#King Gorm

[coochiequeens]

Women's history just got richer

By Mindy Weisberger, CNN

More than 1,000 years ago, carvers in what is now Denmark set their chisels to rock to etch runestones — monuments to Viking leaders naming their deeds and achievements. Two groups of runestones mention a woman named Thyra, and new analysis of the carvings suggests that the runes on both sets of stones were inscribed by the same artisan and refer to the same woman: a Viking queen of considerable power.

Researchers from Denmark and Sweden used 3D scans to analyze carvings on the runestones, finding telltale clues that marked the individual style of the person who carved them. That carver’s repeated mention of Thyra’s name — a rare occurrence for Viking-era women — suggested that Thyra was a powerful sovereign who likely played a pivotal role in the birth of the Danish realm, the scientists reported Wednesday in the journal Antiquity.

“To learn more about the rune-carver and those named on the stone is fascinating,” said Dr. Katherine Cross, a lecturer at York St. John University in the UK who researches and teaches the history of early medieval northern Europe. She was not involved in the study.

“We can only understand early medieval sources once we can think about who made them and why,” Cross told CNN in an email.

One set of runes came from a pair of monuments known as the Jelling stones, erected in the town of Jelling around 965. The larger Jelling stone is often referred to as “Denmark’s birth certificate,” as it’s the first monument to name the land as its people pivoted to Christianity, according to the National Museum of Denmark in Copenhagen.

Both Jelling runestones also named a royal figure: Queen Thyra, mother of then-reigning King Harald Bluetooth. The smaller stone was raised in her honor by her husband (and Harald’s father) King Gorm, calling her “Denmark’s strength/salvation” (or “Denmark’s adornment,” depending on the translation, the researchers noted in the study). Harald commissioned the larger stone, to honor both of his royal parents.

In another set of four Viking-era monuments, known collectively as the Bække-Læborg group, two runestones mention a woman named Thyra. Those stones are associated with a carver named Ravnunge-Tue, but experts disagreed on whether that Thyra was Harald’s mother, said lead study author Dr. Lisbeth Imer, a curator and senior researcher at the National Museum of Denmark specializing in the study of runes and ancient inscriptions.

Before the new investigation, it was unknown who had carved the Jelling stones. Confirming that their carver was Ravnunge-Tue would strengthen the connection between the Jelling and Bække-Læborg runestones, Imer told CNN in an email.

“Then it is much more reasonable to suggest that it was in fact the same Thyra,” she said.

A question of style

Some details in ancient runestones that indicate a carver’s individual style are visible to a trained expert’s eye, such as the language or the basic shape of the runes. Other details are harder to detect, Imer said.

“What you cannot see with the naked eye is the carving technique,” she said.

To get a closer look at the carvings, the researchers took scans of the stones and created 3D digital models, then measured the runes’ grooves with a software tool that weighed variables such as angle, depth and cutting rhythm. Together, these variables can create a unique profile for a carver.

“Every rune carver develops his own motor skill and holds the tools in a certain angle, strikes with a certain strength,” Imer said. “The motor skill is individual and other individuals cannot copy that.”

When the researchers compared runes from Jelling 2 (the larger of the two Jelling stones) and the Læborg stone from the Bække-Læborg group, they found striking similarities, such as height of the runes, straightness of the main staves and length and placement of rune branches.

“In the Læborg and Jelling inscriptions you can follow the cutting rhythm of Ravnunge-Tue as one deep stroke of the chisel followed by two not so deep ones: DAK, dak-dak, DAK, dak-dak,” Imer said via email. “It is ALMOST like hearing the heartbeat of a person that lived so long ago.”

Jelling 1 was more eroded, so its markings were harder to analyze. But if the Læborg runestone was Ravnunge-Tue’s handiwork, Jelling 2 was likely his as well, Imer said. It would mean that the Queen Thyra mentioned twice in the Bække-Læborg group — on Læborg and on the stone Bække 1 — was the same person commemorated on the Jelling stones, the study authors concluded.

In recent years, archaeologists have revised prior interpretations of Viking warrior burials as exclusively male, finding that Viking women were fighters, too. The new findings add to the picture of influential Viking women holding prominent roles in statecraft as well as on the battlefield.

“This research highlights how Viking-Age women wielded power through political authority and patronage, not just violence,” Cross said.

What’s more, the fact that Thyra is mentioned on four runestones offers strong evidence of her importance, Imer added. Fewer than 10 runestones in Denmark from the pre-Christian era mention women at all — and four of those are of Queen Thyra.

“Runestones in Denmark were mostly erected in honour of men, but Thyra is commemorated on more runestones than any other person in Viking Age Denmark,” Imer said. “She must have held extreme power and social position.”

Mindy Weisberger is a science writer and media producer whose work has appeared in Live Science, Scientific American and How It Works magazine.

#Denmark #women in history #Queen Thyra #Viking Queen #Jelling Stones #King Harald Bluetooth #King Gorm #Bække-Læborg group #a carver named Ravnunge-Tue

[deceitfulapple-eatingscoundrel]

I’ve never seen such perfection.

queen_joey. Visit her Instagram page for closeups.

This one’s my favourite. For obvious reasons 😌

P.S. Just noticed the tiny translucent fairies 🥰

#Holly Black #The Folk of the Air #TFOTA #The Cruel Prince #TCP #The Wicked King #TWK #The Queen of Nothing #TQON #Cardan Greenbriar #Jude Duarte #jurdan #The Bomb #Liliver #The Roach #Van #The Ghost #Larkin Gorm Garrett #The Court of Shadows #Nicasia #Madoc #Tatterfell #Mother Marrow #Randalin #Grimsen

[thepastisalreadywritten]

COPENHAGEN, Denmark (AP) — Denmark’s prime minister proclaimed Frederik X as king on Sunday after his mother Queen Margrethe II formally signed her abdication, with massive crowds turning out to rejoice in the throne passing from a beloved monarch to her popular son.

Margrethe, 83, is the first Danish monarch to voluntarily relinquish the throne in nearly 900 years.

Many thousands of people gathered outside the palace where the royal succession was taking place, the mood jubilant as the Nordic nation experienced its first royal succession in more than a half-century, and one not caused by the death of a monarch.

Wearing a magenta outfit, Margrethe signed her abdication during a meeting with the Danish Cabinet at the Christiansborg Palace, a vast complex in Copenhagen that houses the Royal Reception Rooms and Royal Stables as well as the Danish Parliament, the prime minister’s office, and the Supreme Court.

Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen next proclaimed Frederik king from the balcony of the palace before thousands of people — subjects of a kingdom where the trappings of royalty are mostly symbolic in today’s modern era of constitutional democracy.

Frederiksen read the proclamation three times, which is the tradition, as Frederik stood beside her wearing a ceremonial military uniform adorned with medals.

He was then joined on the balcony by new Queen Mary and the couple’s four children, and the crowd spontaneously sang the national anthem.

“My hope is to become a unifying king of tomorrow,” Frederik said. “It is a task I have approached all my life.”

