#root sunder ruins

[geroya]

last post DID saying DYING which isnt KILLED which is what zoe does to him in like. her canon. but like. i HAVE clutched my head thinking about how . devastating it would be if he did just DIE. of whatever natural causes befell him.

#☼.txt #sunder tag #thoughts all over the place but like #this literally IS a thought i have had to entertain bc of arkham knight joker #bc of arkham knight being the ROOT of where zoe was created #the idea that joker just. dies. bc of a disease or something more MUNDANE than someone being out to get/kill him etc etc #that in the aftermath you have to live with it now & it's just. there. he's gone & the most awful person in ur life #who RUINED your life is NOW gone #yet he STILL remains in all the fucked up ways he left his mark on you & the people you love/loved like. #ALLL over the place but YEAH

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

If you are still taking prompts: 'new mythologies', focused on the witchy trio. Curious to see what you come up with if you wind up selecting this prompt! I greatly enjoy your writing. :)

There is a woman in the moon (the second moon, that is.) she waxes, she wanes shies and flares but she always stays tethered to one spot and tired of running away. Where she paused her orbit centuries ago crystal arms and legs sprout from the grass and the tides of rivers are pulled, evaporate from heat into clouds that mass. If you do no cover her from your view you will not sleep if you look to someone with her over their shoulder you will not need to speak and if her lightning were to strike, the gemstone-limb-lands will become the petrified home you did not seek.

There is a woman in the sun (there is a second-sun, too.) feels close enough to reach, though she can’t be lassoed she doesn’t spend all of her days here steals - what is offered - takes, often disappears to a more peculiar sky where she instead anchors in time and the flora and fauna with petal trumpets and sinew harps dance and dine on top of beds of canopied candied leather leaves and filigree skeleton branches then returns, here, intermittently, with what she had taken and what was newly granted jewellery adorning flaming tendrils that smelts and pours liquid gold between the fault lines and the landfills Sometimes the sun stays late to greet the moon, others she arrives early to share the sky of the long summer days with her But the sky is still a sky they cannot often share, so once a century they shadow one another reach out for each other with hands of flame and lightning when their fingers converge they tie in knots and bows, in threads red and ribbons green and all who are bound will be unaware, gift-wrapped in what is reality and what is dream can unveil bliss or purgatory there in the in-between- - there is a woman in the sun, another in the moon. They have been there longer than I can remember… longer than my mother can and hers, too

There is a woman in the moon and she is always blushing ‘Red sky at night - shepherd’s delight Red sky at morning - shepherd’s warning’ mourning a crack, a howl, a breeze can be heard from the densest of city cobblestones and the highest of mountain peaks a lonely tune bereft of its melody searches out shadow and turns it to static energy

There is a woman in the moon -a woman in the sun, too and ruins of temples to old gods (I’m told) glass panes long dissolved from between lead canes corners of masonry rounded by rain shingles masking floor tiles carpeted in ivy, grout replaced by root and rot and if you were to build the moon an alter lightning will sunder, shatter, strike it down but the sun accepts offerings, bleaches colours to keep the hues for her own collection, peacocks them as a crown

There is a witch in a cottage in the woods in a clearing, on stilts and platforms and pontoons her garden grows, in both the light and shadow and she wears death like a lace fine-spun from her own marrow land flush with lilac, lavender and violets here it is, where the moon is moored above the glade where the sun passes often on parade and the witch knows both the sun and the moon by name strings up tapestries and dolls from between the branches so that they both can see of friends and loved ones between threads of red and ribbons of green

#Imodna #Imogen Temult #Laudna #Fearne Calloway #Critical Role #Emma writes #Sorry you got a poem. #Prompt fill

[12pt-times-new-roman]

lore and character/class updates from tonight's episode:

Caes Mosor still stands as a massive, 11-story structure in the middle of the ruins of Molaesmyr. The cracks and fissures that run through the streets appear to emanate from it.

There are still bodies here, entangled with roots and mostly skeletal. They have been reincorporated with the voluminous, thriving corruption, creating twisted, almost beautiful murals and sculptures.

UNDEAD TREES!! (note, because I had to look it up: the trees that Caduceus encountered in the A2 crash site did not register as undead when he used eyes of the grave on them.)

There are also spores that permeate the air around the city, all coming from these twisting, vibrantly red trees that have bits of bone protruding from them. Their branches form hands, the bark has a semblance of eye sockets and a mouth. The Bells Hells can't tell if the trees are mimicking corpses, or if they once were corpses.

Frida knows the decompose cantrip!

FCG casts divination, and it appears to work. They hear the wind pick up, and it clears a path through the fog toward Ludinus' tower. Now, divination was among the spells listed by the Vellum Steeple as one that was tried unsuccessfully -- so are the gods settling into a new defensive position, and therefore mortals are able to contact them because they're stationary again? Or is it just that FCG in particular is being shown favor by the Changebringer? And if it's the latter, what does that say about the gods' favor to player-characters, and what does that say about fate and destiny when metaknowledge is considered?

The ghosts are doing a weeping angel thing, closing in on the group whenever they're not being looked at. They are elven in base structure -- angular features, long ears -- but their features are twisted and elongated.

Empathy domain clerics get divine strike instead of potent spellcasting at 8th level, implying that the subclass is more melee-oriented than range-oriented.

A winged creature watches them from Caes Mosor. Frida and Deanna see a creature with thin, leathery wings, with ribbon-like strands that trail from the 35-foot wingspan. Many, many taloned legs extend from the body, and there is no head -- just shoulders, a torso, and a bunch of legs.

The symbol of Molaesmyr is of a white tree, whose branches extend to the sky and whose roots encircle a white sun-like thing that's subterranean. (I'd put money on this being a depiction of a Luxon beacon.) The upper part of the crest is almost identical to the "elven" half of Uthodurn's crest.

Apparently "talking through some stuff" during a short rest can restore FCG's stress points.

Seething Storm is a reskin of either hunger of hadar, storm sphere, or conjure volley.

Dire wolf-like creatures are chasing the party, but their features and faces are elongated, almost like a mole. Their torsos and hinds extend into a serpent-like body that conjoin 30 feet later into one pair of hind legs, like a chariot pulled by 5 wolves.

Wait, Imogen have "infinite sending"? How, and since when?

Regardless, an 89 on a d100 allows the message to go through despite the leyline interference, due to the close proximity between her and FCG.

Deanna summons a spiritual guardian to protect the path they're taking as they climb up the Guildhollow Tower, and it looks like a big, angry, werewolf Chetney.

OHHHHH that creature is a "wolf king," like a rat king!

The inside of Ludinus' tower — the Guildhollow Tower — is mildewed, old, musty. Like the rest of the city, it's been picked through and looted by many, many people over centuries; there are bodies here, the remnants of a camp, all sundered, and much newer than the tower itself.

Has anyone written an academic paper about Matt's use of music in Critical Role, especially in mid-late C2 and C3? and if so, can someone write that? because there's so much mastery there it's insane

Even through the damage this room has sustained, there are elements of very expensive furniture and decoration, as well as patterns and designs that match Ludinus' vibes.

On the next floor, it appears that everything in here is crooked and tilted not because of someone throwing everything against the door, but because things were displaced in the blast. But again, the entire floor has been thoroughly looted.

Despite that, Chetney finds pieces of paper and cloth with elvish writing on them, mostly obscured by the root growth. Some has been torn off and taken, so it's broken up, but Deanna begins to read.

One cloth scroll is notes, self-written annotations, bullet points. "Patterns of arcana across cultures and time, Exandrian calendar patterns, repititions of magic, fonts of arcana that overlap with celestial events... noting where things continue to recur over long and short periods of time." This proves that Ludinus was studying the exact same thing in Molaesmyr as he is today: the movement and cyclical patterns of the leylines. It also bears resemblance to Ryn's research that the M9 found.

Another details "historical specialists, people to reach out to... names like Vatora, doesn't ring a bell; Laerryn, doesn't ring a bell; Vishtaron, doesn't ring a bell... there's also part of a small journal, a series of vellum pages torn from a religious tome. There are circles and notes talking about temple propaganda, inconsistencies and elements of religious rites that are contradictory and in of themselves proof that there is no real truth or plan in what the gods present. It looks like someone is preparing a speech, almost like an Exandrian TED talk, on what is wrong with the religious rites... you notice a heavy emphasis on the Matron, a lot of self-written notes about 'what's her name? I have to find her name. There is power in names.'"

Chetney finds a weird part of the wall, and by casting light at it, Deanna identifies it as an arcane lock that needs magic to open. This is very similar to the locks we saw on doors in Aeorian crash sites in C2. Frida vaguely recognizes the type of lock, but can't remember how to open it.

Chet climbs upward and plants his hand directly into a crimson cocoon, and the entire party watches as something pinkish-red begins to emerge, like an ooze of skinless flesh, a molasses of muscle — faces emerge from it, bestial maws that stretch out from it as it slams onto the stone in the center of the chamber. It has no form, like it hasn't decided what it wants to be yet... "it's drawing inspiration from you and whatever denizens of this city has walked its paths as these arms and tendrils and teeth begin to take form in this mass of chaotic, hungry, insane life that wishes to say hello to the new occupants of this tower."

#critical role #note watches c3 #critical role spoilers #critical role campaign 3 #critical role c3 #critical role liveblog #we've reached the first body horror portion of this campaign! #I loved the last arc of C2 and I love this #and the similarities are DEFINITELY NOTABLE

[kradogsrats]

I try not to dig into Tolkien's earliest mythology and cosmology because honestly I find it completely insane. Like the story of the Silmarils I can get behind because that's garden-variety pettiness, but when you get back to "Melkor was too proud to understand that even the disharmonies he introduced into the music of the universe were, in fact, a part of Eru Iluvatar's grand design in that they and the Ainur's melodies formed to counter them made the whole all the more beautiful" my eyes just kinda roll out of my head. BUT something from checking up on making sure I was remembering Laurelin correctly snagged my interest, and I wound up reading about the awakening and "sundering" of the elves.

My loose summary:

Before the sun and moon were created, the abandoned Middle-Earth was in darkness because the Two Trees only illuminate the paradise of Valinor. The elves come into being in the east of Middle-Earth not long after the stars are placed in the sky, so the first light they perceive is starlight.

The elves "awaken" in three groups, which form tribes according to the order in which they awoke, literally "Firsts," "Seconds," and "Thirds" (in that the names of the three who then awoke the others became the roots for the words "one," "two," and "three). Obviously, the First elves are the best.

For reasons that aren't entirely clear to me beyond "they just think elves are neat," the Valar invite the elves to come live in Valinor. The 2/3-ish of them who accept undertaking that journey are then called Eldar, literally "star-folk."

