes us more than beasts, Qarth sits above the rest of mankind as you sit at the summit of this pyramid … but below, in place of bricks, the magnificence that is the Queen of Cities rests upon the backs of slaves. Ask yourself, if all men must grub in the dirt for food, how shall any man lift his eyes to contemplate the stars? If each of us must break his back to build a hovel, who shall raise the temples to glorify the gods? For some men to be great, others must be enslaved." He was too eloquent for her. Dany had no answer for him, only the raw feeling in her belly. "Slavery is not the same as rain," she insisted. "I have been rained on and I have been sold. It is not the same. No man wants to be owned." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys III

"I know that the Mother of Dragons will not abandon us in our hour of peril. Lend us your Unsullied to defend our walls." And if I do, who will defend my walls? "Many of my freedmen were slaves in Astapor. Perhaps some will wish to help defend your king. That is their choice, as free men. I gave Astapor its freedom. It is up to you to defend it." [..] "We are all dead, then. You gave us death, not freedom." Ghael leapt to his feet and spat into her face. Strong Belwas seized him by the shoulder and slammed him down onto the marble so hard that Dany heard Ghael's teeth crack. The Shavepate would have done worse, but she stopped him. "Enough," she said, dabbing at her cheek with the end of her tokar. "No one has ever died from spittle. Take him away." They dragged him out feet first, leaving several broken teeth and a trail of blood behind. Dany would gladly have sent the rest of the petitioners away … but she was still their queen, so she heard them out and did her best to give them justice." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys III

"It was all Dany could do not to laugh. "Not well. Last night three Qartheen galleys sailed up the Skahazadhan under the cover of darkness. The Mother's Men loosed flights of fire arrows at their sails and flung pots of burning pitch onto their decks, but the galleys slipped by quickly and suffered no lasting harm. The Qartheen mean to close the river to us, as they have closed the bay. And they are no longer alone. Three galleys from New Ghis have joined them, and a carrack out of Tolos." The Tolosi had replied to her request for an alliance by proclaiming her a whore and demanding that she return Meereen to its Great Masters. Even that was preferable to the answer of Mantarys, which came by way of caravan in a cedar chest. Inside she had found the heads of her three envoys, pickled. "Perhaps your gods can help us. Ask them to send a gale and sweep the galleys from the bay." [..] "I shall pray and make sacrifice. Mayhaps the gods of Ghis will hear me." Galazza Galare sipped her wine, but her eyes did not leave Dany. "Storms rage within the walls as well as without. More freedmen died last night, or so I have been told." [..] "Three." Saying it left a bitter taste in her mouth. "The cowards broke in on some weavers, freedwomen who had done no harm to anyone. All they did was make beautiful things. I have a tapestry they gave me hanging over my bed. The Sons of the Harpy broke their loom and raped them before slitting their throats." [..] "This we have heard. And yet Your Radiance has found the courage to answer butchery with mercy. You have not harmed any of the noble children you hold as hostage." "Not as yet, no." Dany had grown fond of her young charges. Some were shy and some were bold, some sweet and some sullen, but all were innocent. "If I kill my cupbearers, who will pour my wine and serve my supper?" she said, trying to make light of it." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys IV

"The Astapori stumbled after them in a ghastly procession that grew longer with every yard they crossed. Some spoke tongues she did not understand. Others were beyond speaking. Many lifted their hands to Dany, or knelt as her silver went by. "Mother," they called to her, in the dialects of Astapor, Lys, and Old Volantis, in guttural Dothraki and the liquid syllables of Qarth, even in the Common Tongue of Westeros. "Mother, please … mother, help my sister, she is sick … give me food for my little ones … please, my old father … help him … help her … help me …" I have no more help to give, Dany thought, despairing. The Astapori had no place to go. Thousands remained outside Meereen's thick walls—men and women and children, old men and little girls and newborn babes. Many were sick, most were starved, and all were doomed to die. Daenerys dare not open her gates to let them in. She had tried to do what she could for them. She had sent them healers, Blue Graces and spell-singers and barber-surgeons, but some of those had sickened as well, and none of their arts had slowed the galloping progression of the flux that had come on the pale mare. Separating the healthy from the sick had proved impractical as well. Her Stalwart Shields had tried, pulling husbands away from wives and children from their mothers, even as the Astapori wept and kicked and pelted them with stones. A few days later, the sick were dead and the healthy ones were sick. Dividing the one from the other had accomplished nothing. Even feeding them had grown difficult. Every day she sent them what she could, but every day there were more of them and less food to give them. It was growing harder to find drivers willing to deliver the food as well. Too many of the men they had sent into the camp had been stricken by the flux themselves. Others had been attacked on the way back to the city. Yesterday a wagon had been overturned and two of her soldiers killed, so today the queen had determined that she would bring the food herself. Every one of her advisors had argued fervently against it, from Reznak and the Shavepate to Ser Barristan, but Daenerys would not be moved. "I will not turn away from them," she said stubbornly. "A queen must know the sufferings of her people." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys VI

"They're past cursing," said Symon Stripeback. Little children with swollen stomachs trailed after them, too weak or scared to beg. Gaunt men with sunken eyes squatted amidst sand and stones, shitting out their lives in stinking streams of brown and red. Many shat where they slept now, too feeble to crawl to the ditches she'd commanded them to dig. Two women fought over a charred bone. Nearby a boy of ten stood eating a rat. He ate one-handed, the other clutching a sharpened stick lest anyone try to wrest away his prize. Unburied dead lay everywhere. Dany saw one man sprawled in the dirt under a black cloak, but as she rode past his cloak dissolved into a thousand flies. Skeletal women sat upon the ground clutching dying infants. Their eyes followed her. Those who had the strength called out. "Mother … please, Mother … bless you, Mother …" Bless me, Dany thought bitterly. Your city is gone to ash and bone, your people are dying all around you. I have no shelter for you, no medicine, no hope. Only stale bread and wormy meat, hard cheese, a little milk. Bless me, bless me. What kind of mother has no milk to feed her children?" -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys VI

