#eyot

[transparentgentlemenmarker]

Во среда во 22:00 на НАША ТВ гледајте го настапот на македонскиот џез состав EYOT nа Prilep Jazz Weekend!

Уживајте

[keepingitneutral]

Wheatleys Eyot II, Sunbury-On-Thames, Surrey, United Kingdom,

BCDH Architects

[creaturefeaster]

Any tropical islands on theia??

Yes!! There's many across Theia, and maybe one day I'll have a full world map to elaborate on, but for now I can tell you about the ones localized around Stolla.

Also I hope you're ready for lore beyond their climates heehee.

There's a lot of islands littered around Stolla but the ones with tropical-like climates hang out on the south-eastern half of Stolla, which harbors the warmest and most humid climate out of the 5 vertices of the continent.

This cluster of eyots by the mouth of the Splitriver are the truest of tropical islands within Stolla. A couple are accessible via a local port, which mainly host small, low-denisty villages. Many of these eyots however are nautically inaccessible due to sheer cliff faces, or are too thick with growth & inhospitable to most humanoids of the region.

During cooler times of the year these islands are nearly always shrouded in a dense and humid fog kept in place by the cooler ocean waters below.

The sands surrounding the lower and more accessible islands are a glittery cyan color, a noteable feature almost exclusively seen along the coasts of the Irrandiant Gulf, so they're quite the spectacle for western & mid Stolla inhabitants!

Speaking of the Irradiant Gulf, all other tropical like islands sit in this gulf's surrounding waters. These very large islands are more sub-tropic, a little further away from the equator. They are still just as humid, and despite how I lazily colored in the vegetation on this map, much of the jungle within these islands actually glow and glitter vibrantly in a range of cool colors from sea-green to indigo.

The two largest islands are populated heavily along their coasts, but very few people live far inland. The largest of the islands exports many unique and unusual magical goods and ingredients to the rest of Stolla.

And finally these two small islands in the outer center of the gulf have a somewhat sub-tropical climate, but are notably less rainy and have colder winters. Any island more northern than these in this area begins to reach more temperate climates.

These islands are home to chiefdoms of Payans and Garbeators that reject trade and much contact with the rest of Stolla. Though nobody knows how they exist, these islands happen to be right on top of an ancient meteor impact site, the same one that created the gulf, and caused the great flooding of it's surrounding provinces. Also the one that brought all that glittery magic to the world in the first place ^_^.

The islands sport several sheer rock formations of varying heights laced with colorful crystals that influence the growth and behaviors of all life within their surrounding area. Many living things from these islands beyond Payans and Garbeators have more than two eyes, for reasons yet to be understood.

~☆~☆~☆~

As I mentioned previously, there are many more tropical and sub-tropical islands in the world of Theia, these are just the more relevant ones to the story-focused part of the world.

[brieandpinotgris]

everything's on fire except me

you're an angel, baby look at you: so free falling off that bridge landing on an eyot just barely unsubmerged with a soggy collage of my bastardized ideas on your tongue back wheels spinning some say impotently but hey at least I'm not drowning this time.

[love-nikki-future-suits]

[CN] Ambitious Wheat/麦野心曲 & Yunmeng Eyot Herder/牧云梦洲

🐑"The wind blows the wheat waves, the pastoral songs are melodious, Weiyin Pastoral holds a limited-time fairy tale "Windmill Song" theme event, come and join your friends~"

🐑Event Sets.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

OG: "风吹麦浪，牧歌悠扬，维茵田园举办限时童话故事《风车之歌》主题活动，快来和朋友们一起参加吧~"

[oxbridge-scribbles]

25 February: First Battle of the Fords of Isen; Théodred son of Théoden slain.

As he looked eastward, dismayed by the sounds of battle and the hideous Orc-cries of victory, he saw the axe-men driving Théodred's men from the shores of the eyot towards the low knoll in its centre, and he heard Théodred's great voice crying To me, Eorlingas! At once Grimbold, taking a few men that stood near him, ran back to the eyot. So fierce was his onset from the rear of the attackers that Grimbold, a man of great strength and stature, clove his way through, till with two others he reached Théodred standing at bay on the knoll. Too late. - "The Battles of the Fords of Isen," Unfinished Tales of Númenor and Middle-earth

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

Est, 52?