Not all of the Eldar complete the journey—some of them instead settling at various points across Middle-Earth, all the way up to the edge of the sea. These all develop their own cultures, a shared language, and dialects. (This, of course, was the whole point.)

Like I said, the First elves are obviously the best elves: 100% of the First elves agree to go to Valinor and 100% of them complete the journey. They also never leave except that one time they all fight Melkor, unlike the Second elves who made it to Valinor and were eventually exiled. We don't talk about the Third elves.

ANYWAY, the decline of the elves from their First elves peak goes on for thousands of years but eventually they all leave and the world enters the Age of Men.

So in short we've got:

Primacy of the stars over other celestial bodies and also literally everything else

A slow splitting and dispersal of the elves from a single people into many

The consistent through-line of the First elves to Eldar and then Vanyar (Fair/High elves who remained in Valinor), superior to other elves

For all that elves and men are largely allies, there is still a thematic thread of them being antithetical to each other—the rise of men corresponds with the decline of the elves, even if it's not coming at their direct expense, etc.

Valinor also gets its own "these men set their eyes on power they weren't meant to have (in this case immortality) thanks to the manipulative whispers of a malevolent entity (Sauron), so their great kingdom was left in ruins and Valinor was sealed away from the lands of men except by a path only elves can traverse" story, but to be honest that's an incredibly common narrative that Tolkien was already cribbing from Babel or Atlantis or Eden or any of the other "we got too proud/greedy/corrupted and now everything sucks" stories. There's also enough other crap surrounding it that you can't really say "ha ha look it's Elarion" except in the "same hat theme!" way. But I wanted to mention it.

BUT YEAH idk man it's just kinda interesting to me that there's the same kind of Stars/First Elves/Great Ones thing going on, particularly the way that in TDP there are elves, but the entities referred to as a Star/Stars also still exist, or Aaravos wouldn't be wanting to get back at them. It's just being handled in a very different way, because uh... yeah, if anyone wrote "the first elves all went to paradise and never left it, even while the mortal world suffered under the yoke of evil, except when the time came to defeat literal satan" now, those guys would rightfully be assholes.

#tdp tolkien #i literally have not even read these books though #my parents are bigger tolkien nerds than i am... they once had a dog named elessar #and i would never denigrate my mother-in-law by calling her a tolkien NERD: she's a tolkien SCHOLAR #i just once had an embarrassing crush on a girl with a hardcore elf oc

[hellsite-yano]

As usual: The List of Completed Games 2023

Arrival (DOOM) Sunder (DOOM) Mibibli's Quest Action Doom (DOOM) Action Doom 2: Urban Brawl (DOOM) Assault on Tei Tenga (DOOM) Maptroid: Worlds Demons of Problematique (DOOM) Demons of Problematique 2 (DOOM) Newgothic Movement (DOOM) Newgothic Movement 2 (DOOM) Legacy of Heroes (DOOM) TNT Revilution (DOOM) /pol/ (DOOM) Equinox (DOOM) Thunderpeak (DOOM) Pizza Tower Automaton Lung SMBNext: Sunset Shores Heart of the Killer Elderand Kama Sutra (DOOM) Brotherhood of Ruin (DOOM) Brotherhood of Ruin: The Lost Temple (DOOM) Metroid Fusion: Special Edition No End in Sight (DOOM) Counterattack (DOOM) Consolation Prize (DOOM) Golden Souls 2 (DOOM) Super Metroid Redesign: Axeil Edition REKKR The Legend of Dark Witch Episode 2 Castlevania: Simon's Destiny (DOOM) The Legend of Dark Witch 3 Micro Slaughter Community Project (DOOM) Cave Story 3D Plutonia Revisited Community Project (DOOM) 200 Minutes of /vr/ (DOOM) Hell Ground (DOOM) Mutiny (DOOM) Diabolus Ex (DOOM) Rusted Moss Dread Templar The Machine (Knytt Stories) Ashes 2063 Enriched (DOOM) Carnage Oasis (DOOM) Ashes Afterglow (DOOM) MAYhem 2048 (DOOM) Doom 2 Redux (DOOM) Bungle in the Jungle (DOOM) Anomaly Report (DOOM) MyHouse (DOOM) Dementium Remastered HROT BACULUS (DOOM) Doom 2 Reloaded (DOOM) Vracks Botanicals (DOOM) Resurgence (DOOM) Invasion UAC (DOOM) SuperDoom (DOOM) 2048 Units of /vr/ (DOOM) Cydonia (DOOM) Happy (DOOM) Tetris Effect: Connected Moonblood (DOOM) Liminal Doom (DOOM) Tetanus (DOOM) Plutonia Revisited Community Project 2 (DOOM) Shadow of the Wool Ball (DOOM) Monuments of Guilt BABBDI NaissanceE Post Void I wish it was morning all the time HOLEHOLE MAZEMAZE Kowloon's Curse: Lost Report South Scrimshaw Part One Outcore: Desktop Adventure Nyaruru Fishy Fight Viewfinder Sludge Life 2 Warhammer 40,000: Boltgun Slayers X: Terminal Aftermath: Vengance of the Slayer Herald of Havoc Pseudoregalia Deadlink Lone Fungus Fox Flares Turbo Overkill Blasphemous 2 AMID EVIL - The Black Labyrinth Bomb Rush Cyberfunk Inscryption Neyasnoe Northern Journey Wonderputt Forever Super Junkoid (Super Metroid) Manifold Garden Contra 4 Metal Slug 7 Space Invaders Extreme Space Invaders Extreme 2 Outer Wilds Ion Fury: Aftershock Submachine 1: the Basement Submachine 2: the Lighthouse Submachine 3: the Loop Quake II - Enhanced Edition Escape Escape PRIPRI MELLOWOLLEM Submachine 4: the Lab Submachine 5: the Root Submachine 6: the Edge Submachine 7: the Core Venturous (DOOM) Devotion Good Morning Phobos (DOOM) Winter's Fury (DOOM) OBZEN (DOOM) Rush (DOOM) HAPPY WORLD SJ-19 Learns To Love! Graze Counter GM Hypnagogia 無限の夢 Boundless Dreams Beeny The Sun Will Rise Again

[dissevered]

welcome to red grave city.

a neoclassical landscape, comprised of new and old victorian architecture, aglow in neon lights and sundered by a river. it's in ruins now, the roads splintered, buildings cracked or crumbling, their walls stripped from the bone, spraying debris and shattered glass across its once sprawling streets.

it crawls with all manner of hellspawn, sweeping through the desolate red grave, seeking whom they may devour. dark, tree-like structures have sprouted all over the city, their roots running deep underground, guarded by swarms of nightmarish creatures raised from the darkest pit.

safety and respite is fleeting here, barely permitting a breath to those who seek refuge, of which there is little left.

#event tag: homecoming pt i. #( was gonna throw V into another world but actually dmc5 red grave sounds like good fun )

[nearen]

Prompt #1: Envoy

From the heavens fell scores of stars, blazing their paths in streaks through umber clouds and fiery skies. Rivers ran red, whether as a reflection of the calamity above, or with spilt blood.

Forests burned. Roots wrenched themselves from the earth. Trees with cruel, grasping claws and crowns of fire pursued those who had once sheltered ‘neath their boughs. Meadows were sundered, split and pulled apart as easily as the flesh of fruit. Lakes boiled, and acid rain scoured flesh from bone.

Foul beasts ran amok, preying on and picking off those fortunate enough to have survived the terrors that preceded them. And there was no end to them, no boundary to their strength, no floor to the depravity of their ferocity, no dignity in the death they dealt.

I have dreamt of this.

Where the sun touched the horizon, a grand city was devoured by ruin, illuminated by a halo of fire. Those seeking to escape the destruction poured out into the surrounding lands in droves, only to be chased and cut down by the monstrosities that followed in their wake, devoured by the very lands they twisted beyond recognition around them.

Above all, white feathers soared, observing the breadth of the devastation. Two spirits watched hope perish as one. With a dreadful screech, a terror with claws for wings dove, talons reaching for the delicate bird.

She banked sharply and descended, steering the winds to separate them. There—survivors. Her song called to them, a sweet melody that drowned out screams and cries of despair. Her flight cut through the air, leaving a shimmering trail to be followed.

In her wake, stakes of light rained, piercing the hearts of the aerial fiends that dared stray too close. Yet it wasn’t enough—where a dozen fell, two dozen more rose to take their place. All she—all they—could do was hope that it was enough to earn the survivors enough of a reprieve to reach their bastion.

Far from all else stood a tall spire, their refuge. There, they slept. There, they dreamt. And the manifestations of their fears were insulated within the boundaries of their own mind. While a nightmare unfolded in reality, they warred their own nightmares—handicapped by gambit, a sliver of their awareness sacrificed to their dearest creation, who searched from the skies around their spire. Through her eyes they sought any and all that they might yet welcome into the embrace of their protection.

In sleep, those sorry souls would not be spared from their fears’ grasp. If anything, their terrors would be magnified… yet their apparitions would be confined to their minds, and they would be there to guide and shepherd and fight alongside the rescued—the Dream’s Envoy. Together, they might prevail.

The gates of their bastion welcomed the bleeding and weary. A mother fended off the spectre of her son’s fright, and no one turned back to save her when it seized her and tore her in twain. The child watched over the shoulder of his rescuer as its grinning visage rose from his mother’s body, endless rows of fangs dripping with her blood.

Inside, a spiralling staircase invited them upward, from the summit of which a tender lullaby echoed down. The steps themselves threatened to come alive, yet here, they could only laugh menacingly—shadows and shapes on the walls formed gruesome murals and promised terrible ends for those who sought safety, yet those fierce claws and fatal fangs their foes bared could not pierce the canvas on which they were painted.

The higher they climbed, the more the song seemed to surround them, seep into their very being. At the pinnacle, they stepped out into—a blazing battlefield, a platform amidst the clouds, where terrors beyond counting battled resistance forces in the skies. All around them, burning stones carved fiery paths through the skies.

Their hearts sank… They had believed they would find sanctuary here. Yet—the valiants above them were not losing. They neither gained nor lost numbers or ground.

Before them hovered a serene apparition, their eyes closed, a mandala of prismatic colour and kaleidoscopic intricacy turning behind them like the wheels of time. Dark feathers cascaded down their shoulders, their back in the form of both mane and cloak—stormy plumage adorned with gilded armour formed the wings that folded across their figure, framing a secondary mouth centred in their chest. It ceaselessly sang the sweet lullaby that had lured them here.

They were bleeding heavily, their true form marred by deep rends and savage scars that would never heal. The asymmetry of their flagging flight suggested more than one feathered appendage had been torn away.

“My friends,” they began, remorseful, “You will find no respite here. You will face your deepest dread, and its wrath will be merciless. There will be no awakening from this nightmare. Not until fear itself is conquered.”

