#gutal

[spectercrums]

An old OC of mine updated! Khosodmaa is an Amur Leopard hunter proficient in archery and wrestling. She is known for not needing arrows to bring the thunder, as merely drawing her bow and releasing it can shoot out a compressed shockwave that can crack bone from a distance easily.

[tinyshe]

Khalkh Mongol gutal,

Buriad gutal, Oirad

Oirad goson,

Tsarag, and Tookuu

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Some random notes on Joshi's design because I can.

Or I talk about accent colours on discord and paste it here. This is a long post that contains nudes, however it is placed under a cut with a disclaimer.

Joshi's main colours are black, beige and vermillion. I tend to describe his magicka aura as also being an orangy-red as well. Vermillion is his accent colour design wise.

The vast majority of his clothing is either black or neutral-toned, so that makes the accent colour pop.

So whilst that second one is an outdated design, it's using the same basic idea. Vermillion accents on neutral coloured clothing.

He adds elements of chitin plate as parts break or become extinct. So the armour has a large beige component by 4E199. But I haven't done a fully finished version of him in full armour just yet. It's essentially this Netch leather set that I've modified.

I use a lot of steppe cultural influences in his costumes, there's fun flippy toes from his gutals.

One day I'll finish the flats on these but this is his mid-game Morrowind armour, has a lot of ashlander elements to it for wandering through the blight infested areas.

It's mostly dark chitin plate and boiled netch leather. He's technically wearing a chitin helmet but it's wrapped in a plain linen wrap with a vermillion accent.

Both line arts are the same armour set in various stages of disrepair as he fights his way through Kogoruhn. Pants are a faded olive green, shirt is the same plain linen that wraps his helmet and the netch leather is a darkish grey purple. Salk chitin is used for his plate. Scarf and sash are vermillion.

Now for some talk on the secondary colour that I use for his nudes, under the cut due to blatant nudity.

Josh does have a secondary accent colour, which is violet. Mostly it's emphasised when I'm painting him without clothes, but his face tats dictate the colour of his Morag Tong tat (violet) and his prisoner serial number dictates the colour of his marriage tattoo (black).

So whilst his main accent colour is still surrounding him, and I've used it again in his lounge robe in the sfw piece. The nude shows the secondary colour is a dusty violet.

The purple I've chosen below is because it ties him to the Blighted hive mind, which is always presented as ash skin and darkness until one reaches Aetherius. (or becoming an Ascended).

Below I'm pulling magenta for an accent since it's a medium between the two main colours (as suggested by @naturalbornlosers who hit the nail on the head). I use the colour as his ash goggle lens tint too.

[gcldfanged]

❝ Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic. ❞

Jae-hyo watches the coin flip it's way across Rufus' knuckles, first towards his thumb and back. Pretty words slipped past lips too soft looking to be a boy's, but he was a boy anyway.

Boy. Man. (Whatever.)

Where was the divide where his people were concerned? Did one just have to hit a certain invisible threshold and that was it? Like 'Oh yeah, that guy's a MAN, he ain't no boy.'

Well, he looked like a goddamn boy. A lordling clad in fine wool-gabardine and dyed silks, his golden hair and porcelain skin soft like... everything else.

Nothing like his grandfather: A veritable titan with his face zippered by a jagged scar almost from ear to ear, sparing the eyes with their flat black exposing nothing- except there was nothing to expose. Saying that the man had been strong was like saying the old white-peaked mountains spearing up into the icy clouds were tall. Larger than life, an ancient epic wrapped into a person, except everything was true- No exaggeration necessary.

The old man was long since dead yet his taciturn ghost commanded more respect than anyone else that Yoon had the misfortune of being beneath the thumb of. The image wasn't complete without one of his wolf-dogs, shaggy and mountainous- a bitch but after the old one-eyed alpha had died in a bear attack, she'd assumed his role without so much as a scuffle between the other hunting dogs.

'She's a good killer,' the old man had remarked one day, offhand like human language degraded what you were talking about the more words you put to it. When Jae had been a child, he'd reach out and his grandfather's biceps bulged like concentric steel braid fashioned to keep the Devil himself contained, lifting him clear out of the embroidered leather and fur gutals adorning his tiny feet. He'd laughed as he dangled from the crook of the old man's arm, being swung left and right before he fell back onto the wooden boards of the cabin.

He was a man who could be staring up at you yet be looking down at you at the same time, a rare softness melting away his goshawk's stare that was only for his favorite grandchild.

'What a shame it'd be to let Ji-ho rot away in some musty school house'- He'd told his mother, cradling the skeletal arm of whittled down birch branch to fashion him a hunting bow.

His mother had never held him as a child. She claimed that it bred weakness.

