#Arole

[anira-naeg]

[doomdaysdecays]

[lookatmysillies]

Round 6, Eddy POV - The Aftermath

Eddy’s vision was a blur.

“…infirmary! Contact its guardian!”

“What are those marks on its chest?”

“Does it matter if they’re gushing blood? Come on, we’re running out of time, AREPH will never let us live it down if this one dies.”

Lights. Color. Music. It had all faded to a dull, shiny spatter across their senses. Their hand twitched and reached out for something from the stretcher that was no longer there.

Blown pupils. A trembling frame.

The human had been very scared. Eddy wondered why they were so scared. It was just going to return them to safety. It was trying to help.

Wasn’t it?

Their fingers spasmed, and the outstretched arm fell back to the stretcher, a choked gurgling sound leaving their mouth.

One of the guards pulled their mask from their face to help them get air, and Eddy receded further into the hazy, swimming downpour of sensation around it, blocking out the brush of cool air against deformed flesh.

A new towering, skinny figure danced before their eyes with several sets of arms in eyes, shiny black skin stretched over its frame.

“Arol?” Eddy murmured, delirious. “Am I g’nna—g’nna be okay?”

One of the guards said, “…What did it say?”

Darkness settled over Eddy’s mind, and as warm and heavy as they felt, it was easy to fall into it.

For hours until they woke to spidery hands covering its sweaty forehead and bandaged, trembling chest in a loving apology, Eddy would know no more. Nothing but the mantra echoing in the back of their dreams.

Why were you

so

scared?

(If anyone couldn’t tell who the person in question is, it’s Solei, lmao. Solei belongs to @solei-eclipse. Thanks for a wild Round 6, guys)

[vaya-writes]

Serving the Serpent - 5

Briar owes Lord Isen her life. She works off her debt by serving in his castle. Dealing with the rapidly changing circumstances of her life, she’s not used to anyone paying her much attention. It’s hard when Isen seems set on interacting with her. 

Cis female human with selective mutism x male naga (slow burn, co-workers to lovers, power imbalances, eventual smut). 2500 words. Content warnings for this chapter: references to the cult-like elements of Briar's upbringing. Divider from firefly-graphics

Briar participates in Discourse for the first time.

Previous - Masterlist

The following afternoon, Briar is starting to regret her carefree comment. Learning to read is one thing. Staying seated in Lockwood’s office, trying her best not to hunch over the table, fingers pressed a little too tightly around a piece of chalk, is another. Because learning to read, means learning to write. And learning to write means the dark elf taking the time out of his day to point out letters and pronounce them.  

He’s patient. She’ll give him that. Pointing to each letter before and after she copies it, fingers cramping. He pronounces each sound slowly, then regularly. Gives an example word that the sound is in. Watches for Briar to nod her understanding.  

His face is nearly as blank as the slate she writes on. The only time irritation had flickered across his features was when he pronounced the first letter. He’d waited a beat, before she realised she was expected to copy the sound. She’d opened her mouth. Hesitated. And dropped her eyes in shame when nothing more than a stuttered breath came out.  

To Lockwood’s credit, he’d recovered quickly. Had adjusted the cadence of his lesson, and nothing else, no longer pausing for her to speak. Just waiting for her shows of attention and occasional nods. No further frustration shows on his features. But it doesn’t stop Briar from feeling intimidated. 

That night she lies awake in bed. It’s only when the room is silent, when she’s certain that everyone is either asleep or about to be when she’s able to vocalise. Fragments of sound, not complete words, as she tries her best to remember how Lockwood had spoken, and mimic each phonic. 

Somebody nearby stirs and she’s startled back into silence. She pulls her pillow over her head and sighs. Perhaps she could find some other time alone to practice. Or perhaps just mouthing the sounds would be enough.   

Despite the disadvantage, Briar wakes determined to see the day through, and learn as much as she can during her next lesson. She picks up breakfast on the way to the third floor, where she meets Emilie and assists her with the usual cleaning. The lizard chats as she works, going from room to room to strip the beds and clean the private bathrooms.  

She’s tense in anticipation of entering the lord’s chambers, but finds them empty. Arol’s too. She doesn’t think much of it until lunch time, when she parts ways with Emilie to meet with Cook. Isen and Arol’s meals are absent from the trolley. Part of her regards the change with curiosity.  

