#houseless for exiles

[outofangband]

Kind of related to my post about general ecological destruction in The Silmarillion but I absolutely love the repeating scene in The Silmarillion and related works where water, especially sacred sources, are destroyed. Ungoliant drinks from the wells of Varda and Glaurung corrupts both lake Helevorn and Eithel Ivrin, the healing pool at the source of the river Narog. Many times more, wetlands and other sources of water are stained in blood. The massacre of Hadorian soldiers and the desecration of their bodies is done at the fen of Serech* and the route of the stream rivil is disrupted by it. And of course many deaths occur in or by water including all three kinslayings.

We know from the beginning that the song that creates the world is often particularly powerful in water. Many of the places directly destroyed or damaged through war and bloodshed are also of importance to Ulmo.

I’m still sick so I’m not quite if I’m really getting at anything here, it’s just on my mind

*Serech of course means blood. The name was likely given due to a mineral in Rivil as was mentioned about other Beleriandic rivers but, just as the seregon flowers upon Amon Rhûdh indicate, it is also foreshadowing

[outofangband]

I love/hate the dual effects it has on Morwen and Húrin.

For Húrin this is one of the first great losses in his life. His father dies in battle and that's obviously awful but it's not shocking in the same way. (Though I think that Húrin’s attitude, even from a young age as we see in Gondolin, that his kinsmen including himself will die in battle is a tragedy in itself)

This is his young child and he is completely helpless. He's a warrior and he can't do anything against disease and death. No matter how many of Morgoth's orcs he kills he can't bring his daughter back I think about that line from Buffy the vampire slayer about the slayer being helpless against death and disease...Húrin is not a man who likes helplessness.

For Morwen... She is the survivor of a genocide* that has killed nearly all of her people. She is without her home, her parents, most of her family. She has to learn an entirely new language and culture. She has been in Hithlum for over a decade now and after years, has been able to find family and to have a hope at her people surviving through her children.

And this weapon of the enemy comes here, where she might even have thought she was safe

And she is still losing family to Morgoth.

Is it any wonder she "met her grief in silence and coldness of heart"

*I use this word carefully as someone from a culture heavily impacted by it in real life. While the initial violence of Dagor Bragollach wasn’t necessarily intended to solely or specifically target the Bëorians, they were nonetheless subjected to mass slaughter and displacement and certainly afterwards, members of their culture were specifically hunted and targeted. And Morwen’s speaking of the losses her people have faced have always resonated very heavily to me on that level. Anyways just thought I’d note that here  (for new followers my tag for Morwen's trauma related to this is houseless for exiles. it goes into loss of culture and language, grief and identity, etc)

I have some propaganda for Urwen!

In response to her death, Hurin says this "Marrer of Middle-earth, would that I might see you face to face, and mar you as my lord Fingolfin did!' His love and subsequent loss of her is definitely a motivator, I think, for his later valiant defiance of Morgoth! So she may have died young but she had a big impact. (I mean if we want to apply the butterfly effect she kinda caused the fall of Nargothrond: motivated Hurin to deny Morgoth, got Turin cursed to give really bad advice about bridges, no more Nargothrond. How many 3 year olds could claim that?

Also more seriously, a lot of the deaths in the Silm are violent and awful. But we little of mundane, quiet deaths from sickness. A young child dying in this way stands out in its more realist tragedy. And it shows the subtler ways Morgoth sowed despair in middle earth and also that he knew the Edain were a threat. The 'evil breath' mostly killed 'the children or the rising youth in the houses of Men.'

Sorry this got so long 😅

Thank you!!! She’s my submission and I need people to understand how precious she is ❤️

[solriis]

Eliksni Culture: Runaways and Missing Persons

Just a little thing I was thinking about to explain how certain characters managed to vanish from the face of the planet for years despite being alive and well.

Riis was a larger planet compared to Earth, and the territories od Houses stretched past the home planet and onto moons and neighboring landmasses. With this came very robust communication networks, both in couriers and radio, and their technology is able to work over great stretches of space so long as they can angle their signals right.

So how do eliksni manage to disappear on Riis, especially children?

Riis, its satellites, and its neighboring planets, are all dangerous places for live for numerous reasons, be it local wildlife, invading species, exiled criminals, or the inhospitable corners on the system. As such, eliksni are more willing to believe someone that went missing got themselves killed -- their culture has much emphasis on family, some Houses more than others, and so tbe thought that a member of their family would flee because they were unhappy with them is always a secondary thought.

Some individuals that run away do die, though, and may or may not be found afterward. In the case of them living to enter another settlement or House, many often shed their identities and change their names (though some, like Taniks, keep their names). Runaways also often fall into seedier careers, like mercenary work, thieving, or street medicine.

Runaways will often flee to houseless villages outside their birthplace's reach, and may only ever return their homeland when they are older or more established elsewhere.

Nobles of any age looking to make themselves disappear will travel off planet to get the effect, and will usually fake their deaths if they're smart. Public figures will take to gorging on special diets and go through numerous molts to change their appearances in whatever way they can -- popular choices are copper rich or tropical diets, which cause bright blooms of color and can alter scents.

Nobles are some of the only individuals that get parties looking for them, who will rake through the territory, villages, and outposts they have control over, and send notices to their neighbors if they're particularly desperate.

It's not common outside of the High Noble Houses (Judgment, Kings, Stone) to take account of specific identification when eliksni enter or leave their cities and territory, so it's easy for an eliksni to slip away at night.

Rift of Light: Eliksni that have vanished/run away:

Taniks, as a second molt

Atraks, as a second molt (presumed dead)

Azomov/Vanrha (Misraaks), as an adult

Variks, during a coup (presumed dead)

Liithas (OC), during a coup (presumed dead)

Inaaks, during a coup

Rakis, as an adult

Siviks, as a lightbearer (presumed dead)

Taniks' mother (OC), ambiguous fate

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

How would a half Time Lord half human person be accepted on Gallifrey? How would they be treated if they went to Gallifrey later in life instead of being born there? Would they be allowed to attend the Academy even if they’re older than eight? How would their Chapter/College be chosen? Would they even be allowed on Gallifrey?

