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barilleon · 2 years

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The LICHES method of descriptive text

A while back a friend asked me to write up some pointers for how I write descriptive text. You know, for dungeons and such. I gave her the LICHES method, which I'm posting here now. The primary purpose of descriptive text is to clue players in to what they need to pay attention to. When you ask your players, "What do you do?" think of that as less of an open-ended question and more multiple choice. Your descriptive text gives your players the potential answers. (This is, of course, a broad statement. Players will always pull something out of left field.)

Good descriptive text includes any applicable lights, interactables, characters, hazards, egress, and senses—LICHES.

Light

Characters should know how much light they’re dealing with, and what the source is. Sconces, torches, moonlight coming in from a window? Sunlight filtering in from the forest canopy?

Interactables

If there’s something in this room the characters are meant to look at or touch, put it in. If you want them searching in the desks, tell them there are desks. The opposite is ALSO true. If you put something notable in your description, players are going to expect to get something out of interacting with or studying it.

Characters

If there are people in this room, what are they doing? It's very helpful to give DMs a look at the "moment before" for any NPCs in your description. What were they up to before the characters interrupt their lives? This goes for monsters, too, if they’re readily visible.

Hazards

This one should probably come earlier on the list. Like if something's on fire, you either mention it FIRST or LAST. But lesser-noticeable hazards, like "patched-up holes" or "slits in the wall" can be mentioned casually, without drawing a gigantic verbal arrow to it.

Egress

Some people might disagree with me on this, but it’s very helpful to be told that there are doors, even if they’re already on the map. Some tables don't run maps, and sometimes your VTT's fog of war tool obscures what is and isn't a point of egress on your map.

Senses

A lot of LICHE is based on what the characters can see, but you can play with the other senses as well. Characters can smell “a foul odor wafting from the pile of corpses,” hear “the lazy whistling of a popular folk song,” or maybe even taste “the salt on the wind at the docks.”

Putting it all together you might get:

Fire crackles in the hearth, casting long shadows on the papered wall and the sturdy oak desk pushed against it. An orange tabby yawns and stretches out on the plush armchair, revealing for an instant her sharp claws. Two doors lead out of the room: the western door that leads further into the house, and the eastern door that opens into the porch.

L: Fire I: Oak Desk C: Cat H: The cat's claws (watch out) E: Door into the house, Door out to the porch S: The crackle of the fire, the plushness of the chair

Don't worry about making this stuff sound poetic. You just need to give the players a list of things they can interact with or react to. Role playing gets compared to improv a lot, and there are a lot of similarities! Think of an effective description as the thing your players say "yes, and" to. And you don't have to include every letter in LICHES if you don't want to, or if they don't apply. Sometimes a room is empty. There may be no hazards. But this rule of thumb has really helped me write up some descriptions for both published adventures and home games.

#writing #ttrpgs #my blogs

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shepherds-of-haven · 8 months

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What's the difference between a witchlight, a Magelight, and a Magelamp?

Good question! I'm kind of surprised I haven't answered this before (I probably have but can't find it lol), but here's the breakdown:

A witchlight is a small, roughly candle-sized flame that a Mage conjures. It's almost always a ghostly blue flame and is always attached to a Mage's hand, palm, or thumb. It can sometimes be different colors, like green or purple. Every person has a slightly different way of conjuring their witchlight: some hold it cupped in their upturned hand, others hold it in a 👍 position or even a 🫰 position, whatever is most natural to them. I think of it as a magical Zippo lighter. Looks kind of like this:

It doesn't usually get as big as the last picture, but you get the idea. Notably, the "mnemonic" gesture to conjuring a witchlight is always snapping your fingers together a few times, as if they're made of tinder and flint.

A Magelight or magelight is less of a flame and is more of a golden orb of softer ambient light. The difference is that they are always gold, white, or pale yellow in color, illuminate a much wider area than witchlights, and notably are more "autonomous": they can float ahead of you or bob alongside you pretty much on their own, whereas a witchlight is attached to your hand and has to be held aloft like a torch. Magelights are more independent and don't require much active thought once summoned, serving more as levitating balls of illumination than little flames.

A Magelamp is a physical item that resembles a Victoria-era gas lamp. They're usually set into walls as sconces or overhead as ceiling fixtures and provide diffuse ambient light, pretty much how a gas or electric lamp would. They're constructed from anbar and zharril, Mage materials that can be charged with magical energy and spellwork, and are powered purely by magic. (Magelamps used to be just chunks of zharril crystal that would hold magical light really well before slowly fading... kind of like... glowsticks?... but they've been around for a really long time and have gotten much more advanced over time.) Because the magic lies within the lamp itself, Magelamps can be operated by both Mages and non-Mages. The Shepherds' compound is lit largely by these--so you can walk into a room and they'll automatically light up, or you can speak the command word and they'll light up according to your directions (like "light only the western sconce" or "turn down the intensity by 50%"), but this last part is finicky if you're a non-Mage and you'll usually have to get a spirit to help you if you want to do really fancy things--but they do have to be recharged by a Mage every five years or so. There are also oil and gas lamps and candles/braziers throughout the compound, too, though!

Hope that all makes sense! :)

#Shepherds of Haven #magic #lighting #witchlight #magelight #magelamp #worldbuilding

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waltwhitmansbeard · 8 months

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Perc'ahlia Week Day 2: Darkness/Legacy

day 2 of @percahliaweek! ngl this one got away from me. also available on ao3!

BOOM.

Percy jolts upright, eyes straining in the darkness. Only by the sliver of moonlight peering through the heavy drapes is he able to see Vex beside him, shoving herself up from her own pillow. "Was that—"

"A gunshot." Saying the word out loud kicks something inside Percy into gear, and he twists around to fumble for his glasses on the nightstand.

"Oh gods." Vex throws back the covers. "The kids."

They hurl themselves out of bed, hurtle toward the door, Vex pausing only to snatch her dressing gown from where she'd hung it on one of the bed's posters. Still, she's faster than he is, doesn't have the aging knees that he has. Without discussing it, they split up once they reach the wing of the castle that houses the children's bedrooms. Percy gets to Danny's room first, and when he creaks the door open, the low lights from the hall sconces light up the riot of curls on his pillow. He closes the door just in time for the one next door to open.