“I want to return the trust I meet. I need trust from my beloved wife, you and that which is greater than us,” the new king said.

Frederik then kissed Mary and another great cheer rose from the crowd.

The abdication document was earlier presented to Margrethe as she sat at a massive table covered in red cloth around which royals and members of the Danish government were seated.

Frederik sat beside her.

After signing it, Margrethe rose and gestured to Frederik to take her place.

“God save the king,” she said as she left the room.

The abdication leaves Denmark with two queens: Margrethe keeps her title, while Frederik’s Australian-born wife becomes Queen Mary.

Frederik and Mary’s eldest son Christian, 18, has become crown prince and heir to the throne.

Christian handed Margrethe her walking stick as she departed from her abdication ceremony.

Citing health issues, Margrethe announced on New Year’s Eve that she would step down, stunning a nation that had expected her to live out her days on the throne, as is tradition in the Danish monarchy.

Margrethe underwent major back surgery last February and didn’t return to work until April.

Even the prime minister was unaware of the queen’s intentions until right before the announcement.

Margrethe had informed Frederik and his younger brother Joachim just three days earlier, the Berlingske newspaper wrote, citing the royal palace.

People from across Denmark gathered outside parliament, with many swarming streets decorated with red-and-white Danish flags.

Several shops hung photos of Margrethe and Frederik, while city buses were adorned with smaller Danish flags as is customary during royal events.

Many others across the kingdom of nearly 6 million people followed a live television broadcast of the historic event.

The royal guards’ music band made their daily parade through downtown Copenhagen, but wore red jackets, instead of their usual black, to mark major events.

Copenhagen resident Rene Jensen, wearing a replica of a royal robe and a bejeweled purple crown on his head, said that he expected Frederik to be “a king for the nation, representing us everywhere.”

The last time a Danish monarch voluntarily resigned was in 1146, when King Erik III Lam stepped down to enter a monastery.

Margrethe abdicated on the same day of January that she ascended the throne following the death of her father, King Frederik IX, on 14 January 1972.

Denmark’s monarchy traces its origins to 10th-century Viking king Gorm the Old, making it the oldest in Europe and one of the oldest in the world.

Today, the royal family’s duties are largely ceremonial.

Australians also turned out on the streets of Copenhagen to celebrate one of their own becoming queen.

“I think it’s good that she’s not from royalty and has a normal Australian background. We can relate more to that, because she’s from a middle-class background, and we are too,” said Judy Langtree, who made the long journey from Brisbane with her daughter to witness the royal event.

A survey — commissioned by Denmark’s public broadcaster DR — published Friday showed that 79% of the 1,037 people polled by the Epinion polling institute said that they believed Frederik was prepared to take the reigns and 83% said they thought his wife Mary was ready to become queen.

The survey margin of error was 3 percentage points, DR said.

#Frederik X #Queen Margrethe II #Christiansborg Palace #Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen #King Erik III Lam #King Frederik IX #Gorm the Old #DR #AP #Danish Royal Family #House of Glücksburg #Denmark #Frederik André Henrik Christian

[draugariki]

drafting a fic set in the viking age and it is becoming a struggle to choose a human name for denmark - matthias is anachronistic for the period i'm writing and magnus is also my name, so it feels kinda weird to use, but none of the other more period-authentic names feel like they suit him (:

#hws denmark #hetalia #most tempting option is to name him after a medieval king but that narrows it down to harald or gorm or sveinn or knut #and i'm not huge fans of any of those #ulfr? arngrim? hrafn? #norway is a sigurd and iceland is an egill theyre very easy #but nothing for denmark seems to work nicely #why did i call myself magnus this was terribly short-sighted

[clancarruthers]

GORM THE OLD - CLAN CARRUTHERS CCIS

GORM THE OLD – DENMARKS FIRST KING CARRUTHERS ANCESTOR   In ancient times Denmark was not a kingdom, but a multitude of small provinces ruled over by warlike chiefs who called themselves kings. It was not until the ninth century that these little king-ships were combined into one kingdom, this being done by a famous chieftain, known by the Danes as Gorm den Gamle, or Gorm the Old. A great warrior…

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#Carruthers Clan #DENMARK #GORM #GOTLAND GUTLAND JUTLAND LANGUAGE #KING #KNUD #QUEEN #THYRA

[betweenblackberrybranches]

Automaton au

Chapter 1: Lost and found

They call it the age of man. It really isn’t. The creatures of old didn’t vanish, they just left the more densely populated areas. Most people didn’t realize that and the scholars and wizards proclaiming the victory of humankind, in the name of the king, certainly do not correct the assumptions of the general public. Stories from the wilder parts of the country are often put off as old tales in the safety of the capital and the surrounding cities and villages. But leaving the safety of the “developed” lands, people still fear and respected the things in the woods. Here the mediator between the Nature and the Humans is still a very much-needed profession. Witches had a bad reputation in the big cities for a long time. Apart from their knowledge in potion brewing, often only rivalled by alchemists, they are generally frowned upon as charlatans, their magic, connected to nature, seen as archaic compared to the sleek and modern magic of wizards. People do not like to be reminded of the outside, of the creatures roaming.

You sigh as you tuck in the silver broche holding your scarf, a sign of your profession, just as much as the much more obvious broad brimmed felted sun hat, you had rolled up and put away earlier. Your mother had gone ahead to look for a carriage that could take you at least somewhat in the direction you were traveling in.  Looking at the flowers next to the dirt road you walk slowly basking in the spring sun, fidgeting with a small stone you had picked up on the way. You feel nervous as you step on the muddy square of the small city, filled with different carts and carriages, the amount of people already threatening to overwhelm you. your mother, outgoing as she is, already made friends with a guy sitting on a carriage filled with various goods, Talking to him while scratching the donkeys already harnessed to pull the cart. She waves as you approach quickly telling you his name and various other facts about him you do not think you will be able to remember. He is willing to let you travel on the back of the cart for a small price. You study his bearded face riddled with crowfeet and his warmly smiling eyes. Well at least he seems trustworthy you think as you thank him for his kindness and sit down in the back while your mother sits in the front, still talking with him about some kind of political topic. As the wagon lazily rumbles over the uneven roads, you take out the letter you had looked at so much the last few weeks, studying it again, as if its meaning could suddenly make sense to you.

[With sadness, we have to inform you that the great wizard Aspodious has passed.

He died soundly in his sleep, which the doctor on sight attributed to his great age.

As you are his relatives, we would like to convey our deepest condolences to your family.

The following page is a copy of his will. The Village chief of Worthwood has been informed and will help you with further inquiries.

Wizard association of the wizard tower. Capital, year 27 of king Gorm the kind, season of last light.]

You grimace at the page, cursing the harsh winter that first hindered the poor currier from delivering this message to the small village you lived in and then making it impossible to travel to the capital at all. It had been so bad the currier himself had to stay with one of the families who had room in their barn because the way back would have been as much as a death sentence, by spring the guy was promised to one of their daughters, Anne, if you remember correctly, they were quite the cute couple actually. You had seen them from time to time in the winter, her eyes had nothing but him in them and he couldn’t stop talking about how strong and good at hunting in the snow she was. A small smile crept on your face. At least some good had come of all of this.