They cast an arm upward into the skies, and a glaive of light shimmered into existence, settling into their waiting palm. In the hands of each of the survivors, a weapon befitting their soul coalesced into substance in their grasp. The young boy too: A sword and a shield that felt like his mother’s devotion were his to claim.

A bitter truth of life is that none are too young to fight for their future if the need should arise.

They spun the glaive in their grasp, gripped it vertically before them with two (of many) hands. From above, a resplendent white bird descended, alighting softly on their shoulder as though she weighed no more than a feather.

“Thus, fear itself is our enemy, and we shall not rest until it is overcome. Take heart, though—for as we turn our battle inward, we spare the star from our strife. You are not alone, and we will persist. For those we have lost, and for those we can yet save.”

With a gentle smile, they turned, and their wings arced, then fanned, gathering the winds. They ascended, bracing and levelling their glaive to confront the horde of horrors conjured into being by their petrified charges, twisted beings so numerous that they darkened the skies.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite #prompt 1 envoy

[dragonthusiast]

Grow the Bond Chapter 4

Ainreth had been very pleased with Petre’s work, so much so that when questioned, he had no problem giving Petre permission to go through the soldiers’ files later so they could check on the new ones, see where they’d come from.

But they would have to do that later. There didn’t bring files like this with them to missions, not only because it was unnecessary, but also because the parchment could get ruined, so Petre would have to go through it when they got back to Kyr-Toryl. Hopefully, that wouldn’t take too long, though, as they should be staying here for only one more week.

They walking through the woods now, looking to find more mushrooms for the cook. They could have simply called to the root-like strands in the ground to grow more, but Petre wanted to find a specific type of mushroom that they wouldn’t mind eating for today’s dinner—the meatcap. And sure, it didn’t taste exactly like meat, but it was as close as they were going get out here. They had made a deal with the cook that if they managed to get some, the cook would bake them.

The only issue was the weather. Summer and autumn were both good seasons for mushrooms, but not up here. The temperatures were very low at night, and even during the day, if there was overcast, it was cold. Petre could still grow mushrooms in this weather, of course, but it made it harder to find them because Petre had to walk around, perfectly in tune with the strands in the ground beneath his feet, looking for the ones they recognized as belonging to a meatcap. They’d trained this for years, otherwise they wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference between the types of mushrooms at all.

The good thing was, though, that once they managed to locate the correct strands, they would be able to grow as many meatcaps as they wanted from them. They had brough a large basket with them, hopefully that would be enough for the whole regiment to get a cap each. Petre wanted to be petty and not get any for certain soldiers, but unfortunately, it would be out of their hands who receives one or not, given that they would be equally distributed later. At least Hantyr didn’t like mushrooms, that was something that made Petre feel a bit better.

They didn’t even realize how deep into the wood they’d gone following the mushroom strands until they noticed that there was complete silence, aside from a little birdsong in the distance. Petre looked over their shoulder, faced with trees as far as they could see. They considered turning back and searching the woods closer to the outpost, but then Petre shrugged. They’d been going in one direction, and they knew to head south to reach the outpost again. There was no chance of getting lost.

Petre was so preoccupied with their search that they didn’t notice anything was amiss until they heard a twig snap behind them. As they turned their head to look, their eyes widened at the fist coming their way. Just in time, Petre managed to duck, avoiding the punch, but they didn’t manage to dodge the second one coming their way, hitting them in the stomach, their basket flying out of their hand.

Gasping for breath, Petre doubled over, only then managing to catch a proper glimpse of his attackers. Much to their shock, it was the two rude soldiers who he’d been suspicious of. What the sunder did they think they were doing?

The man made a move to grab their arms, but Petre recovered from the punch quick enough react just in time, elbowing him in the face hard, making him stumble back with a cry.

Unfortunately, Petre didn’t get enough time to turn his attention to the woman before the hilt of a sword collided with the back of their head. The next second Petre was on the forest floor, gasping in pain and blinking, their head spinning, their limbs unresponsive for the moment. 

They tried to fight back when their wrists were grabbed and tied together in front of them, metal clamps pulled on their fingers, but they were still too dizzy to properly react. They tried to bite the man’s fingers when he forced a rag in their mouth, but not even that worked. Petre finally regained clarity as they were being forced to stand up.

Pain was still stabbing through their head as the woman grabbed Petre by the hair, yanking their head up. Petre tried to curse at them, but the damned rag tied around their head turned whatever insults they could come up with into incomprehensible mumbling. Biting into the gag hard, Petre tried to fight against the clamps binding his fingers together, forcing them to be straight and unmoving, but no matter how much they tried, the metal refused to give even slightly.

“They broke my nose!” the man yelled in Orinovan. Petre’s eyes widened further. Why would they even know how to…. Petre felt a new kind of dread pool in their stomach, but when they tried to pull at the rope binding their wrists together, the woman just yanked at their hair harder, making them wince. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” she berated the man, also in Orinovan, before focusing on Petre, and speaking Akkarian instead, a satisfied smirk on her face. “You’ll be going with us now, lieutenant. Queen Svytlani has some questions about your lightweaver.”

Oh, so they were spies. Petre hated that their immediate fear was confirmed like that. How could they had infiltrated the ranks of the royal army like that and escape notice? How much did they know already? Petre didn’t think the two had been in their regiment long, but they could have already learned secrets that could help Orinovo win this war. And they were clearly planning on getting more out of them because Petre had so foolishly tried to intimidate them with their new rank.

Well, perhaps that was a blessing in disguise. It had put Petre in this situation, but at least they didn’t know many secrets that could threaten Lys-Akkaria. Petre highly doubted the Orinovan queen was interested in Ainreth’s writing.

Petre tried not to flinch when they felt a sword press against their back. 

“Now let’s get going.”

Petre stumbled as they were yanked forward by the rope, the woman holding a length of it which was leading out from their bound wrists. Petre wondered who they truly were. If those names they had given Petre were real, belonging to someone these two had impersonated, or if they were a complete fabrication. 

But Petre didn’t doubt that the two spies hadn’t given them their real names, so there was no point in calling them by the ones they had told them. Especially given how Lys-Akkarian they had sounded.

Petre wanted to drag their feet, make it as inconvenient for the two Orinovans to drag them anywhere, but the constant threat of the sword convinced them overwise. Petre doubted they would kill them, but they would definitely not win any fight against these two, not while tied up like this.

And so they begrudgingly started walking wherever the two spies were leading them, the sword’s edge still pressed against their tunic. Between that and the finger clamps, the Orinovans were clearly not taking any chances.

But somehow Petre doubted this had been their original plan. Surely, if they had planned on kidnapping Ainreth’s lieutenant, they would have taken Petre’s predecessor. The switch from her to Petre had been incredibly fast, yes, but why would these Orinovans wait around long enough for it to happen to begin with? Why wouldn’t they simply find out who the second-in-command was and capture her immediately? 

No, if they had come here wanted to do that, Petre doubted it would have taken them over a week. Perhaps they had been planning on killing or taking Ainreth, only to realize that the lightweaver was far too powerful during the day, and too guarded during the night. It would certainly explain why they had talked about Ainreth as this formidable, undefeatable being.

Petre tried to keep track of which way they were going, noting that much to their chagrin they seemed to be heading west, which meant the two Orinovans were bringing them to the border. Petre had been hopeful that perhaps they could listen in on what the two spies might talk about in Orinovan, assuming Petre wouldn’t be able to understand them, but they were staying disappointingly silent as they forced Petre to keep walking.

The sun had gone down and the air had grown chilly enough to be uncomfortable even with the marching when they finally stopped. Petre frowned as they were dragged into a narrow cave in the side of a mountain wall, only for their eyebrows to fly up when they reached a wide, oval part of it, a few bedrolls and crates along the rough, stone walls.

Petre grunted when they were harshly yanked forward, the woman grabbing their shoulders and forcing them down to kneel next to one of the crates. They glared up at her, but they knew better than to try to fight, the man almost immediately putting his sword under Petre’s chin. Petre glared harder when the man pushed the sword up, making them raise their head even higher.

“We have some questions for you, Lys-Akkarian,” the woman said, her accent thick now that she wasn’t putting on a front, pulling the rag out of Petre’s mouth while they were forced to stay still or cut themselves on the sword’s edge. “Since we have to stop for the night, anyway.”

“I won’t tell you anything, kerva,” Petre told her, enjoying her surprised blink at them using an Orinovan insult. Then they added in Orinovan: “Do your worst.”

The two spies looked at each other before the woman spoke again, this time in Orinovan, scowling down at Petre. “You can speak our language?”

“What gave you that impression?” they answered, also in Orinovan.

The man snorted. His nose was bruised from the way Petre had hit him. While it didn’t look broken like the man had claimed, it was still a little satisfying to see. “The little thing has claws.”

“You would know,” the woman shot back, gesturing to her nose as she stared her accomplice down. Then she looked down at Petre again. “What is Lys-Akkaria planning? You’ve been moving troops to outposts at the border.”

Petre almost wanted to laugh at the assumption that Lys-Akkaria was the first to do so. They actually weren’t sure who had started this, but at least their regiment had come here purely because Orinovo had been mobilizing troops. Petre could accuse these spies of the exact same thing.

But they would not tell them even that. Petre wouldn’t give them anything, no matter how seemingly useless the information was. “I will tell you nothing.”

“You’re lucky we need you in a good enough condition to walk,” the woman said, annoyance lacing her words. “If I could interrogate you properly, you would tell us everything.”

Petre just kept staring back at her, even as their heart beat harder and harder. They had never been tortured, and they weren’t particularly looking forward to it. But the woman was correct—they couldn’t do much to Petre if they wanted them to march with them over the border. The border, which was still a few days away on foot, through the forests. Surely someone must have noticed Petre’s absence by now. If no one else, Enlin would. They wanted to say that Ainreth would have noticed as well, but Ainreth didn’t seem very aware of the people around him most of the time.

Petre couldn’t help but gasp when suddenly pain flared up at the side of their neck, only to realize the man had intentionally nicked them. Petre felt beads of warm blood start to trail down their skin from the small cut.

When the sword retreated a moment later, Petre was given only a split second to realize why before the woman’s fist hit their cheek hard. Petre cried out, falling to the side from the sheer force of it. They were given no time to recover, though, as next a hard boot kicked into their ribs, another pained cry tearing itself from their lips. The woman kicked them in the stomach next, even as Petre curled up to try to protect themselves again the assault. 

There were tears of pain in their eyes by the time the woman was finally done, having kicked several more times. Petre didn’t move, simply pressing their knees to their stomach even more, even though moving hurt horribly right now. They tried to pull back when hands grabbed their bound wrists, pulling them away from their chest and down toward their feet. Petre didn’t understand what the two Orinovans were doing until they felt rope being tied around their ankles.