52- faked death/presumed dead

hello :) i bring more crimes. part of 5 of almost definitely 6 now bc this would be a mean place to end it

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Lothrandir is knee-deep in the dark waters of the Isen, blade to blade with something that looks more troll than orc. Cadda is shouting orders to his riders on the far side of the Fords, but Lothrandir is altogether preoccupied. He ducks inside the maybe-orc’s guard and grabs them around the middle and throws. They are far heavier than he expects; something in back protests sharply as water drenches him. In the distance, thunder rumbles. Isn’t that just what we needed today, he thinks sourly.

Lothrandir is pushed back with the Prince’s riders towards the middle of the Fords and towards the second force of orcs come down the other bank. They are coming from both sides, an endless tide flowing out of the valley. He can hardly see Cadda for the smoke and the foes that have come between them. What a dream returning to Isengard in search of a friend sounds, now.

There is a moment’s lull in the endless foes, and as he catches his breath lightning flashes again, and he thinks unbidden that’s familiar. He knows the timbre of this thunder- it should be a comforting sound.

No, he thinks. No, it can’t be- Saruman said he killed her- Dagoras had said as much when he returned from the gates with Ordwaer. Lothrandir had hardly believed it, not her, not when the Wizard seemed to have so much use for her, but she cannot be here. Surely that cannot be her lightning throwing men and horses aside- not orcs or goblins or wargs but the soldiers of Rohan. She wouldn’t… But it may be that she must.

Lothrandir runs, through the churning waters and across the eyot, past the place where Théodred’s quickly dwindling guard surrounds him.

“Ranger, what are you-” one of them calls, but he ignores it. There! A robed sorcerer like the ones who came at time to take other prisoners from the cells and only rarely returned them, dark cloth and deep hood and the great sigil of the White Hand. Her shape is familiar even beneath the robes, though, and they have fought often enough side by side for him to know the way she moves in battle. Her power is not turned against them, but even the orcs with her give her a wide berth, and he barrels between them to grab her shoulder.

“Esterín-”

And then he’s on his back in the mud, and he can’t catch his breath, and everything is tingling. He can feel his heart beat in strange rhythm in his chest.

“Lothrandir-” It’s a harsh and broken whisper, but he hears it. She splashes into the mud beside him, clutching at her own chest, the heavy hood of the robes hiding her face. “No- No, I’m sorry- Please-” Silence, and harsh breathing. His arms won’t heed him. “Now?” Esterín demands of the air. “This is finally enough?” And Lothrandir doesn’t think he’s ever heard such bitterness in his friend, and he tries to say something, maybe crack a joke worthy of Radanir, because she always seems to find them terribly amusing, but his lips won’t cooperate any more than the rest of him.

Esterín tears herself away, lunging to her feet with a terrible cry, and lightning rains down on the Fords of the Isen from a clear sky, popping on the river and throwing up great spouts of water, blackening the drier dirt of the eyot, shattering the larger stones. Most of it does not fall on living things, man or orc. Only most. Lothrandir bends all his will to lifting himself to his elbow, though his arms wobble dangerously and all his skin pulls uncomfortably.

“Esterín,” he tries to call, but his voice is weak, and it is lost entirely beneath a great thunder of hooves from the east, and before he can cry out for them to leave Esterín, Elfhelm’s riders are upon them.

---

The long tents set up as infirmaries are not so far from the place the few prisoners are being kept. It’s quite easy to hear Esterín, shouting like he’s never heard from her before.

