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winterpinetrees · 2 months

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Council Minutes (The Gap Years part 9)

June 18th 2019

The Elven Capital / Interstate 82

zooming the third person narration out a bit. I have ground to cover and no need for consistency.

……

Though the dual desertion may seem like it would allow for a higher chance of survival, we belive that both monitors were lost to the void soon after they abandoned their posts.

While the High Council searches for three missing heirs, the rest of the elven world keeps turning. They have ceremonies to attend, disputes to resolve, children to parent, and as the report explains, huge breakdowns of infrastructure to handle. The report is clinical, concise, and catastrophic. Two of the monitors responsible for maintaining the very existence of the Nile Delta Voidport abandoned their posts and pushed off into the void, where, based on previous incidents, they almost certainly ceased to exist within a few hours and cannot be recovered. A Volunteer Watch has been assembled until new monitors can be brought in, but until they are, a centuries old hub of trade and travel is in a very precarious situation.

Apex Ishtar Mercuralis, the most important woman in the world, puts her head in her large hands. She has a plan. It’s both extremely good and extremely bad. Ishtar knows why monitors have such a high rate of desertion. Ishtar also knows that this is a supply and demand problem, and that her plan to increase supply is, well…

Councillor Gullin Eburos, Plaguekeeper, Lord of Gens Eburos, clenches one hand into a fist. “I still dissent. For thousands of years, the positions of monitor and arbiter have been at least somewhat voluntary. We are making enemies of the same group that even Lazarus dared not anger”.

Ryn shoots him a glare. “Do you have a better plan? We are dragging this planet out of a stagnant period that has lasted since the north star was in Hercules. We need better infrastructure”.

“I cannot condone our soldiers going into settlements that have provided sanctuary since the north star was in Hercules and conscripting children! They’ve already been Betrayed!”

“So kidnapping and coercion are only a problem for you when elves are the victims? Without a stable void, humans outperform us at trade and production. Either we start preparing now, or we’ll end up scrambling once we’ve been unveiled”.

There are five human seneschals on the edges of the room. In their indigo and gray uniforms, they almost look like part of the room itself. They vary in age from twenty-one to over sixty and have little in common other than their purpose and their intelligence. All five look at Ryn, then at Gullin, and then at each other. They will gossip about this later.

The Plaguekeeper composes himself. “A spark like you cannot understand that the void, and the Betrayed, are not things to treat lightly”.

Ishtar’s eyes flare indigo. “Enough. We agreed on a plan and we will see it through. Besides, we’re already pissing off every other enclave by conquering the human world. We’re not doing this for popularity. We’re doing it to save the worlds,”

The council falls silent. The Apex has spoken, and this is not a democracy. They will stay the course.

With too much to do, the council does not break for lunch. Their seneschals bring in food, (and coffee for Ryn, an uncouth commoner habit that Amedi has started to adopt). Discussion continues.

“Shouldn’t this issue have been resolved by the Harbormasters?”

“Have someone from the undercouncils pay her a visit”.

“That’s a serious violation of section four of the Lazarus Reforms”.

“I always hated Lachlan, but it is still a bit strange to know that he’s dead”.

“If the situation gets any worse, then our job in the human world will get a lot easier”.

And then the ever present topic of the missing heirs. Councillor Devana Marolak, traitor to her bloodline, representative of the Hunters, somewhat recently divorced (she got to keep the pet hawk) brings them back to it.

“The older Adust heir legitimately does not know where his sister is. That line is skilled in telepathy, but even they have limits”.

Ishtar had ordered that there would be no torturing of their noble prisoners. She seems to have been ignored. “Unfortunate. And we lost your niece's trail somewhere in the Great Plains?” The subtle insult is more effective than telling Devana off directly.

“...Yes. I typically avoid human turns of phrase, but we’re trying to find a needle in the human world’s largest collection of haystacks”.

Ryn smiles in spite of himself. “Noble culture is built on deception and survival. It shouldn’t be surprising that we can’t catch anyone. They’ve been raised for this”.

The four nobleborn councilors grumble and shift the arms that bear their vambraces. Ryn’s statement would make more sense if they were chasing nobility-by-merit, but the three lost heirs are all children. Children from the high nobility, yes, but none of them had ever really been tested. That makes it even more insulting how Kova and Marin escaped capture. Marin and his band of humans even killed a nobleman. His name was Kiper Chrysos and he fell to one human boy with a makeshift club and another with a concussion rifle set to kill. It’s not just a death, but a disgrace.