When you had arrived in the capital your granduncle had been buried for a long time, all you could do was lay flowers on his grave and talking to his associates. Not that you actually wanted to attend his funeral on the account of all the wizards that surely littered the occasion.

Looking at the second page of the letter your face immediately scrunches back into a displeased expression.

[As I am old now I look back on my life, I wish I had spent more time with my family as estranged as most of you are from me.

I have not seen my nephew often for a long time, he always struck me as a bright boy though, he and my departed brothers wife I may leave 10 000 gold coins each.

My nephews’ son is a less bright one, followed by misfortune, as it seems. I leave him my small house in the outskirts of Worthwood. I hope this will lead to the foolish boy finally settling down.

I thank my niece for visiting me now and then, showing respect for my research and keeping me company when I was sickly in bed, as happens more often, now that I am old. To her I will leave half of my fortune and my best wishes.

My nieces’ child I have not seen since they were rather small, though they send me their best wishes every time their mother visited. To them I leave everything in my small house in worthwood, 5 000 gold coins and the family curse.

To the Wizard tower I leave half of my fortune, in memory of my happy life from apprenticeship under my late master, to the upper ranks of wizard kind.

Follow my wishes as stated in this document. Grand wizard Aspodius. Capital, year 27 of king Gorm the kind, season of first harvest.]

Trailing the lines repeatedly, you stare at the stamp, marking the piece of paper as an official document. He left you the family curse.

Leaning back, you look at the sky peeking through the canopy of the trees lining the road, shadows and light trailing over your face slowly.  “This is such a mess…”you mutter. A family curse, most times, is the curse of a bloodline. The cursed one usually gets a vision at some point detailing who in the family will receive it next, and this vision is, after an old custom only revealed after their death.

Lightly bunching up the fabric of your long sleeve, you peer at the deep red marks that had suddenly appeared on your right Arm last winter. At that time you had thought it a rash of some sort and treated it accordingly, generously applying soothing salves of your own making. Now it is somewhat obvious that they are not, they look just too similar to a rather big handprint adorned by sharp tips. As if someone had grabbed you. There was another handprint in the middle of your chest, around where your heart would be.

You did not know the details of the curse and your mother had refused to tell you anything about it. “In due time” she had said. It felt rather violating, having something happen to you but not being told anything about it. Your father had only tried to cheer you up, but couldn’t offer any information either. The family of your mother was rather secretive, both Witches of old and wizards and even nobles littering their ranks, though most of them long dead. Your mother did not like talking of them.

When you were small you had wanted to know more of your mothers family. She seldom told you about them, and when she did, it was rarely more than their names, which had long since slipped your mind.

Wondering which one of your ancestors was responsible for the curse and what exactly it entails, you hover your hands over your chest, rocking slightly back and forth, as you often do when deep in thoughts.

You travel with the old man and his cart for two days, camping under the stars at night. On the morning of the third day you arrive at his destination and part ways. Before you say your goodbyes, he draws you a small map, pointing out the village of Worthwood only laying a few crossroads over, behind some hills.

It still takes you a sizable amount of time getting there, not wanting to exhaust yourself too much you rest at the roadside multiple times eating the rest of the bread and cheese you had brought on this journey. In the late evening, you enter worthwood, barely more than 14 little cottages and bigger farmhouses and barns cluttering a small vale surrounded by the outskirts of the deep forests, only visible because of the rather bright light of the full moon. You remember this place, nothing seems to has changed since the summer you spent here when you were about 5 years old.  Which is quite the feat considering the closeness to the woods, making visits of creatures of old an event of high probability. Their witch must be quite skilled, you think as you follow your mother towards the centre of the vale, maybe the witch would be willing to share some of their wisdom with you.  

Luckily, in the house of the village chief, the light is still burning, when you get there and your mother goes in to talk to him about your arrival. You staying outside, the usual anxiety already welling up just thinking of just going in a strangers house and interrupting their evening.

Your cousin will probably come here a few weeks later, knowing him he probably has some sort of dubious undertaking to take care of, so you had all the time you wanted to look through the things granduncle Aspodius had left to you. Twiddling your thumbs, you look out into the dark of night, leaning back against the house. Well it’s not like you need anything, the 5 000 gold they had handed to you in the capital are more than enough.

He probably only left it to you because he felt bad for you, but you won’t complain, it was rather nice receiving multiple years salaries of a high guard all at once. Especially because you did not make much money, mostly being paid in useful items and food.

As you stare at the treeline in the distance, you squint feeling like something is moving. A shiver goes down your spine. Something is definitely there, but does not approach further than the beginning of the barren fields. Probably a ward and an offering at the beginning of the woods to keep the old ones out but still satisfied. Well at least that is what you would have used to secure this location, you think as your mother finally emerges from the chiefs house.

Exhausted, you and your mother finally open the door to the small farmhouse after lazily strolling the rest of the way in almost complete darkness. As inconspicuous as the outside is, the inside is furnished lavishly.

Neither of you has the energy to look at it closer though as you plop down on the sitting area around the fireplace and immediately fall into a deep slumber.

You dream, it’s one of those dreams where you know that it’s not real, but it still instils a bone chilling feeling in you.

You lay in a meadow, as disembodied hands forcefully hold you down, burning your skin. Above you, the blood red sky is adorned by both Moon and Sun, casting their overbearing light, as you thrash your arms and legs to get free. You hear a sickening array of cracks and flesh tearing. There is no air in your lounges, only blood.

Waking up you take a sharp breath, hands lunging to your chest and try to slowly calming yourself down, slumping over and holding yourself.  Looking up, you see a Cup of tea your mother had left there with a little note on the dark wooden table next to the sitting area.

[I will go to the village chief again to talk about the house, please start going through the things in there and make a list of everything you want and while you are at it try cleaning a little. Mom.]

You smile as you look at the small flower she had scribbled on the note the icy afterimage of your dream slowly fading in the dusty warm morning light falling through thin curtains. You take a sip of the tea. It is ice cold and bitter, but you still down it in one swoop.

Still groggy you find the bucket your mother had brought over from the small well and quickly splash your face with a little water. Braiding your hair back to keep it out of your face, you start working.

You soon realize how dirty the inside of this house truly is. Before you had been tired and marvelling at the fine furniture and other trinkets but now in the daylight the thick layer of dust all but sparkles in the light shining through the spotty windows. After a short search you find a storage room, grabbing a rag and starting to widdle over some of the most prominent surfaces. Now and then you take out your notebook and write down a description of a weird Stone or some tincture that still seems potent when you open it. You do not think that you want any of the furniture, bringing it home would be too much of a hassle, even though you truly love the dark green couch in front of the fireplace, never having seen a couch like it before, claws for feet and wooden carvings of plants and beasts around the back.

