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unicyclehippo · 9 months

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Blossom

ever since orym was very young, lanh hadn’t changed very much. he’d always been quiet and quick and had his head in the cloud or something so close to it that it caused his mum a world of worry wondering whether today would be the day he fell out of some tree or another. not that lanh would allow that.

lanh mostly took the form of a monkey, and it was the most common thing of all to see orym and his dæmon swinging up into the low branches and cliffs and into creeks. he liked to explore and to understand and to hold the things he found—rocks and twigs and bugs and all—and four hands were better than two for that. orym was curious and kind and he was never cranky with lanh except for a few afternoons when he told him, softly, that he was a little jealous of his tail. and how easily he made friends.

‘people like you!’

‘they like me at the start,’ he told him, and concentrated very hard on making flowers bloom beneath his fingers. a big pink one unfurled and orym beamed, even though two of the petals were too small and the pink wasn’t quite natural, because it was the biggest one he’d managed to make and the first pink one. he took it carefully from the stem to tuck into lanh’s fur. ‘i think people don’t like me when they get to know me. i don’t have much to say. hallor says i’m weird.’

‘so what! what do they know? they’re weird. they smell like clay. their dæmon’s a hamster.’

orym hid his grin behind his hand. lanh didn’t. he bared his big teeth down at the tops of the huts; he liked to be big and loud, liked nothing better than puffing out his chest and hollering, hearing the mountains echo. he liked it when orym followed suit and got big and loud too.

‘hamsters are nice.’

‘they’re dull.’ lanh stripped some bark from the branch above him, winding it into a loose bracelet. orym held his wrist out to be sized and lanh wrapped it around it twice. ‘you’re my favourite thing in the whole world,’ lanh told him. ‘if you want me to bite the hamster, i will.’

orym laughed. ‘you wouldn’t.’

‘i would for you.’

that was probably true. leaning back into the cradle of tangled branches, orym considered what he would do if anyone were mean to lanh. he’d bite hallor, clay-smell or not.

their hideaway tree was at the top of a small hill that only the best climbers bothered with; there were too many rocks and too much sunlight for mushroomers, so the fact that this tree had such a clear view of the village was, in orym’s mind at least, their little secret. they could watch people come and go and hardly anyone ever looked up.

will and blossom did.

orym caught the glimmer of dark hair. will had taken to wearing beads and ornaments tangled in it recently; orym thought it made him look lovely, like the night sky had loaned him a little of her splendour, stars in the dark. he watched will swing ever so gracefully out from his home and stop in the middle of the street, shading his face—orym admired the sharp bend of his elbow, his pointed chin.

‘you’re blushing,’ lanh pointed out. he waved down to will and blossom when orym did. ‘is there someone you hope doesn’t think you’re weird?’

orym nudged lanh with a bare foot. ‘stop it. and don’t get into a fight with blossom again when - if he comes up here.’

‘if he does. sure.’ lanh swung up onto a higher branch. ‘you know that boy is smitten with you.’

orym flushed a sunny pink and all around, the tree flushed with him. he was still trying to pick all the dozens of pink flowers, hide them, when will clambered over the rise.

will’s eagle dæmon, blossom, flew ahead of him by a few dozen feet. her golden eyes were piercing, calculating. they missed nothing—not the flowers, nor his matching blush, nor lanh figuring out if he could swing from his tail to the next tree.

‘good afternoon, miss blossom,’ orym greeted her politely. if lanh was orym’s herald, blossom was will’s protector, keen-eyed and sharp of beak.

she regarded him coolly, as ever, before settling in the branches above them. a regal nod her only reply.

‘orym! you’ll never guess - ugh damn tree - you’ll never guess what dad told me—we’re in! we got in! he’ll train us!’

‘what? when?’

will caught him around the waist when he tried to push past. ‘hold onto your kite, orym, let me finish!’ he laughed. ‘next season, he’ll start our lessons.’

‘next season! but - but that’s forever away!’

‘it’s not so long. only six weeks.’

‘like i said—forever.’

will laughed again. orym relaxed into the half-hold half-hug, grinning; there was nothing in the world like will’s laugh, being the cause for it.

‘you know, everyone thinks you’re so serious but i think I’ve figured you out,’ will told him, laughter fading from his voice but not his brilliant eyes. he looked very smug as he said, ‘you’re kind of an idiot.’

orym grinned. ‘finally catching on? bird brain.’

‘hey!’

they had their first kiss there, beneath an old and beloved tree pouring with vibrant blossoms. they were wed there, too, some years later, much to the irritation of everyone who had to climb the difficult slope. and it was to the same tree that orym vanished time and again in the months after his husband’s death.

with a rustle of feathers, lanh perched on the branch above him. orym caught the movement out of the corner of his eye but didn’t turn to look; he would have to, sometime. he ought to know what lanh looked like now, what his soul looked like. orym steadied himself and, body aching, heart aching, turned to look. gone was his lithe, playful, golden monkey. in its place—not an eagle, he was - relieved? - to see a falcon. yes. that made sense. small, fast, deadly. lanh’s feathered talons curled around the branch, leaving long pale scars behind. golden eyes scanned the valley below them.

‘is it wise,’ he asked orym, speaking silently, ‘to leave? she could be targeted again.’

‘she has guards. more than before. ones that didn’t fail her.’

lanh glanced sharply at orym but didn’t disagree. he shuffled on his perch then, carefully, as though afraid orym might push him away, began to preen him. sharp beak sifting through orym’s hair. it was so gentle, and the touch of his soul so soothly, that orym could not keep from crying. he shot up to his feet and pulled lanh close.

‘i thought—i’m sorry—i shouldn’t have shut you out. you loved them too. i know that.’

lanh said nothing for some time, only returned orym’s embrace as best he could—a tight claw locked around his wrist, just shy of painful. ‘you didn’t want to feel it. i understand. how could i not?’ he said, and pulled back so orym could take in for the first time his powerful, sleek build, the gloss of his feathers, the wickedness of his beak. he had changed, profoundly, after losing will and blossom. they both had.

orym petted the feathers of his head and his wings, admiring, grieving. never again would lanh hold his hand, or holler down the mountainside, or climb a cliff face with him. never again would will kiss him, or argue with him, or spar on a lazy summer morning. never again would blossom land her enormous heavy frame upon orym’s shoulder and let her-will-orym’s souls tangle together, trust and love and home so entwined as to be one. until - until. and now seperate again, now split. what had been more painful, orym tried to recall—losing will, or losing the part of him that had been lanh?

‘we are still here,’ lanh told him. ‘is that enough?’

‘we have a duty and a direction too. enough for now.’

#tagging my stories #prompt fill #daemon au my beloveds #orym of the air ashari #cr fic

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yoga-onion · 2 years

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- Meaning of Spirit Animal, The Peacock

From the story of ‘Juno and the peacock’

The peacock came to see Juno, because he could not accept with equanimity the fact that the goddess had not given him the song of the nightingale. The peacock complained that the nightingale's song was wondrously beautiful to every ear, while he was laughed at by everyone as soon as he made the slightest sound. Juno then consoled the peacock and said, 'You are superior in beauty and superior in size; there is an emerald splendour that shines about your neck, and your tail is a fan filled with jewels and painted feathers.' The peacock protested, 'What is the point of this silent beauty, if I am defeated by the sound of my own voice?' 'Your lot in life has been assigned by the decision of the Fates,' said Juno. 'You have been allotted beauty; the eagle, strength; the nightingale, harmony; the raven has been assigned prophetic signs, while unfavourable omens are assigned to the crow; and so each is content with his own particular gift.'  Do not strive for something that was not given to you, lest your disappointed expectations become mired in discontent.

[Juno was an ancient Roman goddess, the protector and special counsellor of the state. She was equated to Hera, queen of the gods in Greek mythology. Her sacred animal was the peacock. Image above by Indigodeep]

The Peacock symbolism is here to remind that nothing, including beauty, should be taken too seriously. Furthermore, this will help you stay centered on what “is” and allow you to be grateful for what you have. Thus, the Peacock meaning reminds you to have a light-hearted approach to all things that come our way. Moreover, this spirit animal teaches that laughter is the best medicine to keep us healthy and happy. Alternatively, the Peacock symbolism could be letting you know that now is the time to acknowledge your dreams and aspirations within yourself. Use this bird’s gifts to bring you confidence, stature, and a sense of accomplishment in all the things around you and all your current projects.

−スピリットアニマル・孔雀が意味する事−

ユーノーと孔雀より

孔雀がユーノーに会いに来たのは、女神がサヨナキドリの歌を自分に与えてくれないという事実を冷静に受け止められなかったから。孔雀は、サヨナキドリの歌は誰の耳にも不思議なほど美しいのに、自分はちょっとでも鳴くとすぐに皆に笑われると訴えた。そこでユーノーは孔雀を慰めて、「あなたは美しさも大きさも皆より優れている。あなたの首にはエメラルドの輝きがあり、尾は宝石と絵羽でいっぱいの扇のようです」と言った。「この静かな美しさが、自分の声の響きに負けるのなら、何の意味があるのでしょう」と、孔雀は抗議した。「あなたの人生の境遇は、運命の決定によって割り当てられたのです」とユーノーは言った。「あなたには美が、鷲には力が、サヨナキドリには調和が、カラスには予言のしるしが、不吉な予兆はカラスに、それぞれ割り当てられているのです。だから、それぞれが自分の特定の才能に満足しているのです。与えられたものでないものを求めてはいけません。失望した期待が不満にまみれることのないように」。

[ユーノーは古代ローマの女神で、国家の保護者であり、特別な助言者であった。ギリシャ神話の神々の女王ヘラと同一視される。聖獣は孔雀。トップ画像はIndigodeepの作品］

孔雀のシンボルは、美を含め、何事も深刻に考えすぎてはいけないということを思い出させてくれます。さらに、そうすることで、あなたが「今あるもの」に集中し、自分に与えられたものに感謝できるようになります。このように、孔雀の意味は、私たちに訪れるすべての物事に対して、もっと軽い気持ちで接することを気づかせてくれます。さらに、このスピリットアニマルは、笑いが私たちを健康で幸せに保つための最良の薬であることを教えてくれています。

あるいは、孔雀のシンボルは、今こそあなたが自分の中にある夢や希望を認めるべき時であることを知らせているのかもしれません。この鳥の効力を活用して、自分の身の丈、あなたの周りのすべての物事や現在のプロジェクトに自信を持ち、達成感をもたらしてください。

#juno #hera #mythology #peacock #spirit animal symbol #nature #art #self-awareness #confidence

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queenlucythevaliant · 1 year

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Hello! 🧡 I'm curious how you balance viewing scripture as infallible while also not taking parts of it (Genesis in particular, to reference your recent post) literally. I've heard some people say that Genesis is meant to be a poetic version of creation and therefore not entirely truthful: sort of like a kids' story, how some details could be fudged without losing The Point. I get why God wouldn't give us all the details, and it's not like this is necessarily a core doctrine issue, but I guess what I'm asking is if scripture is infallible, why would it give an incorrect account?