“Let me go,” she howls. “Let me go. I can help him-”

“There is nothing more you can do for him.” Grimbold’s voice, cold and hard. 

“No…”

“Guard her,” Grimbold orders. “The rest of you get to your own business.” Esterín sobs, and Lothrandir stands, means to go to her, to clear up the situation perhaps, to see if she still looks so wracked and hollow-eyed as she had in the flashes of her lightning, but he is in the infirmary tent for good reason, and would fall flat on his face were it not so crowded with every trained healer and their hastily recruited assistants.

“Lie down, or you will be held down,” one exasperated man says, depositing him not-quite-gently on a hard cot. “You only slow everyone’s release like this.” And Lothrandir protests, but he finds he can hardly bring himself to rise again, even when he hears Esterín cry out again, and against his will his eyes grow heavier and heavier until they shut.

[ebaeschnbliah]

A log with eyes ...

There was little speech and no laughter in any of the boats. Each member of the Company was busy with his own thoughts.

The heart of Legolas was running under the stars of a summer night in some northern glade amid the beech-woods; Gimli was fingering gold in his mind, and wondering if it were fit to be wrought into the housing of the Lady's gift. Merry and Pippin in the middle boat were ill at ease, for Boromir sat muttering to himself, sometimes biting his nails, as if some restlessness or doubt consumed him, sometimes seizing a paddle and driving the boat close behind Aragorn's. Then Pippin, who sat in the bow looking back, caught a queer gleam in his eye, as he peered forward gazing at Frodo. Sam had long ago made up his mind that, though boats were maybe not as dangerous as he had been brought up to believe, they were far more uncomfortable than even he had imagined. He was cramped and miserable, having nothing to do but stare at the winter-lands crawling by and the grey water on either side of him. Even when the paddles were in use they did not trust Sam with one.

As dusk drew down on the fourth day, he was looking back over the bowed heads of Frodo and Aragorn and the following boats; he was drowsy and longed for camp and the feel of earth under his toes. Suddenly something caught his sight: at first he stared at it listlessly, then he sat up and rubbed his eyes; but when he looked again he could not see it any more.

That night they camped on a small eyot close to the western bank. Sam lay rolled in blankets beside Frodo. `I had a funny dream an hour or two before we stopped, Mr. Frodo,' he said. `Or maybe it wasn't a dream. Funny it was anyway.'

`Well, what was it? ' said Frodo, knowing that Sam would not settle down until he had told his tale, whatever it was. 'I haven't seen or thought of anything to make me smile since we left Lothlórien.'

`It wasn't funny that way, Mr. Frodo. It was queer. All wrong, if it wasn't a dream. And you had best hear it. It was like this: I saw a log with eyes! '

`The log's all right,' said Frodo. `There are many in the River. But leave out the eyes! '

`That I won't,' said Sam. ` 'Twas the eyes as made me sit up, so to speak. I saw what I took to be a log floating along in the half-light behind Gimli's boat; but I didn't give much heed to it. Then it seemed as if the log was slowly catching us up. And that was peculiar, as you might say, seeing as we were all floating on the stream together. Just then I saw the eyes: two pale sort of points, shiny-like, on a hump at the near end of the log. What's more, it wasn't a log, for it had paddle-feet, like a swan's almost, only they seemed bigger, and kept dipping in and out of the water.

'That's when I sat right up and rubbed my eyes, meaning to give a shout, if it was still there when I had rubbed the drowse out of my head. For the whatever-it-was was coming along fast now and getting close behind Gimli. But whether those two lamps spotted me moving and staring, or whether I came to my senses, I don't know. When I looked again, it wasn't there. Yet I think I caught a glimpse with the tail of-my eye, as the saying is, of something dark shooting under the shadow of the bank. I couldn't see no more eyes though.

