#Cliff Hanging Monastery

[inanetitter]

Cliff Hanging Monastery, China

[dirtworshipingypsy]

Cliff Hanging Monastery, China

[warriorrrqueen]

Cliff Hanging Monastery, China

[simpleecc]

Cliff Hanging Monastery, China

[kiddohc]

Cliff Hanging Monastery, China

[joypics]

Cliff Hanging Monastery, China

[galatea-cosplay]

Cliff Hanging Monastery, China

[debbieallen]

Cliff Hanging Monastery, China

[zilvertong]

Cliff Hanging Monastery, China

[daieuxetdailleurs]

Cliff Hanging Monastery, China

[travelingare]

📍Hozoviotissa Monastery,Amorgos Island,Greece 🇬🇷

TOO OLD TOO BEAUTIFUL

The Monastery of Hozoviotissa in Amorgos is the second oldest in Greece built in 1017 and renovated 1088, built by Alexius Comnenus I. It is literally hanging on the cliff side 300 m above the sea.

The monastery was created as an ode (poem) to the Grace of Panagia, known as the Virgin Mary, which is the patron saint of the island. The icon is carried around to all the villages on the island every year.

A perfect blend of nature and the beauty of man’s creation, the monastery symbolizes man’s tribute to the Holy Mother. Built into the face of a cliff, it provides a breathtaking view of the sparkling blue waters of the Aegean Sea. It is with no doubt, the pride of Amorgos, with its pristine walls lined with portraits of monks and other leaders, the smell of incense and numerous little treasures. The monks, who act as guardians of this architectural marvel, serving psimeni raki (a local liqueur) and loukoumi.

The current outer look of the monastery is the result of various changes that happened through time. The building is 40m high and 5m width has 8 stories that develop in a larger width utilizing functional

in a larger width utilizing functional wall recesses of rock. There is a labyrinth interior with the church, the cells and the various auxiliary rooms forming a set that with resourcefulness and usability meets the needs of the monastic brotherhood.

Video by @tob28w

#wu_greece_amorgos

#travel #travelingare

Καλημέρα όμορφη Ελλάδα μου🇬🇷

#travel #travelphotography #travelingare #dronephotography #hozoviotissa #monastery #amorgos #greece

[elinerlina2]

St. George Monastery 🌍

This monastery hangs in the cliffs of Wadi Qelt, a valley in the West Bank.

It was built in 480 AD and was destroyed by the Persians in 614 AD.

In 1878, a Greek monk settled here and restored the monastery.

It's now active and inhabited by Eastern Orthodox monks.

[korpuskat]

Operational Temperature

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (Gender Neutral) Rating: PG WC: 883 Warnings: None

His hand is cold, the surface almost freezing even through your gloves. Inside his heaters are warmed, pumping hot air through his chassis. As cold as he still is to touch, you can’t imagine how much worse it would be with them off.

Because neither the heat- nor the ill-fitting coat you insisted he take- is for his benefit. He’d mentioned it once, offhandedly, talking about his plans for his troops. The operational temperature range for military-grade electronics puts even Nepali winters to shame.

You, however, struggle with the icy stones, the bracing winds, and the sharp cliff faces that threaten every twist of the path up the mountain. But Ramattra does not let go of your hand, guiding you slowly, step by step. His legs are much longer than yours, and he’s still familiar with the well-worn trek, yet he waits and keeps pace with you. When you nearly slip, he catches you- which makes you jolt from the achingly cold metal- but he keeps you upright until you find your balance, and soothes you with a murmured, “Not much further.”

Far beyond the actual walls, you move further up the mountain, until the lights below become fuzzy glowing orbs instead of signs of shops or temple lights.

He stops and looks around at a particular flat area. There’s nothing here but snow and a large stone wall, intricately carved with geometric patterns, surrounding a relief of Aurora herself. You want to touch it, to feel the shape of her- and Ramattra sweeps his hand across the snow piling in front of the wall.

You laugh softly in surprise. Beneath the white snow is a bench, completely hidden. It seems no one else has been up here in some time. At least not since it got this cold. Ramattra wastes no time in cleaning it up, making space to sit- and then adjusting the parka to cover as much of himself as he can.