The nobility are tied together by a great web of violence. They all know that the elven world prospers when the fit survive and the strong conquer. The names of those killed by another are announced with great ceremony, and kills are marked on vambraces as trophies and burdens. All five of the high council have new marks from the coup a few weeks ago. However, the rules are very clear. Names are only declared for the elven dead, and only long-lived elves can suitably carry the weight of killing an equal. Legally speaking, Kiper was killed by no one. He might as well have been mauled by a bear. One of the other soldiers, a young Gens Tiercel elf with an undercut and a very promising future, was also shot. The impact crushed his spine, an injury that would paralyze without magical treatment and will still take him months to recover from. Speed and movement are everything to the Tiercel. The injury is a more devastating blow than the human responsible will ever understand. Marin’s survival is impressive. He’s clearly very fit, and worthy of his noble birth and Lazarus’s bloodline. That doesn’t mean anyone is happy about it.

“We’ve secured the town of Vya, at least. And our troops are being subtle about it. If Marin comes back, he shouldn’t notice anything is off until it’s too late, '' Councillor Amedi Kebero, only here because every good council needs a scrappy upstart, explains. They all know that Marin was in the suspicious car now. The analysts did some great work and confirmed the car as belonging to one Sierra Bracken, a billionaire’s daughter that matches the description of the girl from the fight. Where would the High Council be without humans to handle the data!

“Amedi, your time at the Conservatory proves you have a skill for killcraft.” Ishtar adds. The young elf turns to her excitedly (their ears literally perk up). Six small marks on their vambrace catch the light.

“The nobility won’t admit it, but they're frightened of Marin’s band. We need to prove our own bravery before asking them to risk their lives against the human world. Will you join the strike team?”

“I’d be honored to, Apex”.

“Good. You’ve been overseeing the operation, so you should already know the team. Esther will stay here and keep your affairs in order, but you should be back soon”. The human girl nods. Amedi smiles at her, the sort of smile you give a dog that’s been very good, and Esther smiles back.

“Should I use Mercuralis colors?” they ask. “Marin may recognize me. My signature is…well it’s from a regional, lower genus, and I did win my year”.

“That was quite the way to brag, Amedi,” Devana says.

Ryn is more serious. “Use whatever colors are your strongest. We cannot truly begin until the heirs have been captured”.

“And try your best to bring him in alive. We’ve already killed enough elves,” This is Ishtar’s penance. She is many things, but at least she isn’t killing children. In that small way, she is better than the Sondaicas who killed her parents and her brother and left her with nothing but a legacy and a betrothal.

In her name, if not by her direct actions, tens of thousands of Betrayed will be conscripted and three billion humans will die. But of Sondaica and its allies, only a single elven child has been killed. Marin’s death wouldn’t be a catastrophe. There are other heirs to Gens Sondaica safely imprisoned, and Marin is already old enough to be in those strange gap years between the thresholds of legal adulthood, but Ishtar just doesn’t want to. He seems like a good kid.

Never mind that Ishtar killed her first elf during those same gap years, that Amedi killed three, or that the old Apex murdered her own star-crossed love in a coup when she was about the same age as Marin. Never mind that her brothers never got a chance to grow older than her children are now. Never mind that the nobility prosper when the fit survive and the strong conquer, and that there really isn’t any room for good kids.

What’s the point of taking over the world if you can’t even try? Ishtar is trying. She has a plan that is both extremely good and extremely bad. Things are going to be different this time.

…………

In the human world a few hundred miles away, Sierra receives a call from an unknown number. She ignores it, but then the caller leaves a voicemail, and curiosity gets the best of her. The message is not in any language she can understand. Sierra puts it on speakerphone once they are back in the car.

“Is this your girlfriend!”

Marin takes the phone from her hands so quickly that she barely even registers the movement.

“Yes! That’s her!”

Clay leans back over his seat. “Are you sure it’s her and not a trick? What if she was captured? What’s she saying?”

“This is real. I left some codes in my message. Little things only she’d know. If Zerada had been captured she’d have found some way to tell me”.

“Well what’s she saying?”

“When we were kids, we sometimes climbed this really big statue on Mid-Year's Night. It’s of my oldest ancestor, Lazarus Sondaica. He took over the world a long time ago. We’d sit on his shoulders and watch the fireworks”.

Sierra interejects. “So it’s like the Statue of Liberty, but for the opposite of liberty?”