Going through the rooms you scratch down a few notes until you stop in a short corridor that had been concealed behind a partition you had slightly shoved to the side to have a closer look. The only thing of note here is a barred off door, definitely ominous but also pretty intriguing, you think to yourself as you shove the little leather bound notebook and pen into one of your pockets. Carefully you lift the thick piece of wood out of its holding places on both sides of the door and prop it up against the wall. Opening the door towards the inside of the room you scan its contents, Old furniture, Dusty crates, some broken parts of a distilling mechanism, nothing of note. Your eyes fall on something toppled over on the floor behind the door after realizing that you can’t open it further. You shriek as you see a leg poking out. Nothing happens. Obviously nothing happens, if there was someone in here they’d be long dead… but finding a corpse wasn’t high on the list of things you had imagined finding in these walls. Warily you take a peak around the corner letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as you notice it’s only a wooden puppet. A naked, strangely big wooden puppet, but a wooden puppet none the less. Kneeling down beside it to look at it closer, you talk to it softly, trying to swallow down the creeping feeling of seeing something human shaped, limp on the flow.  

“Hello there, big guy, what are you doing here?”

Sadly the puppet seems to be somewhat broken, missing an arm below the elbow joint, its legs surface splintering strongly and having parts missing. The blue coat of paint is partly scraped off, a deep colour peeking out beneath. The craftsmanship still seems astonishing.

You roll it over to look at its face, a lightly coloured crescent shape filling up half of it. A wide toothy grin and somehow even more wide glass eyes forming a slightly unsettling expression. A Moon, you deduct. Your eyes sparkle as you realize what this is, looking at the connections of the joints and the flat stone surface on a diamond shape in the middle of its chest. Its an old automaton. Nowadays they are more sleek, more refined, but their structure hasn’t changed that much overall. This is certainly a find! Automatons are mostly used for labour these days but it is not unthinkable to find them in entertainment, some nobles even keep them to care for their children. You prop it up and carry it out of the room almost loosing balance when one of its legs momentary gets stuck in the doorframe. Now in the light of a room with actual windows you sit down again to inspect the lifeless wooden body. Most types of automaton have to be filled with magic to a certain extent to come to life. The stone in the centre of its chest acting as its energy reserve. Now it is a darker greyish colour but if magic is inserted it should begin to glow. You always had a fascination with these constructs. You smile, remembering walking all the way to the next city to look at the automatons brought in by the circus or take a peek at the ones in the red light district, respectfully of course. Expectantly you cup the wooden face looking at the fine mechanisms, peeking out under the movable face plate, that probably make it possible for different expressions to be formed. This I such a fine work. Standing up you look back into the storage room searching for any clothing that might belong to the automaton but find nothing. Weird, normally if they are made to resemble the human shape, more or less, they also come with clothes to keep it more… reserved. Looking back at the body on the floor, you ponder; What would it sound like when it is animated? How would it move? It looks quite nimble… Was it an entertainer? You trail your fingers over the enormous hand.

It is obviously broken now, but would it still work if you started it up? You don’t think they can feel pain the same way living things can… at least that’s what you read in a book you once got your hands on, so the missing arm shouldn’t be a big problem.

Is it a good idea to wake a thing locked away in a small storage without knowing if it even works properly? If there is a good reason its locked away? No. Will you do it? Yes. The intrigue is just too much.

You hoover your hand idly over the stone square on its chest wiggling your fingers lightly, drawing out your magic like a happily bubbling spring. It flows directly into the stone, beginning to shimmer in a swirl of a rich yellow and blue as your whole body tingles warmly. A low humming emerging from the torso of the automaton alerts you to your magic working. Drawing back your hand, you sit in front of the body and wait.

A stirring noise and sudden movement startles you and you fall backwards, trying to escape the collision with an arm shooting up in an energetic stretch. Laying on your back like a tortious, you hear a cheerful voice.

“OH! Hello there, you!!! Who are you, little friend? Are you allowed in here? Oh Oh no, where is my arm? That is new, I used to have more arm. the grand wizard will be mad, so mad! He hates repairing me”

The automaton seems rather anxious, pointing at you with the stump of the missing arm.

A large hand drags you up carefully and sets you on your feet, but doesn’t let you go. Looking up the automaton had completely changed colour from a deep blue to a bright yellow; the moon face had become a sun, through triangles peeking out of its sides, forming stylized Sunbeams. You stare in awe. It stares back with a wild smile.

“Oh, well I need an answer or you will have to be expelled! Oh yes, oh yes, Grand wizard Aspodius is very particular about who is allowed in his house after all! And I think you were the one who broke my arm! There is no one here but you, and it certainly was not me! That’s aaawwwwfully rude!”

You gawk dumbfounded as the automaton drags you a few long strides and softly pushes you out of the front door.

“Well I am sure he will be back in a few hours, so if you want to talk to him you should come back when he is home! Good bye little friend!”

He rotates his head to an inhuman degree and waves while closing the door.

From the inside you hear a sigh and then a squeaking.

“OH.. OH no its so messy in here. How is it so messy? Clean up, clean up!”

Quietly you try to open the door again but find it locked. Well great.

---  

Your mother still laughs after you two walked all the way back, your face is beet red by now.

Cryptic as ever she had refused to say anything about the automaton even though the knowing look she exchanged with the chief had clued you in that she very much had something to say about this.

“I am surprised you don’t remember him. You were running after him nonstop when you were small, Don’t be surprised, he can be a little… overwhelming.”

She smiles encouragingly before knocking on the door.  

The Automaton opens the door. A white apron hastily tied multiple times around it.

“OH! Its you! What a nice visit, but your uncle is not here right now!”

“Hello Attendant. I would appreciate if you would let us in and we could talk for a little.”

Your mother does not wait for an answer and pushes straight-ahead into the living space, dragging you behind her.

“Oho the little friend from earlier! I must say I have quite a bone to pick with you, yes I do!”

The automaton …. The attendant wags his finger at you disapprovingly.

You cringe slightly, you definitely do not like being treated as a kid.

Your mother looks around the Room, beaming. “Ah Attendant you did quite a good job, cleaning the place up in the time it took them to get me…” She turns to look at him and creases her face slightly “Why are you naked under the apron?”

“Ah, Well when I woke up I couldn’t find any of my clothing….” A panicked expression flying over the Attendants face as he pulls the apron tighter around himself. “So this troublemaker belongs to you? I thought they were a lowlife of some sort, my apologies.”

He all but hurls himself into an elegant bow that somehow transitions into a handstand.

You giggle, enjoying the silliness as your mother sits down on the couch.

“Would you two sit down too?” Your mother asked in the way that meant it was an order. Both you and him immediately plop down on either side of her. Everyone who knows your mother, knows not to get on her bad side, as nice and caring as she is, when she is angry her cruelness is only rivalled by the most abhorrent tyrants of old.

“Listen Attendant,” She speaks calmly after a short pause “You must have been out of commission for a while… When was Aspodius here the last time?”