You want a child who's still clinging to their mother's tit when they're thirty- Is that what you want, Sang-hun?

Give me thirty- No, ten children who can shoot as well as she can and we'd drive those Wutai sons of bitches back to the sea where they belong-

He couldn't recall a time where they weren't arguing.

Now that he'd retraced the ugly steps down that particular memory lane, Jae completely lost track of whatever it was that Shinra Jr. had been pontificating at length about.

"Hasn't it always been like that?" he mused aloud, smirking as he rolled his shoulders back and stifled a yawn that would definitely not be taken well in his current company.

"If you want enact change, actual progress, then it's inevitable- Isn't it? Any nation's paved roads and gilded spires have ever been built upon bones and painted with the blood of it's populace."

[paintedscales]

006. Arulaq

The day of the Naadam has come, and during her time there, Nomin's attention is brought to a tribe she had never seen nor heard of before thanks to Yul's excited observations. Though not much is learned from the Oroqi individuals who have traded with the Arulaq in the past, there is hope that Nomin might one day travel to see the valley they come from.

Word Count: 3,088

Steppe by Steppe Chapter List

The day of the Naadam had come all too quickly for Nomin. That was how it felt to her at any rate when she woke up to the excited chatter and commotion of both Sagahl and Oroq. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes and removing herself from the cover of her blankets, Nomin squinted about the ger, catching sight of Bayarmaa organizing a good portion of belongings into a crate, meanwhile, Esenaij was nowhere to be seen in the abode.

No matter… What really made Nomin pause to consider the day was the fact that on this morning, she would have undergone her naming ceremony with the other previously unnamed Tumet children. Part of her wondered amongst those fleeting thoughts of what she would have been named had she gone back. Yet she had her name, she chose it, and she was more than fine with that.

She was…no…she is Nomin.

Still, as Nomin sleepily removed herself from her bed and stretched, she thought back to previous Naadams that she could remember. She remembered going to higher ground to witness the Tumeti warriors partake in combat with the other warriors of the Steppe. When she thought of the Sagahl, on the other hand…

“... Are the warriors preparing for today?” Nomin asked, yawning at the tail end of her question.

Bayarmaa gave a slight start, looking up at Nomin from where she was cleaning up part of the ger. Placing a hand over her chest as a means to collect herself, Bayarmaa offered a small, embarrassed smile in response. “I didn't realize you were awake, Nomin. As for our…warriors, no. We don't partake in the Naadam on the last day of the Tsagaan Sar. It doesn't benefit the Sagahl to fight for leadership over the Steppe.”

“Mm…” Nomin hummed, processing Bayarmaa’s words as she stretched her arms over her head and then trodden over to where her clothes were normally kept. Nomin’s gaze fell to her old gutal for a moment before she opened a dresser drawer and rummaged around. She lifted some neatly folded garments till she found the copper shard that had been used in her trial.

Picking it up, Nomin turned it over in her hands, candlelight glinting off of it as it caught onto the metal. She then looked over at Bayarmaa, who kept her own gaze mostly pointed in Nomin’s direction.

“What do you have there?” Bayarmaa asked, leaning to the side slightly as if that would give her a better look at the copper shard.

Holding the shard up, Nomin showed it off to Bayarmaa.

“I was wondering if you could do something with this?” Nomin inquired, closing the drawer halfway and then walking in Bayarmaa’s direction. Her movements were a little lagged, indicative of the tiredness still present within. “Since…well, since you made the baras. I bet you could make it into a necklace or something!”

Bayarmaa held out her hand, and Nomin placed the shard on her palm. A soft sigh fell from Bayarmaa’s nose as she looked the shard over a couple times. Its shine was dull -- as if a discarded piece used for throwaway clothing. However, the edges were sharp, an interesting detail when metal fittings and decorations upon their clothes were often filed or dulled so they caused no harm. “I can see what I can do. This is that piece of copper from the story you told Esenaij, isn’t it?”

“Mhm.” Nomin had already been walking back toward the dresser so that she could get herself dressed more appropriately.

Bayarmaa hummed softly in thought and then reached down to a pouch on her belt. Tucking the copper shard away safely, she continued getting the area cleaned up and packed away. Occasionally, she stole curious glances in Nomin’s direction, watching her and studying her.

“Are you…disappointed? That the Sagahl have no warriors who fight in the Naadam, I mean…” Bayarmaa asked, turning her gaze back to the chores she took on. She was in the process of closing the crate as Nomin pulled on some thick robes to combat the chill of the Steppe.

