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myfleetfootposts · 3 years

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Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard - THOMAS GRAY

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect, Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove, Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. "One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; "The next with dirges due in sad array Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown. Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear, He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his Father and his God.

#elegy #father'sfavouritepoem

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moderndeadpoetssociety · 3 years

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hi! my favourite poem is Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard by Thomas Gray, it’s sort of a long poem though

#this is beautiful #thank you so much #poem #Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard #Thomas Gray #classic literature #literature #moderndeadpoetssociety

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sublimerhymes · 4 years

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Elegy Written in a Church Courtyard by Thomas Gray

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds: Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share, Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour:- The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre: But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, -- Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn; 'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 'One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 'The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne,- Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.'

The Epitaph

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown. Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, And Melacholy marked him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Misery all he had, a tear, He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode (There they alike in trembling hope repose), The bosom of his Father and his God.

#english poetry #rhyme #poem #poetry

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thesquireofcheddar · 5 years

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Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard BY THOMAS GRAY The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r, Molest her ancient solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death?

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre.

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes,

Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect, Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.

For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

"There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove, Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

"One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;

"The next with dirges due in sad array Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown. Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear, He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his Father and his God.

#lit

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michaelantwiministries-blog · 5 years

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Tricks

Thursday 29 August 2019

Theme: Tricks

Text: Joshua 9:1-27

As the Children of God we will face opposition of the direct nature and the indirect nature of trickery.

"That ye may approve of things that are excellent; that ye may be sincere and without offence till the day of Christ". Philippians 1:10

Good Morning. Peace be unto us all, Amen

. Today's Scripture Meaning

1. The kings combine against Israel. (1,2)

2. The Gibeonites apply for peace. (3-13)

3. They obtain peace, but are soon detected. (14-21)

4. The Gibeonites are to be bondmen. (22-27)

Verse 1,2: Hitherto the Canaanites had defended themselves, but here they consult to attack Israel. Their minds were blinded, and their hearts hardened to their destruction. Though often at enmity with each other, yet they united against Israel. Oh that Israel would learn of Canaanites, to sacrifice private interests to the public welfare, and to lay aside all quarrels among themselves, that they may unite against the enemies of God's kingdom!

Verses 3-13: Other people heard these tidings, and were driven thereby to make war upon Israel; but the Gibeonites were led to make peace with them. Thus the discovery of the glory and the grace of God in the gospel, is to some a savour of life unto life, but to others a savour of death unto death, (2 Corinthians 2:16). The same sun softens wax and hardens clay. The falsehood of the Gibeonites cannot be justified. We must not do evil that good may themselves to the God of Israel, we have reason to think Joshua would have been directed by the oracle of God to spare their lives. But when they had once said, "We are come from a far country," they were led to say it made of skins, and their clothes: one lie brings on another, and that a third, and so on.

The way of that sin is especially down-hill. Yet their faith and prudence are to be commended. In submitting to Israel they submitted to the God of Israel, which implied forsaking their idolatries. And how can we do better than cast ourselves upon the mercy of a God of all goodness? The way to avoid judgment is to meet it by repentance. Let us do like these Gibeonites, seek peace with God in the rags of abasement, and godly sorrow; so our sin shall not be our ruin. Let us be servants to Jesus, our blessed Joshua, and we shall live.

Verses 14-21: The Israelites, having examined the provisions of the Gibeonites, hastily concluded that they confirmed their account. We make more haste than good speed, when we stay not to take God with us, and do not consult him by the word and prayer. The fraud was soon found out. A lying tongue is but for a moment. Had the oath been in itself unlawful, it would not have been binding; for no obligation can render it our duty to commit a sin. But it was not unlawful to spare the Canaanites who submitted, and left idolatry, desiring only that their lives might be spared. A citizen of Zion swears to his own hurt, and changes not, (Psalm 15:4). Joshua and the princes, when they found that they had been deceived, did not apply to Eleazar the high priest to be freed from their engagement, much less did they pretend that no faith is to be kept with those to whom they had sworn. Let this convince us how we ought to keep our promises, and make good our bargains; and what conscience we ought to make of our words.