"Dad?" Vesper rubs at her eyes, her hair braided over one shoulder exactly the way her mother taught her.

"Go back into your room."

"Did I hear a gunshot?"

Before Percy can answer, Vex is there, her face drawn. "Gwen's fine, but the twins' rooms are empty."

The shadows pull long as her words settle onto his shoulders like a mantle. The twins are gone. There was a gunshot. Percy can feel each and every heartbeat in his throat. Vesper's face is pale as her hair. Percy tries to regulate the tremble in his hand as he grips onto his eldest's shoulder, but he's sure she can feel it when he says, "Please stay here and keep an eye on them." He watches the resolve harden in her eye, her spine every inch her mother's. She nods.

They can hear them now, the roused guards within and without, but they simply cannot wait. Percy and Vex tear back to their bedroom, each yanking on boots and grabbing the weapon that, even all these years later, is never far from hand. They must pass three dozen guards before they make it to the grand foyer, where Captain Leore is waiting for them. "Lord and Lady de Rolo, scouts report the gunshot came from the Parchwood on the western edge of the castle grounds."

"Search the castle from top to bottom for the twins," Vex commands, her voice a godly echo among the marble. "They're unaccounted for. We're joining the hunt outside."

There is no argument, not when the Lady of Whitestone speaks. The captain ducks his head in a bow and is off, instructing the surrounding guards to begin the tossing of Castle Whitestone. Percy shares one more look with his wife—he is equal parts terrified and admiring, and he hopes she can tell them apart—before they shove out together onto the sprawling blue-black lawns of the castle grounds.

The moon is waning, hardly brighter than the surrounding stars, so they charge forward in inky darkness. She can see better than he can, of course, so he lets her take the lead. She's also far more intimately familiar with these woods at this point, spending so much time with the Grey Hunt as she does, so when they reach the treeline and what little light they had is swallowed wholly by the thick canopy above, he relies on the sound of her footsteps over the leaf litter to figure out where she's going.

It's torturous, this hunt, when Percy can see nothing and has no idea what he's hunting. He should have stayed inside, should be helping search for his missing children, but he knows, he knows they're not in there, the way he knows the weapon in his hand, the way he knows the woman in front of him, and so he inches forward, waiting, hoping for—

"Don't move!" Vex's sharp command is punctuated by the familiar creak of her bow being raised, and Percy whips his own pistol into the air, even though he has no clue what to aim for. There's a distant crunch of footsteps, one, then another, and then a small, "Mum?"

"Wolfe!" And then Vex is running, and Percy is lost. He tries to stumble after her, but she's too quick, too consumed with asking their son a thousand questions at once. "Are you hurt? What are you doing here? Did you hear the gunshot? Where is your sister?"

"Vex'ahlia." Percy hates that he has to ask, but he is blind.

Vex sniffs. "Right, sorry darling." There's some fumbling, and then Vex, more at home in the woods than he think she'll ever be in a castle, lifts up the small torch she's made of fallen twigs.

She's standing just a few yards away, next to Wolfe, who is dressed in dark clothes and who, Percy can see now, has blood on his hands. His stomach swoops low, a high buzz of panic in his ear. He charges forward, grabs Wolfe by the arm. "Where is your sister?"

The boy—for gods' sake, he is just a boy, a kid, scarcely out of leading strings—swallows hard, then whispers, "There was an accident." Before Percy can pass out, Wolfe continues, "Follow me."

Then he spins, breaking out of Percy's grasp—just a boy, but then, Percy is no longer young himself—and charging deeper into the Parchwood. Percy can't even look at Vex as they follow, can't see the terror in her eyes that courses through his own veins. There was an accident. Is this fate, then? An accident, one twin ripped from the other, a lifetime of absence, a limb severed—

"Le, I found them!" Wolfe crashes to the forest floor behind a massive oak, and Percy and Vex come around, hearts racing and breath short, to see their daughter slumped against the roots, her wild dark curls matted and filled with debris, both hands clutching her side. Beside her, one of the Rifle Corps' weapons glints threateningly in the light from Vex's torch.

"Holy shit!" Percy barely has the wherewithal to catch the torch that Vex launches at him as she collapses to Leona's side. He watches blood gurgle up between Leona's fingers, her face pale and expression weak. "Darling, look at me."

"Hey, Mum," Leona says with a halfhearted smile. "Funny seeing you here."

"It's alright, dear, I've got you." Vex gently pries Leona's hands away, humming apologetically when she hisses in pain, and then settles her own fingers over the wound. Within a few seconds, Vex's magic works its way into her skin, the edges stitching themselves back together.

Leona lets out a big sigh, her eyes sliding shut. "That...that helps."

Vex's arms snatch Leona up, clutching her to her chest. "You scared the shit out of us, both of you."

Wolfe starts to stammer, an apology, an explanation, Percy's not sure, but he doesn't get the chance to say anything, because Percy grabs him by the collar and shoves him mercilessly against a nearby tree. "Are you fucking proud of yourself?"

"D-Dad, I—"

Percy brings the torch close to his face, so the heat makes sweat bead along his brow, so he can see the fear and shame in his eyes. "Where did you get it?" Wolfe's completely blanched, his mouth gaping like a fish's. "Answer me!"

"I took it!"

The torch light dances as Percy's hand shakes. "Percival..." Vex's warning does little to pacify him. "And what, just decided to shoot your sister?"

"Dad, it was my fault." From behind him, Percy can hear Leona try to straighten up, but Vex fusses to press her back down. "I tried to take it from him, it's my fault we were tugging over it—"

"I just wanted to try it out, I swear I didn't mean to do anything, I was gonna put it back in the morning—"

Wolfe is fully sobbing now, and he should be. A few inches in, and there is a new de Rolo to add to the crypt beneath Castle Whitestone. A few inches in, and Wolfe lives the rest of his life knowing the exquisite agony that his mother will carry with her to her grave.