How would a hybrid fit in on Gallifrey?

Like most things Gallifrey, the answer depends entirely on the era. Gallifrey has experienced different social, political, and cultural shifts over time, meaning a hybrid's experience could range from mild curiosity to outright exile. Since the Gallifreyan Institute for Learning (GIL) exists in a timeless void of potential, we can observe all of these perspectives at once.

Key Eras for Reference:

🕰️ Pre-Classical/Classical Era → The Doctor's childhood to 8th life. (Strict isolationism.)

🔥 Pre-War / Time War Era → Before and during the Time War. (More open, then regressive again.)

❓ Post-War → After the Time War. (Unknown, because Gallifrey keeps dying.)

🏛️ A Hybrid on Gallifrey

🕰️ Classical Era (Isolationist & Strict Traditionalism)

Gallifrey was closed off to almost all non-Gallifreyans. The concept of "off-worlders" was actively discouraged. That said:

There are rumours of hybrids who lived among Gallifreyans, attended the Chapter Academies, and took the Time Academy entrance exam like any other student.

Latecomers past the age of 8 are unlikely—but not impossible. Large donations or well-placed political influence might have secured an exception, but there are no confirmed cases.

🔥 Pre-War / Time War Era (More Open, Then Closed Again)

Particularly under Romana's leadership, Gallifrey became more open, and some hybrids and off-worlders were granted citizenship.

Attending the Time Academy as a non-Gallifreyan adult was permitted during Romana's reign.

However. once Romana lost power, traditionalist leadership cracked down, and many of these privileges disappeared.

❓ Post-War Era (Completely Unknown)

We don't know what policies were in place during the brief period after Rassilon was removed (but before Gallifrey was destroyed again).

If Gallifrey ever resurfaces, hybrid acceptance could go either way.

🏛️ How Would Their Chapter / College Be Chosen?

A hybrid's Chapter placement depends on House association, influence, funding, and the Time Academy entrance exam.

Attending the Time Academy isn't free—without personal wealth or financial backing from a House, a hybrid would struggle to gain entry. Money, influence, or sponsorship are just as important as raw intelligence when securing a place.

👨‍👩‍👦 Born into a House → If their Gallifreyan parent belongs to an established House, they may be accepted into that lineage. However, this is not automatic—acceptance is entirely at the House's discretion.

🏠 No House / Disassociated Parent → They would need to find a House willing to claim them. Influence, money, or political sponsorship might help secure a place.

🛑 Completely Houseless → It's not impossible to attend the Time Academy without a House, but you need extreme clout and financial backing to get in.

That being said, a House does not necessarily dictate Chapter placement.

Some Houses have deep-rooted affiliations with specific Chapters, but this is not universal.

The entrance exam plays a major role in placement for those without a direct Chapter link.

Some Gallifreyan Houses actively manipulate their Looms to produce offspring with traits suited to their preferred Chapter.

For womb-born hybrids, their genetic inheritance might naturally align them with their Gallifreyan parent’s Chapter—but this isn’t guaranteed. If their skills or personality traits don’t fit the Chapter’s standards, they may be placed elsewhere. And if they don’t end up in the Chapter associated with their House, their House may lose interest in them entirely.

🏫 So…

It depends on the era, their connections, and how good they/their parents are at playing the game.

🕰️ Classical Gallifrey: Nearly impossible—but not unheard of.

🔥 Pre-War / War Era: More accepted.

❓ Post-War: Unknown—but probably still complicated.

Related:

💬|📜👑What was Romana's presidency like?: The highs and lows of Romana as Gallifreyan President.

💬|🧸🏫How do grade levels work in Gallifreyan schooling?: How the Gallifreyan education system works.

💬|🧸🏡Does a Gallifreyan's House determine which chapter they'll be a part of?: Looking at Academy affiliations and the Academy selection process.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

What if Aulë helped the exiled Noldor AU

These headcanons are based on an idea I have had for a while on an AU where Aulë takes pity on the Noldor. Could it be far-fetched? Perhaps. But I had to get it all out. Please give credit if you use them.

Warnings: Major Character Death

🛠 After Aulë receives word of the Dagor Bragollach, he forges a sword he secretly delivers to Fingolfin as he is the High King of the Noldor.

🛠 The blade has been infused with the hallowed dews of the Two Trees that Aulë was allowed to take for himself before they were destroyed. Because of this, it glows silver and gold.

🛠 Aulë tells Fingolfin that while the weapon does not hold the power to destroy the spirit of Morgoth, it is still powerful enough to kill the physical vessel he uses. Destroy that, he says, and Morgoth’s houseless spirit would be driven out and back into the Timeless Halls, where it belongs.

🛠 Fingolfin takes this advice to heart. He rides to Angband to challenge Morgoth.

🛠 Morgoth accepts his challenge, and they duel. During the battle, Fingolfin stabs Morgoth seven times and severly weakens him. During the eighth time, he stabs Morgoth in the foot and succeeds in killing his physical form. The spirit of Morgoth is finally driven out of its earthly vessel, never to be seen or heard again.

🛠 The duel is won for the elves, but the victor pays a steep price. Fingolfin dies from the injuries he received during the fight. His sacrifice brings about an end to Morgoth's reign, as the others who followed the Vala scatter beyond the Ered Engrin after having no master to serve.

🛠 Aulë, who remained with the Noldor during this time, breaks down the crown Morgoth wore to retrieve the Silmarils. He puts them in a chest he carved himself and returns them to the sons of Fëanor. (You can decide for yourself if the jewels burn them or not when they touch them.)

🛠 Aulë teaches the Noldor how to build a new civilization for themselves before he finally leaves.

🛠 The Noldor then seperate into three distinctive groups. Fingon, the oldest child and heir to Fingolfin, takes all those who followed him and his father and establishes a proper kingdom in Hithlum.

🛠 His brother, Turgon, continues to reside in Gondolin with his sister, his daughter, and his own people.