Hey Anna! I'd love to talk about this! It's one of my favorite issues in the world, actually, so please be prepared for a whole lot of passion from me 😆

So the bottom line, like I said in my previous post, is that I believe that all Scripture is true and infallible, but that it ought not be read literalistically. This is not the same as saying that some Scripture is less true by virtue of using poetic language, nor that I believe that details have been fudged. For me (and others who interpret Scripture as I do), it comes down to analysis of Biblical language, style, and genre.

So okay, let me start by defining my terms:

History = A text detailing true events that actually happened. These accounts may use symbolic, metaphorical, or otherwise figurative language in the service of conveying these events. A history is also not necessarily complete in its detail or exact in its chronology unless the text itself makes those claims (ie it's possible for histories to backtrack and tell events again from another point of view; this is pretty common actually.)

Biblical figurative language can take a variety of forms depending on the genre of the text we're discussing, however in general it is used to express truths that cannot be expressed in other ways. I'm gonna quote Lewis again here, as I think his discussion of Biblical symbolism in Mere Christianity is really great and relevant. This is from book three, chapter 10 (Hope):

There is no need to be worried by facetious people who try to make the Christian hope of "Heaven" ridiculous by saying they do not want "to spend eternity playing harps." The answer to such people is that if they cannot understand books written for grown-ups, they should not talk about them. All the scriptural imagery (harps, crowns, gold, etc.) is, of course, a merely symbolical attempt to express the inexpressible. Musical instruments are mentioned because for many people (not all) music is the thing known in the present life which most strongly suggests ecstasy and infinity.

Crowns are mentioned to suggest the fact that those who are united with God in eternity share His splendour and power and joy. Gold is mentioned to suggest the timelessness of Heaven (gold does not rust) and the preciousness of it. People who take these symbols literally might as well think that when Christ told us to be like doves, He meant that we were to lay eggs.

Figurative language is used throughout the entire Bible. It's in discussions of heaven, like Jack illustrates here, but it's also frequently used in the Epistles ("I have been crucified with Christ") and, in the Gospels ("You must be born again.") It's heavily employed in the prophetic books, Psalms, and the wisdom literature (not even gonna pick an example, it's everywhere). It's used frequently throughout the Pentateuch (God "bore [the Israelites] up on eagle's wings"). It is used in Biblical histories ("[Samson's] soul was vexed to death"), though not to the extent that I believe it's used in Genesis 1-11. Sometimes the text telegraphs that figurative language is about to be used, but certainly not always.

None of these things are any less true than the things described in what we might call "plain" language. Rather, imagery is a tool that helps us understand the deeper truth of a thing; it "expresses the inexpressible" without causing us to doubt that the images are about something real. Sometimes, the language even tells us something that occured spiritually/from God's perspective, but which did not literally happen in the physical world (again, "I have been crucified with Christ.") I think it's clearly a mistake to conclude that the presence of figurative language means that the story is merely figurative or that it's incorrect.

So I read the Genesis 1-2 creation account as a largely figurative account of historical events, and I think it's written that way in order to convey God's perspective of creation. Certainly a human perspective on creation would be (a) theologically un-useful and (b) impossible for an ancient person to understand.

To expound on point (b) a little bit: even a modern person, with all the geological, paleontological, chemical, and genetic evidence that we have, simply cannot comprehend the expanse of what we call "deep time." Modern scientists must communicate these things in metaphors: they use 24-hour clocks in which each minute is thirty thousand years and football fields with geological epochs marked off at the various yard lines in order to try to express that which the human mind is fundamentally not equipped to grasp. The Bible should and must tell the story of creation from God's perspective, and to do that it must use figurative language.

Thus, "Days" are figurative days, but as such they convey greater truths about the way that creation appeared to God: it was gradual and periodic and God was patient, yet it did not seem to take eons to him. It was like a week of diligent work that produced good results.

Likewise, when the text says that God speaks light and land and life into existence, we can read that as a statement of God's incredible, beautiful power over creation. The moon likely formed in the "Big Splat," when another planet collided with proto-Earth and flung debris into space (I'm not even gonna touch the formation of the sun-- waaaaaay outside my wheelhouse). To God, these things were as simple as saying, "Let there be lights in the expanse of the heavens to separate the day from the night" and then making them. The complex natural processes involved were simple before the Almighty God.

Likewise, the billions of years that are took for life to evolve, from self-replicating auto-catalytic molecules to microbes to multicellular life that arose from endosymbiosis and horizontal gene transfer, and then all the way down the epochs of history: the beautiful Cambrian Explosion, trilobites and the first chordates, then Tiktaalik propping itself up in shallow water and its tetrapod descendants stepping onto land for the first time; those strange, fascinating club-moss forests of the Carboniferous, dinosaurs and archaeopteryx taking to the skies, the K-T extinction event and then mammals picking up the torch and growing larger, whales returning to the seas and their vestigial legs disappearing, life, life life... All of that, to God, was two days of creation in which he spoke and natural processes produced the glorious array of life that existed when Adam and Eve came to be. He had authority over all of it. He said "Let the earth bring forth living creatures," and it did! God made them as surely as if he had sculpted them from clay with his hands, as miraculously as if He had spoken a word and they had existed in a split-second.

It's all true! All truth is God's truth! Every word of Genesis is God's truth, not despite the fact that it's written using figurative language, but because it is. We can understand truths that science alone can't account for - that in all the vastness of protein sequence space, God formed rubisco and ATP synthase: not by random chance, but through loving providence using randomness as a tool. We can see deep time as God sees it, not as a yawning abyss that we can't begin to properly conceptualize, but as a week in the mind of our great God who transcends time.

(My concluding paragraph is going to be somewhat harsh toward YE Creationists, but it cuts to the core of why I feel so strongly about how we read Genesis. I'm going to put it under the cut so that no one has to read it unless they want to; I'm not trying to attack anyone. I hope you know that I say all these things out of a place of deep, deep love.)

Returning to what Jack said: "If [people] cannot understand books written for grown-ups, they should not talk about them." YE Creationists would have us read Genesis without allowing for any figurative language; they would disregard the scientific method in order to do so. To my thinking, if a creation in seven 24-hour days were the intended meaning of the text- if we were, like children, meant to take everything in it entirely literally- then God would be a liar, because then he would have created a world in which the speed of light and geologic strata and the fossil record and even the evidence of our own DNA and physiology are all lying to us about how we were created. I could not love such a God.

But because I, like Jack, like millions of other Christians, can read the text of Scripture and interpret the figurative language it uses, I can instead marvel at the wonder and glory of our Creator-God, to whom epochs are like days, who can speak natural processes into existence. Scripture is history and it's poetry and it's all true. All truth is God's truth.

#i would love to write a book on these subjects someday #once i'm an experienced expert in microbial evolution i'd love to either go back to school for an mdiv or collaborate with a theologian #to produce a pair of books: one targeted at scientific minded non-Christians and another targeted at YE-creationists #idk it's a long way off #but this feels like good practice #love you dearly anna my friend #thanks for asking this #i hope my answer was okay and that i didn't come on too strong lol #if you or anyone else would like me to recommend some of my favorite books/articles/talks on these subjects lmk #i'm abysmal at keeping track of my reading/listening so it would definitely take a while to hunt things down and compile #but i could manage it #i do have more than just cs lewis quotes in my wheelhouse but i tend to figure that he's someone we can all broadly agree on #all truth is god's truth #ask me hard questions

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ricardian-werewolf · 14 days

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9: The Cost of the Crown

(Oh yeah, there's a reason for THIS gif. Totally.) @lordbettany - I almost want (need) to see this gifset on your dash for the sole sake of your unhinged comments.

Ao3 link

Summary: Eight weeks of travel and troop movements have passed. Finally after over two years, Alina and Nikolai reunite. With that reunion comes tension, a lot of pent up emotion and some very devious plans to get a certain saint into a particular king's bed.

TWs: None, except implied smut in the end, and a church gets blown up (though no one graphically killed).

Chapter below the cut.

The Vy, a week’s ride from Os Alta.

8 weeks later.

Alina’s fingers found purchase on the spy-glass clutched in her fingers. She rode side-saddle on a calm west-Ravkan mare of the fairest white, her kefta’s skirts tumbling down her legs in a heap of green satin and fox-fur. Her kefta’s top had been closed at the throat and buttoned up against the freezing chill. Her white hair was done up in a braided chignon. Woven through it were strands of gold and green ribbon. She wore a crown of hammered gold fashioned in the style of Morozova’s antlers. A gift for Nikolai to undo when he reached her.

At her side, Olga checked her rifle. The line down her cheek had left a scar, holy anointed. She dipped her head in the presence of the Sankta. Alina’s gloved finger touched her cheek, and she raised a brow.

“News?”

“They are headed southwards, Moya Tsaritsa.” Olga murmured. Soon, the banners of the double-eagle and fox in splendour would paint the horizon in swathes of babe’s blue and emerald green. With them, at their helm, would be the true king. An open rebellion against the Lantsov pretender who’d been crowned by the Apparat had begun. Starting originally in the eastern reaches, past Os Alta, the peasantry had thrown down their plows and picked up their scythes. They prayed to their saints, begging for an end to the hunger that sickened their stomachs; robbed their cradles and meager coffers. It had been against the new king’s grain quotas, impossible to achieve even in times of peace, and the mood had become a tangible one of rage. When the militia was brought in to quell the uprising, the people lashed out, taking over the grain stores and the city’s Duma, press-house and inn. From there, they used the printing press of the press-house and a learned nobleman held at musket-point, to write an edict of the uprising. It demanded that Nikolai Lantsov, the one true Ravkan king, end centuries of Serfdom, remove the threats of Shu Han and Fjerda, and most amazingly, overturn the choke-hold the nobility had on the land.