Verses 22-27: The Gibeonites do not justify their lie, but plead that they did it to save their lives. And the fear was not merely of the power of man; one might flee from that to the Divine protection; but of the power of God himself, which they saw engaged against them. Joshua sentences them to perpetual bondage. They must be servants, but any work becomes honourable, when it is done for the house of the Lord, and the offices thereof. Let us, in like manner, submit to our Lord Jesus, saying, We are in thy hand, do unto us as seemeth good and right unto thee, only save our souls; and we shall not repent it. If He appoints us to bear his cross, and serve him, that shall be neither shame nor grief to us, while the meanest office in God's service will entitle us to a dwelling in the house of the Lord all the days of our life. And in coming to the Saviour, we do not proceed upon a peradventure. We are invited to draw nigh, and are assured that him that cometh to Him, he will in nowise cast out. Even those things which sound harsh, and are humbling, and form sharp trials of our sincerity, will prove of real advantage.

Today's Scripture Application

Today we Continue in the book of Joshua with Chapter 9 and we see where Joshua has to deal with more enemies of God. The southern kings made an alliance and made a direct attack against Israel while the people of Gibeon trick Joshua making a treaty on false pretenses.

In making application we see as the Children of God we will face opposition of the direct nature and the indirect nature of trickery. It reminds me of the life of a teacher who used to teach in one of the private schools here in Accra. He was an untrained teacher but he was employed in the school to teach. The proprietress of the school good and cordial relationship with him looking at the enthusiasm he used to teach and his commitment to duty. In the end it was discovered that the teacher forged his document in the blind eyes of the proprietress. He had tricked the proprietress by gaining her confidence and caught her offguard but if she had examined him closer she would have seen some small academic flaws in his life.

In our Christian life we must look for subtle hints that gives evidence of the the tricks of the enemy. Joshua was not to make treaties and although it seemed logical at the time - he should often obeyed this principle of the Lord. When we make decisions apart from Biblical Principles we put ourselves in a venerable place also - just as Israel did. How about you? Have been tricked by the enemy? Let us learn from our text today and be aware of tricks by following Biblical Principles.

When we make decisions apart from Biblical Principles we put ourselves in a venerable place.

GOD bless you.

Don't forget to share.

#Word of God #Teaching #Preaching #Discipleship

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conoscenze · 5 years

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@hyacinthsgirl || plotted.

Most call it “respect for the unknown”. She calls it cowardice and lack of spine.

Rumors come and go, that is for sure. People talk, talk, talk---and with talk come listeners. People willing to take in and keep the story dwelling in their minds. Her ear, when people happen to gossip nearby, typically rejects the entrance of such banter almost automatically, as she’s a woman made of concrete through and through: the abstract doesn’t interest her. Nor does the thrill that, for most, seems to come with unexplainable events and myths. At least, that would be the usual case. Until she heard about the “burned house”. The one that, in an uncountable amount of time, turned to ashes with no witnesses or victims found. No fancy name, no particular monster lounging around; just the fact that people seemed to refer to it as simply that, burned house, struck a familiar spark within her. With heavy steps, straight path outstretched, her mind’s busy playing a tape from not much ago.

Actually, there’s a rumor, she reminisces (her pace is steady, and the moon up there serves enough as a source of light to be able to tell where she’s going), You know? On the news they said “no bodies were found” but there’s actually... I’ve heard there might actually be something there. Something? Like what? ---Like the corpse of a witch. Something similar to that. (Salice exhales and stops.) Ah, well, that’s kind of cliché, innit? No chance that you’d buy that kind of bull, man. I mean, yeah, a house burning with no one around to see it all go down... it’s suspicious. But that’s goin’ too far, I think.

“Going too far?” the question is rhetorical, purely abstract, thrown out there in a hushed breath and a sarcastic tone to mock the naivety it. Though her eyes clearly notice how the once-mansion is now a miserable carcass defined by old, crumpled piles of burnt construction materials and bare, charred pillars, she can smell the scorching fumes of the fire; she can feel her nape, wrists, and forehead dampen with sweat, almost as if the flamws are still alive to this very moment. Listening closely, she can most definitely hear them. The crackling wood, collapsing girders that crush through floors and the passive but painful dissipating grass---maybe it’s her imagination playing with her mind, perhaps it could be this sort of twisted excitement that’s creating lively memories she’s never lived, in order to incite her. What she’s about to do is risky. It’s stupid. It’s unimaginably idiotic and completely beyond her own rigorous logical methods and strategies. Yet she knows, she knows that if she doesn’t fix this ache right now, right here, it will haunt her for eternity. What are the chances? At best, she’ll get to chat with a powerful being that, under her control, will not be able to do anything if obey and submit to her magic. At worst, she won’t find anything, and will walk away with steely bitterness on the tip of her tongue.