🛠 Maedhros and his brothers return to their respective regions. Maedhros is made king of the Fëanorians. The Silmarils are placed inside a vault within the stronghold he built for himself upon Himring.

🛠 Nargothrond is expanded after those who followed Aegnor and Angrod and survived come in search of a new home. They make Finrod their king.

🛠 Galadriel chooses to remain in Doriath and serve Queen Melian as her student and handmaiden. She later marries Celeborn and has a daughter named Celebrian.

🛠 Aulë is summoned before the Throne of Manwë to explain himself after he returns to Valinor. Manwë understands his reasons but he cannot let Aulë’s aiding the exiles go unpunished. So, he has Aulë confined to Lumbi for a period and then released. He is warned never to help the exiles again.

This is one version of this AU. I have other HCs where:

🛠 The sons of Fëanor splinter several decades after the Nolofinwëans and Arafinwëans go on to form their own kingdoms. Maglor aligns himself with Maedhros. Curufin aligns with Celegorm. Caranthir is quite content gaining riches by ruling Thargelion, and the twins are off doing their own thing in Taur-im-Duinath.

🛠 Galadriel, still filled with a longing to rule a realm of her own, tales Celeborn with her as she travels in search of one. They eventually settle in Eriador. The Noldor, Grey-elves and Green-elves who follow them begin to call her the Lady of the Eldar in Eriador. Celebrian is sent to Doriath once she comes of age, to attend Melian and learn from her the way her mother did.

🛠 Aulë struggles with his time in confinement. Being cut off from his wife, his craft, and all that he loves takes a toll on him.

This all I can cook up for now. Hopefully I can touch on Beren and Lúthien, Sauron, and the War of Wrath on a later date.

[mai-sau]

"Beleriand is wide, and houseless for exiles... If such an evil time should indeed come, what help would there be in Men?” said Morwen. “The House of Bëor has fallen."

edit for @outofangband

[bramblepatch]

Occurred to me that some of the impromptu Valas Hune Appreciation Society that's popped up recently might not have seen his profile that ran in Dragon Magazine while WotSQ was being published. (Specifically this is from Dragon #312, if you want to track it down for yourself; there's also game stats but they're 3.5e. He's Rogue 10/Ranger 2/Fighter 4 for the record, although if I were converting him for 5e I'd probably go two fighter levels and the rest scout rogue.)

Transcript for the above images under cut:

Valas Hune of Bregan D'aerthe

Like Ryld Argith, Valas Hune rose from humble origins. He is a commoner from a so-called "merchant House" - a small clan or extended family that practices a particular trade. Some of Menzoberranzan's merchant Houses are actually guilds of craftsmen or skilled professionals, but House Orlzz'Hune was a true mercantile enterprise. Its members organized trade caravans to various nearby cities in the Underdark, trading drow craftwork for the goods produced by Menzoberranzan's neighbors.

Valas spent many decades engaged in the family business, escorting caravans throughout the Underdar. This occupation gave him plenty of opportunity to hone his fighting skills, learn the ways of other races, and become intimately familiar with the Underdark for hundreds of miles around.

About one hundred years ago, House Orlzz'Hune encoutered disaster in the Underdark. Valas and a dozen of his kinfolk were leading a caravan through he region known as the Labyrinth when a great band of minotaur marauders set upon them. Although the Hunes fought desperately, they were swept away, and Valas escaped only by fleeing alone into the darkness after all his companions had fallen. Although he was without food or supplies, Valas Hune survived the Labyrinth, deciphering the riddle of its mazelike passages and evading one hungry monster after another. He eventually found his way to the hidden refuge of House Jaelre, male-dominated House of Vhaeraun worshipers who had been exiled from Menzoberranzan long ago.

Valas remained among the Jaelre for several months, repaying them for their assistance by contributing his sword and his skills to their defense. While there, he befriended the cleric Tzirik. Eventually, however, Valas decided to return to this kinfolk, so he struck out on the path toward home, joining first one caravan and then another to work his way back to Menzoberranzan. But when he finally reached the city, he discovered that the loss of the caravan had left Orlzz'Hune impoverished and defenseless, and its rivals had lost no time in wiping it out.

Fearing for his life, Valas decided to become a sellsword and joined the Bregan D'aerthe mercenary company, hoping to disappear among other Houseless males. His skill at stealth and handiness with a blade impressed the mercenaries, and he flourished in their company. The organizational and leadership skills that he learned in his former House served him well, and he rose quickly among the Bregan D'aerthe.

Valas is small, quiet drow who is ever cautious and alert. He feels more at home roaming the subterranean wilderness of the Underdark than he does navigating the treacherous intrigues of Menzoberranzan. Valas wears a number of charms and trinkets produced by nondrow Underdark races. These ornaments appear uncouth and ugly to most of his fellow dark elves, but several have useful magic powers. He fights with a pair of kukris but prefers to kill from a distance with a composite shortbow.

[terribleoldwhitemen]

me at the beginning of season four: I know worf is gonna grow on me but honestly I can't be bothered with klingon storylines

me now: thinking about the fact that worf, a man struggling to reconcile two halves of his identity, chooses to side with his morals over his government, and receives exile as a result; ultimately becoming a pariah of klingon society and even suffering the loss of his brother in addition to his father, and then martok comes along, who's been in a dominion prison this whole time and has no idea who worf is or why he's an outcast, who approaches worf without prejudice and judges him on his own merits as a klingon and ultimately recognizes him as a fellow comrade and gives worf that validation and acceptance; and worf in turn gives him his loyalty and friendship, and they save each other's lives enough times that martok says to worf, a man with no society and no living relatives, I don't give a fuck what my government or my wife says; you're family now, and not only you but also your houseless son and your trill wife, and the show doesn't take that away from them: worf comes from a noble house but he never asks for it or wants it back because he belongs to the house of martok now. this is literally the definition of found family. and worf's respect for and faith in martok is such that he makes him chancellor; and martok trusts worf enough to let him. they are an ODD pair canonically: martok one of the most celebrated klingon generals; worf, a starfleet officer, looked down upon even when he wasn't houseless; and yet they have this relationship of equals built on a blank slate and developed through trial and error and by the end of the series they are such important parts of one another's lives that worf KILLS GOWRON in order to prevent him from dishonoring martok (and also I suppose incidentally prevent the fall of the alpha quadrant) but i digress

and man that shit got to me

[searchingforserendipity25]

Shadow-folk

@feanorianweek | Maglor

For @melestasflight

Hail Gil-Estel, brightest of stars, called the mariners, the travellers, the honest merchants and worried fishermen, the children orphaned by war.

