#emergence ancient

[toxictoxicities]

Fixed up Valleys face a little and also designed an Ancient for @distant-frontier-simp ! (Five Meadows, A Grazed Tooth)

I'm glad to design an Ancient for you boo~!

[csavii]

First time drawing Valleys, no better way to do it

A Humid Breeze, Seven Distant Valleys- @toxictoxicities

[columboscreens]

[beatingdrumspouringwine]

Hymn to Womanly Dionysos

I praise the God who runs with wild women, She who takes joy in their forms, Who Herself bears long hair, soft skin, delicate lashes, Dionysos of womanly epithets, Who wore long dresses in Her youth. I praise Dionysos who runs with the Maenads, Who surrounds Herself with ever-present holy wild women, Reveling in their company, Dancing under the sacred darkness at night, By day feasting on wine and honey and milk. Come to me now, O gently blessed one, Whether Your head is laid in the lap of Your beloved wife Ariadne, Who traces Your lips with Her own gentle hands, Or whether You are lying in flowered meadows with maenads, Who themselves rejoice in Your feminine form. Bless me with an ever-present sense of peace, Bless me with the love of women, Bless me with perfect joy in my own gender. May Your gentle cow-like eyes always behold me with kindness, May Your hands hold mine when I sorrow, And when the world raises a hand against me, May I hide behind Your flowing skirts, And may Your thyrsos be raised in my defense.

[blueiscoool]

Medieval Game Pieces Emerge From the Ruins of a German Castle

A small cache of medieval game pieces has been discovered in the ruins of a recently discovered castle in southern Germany. The finds provide a window into leisure time, possibly among actual knights, dating back nearly a millennium, approximately the time that chess arrived in Europe as an import from Asia.

The find includes a six-sided die, assorted game pieces including four in the shape of flowers, and a very well-preserved 1½-inch-high chess piece, all carved from antlers.

“In the Middle Ages, chess was one of the seven skills that a good knight should master,” said Jonathan Scheschkewitz, of the State Office for the Preservation of Monuments Baden-Württemberg. “It is therefore not surprising that known finds mostly come from castles.”

There is evidence that these are not just display objects, but pieces that were actually used. “Under the microscope,” explained Flavia Venditti of the University of Tübingen, “a typical sheen from holding and moving the pieces can be seen.”

An international team of experts from the University of Tübingen, the State Office for the Preservation of Monuments Baden-Württemberg and the German Archaeological Institute is now examining this evidence of early gaming culture.

“The discovery of an entire games collection [from] the 11th/12th century came as a complete surprise to us,” said Lukas Werther, of the German Archaeological Institute, “and the horse-shaped knight piece is a real highlight.”

The pieces came to light during excavations by the DFG Collaborative Research Centre 1070 Resource Cultures and the State Office for the Preservation of Monuments Baden-Württemberg in a previously unknown castle in the Reutlingen district of southern Germany’s Baden-Württemberg region.

“They were lying under the debris of a wall where they were lost or hidden in the Middle Ages,” said Michael Kienzle of the University of Tübingen. They are in such good condition, he added, precisely because they had been covered under those materials.

They will go on display this month in two exhibitions: “Excavated! Knights and Castles in the Echaz Valley” at the Schlössle Pfullingen (June 15–August 30) and “The Hidden Länd: We in the First Millennium” at the Archaologisches Landsmuseum Baden-Württemberg (September 13, 2024–January 26, 2025).

[reefknotslair]

I love them I love them I love them I love them I love them I love th

[puppetmaster13u]

Y'know what, yet another de-aged Danny idea where he falls into another world. But Clockwork sends Fright Knight to go watch over him to stop something bad from happening. The heroes of said world were not prepared, at all.

[pobblebonked]

hop.exe

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

another snippet! my first Flight Rising one, featuring my darling couriers Honey and Grace having a chill time <3

~

If he had to choose his least favorite place in Sornieth, Honey wouldn’t hesitate to name the Southern Icefield. More specifically, port Hillberg.