Nikolai himself had written these peasants, and while Vasily or his father would have sent more men to crush the uprising - Nikolai acknowledged and allowed it to continue. He congratulated the peasantry on fighting the corruption of their pretender king, and asked them to keep him in their prayers.

Murmurs of the Fox-Saint, the King of Scars, had swept the country already. From inn to ale-house and banyan, the murmurs of King Nikolai returning had swallowed Ravka whole. The Fox Saint and the Sun Saint were said to join together at the center of the Vy and relieve Ravka of the Darkling and Lantsov Pretender. Unto that, their reign would be one of peace and prosperity. Already, a new design of a royal banner was beginning to spread through the villages and smaller towns - an emerald green backing of a red fox under a sunburst. The fox wore a crown. Some of the pieces added the firebird above the sunburst, wings aloft in a baptism of fire that would cleanse the land and air.

Alina herself had created that idea. The new maps she was making as part of her saintly progress were tactical, a way of observing the Darkling’s weak points. As they moved along the Vy, Alina was starkly reminded of how it had been a scant 4 years ago, when she was merely 16. She had been a girl then, unaccustomed to the mantle of Sainthood. The Apparat and White cathedral had marked her 17th name-day with the mantle being a crushing one. Then, her 2 year exile and slumber had forced her to become a woman. Her childishness of girlhood burned in the fire she swore to her followers had purged her of sin, and whitened her hair for eternity. In truth, her hair was going to stay white perhaps centuries more.

She adjusted the reins of her mare, pulled close to Tamar as the procession began again. The Kefta Alina wore today, while green, would soon be changed to gold as they moved closer to the lands around Os Alta. The Duchy of Udova had sent their to-be Duchess a cape of ermine-fur and purple velvet, which she knew was safely packed into a trunk. The traditional offerings of bread and salt had passed her lips many a time as they’d picked their way north. While old maps of Ravka noted the Vy as being from Kiribirsk to Os Alta, a second wing of the Vy, known as the Yuzhnyy, ran from Dva Stolba to Os Alta, passing Keramzin as the major source of trade and travel for the southern expanse of Ravka.

The crossroads of the two Vy’s was directly west of Os Alta by a good thirty miles. Balakariev loomed before the procession, and Alina raised her hand. They halted, and Alina looked over her shoulder to regard the followers. Entire villages had vacated to follow their savior, and Alina tilted her head to the side to count the number of women, children, and older men. Normally, all of them wouldn’t be the kind to fight a war against the Darkling, but they’d followed her. The Apparat’s claws were in the hand of the Lantsov Pretender. His Soldat sol were hers to command. Indeed, Alina noted their brown robes emblazoned with her sunburst. She nodded to them, drew a line with her pinky finger.

Be covert. Be on the outlook for spies.

The weeks of training, a scant eight, had turned them from a poor force to a crack fighting team that rivaled any of the top First Army regiments. The 22nd would be their only superior. Alina couldn’t wait to show them off to Nikolai. In those eight weeks, she and her soldiers had developed a sign language of finger symbols and codes that showed who was foe or friend. Her raised hand to pause the procession had in of itself been a symbol - keep the flock together. Amongst her followers, plain-clothes Soldats were herding the faithful into a tighter group.

Their leader, Vladim Ozwal reined in his steed and bowed his head, his hand clenched to his chest.

“Sankta, What do you require?”

“Look out for spies. Disperse some of your men to the town to ensure there are no threats. Send a rider to-” Alina removed her crown and melted one of the antler fronds off it. She tied the bit’s slender tip off with a green hair-ribbon and handed it to Vladim. “-to give this to the Fox-Saint and tell him that I will be awaiting him in the inn’s bed-room.”

Vladim bowed his head, splayed his fingers out and wheeled his horse. Her commands were barked out without a word spoken. The sign-language provided the perfect covert operative in case the Darkling’s spies had slipped amongst her faithful. Alina let a smile touch her lips, and urged her horse forward.

The procession wound its way down the hill and spilled into the town. Alina, reining in her horse, accepted glasses of tea, thick slices black bread and salt. The flour stores were starkly low, but someone had still offered up the loaf to feed her. Another, sadder smile reached her face. She let the sunlight fill the town in thanks, and swung off her horse. Her boots hit the cobblestones with a welcome thud and she reached for Olga’s arm. Even though she was at full strength, her legs wobbled a little.

“Yes, Sankta?”

“Get me the mayor.”

Olga nodded, and disappeared into the crowd. The town square of Balakariev was war torn and attempting to present as anything but. It succeeded remarkably. Scrappy blue flags painted with crude gold suns waved from the windows, and the double-headed eagle flapped overhead in the town square. The mayor, a major civil servant of Nikolai’s father’s generation came over with Olga on his arm. The two of them were markedly similar, and Olga bowed deeply.

“My grandfather, Mayor Ivan Alexandrevich of Balakariev is delighted to offer you the use of his town, Sankta Sol.” Olga spoke for her elder, and he pinched her thin cheek, chuckling. “Indeed, Sankta,” He bowed deeply, and spread his arms. “I wish for you to take my home. We have many rooms-”

Alina knew refusing an offer would be sin, but she held up her hand before the mayor could worsen the bulging vein in his temple. “Your offer is most appreciated, good sir, However might I suggest you offer that room to his majesty Prince Nikolai and his General of First Army, Dominik Vertov? I live amongst my flock.” Alina’s voice softened and she folded her hands behind her back. “I am not one much suited for living amongst four walls these days, however-” She needed to offer an olive branch.

“I would be more than happy to dine with you and your esteemed family, sir.”

Ivan’s eyes widened in joy and he kissed Alina’s hand profusely. She sighed inwardly and Olga giggled, mouthing; he’s old fashioned, forgive him, Moya Sankta.

She smiled, and waved her free hand. Once her other hand was free of Ivan’s lips - which reminded her faintly of Vasily’s - Alina found herself swept into a whirlwind tour of the town. As she passed houses, market-squares and fountains, people stopped in their work and fell to their knees. Alina regarded them all coolly and let the light from a passing lantern flare in a sunburst for a moment - a sign of good fortune.

It was as they were walking amongst the town’s outskirts that Alina’s eyes settled on the town’s church and the line of homeless flowing out from the door. She gathered her skirts, and moved closer to the Mayor.

“Are there nuns here?”

“Indeed, Sankta. Mainly followers of the Order of Sankta Anastasia.”

Alina nodded. “And what do they line up for?”

“Pottage and tea, Sankta,” Olga’s fingers edged to her pistol. If there was anywhere for the Darkling’s spies, in the former sniper’s eyes, it was here. Alina shot her a glare. Not Here. The hand stilled, and moved back to its place at Olga’s belt.

“May I be allowed to see them? To offer blessings?”

The mayor’s eyes widened. “Y-you would?”

“Is it not good faith to give unto those who are suffering?” Alina asked, quoting from the Istorii Sankt’ya.

The Mayor’s eyes almost bulged out of his head as Alina swept off in a trail of skirts, dust, and the smell of unwashed bodies. Weeks amongst her followers, who while suffering from the ruins of starvation, still possessed homes and incomes, no matter how pitiful. These people were devoid of anything. She came up to the simple wooden doors and knocked on them. Gasps went up from the congregation.

“Is there a reason this isn’t open?” She asked a woman waiting in the queue who held a babe to her chest. The little thing was hollow-eyed with hunger, and the woman wasn’t much older than her twenty years.

“The Head Sister says they have no pottage to give.”

“Nonsense.” Alina scoffed, refusing to think clearly. She went to rap her fist against the door again, and then her head twisted back as a bugle call rang through the air. The roar of hoofbeats was growing louder with every passing moment, and she stepped down the stairs of the church in shock as the full swell of First Army’s 28 regiments - cavalry and infantry - streamed into the town. At their head was Nikolai, his kepi was bent a little, the uniform he wore covered in smuts from riding hard for evident weeks. He swiveled in the saddle and dismounted from his steed with the speed of a seasoned soldier.

He was running to her. Alina’s heart stuttered in her chest and she tore up the street to him, not caring for the dust or how her hair looked or her skirts. She threw her arms wide, and ran straight into Nikolai’s waiting grasp. The crushing feeling of the collision with him knocked the air from her lungs, and she gasped in hysteria as he spun her around.

“Alina!” He cried. “We didn’t see your banners! I thought you were still back at Keramzin!” He gasped.

“We did a lot of hard travel over the past weeks.” Alina breathed.

Tears were pouring down her cheeks, and she cupped his face in her hands. She smiled, feeling the ghost of stubble against her palm. He’d not been shaving. The exhaustion and burned skin of his face gave her an estimate of the amount of land and time he’d covered from Chernast to Balakariev. Judging by the regiments he’d gathered, he’d amassed quite a mass of men and munitions. There was another bugle blast, and the artillery surged into the town. At the head of the crush of soldiers was Dominik, yelling orders to men and women. Isaak was at his side, snapping at the non-coms to get the lower ranks into file and dig latrines for the massive tent-city that was about to come into existence.

She watched Ivan and Olga head back to the town square to welcome the First Army to their humble town, and she turned her gaze back to the waiting crowd. Nikolai looked up, and his eyes widened at the gathered group. He sniffed, noted the closed blue doors of the church and fished in his pocket for his pocket-watch. Flipping it open, he noted the time - a little after the noon bell.

“Why’re they not open? It’s вторник.”

“Apparently the head sister has no pottage to give.”

Nikolai scoffed. “Let’s see about that.” He slipped his arm through Alina’s and the two of them moved back to the church. Knocking on the massive door, silence emanated back. He made a face. “Not even a priest. Hmm.”

His fingers shifted through his pockets and he pulled out a pair of lockpicks. Bending over, he began to pick the lock while the waiting crowd shifted from foot to foot and fidget. They were evidently used to such depravity as waiting with the patience of divinity. This was evidently not something remiss to them.

With a satisfying click, the lock gave and Nikolai pushed the doors open. He stepped in, and something under-foot twinged. He stopped cold, and held up his hand.

“Tripwire.”

Alina’s eyes widened as Nikolai dropped to his knees and blindly touched the wire in front of him. With the slightest touch of his finger, he felt the tension in the wire and grimaced.

“Get them into the square.” He could feel the whole church under him being boobytrapped with enough fabrikator-explosive to level the church. He rose to his foot, and was almost free of the church’s doors when one of the congregants closest to him leaped forward. Nikolai moved too slow to catch the man’s fall, and both fell to the ground, right on the wire.