He tightens his fingers in Wolfe's shirt. He wants to explode, to set the Parchwood ablaze, to search each and every square inch of Exandria until he has recovered the last of the evil he has wrought upon this world. His daughter almost died tonight, at the hands of her brother, with one of the weapons that Percy himself built.

"This is my fault." He lets go of Wolfe, who shrinks down against the tree trunk, his dark eyes, his mother's eyes, wet and wide. "This is my legacy. Both of you." He turns to look at Leona, who's crying now as well, before looking down at the gun on the ground, so silent and still. "That too. I thought maybe I could pick and choose. If I brought enough good into this world, I could eclipse all the bad I created." He steps away from Wolfe to pick up the gun, quickly spilling all of its remaining ammunition onto the forest floor before tucking it into the pocket of his pajama trousers. "We can discuss the ways your lives will be miserable for the foreseeable future in the morning. For now..." He shoves the torch at Wolfe, who scrambles to take it. "Come on, let's get home."

He's still trembling as he and Vex lift Leona to her feet. The wound is healed, but she's still sore. She's too big for Percy to carry now, or maybe he's too old, but either way, she has to walk with one arm around each of her parents' necks, and it is a slow, limping walk back toward the castle.

Wolfe leads the way, lighting the path so Percy can see where he's going. When there's a bit of space between them, Leona turns her head to whisper, "It really was an accident, Daddy. It's no one's fault."

He offers her what smile he can, because she, too, is just a kid, and she doesn't know that she's wrong. There is so much fault, so much blame to go around, but it is late, and it can wait until later.

"Don't worry about it now, cub." He kisses her cheek. "I'm just...very happy you're okay."

"Me too."

He tightens his arm around her, feels the even in-and-out of her lungs, and prays to whichever god is listening that the lights of his life are never snuffed out by his legacy of darkness.

#percahliaweek #percahliaweek23 #critical role #critical role fic #cr fic #my fic #vox machina #vox machina fic #perc'ahlia #perc'ahlia fic #perc'ahlia week

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anathemafiction · 2 years

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A Single Bed

The floor sways up and down, but it has been so long since it bothered him. Nowadays, it's the steady ground that unsettles him — the rocks are too still, the walls too stationary, and the tension he always carries in his legs accomplishes nothing besides making his muscles ache.

No, the Pirate King likes it when the four walls rock and the floorboards creak, and whenever he takes a step, he accounts for the need to keep his core perfectly tight. Dry land is far away, hidden in the cover of a starless night and the two torches burning bright behind the opulence of his desk make the shadows dance around his shoulders and cling to the sides of his face in a way that has his smirk seem almost unnaturally wide.

He takes advantage of the dramatic effect when he spins towards you, arms opened wide, gold buttons flashing in his vest, long midnight hair falling in thin stripes around his forehead. "Welcome," the Pirate says, putting one boot in front of the other to bow before you. "To my den. Make yourself at home, for tonight what's mine is yours. But have no worries: what's yours remains yours alone."

You stand by the doorway to his chambers, the captain's quarters, and the Pirate sees your eyes slowly start exploring the space. He straightens up, resting his hands on the handles of his twin axes and leaning on the edge of the big oaken desk behind him. He smiles as you take the first cautious steps inside. This room is a point of pride. Everything inside, from the paintings to the chests and the covers of the massive bed, was picked specifically by him — it was also earned by his hand alone. The quill, the sconces, the armed chair with a silk covering, the Pirate plundered them all and stored them throughout the years.

Everything here is a reflection of himself, and the Pirate can't help but think how perfectly you fit amongst it. He leans back further, black eyes watching you gingerly touch the heavy drapes on the western windows. You’re like a treasure he found, or one that simply drifted towards him. Glistering and unique and, right now, finally turning to face him.

"It's bigger than I thought it'd be," you say.

The Pirate shrugs. "It's a big ship."

You walk to the middle of his chamber, near the steps that take from the office space to the more personal quarters where his bed dominates the view. "It's more homely too." You purse your lips. "Or comfortable, I suppose. Aren't ships and vessels meant to be..."

His smile tilts to one corner. "Shit?"

He sees those pretty lips of yours tilting too. "Your words, not mine."

He chuckles. He always liked your wit. "That's a misconception. Nothing in life has to be bad, peach. And if it is, well." The fingers tighten on his axes. "You make it good."

His voice came out lower than he intended, more of a growl, but the Pirate can't say he regrets it when he sees you shiver. He has to fight himself from stalking towards you, from seeing up close the way you suddenly bite your lower lip. You like it? The Pirate wants to see your eyes, now, but you're too far away.

"By force?" Comes your voice, and he can't tell what it is he's hearing. It's akin to a whisper too, one that has his shoulders tensing. The door is closed, and you're alone together, and for the first time in a long while, he doesn't know how to proceed.

But he's not about to show it. "By whatever means you need to," he answers, staring deep at you. Come closer.

(...)

"Hell."

She goes down with a groan. The thin mattress creaks under her weight, and Neia feels one of the springs jump up and dig right between her shoulder blades. The pain is annoying, warmth spreading to the socket of her shoulder, but it's not enough to make her move. If anything, she sinks even harder on the pathetic excuse for a bed, letting her limbs deflate on top of the musty cover.

Had it been her old self, she would have called back the clerk and asked him if this is his idea of a bed. Because it isn't hers. The mattress sits on the floor against a dusty corner, and beneath an even dustier window, and had it been but a few months prior, she would make the useless man clean every inch of the room before even stepping one foot inside.

No. She would have made him give up his room and have him sleep in this rat's nest instead. She would have—

But Neia, the former Dawnseeker, is done with interrogations. And, right now, she's done with the world in general. Her armor lies half-discarded on the floor beside her, sword pommel a few inches away from her fingers, and her muscles buzz with relief. The mattress is bumpy and uncomfortable, and the fucking spring is now digging into the back of her neck, but Neia closes her eyes and welcomes the darkness. At least, there's quiet.

She breathes in, deeply, and holds the air in her lungs. Her skin tingles almost pleasantly, and she moves her toes one by one. The road had been as it always is. The bottom of her feet are so calloused that she barely feels a thing, but even so, it sure is good to lay down. To not have to carry her own weight.