The ramshackle town nests at the base of the Cloudscrape Crags, near where the continent starts to break apart into the Floes. It’s large, but shabby - tarp and rope holds together half of the buildings. Honey suspects that the residents simply couldn’t be bothered to rebuild time and time again. Sparse vegetation dots the steep landscape, if it could be called one. The dragons who have made Hillberg their home are just as blunt and harsh as the environment.

None of these things are strangers to Honey. Perpetual bad moods and subpar architecture aren’t what makes him dread every delivery to the region.

No, no… it’s the wind. 

The constant, inescapable, Shade-cursed wind. 

It isn’t that Honey doesn’t like wind - oh, he does. He hails from the Windswept Plateau, and spent his happiest years tumbling through gusts and zephyrs. His blood sings in the air. 

Hillberg’s wind, though, is an utter nightmare.

At best, it’s a frigid breeze that even a tundra can feel through their thick coat. At worst, it’s a howling force barreling down from the Crag’s peaks, tearing through Hillberg with a vengeance. It carries biting flurries of ice and sleet with it, leaving a trail of frost and unfortunate frozen creatures in its wake. Everything not bolted down is lost in moments. Hillberg is lashed together and fixed to the earth to withstand the daily barrage. 

It’s so terrible that ropes line the streets for dragons to cling to so as to not be blown away in the gales. Wings are bound, claws are left long for purchase. Hillberg’s larger inhabitants have an easier time of it, but they’re few in numbers. The majority of residents are too small to withstand the greatest winds.

This horrible natural force even has a name - the Crag’s Breath.

Honey wouldn’t give it such a tame title. It’s a roar, a howl, a bellow. It rivals the Crescendo’s outer winds.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to put up with the Breath’s ordeal all that often. Hillberg doesn’t get many deliveries, and Honey isn’t the only courier available on this route. More often than not Honey gets months between trips here - sometimes he gets even luckier when the Breath isn’t howling during his brief stop. 

That luck isn’t holding this time around. 

Honey untenses one of his talons to flex feeling back into his claws. It’s a useless endeavor, of course. It serves him right for not wearing full gloves. He shivers and puts his talon back down, curling his claws into the frozen divots they’ve carved. A gust hits him from the side, and he clenches his leg muscles to keep from staggering.

The wide, desolate landing zone offers no comfort. The frozen ground yields no natural protection from the freezing wind, and the setting sun gives no relief. The gales yank at his apparel, his tail, his tightly folded wings. Honey doesn’t dare imagine what would happen if he opened them.

It’s cold. So devastatingly cold. The chill cuts right to Honey’s bones, and he’s certain that he’ll never be warm again.

During times like these he curses his lifestyle. Being constantly on the wing keeps him fit and light. Not enough fat lingers in his muscles to provide insulation, and his lithe form struggles to withstand the wind. He rarely meets a dragon larger than himself, yet right now he feels no bigger than a fae.

Honey huffs through his nose and glares across the icy field at the lights in the distance. The debris from the Breath and the shadows deepened by the waning sunset cast Hillberg into a darkening haze. Soon all that will be left of it in Honey’s sight are the lights. Those too will vanish as everyone hunkers down to wait out the brewing storm. 

At least the wind doesn’t allow ice and snow to melt on him. The only thing worse than being in the Breath is being in it while wet. 

If only his welcomers would hurry. In Honey’s opinion, the protocol Hillberg has for arrivals - especially inter-regional ones - is absurd. Honey always has to wait an hour or more before they lead him into town, and more importantly, shelter. He wouldn’t mind it if the Breath wasn’t active, but at this rate he really will freeze in place. At least Hillberg would have a shiny new statue for their proverbial doorstep. 

In truth, though, Honey is being dramatic. Even if he was forced to wait all night, he’d survive. It would be long and miserable, but he would make it to sunrise. It isn’t him that he’s worried about.

It’s his assistant, Grace. 

Honey crouches lower and cranes his neck to try and peer into his scarf. His slush-smeared goggles blur everything into indistinct shapes and monochrome colors. He shoves his nose into the scarf and snuffles - he can smell her, he thinks, but she hasn’t moved in some time.