“Lockwood stopped by. He said you’re to skip your lesson with Lord Isen today, and to meet in his office early. I’ll have your lunch delivered there.” 

Briar blinks. Tilts her head to inquire why, but Cook misses the gesture as he turns back to work. Once he’s out of earshot, Briar lets the huff escape from her chest. Carries on with the rest of her duties, delivering the noble’s meals. 

Dinah is busy as per usual, buried in paper and parchment, sorting with deadly speed and precision. Her eyes flick up as Briar enters, and she inclines her chin a little as the woman places her tray on the desk corner.  

Briar finds herself faltering as she stops outside the newly occupied offices. She’d been avoiding the newcomers to the castle like the plague. The coral pink naga has a way of leering at her that makes her uncomfortable. And the scaled woman – Briar's not yet sure what she is – has an unwavering gaze; sharp and deadly. It raises the hair on the back of her neck, and has her struggling not to turn tail.  

When her job is done she waves down Emilie, fortunate enough to catch her as she returns from a break. 

“Is something wrong?” 

Briar shakes her head. Points to herself and then towards the stairs. She usually collects the floor’s dishes after her meal with Isen, but wouldn’t have the chance today. 

“You need to go?” 

Briar nods. Then points to her trolley. 

Emilie raises her scaled brows. “You want me to clean up after lunch?” 

She nods. ‘Please.’ 

Emilie hums and hars for a moment, before relaxing with a smile. “I guess I can do that. But you’ll owe me.”  

Briar gives a relieved smile. ‘Thank you so much.’ She even curtsies on the spot to show her gratitude, exaggerated and low. 

Her work taken care of, Briar hurries off to her next stop. 

When she arrives in the dimly lit office, Lockwood isn’t alone. She stiffens immediately in the doorway, eyeing Lord Isen and a lizard newcomer with apprehension.  

Isen smiles at her, gesturing for her to enter. “You’re right on time. We can start as soon as you’ve eaten.” 

Briar tries not to clip her motions, but she can’t help but be unnerved by the additional pair of eyes. ‘Start what, my lord?’ 

Isen gestures to the stranger. “This is Berron. He’s one of my translators. He’s going to teach us to sign your letters.” 

Briar didn’t realise it was possible to go tauter, but she does. It’s been... months, since she’d spoken to anyone fluent in Sign. She thought she be lost in silence forever when Stella died. 

She tries not to gape at Berron, who in turn tries to keep his appraisal light. 

There’s a silence in the room. It seems as if Lockwood and Isen await her reaction. She supposes the breach in etiquette might be warranted this once. Hesitant, she speaks to the lizard.  

‘You speak Sign?’ 

Berron gives an apologetic smile. “Just the basics, I’m afraid. I’m more fluent in the Serpentine dialect. But I can sign the common letters. They’re what you’re learning, yes?” His Common is nearly unaccented, and he gestures a sign occasionally as he speaks.  

He’s not fluent. But hope begins to bloom in her chest. ‘Do you-’ she hesitates. ‘Do you know how to say this?’ She adds a gesture. 

He winces. “No, sorry. What is it?” 

“Her name,” says Isen, who watches the interaction closely. “We still don’t know it.” 

“Ah,” the lizard frowns. “Well, with any luck, soon you’ll be able to spell it!” 

“Or write it,” murmurs Lockwood, who pulls out the chair at his side table. “Shall we begin?” 

Isen stays for the lesson. Practices signing letters as Berron instructs, and Lockwood sounds them out for Briar. She feels a little ridiculous, having a team of three trying to teach her literacy. She reassures herself that Isen is at least having his signing lesson, learning some greetings from his translator.  

All in all, it’s a learning experience for everyone in the room. Even Lockwood appears engaged for the next two hours. Before long he’s signing and pronouncing letters at the same time, before Briar dutifully copies him and writes them down. 

The novelty fades before the week passes. Isen participates long enough to learn how to sign his letters. Once Briar has passing knowledge of the signed alphabet, Berron finishes his tutoring. And her days go back to normal.  

She cleans in the mornings. Serves third floor meals at lunch and dinner. Takes her midday meal with Isen, where he insists she teach him Sign when he’s not busy with paperwork (he’s always busy, but he makes time). Starts learning how to string letters together, and what sounds they make. Gets used to writing with chalk. Then with a pen. And rinses off at the end of the day before trudging down to the common room for a fitful sleep.  