As for the penitents in the gallows and the murderers sleepless in the dark, the debtors in irons and the heartsick generals, the ones who did not dare look at the stars - other prayers have been known to rise from their mouths.

Hail Gil-Estel, brightest of stars, called the mariners, the travellers, the honest merchants and worried fishermen, the children orphaned by war.

As for the penitents in the gallows and the murderers sleepless in the dark, the debtors in irons and the heartsick generals, the ones who did not dare look at the stars - other prayers have been known to rise from their mouths. 

More than the virtuous alone lived in Arda Marred, even when they deserved it not. Yet they did live, undeserving; and among them, there were those craven few who longed for their own houseless pilgrimage. A brave man’s cowardice was a feat of mad courage to those trapped in evil, who saw no path out of evil. They wished for it, if they wished for anything: to escape, not be known, do no harm.

Hail Maglor, Kinslayer and exile, whispered they who could not put their hopes on something holy, the ones who feared the clean light. Hail Maglor, who wanders ever by the sea.

Many a tale was told in the barracks of Númenor, the prisons of Lindon, around the slow fires in the slums of Dol Amroth. Songs were sung, in galleys where thieves were set to work building ships, by those whose hands were burned as a mark of culpability older than memory, that all should know not to trust them or give them shelter. And it happened at times that even pirates were known to take the Singer's escape - toss their swords into the sea and make themselves fishermen. A cherished longing beyond all longing, and undeserved; but it did linger, in the minds and songs of Men.

Among the tales whispered was the one of Amandil the Faithful, who in his long youth was Tar-Aphârazon‘s conquering fist, the master-of-empire. Many versions of he long story of his disaster at sea were lost with Númenor; many more blossomed as weeds in the cracks between walls, wherever Númenor had been, where Númenor's memory and yoke and mourning remained. All agreed on the one passage - how that mighty commander of fleets was washed ashore, lost and wandering as a pauper, and of his speeches with the stranger that walked with a hand bound in dark linens where the tide met the water-line.

Some said the Kinslayer was far in the West, serving time, some awful and very fair notion of justice as the Eldar knew it, and where Men could place all their fears, their cold despair. Some said he was deep in the sea, trapped by the frightful deities of the waves, never to see land or star again - but those were dark tales, and not even the guilty ones who loathed themselves very strongly liked to think of it overlong.

Need a story be true? It was enough that the evil done was regretted, and the good not done not less lamented. It was enough that someone remembered. This was a thing the despairing knew.

From the far heights the star shone its beautiful light, too distant to clearly perceive, too bright to look at for long without harm. But there was life in the dark, in Elenna, Endórë, and perhaps farther East besides, where the Encircling Sea met the strange sands few ever saw.

Hail Maglor, said the criminals who had nothing else to say at the last. Mourn us, we who shall never go home again. And then the noose was bound and pulled taunt. It was not love, and it was not faith. It was only that the monsters of the world did not wish to be alone in their hearts.

The West-bond winds tarried long by the sea, and brought him the prayers of the dead, the dying, the dishonourable.

Where the mists slithered over the adobe walls of the low-rising cities, he was there. Where darkness lurched against the patches of spluttering oil-lamps in the markets of the harbours, he was there. There, in the dark, where the chains and the chained were kept, there was he. The rats did not near him, and very few could see him, or bear to see him- but the vain tears wept by those who had caused far more weeping upon the world did not go unlistened.

At the last of himself, in the dark, alone, he was only a musician. Sounds were his work, and silence. A whisper carried to the right ears, a dim path kept sheltered for the frightened souls that had the need to pass it. The shadow of a key against the wall, and the possibility of opportunity. Out, and no escape from memory; but out, and with the burden of liberty never to be set down, if they had the courage to carry it.

And of those, some were comforted. By an intruder in the dark, a charred hand that brought the food and the clear water left for the exiled, gone in the gloom before dawn without more than a glimpse being seen. The song in the twilight that made the hard hearts of criminals weep, and sorrow, and be ashamed. The evil that was done could not be undone, but to act in evil was not a promise that could not be broken. Even if only at the end; even if only in the end. 

The living he avoided. When they could not be avoided – when they chased him down in despair or madness, a danger to the world as much as themselves - he gave them small bloodless duties till they found others of their own. The ones left exposed in the dunes and cliffs, perishing unmourned he comforted, loved, let them have him as they liked. Some liked a helping hand; some liked to be witnessed, to hate, to rage, to grieve or listen to a mourning song in a language not their own and weep.

The dead he kept company with, for however long their laments needed to be finished. He sang the water to cleanness before the washing and the shrouding, and mingled rosewater and pine-needles and wild lilacs if there were any to be found, gathered misshapen pearls and sleek, dark mother-of-pearl for a death-treasure. He, first among the wretched, gave them the honour in death they had not deserved in life. His paths were repeated enough to seed saplings where there was nothing of worth to be set down in a grave-stone.

And he sang for them. That much Maglor could do.

He was always left alone in the end, but that was as it ought to be. Shadow-folk indeed! Shadow-folk he was; the starlight had rejected him wholly. Shadows were his kin, the last and only; all the rest dead, and forsaken after death as he cast away the Jewel that had bound them more tightly than blood. 

Deedless was a harsh judgement. Accurate, as much of his father had been, but incomplete, skewed, as much of Fëanor had been.

In all fairness, Maglor did weep a greart deal. The sea certainly did not thank him for it, but that did not make the tears vain, he thought. He had quite good use of them.