There’s no confidence that her magic will work. Hell, she’s not confident she’ll be able to find the oh-so-spoken-of corpse of which the existence is often questioned and researched through all the newspaper articles and chronicle texts she’s read during her information hunting. Not even the nearest city had a single idea, the moment she stepped in to ask around, of the elusive and fascinating mystery of the “burned house” and the witch that the myths say inhabited it: one day the house was there, sturdy and compact, in all its old fashioned glory. The next it was as black as charcoal, cooked crisp. Puffy, dark smoke clouds disappeared just as fast, they had told her. Odd, right?, they asked. Odd indeed, she agreed. Obviously she wasn’t satisfied with what she had found. The curiosity was much too grand, much too voracious for her to bear further. Which is why she’s decided to take the matters in her own hands---literally and figuratively. Tonight is the night. She hopes taking a few days off will make this mess of a journey worth it. What keeps pushing her enough to convince her that this is not as useless as it may seem? Salice can’t tell. There’s a magnetic sensation that keep dragging her closer and closer, one which she has never felt before: letting her boot splash into the humid, nigh muddy soil, her eyes catch the absence of grass at one point.

This is it. There’s no going back. The corpse of the house, which seemed so innocent and unreachable from afar, is now before her full-scale, in all its wretched honor and beauty. As soon as the smell of burnt, rotting wood hits her nose, she resists the temptation to sneeze: the odor is so strong that she can hardly bear it. Her fingers wipe over her nostrils as she makes her way through what once probably was the entrance, careful in not damaging anything, even if there’s little left to ruin. She doesn’t have a map, she doesn’t need it. This may take time, but she will let it. There is no rush when it comes to finding answers; isn’t the journey what makes the end of the line worth it? Her feet are following the magnetic force that’s grabbing them by the ankles, and Salice doesn’t resist it; instead, she is more and more attracted and enthralled as she proceeds, the pull of the aura that looms around the ruins becoming stronger and stronger with each footstep she leaves. Then she halts again. Inhale, exhale. “... Cazzo.” this is when two realizations hit her: she has no way to go back, and she’s in no way going to stop this from happening. She will resurrect---or, well, try to---the witch of the burned house. “Cazzo,” with more emphasis. Now she’s really forced to go through with this.

The magic circle is set, the gloves are on, her palms burn because of the holy salt, and the knife is out in less than five minutes: she’s been doing this for more than ten years, after all. Ten years. This is not her pinnacle---she doubt it will be---but for some reason, an odd sensation keeps repeating in her head this is it. This is it. This is really it, Salice. Do you have any idea what you’re about to do? She doesn’t answer her own question. Instead, after giving a small cough, she raises her hands, straightening the arms in front of her. As she closes her eyes she begins to speak, voice unwavering and determined. Each word falls down her mouth as smoothly as oil.

“Invoco te, spirite, iacentem subterrá lutuoque,” the salt remnants on her gloves burn through the cotton cloth, but it’s nothing new. No pain she isn’t used to. “Invoco te, animă, in meus cospectum ex terrá.” With a deaf swing of her blade, blood starts pouring out; her wrist is abruptly colored in deep crimson, and quickly she kneels on the ground to make sure the blood falls in the correct spot. This is just the appetizer; the real course meal is yet to be served. The more she watches blood drop from the first gash, the more she grows exhilarated---the addictive sensation of magic running through her veins enough to make her throw her head back before snapping her neck back to the business at hand. “Quoniam deficis corpum,” another cut, this time shortly followed by another. Instead of wringing in pain, Salice’s lips slowly start curling upwards: “Ego pro tibi offero viscera nostra---” and along with her smile, her eyes appear livelier and shinier as seconds pass. Another. Another. More blood. More blood is falling down her arm, more blood is now soiling the white gloves’ cloth, more, more of this! More feverish, exhilarating, more, more, ᴍᴏʀᴇ!

“ᴇɢᴏ, ᴅᴇɪs ғɪʟɪᴀ,” her voice is now a roar, a passionate recital of a still-living tradition that brings back the still-dead with heated aggression, “sᴀɴɢᴜɪɴᴇᴛɪ ᴇғғᴜɴᴅᴏ ᴜᴛ ɪɴᴠᴏᴄᴇᴍ,” every single drop is soaking into the ground below reaching down, down, down, as far as it can---just as far as needed to--- “ᴇʀʀᴀɴᴛᴇ, ᴛᴜᴀᴛɪ! ᴀᴅᴇssᴇ!” God, she hopes this won’t be useless.