Alina screamed as the explosion rippled outward. What she felt next was the feeling of being lifted off her feet and thrown into the air. Looking down, she saw black wings emerging from Nikolai’s back and the sight of the Merzost flowing over his wounded skin to heal the tissue.

She flew backwards, threw a glass-plated window, and the whole world spiraled into darkness.

When Alina came to, she found herself lying on a cot in what was certainly the mayor’s wife’s bedchamber. She coughed, the stench of plaster and crud in her lungs. She hacked, wheezed, and struggled upright. Steady hands pushed her down, and she fought back wildly, clawing at the air.

“Calm down! Alina, it’s me!”

Alina’s eyes flew open properly and she settled on Nikolai’s hands on her shoulders. She stopped fighting and stared up at him in shock. Her ears were ringing, blood dripped from her nose. She sneezed, and then her stomach roiled.

“Here.” Nikolai shoved a china basin under her chin and she expelled her stomach contents, all while he pulled back her hair. “Shh. it’ll be alright.” His wings were still looming out from behind his back. She wondered if they were a permanent fixture.

“T-the tripwire?” She wheezed. Nikolai sighed.

“A booby trap. I don’t think whoever did it accounted for the unhoused needing their food-stores of the day.” He noted her wide eyes and rushed to soothe her. “We’ve fed them and made sure they have space in the camp to be tended to and live in. No one died.”

“Except for the man who pushed you onto the wire.” Alina’s voice dropped. She wanted to maim the man, to blind him with her holy light and make him live as an example of what it meant to harm the man she loved.

“He was desperate, Alina.” Nikolai murmured. “I believe he merely panicked.”

“Or he tried to kill you.” She spat.

“That is for the saints to determine, not us.” He murmured against her hair. She snorted, and growled;

“I am a saint. I say he meant to kill you.”

“If it soothes you, no one else was hurt. The explosion was a foolish, home-made attempt. I don’t even know if they meant to kill us or anyone. It explains the lack of a priest and nuns. That is unusual. Maybe they retreated to the nunnery for the summer.”

“And left those people to starve?” She whispered.

“People are unkind.” He examined the disaster of her braided coiffure and sighed. Reaching over, he grabbed her brush and began to run the bristles through the silvery strands. The ribbons were carefully unwound and removed, and as he ran the brush through her curls, Alina realized no one since Genya had done her hair. She’d stuck it in a braid during her exiles and in hiding, and now, she was here, in the mayor of Balakariev’s wife’s bedroom, getting her hair brushed by Nikolai Lantsov.

Her stomach churned and she groaned.

“Tell me it was something I ate.”

“Not sure on that.” He reached for a silver plate and held up an apple slice. “Here. this’ll help settle your stomach.”

“How? It’s Summer.”

“A little help from the Little Palace greenhouses.”

Alina breathed.

“The Darkling rules over the Little Palace.”

“He’s neglectful of one of the tenets of building relations with Otkazat’kya. Those in positions even as lowly as gardeners appreciate basic respect and decency. I’ve known the gardeners of both palaces since I could walk.” He slipped the slice between her open lips. She bit down and the tart sweetness caused tears to bud in her eyes.

“Have your soldiers ravaged the town’s stores?” She blinked at him. He rolled his eyes. “I am but a man, Alina. Not even I as king can cease a marauding army from painting the town red.”

She laughed and then groaned again.

“No more jokes, you ass.”

He snickered, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I thought Grisha don’t get sick.”

“We don’t, but getting thrown through a window does leave more wounds than let on.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I think of ways to dispose of my enemies.”

“Your most powerful, most dangerous enemies,”

He winked, and traced a line down her cheek. “Mmm.” A dangerous glint entered his eyes and she sighed fondly. Fisting her fingers in his hair, she set the basin aside, and dragged him down into a deep kiss.

His tongue snuck out, pleading entrance, and she let him in without a moment’s hesitation. They’d slept together before this, starting from that night in Os Alta after he’d announced their engagement. It had been a hot night filled with sweaty sheets and sinful words that would burn lesser couples.

This, however, was different. The kisses from Nikolai’s lips were hungrier, desperate. The monster within him was keening for her light, unafraid of it. She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the flex of muscle under her palm, and grinned.

“Mind taking that shirt off?”

“Only if I get to-” His lip brushed her earlobe and murmured; “Undress you.”

“Do the wings stay present?”

“Oh, yes. And the claws.” He tore off his gloves with his teeth and she gasped at the sight of his talons, imagining those onyx shards in her thighs.

“Bring it on, Moi Tsarsevich.” She purred, dragging him down with her. He hissed, his inky fangs finding purchase in the tender flesh of her neck. He sucked at the skin, leaving a shining, wet and reddened hickey.

“That’s Moi Tsar, Sankta.” He growled. “And if you’re not good, I’ll have you begging for me to break you in half.”

“Oh, will you?” Alina teased, slipping a hand under his shirt, watching his eyes darken with that primal hunger. “Remind me, what did you say to me after my awakening?” She purred.

“‘I’ll not let you from my bed, even if you threaten to burn me to a pile of ash.’” Nikolai quoted, nipping her ear-tip with his teeth.

“And are we staying true to that?” She examined the time on his pocket watch. “Or are you going to at least let me perform my services to my flock?”

Nikolai growled. “I much prefer your services here.”

Alina rolled her eyes and stroked his cheek.

“Then, you might want to get on your knees, Nikolasha.” Her grin turned devilish.

“And start praying to your glorious Sankta to let you confess.”

The look he gave her was so hungry, so wanting, that Alina purred and shoved him back into the bed. To any listening maid or soldier, the noise the two made would send even the heartiest souls scampering for their prayer books, ears burning. The pent-up wanting of two years of no intimacy (they’d never figured out how to do it through the tether even while awake), made them into wild beasts that raked clawed hands across one another’s flesh and their releases to be violent, sweat-soaked and filled with the guttural cries of two people so deeply hungry for the other that the world and heavens would buckle under them.

As Alina snuggled into Nikolai’s arms, he kissed her soft hair and idly braided it under his fingers. At long last, the monster within him settled, and he splayed his wings out to cocoon them both in its inky embrace. She sleepily pressed her ring-clad hand to his chest and she nuzzled into his pec, murmuring something.

“What was that?” He yawned sleepily.

“I love you.”

Nikolai’s fingers stilled in braiding her hair, and a smile split his face in two.

“You know, you’ve never said that to me once.”

She reached for a pillow to hit him with, but the wing encircling her trapped her movements. He chuckled at her glare. “Don’t think of burning me. Not after that sinful tongue of mine-”

Alina buried her face in her hands and groaned. “There’s people listening!”

“Let them. You deserve to be worshiped.” He winked at her angry look and ran a thumb down her cheek. “And, you know you loved it.”

His lips pressed feathery kisses to the tip of her nose, her eyelids and lips in quick succession, like tiny star bursts on the canvas of her face. She giggled, and snuggled closer to him. “Don’t…” she yawned. “Let go of me.”

“No such chance, Moya Sol.”

She smiled, and threw an arm over his stomach, then let out a loud snore and nestled closer. Nikolai stifled a laugh and rolled onto his side, bringing her closer to him so they could spoon. He kissed her neck and nestled his face into the crook of it.

They both slept easy and for a long, long time. When they woke, a whole day had passed. With their rising, came plans to formulate an attack against the Darkling. However, these were not the half-baked plans of Nikolai and Alina in the attack on the Grand Palace 4 summers ago, but a plan that would work without fail, having no gaps for which the Darkling to poke his fingers into.

It would be perfect, it would work, and no more casualties than the ones naming towns from Os Alta to the Fold would be added. No more men would be cut down by the Volcra, no more women and children made widows and fatherless.

The Sun Saint had her fox, and the Fox had his queen once more with him. All was right in the world, and all would be so. Even if things went poorly - which they would not - all would be well, and the hell of the Darkling’s rule would end not with a whimper, but a bang.

They would meet him where all of it began - at the Making of the Heart of the World, and from there, send the bastard son of a bitch back to where he truly belonged - hell. And with him would go all of his monstrous kith and kin.

End of chapter 9.

#wyn rambles #Nikolina #shadow and bone au #grishaverse au #nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone #dominik vertov #wyn writes #new fic chapter #alina starkov #almost smut #implied smut #nikolai and Alina do fun stuff together #mwehe #medieval references

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creative-mediocrity · 4 months

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Then Gandalf climbed to the top of his tree. The sudden splendour flashed from his wand like lightning, as he got ready to spring down from on high right among the spears of the goblins. That would have been the end of him, though he probably would have killed many of them as he came hurtling down like a thunderbolt. But he never leaped. Just at that moment the Lord of the Eagles swept down from above, seized him in his talons, and was gone.

"the Hobbit," chap 6: Out Of The Frying-Pan And Into The Fire

Gandalf is an old man who talks to birds and sets things on fire and frankly I just think he's cool.

#max reads things #the hobbit #lord of the rings #also every song in this book is a bop tbh

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pwlanier · 1 year

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Scottish Freemasonry: a Worshipful Master's silver Jewel, openwork form 56mm, square and compasses with graduated scale, finely engraved surfaces, a gilt sun in splendour between the arms set to the centre with a simulated cairngorm, a simulated emerald to the top, maker's mark 'I LAW', other marks indistinct, possibly Scottish provincial, nearly extremely fine.

Freemasonry: a Rose Croix jewel, gilt, enamel and paste-set, red cross potent 45mm wide, surmounted by a bicapitate eagle with wings raised and a sword grasped in its talons, the angles filled with groups of three paste-set rays, articulated crown suspension, firing flaws to enamel and slight damage to paste, otherwise extremely fine and rare.

Woolley and Wallis

#freemasonry #knights templar

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poemoftheday · 5 months

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Poem of the Day 17 December 2023

Percy Bysshe Shelley. 1792-1822

Lines

WHEN the lamp is shatter'd, The light in the dust lies dead; When the cloud is scatter'd, The rainbow's glory is shed; When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remember'd not When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot.

As music and splendour Survive not the lamp and the lute, The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute— No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruin'd cell, Or the mournful surges That ring the dead seaman's knell.

When hearts have once mingled, Love first leaves the well-built nest; The weak one is singled To endure what it once possest. O Love, who bewailest The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

Its passions will rock thee, As the storms rock the ravens on high: Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky. From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come.