Marin takes a moment to understand the question. “Yes. Anyway, she says to meet her in Las Vegas on that same night, by a different Lazarus”.

“When is Mid-Year’s Night? Is that the solstice?” Brian asks.

“Actually yes! Well, the night before. This year that is the night of the 20th, or two days from now.”

Sierra tries to take her phone back. “That’s a huge drive from here. How does she know we’ll be able to make it?”

“It’ll be rough,” Brian explains. He’s gotten a feel for driving distances. "Fifteen hours, at least."

Marin sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what she means by a different Lazarus”.

“Is there a big statue in Las Vegas?” She has cell service for once, and types that exact question into the search bar. (using a VPN of course. They don’t want to be tracked.)

“Not that I remember. There’s a lot of little ones,” Clay says.

“Google’s telling me about the Statue of Liberty replica? Does that work?”

Brian pulls the car around and starts driving south, “Emma Lazarus!”

Marin looks at him. He seems to recognize the name. “Who?”

Brian looks over at Clay and Sierra, who both seem confused. “No one? Emma Lazarus wrote the poem on the Statue of Liberty! ‘Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame /With conquering limbs astride from land to land; /Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand’?”

Marin blinks like he’s been awakened from a dream. He looks down at his feet. “‘A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame /Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name’”

Sierra looks at them, “What the hell guys”.

Brian and Marin meet each other's eyes. “‘Mother of Exiles’”.

He accelerates the car. That 15-hour time assumed that they sped a bit. “We need to get to the Statue of Liberty replica”.

The elf has one more thing to add. “Vya is about half way. We could stay the night there, if it’s safe”.

Clay looks skeptical. "If that's half the drive, we'll get there in seven hours. It'll be getting dark by then. Are we sure we should risk a potentially hostile ghost town at night?"

"Then we'll visit first thing tomorrow"

"Fine."

………

The poem in question is "The New Colossus" by Emma Lazarus. I am so close to plot events I’ve been imagining for years! It’s so fun. Unfortunately, I am also doing the writing equivalent of hacking through underbrush to figure out how everything else fits in.

#by me #the gap years #my oc stuff #writing that *is*#the high council #the road trip

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draculas-tits · 1 month

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i hate to admit it but this is my most popular "song"

#SoundCloud #for some reason people keep adding this to their gym playlists?? are yall ok

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dorokora · 9 months

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We get some Gullin lore that we already know. Reprobus ask if Behemoth will be his master but Behemoth just wants to be friends instead.

We talk to Perun, he calls us a clown (nothing new). Gandharva shows up to remind us that he exist.

Volos! (I miss you)

Volos tells us that Perun runs the farming school (Bet he brainwashed people for that). Volos didn’t imagine that someone rich and powerful like Perun would do farm work (yeah it doesn’t fit him with that arrogant egocentric personality of him). Volos ask didn’t think he and Perun would work together on a farm (as long as he and Volkh don’t try to bully you then it’s fine).

We get some new transient information. Gullin and Reprobus have a servant competition and almost made a mess of the kitchen.

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sam-glade · 7 months

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D'you wanna detail more about gullin and the flying and blindness thing for me to take forever to get around to having thoughts about?

For you, Sleepy, I'm going to offer two brief snippets.

The basic release of his powers takes the form of a whirlwind carrying a handful of knives which he directs with his will. With the full release, he becomes the wind.

He *almost* gets there in book 1 of Days of Dusk. Here's a description of his sparring session with Lissan:

Gullin flung a knife towards Lissan, inviting him to step into the attack while he forced him to parry another knife with his Sword. Now this was the tricky part. While Gullin kept six or seven knives in the air at a time, he couldn't focus on more than three to lay out their distinct paths. The others kept spinning in the general vicinity waiting for their turn to be useful. So while Lissan prepared to block the two knives he saw, a third one was coming towards his upper back. It got close. Very close. At which point Lissan pivoted on his heel, let one of the decoys fly past him, blocked the other one with his Sword, and flicked away the last knife with the back of his hand, then shook it as it presumably stung. “Oh, come on!” Gullin shouted. Lissan grinned, his bright eyes alert, gleaming with… enjoyment? He was having fun? Gullin sent three more knives towards him in a quick succession, planning his next move. Maybe he could get more knives to go where he wanted — yes, he wanted to try it, and his opponent was up for it. He felt a thrill, acutely aware of any solid obstacles for the knives, not even seeing them, but mapping the layout in his mind, feeling as the wind moved around them and buffeted them. He rattled the branches on the trees, combed the grass, and carried the birds flying in chevron formation far overhead, all at once. It was a good feeling, almost as if he wasn't standing there, but became the wind itself. Almost. You’ll get there, Greenbird, the Spirit of his Knife, the Wren, chimed in and chirped in delight. He narrowed his eyes and aimed a fourth knife at Lissan’s left bicep. The kid didn’t see it coming. In all fairness, neither did Gullin — the knife vanished entirely into the wind — but he was aware of it. The blade cut into the muscles and Lissan yelped.