`I said to myself: "dreaming again, Sam Gamgee," I said: and I said no more just then. But I've been thinking since. and now I'm not so sure. What do you make of it, Mr. Frodo? '

'I should make nothing of it but a log and the dusk and sleep in your eyes Sam, said Frodo, if this was the first time that those eyes had been seen. But it isn't. I saw them away back north before we reached Lórien. And I saw a strange creature with eyes climbing to the flet that night. Haldir saw it too. And do you remember the report of the Elves that went after the orc-band? '

`Ah,' said Sam. `I do; and I remember more too. I don't like my thoughts; but thinking of one thing and another, and Mr. Bilbo's stories and all, I fancy I could put a name on the creature, at a guess. A nasty name. Gollum, maybe? '

`Yes, that is what I have feared for some time,' said Frodo. `Ever since the night on the flet. I suppose he was lurking in Moria, and picked up our trail then; but I hoped that our stay in Lórien would throw him off the scent again. The miserable creature must have been hiding in the woods by the Silverlode, watching us start off! '

`That's about it,' said Sam. `And we'd better be a bit more watchful ourselves, or we'll feel some nasty fingers round our necks one of these nights, if we ever wake up to feel anything. And that's what I was leading up to. No need to trouble Strider or the others tonight. I'll keep watch. I can sleep tomorrow, being no more than luggage in a boat, as you might say.'

`I might,' said Frodo, `and I might say "luggage with eyes". You shall watch; but only if you promise to wake me halfway towards morning, if nothing happens before then.'

In the dead hours Frodo came out of a deep dark sleep to find Sam shaking him. `It's a shame to wake you,' whispered Sam, `but that's what you said. There's nothing to tell, or not much. I thought I heard some soft plashing and a sniffing noise, a while back; but you hear a lot of such queer sounds by a river at night.'

He lay down, and Frodo sat up, huddled in his blankets, and fought off his sleep. Minutes or hours passed slowly, and nothing happened. Frodo was just yielding to the temptation to lie down again when a dark shape, hardly visible, floated close to one of the moored boats. A long whitish hand could be dimly seen as it shot out and grabbed the gunwale; two pale lamplike eyes shone coldly as they peered inside, and then they lifted and gazed up at Frodo on the eyot. They were not more than a yard or two away, and Frodo heard the soft hiss of intaken breath. He stood up, drawing Sting from its sheath, and faced the eyes. Immediately their light was shut off. There was another hiss and a splash, and the dark log-shape shot away downstream into the night. Aragorn stirred in his sleep, turned over, and sat up`

'What is it? ' he whispered, springing up and coming to Frodo. `I felt something in my sleep. Why have you drawn your sword? '

`Gollum,' answered Frodo. 'Or at least, so I guess.'

`Ah! ' said Aragorn. `So you know about our little footpad, do you? He padded after us all through Moria and right down to Nimrodel. Since we took to boats, he has been lying on a log and paddling with hands and feet. I have tried to catch him once or twice at night; but he is slier than a fox, and as slippery as a fish. I hoped the river-voyage would beat him, but he is too clever a waterman.

`We shall have to try going faster tomorrow. You lie down now, and I will keep watch for what is left of the night. I wish I could lay my hands on the wretch. We might make him useful. But if I cannot, we shall have to try and lose him. He is very dangerous. Quite apart from murder by night on his own account, he may put any enemy that is about on our track.'

The night passed without Gollum showing so much as a shadow again. After that the Company kept a sharp look-out, but they saw no more of Gollum while the voyage lasted.

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, The Great River

[coltonwbrown]

River Thames at Chiswick Eyot, 1933 Eric Ravilious

[thecurioustale]

Vocabulary from The Lord of the Rings

During my reread of The Lord of the Rings (see my main review!), I made a list of every word that I wanted to look up later on or otherwise remember.