The Hallowing that sunk him into molten agony as steel on the crucible had but revealed the evil underneath; without words and Song, without purpose and skin. He dwelt by the sea, and there was nothing in him that the sea could love. Nothing stood between the Marring of him and the world. Sand-lizards scurried away from him; herons disdained him, wild foxes howled at the nearness of his self, the long slant of his shadow. 

He learned to make himself insubstantial, where to be otherwise might harm. It grew to be a more terrible thing, the hatred of the world worse than the truth the judgement of the Hallowed Jewel had revealed. He did not wish to wound anything. He did not wish to do ill.

Certainly that was not enough - it could not be enough. There were so many scraps of despair in the wind, brought to him from far off; all of them the same refrain, lamenting the certainty that wishing to do ill was not enough.

No noble songs henceforth; no glory, and nothing of victory that was not the paltry victory of the soul, or of the small selfishness that refused despair one night more, the short length of one small Mannish lifetime.

Hail Maglor, who cast away the stone, prayed the traitors, the frightened thralls and the loyal soldiers, in the mad instant before they stabbed their commanders in the back. And Maglor himself might have had something to say, he who once struck down Uldor of the Easterlings for treachery; but it was not for him to speak of such things. He had cast away the stone, and breached all the promises that ought to have been breached long before. A bad example was better than none, but it could hold its usefulness if well employed, could be a cunning net in rhetoric and a shield against error.

To choose to go was not to choose to stay; and the wisdom to leave a story unfinished was a hard-won victory. And sometimes it was cowardice only, and no wisdom - and all the same, there were times when treachery was all the bravery that could be hoped for.

Once he had been acclaimed for his songs; but more dangerous even had been the arranging of acclaim, the measuring of song-stuff. No wealth of wordcraft had been left undisturbed. Hope had been supple under his hands, soft as fire-warmed gold, made to suitable molds for suitable ends.

This was humble work, beside that. To go alone and deedless through the world was a punishment as fitting as any other, but if it had been punishment he wished for and the duty most pressing, a journey to Lindon or the Falas or the havens beyond the mountains might have been arranged.

At long last, Maglor had lost the need for an audience. This was a performance he was uniquely suited to complete, the only service he could employ himself with to the fullness of his usefulness. If ever a doubting soul sat by the fire, and took dire counsel from a stranger in the dark - much of what was kept out of the songs had its own history better left unremarked.

But some things were remembered, for a lifetime or three. A grandmother three generations back, who wandered far as a child and was found by a figure walking out of the mist-storms that swallowed the sea, the sand, the reed-banks and the trails lost among the cattails. When the sail-weavers stood watching the waves through a curtain of rain with a heavy heart, it was the Mariner they called for, Gil-Estel whose light guided the wayward home. And it was the wanderer by the sea that sang the seas to distraction, and turned Ossë’s wrath on him; long enough that Gil-Estel, Westwards-bound, cast by its course the opposite path of darkness for the sailors to turn the till and point to shore once more.

Was that kinship? A hundred times he had argued about the measures of justice and atonement with pirates over ledgers and caskets of gold, with judges in silks sitting in the damp cold of their cells, old women spinning thread in the shade, comparing the length of their regrets while Arien ran her chariot through the last paces. Was that kinship?

A brave man's courage was nothing like a coward's. Maglor had given his voice to the sea too many times not to know it. As an audience it was entirely without pleasure in it, but he sang to remember what had to be carried and what was bequeathed unto him, not for gratitude.

As for hope beyond hope -

Forgiveness was not his dominion. Only the endurance of the unforgivable. A cautionary tale could be useful; it could not be more than that. For one thing, it would discredit a dozen stories, ruin the songs that most needed listening.

But no one wandered beside him through the mist to know whether he deviated from that task.

"Hail Eärendil, brightest of stars," said Maglor by the sea, in the morrows and the twilights when the Jewel was brightest in the sky. He was very alone, and very weary, in the hours of dawn and dusk, when the world thinned, and not even the old laments rose readily to mind. And yet, all the same: the sea was very beautiful, with the light rising above the dark waters.

Of him it was said that he never did run out of laments, not until the end of all things. Such a thing cannot be assured; only Gil-Estel knows what things he saw from far in the heights, and he, perhaps, knows some songs are better left remembered in silence, or only by the sea.

[sakasakiii]

Inktober Day 1: Crystal

because it's impossible not to think 'Annatar' without also then thinking 'rich widow decked out in jewels he bought with someone else's trust fund'

Inktober Day 2: Suit

look i know i couldve done a suit of armor or smthn but if there's a chance for me to draw the Boys (TM) in suits then you bet im taking it hehehe

Inktober Day 3: Vessel

cursed thought HEAR ME OUT OK how wack would it be if every time Sauron shapeshifted (e.g Annatar back to original body), instead of it being an instantaneous thing, his new form has to crawl out of the old hollow one like a caterpillar or a snake? ...what? that's kinda gross? im sorry i wont do it again but i was running low on ideas oKk

Inktober Day 6: Spirit

Inktober Day 6: Spirit

sometimes i like the idea of the sons of Feanor (sans Amrod) who died via the kinslayings/silmaril lingering by Maglor for the rest of his time in self-imposed exile... bonus points if houseless spirits look like they did when they died too!!

so i tried my hand at inktober for the first time... then gave up after a few days bc im too lazy... idk how those people who do it for the whole month do it, but please sire impart thy determination onto me!!! 🙇‍♀️😂 i might do a second dump in later October if i pick up any other days but for now.... my procrastination calls ✨

[kimorahoward]

A Story about Ostracization, Erasure, Displacement, and More

Image: Dontnod Entertainment via Polygon

Homelessness/Houselessness:

What makes Life is Strange 2 special is its overarching themes of displacement, exclusion, and being “the other.” The game explores these themes in a variety of ways. The first way it explores them is by tackling Houselessness/Homelessness, and more importantly, youth Houselessness/Homelessness, which is seldom discussed. Throughout the game, there are various representations of characters who are homeless, nomadic, or are living unconventional lifestyles. Sean and Daniel lose their mother after she leaves to be raised by their father alone and end up losing their father after a racial profiling incident with a police officer occurs; the boys are left with no caretakers. Our protagonists are completely displaced and are considered criminals, thugs, outlaws, murderers, etc. The labels harm them even more, however, due to their Mexican American identities.