“... Not really…” Nomin replied after a moment's thought. She tightened her belt and got her dagger secured to herself. “I know I haven't been here long, but I guess it makes sense. I like that about the Sagahl. I like that you don't really want to fight in the Naadam. I don't think I'd want to fight in it, either. Even when I'm an adult like you or Esenaij.”

A small smile grew on Bayarmaa’s lips as she went about the ger. Pulling down a tapestry that hung on the eastern wall, she folded it. “That is well. We like not conflict with other tribes if we can avoid it… But…it does stand to reason that life on the Steppe necessitates such measures. After we get to our next location, I'd like to teach you what I know if Esenaij can't show you how to shoot a bow.”

Nomin paused. She was already sitting at the edge of her bed, getting socks on her feet. A look of contemplation grew on her face as she slowly pulled the thin fabric over her feet. With a few more moments of thought, she finally gave her response: “okay. Esenaij won’t be able to just travel to Reunion every day, will he? He can definitely teach me how to use a bow!”

Bringing a hand to her mouth, Bayarmaa chuckled softly. “Indeed. I’ll make sure that he actually sees to it.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The gathering of other tribes to watch the Naadam was astounding. As it ever was. It was also awe inspiring to see many different standards to indicate the tribes stood up on long, wooden poles proudly billowing in the breeze over many different groups of people. This was the first year that Nomin really took more involved notice of these standards, noting the different colors, symbols, and even different standard shapes that some of the tribes adopted as their own to represent their people.

By virtue of the Naadam itself, Nomin and many of the more passive tribes that attended the Naadam as an audience had little to worry about. Those that were more wanting of the thrill of battle found themselves already upon their hard-earned yol companions from the trials of Bardam's Mettle. Restless warriors rode their yol all across the presumed site of the Naadam, as everyone was still waiting for the Gharl soilbearers to make their appearance and spread the earth. To mark the start of the Naadam.

The Gharl Iloh was visible from where Nomin stood, their many ger erected and devoid of color -- pure white, waiting to have been stained by the new year's travel over the land. Nomin recalled how the Tumet sometimes traveled early enough to watch the Gharl arrive and set their ger up. She had overheard at the time that their ger only looked clean and spotless, but it was because they set fire to their old clothes and ger canvas to meet the new year in wholly new garments that will show their stories as the year progresses.

Looking around as the Sagahl traveled alongside the Oroq to a high enough outcrop, she looked for colors and tribal standards that she could pick out. The Oronir had been easy enough, with their bright colors that represented the bright sun of Azim. She saw the Dotharl as well -- ever the warriors that would charge into battle. In addition, there were the Adarkim, Qestir, Dataq, Goro, Olkund, Buduga, and many more of which she could not yet identify.

“Do you need some water, Nomin?” Bayarmaa’s voice broke Nomin’s concentration. Looking up at her, Nomin nodded and accepted the waterskin. She went back to looking out at all the standards, only occasionally looking up at the warriors that excitedly flew overhead on their yol.

“Whoa! The Arulaq are here, too!” Yul exclaimed, jabbing a finger out toward the standard that flew alongside the Khatayin's. When the Sagahl and Oroq traveled to their location together, he followed along after Chotan, who had not been that far away from Nomin, Esenaij, and Bayarmaa herself. He had since worn the wreath of flowers Chotan made for him around his neck.

“Arulaq?” Nomin walked over closer to Chotan and Yul, tilting her head in confusion. She had never heard of the tribe before. When she looked at their standard, she kept the symbol upon it in mind.

“Y-yea!” Yul started in response, glancing over at Nomin. He grinned, an opportunity to show off knowledge he had pleasing him. “We Oroq met them once when we were traveling down close to the base of the Tail Mountains one year! When they come down from the mountains, they're always with the Khatayin! They don't speak a lot of the same Steppe dialect we do, so the Khatayin often translate for us and them so they can trade and attend any tribal meetings!”

“They don't speak the same dialect as us? Why not?” Chotan lifted her hand to her chin, cupping it in thought.

“Dunno, truth be told…” Yul's expression fell to contemplation. “I think when I overheard some conversations with the Khatayin and Oroq elders, it was because the Arulaq had been sequestered away in a hidden valley! Apparently they never really needed anything from the rest of the Steppe and just stayed there until the Khatayin stumbled across them one winter! So they've been seen with one another more oft than not. For the best, probably. The Arulaq don't really have warriors than they do hunters since they've lived away from all the Steppe conflict for so long.”

“Yul has the right of most of it,” a gentle voice spoke. Nomin recognized it, and the three children looked in the direction of the voice. Yul’s mother was approaching them, a soft smile upon her lips as she looked out toward the Arulaq standard. “We’ve traded with them at some point with some minor difficulty. They have valuable ore and herbs found in their little valley that can be found nowhere else.”