And by book 2 he is struggling to find a sparring partner who'd give him a proper challenge. Here's a description fresh off the keyboard (yesterday's NaNoWriMo writing):

Gullin was the wind. He leant into the feeling without reservations, delighting in how right it was. He surfed around the arena, enjoying the even curves of its walls and the perfect hemisphere of the Laerius dome enclosing it from the top. A thought nudged him that this wasn’t right, and that wind shouldn’t be caged like so. He should be free. Later, he countered these thoughts. For now, he had to focus on the lone figure in the middle of the sandy area. He made a sharper turn and hit Lissan directly from behind, in an attempt to use his broad back to put him off balance. Of course Lissan’s reflexes were too good for it to work — he braced himself when the vanguard of air stirred his hair and tickled the skin on his back. Gullin didn’t see him, not in this incorporeal form, but he was aware of him as an obstacle — of the flow of air around him, of the solid block that had to be circumvented. As Lissan settled more firmly on his feet, Gullin sent two smaller gusts towards him from either side; one low, aimed at Lissan’s left shin above the edge of his boot, the other coming towards his right bicep. The gusts were followed by invisible knives. This had to be the full release of Gullin’s power; neither he nor Ivy could imagine any more tricks up his sleeve. Invisible knives, Gullin disappearing entirely into the wind — no, becoming the wind. For anyone other than Lissan, this training would be deadly.

Days of Dusk taglist (please message me to +/-): @acertainmoshke @another-white-void @cee-grice @cljordan-imperium @eldritchx @elshells @goldxdarkness @poetinprose @sparrow-orion-writes

#gullin #gifts of fate #the prince's shadow #ask and i shall answer #writeblr

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projazznet · 6 months

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Lars Gullin – The Legendary Years Vol.5

A compilation of Gullin’s 1952 to 1954 Metronome recordings and releases.

#larsgullin #baritonesax #baritone saxophone #jazz

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asterinstar · 9 months

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I wanna turn Gullin in roasted pork because how can anyone like him when he constantly pesters you if he can impregnate you?

That's the only thing I didn't like about him so I just ignore that part about him

#woohoo asks

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pistakkiomusic · 1 month

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Ma By Lars Gullin From the album Fäbodjazz Added to Discover Weekly playlist by Unknown User on May 6, 2024 at 12:00AM Listen on Spotify https://ift.tt/2HcV5Nf

#Spotify #jazz #jazzmusic #jazzthing #jizzjazz #youareamadcat #jazzmonsters

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mi5014jesspark · 8 months

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Deity Research- Freyja

Freyja, the Norse goddess associated with, Love, beauty, sex & fertility, war and Seiyr. Her name translates to “Lady”. Belonging to the Vanir, one of two main groups of Norse gods, Freyja was categorised as being linked to agriculture, health and prosperity on Earth. Seiyr, is a magical ability to see and influence the future, a skill which Freyja taught Odin and the other Aesir (Aesir = the other main group of Norse gods whose primary focus was war.) Freyja has a brother, who is her male counterpart, called Freyr. Freyr is the ruler of peace, fertility, and some weather (rain = sunshine). Freyja and Freyr are the children of the sea god Njord. Being a prominent goddess within the mythology, Freyja oversaw half of the warriors who died in battle, the other half going to Valhalla (Hall of the fallen) with Odin.

Aside from possessing the Seiyr ability, Freyja also possesses a magical necklace, known as the Brisingamen necklace. Norse mythology is full of fantastical objects; however, they were mainly associated with men. Very few of these objects were associated with female goddesses, the Brisingamen of Freyja is the most recognised exception. Like all treasures of the Norse gods, the necklace was created by dwarves. This is because Dwarves were the master craftsmen of the 9 realms of Norse mythology. The first part of the name “Brisingr” is a poetic term for fire / amber, either suggesting the materials it was made of, or depicts how brightly the necklace shined. It is never explicitly stated that the necklace had any magical ability, although it is unlikely that it lacked magic as most objects made by the Dwarves possessed magical abilities. I personally like to believe that it is a reflection or personification of the good and warmth associated with Freyja although a necklace made of fire is also a great interpretation.