The Attendants rays, that had been turning since he sat down stopped suddenly and then started to turn in the other direction.

“Ah … he is staying here right now! He just left this morning to gather some medical herbs in the woods. Yes,yes!”

You look at your mother, as she lets out a strained huff.

“The village chief said that my uncle hasn’t been here for about 12 or so years… He suddenly left one summer and never returned, only sending some money for repairs on the house”

The Rays of the automaton retract into his head only peeking out a little bit as he stares at your mother with horror.

“What? No! that doesn’t…” His hands press into the couch cushions until you hear a ripping noise. His distress is rather clear and you stand up suddenly, wanting to help, to do something.

Your mother shoots you a look. “Please go through Aspodius’ clothing maybe there is something in there that fits our friend here, was rather big large when he was young afterall” You nod walking away in the direction of the Bedroom. she wants to talk to him without you there, you won’t interfere.

The Closet is heavy but old, the only reason that moths haven’t gorged on the fine fabrics inside is the enchantment on the wood itself, keeping away unwanted critters. You pull out a jacket that looks big enough to cover a sizable amount of the attendant. It has a nice Blue and orange chequered pattern on the wide bodice and poufy sleeves striped in two shades of orange. There are pants of the same design with wide legs. Wizards often wear bright colours in outrageous pattern combinations, and your granduncle had been the most wizardly wizard you had ever laid your eyes on, even though you don’t remember anything else about him. For a second you think of keeping this fun looking clothing for yourself, but it is the biggest size available and this would probably just barely fit the big frame of the Attendant. You sigh and walk back towards the main room were your mother still talks to the automaton in a hushed tone, but barely keeping down. Catching what your mother is saying you stop dead in your tracks almost loosing grip on the fabric you are holding.

“Don’t be like that! The curse will run its course, you will not be able to stop it just like that…. He obviously asked us to come here to find something to do with the curse…..No I don’t know more… why? Oh no you won’t I know you have something to do with it. Don’t you get too close to them, I’m watching you!....Yea of course”

Having heard enough to twist the metaphorical knife into your chest you huff slightly as your hand reaches towards the curse markings on your body. It still bothers you incredibly, that your mother won’t tell you anything about the curse, even if her own knowledge in it is lacking, you still want her to. It can’t be that bad considering the ripe age your great uncle reached, without major problems; it is probably not connected to your life-force. You absentmindedly chew on your lip, a bad habit of yours, before you take a few loud steps and enter the room.

You just want to get out of this situation.

“I’m back, found something that might fit. I will go outside for a little, getting some water and whatever I can find in the garden that we can use for dinner!”

Hurriedly you exit the building and step into the garden outback. Making yourself think of anything else but the curse. You try to empty your head by looking at the plants. Considering how long this garden had to be not attended to by the Attendant it was still quite nice, though you immediately realize that you won’t find anything to eat this early in spring. Squatting down you look at some yellow and purple crocuses sprouting out of the patchy grass.

“There you are beansprout!”

The Attendants voice appears eerily close to your ear. You swirl around, catching yourself from falling by propping yourself up with your hands on the wet ground, ending up sitting like a frog about to leap. All you can manage to bring out, a surprised “Ah” looking up at him. He now wears the clothing you brought him instead of the apron, one of the sleeves flopping around while he gestures to wave.

He chuckles softly, creaking slightly like a loose floorboard.

“I did not recognize you at all! Last time I saw you, you were this small!” He pinched his fingers together.

“Well that’s fine I don’t even remember meeting you before.” You mumble and immediately regret as you see his face slightly drooping. “Ah sorry…” You tag on way to late and look away embraced.

“Well it’s fine! Yea, fine! Little friend. We can just become friends again!”

He bows down and offers you his intact hand, his rays turning slowly. You grab it

“Pleased to meet you, Mister Attendant.” You say in your most refined haughty voice, wiggling your head slightly, imitating the nobles from the big cities.

“The pleasure is all mine!” You could swear the grin on his face widened even more as he curtsies.

____

So here is the first chapter! This is from an early draft were Y/N and the Attendant had met before, Y/Ns family had a bigger role in the story and there was a curse... i changed quite a bit around for the comic part of the au maybe ill write more if i have the time and then they would be like different timelines of the same au

#dca x reader #daycare attendant #fnaf sun #sun x reader #sundrop #fnaf sb #my writing #automaton au #sorry i am really shy about my writing #i first wrote this with a she/her reader but then changed it at some point so if there is still the wrong pronouns somewhere im sorry #its slow on the upstart #takes a while untill sun actually shows up #i mean i originally wrote this just for me so its really selfindulgent #it be like that #god im nervous about showing you all this

[the-clockwork-three]

A gaeilge cover of The Summer King by the Forgetmenauts

My lyrics, an English translation, and tags under the cut

Gaeilge (English)

Chan an abhainn go binn i mí na Luil (The river sings gently in July)

Shuigh sé ann lena craiceann gorm (He sits there with his blue skin)

Bhí greim agam ar luachair (I gripped at the rushes)

Nuair a ghlaoigh Rí Samhraidh orm. (When the Summer King called to me)

Rug sé ar caol na lámhe orm (He took me by the wrist)

Bhí sé séimh ach láidir freisn (he was gentle but also strong)

“Luigh liom ar leaba na habhann ("Lie with me on the river bed)

Fan go fóil beag,”ar saesin. (For a while," he said."

Ní fheicfidh mé na duillí dearg (I will not see the red leaves)

‘Gus ní bheidh mo gheimhrí fuar. (And my winters will not be cold)

Cronóidh mé blathanna an earraigh (I will miss the spring flowers)

Ach tá gach rud ceart go leor. (But everything will be alright.)

Chuiramar sceach gheal ar fud na tíre (We planted hawthorn all over the country)

Fásfaidh agus bláthfaigh muid le chéile (We will grow and bloom together)

Choróin na noníní agus ráth arsa (Daisy crown and ancient ringfort)

Fanaimid leis an lá féile. (We will wait for the festival day)

Tags: @charlataninred @rusalkaandtheshepherdgirl @bella-daonna @unseeliethot @grimalkinsquill (ask to be added or removed)

#SnaG 2023 #the forgetmenauts #egg kohna #is mise an crann #please never ask me to do this again it was so hard thinking of rhymes #<<< nobody asked and i will probably do this again when i forget how annoying that was #scheduled post

[thequeenofthewinter]

In the Marshes of Morthal

I started this thing a few weeks ago, but never finished it. I am releasing it into the Interwebs now.

AO3 Link

In the misty marshes of lowland Hjaamarch many stories are told—ones of strange magic and others of inexplicable mischief. However, as of late, many more are told of a much more insidious and unsettling nature. Chilling anecdotes have reemerged—ones which grandparents had passed from their grandparents before them in whispers of the wind long thought forgotten.

It is here. It is coming. 

At first they had all thought them to be old wives’ tales, stories which were told to small children to scare them into not coming home so late from playing in the marshes. Harmless. Safe. A good bit of fun to scare annoying younger brothers and sisters. But then, it started happening: the disappearances, the strange noises, and finally, the reappearances. Children which had been lost out on the marshes suddenly came back—or at least a part of them.