Slowly, she lets the air go in a drawled-out exhale. Her chest deflates, her thoughts numb, and the scar on her lip twists around a grimace that isn't entirely disgruntled. She'll take this poor excuse for a bed if it means she gets to—

"Uh."

Her mouth twists down in a snarl. Neia cracks one eye open, scowl deepening at the sight of the ceiling stained with humidity, and shifts her head the slightest bit to the side until she sees you.

Standing beside her bed like an idiot. "What?" she growls.

You lift an eyebrow. "There's only one bed," you tell her in a too casual tone of voice. Neia doesn't know when you started adopting that tone with her, but she doesn't like it. She also doesn't do anything about it.

You look at her, waiting for an answer. Neia doesn't know why she simply doesn't close her eyes and go back to sleep, ignoring you like the nuance you are but... something makes her answer. "And?" she gruffs. Not much of an answer, but she sees you frowning, and now her scar twists again as she smirks.

She likes that look on you.

"And you're all sprawled there as if you're here alone," you protest, crossing your arms over your chest. "There's no room for me."

"How's that my problem?"

You blink, and then look so offended, Neia has to bite her tongue to keep from chuckling. "I am not sleeping on the floor, Neia," you say, trying and failing to sound threatening.

Neia does laugh then, the sound rough and low. "Seems to me you're out of options, sweetling," she says. She closes her eyes again and turns her chin upwards.

But she snaps them open right back when she feels the mattress shift. Neia sits up, fingers already clenching her sword when she sees your silhouette kneeling on the bed. You're tucked in the only available room between her long legs, and moonlight falls on your hair like the veil of a ghost.

"If you don't move, I'll just sleep on top of you," you have the bravery to say, your eyes narrowed, and your lips tightened, and Neia will be damned, but she thinks you'll actually do it. You'll actually dare to lay down on top of her.

Slowly, oh so very slowly, Neia lets go of her sword to sit up properly. Even seated, she looms above you, and she makes sure to use that. She leans forward, forcing you to slant your neck back, the resolute light in your eyes shifting to nervousness as Neia brings her face right beside your own. Yellow eyes brimming, scar twisting.

Holding back a chuckle.

"Are you sure about this?" she asks in a hiss. "Are you sure you want to share a bed with me?"

(...)

The entire piece is available on Patreon!

Part One — Hadrian, Alessa, Alain and Ysabella

Part Two — The Pirate King, Neia, Lance and Rafael

#Patreon #The Pirate King #Neia #The Golden Rose

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pwlanier · 1 year

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A MONUMENTAL RUSSIAN ORMOLU AND JAPANESE PORCELAIN FORTY-EIGHT LIGHT CHANDELIER

ALMOST CERTAINLY BY FÉLIX CHOPIN, CIRCA 1850

This impressive and monumental chandelier compares closely to a select group of Imperial Russian torchères combining Chinoiserie bronze-work and porcelain. Two pairs of floor lamps in Imari-style porcelain mounted with 'dragon' handles and branches are known, one pair in the Grand Staircase at the Yusupov Palace on the Moika Embankment, St. Petersburg, (illustrated here) and another in the Great Drawing Room at the Kremlin Palace, Moscow.

This chandelier is hung with forty-eight branches each modelled in ormolu as a mythological Chinese dragon. Mounted oriental porcelain, specifically using dragon modelled mounts, was made fashionable in Russia by the bronzier Félix Chopin who executed the aforementioned lamps at both the Yusupov Palace and the Kremlin and is also credited with producing similar designs for the Chinese Hall at the Tsarkoe Selo and the Arsenal Hall at the Gatchina Palace (see I. Sychev, Russian Bronze, Moscow, 2003, p. 161).

Félix Chopin was the son of the Parisian fondeur Julien Chopin.

After beginning his career in Paris he moved to St. Petersburg in 1838 and around 1841 acquired the workshop of Alexander Guérin which was on the verge of bankruptcy. A keen entrepreneur, Chopin soon revitalized the business by moving to new premises and employing new craftsman, however the real secret to his success was his keen eye that responded quickly to the slightest change in fashion (ibid p. 168).

Chopin's principal output was lighting fixtures, producing hugely varied designs for chandeliers, floor lamps, sconces and candelabra. In addition to the previously mentioned Imperial commissions, Chopin also produced chandeliers for the Marble Palace in St. Petersburg (1849), the tsarevich's personal palace in Peterhof (1850) and the palace of Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich (1855-86) (ibid p. 168). He favoured the 'French Rococo' style which gave him the freedom to experiment with exuberant and whimsical designs and gave rise to his Chinoiserie revival pieces. The present chandelier therefore fits into the long tradition of decorative historicism whereby Russian designers emulated Western European fashions at the behest of the Russian nobility.

Christie’s

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blueiskewl · 1 year

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'Princely' Tomb of A Hun Warrior Unearthed in Romania

The remains of a "princely" tomb, possibly from a Hunnic warrior, have been found during motorway construction in Romania.

Workers building a new highway in Romania have unearthed the treasure-laden tomb of a wealthy warrior and his horse. The tomb dates to the fifth century A.D., when the region was controlled by a people known as the Huns.

The tomb is filled with more than 100 artifacts, including weapons, gold-covered objects and pieces of gold jewelry inlaid with gemstones, Silviu Ene(opens in new tab) of the Vasile Pârvan Institute of Archeology in Bucharest, Romania.

Ene is the lead archaeologist investigating the tomb, which was discovered late last year during the construction of a motorway near the town of Mizil in the southeast of Romania, about 140 miles (220 kilometers) from the Black Sea.

Four separate archaeological sites were unearthed during the road construction, and the wealthy warrior's tomb — which the researchers described as "princely" — was just a part of the most complex site, Ene said.

"This tomb is of major importance because, in addition to the rich inventory, it was discovered at a site along with 900 other archaeological features — [such as] pits, dwellings, and tombs," he said in an email.

Invading Huns

The ethnicity of the Mizil warrior still isn't known, but the rich grave goods suggest that he belonged to the ruling class in the region's Hunnic period, or "migration era," when it was controlled by the Huns, Ene and his colleagues told the news outlet Hungary Posts English(opens in new tab).