“Grace,” he grunts. The wind snatches his words away, and he says louder, “Grace!”

Tiny talons push his snout, and he pulls back. Grace peeks out from the navy folds to peer up at him. Getting a read on her expression is impossible - the helmet and goggles betray nothing. Despite how sheltered she is, the wind still snags at her frills and presses them around her face. 

“Hanging in there?” Honey yells.

Through the blur, she nods.

“Still warm?”

Grace makes a show of shrugging before burrowing back down. She squirms further down into the scarf to rest where Honey’s neck meets his chest. Hopefully both the scarf and the thick arctic coat provide enough insulation for her, along with her own matching apparel. Not enough of his own body heat will seep through - staying warm is up to her. Still, Honey wishes that he could tuck her into his jacket. 

Honey shakes out his frosty mane and casts another look at the vanishing town. The guideropes staked into the ground leading there dance in the wind, empty. 

Please, he thinks as a violent tremor wracks his body. He lifts a talon and immediately lurches forward - he slams his haunches down and angles against the wind. He rests the lifted talon over Grace. The faint press of her eases the knot in his ribs, though it won’t entirely untangle until they’re both out of the cold and warming by a fire.

It was a harsher trip than usual, getting here. Usually the route takes them along the Floes, where they can rest at established checkpoints along the way. But the first checkpoint had directed Honey to make one continuous arcing journey over the ocean to Hillberg. Why, he doesn’t know yet. There was some sort of issue. 

What he does know is that he’s beyond exhausted. Flying for so long unbroken is well within his capabilities, but it isn’t fun. Not to mention that the transition into Hillberg airspace had nearly knocked Honey out of the sky. The battle to the landing field almost did him in - his limbs almost gave out upon landing. Only half of his current trembling comes from the weather.

As soon as they’re in the hanger, Honey is sure to collapse and sleep for hours. It will set back their schedule, but it’s a much needed rest. Especially so if they can’t take the Floes for the return trip.

Honey hunches his shoulders higher. At least his folded wings protect the courier satchels. It would be horrific if the straps broke or the clasps came undone. Dozens of letters, documents, and parcels all spilling out and whisking away into the sea… Honey’s next tremor isn’t so much of a shiver as it is a shudder. He might throw himself into the ocean after them if that happened.

Frantic tapping against his talon shakes him from his thoughts. Honey’s eyes snap open and focus on Grace, who’s frantically waving and pointing. He follows her gaze and relief soars in his ribcage. 

A tundra slowly struggles towards them in the growing darkness. They’re big and burly for their breed, though that must be the uncountable pounds of fur covering their body. They remind Honey of the giant shaggy goats he sometimes sees while flying over the Icefield. 

The tundra stops, gripping the thick rope with both claws as they angle themself into the wind so that they’re nearly sideways. Their fur billows around them. When Honey lifts his head, the tundra jerks their own towards Hillberg. They carefully turn around to make the return journey.

Thank the Windsinger.

Honey helps nudge Grace back down to safety, and they spend a moment making sure she’s secure. Once they start walking, Honey won’t be able to spare her a moment of attention - he’ll be too busy staying upright. 

The Breath gusts under and around Honey as he stands, filling the new openings. He curses and stumbles. One talon slips on an icy patch, nearly sending him to the ground. In any other situation, Honey would be embarrassed about shuffling forward with his hindquarters still tucked. It must look ridiculous, but it’s the most stable position. 

Honey moves as quickly as he can manage, though even that is still slower than he’d like. It only takes a few minutes to catch up with the tundra. They don’t seem to be struggling, which is expected of an experienced Hillberg resident. Still, it can’t be easy.

“Would you like assistance?” Honey yells over the howling wind. The tundra looks up at him, and he moves the wrist of his wing away from his body to open up a pocket the tundra could climb into. 

They regard him for a moment through their own goggles, then at the long path ahead. They nod. Honey crouches as low as he can and angles his wing to create a buffer from the wind. The tundra lets go of the rope and flings themself at him, clinging to his thickly-padded shoulder. They clamber into the offered pocket and press up against his side, their fur frigid against the seam of his wing. Once they seem secure, Honey closes his wing tight and continues the trek. 