Nomin’s eyes shimmered at the idea of a valley that had things she had never seen before. Biting her tongue momentarily, she pointed a determined gaze up in Esenaij’s direction. He looked back, and his brow quirked with immediate suspicion and annoyance. He was not necessarily listening in on the conversation, though Nomin’s expression only filled him with some level of dread.

“No.” Esenaij folded his arms over his chest, staring down Nomin, his gaze unwavering.

“I didn't ask you anything yet!” Nomin’s mouth fell open as she now started gawking at Esenaij in disbelief.

“You’re thinking of asking something, and the answer is no.”

“What was it that you were going to ask, Nomin?” Bayarmaa asked, peeking around Esenaij with a pleasant look on her face that spoke more to mischief than genuine curiosity. In response, Esenaij’s expression fell and an irritated sigh was soon expelled. His hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose in slight frustration.

“Since Esenaij travels out from the site of Sagahl often, I wanted to see if we could go to where the Arulaq live! I want to see the valley where all that rare stuff comes from!” Nomin eagerly said in response to Bayarmaa, her hands balling into excited fists that came up to emphasize her desire. The shimmer in Nomin’s eyes returned as her little tail flicked skyward with Bayarmaa entertaining her clearly curious nature.

“Did you really have to ask her about what was on her mind?” Esenaij grumbled, pointing his annoyed look of slight exasperation down at Bayarmaa.

“Whatever are you talking about,  my one and only dearest brother?” Bayarmaa asked sweetly, happily hopping away with a slight twirl to her step as she stuck her tongue out at Esenaij before looking back out at the expanse of land. Raising a hand, she shielded her eyes from the sunlight and looked around. A low ‘ooh’ left her lips as she waved her hand to beckon Nomin and the other children over.

Sweeping her free hand forward, Bayarmaa eagerly pointed a finger in the direction of the four distant Xaela, robed in pure white, and riding atop horses just as pristine. They were majestic, in a sense, as their horses strode calmly and elegantly across the grasslands. The one that led the van held a clay urn that had no lid to it. When more of the audience and warriors caught sight of them, cheers erupted, starting low before rising into a raucous series of whoops, whistles, and elated cheering.

“The Gharl soil bearers come!” Yul exclaimed once he saw them, his eyes lit up as he gazed upon the Gharl. His tail wiggled to and fro with his delight as he stuck close to both Nomin and Chotan

One of the Gharl soil bearers dismounted, followed by the three others soon thereafter. Nomin watched as they walked out onto the land, the leader holding her urn with practiced care. Tilting the pot, the soil bearer spread the soil of their last location onto the land. Once the last of the dirt was poured upon the land, battle cries from the warriors erupted as they charged for their prize -- the ovoo.

“My next harvest is on the Oronir again. With Sadu of Dotharl still a child in their current incarnation, the Dotharli warriors have hardly the support needed to claim the ovoo from the Oronir. Especially with the Buduga having recently allied themselves with them,” Esenaij said, folding his arms over his chest. “The Dotharli people may be known as the ‘undying ones’ with their reincarnation, though that will do little to avail them this Naadam.”

“Sadu?  Who is that?” Nomin asked, looking up at Esenaij.

Bringing a hand to his chin, Esenaij squinted before looking around where the Dotharl standard was raised. He pointed toward them and said, “the young girl with the white hair.”

When Nomin finally saw who Esenaij was talking about, there was a moment's consideration. This Sadu looked to have been the same age as Nomin herself.

“That is the future khatun of the Dotharl. Some would even argue that she was khatun the moment she had been born and determined the fallen soul of their previous khagan,” Esenaij explained. “But look how she carries herself. Tall, proud…and already in possession of the staff of the previous khagan. The Steppe is lucky she is too young to fight.”

“... Is she powerful?” Nomin questioned.

“We are yet to know fully. If she is indeed the true reincarnation of their previous khagan, then she will be a mighty force to contend with in several years’ time…. It is only fortunate that we Sagahl have no desire to reign over the Steppe. We know our strengths in knowing the land and its creatures. Fighting the Oronir, Dotharl, and the Three Giants would do little for us…” Esenaij said, frowning. “Though I cannot deny the Dotharli girl already emits such a powerful aura. Even at this distance…”

In that moment, the events of the Naadam became just background noise, slowly muffling as Nomin’s attention kept itself on Sadu of Dotharl. She was not quite sure why she was drawn to the other girl, but something about Sadu drew Nomin’s attention far more than any combat or competitive show on the grasslands below for the ovoo.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the clamor and dust settled, there was one who had captured the ovoo and was now dubbed ‘khagan’ for the year. A Dotharl man stood the victor for he and his tribe. There were cheers and whoops to celebrate the victory, though there were also groans and murmurs of concern from those that thought the Dotharl too battle hungry and bloodlust driven.