The Huns were nomadic horsemen who originated in Central Asia. During the fourth and fifth centuries A.D. they invaded and occupied the far east of Europe, while displacing other peoples — such as the Vandals and the Goths — from their lands, causing them to migrate west.

The Huns were a particular problem for the Byzantine (or Eastern) Roman Empire, which until that time had controlled much of the lands west of the Black Sea — a region that now includes Romania.

But the Romans lost the region to the Huns, who went on to invade the Western Roman province of Gaul (modern France and western Germany) and even to attack Rome under their leader Attila the Hun, before losing their territory in Europe to a mixed force of Goths and other Germanic former vassals at the Battle of Nedao — a site now in Croatia — in A.D. 454.

Princely tomb

The latest archaeological finds at the Mizil tomb included an iron sword in a gilded scabbard, a dagger, bundles of iron arrowheads and decorated braces of bone that were once fitted to a wooden bow, Ene said.

The dagger is especially ornate, with a gold-covered hilt inlaid with gemstones, he noted.

Archaeologists also unearthed the remains of a gilded saddle, a bronze cauldron, several decorated "sconces" — fittings to hold candles on a wall — and pieces of gold jewelry, he said.

The tomb held the warrior's complete skeleton, and his face seems to have been covered with a gold mask, the remains of which were also unearthed. However, only a leg and the head of his horse have been unearthed so far, Ene said.

The archaeologists told Hungary Posts English that the styles of the newfound objects suggest they are from about the fifth century A.D., when most of Europe north of the Danube River was under the control of the Huns.

The excavation of the tomb had to be completed in bad weather and sometimes with flashlights so that the motorway project could go ahead.

The archaeological investigation is now about "half finished," Ene said. Over the next few months, the bones and artifacts will be cleaned, investigated and put on public display, while the site of the tomb itself will be built over by the motorway project.

By Tom Metcalfe.

#'Princely' Tomb of A Hun Warrior Unearthed in Romania #ancient tomb #ancient grave #treasure-laden tomb #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations

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bluewren · 1 year

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An Evening in the Undercroft

I wrote this small drabble for prompt and I wanted to share it. Makers feels so strange in the context of Thedas, but that is what we call DIY enthusiasts and tinkerers sometimes LOL ps my Sera adopted a fennec fox when she was out in the Western Approach

It was late afternoon, Harrit had stopped by and left with a rubber mallet and several small runes for trimming armor. He didn’t bother to inquire if the tools and pieces were in the same place as last time, just walking past the Inquisitor with her book in her hammock and hoping that the tinkerers here hadn’t shuffled the room yet again. They hadn’t. The sunset marched through the waterfall that was as much a frequenter of this room as the usual makers and crafty smiths. Taliesen grumbled as her source of light slowly dims to dimmer and then eventually the soft orange glow on the parchment was no longer enough to illuminate her book. She made an indignant grumble, sucking on the back of her teeth as she leaned to her right to reach for the rune that ignited the sconces in this room. She struggled past the bricks on the walls until she felt the indent of the rune. The light was back, better now and at least she still had the soft beating of the waterfall. She finally looked up when she heard a hefty crash of the door onto the walls, Sera arrived. Tali puts down her novel, they chatted about the latest thing that Sera caused a ruckus about. There was laughter and somehow talks about a strange fox eluding people. The Red Jenny needed tools for more pranks and to recapture her pet. Then their conversation came to a natural end when Sera raised a brow at the title of her book. Dagna returned to the Undercroft, she was the first one to ask the question about why her friend was reading a romance novel here. It was a book that Solas got from Cassandra and had recently finished. Tali marked the page, her attention was given to Dagna’s current work and if there was anything exciting that the two tinkerers could be working on.

#Taliesen Lavellan #Tali's Gadgets #Skyhold Undercroft #wren's writing

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pluckinstuff · 6 months

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage Home Interiors HOMCO Burwood Southwest Western Wall Decor 8 Piece Set.

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suburbeastern · 11 months

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Bathroom Renovations in Sydney South

A deluxe bathroom renovation in this Penshurst home used classic white walls with a feature wall tiled in penny round tiles in Norwegian Rose. Brushed bronze tapware and shower accessories added a stylish touch to this modern bathroom.

Once drywall is installed and dry, your carpenter can install vanity units and cabinets. This is also when you can add decorative trims like crown molding or wainscoting. To know more about Bathroom Renovations Sydney South, visit the Eastern Suburbs Bathroom Renovations website or call 0415902838.

Bathroom remodels involve more than simply changing the paint color and fixtures. It can mean dropping walls and rerouting plumbing lines, and requires an experienced general contractor who understands local and state building codes.

Homeowners who want to update their bathrooms can consider wall colors such as soft mauve or lemon chiffon for a country style, and relaxing earth shades like fennel bronze for a spa-like atmosphere. However, homeowners whose bathroom windows receive western and southern sunlight should be careful with cool color options that may appear stark in natural light.

Once the demolition is complete, your plumber and electrician will carry out a rough-in fit. This involves putting plumbing and electrical wiring in place without connecting it. Your plasterer, tiler, and painter will then finish the walls and floors.

Bathroom renovations are complex work. They are wet areas prone to mould and leaks, and require special consideration for waterproofing and ventilation. That’s why working with a professional is always recommended.

Eastern Suburbs Bathroom Renovations offer their clients quality inclusions and exceptional workmanship, creating beautiful bathrooms in Sydney’s southern suburbs. To book your free consultation, contact them today.

For any electrical work in the bathroom renovation, it’s important to use a licensed electrician. This ensures that all work is done safely and to code.

This may include core drilling in the concrete floor to install new powerpoints and lighting, or it might involve running electrical cabling from an existing switchboard to a new outlet. This will generally take one to four days for a sparkie to complete.

If you’re relocating plumbing or making major structural changes, you may need to apply for a building permit. Check with your local council to see what requirements there are.

A bathroom renovation is an excellent opportunity to lay a new floor. Vinyl is an option as it provides warmth, is water resistant and can look like timber. Concrete flooring is also a good option as it can be polished to look fantastic and has good slip resistance.