Each stride gets slower, and Honey’s legs tremble more with every one. The lights grow brighter and streak across his goggles, incandescently blinding him. The path curves up as he heads to the mountain-carved bunker.

This isn’t the worst weather he’s withstood, Honey reminds himself. Yes, it’s freezing. No, he can’t feel his own body anymore. But when has that ever stopped him? He has deliveries to make, including two lives tucked against him.

The icy soil finally gives way to an equally cold stone plaza. Honey staggers across it to the huge door. Carved stone and wood arc into an overhang, jutting directly out of the foothills and offering very little relief from the Breath. The hanger is the only area entirely safe from the wind -  something carved into the earth itself can’t be blown away. 

Honey slams his shoulder against the thick heartwood door, tough as iron and sturdy as the Crag. He leans desperately against it, flagging fast. 

Eternal seconds drag by.

Snowflakes gather in Honey’s exposed fur. 

The sun’s final light fades from the horizon.

The door shudders, groans, and lifts. The horizontal slats fold into the roof, and Honey yearns for the firelight spilling from inside. Only a couple more steps, now. Only another minute or two.

Honey squeezes through as soon as the door lifts enough for clearance. He slips into a long, warm hallway ending with the glow of a roaring fireplace. The door slams back down behind him, nearly landing on his tail. The door locks into place.

The abrupt silence almost hurts. Honey blinks hard and tosses his head against the ringing in his ears. The crackling of embers is barely audible. 

A tap against his side - ah, right. Honey uncurls his wing to let his passenger out, wincing at his frozen stiff muscles. The tundra jumps to the floor and shakes themself out. Ice crystals fly from their fur to shower the ground in glittering bits. 

“Thank you,” the tundra says, her voice clear in the hall’s calm. When Honey inclines his head, she butts her head against his wing and inhales deeply before trotting down the hall. He hopes she remembers his scent as an ally. 

“We’re in the clear,” Honey murmurs into his scarf as he pushes himself forward once more. Just a little further.

Grace clambers out of his scarf. She shakes herself before launching into the air, flitting in Honey’s blurry peripherals and performing complex acrobatics. That’s one way to warm herself. 

Only part of the bunker’s warmth reaches Honey, and he still feels frozen. His apparel crunches with every step. The stone floor seems to burn under his talons, even though it’s surely cold. Grace perches on his unbroken antler as they enter the bunker proper.

There aren’t many dragons inside, shockingly enough. The tundra he already met is settling into cushions set up by the circular fireplace. Three more tundras lounge about, along with a ridgeback that looks Arcane, a young guardian brooding in the corner, a pearlcatcher who already seems set on ignoring him, and a few specks that may be faes or spirals. Perhaps both.

Not that any of this matters much to Honey. He only has eyes for the empty cushions surrounding the blazing hearth. He stumbles towards it even as his vision tunnels until only the bright firelight remains. 

Just a little further.

A few more steps.

One more…

Honey is unconscious before he hits the ground. 

[ranticore]

HI!! IM SO HYPE ABT UR PERN ART!!! your dragon wing differences are so sick!!!!!!!! I love it!!!! they look like ,,, like blown glass, ornate and deceivingly delicate, and the fact theyve got FEATHERS is SOOOO. i love pern. i love sci fi thats fantasy. and i truly do love when pern dragons look like classical dragons but my heart is never fuller than when they look like aliens

Ahh thank you!!! 🧡 tbf mine are very classic dragony I just don't really like classic dragon wings hehe. I just wish I'd had more space to mess with the sci-fi aspects in the story I'm writing.. I love a sci-fi that tricks ppl into thinking it's a fantasy >:)

[kayespuzzles]

TOTK spoilers

Broke: The Ancient hero is a Hylian/Zonai mix

Woke: The Ancient hero is a new species

BESPOKE: The Ancient hero is a Zonai/Calamity Ganon mix

[toxictoxicities]