Petre tried to tug against it, but they were too weak and in too much pain to put up much of a fight as the two spies finished tying their wrists and ankles together, forcing them to stay curled up in a tight ball on their side, barely able to move an inch, their arms pressed against their knees uncomfortably. There was a length of rope between their hands and feet, but it wasn’t long enough to allow for any actual movement.

“You won’t be running away from us like that, will you?” the man mocked them, pushing the rag between Petre’s lips, and when they refused to open their mouth, the man clenched his fist around Petre’s arm hard until they were gasping in pain, which the man then used to finish gagging them.

The woman yanked at their hair again, angling Petre’s head up to face her. “I suggest you do your best to get some rest, Lys-Akkarian. We have a long trip ahead of us.”

+++++++++

It had been two days now, and Petre had nearly lost all hope of being rescued. Their body was littered with bruises from the way the two spies had tortured them so far, trying to get them to talk, but Petre had held their tongue. They could deal with the pain. The problem was that they were rapidly nearing the border, and once they crossed over, Petre highly doubted anyone would go look for them, then. It would be too dangerous, too risky only to save a relatively unimportant soldier. 

Yes, Petre was a sproutkeeper and quite good at brewing healing tonics, but they were still replaceable.

Petre stumbled along as they were dragged closer and closer to the border. They might not know exactly where the border was in these woods, but they were confident it wouldn’t take much longer. The two Orinovans had said as much, taunting Petre with it.

Well, if they wanted information about Ainreth, at least Petre knew almost nothing useful. They kept repeating that to themself, trying to comfort themself with the fact, but it wasn’t very effective. Between the beatings and all the walking, Petre was exhausted. The Orinovans insisted on tying them up so there was no chance of escaping each night, but the cramps made it near impossible to sleep.

“Keep up,” the woman snapped at Petre, yanking on the rope. Petre stumbled forward, just barely managing not to fall to the ground. They weren’t even intentionally going slow. Their legs were just too tired, their eyes half-lidded even when Petre tried to keep them open all the way, their head hanging forward.

They didn’t manage to walk faster though, resulting in the woman pulling them forward once more. And this time, Petre lost their balance, their foot getting caught on a root. They hit the ground with a muffled grunt and a whimper as their sore ribs collided with the hard, cold dirt, biting into the spit-soaked rag in their mouth.

Petre barely had enough time to recover a little before the woman was kicking them in the stomach again, forcing a cry out of them as they curled up. Their stomach was littered with bruises already. They had seen it this morning when the man had been surveying the damage they’d done.

“Get up!” she snapped at them, and by all the rivers in Lys-Akkaria, Petre tried. But they barely managed to drag themself up onto their knees before the woman grabbed their hair, tugging them up by it. Petre hissed, gritting their teeth in pain as they struggled to stand up to relieve some of the pain, but her hand was fisted in their hair too hard for it not to hurt either way.

“Look, maybe I can just carry them the rest of the way,” the man offered. “The sooner we get to Orinovo, the better. Besides, how much can they weigh?”

The woman seemed to think it over for a bit before nodded, letting go of Petre’s hair and pushing them back, making them stumble and fall into the man’s arms. The man then easily picked them up and threw them over his shoulder, making Petre gasp for breath as their ribs were hit once. The man put one arm over Petre’s legs, grabbing them, before hooking his other hand between Petre’s arms, a steely grip on his right forearm, making them lay over both of the Orinovan’s shoulders, immobilized.

Petre strained against the man’s hold, but it was useless. Maybe if they weren’t exhausted and in pain, they could have put up a fight, but like this, it was hopeless.

“Great, let’s keep going, then.”

Petre fought against the way their eyes kept closing as best they could, only able to observe as they were carried along, now truly not being able to do anything about their capture at all. They could have run before, theoretically, though the man had kept his sword at Petre’s back the entire trip. 

Now all Petre could do was try their best not to pass out.

The man carried them as if they weighed nothing, occasionally adjusting his hold on Petre, but not even that was enough to keep them awake, their head lolling to the side, their eye lids heavier and heavier.

Petre was about to give in and let their body do what it wanted, no matter how disoriented it would make them later, but then they heard something. Was that…the beating of hoofs? Were they hallucinating? Why would anyone bring a horse to these thick woods? 

But as the sound drew nearer, the two Orinovans came to a halt, looking at each other. 

“What is—”

“We need to run!” the woman yelled, alarm in her voice. Petre tried to drag their eyes open, managing it after a moment, but only a crack. It was still enough to see the black horse gaining on them.

That was Sunray! Which meant—

“How dare you take my little guy away from me?!” came Ainreth’s furious voice, his large horse galloping ahead and then coming a halt with a snort, cutting off the spies’ escape route. Petre’s heart soared as they noticed that Enlin was there with Ainreth, too. 

They’d found them.

Before the Orinovans could properly react, Ainreth was jumping off his horse and summoning an intense ray of light at the woman from his raised, glowing hand. The effect was immediately. The woman started screaming as the harsh light burned her skin, falling to her knees, her arms throw in front of her face in a vain attempt at protecting herself against Ainreth’s power. But Petre knew very well that it wouldn’t work. They’d seen Ainreth fight before. He could burn his enemies to ash if he wanted to. In fact, he seemed to be prolonging it this time, making the woman scream, and cry, and beg for mercy.

Mercy which the Daybreaker wasn’t giving her.

Seeing this, the man holding Petre quickly threw them off, making them cry out as they fell. They wanted to warn Ainreth that the other Orinovan was escaping, but they couldn’t, not with the gag in their mouth.

“Petre!” yelled Enlin, rushing to them and helping them sit up. She quickly untied the gag and started undoing the ropes tied around their sore wrists. They’d had their hands tied for three days now, and their skin was cut up from all the rope burn. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Oh, I’m so glad we found you!”

Enlin kept going like this, even as she started pulling the finger clamps off. Petre let her, feeling too tired to even feel annoyed. Her voice was so soothing, in fact. She hugged them, and Petre pressed their head into her shoulder, melting into the embrace. After the three days of cruelty they had lived through, they almost wanted to cry at the gentle touch.

“We went looking all over. I’m so sorry it took so long.”

Enlin actually sounded guilty, which was ridiculous. The important thing was that they had found Petre at all.

“Thank you,” they croaked, forcing their eyes open again. They wanted to sleep so badly, especially now that they were safe, but they needed to know what had happened with the other spy.

Petre pulled their head away, blinking at the charred corpse of the woman. They wrinkled their nose at the smell of burnt flesh. That certainly explained why the screams had died down, but where had Ainreth gone. He had just been here, and now—

Petre’s question was answered almost immediately when they noticed Ainreth by a nearby tree, dragging with him the Orinovan. The Orinovan, who was now blindly grasping around the air. Had…Ainreth blinded him?

Actually, compared to what he’d done to the woman, this seemed very generous. 

“Enlin, watch our new friend here,” Ainreth ordered, pushing the man forward so that he fell to his knees with a scared cry. Enlin rushed to do as she was told, pulling her sword out of the sheath hanging from her belt and put it under the man’s chin.

Petre wanted to keep track of what was going on with the Orinovan, but their view was obscured by Ainreth who without warning knelt down in front of them and pulled them into a tight hug. It made Petre’s ribs scream, but Petre was very touched nonetheless that Ainreth seemed to care so much.

“Oh, I was so worried I wouldn’t find you,” Ainreth said, his voice a little unsteady as he refused to let go, if anything holding Petre closer to his chest, stroking a hand over their head. “So worried!”

Petre was about to try to gently nudge him away, their ribs too painful to keep this going, but then Ainreth did it himself, putting his hands on Petre’s shoulders and looking them over. 

“Did those blighted traitors hurt you?” he cried, his voice offended as he poked at Petre’s bruised cheek. “I should have burned her slower.”

“They…weren’t traitors,” Petre corrected, taking a deep breath. Talking was difficult right now. “Spies.”

“Even worse!”

Petre truly wanted to stay awake, but they were losing the fight, their eyes more and more difficult to keep open until they slid shut completely, and their eyelids refused to lift again.

“Petre! Are you dying?” Ainreth practically screamed, making Petre wince. But not even that woke them up.

“Just…tired.”

Ainreth pulled them closer, cradling them. “It’s okay, you go sleep, little guy. We’ll get you back to the outpost. All right? Just sleep.”

And Petre did, unable to do otherwise, especially not when they were being actively encouraged. Petre felt themself being lifted as they nodded off, the darkness of unconsciousness finally taking them.

#nightstar series #my writing #writeblr #amwriting

[nastykat]

The Devil Wrathmaw

#eso #Elder Scrolls #elder scrolls online #The Elder Scrolls #screenshot #dungeons #grathwood #root sunder ruins

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Can someone please stop me?

So, today, I hurt myself by going back to the first chapters of the Silm...

Special thanks to a person I don't know the handle of yet and that I shall add later :D thanks for enabling me and talking to me about Things (and for your lovely art)

ah @the-red-butterfly (there's the handle of another great artist...yup, I collect them)

Words: 500

Warnings: slight sadness

How it feels to reread the first chapters of the Silmarillion 

Darkness falls like a veil; a messenger arrives in haste.

And so, it starts…

I stand motionless and paralysed – overlooking the dark sea that shall be nourished by my tears – for speechless, voiceless, wordless, I mourn the loss that kicked off an avalanche of sharp stones within my breast that shan’t ever stop tumbling noiselessly into the endless obscurity, ne’er redeemed by the light that shall be.

Finwë is dead, and memories assail me like blades – newly forged and sharp as ice – as I reminisce about our long travels in darkness and fear.

Finwë and his wives, Finwë and his children – beautiful, strong, talented – and their strife amongst each other; then later, Fëanor holding Maedhros aloft, his face aglow with pride, and young Fingolfin cradling Fingon as if he was made of something holier than could be found in all of Valinor.

My bare feet cramp against the smooth stone, digging into it as if to take root; I stand still, looking into a future barred to me.

The blessed realm shall be blessed no more as those children I have seen thrive like weeds – their joy and their unquenchable thirst for knowledge and skill – leave it to grow into rulers, parents, warriors, and outcasts in another land where their strengths and flaws shall expand endlessly until they throttle them, enmeshed in their most earnest endeavours.

Like the rivers of that broken realm, they shall flow apart, never to behold the face of their own brothers again for parting or conciliatory words; they shall learn the bite of the double-edged sword that lies in a promise and the weight of love unending as it grows into shackles bound tightly around their souls. 

Nonetheless, the sacrifice of their innocence shall bring forth deeds of renown and glory beyond what peace could ever engender.