After the plumbing rough-in and tiling is done it’s time for the sparkie to install all the electrical wiring and powerpoints. This can take one to four days.

Unforeseen issues can crop up during a bathroom reno, such as discovering asbestos behind tiling or structural issues in the walls and floors. These can increase the cost of the reno and need to be addressed.

Lighting is a key element in any bathroom. It can be subtle and functional or dramatic and decorative. There are many ways to light a bathroom, including recessed lighting, pendant lights and wall sconces. Accent lighting is also a great way to highlight decorative elements like a textured feature wall or brushed bronze tapware.

Bathroom ventilation is essential to prevent unsightly mould and mildew. Without proper bathroom ventilation, moisture can build up around the taps, in the corners of showers and over tiles. This moisture can lead to the growth of harmful bacteria.

Bathroom remodelling is a large project that involves plumbing, tiling and cabinetry work. If you hire an expert, they can provide you with high-quality work that is worth the investment.

They can also upgrade the look of your bathroom by installing different types of vanities. You can choose modern or classic designs depending on your preferences.

Some people also remodel their bathrooms to repair issues like cracked pipes, rotting floors and long-term leaks. A renovation is the best time to fix these problems before they become worse. They can also replace old cabinets, re-stair the floor and install new appliances like shower heads or bathtubs.

A modern bathroom renovation can add a huge amount of beauty and value to your home. However, the process is not without its challenges and unexpected costs can pop up. Common problems include rotting timber, asbestos discovery behind the tiling, mould growth and choked drains.

Adding finishing touches can make your new bathroom feel complete and on-trend. Functional furniture like heated towel rails, a feature stool and framed artwork can add a touch of luxury to your space.

The best way to ensure your bathroom renovation is a success is to work with an experienced professional company. Eastern Suburbs Bathroom Renovations are one of Sydney’s leading one-stop bathroom specialists and offer a free consultation and quote. To know more about Bathroom Renovations Sydney South, visit the Eastern Suburbs Bathroom Renovations website or call 0415902838.

#bathroom renovations sydney south #bathroom renovations sydney south west #bathroom renovation Maroubra #bathroom renovation Bondi #bathroom renovations north west sydney #bathroom renovations sydney eastern suburbs #bathroom renovation companies sydney #bathroom renovation packages sydney

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bayoubaby7 · 1 year

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Check out this listing I just found on Poshmark: Vintage Two Arm Wall Sconce Candle Decor Home.

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id-lights · 8 years

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Mason Jar Farmhouse Wall Sconce - This Mason Jar Farmhouse Wall Sconce is made from reclaimed Barnwood and a mason jar – great for rustic, country, or western decor. Each wood … Read More » #RestaurantBar #WallLampsSconces #WoodLamps

#diylighting #farmhousedecor #handmadelighting #lamp #lightfixture #lighting #lightingdesign #masonjars #recycle #rusticlighting #sconce #vintagelighting #woodlamp #woodworking #Restaurant - Bar #Wall Lamps &amp; Sconces #Wood Lamps

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vintagehomecollection · 5 years

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Entering through the graceful territorial-style front doors at the right, the visitor finds himself in a hallway that divides the functions of the house... This arrangement of a broad central hallway giving onto a series of rooms was one of the innovations ushered in with the territorial period.

Santa Fe Style, 1986

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daman19942 · 2 years

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And then there was Lucky Shack!

So far I've made over some of Downtown's restaurants, clubs, and bowling alleys. Each time I try and ensure that each lot serves a particular purpose. To that end, I needed a place for my sims to play cards. Luckily, Downtown ships with such a lot, Lucky Shack Cards and Drink. Unluckily, the lot is pretty lazily thrown together, so I rarely ever used it. That roof was obnoxious, and the structure had weird dimensions and a half executed western theme. It needed a facelift, and I’m quite happy with how I doubled down (pun very much intended) on its rustic aesthetic to create what I am calling a “neighborhood bar” away from the modernity of the rest of Downtown.

Does include some CC, but it is light and, I think, tasteful. Cleaned, and a copy was playtested

SHOWN AND INCLUDED Mountain Style Lights by PineappleForest - chandelier and wall sconces used inside GameRoom Three-Shade Lamp by PineappleForest - above pool table Still String Lights by PineappleForest - used outside MegaVox Classic Jukebox by CrispsandKerosene - between poker tables

I think that’s it? I hope you enjoy playing it!

Download: SFS | MTS

#ts2 #the sims 2 #sims2cc #sims 2 downtown #sims 2 download #sims 2 lots #maxis makeover #maxis remodel

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ginger-danica-snapps · 3 years

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Set Our Course by the Stars

Written for Day 6 of The Spring Blossoms and Autumn Leaves event @jonsaseasonalbash

for the prompt set, spring fever/stars/autumn sadness

Summary: Sansa had almost given up on being rescued from the hell of King’s Landing by any member of her blood. They were all dead and gone, accept for a bastard brother who had gone to the wall. Sansa has never been so happy as to be wrong about something in her life. Her prince does come and he is the Prince Aemon her father promised her once upon a time when she was a sweet, summer child.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30952292

The day that Sansa’s prince rescued her from the dreaded lion’s seemed as normal a day as ever in the beginning.

She woke early and her handmaids, all loyal, western ladies, helped her to don a dress with heavy silks and loosely tied sashes. They wove her hair into the intricate styles that Cersei Lannister was well known for. Then she took exactly twenty deep breaths, exhaling and inhaling, as she stood before her mirror and prepared her armor that could not be seen.

Twenty deep breaths is all she allowed herself everyday, except for three times in a week when she was able to go to the Godswood for prayer. She bothered not with the sept. The southern gods abandoned her completely when Joffrey ordered her father’s head chopped from his shoulders.

Twice she had thought she might find rescue from unlikely sources. The first when Stannis Baratheon attempted to take King’s Landing. He had failed. The second was when rumors of Daenerys Targaryen hatching dragons reached them. Then the notice of her death by the hands of the masters of the city she was sacking and the slaughter of her dragons. One stray arrow from atop a wall took down the mother of dragons.