Her nightmares persist. They’re not as frequent, but are no less harrowing. And without a full night of rest, her days are draining. She’s not sure if it’s the inconsistent schedule, or the strange array of work she’s been given, but she feels busy. Like if she were just a cleaner, or if she just served meals things would be simpler.  

She wishes she could talk to Lockwood. To ask him to assign her a permanent position already. But he’s already doing so much for her. Putting aside an hour of his time every day to sit with her while she writes, and her lips form the shapes of letters– if silently. Besides, it’s not like she would be able to make herself understood.  

Still. Objectively, her life has improved. She knows her way around. Is getting used to the minutia of things. She’s still intimidated by Isen’s circle. Pryden and Fern scare her the most, but they’re rarely at the castle. She doesn’t know what they do for Isen, but whatever it is, it’s done elsewhere. 

Whatever they report back to Isen, it keeps him busy. The next time they return, Briar finds Isen awash in paperwork. Enough so that he doesn’t have time for their lunch lessons, only brief reprieves to eat. 

‘You still haven’t replaced Amos?’ 

He frowns. “I haven’t hired a new aide yet, no.” 

‘What are you waiting for?’ 

He squints. “Pardon?” 

She rewords her query. ‘Why not?’ 

Understanding spreads across his features, and he shrugs, turning back to his food. “It’ll take time to train a replacement. Unless you think I should hire somebody not qualified?” His tone turns teasing at the end. 

Briar resists the urge to roll her eyes. Gives an impassive shrug, before continuing her meal.  

Isen leans back in his chair, watching Briar with an unusual interest. ��What would you do in my place?” 

It takes her a moment to realise it’s not a rhetorical question. She pauses midbite when she does. Points at herself as if to say, ‘you’re asking me?’ 

“Sure. I want your opinion.” 

She lets her features contort this time. ‘Why?’ 

He crosses his arms. “Humour me.” 

She takes a moment to think. Spends most of it composing herself, and smoothing her expression once more. ‘What type of assistant do you want?’ 

He tilts his head. “What do I want?” 

She points towards Amos’ old room. Signs ‘assistant’.  

“What kind of aide do I want?” 

Nod. 

He shrugs. “Somebody diligent. With initiative. Thoughtful. Around when I need them. On top of things like my schedule.” 

She nearly rolls her eyes again. Restrains her sigh. ‘Then hire a cleaner. What do you want your aide to know?’ 

“Do you mean their qualifications?” 

She gives an emphatic nod. 

“Oh. Well, nothing fancy. They don’t need to be a graduate of anything, I can train them myself. But they’ll need basic literacy and numeracy skills.” 

Part of her sours at the last comment. ‘And are there any schools in the Lowlands?’ 

“Is there what where?” 

‘School. A place of learning. A place of knowledge. Place. Know,’ she gestures until Isen catches her meaning.  

“A school? Here?” He pauses for a moment, speaking as an aside, “Show me that again-” copying her gesture, before, “No. We tried once, but people didn’t show up.” 

Again, she wants to roll her eyes. This time, he does wrangle a reaction out of her, and she has to take a moment to pinch the bridge of her nose. When she looks back up at him, ready to start again, he’s grinning. 

“You’re cute when you get exasperated.” 

She narrows her eyes. Emphatically picks up her now empty plate and takes it to her trolley.  

“Stop, I’m sorry. You weren’t finished speaking.” 

She puts her chair away before stopping in front of his desk. Reigns in her annoyance. Makes herself the picture of a perfect servant. 

‘I would go to the city. It’d be easier to find an aide there.’ 

Isen grins. “You remind me of Arol, you know?” 

She can’t identify his tone. Quirks her brow, lets herself get sucked in to the question.  

“Polite to a fault.” 

She blinks. Hyperaware of how he watches her reaction.  

Briar laces her hands in front of her. Bites down on her lip. She knows he’s goading her. Knows he just wants a reaction. She takes a deep breath. Is about to turn and leave before- 

‘-and you’re ignorant.’ 

He tilts his head. (When she reflects back on this encounter, she’ll be thankful beyond belief that she hadn’t taught him that word yet.) Then he waits, expectant for her to continue. 

‘Why should a parent send their child to school?’ 

He takes a moment to process, understanding he’s being questioned, before giving an apologetic wince. “I don’t follow.” 

‘Why did you go to school?’  

“To learn?” 

‘Why?’ 

He shakes his head. “Uh- it was expected?’ 