#curiosity brought the cat back to life; satisfaction said ‘’take me back’’ || plot tre.#salice || thread.#hyacinthsgirl #HEY ZICK #I FINALLY #FINISHED THIS STARTER #IT TOOK AGES #BECAUSE I ACTUALLY ASKED FOR A LATIN TRANSLATION #SO #SLAPS THIS ON THE DASH #x || closed starter.

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autumnslance · 6 years

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A Lore Nerd’s Analysis of Oaths and Warriors of Light in D&D and FFXIV

This is @wearepaladin‘s fault. Kinda. Actually, I’ve been planning on doing something for awhile, and the idea began to solidify more in a r/ffxiv thread where someone asked “Anyone notice Dark Knight is more like a traditional Paladin lore wise?” My own comment can be found here, where I say I’ve been long thinking of the ways the Dark Knights and Paladins of Eorzea match up to the various Paladin Sacred Oaths of Dungeons & Dragons 5th edition. I figured I ought to expand on that sooner or later.

So yeah, “I’m your host LynMars/Dark Autumn, you can go below the cut for my TEDTalk on the Warrior of Light, Dark Knights, Paladins, and the Sacred Oaths of D&D 5e”:

Now, as a disclaimer, I have not completed the Paladin quest chains yet. I am nearly to the end of the original lvl 30-50 A Realm Reborn (ARR) chain, though, and since I usually don’t care too much about spoilers, already know what’s going to happen. Partially because I could easily guess and so just looked over the chain info. Anyway.

Paladin (PLD) is a traditional sword-and-shield wielding class of holy light users in Final Fantasy, like in most settings. In FFXIV, the primary group of paladins is the Sultansworn. As the class trainer, Captain Jenlyns Aesc, explains when you first approach him:

“A paladin swears allegiance to the sultanate. A paladin shall be the sword and shield of the sultanate. A paladin defends the people of the realm. Sellswords and gladiators and others of their ilk wield their blades for themselves, but a paladin serves the greater good. Do you understand me?

“The battle arts that the paladin learns have been held secret, nurtured, and perfected within the ranks of the Sultansworn elite for nigh on these six hundred years. Of all those sworn to protect the sultanate--the soldiers, the mounted guards, and the knights--we are the elite of the elite. Our conviction unwavering, our hearts true, our sword skills without peer.

“But the glory of the Sultansworn...Well, much of it is buried in the past now. Our brotherhood grows smaller by the year, we are a shadow of what we once were, and the sultana turns to sellswords to defend her palace. All this, because of one traitor--no, because of a blot of dishonor left by one who shall not be named...And because of him, we have been forced to seek the help of able-bodied adventurers.

“And here you are. We shall instruct you in the paladin military arts. You will not be inducted into the Sultansworn, but serve as a free paladin. However, first you will show us that both your sword and heart have mettle, and you are worthy of the honor.”

So how does this relate to the best-known traditional tabletop RPG? In 5th edition (5e), the traditional classes are handled a little differently than before. To add customization, early in leveling (mostly lvl 3, though a few classes start off right at lvl 1), players can choose a type of their class they want to be; what Bard College they study, what Cleric Domain they know, what Druid Circle they are attuned to, etc. For paladins, they choose a Sacred Oath to swear. This gives them their moral code to follow in the service of their deity or ideal that grants them their divine abilities, while also loosening some of the constraints of the old alignment system, and gives both players and game masters a framework for what the paladin’s behavior should follow, lest they stray and lose their divine favor.

The Sultansworn would fit best into the Oath of the Crown:

Law: The law is paramount. It is the mortar that holds the stones of civilization together, and it must be respected. Loyalty: Your word is your bond. Without loyalty, oaths and laws are meaningless. Courage: You must be willing to do what needs to be done for the sake of order, even in the face of overwhelming odds. If you don't act, then who will? Responsibility: You must deal with the consequences of your actions, and you are responsible for fulfilling your duties and obligations.

This oath is for those paladins “sworn to the ideals of civilization, be it the spirit of a nation, fealty to a sovereign, or service to a deity of law and rulership.” (Sword Coast Adventurer Guide, pg 132). As the name implies, the Sultansworn are dedicated to Ul’dah and the Sultan(a) sitting on the throne. As the Sultansworn train free paladins, however, the Oath of the Crown doesn’t apply. A free paladin, Solkzagyl Keltnaglsyn, challenges the player:

“Simply learning paladin swordplay does not make you a paladin--nor does the armor you wear, or the status you claim...Strike off the shackles that bind your spirit, lift the visor that blinds, and find the true path of the paladin.”