Forever now, they shall be sundered from me and from that deep affection of mine that is exempt of blemishes but also devoid of the depths of their suffering that shall mould and sculpt them into the greatest and most terrifying of our kind.

And despite knowing this, all I can do is stare out to the sea; helplessly witnessing them raising cities and watching them fall to ruin, seeing them love and lose, fight and falter, trespass and repent.

Their blood – my blood – shall water the hungry soil of a world still in becoming, and I’ll cry – hoping that my tears might find their way into the lakes that shall bring them healing – for the wounds I cannot tend from across the water.

I stand and I shall stand until they’ve returned – one by one, bruised and battered – to the kin they’ve left behind.

“Eternity is a long time when you’re waiting,” a voice resounds behind me, but I don’t turn around, unable to avert my eyes from what must come to pass.

Finwë is dead; it has begun; and my long and lonely watch has started.

Let me tag my two book friends @lathalea and @legolasbadasss

And @eunoiaastralwings and @medusas-hairband who have expressed excitement about my reading the book...as you can see, it makes me very sad :(

#fanfiction #the silmarillion #the silm fandom #general #just wild thoughts #written down haphazardly #I'm sorry #IDNMT's mind #yayyyy I finished the book

[systemerrorbonnie]

mtmte/ll characterz as undertale/deltarune songz

Rodimus: Vs. Susie

Ultra magnus: Undyne

Megatron: Bergentruckung/ASGORE

Rung: Once Upon a Time / Home (i couldnt decide on just one so he getz 2 songz)

Brainstom: NOW’S YOUR CHANCE TO BE A

Nautica: Girl Next Door

Chromedome: Waterfall

Velocity: My Castle Town

Swerve: sans.

Ten: Temmie Village

Ratchet: Dummy!

Drift: Scarlet Forest

Rewind: Field of Hopes and Dreams

Whirl: NGAHHH!!

Cyclonus: Heartache

Tailgate: Sound Studio

Skids: Rude Buster

Nightbeat: Metal Crusher

Ravage: Ruins

Anode: Snowy

Lug: It’s Showtime!

Roller: Thundersnail

Getaway: Your Best Friend

Perceptor: Another Medium

Riptide: Uwa!! So HEATS!!🎵

Red alert: CORE

Fort max: Battle Against A True Hero

Trailcutter: Amalgam

Pipes: Alphys

Ambulon: Ghost Fight

First aid: Hip Shop

Mirage: Can You Really Call This A Hotel, I Didn’t Receive A Mint On My Pillow Or Anything

Fulcrum: Smart Race

Crankcase: Stronger Monsters

Misfire: Song That Might Play When You Fight Sans

Krok: Wrong Enemy !?

Spinister: Checker Dance

The djd (as a whole): Here We Are / Danger Mystery

Tyrest: Digital Roots

Star saber: THE HOLY

Pharma: Spider Dance

Overlord: Queen

Sunder: Deal Gone Wrong

Froid: HEY EVERY !

Thunderclash: Bird That Carries You Over a Disproportionately Small Gap

Deathsaurus: Susie

#[salutations sir!.txt] #transformers #maccadam #tf #mtmte #lost light #tf mtmte #transformers idw #tf idw #the scavengers #ll crew #the djd #overlord #im Not tagging all those characterz sorry

[arofili]

elves of arda ✹ gondolindrim ✹ headcanon disclaimer ✹ @gondolinweek​

          Calto was one of the first elves, among those who woke upon the shores of Cuiviénen. At the time of his awakening, a brotherly fëa-bond was already established firmly in his heart with Tarwë, quendë beside him. The brothers were counted among the Nelyar, and though they pledged their service to Elwë as the Great Journey began, their loyalty was first to one another.           Upon Elwë’s disappearance in Beleriand, Calto and Tarwë were among the leaders of a group of Nelyar who set out to explore the lands to the northwest. With them were Alcarenna and Torhir, who would settle in the land of Hithlum, but Calto and Tarwë found their new home in the land of Nevrast.           As the language of the Grey-elves evolved, Calto adapted his name to Galdor and assumed the role of his people’s lord. Tarwë discovered he was much happier serving as deputy to his brother and the leader of hunting patrols, changing his name to Taureg. For years they lived in peace in lands near the sea, until the Lieutenant of Angband unleashed orcs upon the Edhil. Galdor’s civilization was small enough not to be a major target like Menegroth or the Falas, but they suffered from lack of soldiers, and many were killed in skirmishes, though they escaped the worst of the First Battle of Beleriand.           When the Noldor appeared out of the West, Galdor was glad for their aid, and welcomed his far-sundered kin to Beleriand. He agreed to allow Turukáno to settle at the coast, where he founded the city of Vinyamar. The Thindrim and the Golodhrim mingled in Nevrast, and Galdor found through his close counsel with Turukáno that he greatly admired the young lord, nearly to the point of infatuation. Taureg teased him of his affections, which Galdor took in stride, for he knew Turukáno still grieved the death of his wife, and he himself had no desire to act on such feelings.           When Turukáno began to order his new kingdom of Ondolindë, he offered Galdor a lordship in his hidden city. Galdor pondered this invitation, and after taking counsel with Taureg he accepted, and led his people to Tumladen to aid in the construction.           In Gondolin, Galdor became the Lord of the House of the Tree. He was a mighty lord, wielding a great club in battle and was renowned as the bravest of the Gondolindrim save for the King himself. He was the only lord of Gondolin who was fully Thindarin, and his House consisted almost entirely of Thindrim. He was deeply fond of all things that grew, having adapted his name from the early Quenya Calto, translating to “light,” to Galdor, with the double meaning of both “lord of light” and “lord of the trees.” While Taureg preferred the wilderness of an open forest, Galdor cultivated many great trees within the city itself.           Though Galdor was reluctant to march to war in the Fifth Battle, he could not abandon his beloved king. He and Taureg led a force of warriors, wielding clubs and spears as their lord and his brother did, and fought valiantly even as the battle turned ill. Amid the chaos of the retreat, Taureg was slain in an attempt to rescue the young warrior Legolas, who had been ordered to stay behind in Gondolin but disguised himself to join the ranks of the Tree. Legolas carried much guilt, blaming himself for Taureg’s death, and vowed from then on to protect Taureg’s brother with his very life. Galdor deeply grieved his brother’s death and struggled with placing blame on Legolas he knew was only partially justified, and accepted the youth’s vow of fealty as penance for Taureg’s death.           When Morgoth’s forces assailed Gondolin and the city’s fall began, Galdor and his warriors had been positioned at the northern gate with the House of the Hammer of Wrath. While Lord Rôg charged with all his folk into the fray, Galdor hung back, defending within the walls of the city rather than attacking the enemy without. Orcs fell like leaves about them, but soon the folk of the Hammer of Wrath was utterly destroyed and the folk of the Tree were forced to retreat. As they made their way to the Square of the King, they rescued the Folk of the Wing from their pursuers, saving the lives of both Tuor and Ecthelion, who had been injured and had to be carried by the Man.           In the King’s Square, Turukáno at last saw the ruin of his kingdom and threw his crown upon the roots of Glingal in grief and rage. Galdor was dismayed at the crumbling of his king’s resolve and hurried to pick up his crown, offering it back to Turukáno and begging him to fulfill his mantle as their leader. Yet Turukáno rejected him a final time, and Galdor was forced to part from the one he loved in sorrow.           Galdor joined the exiles of Gondolin with much of his House as they fled through Idril’s secret way. He was in the forefront of the survivors, leading a patrol ahead of the rest of the host. His eyes were clogged with ash and tears, making it difficult for him to see ahead, so he delegated navigation to his squire Legolas, whose eyes were the keenest of all the elves of the Tree.          Thus Galdor and his followers returned to the coastland of Beleriand, this time in the south by the Havens of Sirion. They dwelt in Arvenien by the Mouths of Sirion rather than on the Isle of Balar, and thus many of their number fell in the Third Kinslaying. Galdor fought in this battle and saw his companion Egalmoth, the only other surviving lord of Gondolin, fall at the hands of Amras Fëanorion.           Yet Galdor survived, alone of his rank, through the end of the War of Wrath, when, wearied of death and longing to see those he had lost again, he accepted the invitation of the Valar and sailed to Aman at long last. With him was Legolas, whom he released from his service upon their arrival in Tol Eressëa; though Galdor continued on to the mainland in hopes of reuniting with his brother upon Taureg’s rebirth, Legolas remained on the Lonely Isle, where he embraced his distant Telerin kin and took the name Laiqalassë.

#gondolinweek2021 #gondolinweek #tolkienedit #oneringnet #silmarillion #tfog #the fall of gondolin #house of the tree #galdor of the tree #galdor #tareg #taureg #legolas of gondolin #my edit #my writing #edit writing #headcanons #tefain nin #elves of arda #gondolindrim #long post #and that's it for gondolin week!!! this was more effort than i anticipated but i had fun!!! #next up is tolkien south asian week and THEN i'll be back to the house of eorl :)

[ask-iamnotanalicorn]

Previous: The Flim Flam Timeline

The Wasteland Timeline:

This is the story of when Equestria fell.

And this it the story of when Equestria rose again.

The trials began as they always do: with the return of Nightmare Moon. The celestial sisters clashed, and Celestia fell. Heedless of the struggle it would be to keep the Sun set with its alicorn princess banished inside it, Nightmare Moon did just that, determined that her traitorous sister experience Nightmare’s punishment.

Nightmare’s reign of Equestria was strained, but Equestria could have borne it. But within a year, the capital was attacked by the Changelings, desperate to replenish their stores of pony love that had been stymied by the nation’s state of fear and uncertainty. Nightmare Moon was barely managing to repel the threat when the Crystal Empire returned, and King Sombra began to march on her northern borders. With attacks from within and attacks from without, a distrusted leader on the throne, and economic failure rippling across the country as readily as the shifting front lines, the ponies of Equestria were more torn than ever.

So of course that’s when Discord escaped.

The upside of Discord’s release was that it temporarily stopped the fighting. Even King Sombra was smart enough to withdraw in the face of the mad draconequus on a quest of vengeance against all ponies. Queen Chrysalis and Queen Nightmare Moon (who had absconded herself at first sign of Discord’s escape, using every possible trick to keep him from finding her) formed a temporary peace treaty in order to seek a solution - for a world ruled by Discord was useless to all of them. (Granted, the Changelings could withdraw to their protected realm, but Chrysalis had tasted power and wasn’t about to let Discord have it all. She was quite looking forward to stabbing Nightmare Moon in the back afterwards.)

Their solution: a magical contract with the long-imprisoned centaur, Tirek. Tirek was more than happy to oblige. He single-handedly decimated Sombra’s troops, gorging himself on the magic of Crystal Empire and Equestrian ponies alike. It is possible that, if Discord hadn’t come to see what all the fuss was about himself, Tirek would have kept right on gorging to the very limit of the contract that bound him.