‘Why?’ 

“So I could learn to read and-” 

‘Sure. Why?’ 

“My father wanted me-” 

She cuts him off with the shake of her head. ‘Why?’ 

He crosses his arms again, defensive. “It’s what I was meant to do.” 

She pauses. Uses the hiatus to hammer in her point before signing again. ‘Why should I go to school?’ 

He’s quiet for a moment. “Did your parents want-” 

She shakes her head. 

He takes another few seconds. “It’s not expected?” 

No. Again.  

“So you can read and write?” 

‘Okay. Why?’ 

“Why what?” 

‘Why should I read and write?’ 

He frowns, like it should be obvious. “So you can get a better job. So you can get paid. To help you communicate.” 

She shakes her head at each answer. ‘Women cook. Women clean. I was meant to cook and clean. Why should I go to school?’ 

He grits his teeth, confused by the roundabout conversation. It’s the first time she’s seen him visibly frustrated. “Because I want you to be my assistant.” 

The statement is enough to halt her tirade.  

They’re both silent for a moment. Isen, biting his lip, regretting his outburst. Clearly it was something he’d meant to keep to himself. Briar, compartmentalising. Trying to process that information at record speed, wondering if it’s worth dropping her point.  

It’s not. She’s nearly finished. 

After the extended pause, she straightens. Points out the window, towards the peasants in the lowlands, to make her point. ‘Why should they go to school?’ 

Isen takes a moment. Then another. Then his shoulders slump – just barely. “You’re saying they have no reason to come to school?” 

She nods.  

“Oh.” 

He doesn’t look at her, frowning down at his plate, seeming to digest the knowledge. His thoughts have changed direction.  

Eventually he notices Briar, expectant.  

“Yes?” 

‘You want to make me your assistant?’ 

He purses his lips. It looks like he hadn’t planned to tell her for a while. “Eventually. Yes.” 

She stares him down. Lets him stew in the scrutiny until Isen is the one to drop his eyes, experiencing shame, or perhaps guilt, but not quite sure why. 

She waits until he looks at her again to sign her goodbye.  

‘I can’t count either.’ 

Next

[encontroancestral]

Conhecendo os Orixás: de Exu a Oxalá” é o livro de estreia da Editora Arole Cultural no universo infantil e abre o caminho para a coleção “Orixás Para Crianças”. Nele você vai conhecer as características e particularidades dos Orixás - os deuses e deusas das religiões afrobrasileiras - suas cores, dias da semana, comidas prediletas e as forças da natureza que comandam. Nos demais volumes da coleção você também vai conhecer os itans – mitos e lendas africanos - de cada um dos Orixás que, neles, viverão aventuras especialmente selecionadas para as crianças.

Composta por 18 livros escritos em linguagem simples e totalmente ilustrados, a cada volume um Orixá ganhará destaque com uma de suas histórias tradicionais, especialmente adaptados para as crianças em idade de alfabetização, ensinando valores fundamentais sobre amizade, respeito às diferenças, amor, família, generosidade, identidade, auto estima e muito mais! em primeira idade e em alfabetização.

💛✨️ Já estão disponíveis em nosso site os três primeiros! 🤍 Está na lista dos mais vendidos, inclusive. Orixá nas escolas. Para encomendar basta acessar o site (link na bio) ou chamar a gente no WhatsApp 💛✨️

[muffinss-bakery]

I haven't drawn a twizzly for this blog yet

Was gonna put this on main but

[irudraws]

I promise I'll make a full Orion Lore Post one day, but for now enjoy me answering questions that are half explained because I'm really just answering these for myself

[dijonbeaune]

Recette : filet de volaille à la moutarde à la truffe Reine de Dijon

DBM a demandé au chef Arole Dupaty (Le Sabot de Vénus), amoureux de la truffe de Bourgogne, de concocter une recette à partir de la nouvelle moutarde à la truffe de Reine de Dijon, une édition limitée à base de truffe française. Challenge relevé haut la main par l’ambassadeur Savoir-faire 100% Côte-d’Or de Bure-les-Templiers !  Arole Dupaty, chef du Sabot de Vénus à Bure-les-Templiers, est…

[toasterdrake]

〝𝔀𝓪𝓵𝓴 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓶𝓮.〞

sketch that got a little out of hand ':) a pair of my shapeshifting ocs in their animal forms taking a totally casual walk with no bombshells to drop that will irreparably damage not only their relationship but the entire political structure and fate of their country