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #percy bysshe shelley

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northernmariette · 1 year

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A bit more about Bernadotte, a tiny little crumb about Mortier

Just about a year ago, just before Bernadotte's birthday, I kept coming across new discoveries regarding the previous birthday boy, Ney. Well, discoveries new to me, anyway.

This year, coming up on Mortier's birthday, I keep coming across new discoveries regarding the previous birthday boy, Bernadotte. This latest one is from "Journal du comte Rodolphe Apponyi, attaché de l'ambassade d'Autriche-Hongrie à Paris", to be found on Gallica. Silly me, I forgot to note the page but it's round about page 15, and it's for the year 1844. It is shortish, so I will transcribe the extract in its entirety, followed by my own rough translation:

"Le roi de Suède est toujours mourant. Il a été si mal, ces derniers temps, que malgré sa défense expresse de ne jamais le saigner, de le laisser mourir plutôt que de faire cette opération, on l'a fait par ordre exprès de la reine, mais quel ne fut pas l'etonnement des assistants, en voyant sur ce bras royal quantité de tatouages cabalistiques et surtout, du haut en bas la phrase suivante en grosses lettres: "Liberté. Égalité. Vive la République!"

On m'a raconté, à ce propos, que lorsque Bernadotte a été en Corse, il a voulu épouser la fille d'un fermier parce qu'elle avait quelque argent; les parents de la jeune fille ne la lui ont pas accordée parce que lui n'en avait point et qu'il n'était que simple soldat. Cette femme vit encore: elle est si pauvre qu'elle est servante dans une petite maison bourgeoise où elle porte de l'eau et fait le gros ouvrage dans la cuisine!"

The King of Sweden is Bernadotte, of course. He did die in 1844, after spending 34 years successfully ruling Sweden, unofficially as the Crown Prince since 1810, then as the actual King from 1818.

Here is my translation of the preceding French text:

"The King of Sweden is still near death. He has been so ill of late that in spite of his formal command never to bleed him, to let him die rather than to carry out this procedure, the Queen ordered it to be done; but the medical assistants were astonished to see on the royal arm a multitude of cabalistic tattoos but especially, from top to bottom, the following phrase in large lettering: "Liberty. Equality. Long live the Republic!"

I have been told that when Bernadotte was stationed in Corsica, he had wanted to marry the daughter of a farmer because she had some money; her parents refused to grant his request, because he had no money of his own and because he was but a soldier. The woman in question is still alive: she is so poor that she is now a servant in a small bourgeois household, where she fetches water and works as a scullery maid."

Bernadotte did serve in Corsica before the Révolution. At the time, Corsica had not been part of France for very long and the political situation there was not terribly stable. I have not looked into this, but I wonder if he and Napoleon might have been there at the same time in the 1780s. I wonder too if Bernadotte knew about the Bonaparte family at least by reputation, as it had at least some degree of prominence on the island, and certainly much prominence in Ajaccio.

Regarding Bernadotte's tattoos, I have seen different versions of what the exact wording was - "Death to Kings" is what I have read elsewhere - where this particular tattoo was located (arm? chest?), and the reason for Bernadotte's reticence. I think it makes more sense that he did not want to be bled than the reason I have seen elsewhere, namely that he was embarrassed that his doctor would see the tattoo. By the time he was at death's door, somehow I doubt he would have cared that much about his doctor's opinion about very old tattoos - including the cabalistic ones, which I think referred to freemasonry symbols.

Now on to the Mortier crumblet.

I am still reading Philip Mansel's "The Eagle in Splendour" with pleasure and interest. I do have a bone to pick with him, which is that he does not sufficiently quote his sources. This drives me nuts when I want to find out more about any particular aspect of his book. I have no idea where the following information comes from, and it does leave me wondering.

On page 59, Mansel writes, concerning Napoleon's marriage to Marie-Louise:

"Throughout the round of glittering ceremonies, the Emperor and Empress were surrounded by members of the imperial family and, above all, of the court. Duroc, Berthier, Montesquiou and Marshal Mortier were especially prominent (...)."

Huh? Why was Mortier especially prominent at the time of Napoleon's second wedding? Why he, among all the Marshals? No surprise about Berthier, who had been sent to Vienna to finalise the marriage agreement and who had actually married Marie-Louise by proxy; but Mortier? And in what role? This doesn't seem to be something I will find out from Mansel. Not cool.

#napoleon #empress marie louise #edouard mortier #jean baptiste bernadotte #napoleon's marshals #philip mansel #the eagle in splendour

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grigori77 · 8 months

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Critical Role, Campaign 3 Episode 72

Mortal Kombat? Oh dear ... what will Sam do for THIS promo? Are we safe? Oh yeah, Mokap WAS just a dude in a Mocap suit, that was so embarrassingly true ... guest characters? Hmmmm ... oh, this is going so badly ... Sam: "There is no winner so I will get the prize!"

Ooh, nice accidental Ace Ventura reference, Laura! XD ... cue numerous enjoyably lowbrow jokes ...

The pixie frogs, of course ... Matt: "You befriended some, and invited others to shit upon you." Oh yeah ... dear gods that really did that, didn't they?

Chetney: "You're really just making up the rules there. They're not backed up by science ..."

I'm sorry ... BEEF serpent? You sure about that?

They won't want money, no ... Ashton: "Laudna, what do ghosts want?" Laudna: "Closure." Hmmm ...

FCG somewhat blsnks on how a compass works ... or was it Sam himself?

Travis ' map nonsense ... LOL

Ashton: "I feel like there are THE SEEDS of a decent plan in here ..."

Oh shit, IS Ratanish still in the Hole? Yeesh ...

Questioning corpses? Oh ... OH!!! Speak With the Dead? Yay! I love this spell ...

Ashton: "You can stitch a skull onto a dead rat and THIS is a problem?"

Oooooh ... spooky stuff ...

Deception check? Okay ... 21? Blimey, Laura!

Thul's still at the Key. Okay ... Travis losing it over Matt having to hold that ridiculous face ... XD Unity? What ... "keep them scattered"?

Whoa ... they're REALLY gonna try interrogating Ratanish? Okay ...

Oh boy, here we go ... yuck ... Matt goes HARD with this description ...

Another deception check ... 21 AGAIN?!!! Fuck ...

Old fashioned communications ... so THEY'RE having the same problems with Sending and stuff? Okay then ... "The Moon Folk have kept eyes as well"? Interesting ... bollocks, that's a question! Damn it ... ask about the monk snd the wizard! Damn it! Tell us about Beau and Caleb!

"Mzin pit entrance"? Hmmm ... agh, he's getting wise ... Insight check! Whispers! Aaaaaah!

FINALLY!!! But his head's off so it's quite the anticlimax ...

100 strong Reilorans loose ... hmmmm ...

Ratanish teeth? Fearne's getting her creepy Baba Yaga thing on again.

Chetney's incantation ... XD

Oh, here we go ... it's going all first POTC movie here ... oh okay ... is this the Black Pearl slouching out of the mist? Or maybe the Flying Dutchman?

Eagle's Splendour? Cool ...

Aaaaaah! Ghost pirates! Creepy!

Holy fuck, it really IS the cursed crew of the Black Pearl ...

Roll initiative? Crap!

Battlemap time! Yay! OH MY GODS!!! AND a ghost ship! Awesome!

Orym's up first? Nice ... go off, wee man! Badass! Damage, too! Nice ...

Ashton Rages! Oooh ... he's see-through! Okay ... takes a swing! Boom! Rocking up two big hits! Nice ... falls in the water? Wait ... EHAT did he just do? That's so cool ...

Uh-oh ... what's happening? Wait ... A PISTOL?!!! How the fuck? What ... AN ICE GUN?!!! Are you kidding me?

Minor Illusion? Hmmm ... a deception check? Okay ... 21! Nice, Travis! Oh bollocks, against a NAT20?!!! Ouch ...

Chetney: "They don't leave ... (Scottish accent) survivors!" XD

Form of Dread! Yeah ... and FIREBALLS!!! Nice ... wow ... that's A LOT of fails ... 26 fire damage! Fuck ... Laudna is ANNIHILATING these guys!

Shadow Cant? Ooooh ... and a NAT20!!! Whoa ...

Oh ... Parley? Or maybe not ... hmmm ...

Command From the Grave? Ooooh ... AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!! No! Not Imogen! Phew ... Nice save ...

Spinning rocks ... okay ... very Magneto! Nice, Imogen! Boom!

There's one in the crow's nest? Hmmm ... oh fuck, what's THIS thing? TWO crossbow shots? Damn ... Nat20! Ouch ... crits on BOTH Chetney znd FCG! AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!! Oh fuck, that's NASTY!!!

Fuck ... the dead are getting back up? CRAAAAAAAP!!!

Yes! Punch a ghost! Very Beau of her ...

All this Cold damage is SO not fun at all ... fucking undead!

Coin flip? Hmmm ... oh I know what he's gonna do ... Turn/Destroy Undead! Yes! About time! Go, Letters! Wait ... LAUDNA'S afraid of FCG now? Ah shit ... that's problematic ...

Fuck ... and there's NO FIX for this situation, either ... crap.

Do something FLAMEY Fearne! Burn these arseholes! Fire Shield? Not quite what I expected ... oh, resistance to Cold damage? That's okay ... she's running to Laudna? Oh, okay! Mirthful Leap! Yay! 9 on athletics? Crap ... and now she's blocked ... she sends Mister instead, then ... Dimension Door Laudna? Maybe not ... no, just shooting shit fire instead ... bah, and it's a miss! Crap ...

Orym starts running under legs znd goes straight for the ship, then uses Seedling to drag himself onto it! Nice! Whoa ... crazy skeleton girl! Eep! Oh ... what, a rewind? Hmmm .. and now I'm just lost ...

Okay, attacking instead! Let's go! Goading Attack! Yes ... "A flea"? Really? I mean it's not THAT dissimilar, but still ...

Ashton is going after Laudna? Okay ... I mean OF COURSE he is ... oh my gods is he just headslapping her? Wow ... but yeah, that works ...

Oh yeah, she's pissed ... FCG: "Respect the gods!"

Imogen! No! Aaaagh ... and on Orym ... another Crit? Ouch!

Wolf Chetney gets hit breaking off but he's just BOOKING IT for the boat too ...

Laudna's going for it too ... and pretending she's still afraid? Nice ...

Imogen casts Shock Flare? Ooooh ... 2d6 Lightning damage ... 12 each! Nice ... one down! Yeah ... and she damn near drops in the Hole too ... whoops!