Free paladins would fit better under the more traditional Oath of Devotion, from the Player’s Handbook (PHB):

Honesty: Don't lie or cheat. Let your word be your promise. Courage: Never fear to act, though caution is wise. Compassion: Aid others, protect the weak, and punish those who threaten them. Show mercy to your foes, but temper it with wisdom. Honor: Treat others with fairness, and let your honorable deeds be an example to them. Do as much good as possible while causing the least amount of harm. Duty: Be responsible for your actions and their consequences, protect those entrusted to your care, and obey those who have just authority over you.

All the things the Sultansworn strive for, but without the strictures of devoted service to the sultanate. The Knights of Ishgard (often called Temple Knights if part of their military), though not called paladins in game, can also fall into one of these two oaths. In fact, let’s turn to the Holy See of Ishgard now...

(Aside: “But LynMars,” you might say. “My Warrior of Light doesn’t fit either of those Oaths.” Hold that thought for the end, fam.)

So where do Dark Knights fit in? Why consider them “paladins” in all but name?

Dark Knights (DRK) are from Ishgard, like the Temple Knights; most knights of the Holy See should fit into Crown or Devotion, especially with the emphasis on the worship of Halone the Fury, one of Eorzea’s Twelve gods. But, sometimes...holy men aren’t so holy, especially when so many are younger sons sent to the Church because there’s just no other place for them in the noble household structure. When many are orphaned poor joining out of desperation--and finding they’re still given short shrift over their nobleborn brethren. When sometimes, those in power are corrupted by power, or were corrupted to begin with. What then?

I already have a post about the historical origins of Dark Knights in Eorzea, from the Encyclopaedia Eorzea lore book and the official website. In summary, a lowborn knight, Ser Tryphaniel, solid and true and everything a knight ought to be, saw a priest doing unspeakably evil things to a child. Tryphaniel killed the priest on the spot in rage, and as a result--and thanks to Tryphaniel’s unpopularity among the elite due to his staunch beliefs--the knight was stripped of his rank for killing a “holy man.” Tryphaniel gave up his shield, with its crest and symbology, and used only a great sword.

“A heart bleeds, a man weeps, a soul burns. Thence comes the darkness, to consume…Yet even in the depths, the flame endures…Submit to the flame and harness the abyss…” - Ser Ompagne Deepblack

The Dark Knights appear as heretical monsters to the pious of Ishgard. Their abilities are given names such as “Souleater”, “Abyssal Drain”, “Salted Earth,” “Bloodspiller”, “Shadow Wall,” “Living Dead.” They glow with red and black energy. Ser Tryphaniel decided to fight using “any means necessary” in his crusade to protect those the Church could/would not, the great swords of those few Dark Knights acting as beacons in the dark. Those he trained, those also disaffected by the Church and the corruption in its heart (the plot of Heavensward addresses that), followed in his bloody footsteps.

Dark Knights fit perfectly into the framework of the Oath of Vengeance:

Fight the Greater Evil: Faced with a choice of fighting sworn foes or combating a lesser evil, I choose the greater evil. No Mercy for the Wicked: Ordinary foes might win my mercy, but my sworn enemies do not. By Any Means Necessary: My qualms can't get in the way of exterminating my foes. Restitution: If my foes wreak ruin on the world, it is because I failed to stop them. I must help those harmed by their misdeeds.

This is still a paladin oath from the PHB. The Oath of Vengeance is described as “a solemn commitment to punish those who have committed a grievous sin.” The PHB even says Vengeance Paladins are “sometimes called avengers or dark knights--their own purity is not as important as delivering justice.”

“To walk the path is to suffer. To sacrifice. Justice demands no less. But we must never lose sight of why we chose to walk it.” - Sidurgu Orl

I rather like @castthemintotheabyss’ low-spoiler summaries of the DRK quest chains. Identity and duty to yourself vs others; family and justice vs vengeance and mercy; to guilt and grief and acceptance of self.

Dark Knights are considered “edge lords” and “emo” and “gothy” and sure, some of that is true to an extent! But this is a class where the capstone lvl 70 ability, “The Blackest Night”, is a protection cooldown based on love. The “flame in the abyss” is the love the DRK feels for those dearest to their heart, their friends and found family--that is what fuels their darkly named and appearing powers.