Sansa would have probably died in dragon fire if she had survived, but Sansa thought that preferable to being humiliated in the Lannister court and forced to eventually carry a Lannister child.

Today was one of the days she would first go to the morning session of court. If Joffrey was in a particularly distracted mood, then Sansa would physically be able to acquit herself to the Godswood.

She knew the chances of her making the Godswood for prayer was unlikely the moment she had walked into the balcony of the throne room. Joffrey immediately noted her presence and it was not long before a lady came to get her.

“His Grace requests your presence, Sansa,” the girl spoke, only a few years above Sansa’s age, but certainly no one that should have considered it appropriate to call her by name with such familiarity.

Summoning all her courage and thrusting her feelings, thoughts, and dark wishes behind the cool facade that was Lady Sansa Stark, daughter of a traitor, and willing guest of the crown’s own custody.

In another life she would have been as Theon in Winterfell, if Cersei Lannister and her hellspawn were anything like her father. Scolding herself for the ill thinking, Sansa plastered a polite smile upon her mouth and curtsied deep before the throne.

She maintained her stance and waited for permission to rise or for Joffrey to indicate that the Kingsguard should knock her all the way down.

“Did you hear, Lady Sansa?” that voice mocked from the gilded throne. She imagined the sharp edges of the conquered swords slashing into Joffrey as they said King Maegor had died. She imagined pushing him back onto the blades herself and quickly pushed these thoughts behind her carefully, constructed mask, glad she was still kneeling and had yet to look up.

“Your grace?” she asked, keeping her voice meek and low.

“I asked if you had heard, Lady Sansa, of the great news that has reached us?” Joffrey mocked her as he stood from the throne.

“I have not, Your Grace? Would you please be so kind as to honor me with this great news?” she responded, keeping all inflection out of her voice. What else could he do? Her father was dead, her brother and mother murdered, as well as Rickon and Bran. She had been married to Tyrion Lannister who seemed to think it such a great kindness that he would not take the maidenhood of a barely grown girl.

What else could he do to her?

“Your brother...Snow, was it? The bastard of your father? He has left the wall and forgone giving his vow to the night’s watch. My man says that he did not swear, but I don’t think I believe him. I’ve sent word North that anyone who finds him shall win their weight in gold and an empty northern keep for their own if they bring me his head. I shall give it to you as a gift once the dwarf begets a child on you,” Joffrey leaned down and wrapped his hand in her hair and pulled her head back to stare into her eyes as he whispered.

“Or when I fuck one in to your cold cunt. One moon, traitor’s seed, do I give him to put a babe in your belly. If he does not then I will slip in one night and do the job for him.”

Sansa made herself shiver as if in fear before responding with a simple, “Yes, your grace.”

Joffrey sneered at her and turned away to make the climb back to his seat.

“This traitor is fowling my air. Remove my...aunt...from the court,” he said offhandedly and Sansa stood and made one more quick dip before fleeing.

Upon making it to the Godswood, Sansa ignored her handmaid's who walked behind her, or the shadowing presence of the Lannister men and went straight into prayer at the base of the tree. She kneeled into the roots and placed her hand upon the bark.

Please. My mother’s gods have forsaken me and my father’s are all I have left. Wherever Jon is, please keep him safe. I will offer anything, just keep the last of my blood safe.

Time passed and when she felt the warmth of the setting sun move on her body, she stood and brushed her skirts off. The ladies had long since left her and her guards had changed. She made her way back into the keep and to her quarters with Tyrion.

Not that he would be inside of them. Tyrion had left two days prior to travel to Casterly Rock and back on his father’s order. Upon entering she started to ring for a maid to help her uncloth, but a shadow shifted behind her changing screen. She opened her mouth to scream, but suddenly a man was in front of her and for a moment in her confusion she thought her father stood there.

Then her vision cleared and she gasped, “Jon?”

“Sansa,” her lost brother whispered, almost reverently and reached out to cup her cheek and brush her hair back from her face. His eyes followed down and she knew the moment he saw the lashes that peaked out of her dress at her nape and shoulders. Ser Payne had been particularly bad at aiming in the last few moons.

Jon gently laid a hand upon them and pulled her to his chest, “I’m so sorry, Sansa, that I was unable to be here before now. I...I was at the wall and I learned some things and then I was away looking for allies. I thought there would be time...Robb was winning and my allies were not particularly happy about entering in the war until we had more support.”

Sansa was not sure who Jon could have drummed up as support, but Dorne was a possibility. They had always wondered if Jon was the son of a Dornish noblewoman, even Ashara Dayne for all they said her son had died.

A noise from outside her doors brought her back to the present and out of her mind’s wondering.

“We need to go, Sansa,” Jon said as he stepped back from her.

“Where? The entrance to my room is guarded,” she answered back, fear setting inside of her.

Jon laughed, “We are not going out the door, sweetling. We are going through the tunnels.”

“Tunnels? What tunnels?” Sansa whispered even as Jon moved to a tapestry that she realized was already displaced. Then he was slipping his fingers between two stones and pulling it out. Suddenly a low grinding noise of rock upon smoothed stone was heard and a doorway appeared.

Jon held his hand out to her and she grasped tight as he led her forward. Stopping only momentarily to lift a torch that was in a sconce in the dark tunnel. He handed it to her and did some shuffling to close the entrance again. Then he took the torch back and led her forward.

“Where are we going,” she whispered as they moved quickly and quietly. She was unsure of where else they passed as they climbed downward on a staircase that had to be where the wall widened at the base of the kitchen keep at which the top was her and Tyrion’s quarters.

Jon pulled her closer as the tunnel narrowed into a long hall.

“We will be passing into a cavern below the throne room. It is the only room from what my contact has said that the Lannister’s discovered from the Targaryen’s. It’s where Robert Baratheon was convinced to place the dragon heads. Then we will go down another tunnel that will lead us to a small strip of land and water. A boat and an ally with the ability to take us through the bay to a ship waiting for us will be there,” Jon explained and it was now that she realized something odd about his clothes.