I love doing this; no matter what I'm reading, be it a novel or a news article, the dictionary is never far away. I absolutely love learning words that are entirely new to me, learning additional denotations of words that I already know, learning more about the structure and etymology of words I know, refreshing myself on long-neglected words that I knew better in the past but have since gotten hazy on, and likewise being reminded of cool words that I haven't forgotten definitionally so much as simply forgotten (i.e. wouldn't have remembered to use them).

When I am writing my own fiction I do this even more! I am always turning to the dictionary to look up this or that, in addition to my copious research on interesting or relevant topics. This helps me create new words, ensure accurate usage of existing words, and find words at need.

Tolkien didn't try to be all that clever with his vocabulary; he simply commanded a large vocabulary; so most of his unfamiliar words can be inferred in situ. Uncommon are the words on this list that I didn't know anything about whatsoever. Mostly, they consist of new-to-me senses or forms, compound words I hadn't seen before, plant names I hadn't known about, and words that I wanted to refresh myself on or otherwise read up on (for etymology, etc.).

Here is the complete list as I wrote it, and in retrospect I wish I had added a bit more contextual information. Like, the word cot in there I know refers to some sense of "cot" that I hadn't known about, but the dictionary shows four additional categories of meanings beyond the most common one, three of which could conceivably be the sense Tolkien was referring to; I simply don't remember. Anyway!

Cornlands Haywards Mathoms Sow Tussocky Worriting Ride Meaning Spinney Ewers Ostler Habergeon Chalcedony Carcanet Weregild Glede Declaim Dolven Affray Swart Boles Tracery Descried Sward Whin Freshet Whortle-berry Irresolute Changeful Gaffer Naith Gore - land that lies like a spearhead between two rivers joining in a fork Drear Fosse Hythe Wolds Eyot Plashing Sloe Thrawn Wains Cresses Downs Darkling Rede Dwimmer Turves Besom Garth Dingle Fastness Corslets Coombe Rick Cot Postern Bight Provender Noisome Tamarisk and pungent terebinth Saxifrage Outfall (of lake) Gangrel Dappling Ancientry Ilex Misdoubt Wayworn Woodwright Launds Charnel Anigh Tilth Oast and Garner Fold and Byre Salver Embrasure Wain Greensward Coomb Fey Hardihood Upraised Belike Blench Vambrace Dromunds (ships?) Enheartened Recreant Brigand Trammel Worsted Noisome Ghylls Amidmost Rout Slavered Marges Palfrey Bier Evermind Trothplighted Weskit Gaffer Gammer Firth

Even without context you can infer some of these words (provided you don't already know them)—though be careful; the obvious path isn't always the correct one. Like evermind there at the end is the name of a flower that grows near graves. I inferred that this name, whether it was a preexisting word or a creation of Tolkien (it turned out to be the latter), was based off the idea of "never mind," i.e. the opposite of "forget about it." This is the correct meaning, but it doesn't travel through the "never" sense like I had thought; Tolkien derived it directly. (Or at least that's what the scholars say.)

My list has the benefit of being chronological to the story, so if you were to reference all of the words you would see that their distribution is highly clustered across the page count; Tolkien had different modes of writing, some of which were much likelier to use vocabulary that I would want to look up.

I'll be commenting on some of these words individually in dedicated posts in the days and perhaps weeks ahead. I kinda wanted to hold back this complete list till the end of all my musings...but offering it up front feels more honest.

[k-she-rambles]

Eyot: (rare) island (dictionary.com)

[dashaskywheels]

Art for chthonicfae on FA. Character: Eyot 🌿

[jarflies]

uid do not hVE OCD. i jus think i have many symptoma of ocd. which i guess do no t matter fur eyot my lack of ability to get diagnosed and tan dmy unwillinglness to discuss my deeeeeeeeepest fears of beign a a secret pedo or incestuous i do nothing but sudffeer on my own god i d please pleas eplease./ plweS EPLEse pleS EPLES eplesa plesa

[gitakartecommerce]

Eyot ET-204 Wired Optical Mouse (USB 3.0, Black) 2024 Edition

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[13melekradyo]

1 Temmuz 2023 tarihli program kaydı.

Güncel modern kompozisyon kayıtlarından bir seçki // A selection of recent modern composition recordings. Download.