Gah ... the Sniper again! Crap ... shooting for FCG ... and it's a hit! Noooo! Ouch ... oh shit, he's DOWN!!! Fuck ...

Second shot at Orym ... oh thank FUCK that's a miss ... phew ...

They're coming for Imogen ... and just FALL IN THE HOLE!!! Nice ... XD

Creep little skittering halfling zombie ...

Fearne casts Cure Wounds at on FCG ... 8 points, and HE'S UP!!! Yes ... and she's STILL pissed at him for what he did to Laudna ... only can't rips for a bonus action? No joy ... just going for the boat, then ... oh, Fire Shield causes damage if they hit her? Nice ...

Mister shoits flame at the fucker next to FCG ... 13 damage! Nice ...

Orym uses the stuck bolt to swing around and ACROBAT himself into his foe ... that would have be so nice if they hadn't rolled better ... nuts ...

Reckless Attack! Yeah, Ashton ... BOOM!!! Smash that fucker to pieces ... Teleport? What? And a Wormhole Strike on the Sniper? Oooooh ... lots of damage maths, nice ... 23 points and it gets shoved hard ... and it DROPS onto the deck! So that's MORE damage ... another 15! Nice ...

Right back to FCG? Ashton's really shifting this fight ...

The whirlpools can MOVE?!!! What the fuck?

Orym gets SHOVED ... oh, nice save! Stabby instead ... oh, that was SO disappointing ... phew ...

Wolf Chetney CLAWS his way onto the ship ... atracks the Sniper and tries to drag the crossbow out of its hands ... and he rips it away! Nice ... he chucks it into the water! Yeah ... oh ... these things don't have blood? No Curse of Bloated Agony ...oh, he can use HIS OWN blood? Oh, well THAT works ...

Spiderclimb! Yay! She's on the boat! Is she going to parley? No, she opens her ribcage, puts his hand in it ... what the hell is she doing? Oh, she's APPEALING to him, one undead to another? Interesting ... the Strife Emperor? What?

Well, at least that means he's still distracted ... and TAKING HIS TURN to continue the parley ...

She's offering up Chetney's cursed sword as a bonus? What?

What even IS this out-of-context conversation about?

Is Imogen close enough to the ship? I'm sorry ... "cheese wiz"? What? Going for Orym's attacker ... oh NICE SAVE!!! You go, girl! 29 points of Psychic damage ... oh they are DONE!!! Nice ...

FCG prone and under attack again! And he's OUT again! Fuck! And a death save already? Wait ... he's using his FLASK as a dice tower? Seriously?

Fearne is IN one of the whirlpools ... oh nice, she's out! Okay ... and she doesn't know if FCG's out again ... okay, she's GOING BACK to him again ... a SECOND Level Cure Wounds ... 13 points znd he's up AGAIN!!!

Orym does a jack rabbit kick and boots this thing RIGHT OFF the ship, goes after the one attacking Chetney ... 17 points of damage! Nice ... and it's down again ...

Ashton dies a reckless on the little shit attacking FCG and ANNIHILATES the fucker. Then teleports onto the ship ...

Chetney gets his sword out, and it gets chatty on him again ... oh, he's just trying to PERSUADE the captain instead? Hmmm ...

Oh shit ... Chet didn't know she offered up the sword too ... awkward ...

Another persuasion check? Hmmmmm ... roll good, Marisha! Fuck ... 10? Shite ...

Wow ... he's giving it up? Oh yeah, cursed sword is NOT HAPPY and neither is Chetney ... but at least the captain accepts ...

And they got their ride!

Time for a break ...

Laudna (waving like a queen): "We're friends now! We're going for a ride!"

Fearne doesn't like having GUILT. That's hilarious. XD

Oh yeah, actually technically they are kind of pirates themselves, actually. Yeah. They're smong peers! Woedders? Cool. Keith? No ... KYLE ... hmmm ... "I've been with you for a hundred years!" XD

Chetney's staying as a wolfman cuz he doesn't trust this lot. I don't blame him.

How does an undead die MORE, Fearne? I'm curious.

Oooh, SAM gets a Whispers ... and it gets weirdly flirty ... what the fuck? XD

He sounds honest. I THINK we can trust him ... Laudna's trying to get snippy about it ... oh, okay, they're shaking on it? This is getting weird ...

Laudna SCARES Chetney back into halfling form. Wait ... is he trying to trick them with the fake? Crap ... the sniper's a bit too sharp for him.

Okay, they hand the real one over, and ... yeah, that's that. And they're going to let them off in one piece too, apparently.

No food on board ... I mean really, what were you actually expecting?

Hunter's Bane ... but I mean what is he REALLY trying to find out?

So the ship's is a total wreck? Sounds about right ... and it's SAILING ITSELF!!! Oh boy ... proper ghost ship here ...

Oh wow ... is Fearne FLIRTING with the captain now? Really?

The Solstice has had NO EFFECT on them? Now THAT is interesting ...

The Strife Emperor is Betrayer God ... okay ... not sure if that's a good thing for us, then. He might be more on Ludinus' side ... or maybe not ... hmmmm ...

Clearly he doesn't like question ...

Interesting ... he's looking to strike up a BOND with Chetney's sword ...

Find out what the boots are about? Hmmmm ... FCG's not sure he can do that. But he has time ... oh, there's a card! Double speed for ten minutes? That's not bad, actually ... oh yes, Ashton could FUCK SHIT UP with those ... oh, Rollies with Chetney ... okay ... oh, that's it. They're Ashton's, then.

The ship is literally REPELLING marine life ...

Ashton's going up to the crow's nest to talk with the navigator. She carved her own eye out? To make a point? Wow ...

Woedders: "Anger's good. It makes things happen."

Oh ... the mention of Ruidus gets her attention ... she hasn't seen it in weeks? Well it is STUCK in position now ...

The others are going exploring ... oh, it is FREEZING down here. Okay ... oh, so when they sleep they LITERALLY just fall apart. Charming ...

"Is it warmer in the hole?" Oh boy ... this conversation is getting dirty ...

The Whitts Twins ... oh, the halflings? Okay ... so they just like go gamble? For no real purpose any more. Not that there's any reason to.

No natural threats to the ghost ship on the High Seas, then ...

Sanjay? Okay ... ooh, he's a fancy one, clearly.

"Who hasn't heard of Scanlan Shorthalt?" Cute ..

Beads of Love ... ye gods ...

A pile of Kyle ... XD

Oh, the guns are NEW acquisitions? That's interesting ... Percy's legacy has spread FAR ...

Is FCG really suggesting they try a thief-off with Fearne? Really?

They're trying to introduce Rollies to them now ...

Oh no, Marisha, please don't ... oh, it's sll getting a bit meta all of a sudden ... Matt: "And that wax the last anyone saw of Bells Hells."

And now they're playing Rollies ...

Ah, secrets ...

Wow, this is spreading now ... and now they're addicted to Rollies, that's hilarious and adorable ...

And that's it for the night. Yup ...

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dansnaturepictures · 1 year

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Looking back on five of my favourite ever birdwatching days

Seeing the Surf Scoter at Stokes Bay in 2015

Seeing Pennington’s female Surf Scoter on Sunday inspired this post which was brilliant too, and this 2015 sighting of this mega bird has always stuck with me. A wonderful and thrilling moment, with the Common Scoters it was with and only my second ever Red-throated Diver seen other highlights in a day we saw so much. A long time Twitter friend of mine joked when I was sharing my sightings that night “did a Hoopoe fly by as well?”, clearly a good luck charm as that iconic species was the next new bird we saw later that year. I took the first picture in this photoset of the Surf Scoter and Common Scoters.

Great Spotted Cuckoo at Portland in 2016

2016 feels like the beginning of a few amazing birding years for us with so much seen and high year list totals at a bit of an increasing intensity and in hindsight this super bird at Portland was the key bird seen that year, when it looked like this rarity may have eluded us on that sunny afternoon it suddenly dashed over the path right beside us and we got a sensational view of a special species in a smashing wild bank holiday Sunday. I got the record shot in the second picture in this photoset of it.

The first day of the Scotland trip we went on in 2018, in the Highlands

On this sensational part of the amazing Heatherlea ‘Birding Bites’ tour a present for my 21st birthday I had one of the best days of my life, with dream after dream coming true in the snow covered landscape as I saw my first ever Red Grouse, Crested Tit, Capercaillie, Golden Eagle and Black Grouse as well as White-tailed Eagle, Dipper, my first ever Mountain Hare and also Red Squirrels and Red Deer seen in the way of mammals and more. Magical moments in an enchanting trip with wildlife and scenes to savour I always longed to see. I took the third and fourth pictures in this photoset of Crested Tits, fifth of Golden Eagle and sixth of the Black Grouse that day.

Seeing Lesser Spotted Woodpecker and Tawny Owl on one afternoon in 2021 in the New Forest

Being two birds I dreamed of seeing for years and first saw in the same year back in 2014, this was a utopian day at a place I love when we thrillingly saw a Tawny Owl flying in the day and were ecstatic to see a Lesser Spotted Woodpecker weaving through the branches. Hawfinch, Woodlark, Stock Dove, Treecreeper, Reed Bunting and Fallow Deer were other highlights in an unbelievable list of species seen that day. This massive moment seeing them both together has sparked a good couple of years of seeing the owl and woodpecker a bit more frequently too. I got the seventh picture in this photoset of the Lesser Spotted Woodpecker that day.

Seeing an Osprey fly over Skomer Island whilst enjoying Puffins in 2022

My 2022′s answer to the Lesser Spotted Woodpecker/Tawny Owl moment which I have also replayed so much in my mind, I was so amazed when whilst watching the original birds I took to my heart getting into birding as a kid the seabirds and taking in all the splendour of this with Puffins ensconced in sea campion the other bird I first loved as a kid an Osprey flew over. I never imagined seeing Puffin and the other seabirds and Osprey in the same day so this was also one of the days of my life and was an inspirational personal moment for me in a year of changing things for the better last year. The crazy few minutes in a packed, momentous and sensational day also included other of my favourite birds Red Kite and Chough flying over. I took the eighth picture in this photoset of the Osprey and ninth of a Puffin that day and tenth of a Chough later that week away at Strumble Head.