Everyone had ignored it as best they could at first, passing off the peculiar behavior as a phase or some innocent game that they were playing. However, over the days and weeks to come, the noises quickly became too loud to ignore and soon, Hjaalmarch was plunged into the darkest of nightmares—a twisted, corrupted quagmire of Vaermina’s greatest masterpiece. Only it was not her. 

No one and nothing—not Aedra, Daedra, nor anything from this plane to the next could save them from what was to come, as scarlet mushrooms cropped up out of nowhere and chilling vapors left behind the scent of deathbells and nightshade in every room. Only one common factor connected them all together: the children who had been whisked away for three days and three nights.

When any of the children were asked about where they were or what had happened to them, it was the only time they were oddly silent, almost catatonic as they looked with blank eyes and vacant stares upon their parents, caretakers, and eventually the Jarl herself.

“Jarl Idgrod, what are we to do?”

“Could you have not foreseen what was to come?”

“What is happening to our village?”

Questions but no answers appeared as more and more citizens brought their children to the longhouse. And here she had thought vampires were the peak of her problems. Apparently, she was wrong, and the worst part of it all was that for once, her eyes have failed her. Never in all of her 60 years of life has she ever felt so helpless.

Days passed. More children disappeared into the marshes. She had to do something. If she could get no answers from her inner eye, she would get them from eyes which she knew could see, even if they were less reliable.

“If I am not back in 3 days, you will send word to High King Ulfric and put my daughter on the throne as temporary Jarl.”

“But—” Gore tried to protest, but Idgrod continued to secure her cloak around her and grabbed her bag.

“No, buts. This must be done. I am the Jarl, and I will put a stop to this one way or another.

“At least allow me to to come with you or send a few guards.”

“No, Gorm.” Idgrod shook her head and gave him a wane smile. “No one will go with me. I must do this alone.”

The souls of the dead were restless. 

As soon as she stepped foot out into the misty marshes, she could sense it everywhere—sweet tendrils of death and decay were on the wind. They filled her nostrils and wrapped around her as if trying to pull her under their spell to lure her out further. It no longer surprised her as to why the children came; they had no choice. Impressionable and innocent, they did not know the dangers of what called to them. Not like she does.

She wandered out a little further. Her feet sunk into the mud. Idgrod trudged on with one less boot anyway. Deeper and deeper she went, each step carefully measured under the loamy earth as she connected herself to the ground, the air, and the spirits who watched her.

They shrieked. She did not flinch. They wailed, and she only narrowed her eyes.

That was when the fog rolled in to take the rest of her sight. Left with only one option, she steeled herself against what was to come.

“I know you are out here, and I know what you seek.”

She waited. No answer.

“You take the children and send back the bodies,” her eyes continued to search, “but the souls do not return. What are you doing with them?”

Cattails rustled in the wind, their ends bowing and bobbing as if in agreement with her observations. Still no answer. Her bony fingers curled upon themselves in frustration.

Idgrod opened her mouth to speak once more, but before she could even so much as utter one syllable something stole her breath. 

She turned. Footsteps approached. Her eyes still saw nothing, but she felt the presence. 

Cool fingers trailed down her spine as white ribbons twisted around her ankles. Of course, how could she have been so blind. Images of darkness oozed into every surface of her mind as the creature touched her. Despair and dismay. Decay and death. Would there be no way out?

No one knew where the wispmother came from, but there have been theories wrapped in conjecture and speculation. They were the mothers who took their lives after losing their children. Women who ran away from their spouses who beat them. Daughters who became lost in the bog. Any or none of that could be true and it was useless for her to ponder it—not in her current predicament.

“What do you want?”

No answer. The ribbons tightened around her, and mist filled her lungs as it tried to drag her under.

“I will not yield. You cannot take me. The Divines will not allow it.” She closed her eyes and hoped her words were true. The whispers of a prayer could no longer leave her lips, but she still had her mind with which to speak. 

Mara preserve her for she only wandered out here for the love of her people. Talos watch over her and lend her his strength. Stendaar have mercy upon her.

Darkness started to creep into the corners of her consciousness, and she drew one last ragged breath before reaching into the bag at her side. If there was one thing she knew, it was that even inside of conjecture and myth, there was also some grain of truth. She only hoped that she chose the right one.

Idgrod’s fingers touched the powder within, and she quickly sent it flying back into the wispmother’s face.

Even if Idgrod could have never guessed what was haunting the marshes of her beloved Hjaalmarch, all the damned have one thing in common—they cannot stand the light.

Many years ago when she was first elected as Jarl of her people, she made it her mission to keep them safe. In that pursuit goal, she tested many combinations of every alchemical ingredient that she could. That was how she discovered this mixture—glowing mushroom dust mixed with the healing properties of nirnroot. No thing undead could resist the concoction.

The apparition screeched, white blue flames erupting over its translucent body. If her life had not just been in danger, she would have mused that the thing was almost beautiful. She burned with such grace, her wrappings unraveling like dancing ribbons on the wind before falling lifelessly to the Jarl’s feet.

It was no more.

Idgrod stared at the spot where the wispmother once was, and then with a heavy sigh, trudged her way back to Morthal until the next threat knocked on her door as she knew it inevitably would.

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #idgrod ravencrone #ghost story #winter writes

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

Wylla and Abby + comfort

hi i love you i needed this

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows over the stone walls and the rug they lay atop. Abby’s slender fingers picked the tangles from Wylla’s curls, the gentle motion lulling her into that place between dreaming and waking. From above her, her friend's soft, lilting voice took life.

“Beidh mé i do uisce

snámha tú glan

le síocháin leachtach.

Chonaic mé tú ag fulaingt

chonaic mé tú ag caoineadh

an oíche ar fad tríd.

Mar sin beidh mé i do uisce

snámha tú glan,

leacht gorm.”

The River Tongue was not so different from Old Tongue, and Wylla could not keep the smile from her face as she picked out the familiar words. “I’ll be your water, bathing you clean…,” she murmured in common. 

“Do you know this one?” Abby asked, brushing the hair from her forehead. 

Wylla shook her head. “Our languages were one once. They aren’t so different now.” She turned onto her side, facing the fire fully, watching as the embers hissed and popped, seeking air. “I can’t imagine how lonely it must have been sometimes, to be so young, surrounded by dragons when the rivers call to you.”

“In truth, I spent so long trying not to think of home, of what I had lost to Harrenhal. I was just glad to have a place here, where I was not alone. But I feel the call. Each time we venture to the cabin I feel the pull to the God’s Eye, to the creeks and the marshes.”

“To the waters that will bathe you clean.” Wylla’s smile faltered a bit as she tucked her hands beneath her chin. Abby pulled the blanket more securely around her shoulders. “Our blood is older even than theirs.”

“And I am less lonely with you.” She could hear the truth of it in the other girl's words. “Tell me what you miss of home.”