01 – Sufjan Stevens – Mnemosyne 02 – Less Bells – A Failure Of Horses 03 – Wings For Louise – Tenderness 04 – Stephen Shannon – Eyot 05 – Christian Balvig – Where All Is 06 – Joel Lundberg, Kalle Stenbäcken – Sparks On The Horizon 07 – Vargkvint – Hecate 08 – Julia Andersson – Svävar 09 – Anna Thorvaldsdottir – AIŌN (excerpt) 10 – Colin Stetson – When We Were That What Wept For The Sea 11 – Shida Shahabi – Deep Violet Of Gold

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

33 Corunir & Est? :D

33- picking them up (from the hug list actually lol)

pros of running into the grey company before going back to isengard: more friends for isengard!

cons of running into the grey company before going back to isengard: more friends. in isengard.

The Fords of the Isen are quiet, the river running reddish-brown even in the shallow places, the camp on the hill in ashes and stones heaped in piles like grave-cairns over the drier places. They look down upon the trampled, muddy banners and the broken armor caught on the river stones. A heavy quiet hangs over them all.

The others might be thinking of the Company’s allies, of the long search that surely awaits them here if they are to find their Chieftain, of what it means that battle came here so certainly and so violently. Of the long shadow of Orthanc that reaches down the valley to the north. Of Esterín.

She rode away with the Prince of Rohan. Faeron calls from the eyot that he has found Théodred’s helmet.

Surely she did not come here and die, Corunir thinks, gripping his horse’s reins too tightly while he searches the shallows for any sign of their dear friend. But surely she would not have gone easily if she had had it in her head to protect the Prince or his men. None of the horselords had returned to the Gravenwood- but no, Braigiar had said he saw her, hadn’t he? That there had been a battle, and she had been injured but had survived, and she had gone across the mountains with Nona and into Rohan. She had not returned to them, not even in passing, and he finds the thought stings- but then, they had sent her away, hadn’t they? She had not returned smiling from her conference with Halbarad and Saeradan, and two days later she was gone.

But even Braigiar is looking around the Fords in dismay, and that does not lift Corunir’s heart any more than the clouds in the distance.

“There are riders to the north,” Elladan calls from the burnt-black hill overlooking the crossing. A charred timber that may once have been the palisade falls with a hollow thump. “Rohirrim, I think. They make for Isengard.” And there they have another friend, and they gather eagerly at Halbarad’s command and ride, gathering speed at the bidding of unspoken urgency until a stranger’s voice calls out to stop them- until familiar laughter comes to them on the wind with a thunder of hooves and Halbarad dismounts, and even from here they can tell he is smiling.

He doesn’t recognize her, for a moment, dressed in the style of Rohan and sliding down from a horse that is not Lakewind, her carved star gone- but she spent long enough beside them that they know her smile and the way she slips between them, falling easily into tight hugs and grasping white-knuckled hands. She stops before Corunir and almost- almost- he dares to think she seems a little lighter than she had when she left them. But she crashes into his hug and she is warm and alive and... lifting him up. He makes a small sound of surprise and she drops him the scant two inches back to the ground, and steps away as if surprised herself, and then someone else calls her name and she is moving on, and for just a moment he thinks manic. In her wake there trails the faint sensation of the air after summer rain, damp and fresh and still rumbling with distant thunder. Like the feel of her healing, almost, but directionless and just a bit charged, as if the rain will come again before too long.

He tries to catch her again, but the Rohirrim ahead are growing impatient and all the Company wants to speak with her, and Corunir falls to the back of their party beside Golodir, watching Esterín and her too-bright eyes, and her sharp and brittle composure that grows only sharper and brittler the nearer they draw to the Ring of Isengard.