"Daenerys gave him a quizzical look. "Lions?" [..] "Three of them. The dwarfs will not expect them." She frowned. "The dwarfs have wooden swords. Wooden armor. How do you expect them to fight lions?" "Badly," said Hizdahr, "though perhaps they will surprise us. More like they will shriek and run about and try to climb out of the pit. That is what makes this a folly." Dany was not pleased. "I forbid it." [..] "Gentle queen. You do not want to disappoint your people." [..] "You swore to me that the fighters would be grown men who had freely consented to risk their lives for gold and honor. These dwarfs did not consent to battle lions with wooden swords. You will stop it. Now." The king's mouth tightened. For a heartbeat Dany thought she saw a flash of anger in those placid eyes. "As you command." Hizdahr beckoned to his pitmaster. "No lions," he said when the man trotted over, whip in hand." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys IX

"Never, said the grass, in the gruff tones of Jorah Mormont. You were warned, Your Grace. Let this city be, I said. Your war is in Westeros, I told you. The voice was no more than a whisper, yet somehow Dany felt that he was walking just behind her. My bear, she thought, my old sweet bear, who loved me and betrayed me. She had missed him so. She wanted to see his ugly face, to wrap her arms around him and press herself against his chest, but she knew that if she turned around Ser Jorah would be gone. "I am dreaming," she said. "A waking dream, a walking dream. I am alone and lost." Lost, because you lingered, in a place that you were never meant to be, murmured Ser Jorah, as softly as the wind.  Alone, because you sent me from your side." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys X

Many antis love to say that Dany is evil, a slave master, uncaring, etc. Yet here we see in her passages that she is compassionate, sympathetic, and has a high disdain for unnecessary violence.

#daenerys defence squad #daenerys stormborn #daenerys targaryen #daenerys targeryan #daenerys appreciation #mother of dragons #pro daenerys targaryen #breaker of chains #khaleesi #team daenerys #team dany #pro dany #dany #daenerys defense squad #queen daenerys #pro daenerys #meta #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #a game of thrones #a clash of kings #a storm of swords #a dance with dragons #long post #long reads #asoiaf daenerys

[blueiskewl]

Tombs Rich in Artifacts Discovered in Cyprus

An archaeological expedition from Sweden's University of Gothenburg has uncovered tombs rich in artifacts and antiquities in Cyprus that makes the discovery among the richest ever found in the Mediterranean region.

Peter Fischer, the leader of the expedition and a professor of archaeology at the University of Gothenburg, said “considering the richness of the grave goods, it is a reasonable assumption that these were royal tombs, even though we do not know much about the form of government practiced in the city at the time."

Fischer believes that the artifacts, found just outside the Bronze Age trading city of Hala Sultan Tekke, indicate the tombs' occupants ruled the city, which was a center for copper trade between 1500–1300 BCE. The tombs, located outside the 50-hectare city, consist of underground chambers of varying sizes, accessed via a narrow passage from the surface.

Cyprus' Department of Antiquities, in an update posted to their website, noted: "The city’s wealth seems to have been based on the production of copper and trade with near and distant cultures. Judging by the rich burial gifts, the tombs belonged to families of the city’s ruling class who took part in the export of copper and intercultural trade."

Unearthed artifacts include imports from Egypt, Baltic region

The Swedish Söderberg expedition has been carrying out excavations in Hala Sultan Tekke near the city of Larnaca on the south coast of Cyprus since 2010. Though the expedition has previously found chamber tombs with valuable grave goods, the latest discovery is unprecedented given the superb quality and quantity of artifacts.

“We found more than 500 complete artifacts distributed among two tombs. Many of the artifacts consist of precious metals, gems, ivory and high-quality ceramics," Fischer said.

About half of the artifacts unearthed during the expedition are believed to have been imported from different civilizations. For example, gold and ivory came from Egypt while precious stones, such as blue lapis lazuli, dark red carnelian and blue-green turquoise, were imported from Afghanistan, India and Sinai respectively. Amber objects from the Baltic region were also found among the artifacts.

The Department of Antiquities said that three chamber tombs, preliminarily dated to the 14th century BC, were exposed. While one of them had been looted, most likely in the 19th century AD, the other two were "undisturbed", apart from the collapse of their chambers.

Items recovered from those include locally produced pottery and ornaments and numerous items of jewelry such as diadems, which are ornamental headbands. Embossed images of bulls, gazelles, lions and flowers adorn the diadems. Bronze weapons, some inlaid with ivory, were also recovered as well as a gold-framed seal made of the hard mineral hematite with inscriptions of gods and rulers.

"Several items of ivory and faience are imports from Egypt during the famous 18th Dynasty, the time of the well-known pharaohs Thutmose III, Amenophis IV (Akhenaten) and his wife Nefertiti," said the department.

The excavation team used magnetometers, a type of instrument that can produce images showing objects and structures up to two meters beneath the surface, to carry out their expedition, according to the university.

Besides artifacts, the research team also unearthed several well-preserved skeletons in the tombs including one of a woman surrounded by dozens of ceramic vessels, jewelry and a round bronze mirror. A one-year-old child with a ceramic toy also lay beside her.

By Saman Shafiq.

#Tombs Rich in Artifacts Discovered in Cyprus #Bronze Age city of Hala Sultan Tekke #ancient tomb #chamber tombs #ancient graves #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations

[highkingpetermagnificent]

24 in 2024

I meant to do this in January, but life keeps marching on despite my efforts. I stole this from @aliteraryprincess because it just looks fun!! This is 24 books I want to read in 2024 (not including ones I've already read or am currently reading.) These are in no particular order.

Bronze Drum, Phong Nguyen (fiction) (already own, just unread)

Lady Chatterley's Lover, D.H. Lawrence (classic)

Edward IV: A Source Book, Keith Dockray (nonfiction) (already own, just unread)

Lavinia, Ursula K. Le Guin (fiction) (already own, just unread)

Under the Skin: The Hidden Toll of Racism on American Lives and on the Health of Our Nation, Linda Villarosa (nonfiction)

Modern Paganism in World Cultures: Comparative Perspectives, Michael Strmiska (nonfiction) (already own, just unread)

She Would Be King, Wayétu Moore (fiction) (already own, just unread)

The Peacekeeper, B.L. Blanchard (fiction) (already own, just unread)

Tress of the Emerald Sea, Brandon Sanderson (fiction)

Medieval York, D.M. Palliser (nonfiction)

She Had Some Horses, Joy Harjo (poetry) (already own, just unread)