Wylla’s eyes burned at the memories of snow drifts taller even than her father, of the hunting and the hawking, and the magnificence of the waves breaking against the Gray Cliffs. “I miss the bite of frost at my cheeks. I miss seeing the foxes in their dens and the howl of the wolves when night lasted longer than day. The midnight sky would melt into purple and green and blue, a spill of paint. I miss the way that the land seemed to stretch on forever. It made me feel so small, but I was not afraid.”

Abby sat back, leaning against the chair behind her. “You are descended from the Winter Kings, you were never small, Wylla.”

“Did you not feel small standing before the God’s Eye as a girl?”

“No. I felt powerful, like it was mine. I felt connected to the land in a way I haven’t since.”

Wylla laughed. “Spoken like the true however many times great granddaughter of Osmund Strong.” In a softer voice, she added, “This city makes me feel small…insignificant.”

“None of that, now,” Abby chided gently. “You are the daughter of an ancient house, with the blood of Bran the Builder in your veins. And well, we all know I’m secretly a nymph,” she chuckled.

“The Fox and the Nymph," Wylla whispered, turning to glance up at her friend.

Abby laid a kiss to her fingers, pressing them to Wylla’s forehead. “I would read that story.”

#aemond x wylla #abrogail strong #other's ocs #PINKY SWEAR #they say i killed you (haunt me then) #if you see me translating placebo lyrics into irish no you didn't

[bloomedwings]

Just so you know, I hear the things you say behind my back. "Why does the king trust them?" "That gormless little worm." First off, how dare you question my liege's judgment, you are as honor-bound to him as I, and second I have so many gorms.

[rcmclachlan]

writing pattern game

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns! (from most recent to least recent, starting from the top)

I was tagged by both @scurator and @b1uetrees. Thank you, friends!

1. Notoriety (Crowley/Aziraphale)

They give him a desk.

2. Heritage Site (Touya/Yue)

Over the course of his lifetime, Yue has borne witness to so many spectacular things that precious little moves him anymore.

3. Gift Horse Dentistry (Dong-sik/Ju-won)

The first time they fuck, it takes nearly two minutes for Ju-won's vision to come back, and as he shivers and gasps up at the ceiling, he thinks, well, that can't be right.

4. Resonant Frequency (Dong-sik/Ju-won)

His vision blurs, the ceiling fan above the bed going fuzzy and shapeless, spreading out like spilled tea, and through the haze of pleasure Ju-won can hear his own breath punching out of his lungs, the slapping of skin against skin.

5. Rescue Breathing (BE gen)

It used to be a running joke that somewhere inside Lee Dong-sik was an endless supply of self-restraint, because no one was able to harness their own destructive tendencies the way he could.

6. A Twist of the Knife (MDZS gen, Nie Huaisang-centric, background NieLan)

Nie Mingjue had been the kind of man the cultivation world saw maybe once a century: powerful, talented, with a core that burned like a sun.

7. but the sun is eclipsed by the moon (Thranduil/Bard)

The Battle of the Five Armies threatened to unmake the world, but The Negotiations of the Three Kings might actually succeed.

8. The Promises of Supercells (Otabek/Yuri pre-slash)

"What are you doing?"

9. Islands of Hours (Joe/Nicky)

Eventually there comes a lull—at least enough of one that they feel no guilt whatsoever in abandoning Nile to the same brutal and incredibly necessary training they all endured at some point under Andy's unforgiving tutelage—and so they go to Malta.

10. A Most Forgetful Death (Joe/Nicky)

"You're an incurable romantic," Nicky says, and though his expression doesn't so much as twitch, Joe can hear the laughter languishing between the words, can feel it on his tongue and rubbing up against his teeth when Nicky meets him halfway to smear a kiss against his mouth. 

I don't really see any discernible patterns, although I think one was starting to take shape for Beyond Evil. Between GHD and RF, and all my WIPs, I sure do like to keep that boy aching and bamboozled.

Tagging @stitchyblogs, @lemonistas, @nandalorian, @no-gorms, and @microcomets

#writing memes

[ms-rampage]

Anymore Lore on Liv x Ubba or King Fairhair?

So I’m gonna answer both of these.

More info below the cut!

Liv & Harald

Ship name: Livald. Haraliv.

Not my photo by the way

For King Harald Fairhair, this “relationship” was arranged by both their fathers years earlier.

This was arranged because Edmund owed Harald’s father (Halfdan the Black according to the AC wiki) a favor, and as a way to strengthen both their families since Edmund is an apparent relative to King Burgred (hence why he was considered a traitor to the crown for fleeing Mercia/England, and marrying a Norse woman).

When Liv escaped Kjotve the Cruel, she was visited by Harald, and brought up their arranged marriage.

“What are you talking about, Your Grace?.” she asks, confused as to why King Harald would give her the time and day to visit her. Especially after she escaped the hand of Kjotve after all the abuse and torture he and Gorm did to her.

“I apologize for my unannounced visit, milady.” he says, “I don’t know if this was explained to you, but I’m sure your father will explain it.”

Liv plays with the sleeve cuff of her dress, “My father died, a long time ago.”

“My apologies for your loss. Your mother?.” he asks in the most sincere voice.

“She died 72 moons ago. 6 years ago.” she answers nervously, she never knew how to use the whole “many moons” type of thing.

“I’m sorry about your parents, but many years ago, my father and yours made an arrangement for both our families.” he explains to her.

“What arrangement?.” she asks, awkwardly shifting away from him, but not making it noticeable.

“We are arranged to be married, to strengthen both our families because your father, Edmund, was related to the Mercia dynasty.”

Raising her eyebrows, she never knew this information about her father, but then he died when she was 6 years old, so she didn’t know him very well, her mother never mentioned it to her. Unknown if she knew of this arrangement.

“My father? I- I didn’t know any of this. I've never been told about this.” she tells him, feeling like she was on the verge of crying. She started to feel overwhelmed, and Harald saw this. “Marry me, and you won’t have to be scared. You’ll always be protected, and you will be my queen.” he tells her, taking her hands in his. He has this gentle look in his eyes, but it seemed kinda off.

In a way, Liv did believe him, but she wanted to see it to believe it. She reluctantly agreed to take his hand and marry him. But this was just a plot for her to plan her next escape, if given the chance before she was married to him.

***********

Liv & Ubba

Ship name: Libba. Lubba. Livba

They met at a feast held by the Raven clan, Liv isn’t one to be social. She's an introvert. She's one to stand in the corner of the room and watch everyone else have fun. That's her way of having fun.

The drunkards making fools of themselves dancing, eating and singing very loudly. Celebrating very loudly. He approached her, as she was trying not to be seen, but who can miss her with 3 foxes by her side, and her bright copper hair. Not to mention, her lack of tattoos, her long beautiful dresses, and not looking like a viking, but having the mentality of one.

As he approaches her, she tries to not acknowledge him, but not wanting to be rude she gives him a smile. Drinking her mead, and looking down at her furry companions.