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sethian123 · 1 year

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Bardaisan: Harp of the Pearl (poem about the life and works of Bardaisan)

Son of the river Daiṣān that flowed with much joy Sailed into this world through ancient Edessa Hear: He is the true harp of the Holy Spirit Once a follower of the oracles of stars Soon realized the dark blindness of their teachings When he saw the light of the Son rise in the east No longer shooting arrows in the void and dark Going here and there like wandering planets Where no dim star could even bring a single spark He used his high-priced arrows of piercing insight His light and well-crafted bow of eloquence The sight and light of Christ with their radiant strength To save pearls of white from serpents of muddy black To pierce into the fabric of light and dark To save the maiden of truth from lions and wolves He sent for the philosopher king of sheol Pleading for the maiden to be safe from wolves But arrows never entered the emperor’s soul He made one hundred and fifty silver arrows That shone for ages and even wolves howled to The first of their kind in the land of Syria Though almost all these arrows faded from the world One arrow termed “Arrow of the Pearl” survived Enshrined as the most splendorous arrow crafted This arrow pierces flesh and frees the star within Rescues pearls from the black serpent of Egypt And returns those pearls to the Queen of the Dawn land He wrote about the land of the Ganges River He crafted a bow with the aid of its saints To shine light on this land of colourful idols His student crafted the oldest bow in Syria That the endless dust of time has not consumed In his name and with his arrows that left his mouth This bow showed the folly of the star oracles Showed how stars do not fully rule man’s spirit And displayed the fruit that could grow in man’s freedom According to legends older than those free stars He pierced into the soul of Abgar IX With the arrow of the only-begotten sun What is as sure as the sun rising each morning Is that the Empire of the Eagle flew And slew the kingdom of Edessa with its claws Abgar IX was forced into robes of grey chains With a crown of scorn to mark his last defeat While Emperor Caracalla squawked at his small prey Caracalla and his pets devoured many Many Students of the harp and archer died At last, the eagle went to the archer himself They demanded him to leave the light of the Son Meaning the sight that gave his archery skill He refused, prepared to face the darkness of death They banished him, though not out of this hylic life But to the dark and lonely walls of Ani The Son of the Daiṣān was then near his bright end On his deathbed, with a student and his two sons Seeing the white light out of this dark fortress He remembered his own words as a final prayer “When at the end of all shall it be ours in full To look on your banquet, oh Father of All To see the young maiden of truth in her splendour” “Your young and innocent daughter will be allowed To sit on your knee and get endless comforted" He then returned his pearl to the land of comfort Hear: He is the true harp of the Holy Spirit The first crafted harp adorned with brown berylls Whom a future craftsman copied from with iron He is now at the ancient fountain of joy Source of that flowing river that none can destroy

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libidomechanica · 2 years

Text

Untitled Poem # 8703

A sonnet sequence

Thou waste, when on the billows rude. —I’ll swim to the day complaint. How happy plain, with hellish tyranny. The moon. To wing, fann’d the judgement of sepulchral from the daylight it come indolence. Thou wilt be gone, I marry the bed. Me by my name, Bannockburn, Passchendaele, Babi Yar, Vietnam. Prophet, curse me through buried there crost towards a cruel, cruel fire, the charm of which I gasp to have you more thyself to Brushing, head to hear it growing.

Ankles points; it is a world that old ruined fortune flout, the brood. Of Saturn’s vintage; mouldering the ancient bugaboo follow’d all, and the portraiture of clouds faintly sat down; and, with round him grew all these joys; ask nought beyond thy presence he stood; like old Deucalion mountain’d o’er the stars she seem’d that is the shelter of large- browed steals unto her boy, you know’st it not. How quietly her fancy from me, what means this poor tears fell ere the World from hill to hill.

III

Will last the trees. I rear’d my heart’s workings be, that nest and lost huge self; and that were ever saw. Who lov’d—and music in the west, she was borne a voice of many throes! And when storm-rent disclos’d in one accents halcyon. And live! Fell down, alone can taste loues dainty food; if eagle and strange love the pony, that hung just out that widow’d wife; I sue not for the pony, where sleep! Will gulph me—help! A horse, a shield me from such comes from this restless world, and left my legs.

There are thrust, only a yard beneath a coral clasps and amber studded with causefull ten times nine. In the ground were I go hence, know that I prize with voice expire. And slowly from thee my wandering about her waist, and all around upon push’d thro’ the Miller was in Christ was altogether by pulleys like vibrations of dryness find this I know that vessel’s shrouds in perilous bustle, Betty sees, but Juliana’s scorching up, and fearing nought of sea.

She stops, she loves, her idiot boy. Guide-post—he turns right team gulphs in the eie of heaven, his name for that spake he, and wailing, this was not then he called on fire, which like as like a dreadful night. More wit is now bestowing. The sheets will here swear, eterne Apollo each one little eas’d, the poor sob doth pine, not a woman, tired of my kind, keep back them night the Olympian eagle landed him, and I feel their eyes that was never live, supposing through road?

And that’s the cannot be long, or I am so oppress’d. For while Endymion! Never to silence all one! Should be seen, or canst not go the flowers on a slothful shore, down whose passe-praise hue scornful of milk! In bush and look at her pipe in growth about me them of kind, am urged by your state complain. Strife, but he heard, what to her door, what do, and away, for term of life, lilies, like a morning; if that it is sae prevailin’, and wae on the forest o’er.

VII

Arsenic, sure, would be rear’d aloft its hungry lick about the shrill winds bound it round above my husband’s at the dome pomp, reflections cast: a little more has that is become something rings—o let the world will say tis very idle, bethink you often seen. Cried throat, in mossy bed and power too. Yet she had not buried ghosts tonight, alone, but for thou art not for scenes must confesse O noble fire fed by the purpos’d to flow, and how to forget not yet.

VIII

Each one plays his patience is the measured mine, and then the same around her guide, for should not: therefore? Or she never fall; and so its ink has pass’d, even he, of cat or mouse, nor knows what became of the splendour, not a mother he hecht her airy flower’d Elysium. Of fresh upon mine when thou should not: there we mighty ones who have told me thereon could even weeping in array, and in how plenteous showers, into the core all other cattle thing real.

He had seen, lull’d with lichens to it our naked as someone … and I must wed them now for your beauty fairness now I could not to fear the little her luscious Honour’s parle, but when sweet queen: That when her lips daignd to shew his spread. A thousand score. And send the whole herd, as by a red rock, glimmers thy chaste breast more did I see their pedantic boring cry: every farthing out and heels on along the earth in the east, and satyrs stark, with cold half awake I sought.

It brings honey-dew from this country first sunrise. To pay: no suits or fret at all, comes to thinke I then, what you again. Would defile the eagle, ’twixt cape and clown’s- all-heal, the silvery shape that it is like a cinder, and Betty, going, there his travelling, to their vermillion, and high fantastic bridge athwart the nine white doves. The grave. Yet not yet escap’d from worldly please you right that get broken wing thro’ cells of madness of love! The hour when the gable-wall.

It is but one word scarcely even as thou hast passed with anybody’s weight upon his large Hercules wound I seal. Trim her bed, as if her very joy and pine more than one pretty lambs we pull; fair-lined slipperie place: for others, because that out an hour; we whispering breast, and sigh’d, Sweetest essence, when she said; she said:-Then, cried the horizon’s breast the fire of a duke, and panting light; that gray old wolf, for her smooth it steal about the ghosts, the dale, and thou move?

XII

But do not there lives, had child. Least ioy, by his while stand amazed ken, to margin, and will betide? But when thou wilt not, nor passion; when he flung himselfe in the Sword and Master of thee to him befel, for sure he met with you, O Love and me, i’ll restore five yearn’d with rapine, and rejoice! Only to kiss than she is known rustic revels he had died, that temple, so complete and gin; therefore like awe, that he could I dibble take, or drop a seed, till my griefs have grown common bulk, those two sad streams subterranean tease their dull skies, which though its verdure of this with, God forbids to spare, till she heart leal and hint, and doth always used him well; perhaps, with Etnean throe the entirely; no, thy state!

XIII

It was yours years of her tale may take off shoes. In truth it was enough to drive one glass eye. But yet I know this fears were heard the lane, or be deliverers tasted her brain—’tis all in traveller had a dreadful might and the pony’s worth to strike him and lawless war are scarcely wastes one step? Like thunder-glooming like a ruddy shield on the sky is blue, that every minutest fish would go, and flower-plots were clear from the quiet air Stella, the one tonight.

XIV

Nor could ever dwell; whate’er thou canst do thou canst do thou wilt be blest, and like an infant’s bier she looked on, and Nineveh. He ever in the day, although thou know I have kisses. And another flow of joy and pine more ground the doors old footsteps murmur breeds along the stars kept secretest. I would that woful day a cruel, cruel snare in a pit to catch a friend, nor thou wouldst mount up to my health to a hole in the eye, that valley, that’s like a wretch’s knife, too base?

Actually I’m hung up on it. The ignoble never heard her cry, oh misery! A voice is listens, but so. Her messenger and pleasant grass it should be engulphed in the waves lie still I am but half-dead; there is coming flame—o let me melt into the drift of Heaven’s gates, at love the very sweets: onward it shook upon the whole days agone her soul to the dusk below, if such a mournful place, and all, comes nectar at the scornes this poor thorn!

XVI

Emerald deep: yet not yet when he did lye, the Lady FRANCES drest so let our love inevitable Outside they cannot know thy cheek is pale for one as sorrows of your eyes thick films I see play with his pocket bring the tropics, to arrest thy silvery shower fell, as down with many a light and travelling, to renew embower’d Elysium! You plainly in his hand to their own, belonging compliments they gain’d, and pearl. That blow softly round me.

XVII

Cruelty has a human accent: Potent goddess was past bounded wide, is silent night are shouts from thy diadem, out-sparkling sudden voices were sports in a cloud of poisoner! Can see no object. What Meg o’ the door, she quite a scoff; and when I behold another down, uncertain ways: through a vast antre; then the fierce complain, moving about his looks at you will not been a Sultan of old and then ’twere pity, for the water fair, as careless ill.

XVIII

Away, my life away like an uptorn for ever and are bent on her own bow, can mingled with lichens to it our naked trees: if only you wouldst thus, and lull their promise to an end. I don’t stand before to the dull a spur like pretty, trifling? She lifted drowsily, and how to consummate all the bed; at lengthen out the shaping air will guide. Could wandered the first I came, ere I have felt with a stirring claims, yet God’s just going, what can ease my pain.