However, Bayarmaa was beside herself with laughter.

“So your next harvest shall be going to the Dotharl instead?” Bayarmaa asked, her hands on her hips and a wide smile upon her lips. “And you were so positive that the Oronir were guaranteed to win this Naadam!”

A frown was set heavily upon Esenaij’s face as he made no attempt to retort or respond to Bayarmaa. Nomin, however, only giggled alongside Bayarmaa at the turn of events. Though another thought entered her head when she realized what that also meant. With a small gasp, Nomin’s tail flicked up and she looked up at Esenaij.

“Esenaij! Can I go with you to visit the Dotharl Iloh?” Nomin asked, her eyes sparkling with the thought of being able to travel the Steppe and see other tribes and peoples. Not only that, but learn more of what other edible or beneficial plants there were that the Steppe offered. Granted, as not a true daughter of the Sagahl, she was missing meat, but perhaps she could hunt if Esenaij allowed it.

“So that I might suffer more of your questions and inquiries? No,” Esenaij replied, folding his arms over his chest.

“Bring Nomin with you, Esenaij…” Bayarmaa said, chuckling softly still. She then echoed Nomin’s thoughts: “it will be good for her to travel the Steppe! She needs to learn more about what we can find, how we prepare it while traveling, and if you’re headed out toward the Dotharl Khaa, you might as well also show her what grows on the fringes of Nhaama’s Retreat. Teach her as you taught me of the Steppe.”

A small growl of indignation came from Esenaij, though Nomin had been happy that Bayarmaa was at least on her side when it came to doing more fun stuff. Plus, Nomin was unable to learn much about what was in season at this time and would have to wait till spring had arrived properly. Skipping up to Esenaij, Nomin raised her hands to him with a grin.

“I’m not picking you up,” Esenaij sighed. He had declined such silent requests since Bayarmaa told Nomin how he carried her from his wain to their ger. A pain, now that he had to deal with Nomin’s random ‘requests’ for being carried. Though he was met with a pout from Nomin, Esenaij started making his way back with the other Sagahl and Oroq to their site.

Bayarmaa, on the other hand, was finally coming down from her amusement. She shook her head at Nomin and gave her a mischievous look. “Don’t you worry about Esenaij and him leaving you behind. I’ll see to it that you’re ready to travel with him in the coming days.”

[haoyando]

Being Thankful 2023

A holiday cleanup reveals a book under the sofa-- the worn out pages curvy and dusty, presenting a story half read, long forgotten. The movable tents called "ger", the exotic boots called "gutal", in the frozen world of northwestern Mongolia, where Tuvans, who are Mongolians, and Kazaks lived side by side. The riverbed is a nature-made road for winter travel by jeep; The weather is so harsh…

[metamarketing-es]

Abdirisak Hussein Mohamud Gutale 's Certificate of Achievement for Digital Skills: Digital Marketing

https://www.futurelearn.com/certificates/mm10he8?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

[seooptimizacija]

Kupiti povratne veze

Trebate li kupiti povratne veze ili jednostavno kupovati jednu po jednu poveznicu?