If you’ve done the DRK quests, and/or don’t mind some spoilers, I highly recommend @haillenarte‘s translations (part 1, part 2) of the original Japanese text for the ARR DRK quests; the English version is rather different, though I think there’s room for both interpretations of Fray to inform each other. I’m also eager to see translations of later quests in this chain (and how the Stormblood NPC matches up).

I also have a Dark Knight tag where I link some of these resources, thoughts, art, and summarize several of the DRK story quests to be minimally spoilery and showcase how the WoL progresses through the self-reflection these quest enforce (kinda amazing for a MMO, actually). I originally completed the lvl 30-70 quests between October-November 2017, if you check the archive.

“They say the war’s over now, but it never ends for people like you, does it?” - Lowdy

There is one more oath I would like to touch on, due to the unique nature of the player character--the Warrior of Light (WoL)--in ANY of the FFXIV jobs, and how the game’s canon generally tends to assume they’ll roughly behave:

Oath of the Ancients: Kindle the Light: Through your acts of mercy, kindness, and forgiveness, kindle the light of hope in the world, beating back despair. Shelter the Light: Where there is good, beauty, love, and laughter in the world, stand against the wickedness that would swallow it. Where life flourishes, stand against the forces that would render it barren. Preserve Your Own Light: Delight in song and laughter, in beauty and art. If you allow the light to die in your own heart, you can't preserve it in the world. Be the Light: Be a glorious beacon for all who live in despair. Let the light of your joy and courage shine forth in all your deeds.

I think FFXIV players see how it fits. In D&D 5e, the Oath of Ancients has naturalistic/Fey origins. The PHB describes Oath of the Ancients as:

“...paladins who swear this oath cast their lot with the side of the light in the cosmic struggle against darkness because they love the beautiful and life-giving things of the world, not necessarily because they believe in the principles of honor, courage, and justice.” (pg 86)

The WoL is Chosen of Hydaelyn, the World Crystal Herself. Certain enemies call them the “Bringer of Light.” To other NPCs in the storylines, they are the “Weapon of Light.”

If your Warrior of Light fits Crown, Devotion, or Vengeance, awesome! I hope you find some inspiration in roleplay and/or writing from seeing those oaths and how they can interact with the FFXIV lore. These aren’t even all of the Sacred Oaths, either! There are others out there, some official and some homebrew, and some even for evil characters (traditionally anti-paladins or blackguards).

A big part of me, though, feels like the Warriors of Light in general due to the storyline, are on the path set by the Oath of the Ancients; the WoL goes through the main story as a beacon for others, struggling to preserve the light in others, in themselves--and, in the case of the Dark Knights, in the depths of the abyss.

Still, it’s up to each player, and this is just some personal analysis on how the classes presented in FFXIV coincide with elements in D&D. In the end, it’s something that can be used, or not, as one likes (or not). I’ve just found the comparisons neat and wanted to get it down, and fate kept conspiring to push me to do that until I finally wrote all this. So thanks for reading my rambling on about nerdy things.

#Final Fantasy XIV #Dungeons & Dragons #D&D #Dark Knight #Paladin #Warrior of Light #minimal spoilers

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hermitthrush · 6 years

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Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard

Thomas Gray, 1750

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such, as wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave Alwaits alike th' inevitable hour: The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre:

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.

Th' applause of listening senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes.

Their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbad to wade thro' slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.

Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For the, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate -

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 'Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn;

'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

'One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his favorite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;

'The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne, - Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.'

THE EPITAPH

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown; Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth And melancholy marked him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; Heaven did recompense as largely send: He gave to misery (all he had) a tear, He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God.

#thomas grey #rural life #elegy written in a church courtyard #love #family #death #simplicity #melancholy #life #poem #poetry #english literature #western literature #grave #epitaph #remembrance #humility

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tina-jinbts · 6 years

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2017 Coming to an end.