The Mysteries of Udolpho, Ann Radcliffe (classic) (already own, just unread)

Object Lessons: The Life of the Woman and the Poet in Our Time, Eavan Boland (essays?) (already own, just unread)

Noblewomen, Aristocracy and Power in the Twelfth-Century Anglo-Norman Realm, Susan M. Johns (nonfiction) (already own, just unread)

Hood Feminism: Notes from the Women That a Movement Forgot, Mikki Kendall (nonfiction)

Katherine Parr: Complete Works and Correspondence, Katherine Parr (essays/letters) (already own, just unread)

Daughter of the Moon Goddess, Sue Lynn Tan (fiction) (already own, just unread)

Blood and Roses: One Family's Struggle and Triumph During the Tumultous Wars of the Roses, Helen Castor (nonfiction) (already own, just unread)

If I Were Another: Poems, Mahmoud Darwish (poetry)

Always Italicise: How to Write While Colonised, Alice Te Punga Somerville (poetry)

Black Swim, Nicholas Goodly (poetry)

Sight Lines, Arthur Sze (poetry)

Real Queer America: LGBT Stories From Red States, Samantha Allen (nonfiction) (already own, just unread)

Within the Fairy Castle: Colleen Moore's Doll House, Terry Ann R. Neff (idk how to label this, this is my last pick just for fun) (already own, just unread)

If you want to do this, steal it from me and tag me!

#this was really fun! #trying to work on my unread shelf this year #lynna rambles

[horizon-verizon]

Dany's House of the Undying Visions in a Clash of Kings (Daenerys IV)

The Primary & Detailed Ones

Woman and the Dwarfs

In one room, a beautiful woman sprawled naked on the floor while four little men crawled over her. They had rattish pointed faces and tiny pink hands, like the servitor who had brought her the glass of shade. One was pumping between her thighs. Another savaged her breasts, worrying at the nipples with his wet red mouth, tearing and chewing.

The Red Wedding

Farther on she came upon a feast of corpses. Savagely slaughtered, the feasters lay strewn across overturned chairs and hacked trestle tables, asprawl in pools of congealing blood. Some had lost limbs, even heads. Severed hands clutched bloody cups, wooden spoons, roast fowl, heels of bread. In a throne above them sat a dead man with the head of a wolf. He wore an iron crown and held a leg of lamb in one hand as a king might hold a scepter, and his eyes followed Dany with mute appeal.

Aerys in King's Landing, About to Burn it All Down

Finally a great pair of bronze doors appeared to her left, grander than the rest. They swung open as she neared, and she had to stop and look. Beyond loomed a cavernous stone hall, the largest she had ever seen. The skulls of dead dragons looked down from its walls. Upon a towering barbed throne sat an old man in rich robes, an old man with dark eyes and long silver-grey hair. "Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat," he said to a man below him. "Let him be the king of ashes." Drogon shrieked, his claws digging through silk and skin, but the king on his throne never heard, and Dany moved on.

Rhaegar and the Prince the was Promised

Viserys, was her first thought the next time she paused, but a second glance told her otherwise. The man had her brother's hair, but he was taller, and his eyes were a dark indigo rather than lilac. "Aegon," he said to a woman nursing a newborn babe in a great wooden bed. "What better name for a king?" "Will you make a song for him?" the woman asked. "He has a song," the man replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire." He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany's, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door. "There must be one more," he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bed she could not say. "The dragon has three heads." He went to the window seat, picked up a harp, and ran his fingers lightly over its silvery strings. Sweet sadness filled the room as man and wife and babe faded like the morning mist, only the music lingering behind to speed her on her way.

The False Undying

Beyond the doors was a great hall and a splendor of wizards. Some wore sumptuous robes of ermine, ruby velvet, and cloth of gold. Others fancied elaborate armor studded with gemstones, or tall pointed hats speckled with stars. There were women among them, dressed in gowns of surpassing loveliness. Shafts of sunlight slanted through windows of stained glass, and the air was alive with the most beautiful music she had ever heard. A kingly man in rich robes rose when he saw her, and smiled. "Daenerys of House Targaryen, be welcome. Come and share the food of forever. We are the Undying of Qarth." "Long have we awaited you," said a woman beside him, clad in rose and silver. The breast she had left bare in the Qartheen fashion was as perfect as a breast could be. "We knew you were to come to us," the wizard king said. "A thousand years ago we knew, and have been waiting all this time. We sent the comet to show you the way." "We have knowledge to share with you," said a warrior in shining emerald armor, "and magic weapons to arm you with. You have passed every trial. Now come and sit with us, and all your questions shall be answered." She took a step forward. But then Drogon leapt from her shoulder. He flew to the top of the ebony-and-weirwood door, perched there, and began to bite at the carved wood. "A willful beast," laughed a handsome young man. "Shall we teach you the secret speech of dragonkind? Come, come." Doubt seized her. The great door was so heavy it took all of Dany's strength to budge it, but finally it began to move. Behind was another door, hidden. It was old grey wood, splintery and plain . . . but it stood to the right of the door through which she'd entered. The wizards were beckoning her with voices sweeter than song. She ran from them, Drogon flying back down to her. Through the narrow door she passed, into a chamber awash in gloom.

#rhaegar targaryen #elia martell #lyanna stark #daenerys stormborn #asoiaf prophecies #agot quotes #a clash of kings quotes #asoiaf fav posts #dany's visions

[bropunzeling]

4 for marriage bets, 7. 13

4. What detail in marriage bets are you really proud of?

oh gosh it's been so long and everything is flying out of my head 😂 idk if this is a "detail" but i really like how i paced/doled out the questions and answers! i was working off a (truly unhinged) list from brides dot com of things to ask your partner before you get engaged, and figuring out which ones to ask when, and the slow slide of purely funny ones to ones that were more serious as the relationship deepened, and culminating with the question leon passes on (because he'll be too honest! he'll reveal too much!) was such a fun thing to work out as i went along. im very pleased with the overall effect!

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

i think about the werewolf dating reality tv shows from the ducklings werewolf au a ridiculous amount. i can SEE the lighting i can SEE a very bronzed woman sniffing t-shirts to find the one it would be FASCINATING and GROSS. also like great way to drop how important scenting and clothes-sharing would be without being too too obvious!