He was wearing black as she would have thought a man of the watch would, but it was not the rough leathers and ruffled fur she’d seen her Uncle where on his trips home from the wall. It was shining in its richness, layered and thick, with red threading throughout. The armor that was beneath his cloak glistened like the blackest metal she had ever seen forged and red rubies adorned something she could not quite make out.

Reaching forward she brushed the cloak from his chest and her breath caught as the three headed dragon appeared.

“Jon…” she began hesitantly.

Jon leaned down and kissed her forehead, before standing and cupping her chin as he spoke, “My father named me Aemon Targaryen and my mother begged my uncle, your father, to protect me from Robert Baratheon. Almost twelve moons ago, Aemon Targaryen, maester at the wall recognized the tone in my voice and the features of my father in my face. He discretely requested a search at the Citadel and two moons later, riders came with documentation of my parents marriage and my birth. Three moons ago, inside the sept on Dragonstone, loyalists gathered and declared me Aemon, first of my name, and King of Westeros. When we sail from King’s Landing, it is only to join with the rest of our allies. We do not have enough to take the bay and the city, but we have enough to block supplies in and out. Our army will eventually surround the city. Now that Tywin Lannister and the majority of his major allies are in residence for the royal wedding, we will never have a better opportunity.”

Sansa was quiet and easily began to follow him again as the words circled in her mind. Jon had always been kind to her. Kind, brave, strong, and true. Her father’s words came back to her.

“Sweet one,” her father said gently, “listen to me. When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me.”

There was a bright light ahead and Sansa watched as Jon drew his sword and pressed Sansa behind him. They stepped slowly into the large, cavernous room that Sansa knew was where her sister had often hid. Arya had talked about the large dragon heads that dominated the room for days after her discovery.

Beside the largest of them, Varys stood. Sansa tensed up, but Jon gave her hand a squeeze in support.

“Your Grace, Your Royal Highness, Lord Seaworth is ready. We must be away before the chance that someone realizes the princess is missing,” the master of whisperer’s said and began to lead them through another tunnel.

Sansa found herself introspective about the idea that she was being referred to as a princess.

She supposed it meant that Jon recognized Robb as a King.

“He named me his heir in his will,” Jon said quietly as they climbed wet, oddly spaced stairs, “It took moons to convince the northern lords to follow me after I admitted my heritage. Winterfell has already been secured and returned to the Starks. The House of Bolton has fallen. There are many things that will surprise you in the coming time, but Rickon and Bran survived. Theon lied about their death. I have named Rickon as Lord of Winterfell and Lord Manderly is acting as his regent.”

Sansa hummed in approval, but thought it odd they accepted Jon, when two sons of Ned Stark were alive. The only way they would have agreed is if Jon had agreed to do something to strengthen their loyalty and suddenly Sansa knew what they had demanded.

Rhaegar was a fool with his affection, if that is what it was, but he did elevate a Stark daughter to one day be a Queen. The only thing that would assuage the Northern pride and offer them enough stability to be a part of the seven kingdoms was if there was another Stark Queen and this time, one that would beget the heir to the iron throne in the open.

“Marriage. They have demanded we marry for their cooperation. You agreed?” Sansa hesitantly asked as they stepped from the darker tunnel and into the night air. She watched the conflicted emotions cross his face.

“Yes, but only if you wished to be my queen. If you do not, then I will take a Northern bride of their choice and you will be the regent of Winterfell until Rickon is of an age to be the warden,” Jon responded simply.

Someone brave and gentle and strong.

The words echoed in her mind again as they finally reached a small rowboat with a man aboard. He reached out and helped Sansa into the boat and Jon climbed in after her after a few words with Varys.

“You will leave in plenty of time to avoid being caught in the siege. Do you understand me, Lord Varys?” Jon was saying quietly as the man tittered and agreed. He walked away as the man began rowing away.

Jon reached down and began to help.

Sansa tilted her head and watched him carefully, knowing that her silence was probably not helping Jon’s state of mind. She’d never really given thought to Jon as anything but a person who shared a miniscule amount of blood and caused her mother shame. It was not his fault and she understood that now in way she had been woefully unprepared to do before the summer child of her youth was discarded for the cynical reality of the world.

Still...Targaryen or not, Jon had always been everything her father desired for her in a match. The only difference being that she had not known of his high birth at childhood and he had supposedly been her brother.

Cousins, though...cousins could marry. It was highly likely had the war gone another way and the North had stood with Lyanna, then it was likely Sansa would have been betrothed at birth to Jon...Aemon.

“Do you prefer Aemon now?” she blurted out and couldn’t help the twitch her lips made in an effort to smile when Jon burst out laughing at the first words she decided the share after the shock.

“Nay. Please just keep to Jon. It’s hard enough remembering to answer to the Lords and Ladies of my allies, nevertheless my...cousin,” Jon finally answered.

They were quiet for a time as Sansa watched the stars appear and because too shine in the night sky. Using the little knowledge she could remember from her younger years, Sansa found the wolfstar and it made her feel safe for a very small moment.

As the night stars shined, they made way to a large ship outside of the bay in the darkest part of the night. The hour of the wolf, Sansa thought with an odd sense of satisfaction. Jon reached down and helped haul her up on the deck. Sansa found herself quickly leaning in to her cousin.

“See there, Sansa?” Jon whispered as he pointed to the wolfstar. She nodded her head.

“Every night as the stars come out, we make our heading and set our course by the wolfstar. It leads us North and regardless of where we are, it will always take us home and it will always be a part of the north,” he said solemnly.

Sansa stared up at the sky and then at him again. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his mouth. A small, fleeting thing, but one that left him staring down at her in surprise and serious.

She laughed softly, “I thought perhaps it might be alright if I kissed my betrothed, the King.”

She abruptly stopped laughing when he took her lips again, this time in a longer and deeper kiss. He leaned his forehead against hers after releasing her lips.

“You may kiss me anytime you like, sweetling, but certainly always under the stars,” he whispered to her and Sansa felt her heart swell with something she had thought lost.

Hope.

#jonsaspringautumn #jonsa #jonsa fic #jon x sansa #anotherau #gingerwrites #daenerys is dead

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