November 24 and 25th, 2017

This year has been one for the books. Jesus Christ!!!! when I say that I didn’t think I would make it? I didn’t but I survived the year. I lost a job but gained a new one that.. let’s be honest I didn't want it. But the cash income was all that mattered. I’ve been waiting for an email about a very promising job. This is the one I really wanted but life had other plans so biting the bullet I took this part time job, 11$ an hour. I was going to keep the job until I get a better one. BUT sadly, a savage and ungodly, evil, terrible all the names in the book nigga ruined my life as a cashier. November 24th the nigh shift it was around 7:20 pm-7:28 pm my shift that night ended at 8 pm. It was almost over right? But this 1 customer stole 345$ from my register as I was counting money back into my til. Many of you are wondering how?! he managed to take that much money. Yes, I’ll explain as I was counting the money he gave me and his change I owned him he lend forward and swiped some of the money that was on the side of me. I was in the small space of express lane register do I already didn’t have room to move around. But either way it happened. Because of the shortage in my register I was let go but can return after 6 months. But the bright side of this is that I wasn't held responsible to have a burn on my work history. The management was supper sweet and kind to me letting me know that since I’m new to the job its going to show up as a let go during cashier probational period trail has concluded. I always watched quick change customers on work videos.

{ What’s a “Quick Cash Customer?” It’s a customer that pays with large bills and will ask for change right after you give them their change. They will constantly change their minds and pull out more money to confuse you. (very effective method fucking criminals I Hate these damn people.) }

But experiencing it in real life is TOTALLY different. NOW I know how it is from REAL EXPERIENCE I will NOT be a victim next time. I believe in karma , I believe everything happens for a reason and that how you handle things will effect the whole situation. I can say I’m not even mad or upset. Nor did I cry about this lost because it wasn’t a lost it was a lesson I learned. I thank you evil man for that. What makes matters worse is that the SAME NIGHT.. to be exact RIGHT AFTER he left the store I was at he went to the other stores and did the same-thing to the other cashiers. So he was a criminal yes, I called him a criminal because he’s STEALING MONEY and causing cashiers to lose their jobs. But like I previously said “ I’m not mad I’m glade”. I hope he gets what’s coming to him in 100 folds smh. I can’t stand heartless motherfuckers that don’t care what damage they cause to others long as they get what they want. I hope he has a sever ass-kicking coming to him. I hope he looses the money he took. I will keep moving forward and forget about this tragic mistake.

ON A POSITIVE NOTE.

I have alot of things I have to work on. Speaking about myself. I used to be a zen inspire panda. I lost the connection I had. Somewhere I got lost on my journey I need to find myself and stop being such a Debby~ Downer and be more like the Sun.

Yes, the sun needs the moon and the moon needs the sun but they have a balance. That’s what I lost the ability to keep the balance of positive and negative. I made a creed to myself that 2018 year of the dog (94) will be the year that I get my shit straight. I already taken steps in removing toxic people and things.

I can say after DELETING, BLOCKING a person I used to call my friend.

My life and irritation is more balanced. I no longer have that person to piss me off, or Having to ignore her texts.

However, my best friend who is more family than friend.

She pisses me off with some of her bullshit

example, When she would call me, I answer right then. But when I call her she doesn't pick up the motherfucking phone or she doesn't text me for 5 hours then replies later.

I bet some of you will say what if she was doing something?

Yes I do consider it but I know when she is and isn’t doing something. At the time of the call she just didn't pick it up.

But anyways,I still love the girl like a close cousin-sister. The love is there for the both of us. Yes, I’m sure I do stuff that piss her off but at the end of the day we can always relay on each other and I respect that, value and feel blessed to have someone so special in my life that isn't blood related. So the bad has the good , the good has the bad. Cant live without each other. Nor would I ever want to. I hold my love ones close to my heart to leave an imprint on it. We may bitch complain and fight but we are always there for each other in the end. Distance is just miles that keeps us apart but the love is what keeps our souls near each other and that’s bond can’t be interrupted or altered.

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ganondoodle · 1 month

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so, doing this as an extra post bc i dont want to spam op nor invite more disaster into their post (sorry)

(i get annoyed, i get frustrated, but i rarely get pissed off, so if this sounds aggressive to you, it is; i have had enough of arguing with people -even if most of that arguing has happened on twitter-)

someone had replied (and later apparently deleted) something along the lines of "well zelda wanted to restore hyrule at the end of botw and what is so bad about ganondorf always being the bad guy in the way that he is?"