13. Are there any tropes you used to like but don’t anymore?

the longer i'm in fandom the less i enjoy mundane aus. i think they CAN be done very well and there are some ive really liked BUT a lot of the time now i either want something where the sports of it all is still a theme or just like. wild imaginative stuff like fantasy ir sci-fi or historical! ofc i say this as a noted lover of fraternity aus lmao but i think it's because it can sometimes be tricky to translate the dynamics of the pairing when you're writing in a mundane setting that doesn't ALSO have the stakes/competitiveness of athletics if that makes sense? again still like a lot of them if well-written but it's not something i'll necessarily seek out

#ask meme

[thevagabondexpress]

Elliott and Juniper for the charcter ask?

elliot carstairs

i. sexuality headcanon: there's no way we can prove he's not a monster-f*ker. ii. otp: fucking therapy. a trip to scotland. chicken noodle soup. tentacle yaoi. something healthy. iii. brotp: believe it or not, i think he'd get along pretty okay with fields from my genderbent-tlh. she's been a soldier on and off a lot through the years. she grew up in weird-ass circumstances (if different weird-ass circumstances from elliott's). i think she'd get where he's coming from, and she'd understand the war wounds both visible and invisible that he carries, and i could see them hanging out together sometime once he gets out of his weird angsty "i am young and nobody else has ever felt my pain" phase. assuming fields is still around. she was born in the late 19th century. so. iv. notp: well in mare marginis he's playing boytoy to the mavka queen which. no. being the creator of this character, just no. v. first headcanon to pop into my head: he's really, really into cars. old cars, classics, sports cars. he saw the rockford files a few too many times as a kid with his mom and he's wanted to drive around bel air at high speeds in a bronze firebird ever since. he's saving up to get himself something fancy and in the meantime he practices drifting in empty parking lots and attends a lot of classics shows. vi. favorite line from this character: i don't have enough written about him yet to give one, alas. vii. one way i relate: i also like to go to old car shows and i have also seen rockford one too many times (and when you read this boy will it show, it's the only thing i know about LA at all) viii. thing that gives me second-hand embarrassment: some of the. uh. things that he will do for juniper over the course of these books. my man. calm down. ix. definitely a problematic character.

juniper blackthorn

i. she's definitely demiromantic, demisexual. she's interested in one person and one person only and always has been. ii. believe it or not, yes, actually, elliot. it might be a really fucked up toxic dynamic but i can't see her being that comfortable or that vulnerable with anybody else. this woman is tense as a spring and fragile as glass, if he's the person who can get her to sit down and relax and cry the tears she needs to cry then so be it. iii. mara. it's a shame i'm pitting them against each other honestly they'd be powerhouse friends. iv. also mara. they'd be powerhouse friends but they should under no circumstances be a ship. also, mara's like sixteen, so. v. she has these little fingerless glovelets that she's always wearing all the time. she won't take them off, not even in 30+ degree celsius weather. she only takes them off to paint and she paints in latex gloves. her hands are always covered. vi. ahh, i want to give it but i can't because you might piece together the spoilers surrounding it so. sorry :( vii. when she gets upset, especially if she's crying, she doesn't know how to calm down. she can't figure it out. those circuits just aren't there. she has to get someone else to walk her through the steps or she'll just wind herself tighter and tighter. viii. just. everything about her mare marginis self. that bitch is over the top. she needs a rest from the melodramatics. ix. also definitely problematic

#genderbent tsc #genderbent tda

[blueiight]

Your very recent meta on complexities of how iwtv addresses race and how for the longest time either black people weren't included in period dramas or were included in colourblind ways and how iwtv says "fuck you" to this very practice??

Good shit. Brilliant shit. Love it. ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

thank u so much for hearing me out lol was honestly expecting it to go bronze on this little app of ours ngl also ive seen ppl just say ‘oh louis & claudia is black now cry haterz’ while wanting them to be racially blind charas + ive seen others treat the racial themes of the series [particularly how it plays out in the interpersonal triad] as if its some narrative flaw that lacks coherency or as if race is extricable from gender in that way when its prolly one of the strongest parts of s1 imo… like in the books claudia saying ‘we’ve become lestat’s slaves & i’ll free us’ is a kiiii kinda cuz its v few things white ppl fear more than being treated like the blacks™️🤥 [s/o john lennon LOL] but in the show now its a black woman making that analogy its not just an ‘arrogant child’ plotting against her dad its an extremely lucid point on how the household dynamic degraded into such

#yn. #yn answers #Aints game soon in 10 mins my life is on the line #i gotta choose sobriety soon guys ima be back on meds

[sorcedin]

hello! welcome to @rozsaszin 's twisted mind, aka my blog where i talk about my bg3 characters :> because i need to have so many files going at once for uh, crazy reasons i guess.

feel free to read below and learn about my characters and different storylines im working on!

tavs

Rozsaszin Zartok (Ancunin post-game)

Zariel Tiefling, Storm Sorcerer and Oath of Vengeance Paladin (reason for the username!)

Outlander (+ Entertainer but not officially) Background

She/it

Bisexual

?

Rozsaszin was a fashion model in Baldur's Gate before her unfortunate nautiloid abduction. Before she moved to Baldurs Gate to further her career, she and her family were from another land that I haven't fully settled on. Her life was peaceful, for the most part. At most it was exhausting, leaving her feeling as though most of her value lied in her appearance. Still, she loved her life, always caring greatly for her family and girlfriend. Her grandmother's pact with a powerful dragon deity of storms seeped into her blood, giving her the gift of storm sorcery that she incorporated into her modeling career. Her limited flight abilities and usage of spells as special effects made her a delight to watch. After the nautiloid crash, she made a great many friends, most notably Astarion. Learning about the suffering her friends had endured at the hands of powerful cruel beings radicalized her view of the world she lived in. During her quest, she dedicated herself to Ilmater in an Oath of Vengeance against all evil and cruelty, across planes. She's 5'8" (Horns add about 2 inches) with a curvy-fat body type. She's romancing Astarion and is so protective of him, he was the turning point in taking her oath.