On the other end of the homeless/houseless spectrum, are characters like Brody (Brody Holloway), who was raised in an upper-class family but decided the unconventional and nomadic lifestyle was best for him. He becomes a traveling journalist and has the freedom to protest, write blogs, do podcasts, etc. He has the freedom to roam around and be creative because of the high class, safe, and structured upbringing he came from.

There are many other drifters Sean and Daniel meet along their journey. We’re introduced to characters like Cassidy who comes from an emotionally abusive family, where her father was racist and addicted to drugs, and her mother was complacent to it all. There’s also characters like Finn (Finnegan McNamara), whose father ratted him and his brothers out to law enforcement after starting an illegal business with them. The incident resulted in him and his brothers going to jail. Penny was continuously ostracized while growing up in a poor neighborhood in Chicago because of his “queer” identity. We’re also introduced to Jacob (Jacob Hackerman), who grew up in a very pious cult-like community that he was exiled from because of his gay identity. Later on in the game, we learn more about Karen, Sean and Daniel’s mother, who wanted to pave her own path and be set free from the rules set by society. We meet many characters similar to her in the commune that she resides in. The game gives us wide arrange of perspectives on and outcomes of homelessness/houselessness, some choose it, and others don’t have a choice but to live the way they do.

[outofangband]

I think Morwen’s intelligence, cunning and perception are often underestimated; I’m very sleepy right now so this is not as eloquent as I’d like but, during the first chapter, Morwen is consistently shown to be right, or nearly right, regarding her predictions of Beleriand’s future. She correctly states that the girdle of Melian will be one of the longest lasting defenses, she’s correct about the fact that Morgoth won’t be defeated until the Valar intervene.

No wonder Húrin wants to confide in her and seek her advice.,,

She alone detects the difference in the number of Thingol’s guards when Niënor joins them. She’s incredibly shrewd and perceptive (I do think much of this is hyper vigilance)

There’s a lot one can infer too. Morwen survived under extremely bleak conditions for decades in occupied Hithlum. Obviously Aerin’s aid was lifesaving to her* but her survival not to mention planning both Túrin’s escape and her own.

I’ve made so many more definitive posts about Morwen, this one is more just thinking aloud, but I just love Morwen so much. She’s so smart, so cunning. She’s a survivor in every sense.

*just want to make sure I emphasize this, I don’t ever want to minimize Aerin’s aid and the courage and sacrifice of that aid (if my thousands of posts about it aren’t enough indication…)

[returntothewilderness]

A Poem for Pesach: We Will Be Your Judges

Pesach is a time to remember the freedom given to the Jewish slaves of Egypt. It is also a time to fight for freedoms we're still waiting on. Here is a prayer from and call to actively work at dismantling the systems who prey on us: To quote the prophet Jeremiah 2:12 "Be appalled, O heavens, at this Be shocked, be utterly desolate"

When it comes time for your soul to leave your body you will not be allowed to enter through the gates of paradise until you are deemed worthy of meeting your maker

And We Will Be Your Judges: the souls of the disabled, those in poverty, those who lost their lives and families, cultures and homes to capitalist, imperialist, colonial games the souls of slaves, of the captives of war, of queers and trans folk, of the exploited, of the sick who received no care, of the houseless, of those harmed daily by racism and white supremacy, of those whose lives were spent behind bars, of refugees left in exile, of the mentally ill and mad

you will answer for your complacency, your indifference, your cheek turned the other way, your inaction, your wars, your travesties, your greed, your enacted genocides, your crimes against humanity

TO US

did you love thy neighbor?

did you feed the hungry?

did you care for the ill & disabled?

did you clothe the cold?

did you house the houseless?

did you give your extras to those in need?

tell me, humble human, when you get to the gates of paradise, will you be greeted by your kin? or the souls of those whose blood is stained on your hands?

[math-goth]

What is wrong with being an animal? I have believed that the animal world is cruel and violent since I was a child, and I am currently unpacking these beliefs. Not all societies believe that the animal world is less than the human one. Surveying people in our current world likely would tell us that most people think that the animal world is cruel and animals live as houseless wretches in constant want of shelter.

The idea of animality is central to "Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason," a book by Michel Foucault that explores the relationship between madness, Reason, and society in Western culture. The book traces the evolution of attitudes towards madness from the Middle Ages to the Enlightenment, showing how the treatment of the insane changed over time. And I am writing my thoughts on this book after reading it as a record to myself.

In the Middle Ages, madness was a form of spiritual deficiency, and those who suffered from it were put on boats, exiled, or exorcised. Paintings, like Heroinius Bosh's Ship of Fools, chronicle this phenomenon. During the transition to modernity, madpeople took on the moral standing that the leapers did during the middle ages, and former leaper colonies became madhouses. In the Enlightenment, madness was defined as a medical problem and treated as such, with confinement as a therapeutic measure.

Foucault argues that the treatment of madness in each of these periods was a reflection of the time's dominant cultural and intellectual values. He also argues that political and economic considerations and ideas about the nature of madness shaped the treatment of the insane. Additionally, he argues that the treatment of Madness in Western culture has been characterized by a shifting balance between Reason and unreason, with Reason as a means of controlling and mastering the irrationality of madness. The book critically examines Reason and unreason's role in shaping our understanding of the world and our relationship with those different from us. He also points out that a lot of the treatment of the mentally unwell stems from the writings of Descartes. During the middle ages, people considered the insane part of the animal world, which was not treated with the same disdain as it is now. This shift in thinking happened during the transition to modernity. In light of the recent David Graeber book, The Dawn of Everything, I also wonder how much of these European thinkers' disdain for the natural world came from conversations with indigenous thinkers in the new world.