Postoji dosta kontroverzi oko pravog načina korištenja SEO-a i izgradnje povratnih veza. Trebate li kupiti povratne veze? Ili biste trebali graditi svoje dolazne veze na "staromodan način". Ovo je vruća tema na svjetskim forumima i nije nešto na što je lako odgovoriti. Zaista nema ispravnog ili krivog.Velike tvrtke i poveznice U prošlosti su velike tvrtke bile jedine koje su si mogle priuštiti interno osoblje ili vanjske radnike da rade na ovom aspektu njihovog online marketinga. Aspektu za koji bi mnogi tvrdili da je najvažniji. Velike tvrtke mogu izgraditi ogromne web stranice sa stotinama i stotinama stranica. I to mogu vrlo brzo. Oni nemaju problema s povratnim poveznicama na svoje stranice. Zapravo, vjerojatno ih dobivaju milijune, što znači da će ih tražilice preferirati.Male tvrtke i poveznice Vlasnici malih tvrtki bili su prisiljeni izgraditi vlastite povratne veze. Sve donedavno nisu imali resurse da se to učini umjesto njih. Stoga se ni na koji način nisu mogli natjecati s ogromnim korporacijama koje su gutale povratne veze kao slatkiše i zauvijek osigurale svoja prva mjesta na ljestvici tražilica. Ali postalo je lakše za male poduzetnike. Sada postoje usluge koje manjim ribama u ribnjaku omogućuju kupnju povratne veze koja ne košta ruku i nogu. Međutim, postoje neki važni pojmovi koje morate imati na umu i stvari koje morate izbjegavati.Kvaliteta povratnih veza - kupiti povratne veze Prije svega, zapamtite da sve povratne veze nisu iste kvalitete i da dobivanje gomile veza niske kvalitete zapravo može naštetiti rangiranju u tražilici, a ne poboljšati ga. Drugo, iako vam kupnja povratnih veza može uštedjeti puno vremena, nije jeftina i postoji opasnost da vas Google (osobito) i druge tražilice označe. I želite biti sigurni da ne bacate svoj novac samo na neku uslugu. Nemojte birati samo najjeftinije veze kako biste uštedjeli novac. Prvo istražite. Klonite se stotina veza koje sve dolaze iz istog izvora (obično se nazivaju "farme veza"). Lako ih je pratiti i tražilice ih jako osuđuju tako da vas neće daleko dovesti. Također se klonite tvrtki koje reklamiraju kupnju i prodaju poveznica. Ove veze će također prije ili kasnije biti označene od strane tražilica i nisu vrijedne rizika. Zapamtite da su povratne veze postale vrlo popularna roba.Ako odlučite uložiti u njih, želite biti sigurni da dobivate kvalitetu koju plaćate. Ne kupujte povratne veze koje morate platiti svaki mjesec. Bolje je kupovati jednu trajnu povratnu vezu svaki mjesec umjesto da plaćate istu uvijek iznova. Ono što plaćate za povratnu vezu može varirati. Ali provjerite jeste li istražili prije nego što odaberete bilo koju uslugu. Read the full article

[chasenews]

Three jailed for running Westminster drug network

Three men have been jailed for running a drug network in Westminster. Saed Gutale, 25 (08.02.98) of Cholmondeley Avenue, NW10 was jailed for six years for being concerned in the supply of Class A drugs and possession of a firearm and ammunition. Lloyd Brown, 25 (05.05.97) of no fixed address was jailed for six years being concerned in the supply and possession of Class A drugs. Max Daniels, 19…

[argothide]

El #atuendo #mongol Vía shenyungperformingarts.com Y Mongolia, un país por descubrir. 🇲🇳Mongolia al ser un país principalmente #rural aún conserva gran parte de sus #tradiciones Una de las tradiciones más importantes es la vestimenta, caracterizada por el frio de la región y por los materiales con que se realizan. Hay tres elementos principales, el sombrero, el Deel y las botas. 🤠 Para todos los ciudadanos de Mongolia, el sombrero es un símbolo del #sol de la #luna, del #fuego o la #amistad Por ejemplo, el sombrero en forma de cono simboliza el anhelo hacia el #cielo la prosperidad y la abundancia. 📿Según la tradición de Mongolia, los sombreros son un objeto muy respetado, nunca se debe apuntar los pies hacia un sombrero, y nunca se puede colocar un sombrero con su apertura hacia arriba. Mongoles no intercambian sombreros uno con el otro, ni tirar los sombreros a la basura. Esta tradición es una costumbre budista ya que considera la cabeza como una de las partes más importantes del cuerpo. 🐎 🐫 #Viajeros constantes y metódicos, los #mongoles adaptaron su #vestimenta al duro #clima de los #altiplanos Siendo #jinetes #nómadas sus ropas reflejan su amor por las #praderas y los protegen de los elementos. Entre ellas son esenciales los sombreros ceñidos y los chalecos mullidos #khaantaz .Los pantalones se meten dentro de unas resistentes botas de cuero llamadas #gutals que tienen una curvatura en la punta para conservar el calor. 🌘🌞Tanto mujeres como hombres usan unas batas, cuyo nombre es #deel que llegan hasta las pantorrillas y son abotonadas a los costados. Estas batas, con sus mangas largas y anchas y cuellos altos, son una protección perfecta para #climasfríos Un cinturón haciendo juego es tanto funcional como estético; quien lo porta luce elegante y además tiene un importante sostén para la columna durante los largos viajes a caballo. Tanto en los dobladillos como en las aperturas de las mangas y en los cuellos, suelen incorporarse decoraciones con incrustaciones. 🎨🧵Cuando se trata de elegir colores, los hombres mongoles prefieren el azul y el marrón, y las mujeres eligen típicamente una paleta más amplia de rojos, rosas, verdes y azul cielo. https://www.instagram.com/p/B8eN3lWJ2ev/?igshid=18ldaqdw1pf7h

[atlaculture]

Hey there, I just discovered your blog and it's amazing - I really admire your work and dedication!