Rhea the Devoted

Half-Orc

Oath of Devotion Paladin

Folk Hero Background

She/her

Biromantic Gray-Asexual

Cis Woman

Currently have very little figured out for her since I just remade her. Extremely loyal and so large. In my heart of hearts, she and Wyll were childhood friends and she wants to save him from his pact so bad. And then... You know <3

Venetius

Bronze Dragonborn

Great Old One Warlock

Noble Background

He/him

Gay

Cis Man?? what

Multiplayer with @fruitflow

I still have no clue about this guy other than he's a tall prissy rich boy that made a pact with some eldritch freak. Haven't even settled on his romance route but im leaning astarion, kind of considering gale or halsin. We haven't multiplayed in a while... But right now he's kind of just following Na'vez around while she's a scary lesbian.

durges

Tomei Aliyava

Human (Complicated)

Assassin Rogue (Multiclassing into Draconic Sorcerer later)

She/he/they/xe (Roll 1d4 for pronouns)

Bisexual

Genderfluid

Character I repurposed from a dead campaign into a Dark Urge. Is she resisting? Is she giving in? Hard to say, but she sure does suck! Also she has some weird dragon genetics in her which is why she has that fucked up eye. Overall just a very cutthroat cruel killer, and amnesia did not stop that. Unsure of romance plans. Who knows anything.

Shishko Bhalnova

Drow

Eldritch Knight Fighter (Potentially Multiclassing into Assassin or Thief Rogue)

She/He

Femme Lover (thats the orientation)

Butch Transmasc Woman Thing

Multiplayer with @focafurineuvi

resisting durge who is having a very bad time. tunes out all of her thoughts in hopes that if she lets others do the thinking and lets herself be used as a fighting tool controlled by someone else, she won't snap and hurt anyone. Shadowheart romancer who is a bit psychosexually obsessed with Ceri (the tav she's in multiplayer with) and Astarion

Fuchsia Alexander

Half-Elf

College of Swords Bard

He/him

Bisexual Trans Man

Multiplayer with @focafurineuvi and @fruitflow

i cant even begin to describe how much i despise this man. hes romancing karlach i guess. fucking whatever. hes the most important thing ive ever made

Macula Inkycap

Deep Gnome

Ranger (Unknown Subclass Yet Sorry)

She/her

Bisexual Transfem

redeemed durge whos kind of a gritty asshole. my least charismatic character thus far. cunty gnome for some reason. ANOTHER astarion liker. fuck. sorry.

#tav: rozsa #tav: rhea #tav: venetius #durge: tomei #durge: shishko #rozstarion #meithara #rhyll #shishkoheart #pinned #other tags to come surely #tav: fuchsia alexander #durge: macula #fuchlach #astacula

[deathlessathanasia]

“Briseis is the symbol of the dehumanizing effects of war, the living example of the way in which women, considered only from the perspective of the battlefield, become objectified as possessions and war-booty. The term which describes Briseis throughout almost all of Book I is geras ("prize"), a neuter noun. She is the symbol of Achilles' honor and the reward for his labor ("whom, after much hard work he had taken away from Lymessos / after he had sacked Lymessos and the walls of Thebe" [II.690-691]). In the competive world of masculine values women exist only as chattel - whether the activity is war or funeral games. In wartime the prizes are, as Thersites lists them, bronze, women, and gold (II. 225ff.); in the funeral games for Patroclus, Achilles offers as prizes cauldrons, tripods, horses, mules, cattle, women and iron (XXIII.259ff.). Achilles' attitude toward Briseis in I contrasts markedly with his later display of affectionate regard for her: Since any who is a good man, and careful, loves her who is his own and cares for her, even as I now loved this one from my heart, though it was my spear that won her. IX.341-343 This is a statement which Achilles makes as part of a larger refusal to take part in the war, and as part of a rejection of the world of Ares. When, at a later point in the Iliad, Patroclus has been killed and Achilles re-enters the battle, one of the ways in which he asserts his recovered sense of community with the Greek warriors is through the expression of a wish that Briseis had been killed: Son of Atreus, was this after all the better way for both, for you and me, that we, for all our hearts' sorrow, quarrelled together for the sake of a girl in soul-perishing hatred? I wish Artemis had killed her beside the ships with an arrow on that day when I destroyed Lyrnessos and took her ... XIX.56-60

In the first books of the Iliad as here, Briseis is a geras only, a pawn in the men's disputes. Briseis' unlucky fate is also an ominous foreshadowing of the doom that awaits the women of Troy. As we shall see, this feature of war figures importantly in the dialogue between Hector and Andromache in Book VI, and several passages in the first books of the Iliad draw attention to it. The Greek leader's incitement of their men to war in Book II includes the vision of revenge to be exacted from the Trojans' wives: Therefore let no man be urgent to take the way homeward until after he has lain in bed with the wife of a Trojan to avenge Helen's longing to escape and her lamentations. 11.354-356 Agamemnon, in his prayer for victory to Zeus in III, includes the wish that they might rape the Trojan's wives (III.301 ),18 Such passages, with their vision of the violence and abuse to which the women of the defeated warriors will be subjected, crystallize the vicious, dehumanizing aspects of war, and associate them with the fate of women. After Book VI there are no examples of such exhortations as those of Nestor in II or Agamemnon in II, IV, and VI. This is largely because the tragic effects of war, after VI, encompass the men of the poem (Patroclus and Hector especially) as well as the women. But, fittingly, the last exhortation to brutalize the women of Troy is the most savage: No, let not one of them [the Trojans] go free of sudden death and our hands; not the young man child that the mother carries still in her body, not even he ... VI.57-59 Up to Book VI, then, one of the two kinds of women who appear in the poem is the woman as victim of war, the pawn in men's disputes and the innocent sufferer of all the degrading effects of war.”