I had a lot of fun making this mural of my ancient oc's! This is the High Council of APL's ancient colony

Ruble and Tar Across Countless Weaves. A Humid Breeze, Seven Distant Valleys. Three Craned Stones, Keen Ores

[tytangfei]

some people are upset about yuan qi/ gu jin being so flippant about godhood and not wanting to return to the god realm. I support him wholeheartedly. I watched his god mother shang gu--who technically birthed him but wasn't the same immortal mother Hou chi who carried him for months and loved him and expected his birth with joy--leave him for hundreds or thousands of years. It wasn't HER, not really, and frankly I've not forgiven her for this.

[blueiscoool]

A Statue of Atlas Emerges From the Ruins of Sicily’s Ancient Temple of Zeus

In the fifth century B.C.E., 38 looming sculptures of the Titan stood guard at the structure.

After 20 years of restorations, a 26-foot-tall statue of Atlas is once again standing guard at the ancient Temple of Zeus in the city of Agrigento (once called Akragas) in Sicily.

The statue, created in the fifth century B.C.E., was one of roughly 38 similar Atlas monuments built into the temple. They stood in a line between columns with their arms raised, appearing to hold the holy structure upright.

In Greek mythology, Atlas was a Titan who rebelled in a war against Zeus. As punishment, he was forced to hold up the sky on his shoulders. Unlike the mythological Atlas, however, the stone likenesses were unable to hold up Zeus’ temple forever. Ultimately, earthquakes and other events caused the structure to crumble.

For many years, pieces of the statues were scattered around the site amongst other ancient ruins. In 1812, Charles Robert Cockerell, a prominent British architect, first identified one of the Titan’s giant sandstone heads during a visit to Agrigento. A century later, in 1920, archaeologist Pirro Marconi became the first person to attempt to reconstruct one of the Atlases, which is now housed in the Archaeological Museum of Agrigento.

The seeds of the current project began in 2004, when the Valley of the Temples park conducted a sweeping research campaign at the site. Experts cataloged 90 fragments from at least eight Atlas statues.

“The idea was to reposition one of these Atlases in front of the temple so that it may serve as a guardian of the structure dedicated to the father of the gods,” Roberto Sciarratta, the director of the Valley of the Temples park, tells the Guardian’s Lorenzo Tondo.

But rebuilding Atlas in a standing position was particularly challenging, as researchers couldn’t simply stack the pieces of the statue on top of one another. Instead, they attached the fragments to metal shelves, which are supported by a larger metal structure.

The restoration has faced scrutiny ever since officials first announced it several years ago.

“No archaeologist would endorse the use of ancient sculpture, no matter how fragmentary, to create a modern sculpture, even if the purpose is to highlight the site’s antiquity,” C. Brian Rose, an archaeologist at the University of Pennsylvania, told the New York Times’ Franz Lidz in 2020.

But officials like Renato Schifani, the Sicilian governor, think that the statue’s resurrection is a commendable feat.

“Today is an important day for Agrigento and for all of Sicily,” says Schifani in a statement, per Google Translate. “This stone giant of ancient Akragas, which after many years of studies and research we can observe in its natural position, is the heart of an important museum project of the entire area of ​​the Temple of Zeus."

By Julia Binswanger.

[gay-artificer]

Seeing people argue that "slugcats are canonically anthro, even before downpour" and wondering what the hell theyre talking about because they absolutely aren't unless you completely water down both the meaning of 'anthro' and animal intelligence. Do you think that having a family structure, tool use, walking upright and communication are 'anthro'? Because than parrots are anthro. Scavengers you can absolutely argue reflect early human society with their societal structure, use of symbols and tool system but vanilla slugcats are very obviously meant to fill the role of tool-using animals and not be seen as a little person. Warrior cats or guardian of ga'hoole owls are anthropomorphic because while they still outwardly their animals they have complex, obviously human-modeled society and language thats safe and familiar without any real deviation from the expected. Fake animals can walk, use tools and communicate without being 'basically people'.

[max-arioni]

The return of the Avocado...