The origin story of the Brisingamen necklace is clouded by two Christian priests ‘translations’ of the story in the 14th century. This translation heavily promotes Christian interests and beliefs. In this interpretation of the story, it was said that Freyja approached the Dwarves and asked for the most beautiful necklace they could make. Appreciating the beauty of their creation, Freyja offers gold and silver as payment. However, the dwarves rejected this offer, telling her that they will only give her the Brisingamen if she spends a night with each of them. She accepts. The story then goes on to condemn Freyja for her promiscuity (I call it sex positivity). Loki, the Norse god of mischief, witnesses everything that occurs and rushes back to inform Odin, who in some interpretations is her husband. Odin is angered by this and orders Loki to steal her necklace during the night as form of punishment. This punishment reflects Christian beliefs of condemning sexuality and the demonisation of ‘sexual’ women. Almost like a smear campaign against Freyja to get women to stop worshipping her and instead become Christian.

Pigs were sacred to Freyja as they can symbolise motherhood which ties into her role of being God of fertility. Some renditions of the story say that she rode a boar with golden bristles named Gullinbursti, who often accompanied her in battle. However, others say that it was instead her brother who had the boar. This creature is not only important due to its connection to Freyja but acts as a symbol for various aspects of Norse culture, reflecting their views of life and death as well as the world around them. The name itself comes from old Norse, being split into tow parts. “Gullin” means golden and “Bursi” meaning bristles or mane. This combination describes the appearance of the boar which has golden bristles. The boar was created by two dwarven craftsmen; Sindri and Brokkr.

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human-antithesis · 8 months

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Ek sá halr at Hóars veðri hǫsvan serk Hrísgrísnis bar

Ek sá halr at Hóars veðri hosvan serk Hrísgrísnis bar.

(Eyvindr skáldaspillir Finnsson, Háleygjatal 6)

Hinn, es varp á víða vinda ondurdísar of manna sjot margra munnlaug foður augum.

(Bragi inn gamli Boddason, Fragments 2)

Vel hafið ydrum eykjum aptr, Þrívalda, haldit simbli sumbls of mærum, sundrkljúfr níu hofða.

(Bragi inn gamlí Boddason, Fragments 3)

Enn sem hangatýr fleygði sínum fleygigeyr um folk, dýr valkastar báru meyjar losnuðu frá. Sem ek nálgask Stiklastaði, mín dokkvu hvarma skógar stjornur nema við þúsundir dólg fangs buri markaða tákni Hvíta Krists. Ek he- yrði bardagaópið 'Knýjum, knýjum fram Krists men, Krossins men ok konungs men!' Margr maðr hóf aðgongu til bardaga sem eigi gat unnisk. Sem orrustan gegn óteljandi heiðum bændum brausk út, ek heyrði margan randar glaums þoll falla sem limar þeirra ok hofuð voru klofin fljúgandi vandar valsendum. Ok þó, bardagaópið ómaði um dalinn allann 'Knýjum, knýjum fram Krists men, Krossins men ok ko- nungs menn!'

Ort vas Óleifs hjarta; óð framm konungr - blóði rekin bitu stól - á Stiklar stoðum, kvaddi lið boðvar. Éiþolla sák alla Jolfuðs nema gram sjalfan

reyndr vas flestr í fastri fleindrífu - sér hlífa.

(Þormóðr Kolbrúnarskáld, Lausavísur 23)

Blendusk við roðnar und randar himmi; Skoglar veðr léku við ský of bauga. Umðu oddláar í Óðins veðri; hné mart manna fyr mækis straumi.

(Eyvindr skáldaspillir Finnsson, Hákonarmál 8)

Sortnar himinn ok rennr rauðr sem Óláfr þiggr margan sárelds spora af andstæðum Yggjar runni. er vængir hrafns ævinnar fylkjask um Dana hloð, ek heyrði minn bróðr til einskis fram mæla:

Hoggum hjaltvond, skyggðum, hœfum rond með brandi, reynum randar mána, rjóðum sverð í blóði. Stýfum Þóri af lífi, leikum sárt við bleikan, kyrrum kappa errinn komi orn á hræ, járnum.