 - Marilyn Arthur Katz, The divided world of Iliad VI, in Reflections of Women in Antiquity

#the iliad #briseis #women #quotes #excerpts

[cordoleo]

hear ye hear ye — the riverlands welcomes LADY MEREDYTH RYKKER of DUSKENDALE. king matthos baratheon is glad that the TWENTY-EIGHT year old appears to be resourceful and he shall overlook that it’s said they are also detached, as long as they are glad to celebrate peace in the seven kingdoms. fortunately for them, matthos remains oblivious that they AREN’T happy with his reign.

i. background.

full name: meredyth rykker.

commonly goes by: mere, merry.

epitaph: lady nowhere.

official title: lady of duskendale.

occupation: translator, performer; previously a novice in the citadel (c. 287 - 293)

age: twenty eight.

birth date: 17th of june 270 ac.

gender + pronouns: cis woman + she/her.

orientation: bisexual + homoromantic.

allegiance: herself.

spoken language: common tongue, high valyrian, bastard valyrian ( several dialects ), trade talk, lhazareen, sarnori, enough dothraki.

religion: baptized under the faith of the seven but holds little attachment to the seven; instead, she has a fondness for foreign gods.

ii. appearance.

faceclaim: pooja hegde.

eye color: warm brown.

hair color: chocolate brown.

remarkable markings: n/a.

dominant hand: ambidextruous.

height: 5'9".

build: tall, "pear shaped".

iii. personality.

virtues: easy - going, vivacious, open - minded, adaptative, quick - witted, attentive.

vices: opportunistic, vain, unruly, chaotic, non - committal, egotistical.

weapon of choice: always carries a dagger strapped to her thigh and poison inside one of her rings.

moral alignment: tba.

inspired by: alexis rose ( schitt’s creek ), helene kuragina ( war and peace ), maria de padilla ( history ), nell gwynn ( history ), roman roy ( succession ), lydia bennett ( pride and prejudice ).

common tropes: tba.

iv. relationships.

parents: reginald and tba rykker.

siblings: desmera and tba ( older ).

relationship status: unmarried.

children: none.

pets: none.

other relations: tba.

previous relations: several.

v. biography.

last born of the rykker clan, mere was fed from the crib about tales she'd eat up eagerly: stories of the old valyrian world, the one that it developed into and survived in essos and the one that, just shortly after she was born, would crumble around in westeros. gifts and reminiscent items from the targaryen allegiance the rykker had were hidden away. instead, they focused on trade — duskendale may not be white harbor or oldtown, but the port city was lively, and yet another interesting thing for a child that was too curious to focus on.

she loathed going to king's landing when the ironborn rebellion knocked at their doors. while her sister may have taken to being a maid of honor with grace and keenness, merry would have rather stayed behind. as a ten year old, she didn't understand the dangers of new coming boats that have always treated her so well, but at thirteen, she would learn that the ironborn are not as merciful as foreign traders. it was also the first time she noticed that, sometimes, there is something more than family, than to be bound — when dessie prefers to give up their right as heir to play puppet to a queen that was, fairly, loathsome.

that didn't stop her from coming back to court at fifteen, though her stay there would be even shorter. the strong will she had could not be contained by the queen who would then advice (truly, almost demand) that the rykker's mother to deal with mere somehow. the method chosen was the citadel. the life of a novice was the last thing merry would care to indulge. the life of a maester seemed like a nightmare, certainly a punishment that mother wasn't even qualified to bestow upon her (hadn't her mother been just as bad of a hellion in her youth, sailing all the way from saath to westeros?), yet, she went. the convincing part of it was the knowledge she could pry from the teachers: you needn't take the vows, she was promised.

and truly, it wasn't all bad. she enjoyed some subjects — she would go on to forge four chains: black iron (raven), copper (history), bronze (astronomy), lead (poisoning) — and made some acquaintances she'd hold dear, but patience could only hold to a certain time. on the eve of the date of another chain test, she chose to board a ship out of westeros instead. if anything, that was on her mother, who had fed her such stories of success — she wanted nothing but to redo it, forge her own path the way she wanted to. it wasn't all nice nor pretty, not the way she would tell people later on. when the money ran out, she was ready to join a pillow house before she saw a performance of a traveling trope that would take her in.

with them, she went around most of the free cities until some three years ago, when she became the mistress of the magistrate of lys. it was around there that she first met aerys targaryen, though it would take her years to entirely leave her very comfortable position to follow a beggar prince — not until the dragons were born again and it was like mere was three again, eating up mistified tales of a family of old. she's always struggled to believe, but maybe in this — in this, she can find something that sticks.

#conquest.intro

[monotone-artist]

idk been doing some concepts for a spiderman oc, aka spider-woman aka bronze spider aka spider-claw aka veronica "nickel" jackson. this is the most effort ive put into designing any oc ever tbh

uhhh additional stuff under the read-more

[id: some images of colorless digital sketches. the first one is a few concepts for her outfit design, based off victorian-era clothing, mainly in the shape of a tunic, baggy trousers, and boots. her eye-lenses are goggles, which can widen and squint spider-verse style. there are also several concepts of her spider symbol, most of which are in a mechanical style. a list of text tucked between the designs reads, "stockings, beanie hat? coats, belts, chains? handkerchief, tophat." there's also "Bronze Spider" written in the corner of the image.

the second image is some earlier concepts. the main one is just a plain fullbody without any detail. there are some shots of just her torso to figure out the spider symbol placement and design. there are also a few spider symbol designs, though they're not mechanical.

the last image is of nickel in one of the victorian-style designs, seeming to be in midair, her legs hooked back and her arms bent outward, as though she's in the middle of a big jump. end id]

she's gonna have two versions, this is the one before The Incident, and she's gonna have one for After.

she lives in this like, modern fantastical steampunk society (there's technology like phones n computers; there's dragons and unicorns n other creatures; and steampunk. her nyc is called the Tiered City because it is. in tiers. for general inspiration, i imagine it as classic steampunk stuff (cause i dont wanna do worldbuilding, except that they have modern technology too, just steampunk-ified) mixed with some arcane with a hint of lady trent's memoirs (in terms of the fantasy wildlife). but im still figuring things out though

nickel's whole thing is that she is actually one of two spiderpeople in her universe. they're known together as the spider-twins, even though the other spidey is actually her cousin (whose name is victoria jackson) but it's not that important. nickel also has a gf, her name is elsa but im still not sure of a surname

anyway The Incident happens and victoria dies and that rlly screws up nickel, and at some point (before, during, or after idk), nickel gets some drake dna and now whenever she's stressed or angry or anything, she turns into a drake. (it's a process that depends on how awful she feels though so she can just have like, dragon horns only for example). and because she's rather self-destructive at this point she starts calling herself spider-claw.

there's a whole metaphor thing going on w her and dragons are awesome so im using that. also this is all subject to change because im still figuring her out x_x but im having fun with it so it's fine

#spider-man #spider-verse #spiderverse #monotoneart #oc: nickel jackson #it's weird for her nickname to be nickel AND her spidername to be bronze spider but yknow what i might just roll with it #depends what victoria's spidername will be #im thinking that the spidername names are mostly for all the spiderverse shenanigans. #in their universe theyre known by the city w the classic spidernames: spider-woman spidey etc #but yeah #...i also just realized it's also weird for them to be victorian-style but for one of their names to be victoria #well!!!!!! i can do whatever i want forever

[madam-of-lithuania]

You like historical clothing, yes? Would you be willing to either give me some tips or resources about historical Lithuanian clothing for men? Thank you!!