;)

[irudraws]

yes

[jayessentialsblog]

Stop criticizing BBNaija, sponsor your own shows - Woli Arole attacks Christians

Nigerian comedian Woli Arole has taken aim at Christians who typically criticize the famous reality TV program Big Brother Naija, or BBNaija. According to newsmen, BBNaija Season 9 debuted on Sunday, July 28, 2024, to mixed reviews on social media from a large number of internet users. Following the criticisms, Woli Arole attacked Christians on his Instagram page on Monday, telling them to stop…

[lookatmysillies]

Before Round 10 - Himei POV

Himei didn't recognize herself when she emerged from solitary. All the mirrors looked strange and grotesque. After just a few days since Tallis's death that felt like no time at all and years at the same time, she already looked ruined. Her hair was falling out, leaving it limp, matted, and uneven. Her eyes were sunken in and ringed by dark circles that looked more like bruises than eyebags. She hadn't been eating; she was naturally curvy at her healthiest, and now she just looked... wrong, jagged. Broken.

She received more than a few awkward or otherwise sympathetic or mocking looks from the other contestants. Himei hated it. She wished she could float, invisible, like the ghost she felt like she was. She wished everything would just go away. The noise of the silence was unbearable without Tallis's music to fill the spaces.

Leona was the only person she found even remotely bearable, and that was only because Leona was too anxious over Hayate's disappearance to try and placate Himei and her agony. Dian would be as sweet and comforting as he ever was, but Himei would only be able to see him when she was allowed out to see the next round. Tov's round.

Being present for the potential death of the only person who really cared and shared in her grief was...

...not something she could bring herself to look forward to.

It was Himei who ended up seeking out Tov, seeking some shred of something other than this numb, crushing constant. When she entered Tov's temporary room, a flicker of some emotion other than paralyzing grief floated over the smaller girl's features.

Himei couldn't even breathe.

Tov looked as sick as she did.

She knew that shouldn't be as reassuring as it was. That she was probably horrible for it. Horrible without the one person keeping her from being something so ugly.

She couldn't bring herself to care in that moment.

Tov staggered over to Himei, silent, and Himei felt her knees go weak. They clung to one another like it was the first and last time they ever would. Tov's fingers dug so hard into Himei's shoulders that she wouldn't be surprised if her fingertips left bruises, and Himei gripped the material of her medical gown like a lifeline.

For a long time, they were silent, and for once, it wasn't so suffocating. Not with her, at least. She understood. She was the closest to understanding, anyway.

Himei exhaled a shaky breath against Tov's shoulder where she bowed her head, and as she sunk to the floor, Tov went with her. She didn't let go.

Himei wouldn't let go.

"They're going to have me in those stupid orbs," she whispered, such a quiet, empty sound that it nearly didn't register with her friend. "They won't let me see you before your round. They'll have the collar on me the whole time. Tov, they're never going to take it off, I'm..." I'm going to die with this thing on. "There's been enough trouble as is. They don't want me causing more if... if you..."

"Don't say it," Tov hissed, tears glittering in her eyes like little flecks of starlight. "I'll win. I'll win for you. I'll..." She sucked in a harsh breath. "I'll win for him, okay?"

Himei gasped for air as tears clogged her throat and squeezed an iron fist around her lungs. "Please." Tov had to win. Sick and weak or not, she had to win, because if she didn't, Himei would be alone once and for all. Alone in carrying the memory of a boy they both clung to the concept of purpose for.

If Himei could, she'd do what Hayate had told her he thought about doing for Min. She'd poison Minori. If she could go back, she would've poisoned Daiki. She didn't fucking care. Let them die. Let them die so that Tallis and Tov wouldn't.

But it was too late. She had to do what hadn't helped Tallis. She had to have faith in Tov.

She pressed a rough, desperate kiss to Tov's forehead and hugged her tighter so she wouldn't tremble. "No matter what it takes," she wheezed. "Win. We're in this together, right? You have to win."

Miles away, in a room just as filled with medical equipment as Tov's, Eddy ran a hand over their bandaged chest gingerly, the other hand gripping a stack of files.

"The staff told me to deliver these to you," Arol said, one of his many spidery hands reaching out to pat Eddy's hand. Eddy scanned the pictures and bold lettering.