“Having fun?.” he asks her, leaning against the wall. Giving her a slight smile, how this man is Ivarr’s brother is beyond Liv’s knowledge. He’s handsome, tall. Taller than her by many, he towers over her and with his big build.

“Yeah, I am.” she responds, giving a smile back.

“Not gonna dance?.” he asks her, a hint of flirtatious in his tone, probably because he's been drinking, and probably wants to get with Liv.

“I’m not much of a dancer.” she tells him, feeling a little embarrassed. Looking away from him.

He lets out a laugh that can’t be heard over the sound of everyone else singing, laughing, and being loud in general. “Neither are these drunken fools.” he tells her as she finishes off her mead and sets down the cup. Finishing her 3rd cup. Feeling a little tipsy and very social.

“I don’t think they will remember anything tonight.” she tells him, feeling the mead hit her as she starts to move a little closer to Ubba. “They’re only good singers when they’re drowning in their mead.”

He takes her hand, “Dance with me.” Unable to protest against him, she follows him, not like she has any choice, she joins him and the others in the group dance of drunks. She had a great time, standing in the corner got a little boring anyway. Dancing and laughing with the members of the Raven clan.

Ubba lifted her up a few times in mid-dance, neither of them could remember, but according to Tove and Petra, Liv and Ubba did share a kiss that was interrupted by Ivarr, and his drunken state.

#oc: liv redfox #oc: liv eldrid #oc: liv grímsdóttir #king harald fairhair #ubba ragnarsson #ac: valhalla oc #assassins creed oc #assassins creed valhalla oc #my oc #assassins creed valhalla

[deceitfulapple-eatingscoundrel]

“There’s the lean, handsome faerie that looks at least part human, who winks and tells me to call him the Ghost. He has sandy-colored hair, which is normal for a mortal but is unusual for a faerie, and ears that come to very subtle points.”

courtmakes_art.

#Holly Black #The Folk of the Air #TFOTA #The Cruel Prince #TCP #The Wicked King #TWK #The Queen of Nothing #TQON #The Ghost #Larkin Gorm Garrett #The Court of Shadows

[twistedtummies2]

OC POLL (The First)

Like I've said in the past, I want to start bringing some of the Pred OCs I've made on FurAffinity over to this site. Problem is, I can't decide which ones of mine to start with. So, I'm going to name just a few of them here (I have way, WAY too many OCs), and you guys can tell me...

[w0rped-moss]

tell us about something you love!

you don’t even UNDERSTAND how much I can ramble about that hollowed knight. read more because Im gonna go crazy

hollow knight is an indie metroidvania game released in 2017. it’s about bugs. the player is a little guy only referred to as “the knight” or “little ghost” (that is a reference to the fact that you are small). the game takes place in the kingdom of Hallownest, which was once a thriving kingdom but has now been basically completely destroyed by a plague. the main mission is to find the three dreamers in three different places, fuck em up, then beat up the hollow knight, who was created to stop the infection

you and the hollow knight are the same type of thing, a vessel. They’re these fucked up little guys that are the kids of the king and queen of Hallownest and then got thrown into the abyss to be absorbed by the void. all but three are dead by the beginning of the game, and you can see their shells scattered throughout the game. Vessels were created to stop the infection, which was caused by a funky moth goddess lady who’s also the sun called the radiance. I’m gonna go crazy about her later. The reason they needed a vessel is because the infection preys on emotions. As the king himself says in a flashback sequence, “no mind to think, no will to break, no voice to cry suffering” which he believed made them immune to the infection, and therefore could contain the radiance herself. Unfortunately, although its unclear exactly how the king knew, but only one of the vessels was “perfect”. That was the hollow knight. You escaped the abyss and left Hallownest after the hollow knight was chosen. However, the vessel wasn’t perfect. It’s unclear if the vessel was always imperfect, or if the king caused the imperfection, but I believe it was the king because I like it. In a six second cutscene after finishing the hardest section of platforming in the entire game, you see the king and the hollow knight sitting together. The king looks at the hollow knight, and then everything goes white. My personal theory is that despite how much the king needed to think of the vessels as objects, he still thought of the hollow knight as his child, which caused it to gain feelings, and then could be effected by the infection.

Hallownest is also full of a bunch of places that are really cool from a lore perspective, like how there’s several giant corpses in the kingdom’s outskirts. One is the king’s corpse, though he has two. One is his bug form in the palace, and one is his wyrm form, which he shed when he arrived. The king is also the founder of hallownest, which is stated by the characters. This is shown as just the nature of the wyrms by the character of Mr mushroom, who says that “wyrms pull bugs into their thrall”. There’s also the coliseum of fools, which is built in the shell of a big thing. It’s unknown what the hell this thing is. There’s a weird spider thing in the ancient nailmaster’s house, there’s queen Vespa’s corpse. There’s also a lot of lore implied in the story, through the ghosts and the important characters. Like there were five great knights, and only two of them are alive. One of the ghosts attacked the king and got fucked up. Gorm.

there are a lot of npcs that i love. There’s cloth, a cicada trying to find a battle to die in, there’s tiso, who tries to find the coliseum and fucking dies, there’s zote who dies, there’s the nailmasters who have beef, there’s the nailsmith who’s in gay love with one of the nailmasters, theres quirrel, who was the assistant of one of the dreamer, theres elderbug who ruins speedruns, theres a bunch of little freaks, theres myla. im still sad about her and there’s Hornet, who’s your half-sister (the king is a whore) and the protagonist of the companion game silksong which is hopefully coming out this year.

im talking about the societies now. fuck you. There’s only one still-functioning town in Hallownest, which is dirtmouth. It’s the entrance to the whole kingdom. Deepnest and the mantis tribe technically aren’t a part of the kingdom since they never accepted the king’s rule (tho the mantis tribe was chill with him. they hung out. to me). The mantis tribe likes you if you can beat up their leaders, who are three sisters. Then they think you’re pretty epic because they respect fighting. There’s also the abandoned town in the forgotten crossroads and the cities. you can go into the sewers. there’s a poop boss. I love him. dung defender is my best friend. the Deepnest village WAS full of weavers and other spider people but the weavers fucked off.

then there’s the moth tribe. The radiance was originally the god of the moth tribe, though they abandoned her for the pale king. My theory about it is that the radiance only appeared in dreams and the king was right there. so she got pissy about it and made a zombie virus.

OH there’s also dlcs and they’re cool one of them has grimm and I like grimm I think he is neat. he’s a scary vampire looking bug with fire powers who talks like someone who’s smoked a thousand cigarettes a day for thirty two years. The other one is Godseeker and she likes to fangirl about the bosses. it’s basically just a boss rush but there are two new endings so that’s neat.

there’s more shit I can talk about but I’m done now

[therealgorm]

Slut of the Month - January

Gorm is aware that the results have been posted in Gorms Tunnel already but congratulations Owen on winning! Owen isn't even a Gormer, is Owen real or perhaps a myth? Gorm says well done anyway! Slay king!

#gormers #gorm announces