Sure I who not mind, i choose the ancient baltic clothing

Early Iron Age (I–IV centuries AD)

Clothing is believed to be of a tunic style. Tablet-woven sashes with simple, longitudinal designs are worn, tied at the waist or to embellish the garment edges. The cloth is woolen, woven on vertical frame looms in a 3-shaft twill pattern. Women’s headwear is embellished with small, round or flat metal pieces, their fronts adorned with ornaments hung on twisted, two-stranded wire. Another special type of women’s headwear from this period covers the temples with a symmetrical pair of flat, ring or coil shaped ornaments. We still do not know if this jewelry was worn for specific occasions. The metal ornaments from the period are subtle in form, made of silver filigree, with incrustations of azure blue glass and framed in red, black or green enamel.

In the later part of this period, these types of ornaments, as well as elaborate multicolored glass bead necklaces brought from the Roman Empire, are no longer in evidence. The dominant technique for making ornaments becomes metal casting; decorative elements echo patterns found in tablet-woven sashes: longitudinal designs made up of dots, triangles, or series of open circles. Designs on brooches consist primarily of arched ladders. Long needle-like pins worn by women are bobbin shaped, or less commonly they have rounded blue ends, worn in pairs, joined together with one or two small chains and pinned to the shoulder region. Ornaments worn around the neck have trumpet or cone-shaped ends, often with azure blue dangles. Bracelets are massive and cut from a round piece of metal, or less commonly, made from braided pieces of metal. During this period both men and women wear such arm decorations, usually one on each wrist. Bracelets made of braided metal are especially popular.

Middle Iron Age (V–VIII centuries AD)

The clothing style as well as the cloth worn during the Middle Iron Age remains much the same as before: the woolen cloth is still woven on upright frame looms, and sashes have the same linear patterns. The metal ornaments, however, are not as subtle in style as before. They are much larger and the bodies of many of the pins and brooches are made of bronze and covered with a thin layer of silver; minimizing the amount of precious metal used.

During this period women begin wearing skull caps – a few rows of short woven decorative elements, interspersed with cast flat metal pieces, decorated with metal eyelets and strung together on woolen thread. Bracelets are still massive, with only the portion encircling the wrist being somewhat narrowed, their ends are now wider. Women wear one or two on each arm, while men adopt the habit of wearing one very large bracelent on the left wrist. This is the so-called “warrior” bracelet, intended to protect the wrist when holding a battle shield.

Necklaces made of glass beads are typically worn only by women, although men of the Aukštaičiai tribe also wear such neck ornaments. Both men and women wear amulets made of amber – typically a large bead, cone-shaped at both ends, that was hung from a brooch, sash, or woman’s straight pin. As before, needle-type pins are worn in pairs, connected with small chains and decorated with small hanging ornaments. In the northern regions these are a woman’s primary accessory clothing element; brooches, such as those worn by men, are not found with their clothes.

The women of the southern Baltic tribes use brooches to fasten their clothing. These are circular in shape, cast in bronze or silver, and often decorated with serpent head motifs, or sometimes with poppy seed pods. Men wear leather belts with raised metal clasps, and sashes from which they hang their weapons, and tall boots fastened at the knee with belt buckles.

Late Iron Age (IX–XIII centuries AD)

During the Late Iron Age the ornamentation of the clothing worn (and, we believe, the clothing silhouette itself) changes. Brooches now have a horseshoe shape rather than the earlier circular shape. We find some of them in men’s graves, leading us to surmise that men’s clothing from the period was cut down the center and that the brooches were used as buttons. The tablet-woven sashes now have more complicated patterns of geometric rhombi, and cross and swastika motifs.

Along with woolen cloth, beginning with the 10th century, we now find cloth made of linen. The larger quantity of woven material leads us to believe, that towards the end of this period, the Balts, like other European peoples, have now learned to use horizontal looms. With the advent of flax cultivation, we begin to see the use of thread made of a wool/flax combination in woven sashes and later, in scarves.

As before, women enjoy wearing knotted skull caps, although now their small metal ornaments are no longer cast, but rather hammered into various shapes and embellished with intertwined ellipses, swastikas, triangles and rhombi. These pieces are strung on braided or spun linen thread rather than on strands of wool. Bracelets are mostly of braided metal. Men continue wearing a massive bracelet on their left wrist, but now these are wrapped in a long woven sash and strung with small rings (chainmail). The Semigallian wimples are adorned similarly with small chains strung together on a long string, as are Samogitian womens’ hats/headwear. Maple tree whirligig-shaped ornaments hang from their fronts.

Clothing often is embellished with tiny round metal beads, a style especially favored by Semigallians. Samogitian women string and hang beads in a flat rhombus shape on their robes, so that as they move, the beads touch each other and make a tinkling sound. Selonian women like to pin tubular bronze pins on their robes to form various geometric designs; the tunics of the Latgalian men are similarly adorned.

Important parts of the “dress uniform” of warriors/soldiers are tall boots and a leather belt covered with hammered bronze plates ending in woven bronze tassels. During this period neck ornaments are made of braided metal with loop and hook closures. Those worn by Selonian women have flat, curved ends decorated with geometric motifs; some have additional flat metal pieces or small round bangles arranged in a trapeze shape. Often these bangles are used to form a part of womens’ necklaces along with braided elements and glass beads. As before, bracelets are mostly of braided metal, although their central portions are widened and geometric forms added.

XIII–IV centuries AD

The changes in outfits worn during the 13th – 14th centuries are even greater. Along with the traditional and locally made garments of linen and wool, we now find imported weaves of silk and brocade. Because of their expense, these materials are used only in sashes and textile-based headwear. Plaid scarves can now be found. Headwear has also changed; now it is made of sashes of wool or silk and decorated with small, four or five-sided flat plates; spaces between them are filled with threaded bead embroidery (biserio).