Solei and Aurien filed under missing pet humans. Tov filed under high alert pet humans, and the face of a girl Eddy hadn't seen before named Himei. Two boys he hadn't seen before named Ji Woo and Ryu.

One older boy who wasn't even labeled as a contestant.

"Why?" Eddy murmured, tapping his picture to show Arol. Arol blinked his many eyes, looking at the photo Eddy was indicating.

"Oh, yes," Arol said with that perplexed look about him. "I hear that's an interesting one."

Hayate. Former guard at the Season 39 site.

Eddy nodded slowly. Interesting indeed.

Tov belongs to @ivanttakethis; Ji Woo and Ryu belong to @starry-skiez; Solei belongs to @solei-eclipse; Aurien belongs to @aurienneirua; not sure if any other mentions are significant enough to tag?

[ceradenja]

OC asks (feel free to choose the characters!): desire, future, secret, wound.

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

What Salem wants most is to be truly loved and desired, not as an object but as a person. He used to be more hush about it back when he was working at Pale Rose, due to not wanting to lose his job, but after his liberation he's been open about it.

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

Arol's bad ending would involve her being taken back to the army, being stripped of her independence and forced to act as a war machine - as her original purpose. She lays low (as low as a five meter tall raptor can) in thick forests to avoid being caught, and adapted to a nocturnal sleep cycle to avoid the brunt of people.

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

Smert is secretive about their declining condition. Since they were only half-finished and had to finish building and coding themself into existence, they are very prone to malfunctions and glitches. Most often this takes form as a trembling in their extremities, or a limb completely locking up. It hasn't yet affected any mental capabilities, but if they refuse to do anything about it eventually it will.

The problem Smert has made for themself, is that they refuse to interact with humans. With their world already being sort of semi-apocalyptic (not fully figured out as of yet) mechanics arn't the most common and robot ones are even rarer. They did hit the jackpot by meeting Salem - who is actually quite well-versed in fixing up machinery thanks to his new occupation - but they refuse to go into too much detail even for him. Smert feels this is an ego issue, and admitting the code they've written is a broken mess would be too much. Salem tries his best, but with how little Smert cooperates he can't do miracles.

wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

Going back to Vim for this one. Thanks to being sentient magic, the "blood" she bleeds is purplish blue and sparkly instead of being red. She does her best to avoid showing people this to not raise any alarm bells about her true identity, but if she's hit hard enough it's hard to really hide.

They have an impressive collection of both physical and mental wounds. She has scars on her belly, collarbone, back, left palm and most notably over her eye. Most of these they gained from their work with the criminal organisation she was part of, but the one over her eye is her most recent addition. If it hadn't been for the healer of their party, she may have lost her eye.

As for mental/emotional, her being nearly excecuted / sacrificed and her girlfriend seemingly being against her was the one that took the biggest toll on her. It's one she carries with her even to this day, even if it's been years.

[irudraws]

She was born in the clan Arol, a clan of au'ra xaela hidden in the mountains of Coerthas. Descendants of the few that decided to stay when the au'ra tried to find a home in Eorzea and they got mistaken to be dragon kin by Ishgard (and hunted down for it)

2/8/25

where was your wol(oc) born?

[ernestdescalsartwok]

UNIVERSITAT-CERVERA-PINTURA-ART-PAISATGES-SOL-PLAÇA-EDIFICIS-PATRIMONI-ARQUITECTURA-CATALUNYA-PINTOR-ERNEST DESCALS por Ernest Descals Por Flickr: UNIVERSITAT-CERVERA-PINTURA-ART-PAISATGES-SOL-PLAÇA-EDIFICIS-PATRIMONI-ARQUITECTURA-CATALUNYA-PINTOR-ERNEST DESCALS- El solemne edificio de la UNIVERSITAT de CERVERA en una mañana con bastante luz del sol, situado en la Plaça Universitat de la ciudad nos recuerda los favores de la Corona de España por sus servicios a favor de la misma durante la Guerra de Successió , sin más comentarios. Una larga fachada con torreones y ventanas que acompañan la puerta de la Universidad, suelo de baldosas muy iluminado que contrastan con los árboles y un espectacular cielo provisto de ritmo plástico, algunas personas andando bajo la luz solar. Edificios del Patrimoni Históric en la comarca de la Segarra, Lleida, Catalunya. Pintura paisajista con arquitectura del artista pintor Ernest Descals sobre papel de 50 x 70 centímetros.

[jmndz-photo]