When the two titans clashed, the battle that ensued sundered hundreds of miles of landscape. Canterlot bore the greatest brunt; the castle collapsed completely from its cliffside home, the city little more than ruins. Discord’s attacks spread wildly unpredictable waves of chaos magic across much of Equestria. And when at long last Tirek had defeated him and sucked him dry, the lingering effects of that chaos magic stayed rooted in the ground like weeds.

It seemed, for the briefest moment, as if the worst problem was over. But of course, a power-maddened Tirek is a worse threat - because at least Discord doesn’t go out of his way to destroy everything in sight. Drunk on chaos magic, Tirek easily broke the tenuous contract with the queens and set across the landscape, draining ponies by the thousands and carving swaths through the countryside for the sheer wicked joy of destruction. His power was even mighty enough to destroy the changeling hive, overpowering its magical protections.

There was no choice - the two remaining rulers of any species in the land had to either defeat their own creation or face the loss of all they held dear. Nightmare Moon called upon the power of the Moon itself, drawing it nearer to Equestria in a desperate gambit. Tidal waves rocked Equestria’s coastlines, submerging Manehattan and other coastal cities entirely, and the alicorn of the night shone with deadly moonlit radiance as she bombarded Tirek with the full brunt of her power. But even Nightmare Moon at the height of her power was not strong enough to stop Tirek at the height of his, and he struck her down against the surface of the Moon itself. Some of the dislodged chunks rained down on the world, damaging more of not only Equestria, but many other countries on that side of the planet.

Tirek seemed to have won; all he had left to deal with was one small, angry changeling queen. An assured victory, no doubt.

He could not have known how wrong he was. For a changeling might give its magic willingly to a spell like Tirek’s with no ill effects, but an unwilling changeling queen will not be robbed of her power easily. As Tirek’s powers drain magic, so changeling powers drain love - and no one in all the world had such self-love as Tirek. The cycle of Tirek draining her magic and Chrysalis draining his became a self-consuming spell spiral that ultimately imploded upon itself, taking both creatures with it.

The resulting explosion could be heard across the celestial sea. For a few moments, there was something like an artificial sun on the horizon - a sun that had set directly on Equestria.

Then came the silence. After three years of war, devastation, and disasters unlike any the world had ever seen, there was silence.

And as the silence stretched, the survivors stirred.

Earth ponies, pegasi, unicorns, crystal ponies, and zebras; yaks, cows, goats, donkeys, and buffalo; gryphons, dragons, hippogryphs, minotaurs, and changelings: in spite of everything, many had survived. They rose from their hiding places to find an Equestria and Crystal Empire in ruins. No major cities still stood; borders and coastlines were unrecognizable. Large swaths of land once green and lush were barren and blasted, and spots of chaos magic lay in wait for creatures unwise enough to enter them unprotected. The moon hung wrecked in a dark sky, shining in shattered glory down on the devastation that had been the once-rich land of Equestria.

But the great destroyers were gone. None of the titans and tyrants who had brought this destruction down on the country remained. The usual monsters hardly seemed a threat anymore; those who had survived thus far had learned to cope with far worse. They could build new settlements, make new ways of life, come together or fall apart on their own merits.

And the most hopeful sign of all came the next day. The first actual day since Nightmare Moon returned and the Thousand Days of Woe began:

The Sun - weak and red in the dust-filled sky - slowly rose over the horizon.

The Princess of the Sun had not returned yet; perhaps she is still trapped by her sister’s spell. Perhaps another way of escape is being laid. But the light fills the ponies’ hearts with hope.

The Equestria they knew is gone. But the New Equestria has a future.

____

Sunday, Aug.10, 4 A.C.

Dear Journal,

It’s really strange dating things this way; but with everything that’s happened, most folks agree it’ll be easier to date our calendars starting with the fall of Princess Celestia. ‘After Celestia’ sounds so grim, though; kinda hope we change it. Maybe when the Princess returns... we’re praying she does.

Anyway, I still can’t believe we found a whole stock of blank paper in the storerooms! We’re saving most of it for bartering, but Mom thinks it’s smart for one of us to make notes for posterity, so it looks like I get to keep you. I’ll try to be short to save space, but it just feels so good to write again!

The move into the Canterlot ruins ruins is going pretty well. A few other families joined us after our last trip to Apple Fort, and we’ve shored up our defenses in case the air pirates make another flyby. Pop and I negotiated a deal with the Apples - food in exchange for books. A few of the unicorns know replication spells and are using some of the paper to make copies of really important texts so we don’t lose valuable knowledge to an accident. It still blows my mind how much we’ve lost in... was life really normal only a few years ago? It feels like another lifetime that I was in this very city, talking to the Princess, sitting at a normal cafe... eating lunch with Cam and Press...

I don’t want to forget them. Camera Shy and Pressing Matters, my best friends. Maybe they’re still out there somewhere. We run into old friends every now and then - my old traveling salespony gig has come in handy, actually! I’ve found a bunch of people who used to be clients, it really helps with forming trade and peace treaties with other groups. So it could happen. Please, Prince, keep them safe wherever they are.

I’m really blessed, though. I have to remember that. I have Mom and Pop and Black and Per and Chewie - although I’m still not used to Chewie flying and talking now. She’s such a character. Lots of ponies are missing family - so are we, we haven’t been able to find most of the extended family, but Pop got word from Aunt Pitter that she and my cousin Light Drizzle are out west somewhere, and Pitch Apple is down at Apple Fort, thank the King.

And we could be worse! We made friends with a tinkerer named Steam Punk, he made me a new wing that works as good as my old one! (Not a HUGE bar to cross, but it’s still really impressive!) I’m talking him into working with me to start a production house that can make and sell them affordably to other handicapped pegasi. And Mom got her flight back thanks to a gem Black and some other mages crafted. I think she still misses her diving mark, but she’s so brave and optimistic, it really inspires everyone. I wish we could do something for Pop’s horn, but he’s finding other ways to help out. Per is... well, I guess if you’re going to get turned into a pony-dragon, you’d want to be as cheerful about it as Per. Who knows, maybe she’ll still get a cutie mark someday! And Black is fully aware that he looks pretty boss with an eyepatch, the dork. 

There’s rumors that Princess Cadance might be alive and organizing the crystal ponies up North; lots of ponies are heading that way, but I think our group will stay here. There’s a lot of resources in the Canterlot ruins and in the castle, although Black leads the expeditions into the castle because of safety issues. I never knew he was so good at exploration and such; guess there were a few skills he was holding out on us over the years, but turns out he was working for the Princess before! What in Equus, I gave him such an earful for being all secretive about being my bodyguard or whatever. 

I’m running out of page, so I’ll wrap up today. We’re holding a worship service later, Pop and Parson Brown are setting it up. We want to keep focusing on what we have to be thankful for. We are GOING to get through this. The King, the Prince, and the Advocate have not abandoned us, and we have each other. 

~Salespitch

----

Fun Facts About The Wasteland Timeline:

- This was my favorite timeline to draw =D I HAD to get some steampunk stuff in there, although there are definitely Mad Max vibes. The convenient thing about this timeline is that it was a literal blank slate, so I could really get creative with it! I feel like this would make a neat bookmark, what do ya’ll think?

- I tried to reference all the major villains in the picture. Extra shoutout to ReversalMushroom, the patron who sponsored this Alternate Timeline Special, for giving me the ideas for the changeling goo and Tirek’s hoofprints, which were added in during the coloring phase. I think they round it out quite nicely!

- The random bit of Candy Forest over the crevice there is one of the pockets left behind by Discord’s chaos magic going wild. Most ponies avoid it because here’s WEIRD stuff in there, and ponies who go in there usually come out a little weirder themselves. 

- Black lost his eye and half his sunglasses in a fight with some Changelings. He gets on quite well with only one eye, though, and he insists his sunglass-lens eyepatch is going to be the height of eyepatch fashion. (He DOES have a sense of humor in case anyone doubted it. ;) ) Black taught everyone basic survival techniques and does most of the more dangerous tasks.

- Sales lost his wing during Tirek’s rampage; he tried to distract Tirek, but they didn’t have time to make the plan from the Tirek timeline, so he got swatted pretty quickly. On the upside, Tirek lost sight of him and didn’t get his magic. Sales can fly about as well now with his new steampunk wing, which combines technology and magic to mimic low-level pegasus flight (which was where he was at anyway, so he made a great first test subject!) Sales’ main job is  negotiating peaceful trades with other groups.

- Sales Patter (Dad) lost his horn while pushing his wife out of the way of some falling rubble. He insists he was only mediocre at magic anyway, and he doesn’t need a horn to do business! He does miss it, though. He helps their new community with allocating resources.

- Pitch Forward (Mom) lost her magic and cutie mark to Tirek’s onslaught. The gem in her coat simulates flight for her, although not quite at the level she was before. She and Sales joke about how he can almost beat her in a race now. She helps with the kids in their small community and teaches flying techniques to pegasi.

- Pitch Perfect got hit with a random blast of Discord magic that turned her half dragon. It took a little getting used to, but she honestly thinks it is super neat. She’s pretty good at sniffing out gems now, which (when she isn’t eating them) helps with family finances. Her friends Codebreak and Castle Crasher are part of their little community, and the three are constantly getting into trouble (which most everyone silently thinks of as a nice bit of familiarity.)

- Chewie ALSO got Discord’d; she has fairy wings now and she can talk. Chewie still likes Sales the best and hovers around him chattering like Navi half the time. The other half of the time she forgets she has wings and just hops around exploring. At this point she’s become less like a pet and more like another tiny sister, to Per’s delight and everyone else’s raised anxiety levels. She is VERY aware of her surroundings and alerts the group to intruders and strangers. She really misses computer games.

- Princess Celestia will eventually return, although by that time I feel that the various groups gathering together will have formed something like a decent society again. It remains to be seen if they’ll go back to a monarchy, create a government of connected micronations, or turn into something like the United States.

- And yes, Camera Shy, Pressing Matters, and Press’s husband Curler are all alive. They’ll meet up someday!

---

A/N: Thank you all for joining me on this journey through time and space to explore the seven MLP timelines and where Sales & Co might have ended up in them! I hope you enjoyed it; I had a good bit of fun coming up with the different scenarios, it was a great brain exercise. =D Thank you again to all my Patrons, and to ReversalMushroom for sponsoring this particular special! There will be a final post next week of all the pictures together, with links back to their storyline posts.