The shape of brooches changes, such that now we find round, cast brooches with a hole in their center used for fastening. Small horseshoe-shaped brooches are found arranged vertically on the right side of the neck, most likely having been used to fasten the opening of a dress or underclothes. Bracelets are uncommon and the ones found are now of a different shape – in the form of bands made from pieces of bent, decorated sheets of metal, or tripartite and joined with loops.

Necklaces are made from small glass beads, with rounded, four-sided, or cross-shaped dangles and seashells. Earrings are a new accessory and are worn primarily by Balt women, who also begin to wear metal-plated belts of the type that men wear, as well as a new “invention” from the West – leather pouches with closures attached to their belts. Also worn are amulets – claws of male bears encased in bronze, and cast bronze keys with rhombus-shaped tops in a gothic style.

The men’s outfits of this period are much harder to determine from the available archaeological material. Nevertheless, we can deduce that men wear woolen socks and tall boots, and linen underclothes. They sport wool tunics woven on a three shaft loom, with their garments held together with bronze plated belts from which would hang a leather pouch and knife.

#lithuanian historical clothing #lithuanian history #historical clothing #ancient baltic #baltic tribes #baltic history #lithuanian hetalian #hetalian #madam of Lithuania answers #ask answered #ask #madam of lithuania #madam of lithuania's ramblings

[cordeliaflyte]

Genius Loci

Sir Geoffrey Hill

1932 – 2016

i.m. D S C H

I

Music’s poltergeist among the grand spirits, can you now tell what such possession is                     or was saying: I know the woman who stands here in Pushkin’s clock-haunted house, shadowy figure nimbus’d by light’s mode amid the wan company thinning at dawn. The air sways, a lamp holds vigil with its smoky flame. The fiddle is in velvet, the cello has ceased to urge her proud commodious song.

II

The cello’s long since ceased to urge her proud commodious song. It is like a love story  that ends up tragic; or some common débâcle heroic by decree. There’s breach of custom that privileges laughter. In art we hazard so much void of compulsion.  The silence and down-turned thumb are not compulsion but luck, or the climate, being in the wrong place. The sublime wearies, so we have farting on brass like one of Stalin’s jokes. This is a sketched-in historical thesis. You will call it parody.

III

You will call this parody yet your own music is like a spectral dance more than a dance of spirits                     when it is not like a wide city under a bronze sky, when it is not the Neva or a high voicing of a passion-nocturne by Aleksandr Blok; the unheard-of threnos brought into hearing and, once heard, a presentiment from nature           no more to be wondered at but in the broad way of wonder and acceptance. Not parody precisely. It is true I think

IV

that I have now confused you with Zhivago and Pushkin and my own ambition to write Onegin and fifteen string quartets and some sparely glittering poem about Christmas                     or Easter; to get the drum-raps right for cracking the spring ice: more fitful as a human testament than heart-murmur or tinnitus, or the way one’s jaw creaks when eating. Finally I declare homage to the late Frank O’Hara, intelligent, choosy lover of Russia and of Russian music.

V

Who is this woman who stands here in Pushkin’s  clock-haunted house? I do not know.                     I cannot tell presence from memory amid the wan company thinning at dawn. She is a muse of sorts, that much is certain. Her hand is nimbus’d in a gesture of rebuke or blessing, and the lamp holds vigil           with its well-trimmed flame. The house-door stands ajar. The cello has now long languished from her immemorable aubade. 

#poetry

[grubloved]

my sister is so pretty! all day today she wore a very beautiful dress her girlfriend got her in the mail and oh! ive never really understood the way that people speak about beautiful women being a joyful thing to have around because it was always ME having to be the beautiful woman and disliking it, or the beautiful woman being an example of something i was personally supposed to attain -- but i am far enough removed from all of that now thank god. and so instead my sister being around and being so pretty is just so fun and wonderful she is being a decoration! she is a little artwork in my home and she's so pretty! i get to look at her sometimes! she is a delight! i love her all the time, but she is so beautiful today with her gold curls and the way the drapey muslin falls around her bronzed arms and the way her long sleeves slip down her shoulders and how her pretty gold necklace catches the light. it is a joy to see her!!! she is beautiful!!!

#and it is so wonderful to see her so happy and so suited to things i always loved to see but hated to wear....she is so beautiful and happy #and i feel so thankful to have her around!!!!!! it is so wonderful!!!!! #birdenest

[beardedmrbean]

Providence, Rhode Island, -- A Rhode Island woman who posed as a U.S Marine Corps veteran fighting stage IV cancer to fraudulently obtain $250K in donations and veteran benefits has agreed to plead guilty, prosecutors said.

Sarah Cavanaugh, a social worker from East Greenwich, collected thousands from veteran benefit programs by forging military documents and obtained donations through a GoFundMe page she had set up, convincing Good Samaritans that she was fighting lung cancer, NY Post reported citing court documents.

Cavanaugh blamed her "illness" on the burn pits in Iraq, where she claimed she was posted. She appeared in public functions adorning a Marine uniform with replicas of Purple Heart and Bronze Star medals on them.

By faking the illness, she obtained benefits from programs like Wounded Warrior Project, Code of Support Foundation and CreatiVets. She even got 460 hours of Emergency Paid Leave worth over $20,000 and 261 hours of federal leave time worth $11,000, prosecutors said.

The scam was busted after two veterans who attempted to pay Cavanaugh's bill at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston found out that her account in the medical facility never existed.

An army veteran, identified as Simoni Chelsey, then contacted the military officials to check Cavanaugh's record and realized she never served in the military. "They searched and said she never served. That night I didn’t sleep at all," Chelsey said.

The investigation later revealed that Cavanaugh not only posed as a veteran but also faked her illness. Cavanaugh's job as a licensed social worker for Veterans Affairs Medical Center in Providence gave her access to the discharge records and medical bills of actual cancer patients. The woman then forged these documents to make them appear as if she had been honorably discharged and had cancer, prosecutors said, reported Military.com.

The 31-year-old faces multiple charges including wire fraud, identity theft, forging a military discharge certificate and fraudulent use of military medals. She has agreed to pay more than $82,000 in restitution.

Although Cavanaugh faces a maximum of 24 years in prison, prosecutors would recommend a lighter sentence as part of the plea agreement. 

#nunyas news