so first off, while i know hyrule and KINGDOM of hyrule is often used as an equally interchangeable word to refer to the world there, i dont think she meant the kingdom or its or its monarchy when she said that (does she? i dont have the end in my head rn and pretty sure its a lil different than english anyway) and much more the LAND of hyrule, its still in shambles even if people have found ways to live with it- that is an interpretation of me mostly, you can think what you want in that regard idc

secondly .... im not gonna get into that rant bc you cannot be seriosuly asking what is bad about how ganondorf is presented, treated in the games (espeically in totk) and his role and "writing" (oh geez i dont know maybe all the racism and stereotypes?? also, frankly boring ass writing, if your villain can be replaced by a cloud of toxic goo incapable of speech and nothing would change except saving money for voice actors that dont fit the role that is not a great look- hes never gotten much but totk is a new low)

then theres this reply

astro-shark3113 replied: "You're kidding right? If she cared about reinstating the monarchy then why is the castle still in disrepair after five years? Why does she become a teacher and live in a cottage with her boyfriend instead of taking on duties as princess? She clearly wants to help people and be a leader but she can do that without wanting to be a Queen. Please be real"

i am not kidding and i AM being real, i think you need to look at the game without your rose tinted glasses for a second; the castle is still in ruin? what the hell do you expect, theres no soldiers and very few servants left, repairing anything is quite impossible in that time and frankly not a priority (not proof of her not caring lol) also there is a plan for it at the very least given the camps with the hyrule crest all over it in the ruins of castle town- we dont SEE her as a teacher, or living a "normal" life, that happens in between the game, its flavor text, what HAPPENS in the game is her being taught a lessson on who she needs to be and what hyrule needs to be (pretty in your face too, she gets sent to paradise past of the "first" king that is some supposedly godly thing from the HEAVENS and watches him and his queen die at the hands of the eviiil guy, the last scene in the game mimics perfectly the scene where everyone that god king got under his rule swears undying loyalty to her ffs); she does live in that house, but what other option is there, set up camp in the collapsing throne room all alone?? nigh everyone from that time is long dead and the only one she actually knows is link who happens to have a house (bc impa doesnt care i guess idk), with her ""boyfriend"" is also interesting, a "boyfriend" that apparently is locked in the basement, lives in the woods or straight up dematerlializes when theres no big bad in need of stabbing bc why the hell does no one fucking know him in hateno??? not even the kids that come to the house EVERY SINGLE DAY?? and taking on duties as a princess, she very much does? just bc she doesnt get physically carried around in a castle doesnt mean she isnt doing royal stuff (also, again, that happens BETWEEN the games, not actually in totk), she still sees herself as the princess, everyone calls her that, she herself calls herself that (if the memorial stones are anything to go by) and everyone listens to the most overtly stupid and nonsensical stuff that zelda puppet says (even her friends follow that order without even asking back???) after over 100 years of there not being a kingdom as such its pretty weird how everyone immediately, even the ones not alive for the calamity event, snaps into blindly following her orders

"she can still lead without being a queen", did we play the same game?? totk? TEARS of the KINGDOM?? (its zeldas tears, she IS the kingdom) that game?? the game couldnt be more directly telling you that its whole point is that royal family holy and good and how much everyone has to sacrifice to uphold the holy kingdom bc its the only thing that keeps evil man from overtaking it!! including turnign herself into a farmable, glorified stone pedestal for the entirety of the actual game and then that sacrifice not meanign shit bc she just gets deus ex machina'd back (i didnt need her to stay a dragon, though it would have been the better choice if she still didnt get an active part in the game i would kill for her to have been a capable companion instead of the stupid ghost sages, and you dont even get to actually do anything for it, it just happens), not even the nuclear pebble is lost, how great! she and everyone else that is a leader of their people has a nuclear pebble now!! they will not let a bad evil man be a threat ever again!! like the point to bring her back in that utterly unsatisfying way is that otherwise the royal line wouldnt exist anymore, its a blessing of her ancient ancestors!! woohooo!!

and the thing is, i LIKE botw zelda, i liked her character, that she wasnt the typically maiden princessy type, her struggle (even if i find the way she unlocked her powers lame), i do NOT like totk zelda, after the intro of the game she is a princessy maiden standing prettily at the side of the god king that rules the only thing keeping evil at bay, the level of how much totk disrespects her makes me mad on her behalf but i have ranted about that alone enough as well

and with this i am DONE talking about this game, i have ranted so much about it, made my points carefully clear over and over, said that i dont have the nerves left to be nice anymore about it given how much shit alone on twitter i had to live through just bc i dared mildly critisizing the damn game, if you comment some snarky "be real" thing again im just gonna go straight to blockign people bc i am done with this

#ganondoodles talks #ganondoodles rants #zelda #totk critical #taggign with that #maybe inviting less disaster into my post #didnt think id encounter this kind of stuff on here #tumblrs been so much better than twitter my god

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