I also want to thank you for bearing with me as the regular updates continue to be on hiatus. This has been a rough and strange year for all of us, and I hope you all are safe and healthy and know that you are loved. Jesus has really been with me through this year, and even tonight as I write this; there are things I struggle with, but I know that they do not define my value, HE does. =) And I, like Sales, want to count my blessings, the biggest one (aside from my faith in God) being that I have family around me who love me and care for me. I’m very much looking forward to Christmas! =D  

Merry Christmas! May your Christmas and New Year contain joy and peace, and may Christ Jesus rest His hands on you and draw your heart to His. In Jesus’ Name, amen.

~River Babble

#mlp ask blog #pony ask blog #tirek #sombra #nightmare moon #Queen Chrysalis #mlp discord #IANAA #Salespitch

[ainarosewood]

The Life of an Adventurer

FFXIVWrite2021 Day 3 Prompt : Scale

Why, why am I doing this? Isleif thought as he clung to the side of the slick cliff, hands holding barely discernible nubs of rock, the toes of his boots jammed into small crevices. His body drenched in clammy sweat both from the exertion and from the Light raging though his aether.

Below him roughly 30 fulms was the mucky sea floor hard unforgiving should he lose his grip.

Because you're a helpful idiot, he answered himself, because you are tired of seeing your friends push themselves to spare you.  Because you are a moron who stubbornly ignored that something was wrong.

The Veena had known from the moment he downed Tatianna in Il Mheg and absorbed the Light that it was affecting his aether.  He had felt the wrongness of it as it flowed in.  He had known even then that the blessing was not dispersing it but absorbing it.  But the stubborn helpful fool that he was, he continued on determined to save this world and in turn the Source from certain doom.

So now here he was 30 fulms above the now dry seafloor trying to reach a glowing coral piece for a crazed eerily similar doppelganger of a certain drunken smith because he wanted to make a lamp for the Ondo to honor some ancient people that he knew were the bastard Ascians that had caused the doom of this world in the first place.  The life of an adventurer is never dull, he told himself as he stretched up to reach another spot to climb higher.  Only to have to cling to the cliff gasping in pain as the Light strained against Ryne’s constraints.

As he clung there he was for once grateful for some of the harsh training he had been given as a Warder of the Wood.  His instructor Bjor had made him climb up cliffs as a means of strengthening his endurance even when he bore injury so he could if he had to when he was alone.  The only thing he found himself wishing was he had some roots or vines to wrap around one of his arms to give more support.  Here on this bare slick stone he was terrified about losing his grip from the pain.

After a few moments the spasms passed and he stayed there a moment panting in pain.  

“Ye alright mate?” a voice beside him asked concerned.

Turning slightly he gave the spirit floating there a grim smile, “Never better Ardbert, just praying I don’t fall before I get this damn coral”

“Heh” was Ardbert’s response giving him a slightly sheepish grin, “Stupid question huh,”

The Viera continued his climb grunting, “Eh it came from a good place Ardbert, I appreciate the concern.”

It didn't take much longer before he finally reached his goal at the top of this little rise that had an entire colony of glowing coral.  Taking a breather now that he got there he studied the coral seeing which pieces would meet Grendolt’s specifications.  The fun one would be getting it back down intact to the man.  As he began the harvest he saw one of the strange ruins was a part of this cliff.

“Ardbert, you mind seeing if those ruins might give me an easier path down?” he asked the shade who floated nearby.  The Warrior nodded his assent and began exploring as Islief continued his harvest.

Moments later the spirit came back with a rueful grin, “There is, seems to be a staircase that goes down to the seafloor and from what it looks like its still sturdy.  Also two broken areas that allow access in and out.  A window up here and part of the wall at the cliff base.”

Islief closed his eyes for a moment and let out a string of expelitives that would have made a Lominsan pirate blush.  Then he gave a short bark of a laugh stating, “Heh just my luck and stubbornness that I chose the hard way to begin with.”

“If anything mate it looked impressive, doubt me or me mates could have ever done it.” Ardbert replied.

Islief snorted in amusement bagging the last of the coral.  “Lead on to the broken window let me take the easier path down.”

The Viera followed the shade, studying in silence the inner parts of the ruins as he made his way down. The sea had overtly gotten in and caused some damages but for the most part it was still intact.  What was it made of, what material could have been so strong to have survived so much.  How, how had it survived from the sundering of the star?

All of this would possibly be answered when he found Emet-Selch but at the same time it would most likely be skewed.  The man was tempered after all he freely admitted it.  So any answers would not be the full story.

Once back to the seafloor he made his way back to Workbench once there he handed the smith his required materials.  The man gave a grin and bid him to watch a master at work.  Islief choked back some laughter, the man was definitely all but the same as Gerolt only difference was not quite as drunk.

After he revealed the lamp Grendolt stated, “Alright now that I got me muse back lemme see bout getting you fitted with better arms n armor lad fore ye go farther.”

Islief simply nodded and let the man begin the proper measures and then sat to wait he had little knowledge of what was to come with finding the Asian bastard best to be as prepared as possible.

#FFXIVWrite2021 #Isleif Cahuac #Viera male #Veena Viera #aether data center #midgardsormr #shb spoilers #5.0 Spoilers

[gagosiangallery]

Anselm Kiefer at Gagosian Le Bourget

December 17, 2020

ANSELM KIEFER Field of the Cloth of Gold

February 7–March 28, 2021 26 avenue de l”Europe, Le Bourget __________ What interests me is the transformation, not the monument. I don’t construct ruins, but I feel ruins are moments when things show themselves. A ruin is not a catastrophe. It is the moment when things can start again. The pictures become interesting when the subject matter is no more than an excuse, when the artist remembers the struggle, when he sets forth his own world in conflict with the self-secluding earth. —Anselm Kiefer Gagosian is pleased to present Field of the Cloth of Gold, an exhibition of four monumental new paintings by Anselm Kiefer. The tension between beauty and terror, alongside the inextricable relationship between history and place, has animated Kiefer’s work since the 1970s. Drawing on the literature of cultural memory—including poetry, the Old and New Testaments, and the Kabbalah—Kiefer gives material presence to myths and metaphors. He infuses the medium of paint with startling and unconventional gestures and objects, juxtaposing it with organic and abject materials such as straw, sand, charcoal, ash, and mud. Kiefer asserts himself as an iconoclast; his paintings undergo various processes—such as being cut, burned, buried, exposed to natural elements, splashed with acid, or poured over with lead—so as to be made anew. These strategies, along with the use of materials such as lead, concrete, glass, fabric, tree roots, or burned books, create a symbolic resonance, making palpable both the movement and destruction of human life and the persistence of the lyrical and the divine.

The exhibition’s title refers to the historic peace summit between King Henry VIII and King Francis I that took place five hundred years ago in a field in what is now Pas-de-Calais, France. The conference, centered around a strategic alliance between England and France, had the goal of outlawing war between Christian nations. The alliance was considered a key event in shaping Europe’s geopolitics—until it dissolved and war broke out, a year later. While Kiefer did not begin making these works with this event or title in mind, the connection became apparent and synchronous after their completion. As he stated in a recent interview, “the title is often not the explanation of the picture,” but is rather “an allusion.” History is one of the materials he uses and synthesizes in his work, “like clay for the sculptor or color for the painter.” Completed over the last two years, these works predate the COVID-19 pandemic, the ripple-effect crisis it created, and the international and cross-cultural relationships it has reconfigured. While history has been fractured and unpredictable since the Field of the Cloth of Gold conference, our cultural memory holds the violent unpredictability of human relations on a continuum. The layered and visceral character of these paintings, whose scale almost matches the landscapes they depict, evokes the surging capriciousness of European history and the effects and aftermaths of war. As in The Morgenthau Plan series of 2012, Kiefer affixes other elements to the surfaces of these paintings, from plant matter to industrial material, building a third dimension onto the painted canvas. Here the field of history is transfigured into a field of gold under a dark sky. As is customary in Kiefer’s work, each painting’s title and symbols contain a rich literary and historical set of references. Sichelschnitt (Sickle Cut) (2019) refers to the Manstein Plan (Sichelschnittplan), a war plan devised by the German Army during the Battle of France in 1940, while Beilzeit—Wolfszeit (Axe Time—Wolf Time) (2019) nods to “Völuspá (Prophecy of the Seeress),” the first poem of the Poetic Edda of Old Norse mythology. Verse 45 of this poem is translated as “Axe-time, sword-time, | shields are sundered, / Wind-time, wolf-time, | ere the world falls.” Ein Wort von Sensen gesprochen (One Word Spoken by Scythes) (2019–20) evokes the poem “From Hearts and Brains” by Paul Celan, whose poetry has been a point of reference for Kiefer for decades. Celan’s verse reads, “and a word, spoken by scythes / bends them into life.” On Sunday, January 24, to celebrate the opening of the exhibition, the gallery will be open from 2 to 6pm. Anselm Kiefer was born in 1945 in Donaueschingen, Germany, and lives and works in France. His work is collected by museums worldwide and has been permanently installed at the Musée du Louvre (2007) and the Panthéon (2020), both in Paris. Exhibitions and retrospectives include Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, Humlebæk, Denmark (2010–11), Shevirat Ha-Kelim (Breaking of the Vessels), Tel Aviv Museum of Art, Israel (2011–12); Beyond Landscape, Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo, NY (2013–14); Royal Academy of Arts, London (2014), Centre Pompidou, Paris (2015–16); l’alchimie du livre, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris (2015–16); and The Woodcuts, Albertina, Vienna (2016). In 2009, Kiefer directed and designed the sets for Am Anfang (In the Beginning) at the Opéra national de Paris. In 2017, he was awarded the J. Paul Getty Medal for his contribution to the arts. _____

Anselm Kiefer, Ein Wort von Sensen gesprochen (One Word Spoken by Scythes), 2019–20, emulsion, oil, acrylic, shellac, straw, gold leaf, wood, and metal on canvas, 15 feet 5 1/8 inches × 27 feet 6 3/4 inches (470 × 840 cm) © Anselm Kiefer. Photo: Georges Poncet

#Anselm Kiefer #Gagosian

[virlath]

harellan

Some time after the second Exalted March against the Dales, Fen’Harel’s title and meaning changed from rebel leader to the god of betrayal.

The Dalish use "Harellan" to mean "traitor to one's kin," but the word does not appear in any elven text before the Towers Age. The ancient root-word is related to "harillen," or opposition, and "hellathen," or noble struggle. The Dalish call Fen'Harel a god of deception, but I posit a far more accurate translation would be "god of rebellion."

===

If you drink from the Well of Sorrows, you are able to enter Fen’Harel’s sanctuary with a secret greeting.

Ar-melana dirthaveren. Revas vir-anaris.