I've been doing some research about fashion in the world of ATLA and there is still something I haven't found any information on whatsoever. Many of the characters (especially those who fight or do physical labour) can be seen wearing a very specific type of sleeves. Some examples include Katara, Zuko (especially as the Blue Spirit) or Jet. I was wondering why the sleeves of so many characters look this way and if there is any specific term for them. Some characters (like Jeong Jeong) seem to have a bandage-like garment wrapped around their forearms and feet. Is this piece of garment covering a wide sleeve underneath it, or is it something else? How does it work?

The same question applies to the pants and shoes many of the characters wear. Azula's Ba Sing Se outfit or Zuko and Iroh in S2E2 come to mind. Do you have any information on this? I hope this is not a silly question but I've been looking all over the internet and I'm a bit obsessed with finding an answer at this point lol

Thank you so much!

The fitted sleeve-cuffs that the Avatar characters wear are called huwan (护腕) in Mandarin, which translates to “wrist protectors”. The bandage-like garments are probably actual cloth bandage wraps. Both covers serve the same functions:

They restrain excess fabric from the wrist. This way, you get all freedom of movement that loose sleeves allow, without worrying about anything getting in the way.

They protect the forearms and wrists from damage. The idea is to maintain a stable position for the bones and muscles during athletic activity by wrapping up commonly exerted body parts. While we associate these sort of methods with healing an injury, it also works well for preventing an injury by reducing excess strain on ligaments, tendons, bones, and joints. This technique is still used today and is called athletic taping. It can even help give an arch to your feet if you’re flat-footed.

I imagine the advantage of huwan is that they can be made out of durable materials like leather, which can provide extra protection against strikes and cuts. On the other hand, bandages can be wrapped on any part of the body and are basically wearable medical supplies in case someone gets hurt. It makes sense that Sokka wears bandages whenever he can, since he’s the protective big brother of the group who is always planning and preparing.

As for the shoes you mentioned, they resemble traditional Mongolian riding boots known as gutals. Characteristics of gutal include upturned toes and prominent seams/ties around the ankle and neck of the boot. These style of shoes later caught on throughout China, Korea, and Central Asia. They’re typically made of leather.

Like what I’m doing? Tips always appreciated, never expected. ^_^

https://ko-fi.com/atlaculture

[simonscurlz]

via - @/actorsinsweden on ig

“EDVIN RYDING leads the unique musical manifestation “FOR A BETTER DAY” tonight at 20.30 in Avicii Arena together with SOMEYA GUTALE to bring attention to young people’s mental health and break the stigma”

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Put Lighthouse Josh in his own post.

I just...all my Dunmer require gutals it's DA RULEZ

And any excuse for shirtless Josh so...

[gcldfanged]

@saishuu-heiki

The ground had been too hard with ice to bury the old man, so Jae had spent the better part of an entire day chopping down trees to fashion a pyre for him. Despite the steel coloring his once pitch black hair and beard, he'd looked as handsome as he had in the photos of his youth: a towering sequoia amongst a forest of lesser men, great iron muscles straining and thick veins splintering blade, bullet and lash-tortured skin. His anguish was their suffering, the austere Loyalists who bled for home and country. They were nothing more than primitives that the Modernists now laughed at, for not whoring themselves, for covering their superior human forms in hand me down skin and hides like simple animals.

If they were seen as little more than a sidestep away from basic savagery, then he would continue to stalk the wilds as one of them. Wrapped from head to toe in mink and thick wools, none of the glimmering liquid gemstone colors of industrialized silks, nor the pinstriped cotton-twills of Junon's boxy suits and jaunty fedoras. His shoes were traditional gutals, handcarved leather and insulating fur, stocky with their slightly upturned toes and soles that left barely a footprint in even powder-snow. Surrounded by drooling, panting mountainous 'shepherd dogs' only a handful's generations of careless breeding away from wolves- They were as one, of the same razor-edged instinct and unified mind focused solely on the hunt. On the kill. Wolves wished they killed with the ferocity that they did.

Wolves never attacked unless you'd wronged them, somehow- Then they would take you, if they could. Normally they would merely hunch in the snow with baleful eyes and curl their tails between their legs miserably, saliva glistening on their fangs from one too many days without fresh meat. They knew better.

The Han were a proud nation of survivors, from the barren terrain and the frigid temperatures stymieing new growth and life, to the hostile occupation by Wutai stomping their pride and faces into the frigid, muddy earth. They were the product of a culture and an ideology that, as far as everyone else was concerned, no longer existed. They'd been worse than just cast out- To sink so low as to accept foreign aid, to fall so far as to do terrible and cynical things. Men and women would sacrifice themselves for 'The Greater Good'. This, he knew. His grandfather's entire life had been committed to the belief that it had all been voluntary.