[carlandrea]

@mariniacipher was wondering about how Fëanor's oath affected his sons and whether "Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth…" means they wouldn't get to the Halls of Mandos... I don't know enough Silm to say, can you help?

oh my god ok—@mariniacipher you've hit on kind of a big question that I don't think anyone could answer conclusively, except for maybe Jirt's Ghost, and i'm not even sure about him.

What we know is that Feanor made his sons swear an oath, and we know that it's a consistent throughline in Arda that you can't break oaths—either morally or practically. It's why the paths of the dead exist—these men broke their oath to the king, so they're cursed to be ghosts until they fulfill it. It's how Finrod dies, following his oath to Beren after Beren's father saved his life.

So when Feanor says this:

Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth. On the holy mountain hear in witness

and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!

Even though the authority he invokes is probably not too keen on this whole situation, this does have some kind of power, and the sons of feanor at least believe that it's binding.

There's also the Doom of Mandos, or the Doom of the Noldor, which is a separate (but related) ominous proclamation, said by the vala of death and prophecy. He says:

For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Eä, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you.

Which of course the implication of that is that they'll be trapped in Mandos if they die. Which do they. A lot. It is, after all, the silmarillion. (this is also not specific to the sons of feanor, which the oath is, but.) The doom of the noldor is mostly about how much everything will suck for the exiles in middle-earth. which uh. again it does a lot.

So what uh happens to the sons of feanor if they break their oath? How much does it affect their actions? Can they never get to the Halls of Mandos? Are they going to be thrown out into space? uhhhhhh. Those are all great questions.

I like to think they get stuck as ghosts! It's what happens in a couple of other similar situations, and I'm into the tragedy. Maglor definitely ends up a ghost i think, even if the others don't

[mutant-distraction]

Power of hurricane force Resist

Qawem ya sha’abi, qawemhum. Resist my people, resist them.

—Dareen Tatour

Hawaiians are still here. We are still creating, still resisting.

—Haunani-Kay Trask

Stand in rage as wind and current clash

rile lightning and thunder

fire surge and boulder crash

Let the ocean eat and scrape away these walls

Let the sand swallow their fences whole

Let the air between us split the atmosphere

We have no land No country

But we have these bodies these stories

this language of rage left

This resistance is bitter

and tastes like medicine Our lands

replanted in the dark and warm there

We unfurl our tangled roots stretch

to blow salt across

blurred borders of memory

They made themselves

fences and bullets checkpoints

gates and guardposts martial law

They made themselves

hotels and mansions adverse

possession eminent domain and deeds

They made themselves

shine

through the plunder

They say we can never— They say

we will never—because

because they—

and the hills and mountains have been

mined for rock walls the reefs

pillaged for coral floors

They say we can never—

and the deserts and dunes have been

shoveled and taken for their houses and highways—

because we can never— because

the forests have been raided razed

and scorched and we we the wards

refugees houseless present-

absentees recognition refusers exiled

uncivilized disposable natives

protester-activist-terrorist-resisters—

our springs and streams have been

dammed—so they say we can never return

let it go accept this

progress stop living

in the past—

but we make ourselves

strong enough to carry all of our dead

engrave their names in the clouds

We gather to sing whole villages awake

We crouch down to eat rocks like fruit

to hold the dirt the sand in our hands

to fling words

the way fat drops of rain

splatter off tarp or corrugated roofs

We remember the sweetness We rise from the plunder

They say there is no return

they never could really make us leave

Copyright © 2021 by Brandy Nālani McDougall. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 23, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.

Brandy Nālani McDougall

Themes

audio

future

politics

social justice

violence

About Brandy Nālani McDougall >

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About This Poem

“‘Resist’ was inspired by Palestinian poet Dareen Tatour’s courage to stand against the ongoing Israeli occupation of Palestinian land and ethnic cleansing of her people. In 2015, for the poetic line ‘Qawem ya sha’abi, qawemhum’ (Resist, my people, resist them), she was imprisoned on charges of ‘incitement to violence’ and sentenced to five months in jail and years under house arrest. This poem ‘Resist’ reflects on both the militarized violence and creative decolonial connections between Palestine and Hawaiʻi, which was an independent country prior to the U.S. military-backed overthrow in 1893 and the subsequent illegal annexation to the U.S. in 1898. Our own continued struggle as Kānaka ʻŌiwi includes protecting our lands and waters from U.S. military bases and testing, bombing, dumping, housing, and recreational sites, and protecting our people from related health hazards, poverty, and hopelessness. We will forever resist the destruction of our homelands and how they are being used to test weapons that bring horrific violence to others. I intend ‘Resist’ to be a poem of solidarity for the Palestinian people.”

—Brandy Nālani McDougall

More by Brandy Nālani McDougall

Star-Spangled Banner

A betrayal

to stand

with your hand

over your heart

and sing

the song

of the country

occupying

your country

to read every star

on the flag

above

your country’s flag

and see the last one

there: small, white

and pointed

stitched into the blue

with a thin thread

as if

it has always

been that way

as if

it can never

be undone.

Brandy Nālani McDougall

Ka ‘Ōlelo

O ke alelo ka hoe uli o ka ‘ōlelo a ka waha.

The tongue is the steering paddle of the words uttered by the mouth.

– ‘Ōlelo No‘eau

‘ekahi

Think of all the lost words, still unspoken,

waiting to be given use, again, claimed,

or for newly born words to unburden

them of their meanings. There are winds and rains

who have lost their names, descending the slopes

of every mountain, each lush valley's mouth,

and the songs of birds and mo‘o, that cope

with our years of slow unknowing, somehow.

It was not long ago that ‘ōlelo

was silenced, along with its dying race,

who lived, then thrived, reverting to the old

knowing words. English could never replace

the land's unfolding song, nor the ocean's

ancient oli, giving us use again.

‘elua

Like the sea urchin leaves, pimpling its shell

as its many spines let go, turn to sand,

my great-grandfather's Hawaiian words fell

silent, while his children grew, their skin tanned

and too thin to withstand the teacher's stick,

reprimands demanding English only.