Ar-melana = I, now

dirthaveren = promise (elves refer to it as the Exalted plains)

revas = freedom

vir-anaris = path/way(passage) of time ? (this is an interpretation based on the word bellanaris/bellanar)

I realise many people often translate vir-Anaris to the “way of Anaris”, but I disagree. If we’re going by consistency I would expect the phrase to be “vir-Anaris” and not “vir-anaris”.

Given that we know the elven language is intentional, I interpret the phrase to mean “I promise my time in the fight for freedom” . In other words, his rebels dedicated their lives to his cause, which was a weighty promise considering they were immortal.

Anyone who wanted to enter Fen’Harel’s sanctuary were made to promise this. Sure, none were beholden but by choice. But the blessing also says “He leads only those who would help willingly.”

The Promise of Fen’Harel

A wash of powerful magic carries a pang of hope. Images flash by: a man in wolfskin standing with a group of freed slaves, clasping one's arm in friendship. Words aren't so much heard as felt:

"Fen'Harel has been falsely named a god, but is as mortal as any of you. He takes no divine mantle and asks that none be bestowed upon him. He leads only those who would help willingly. Let none be beholden but by choice."

This is because Fen’Harel also made a promise to them in return.

The specifics of his promise aren’t elaborated on, but based on the Skyhold codex (which I’ll break down later), I think it’s safe to say it was the promise of freedom and freedom of choice. I also think there is a possibility the promise he made to his people formed the foundation of the meaning of dirthavaren.

Dirthavaren is often referred to as the Exalted Plains, land promised to the elves by Andraste. If you connect enough dots though, I believe the elves’ search for a homeland can be traced back to the promise made by him - that they would one day be able to live freely on land they could call their own.

When the veil was created, Fen’Harel fulfilled his promise to the rebels, ensuring their freedom and imprisoning the false gods for “eternity”. However, this came at the price of the elves’ empire and immortality- a loss many of the elves likely never even imagined was on the cards to begin with. 

Not only did the survivors of Arlathan have to suddenly contend with a vast new world sundered from the Fade, they could now also age and die, a fearful thing to consider when you realise these beings likely previously existed for millenia.

The pages of this book—memory?—show a solemn group of elves in an ampitheater of living wood, entire trees grown into seats and stairs for the listeners to recline on. Two other elves and a spirit of learning are speaking in turn on ways to bend the properties of the material world when casting spells. At the end, the spirit, with the air of a senior lecturer, floats forward and booms in a surprisingly deep voice.

"The unchanging world is delicate: spells of power invite disaster and annihilation. The unchanging world is stubborn: the pull of the earth fiercely resists making fire run like water or stone rise like mist. The unchanging world rings with its own harmony. Listen with fearless hearts, and great works will unfold."

Without warning, survivors were thrown into the unchanging world where their magic now invited annihilation.

Clans and tribes gave way to a powerful empire called Tevinter, which—and for what reason we do not know—moved to conquer Elvhenan. When they breached the great city of Arlathan, our people, fearful of disease and loss of immortality, chose to flee rather than fight. With magic, demons, and even dragons at their behest, the Tevinter Imperium marched easily through Arlathan, destroying homes and galleries and amphitheaters that had stood for ages. Our people were corralled as slaves, and human contact quickened their veins until every captured elf turned mortal. The elves called to their ancient gods, but there was no answer.

Slavery relics such as the vallaslin lived on in elven nobles with the hopes it would save them, but the gods didn’t answer because they were imprisoned. And while Fen’Harel’s people knew he had won them their freedom, their mortality (and fear of it) meant the majority of the elven empire was inevitably decimated.

Solas believes in “cause and effect” and the way he won this “victory” is very similar to the Slow Arrow story, or the story about the noble asking him for advice on how to find the woman he desired. 

“Nothing is gained without something being lost”. 

With the eventual fall of the Dales, I presume it was only a matter of time before his people rejected the notion entirely that the Dread Wolf had in fact saved them and so the word ‘harel’ eventually morphed into ‘harellan’.

What care have I for gods I have never seen, for a Maker I do not know? Let others distract themselves with such lofty concerns. I know only this life, I have seen only this world, and I care only for you. 

Mourn for the past—and all that was left there. For we trusted in dreams and perceived immortality. We trusted in promises and in hope. So we dreamed in vain, for we lost these gifts long ago.

===

The creation of the veil

Skyhold, or Tarasyl'an Te'las ("the place where the sky is kept" or, more specifically, "the place where the sky was held back") was once Solas’ fortress and likely the site where he created the veil.

"After he held back the sky to imprison the gods, the Dread Wolf disappeared" - Archivist in Vir Dirthara

Skyhold is filled with elven imagery and old notes and carvings are found throughout the castle as it is renovated. A scratching under a pillar reveals this block of elven text (which was probably translated by Solas ironically)

Skyhold has not just been claimed time and again, but sacked as well. We've managed to uncover some remnants, including a scratching under a pillar that mentions the name given by your witch. Old but still long after the place had been built over. But the author knew something of its first purpose, or at least, something of a legend.

Var'landivalis him sa'bellanaris san elgar Melanada him sa'miras fena'taldin (word missing) Nadasalin telrevas ne suli telsethenera Tarasyl'an te'las vehn'ir abelath'vir (word missing)

Even with assistance from your elf, we managed only a partial translation. Elven is often a game of intents, not direct mapping of phonetic meaning. That means it's a mess.

Our belief transformed into everything. (assertation/problem? uncertain) All time is transformed into the final/first death (uncertain), Inevitable/threatened victory and horrible/promised freedom in the untorn veils, (uncertain) Where the sky is held up/back, where the people give/gain love that is an apology/promise from/to....(missing subject, uncertain)

Mostly complete, as fragments go. The rhythm is strange, not like others I've recorded. Perhaps less a poem than a statement? The elven language does tend to meander.

My interpretation of the elven text, in bold:

Our belief transformed into everything. (assertation/problem? uncertain)

All time is transformed into the final/first death (uncertain),

Inevitable/threatened victory and horrible/promised freedom in the untorn veils, (uncertain)

Where the sky is held up/back, where the people give/gain love that is an apology/promise from/to....(missing subject, uncertain) 

The elves used will to shape their empire. This was a gift and a curse, possibly because it led to endless wars and in-fighting between those in positions of power.

The veil changed the flow of time and "quickened” the elves’ immortality, allowing them only one chance to live, age, and die 

The veil was created to ensure their freedom when the rebellion was threatened (I presume the threat was Mythal’s death). Thus the rebels got the freedom they were promised, but at the “horrible” cost of the entire elven empire.

Fen’Harel fulfilled his promise to his people at Skyhold by creating the veil, however he did so apologetically as the price of freedom was the destruction of the world that they knew. 

Solas says “every other alternative was worse” when it came to the creation of the veil. Given the fact the evanuris were clearly drunk on power and the blight was possibly already floating around too, I’m inclined to believe the urgency was there for him to make that hard decision. I think the biggest flaw in his plan however was that he didn’t seem to warn anyone but instead acted recklessly out of pride and rage.

Where willows wail 

We/it lost eternity or the ruined tree of the People,

Time won't help when the land of dreams is no longer our journey.

We try to lead despite the eventual failing of our markings.

To the inevitable and troubling freedom we are committed.

When we could no longer believe, we lost glory to war.

When the Wolf failed/won, we lost the People to war.

The war against the evanuris didn’t stop with the veil, as evidenced with Tevinter’s ransacking of Arlathan. Thus any memories or guidance that might have been saved by Arlathan’s survivors were just as quickly lost.

===

The din’an shiral / journey of death

The veil was the lesser of many evils, and it could even be argued it did/will end up saving many lives in the long run. Solas however only sees the ruins of a once grand, golden empire.

Imagine, waking up after millenia and realising the people you freed have become subjugated and live in squalor? Imagine encountering the Dalish and realising the majority of their culture is formed from relics of slavery? Imagine leading a rebellion fighting for freedom, only to be branded a traitor and god of betrayal by his own people in the aftermath? 

Perhaps he has realised he actually needs to let go of his own pride so he can properly fulfil the promise he made to his people, hence the di’nan shiral/journey of death.

When he says to Flemeth “...the failure was mine. I should pay the price...but the people..they need me”, she understands he is still beholden to the promise he made to them, because as it is, the elves have basically lost everything of their once grand empire.

When Solas encounters Nightmare in the Fade, Nightmare says to him:

Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din. 

Learn my traitor. You were not victorious. Your pride will be your death.

And Solas replies:

Banal nadas

It was long speculated before JoH that “Banal nadas” meant “Nothing is inevitable”, however Jaws of Hakkon revealed “telanadas” actually means the latter. Considering the fact the dialogue in JoH very specifically underscores the word’s meaning (In the old tongue, your name, Telanadas, means nothing is inevitable. I will remember your name and hope.) I’m inclined to believe “banal nadas” means something more specific.

banal = negates (inferred from banal'vhen=astray, banal'abelas, banal vhenan=you’re not sorry, you’re not my heart) 

nadas =  something that must be (inferred from telanadas=nothing is inevitable, mala suledin nadas=now you must endure)

It’s a fuzzy interpretation, but I think the phrase could be a negation to Nightmare’s assertion that his pride will be his death. Solas is rejecting Nightmare’s mockery as he is now willing to let go of his pride and potentially his life to save what’s left of the elven people. 

This is where it gets interesting, because his collusion with Mythal is one of the biggest mysteries to me. Did anyone else influence the creation of the veil or was it Solas’ own single-handed creation? Do Solas and Mythal’s end-games align or will his absorption of Flemeth’s power come back to bite him? Does Solas have a new plan for imprisoning/killing the false gods for good? Or is he actually planning on reinstating/working with allies from his time once the veil is destroyed?

When you say to him “you would murder countless people?”, he replies “wouldn’t you, to save your own?” 

Considering he doesn’t consider the modern elves as his own people, who actually are the people he is intending on saving?

And- this is the kicker for me- the fairy in the Tiniest Cave  quest says this cryptic message:

"He'll remake the world to suit his desires. His chosen to reign." 

Given the fact that I don’t think Solas was working alone in the rebellion, and the fact Flemythal went out of her way to save the old god soul, I’m starting to think they both have diverging plans for how everyone will be led into this new age of existence. This will obviously be a sticking point, because Morrigan was groomed to be the inheritor who awaits the next age, something I could see Solas disapproving of.

Now we know from TN that Solas’ plans involves “saving the world” and that he is “sympathetic to elves”. While all of this may be true, the reason you cannot sway him on his path is because his primary motivation is upholding the promise he made to his people. Perhaps he even intends to clear his name in doing so, whether that is by exposing the evanuris as frauds once the veil is destroyed (maybe his pride will come back to haunt him after all, depending on your relationship with him in DAI) or by destroying the eternal/Black city for good.

#dragon age #dai #solas #da theories #evanuris #fen'harel #dirthavaren