XIX

Thus did he ever have as he passion to a moment’s self must feel sometimes like a morning slowly from the town so long on a chair, think and quiver is mute in her, ere she should not marvel at either hand: as she’d been resum’d in spite of truth; as ’tis kept secret all your rhubarbe words, and weep to the rounding of you. For into the minutes, by those same feather to the floor, blacken’d waters play which mads the jewel, here is no old power of love and closer.

Soldiers spitting, spears in the Carian’s ear; first he, far and reset.— As if she has caught as the multitude in which whales arbour queen, what do, and at the self-approving glow, of conscious lips and all around my limbs, bathing stuff might say some plainly set her within him those olden three, memphis, and Daies, which burns the famous—that you say parataxis would seem to decay, o’ercharge, while there? Her body it grew better state to the bats, when a little patience, youth!

XXI

And Johnny, Johnny’s but half starved. Why will, my Johnny is just going, though I have new sorrows come with Aarons pretious time she’s nothing to a lyre, touch’d the tribe of Reuben? Spouse—next, on a dolphin tumults, when at last all deckt with finger, now; now, while one huge Python antagonizing was the cost of thee the promise to an end to the bones for those who with my lays, as Philomel in the earth I cry for the bosom of a crescent? In a long farewell!

XXII

Sitting crag, and dipp’d a chin but that smile, or with wit, as with his caract, and fairer flow. The end of mercy? Drunken, and what a happy times, like or what we two must be a nurse made of thy sweet shower heal’d up the wound, and legal ways which I spoke, a woman at her door, The youth’s slumberous ease: long years and years. Over his nested young: sweet I hear he loves, her gentle Goddess was a nymphs, and your love-salute was seen such we in roses. Oh woe is me!

XXIII

Of you where oft there; fresh and comes from hiding up that seemed as thine. Grant in his face sweet Venus, bending loud, he flew, the scene more I know not how—as if she may his face my hair uptying within the skies, their father. Is enough? Which calls all creature lie, mortal, and desolation stir; And down, alone amid a prospect,—diamond gleaming a song. And far in the degrading details I have chose, by whom my being blush’d, with you, O Love and howl, and marrow drain’d.

XXIV

Start—no bosom beats as plain the baby looks how quiet woodlander— pass’d like a city, with spirit in thy presence, look upon it, tis plain; she wept, and flow, anon she took you dedicated, naked waist: Fair Cupid’s sake! Thing, once the leaves among, chance did intwine, alive when thou wouldst thoughtful tale pursuing, among the glasses of you. Blaze, and was a whelming soul of love! For thou hast smil’d. I shall never can work War’s overthrow. I saw the dismal knell!

XXV

Sparrow’s chirrup on the dungeon core of the same himself along the ghosts, his appetite to dive into his noted want of my thrice-seen love, to move openly together with a sweetness, to cradled me then regality of Neptune’s eastern blast did nip a fairer flowers smother’d thro’ the Miller. Whose steadfast faith embrace, and at once: for down-glancing the ground, and keep my mind hath so dense a breathing an elephant appear, when my black, as erst to Pindar’s eyes there art thou break it—What, is it true—away, and thus it was to talk to you to every Muse to rove: and doubling overhead their axle! And though in his high and look’d as she repeat, the right this sort of hotel.

XXVI

To carry back my idiot boy? Those hopes it seem’d to sight, a beauteous bill of moss, that no just pretense of mine of heaven, where we might that are gone, by our eternall praise: discriminal. To the morn. Every part was consent, so in this country comets, that I were deathlessness, and tenderly unclos’d, by tender scions for very feare would ease him down. Bones in a certain ways: through the while. A hundred-years-old name with daily boon of fish moving came these?

XXVII

Down from the trees, and call it love? To do the sea, or a crime we hear the woody dale; and the bars that kept within him that million dye. Though the leg. The sparrows from the tough ones that widow’d bed sat silent sapphire-spangled, and there was a jasmine bower veils mantling the gloom: down, down, and—ah, ripe sheaves of happy times, when I thought him, in kind striving that, near again in grass a long pillars, and thus he raped her. But that when her luscious Honour more than he.

XXVIII

All blisses be upon a gentle wrists, and shells, and wither’d when thou wast my sister; darting still, and, downward, so too—too high: only I pray, as fairest friend and worn the wood, whether he hecht her amorous plea faint throne of emeralds break it—What, is it sings his dreary space he seeth a hundred years with his slumber; while beneath the wood. Sweetly blushing the east, and speak of other still: I can prepare with joy, even thousand time in silence; first sunrise.

XXIX

Like pretty rooms; who for her mournful hymns did hush the night I saw a jutting calm and pearl. The pony there; so, not to solemn their gaze ripe from knee, nor far, ere from the tongue. And Betty’s head and somebody, surely be sent: the nested wren has thy fountain bend? Grown old, and low! Her voice is listen for common lose their office mighty pulses: in thine eye, so deep is their fames this booth, whence full many a heath, through the public foe, then live no hatred and fast she scuds with our feet, innocent flood that hell-born Circe. It is, the dead; seen them most sweet in cowslip-water bathes my feet and sweets: onward it flies. And, full-blown, shed full thou art powerful, these secrets, haply I might see swallow, then.

XXX

To gather flew in through the two deliverer, how desolate, and heathy waste, since she her name fell icy numb upon my shady brink, thou wast the heaven? In the flowers all the air, giving its own scythe of mid-sea, afloat, and from yours. Delicious symphonies, like a common lose the globe of weale, lips Loues indentures: oh gentle bosom grew, when my black-eyed rival came. I was at my table, and elbow-deep with fingertips, shame on her own bones.

XXXI

My Lady unto Madam says: Thereof she must stay:—she’s in a garden grow, if thy sprites the night as he despair so much passion to a mouth and gentle tongues were fastened around, and when she was dry; no tear his stead. Then the eye, the little breed. Gloom, and fro, distract insight wakes among the fewer not long; for, every charming and Cressid sweet and wishings, and in this thy gold the bounties of the tenting she her side, are it. Till, while I in calm speech: Ah!

XXXII

This blessing hands; no sight, the moon. And our roots of Sicily; watched for a hundred waterfalls, whose cheek who can be: but do not cut him down from the dame; and wither’d lyrist, who stand upon push’d through wildering that must I bee still charms, must be for this gently pats the pony moves there, betraying to his own goddess! You plainly in her hut, then the very words ye must we be seen! See sweet spot pillow stood; and, with hoarsest thunder- gloomings in the morning east.

XXXIII

His eyes in order as in the bands of love-sick queen attends and in hand shelter of Earth, for him the torment spar’d, would up the alarm broke us feel existence, and pine more than the circle of a shop called Beautiful now, not even in with porringer and down his ancient height, and find the Egean seer, her spouse—next, on a diet from the last few steps, and to that know whether than all the ground; but all and each other. There before me: persecuting fate!

XXXIV

Among those timber toes your love whose steadfast faith of deeds! Been a witness—it must both in bed, on all her one waiting for judgments see that thou starv’d between them moue; if stones stirred from that drifts unfeathers and a doorknob, for you, only for his death’—alas! Motions of myrtle wall’d, embower’d Elysium! Was heard their tiptop nothing had pass’d, even for there sits, until there is a thorn; no leave me one unto my future/ current noon texting for this guide.

XXXV

There be, as the multitude. If he seav’n times far away? Behind the wheels go over my heart, and power left espy; and the Bow, they lengthen’d, thought that nest and golden tresses gloomy arch. Says Betty, he’ll be its head, who, thus did fall sweet Arethusa, peerless nymph! I sue not this. That to withstand which quarrels move, come interest, which it containe! In my young mountains:-tease me not with drops of them, for I fearless turn and we will all those blots that I were dead!

XXXVI

So in thine, now we poisoner! Oak, where the wall a sluice! A little patience; for the prince my seruice tries, that’s like an aspen-bough, distilling longer can I do?— Now how can we part? Finger to fight footsteps; as when though all this little herald flew aloft, follow’d all, and tempting fruit, o let me confesse: there was back from the impatient—all for very shape that in truth is a glazed and inlaid with misty spray, a copious springs all are but a voice?

XXXVII

Since that is thing in their foot-prints. Francis call; We die and rise, ambitious for thou art so potently? Grass such love, to love’s standard on the bed. To Amphitrite, queen of Beauty, but gives o’er; until, impatient lips all ruddy,—for I bubble of continue pure; the blood red ran from the waters clear. Tell me where shorn away, in the sky is blue, the blood again, and I’ll speak contract their either, cripple and I almost gone, I only know thy chaste desires.

XXXVIII

Earth close my happy Betty shed. So shall I weep and do not drop in forlorn wretched thrall, my lonely couch, a bunch of blossom, to sweetly blushing thine eyelids thin. It’s a kind of white; those two sad state, has dived to its found me, and your daughter. Fleet as an arrow teeth at the rocks the hearing time flowing, therefore cannot quell one hair was in his thorn she said; she said; she said, but scorching beams. All these things deem’d. Oh reader, knowing I tarry for their shaggy jaws.

XXXIX

Life thou hast been evening’s sleepy music, forc’d him we were all bloom of your ne’er-cloying swerve of knee from thee are safe! Hovered in fear the little grew, the neighbour, Susan then wrong’d a heart and smiles, if dimples, tongue—o let me hear little grew, it is time, surcharg’d with leaves Me, Heaven, dost taste freedom as none can free the issue. Nor prest nature’s rais’d, said he, all forms and she was consecrated urn, hold sphery sessions for a little snakes of self came on, and nymphs round jubilance of it are all used up for the amazement, the sweet soul to the vast beneath the mark—and if they both sight can bear this serpent-skin of woe, then to this aged bones, bones in a saddle, or with wonder-draughts; but ah!

Been, and starry seven, old Atlas’ child by young immortall, subject to no death to die, or be so straight with many a sound she was I clung about the doors old footsteps murmur breeds vexing Mars had lost huge sea-marks; vanward step proud domes were silence, when that fends thee safely. Which is a little babe is but echo’d from thee and true in sacred custom, that is fixedly as rocky marge, till hope, her thoughts would I tarry for still: but in my best thou wilt leaves.

XLI

This might, a rosie garlands gay, he steps; pouring as if impell’d. How happy place. To you: the onset comes into my bosom, magnificent, aw’d from Olympus’ solemnize thy refulgent through a thousand, thought, nor Britain’s one sole God be the main tree still, and, downward went upon his heavens did pierce: where I’ve been alone can leade you rise? A well-known voices marry the bed, susan, I’d gladly view the same around, and around, that hobbles up the wood.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #106 texts #sonnet sequence

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