(Egill Skallagrímsson, Lausavísur 39)

Enn sem vápnum beitt gegn beittum heiptar- tungum, gjallar vendir ok hræþolls gandar sku- lu fylgja eptir þeim fljúgandi hrælinni, ok stin- ga til jarðar sverðverjandi niða mínum. Regn ok þrumuský byrgja smám saman sýn Hugins niðja, ok ek fell til jarðar. Um grímuna, er hvítir faldar Báleygs brúðar hefja for sína undir silfr brá himinsins, fer ek ráfandi at dauða dalnum. Ek hvísla ok sé hvar hinir dauðu nú þegar skiljask frá lifendum, ok eygji skert skarar land míns bróðrs á oddbreka grundu. Ek lyfti hans Hamðis geyr ok byrðar stalli með mínum straumtungls mjúkstalli ok tek at hvísla bón fyrir hans lífi ok afkomu. Hans brúnar steinar opnask ok beinask at mér sem ek mæli. Hann hvíslar hinstu bæn hins Hvíta Krists svo hann megi inngongu hljóta í fjorbrots land áðr sjórnir hans lokask um eilífð. En sem ek lít upp, inn í dauðadalinn á ný, sé ek hann aðeins ráfandi stefnulaust inn til skuggalanda. Gullin tár falla mér úr drjúpandi þungu hofði, er ek geng aptr að grana mínum, sem ek eitt sinn bauð velko- minn til Báleygs brúðar.

English: And That Man Wore The Grey Shirt Of Hrísgrísnir In The Storm Of Hóarr.

And that man wore the grey shirt of Hrísgrísnir in the storm of Hóarr.

(Eyvindr skáldaspillir Finnsson, Háleygjatal 6)

The one who threw the eyes of the father of the ski-dís into the wide hand-basin of winds above the dwellings of many men.

(Bragi inn gamli Boddason, Fragments 2)

You have well driven back your draught animals, cleaver asunder of the nine heads of Þrívaldi, ab- ove the famous drink-provider of the drinking party.

(Bragi inn gamli Boddason, Fragments 3)

But as Óðinn threw the spear into the people, animals of war came loose. As I approach Stik- lastaðir, my blackened eyes catch thousands of warriors marked with the sign of White Christ. I hear the battle cry "Forward, forward, Christ's men, cross's men, king's men!"

Óláfr's heart was energetic; the king pressed for- ward Stiklastaðir, rallied his host to battle; steel weapons inlaid with blood bit. I saw all the firs of the storm of Jolfuðr shelter themselves except the leader himself; most were tested in the ceaseless missile-blizzard.

(Þormóðr Kolbrúnarskáld, Lausavísur 23)

Red colours mingled beneath the sky of the shield-rim; the storms of Skogul played against the clouds of shield-rings. Point-waves roared in the storm of Óðinn; many people sank down be- fore the tide of the sword.

(Eyvindr skáldaspillir Finnsson, Hákonarmál 8)

Many men begin to march towards a battle that cannot be won. As the battle against countless pagan farmers emerges, I hear many trees fall as their branches and heads are cut by flying spe- ars. And still, the battle-cry echoes through the valley: "Forward, forward, Christ's men, cross's men, king's men!" The sky darkens and turns red as Óláfr receives many a wound from opposing forces. When wings of darkness approach the king, I hear my brother cry out in vain:

Let polished hilt-wands clash, strike shields with brands, test our swords' shine on shields, redden them with blood. Hack Þórir's life away, play the pale man foul, silence the troublemaker with iron, feed eagle flesh.

(Egill Skallagrímsson, Lausavísur 39).

But as weapons oppose the fierce tongue of an- ger, swords and axes follow the lead of the flying spear and pierce the sword-wielding member of my kin to the ground. Rain and thunderclounds start to limit the view of the raven and I fall to the ground. At nighttime when the white dress of the earth starts to move under the silver eye of the sky. I wander below to the valley of the dead. I whisper and see where the dead already start to isolate from the living and espay the ruined body of my brother on the blood ground. I lift his head and shoulders with my hands and begin to whisper pleas for his life to survive. His eyes are opened and fixed on me as I speak. He whispers a last prayer to the White Christ to grant him entrance to the land of the dead before he shuts his eyes forever. But as I look up into the valley of the dead again, I only see him wander aimless- ly into a land of shadows. Golden tears fall from my heavy head as I walk back to my horse I once welcomed to this world.

#Árstíðir lífsins #Arstidir Lifsins #International #Iceland #Germany #Pagan Black Metal #Black Metal #Bandcamp

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