The law lasted until 1986,

after three generations of family

swallowed our ʻōlelo like pōhaku,

learned to live with the cold, dark fruit under

our tongues. This is our legacy-- words strewn

among wana spines in the long record

the sand has kept within its grains, closer

to reclaiming our shells, now grown thicker.

‘ekolu

Ka ‘ōlelo has a lilting rhythm

arising from the coastal mountains' moans

as they loosen their salted earth, succumb

to the ocean and its hunger for stone.

It carries the cadence of nā waihī,

born from the fresh rain in nā waipuna

and flowing past the fruiting ‘ulu trees,

wiliwili, kukui, and koa.

It holds the song my grandfather longs for

most, as he remembers his father's voice,

and regrets not asking him to speak more

Hawaiian, so that he may have the choice

to offer words in his inheritance,

knowing his ‘ohā will not be silenced.

‘ehā

Think of all the old words that have succumbed,

their kaona thrown oceanward for English

words we use like nets to catch the full sum

of our being, finding too little fish

caught in the mesh, even as we adjust

the gauge, reshaping them to suit our mouths.

I must admit I love the brittle crust

my only tongue's foreignness forms; it crowns

the dark, churning pith of prenatal earth

rising in the volcano's throat, unspoken

for now, founding my wide island of words.

And kaona, a ho‘okele's current,

circles during my wa‘a’s slow turn inward,

steering my tongue through each old word learned.

‘elima

As the ‘ape shoot, whose delicate shoots

shoot forth their young sprouts, and spread, and bring forth

in their birth, many branches find their roots

in the dark, wet ‘ōlelo the earth bore.

My unripe tongue taps my palate, my teeth,

like a blind ko‘e that must feel its way

through the liquids, mutes and aspirates of speech,

the threading of breath and blood into lei:

"E aloha. ‘O wai kou inoa?"

I ask, after the language CD's voice.

"‘O Kekauoha ko‘u inoa,"

my grandfather answers, "Pehea ‘oe?"

So, we slowly begin, with what ‘ōlelo

we know; E ho‘oulu ana kakou.

Brandy Nālani McDougall

2020

This Island on Which I Love You

And when, on this island on which

I love you, there is only so much land

to drive on, a few hours to encircle

in entirety, and the best of our lands

are touristed, the beaches foam-laced

with rainbowing suntan oil,

the mountains tattooed with asphalt,

pocked by telescoped domes,

hotels and luxury condos blighting

the line between ocean and sky,

I find you between the lines

of such hard edges, sitting on

the kamyo stool, a bowl of coconut,

freshly grated, at your feet.

That I hear the covert jackaling

of helicopters and jets overhead

all night through our open jalousies,

that my throat burns from the scorch

of the grenaded graves of my ancestors,

the vog that smears the Koʻolaus into a blur

of greens, that I wake to hear the grind

of you blending vegetables and fruit,

machine whirl-crunching coffee beans,

your shoulder blades channelling ocean,

a steady flux of current.

Past the guarded military testing grounds,

amphibious assault vehicles emerging

from the waves, beyond the tangles

of tarp cities lining the roads, past

the thick memory of molasses coating

the most intimate coral crevices,

by the box jellyfish congregating under

ʻOle Pau and Kāloa moons, at the park

beneath the emptied trees, I come

to find you shaking five-dollar coconuts

(because this is all we have on this island),

listening to the water to guess

its sweetness and youth.

On this island on which I love you,

something of you is in the rain rippling

through the wind that make the pipes

of Waikīkī burst open. Long brown

fingers of sewage stretch out

from the canal, and pesticided

tendrils flow from every ridge

out to sea, and so we stay inside

to bicker over how a plumeria tree

moves in the wind, let our daughters

ink lines like coarse rootlets

in our notebooks, crayon lines

into ladders on our walls

and sheets. Their first sentences

are sung, moonlit blowhole plumes

of sound that calls pebbles to couple,

caverns to be carved, ʻuala to roll

down the hillside again, and I could

choke on this gratitude for you all.

This island is alive with love,

its storms, the cough of alchemy

expelling every parasitic thing,

teaching me to love you with

the intricacies of island knowing,

to depend on the archipelagic

spelling of you lying next to me,

our blue-screen flares their own

floating islands after our daughter

has finally fallen asleep,

to trust in the shape and curve

of your hand reaching out to hold mine

making and remaking an island our own.

Brandy Nālani McDougall

2020

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Land Where My Father Died

land of buildings & no good manners land of sunless people & offspring of colonizers land of no spice & small pox land of fake flowers land of shackle & branches made of rope land of wire fences grabbing sky land that mispronounces my grief land that skins my other land that laughs when my people die & paints targets on my future children’s faces land that steals & says mine land that plants mines & says go back land that poisoned my mother & devoured her body land that makes my other language strange on my tongue land that stripped our saris & clips haloes to its flag land that eliminates cities land that says homeland security land that built the first bomb & the last land that killed my father & then sent back his body land that made me orphan of thee I sing.

Fatimah Asghar

2018

Kumulipo

Hawaiian creation chant

At the time that turned the heat of the earth,

At the time when the heavens turned and changed,

At the time when the light of the sun was subdued

To cause light to break forth,

At the time of the night of Makalii (winter)

Then began the slime which established the earth,

The source of deepest darkness.

Of the depth of darkness, of the depth of darkness,

Of the darkness of the sun, in the depth of night,

It is night,

So was night born

O ke au i kahuli wela ka honua

O ke au i kahuli lole ka lani

O ke au i kukaiaka ka la.

E hoomalamalama i ka malama

O ke au o Makali’i ka po

O ka walewale hookumu honua ia

O ke kumu o ka lipo, i lipo ai

O ke kumu o ka Po, i po ai

O ka lipolipo, o ka lipolipo

O ka lipo o ka la, o ka lipo o ka po

Po wale hoi

Hanau ka po

Queen Liliʻuokalani

1897