But that wasn't the problem. It wasn't the dying. It was living and dying for what their leaders had become. Unbeknownst to them, to the old man whose last words were a long rattling wheeze and a hand thrust out at his grandchild and a strangled "What was it all for...?", to everyone else who'd worked and toiled and sacrificed so much, their great country was nothing at all.

Fucking nothing. Somehow their most promising generation had turned heel to greedy capitalists and as the old ways deteriorated, it didn't take long to find the trails of blood and mako they'd left behind. They bowed before and kissed the polished leather of Shinra's dress shoes as their industrial engineers swarmed over the bloated carcass of Haneul like a plague of botflies. The natural flora and fauna withered and twisted into mako-poisoned mutations, jobs became scarce due to rampant automation, their sons and daughters prostituted as the company grew fat off their blood, sweat, and bitter tears.

As far as he was concerned, The Silver General may as well be the court jester prancing about for an oligarchy of human parasites tearing into their great nation's pride and simple dignity- It's humanity. He'd seen it and lived in it, the desperation and poverty. Distinguished intellectuals and artisans selling themselves on the street. The Loyalists labeled 'rebels' and 'criminals'.

It was almost a relief his grandfather had passed when he did, just to prevent him from the knowing- That they hadn't just fallen, but passed hitting rock bottom and carved it's way into the chthonian underbelly of modern man's gravest sins.

Chaebols had become a byword for crooks, because natives understood what the decadent West's idea of business was. It was only a quest for ownership. It wasn't fair trade. It wasn't about equality. It was zero-sum savagery. It was taking what you wanted and giving your victim the illusion of consent.

The profiteers 'enriched' themselves, bloated their accounts with foreign gil. There was rarely even the simple poetic bliss in one of them getting torn apart by a reactor bomb planted by AVALANCHE. They survived. The shitheads always survived. The assholes always did.

So what did that mean about him?

His gaze is twinned black holes and merciless, spearing his gimlet eyed stare down the nose of a stolen rifle. It was anger and outrage and pain- A once great nation's desperate denial of the inevitable.

"Shinra isn't welcome here."

The words aren't ungainly on his lips, they never had been. Han was his language, but they'd learned Common in primary school, babbling syllables in other tongues.

Their enemy's and their ally's: He'd learned Wutainese when he attempted training to enlist in counter-intelligence. He'd felt the weight of hungry eyes more than once as Shinra's science department sniffed around, attempted to slobber all over him. It was disgraceful- Disgusting, the way they posed and preened and invited him to become more than 'just a farmer with a gun', not even Public Security, but a SOLDIER.

To Hell with them.

To Hell with anyone.

[paintedscales]

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

\ o w o / Hihi! Thank you for the ask! :D

OC Asks: Character Design Edition

Nomin has two pieces of jewelry that are very important to her.

On a leather cord, she wears a copper shard that is now greened with oxidation and held secure in an iron backing thanks to her childhood friend, Arik, having took care of it for some time. This piece of copper was part of her gutal when she was ten summers of age, and she desperately tore it off to help cut herself free of her bindings within her trial to prove her worth in earning a name and place within the Tumet.

This piece of copper is a symbol of freedom and her own worth. Even if she forgets the latter part a lot, and probably even has moments of self-doubt that make her deny it completely. She'll often hold onto this in moments of thought, or when she wants to be alone.

As for the second piece of jewelry... her eternal bonding ring, of course! :> The one she wears is made of gold, and it has sun symbology on it. It serves as a reminder to her bond with Estinien and what he means to her: her sun to brighten her days and remind her that there will always be a new dawn to greet her.

[sins-of-the-sea]

A pair of gutal boots plant themselves beside Ruixiong with a sudden soundly thud. It's followed by the swift kneeling of a woman dressed in dark green robe, then the presentation of a small plate of cold fried rice cakes with a distinct savory smell to them. She says nothing, merely closing her eyes and taking a small bite of one of the cakes.

".........................................

"清明平安," Ruixiong mutters quietly, unsure if kneeling is part of an actual ritual during Qingming, granted he never had anyone to fully and properly teach him. But seeing Linyi be kind enough to share the cold food, not to mention bearing in mind she is married to a European and thus has been cut off from China for many years... perhaps she lost contact with her own ancestors and, thus, feels just as lost as he does.

This is the part where his haughty CHINASTRONK cultural posturing would be partaken, but this is too somber a holiday to pull off his prideful strutting. If anything, he wonders how far and how deep this ancestral severance has become. "Don't you partake in Qingming with Helen? Or Aaron? Or Alice?" A pause. "Or the second brother?" Oof. He forgot Jacob's name again.