You sit beside him, leaning casually against him- and “Oh,” Because his chest is actually warm, despite how his extremities have struggled to keep their temperatures up. It must be intentional, because he ushers you to sit in his lap, pressing as much of your back up against his chest as he can. His legs are not nearly as warm, but the coat and your own snow gear minimizes the cold shock of his plating.

You sigh and lean back against him, let your head hang back on his shoulder. All you can think about is the incredible heat that radiates through to you. “How are you so warm?”

“I’m scanning my own system files,” He replies, and presses his faceplate against your jacket. His head is somewhat warm too, the processors running there. “I could count infinitely until we descend, but I found this to be more engaging.”

Kissing him would still probably freeze your lips to him, so you don’t. Instead you cover his hand with your gloved one, despite the cold, and squeeze softly. “Thank you. It feels nice.”

And finally- you can relax enough to look up. Up into the black void of space above. Here, the view is nothing like you had expected. Even just down on the mountain, the lights all around had obscured so much of the beauty- dots and specks of light like a stray splattering of paint in every direction. Whirls of color, a white-cream like clouds themselves, tinged with orange and green, a darker rift right through the center. This is why he brought you here.

“I spent much time up here.” His synth buzzes against your shoulder as he speaks.

“It’s beautiful,” You reply, “And quiet.” This far from the town outside the monastery, there’s no noise from the cars, the mines- no footsteps, no gentle hums of monks in contemplation. The only noise aside from Ramattra’s own internals and your breathing is the wind.

“Yes,” Ramattra agrees. “I had thought the surface above the omnium would suit me much the same, but it isn’t the same, is it?”

“It’s warmer here.” That isn’t even a joke; you’d never venture to the surface even with your own personal heater. Ramattra makes a noise that you’ve come to understand is his approximation of a scoff. “Besides, you have history here. Even if you don’t agree with everything, this place- Shambali- is important to you. Makes sense you’d like it up here more than the lifeless Antarctic interior.”

He hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t respond for a while, simply curls his arms tighter around you, pulling you closer into his warmth. It’s comfortable, despite the cold nipping at your toes. Your eyes wander the sky, tracing constellations and sparkling white stars you’ve never known before.

“I was here when I decided I’d had enough,” It’s so quiet you almost don’t hear him over the wind.

You squeeze his hand again. You don’t clarify, because you mean any of it, all of it. Even if it was just having to leave his favorite stargazing spot: “Do you regret it?”

“No,” Sharp. Immediate. No hesitation. Exactly what you’d expected, despite the contemplation he’d had before. But he also presses his faceplate to you again, nudges at your shoulder through your jacket. “I would not have met you if I had stayed.”

[cyclades-islands]

The Monastery of Hozoviotissa in 📍Amorgos island (Αμοργός) - @cyclades-islands is the second oldest in Greece, built in 1017. It is literally hanging on the cliff side 300 m above the sea.

Pic by: https://www.instagram.com/p/CwGKWOIMBmk/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

[christiansorrell]

Play-By-Blog #7: The Isle by Luke Gearing

Welcome to my ongoing play-by-blog of The Isle by Luke Gearing! We are playing this adventure with its original system, The Vanilla Game (adjusted somewhat to fit the format). You can check out the Play-By-Blog Repository to get all caught up if you wish.

How Play-By-Blog works:

I write up the situation, NPCs, and more, just like a DM.

You vote in the poll to help decide the character's course of action.

I roll the dice, resolve actions, and write them up next week.

So on and so forth for the rest of the adventure!

Notation:

[Text in brackets is out-of-character/GM text!] "Non-italicized quotes denote text from the original adventure!" "Italicized quotations denotes NPC dialogue."

Our character: Medon Girou - Magic Cutpurse

Our map: The Isle

[You can use the link's above to find Medon's Character Sheet and map of the Isle. On the map, you are currently at B.]

Now, back to the adventure!

The dead monk's medallion hangs heavy around your neck as you pick yourself off and leave this place. If there was silver to be found in those ruins to the north and peace may be difficult to procure with the monks (based on this last interaction anyway), you figure it best to explore what else of interest my lie outside the monastery's walls.

To the north, there was a large graveyard, butting up against the sea. You head there. Grave robbing has never been your preferred style of theft, but you aren't above it. If these monks are godly men than it will do them no harm either way. Their souls are safe in their lord's heavenly domain, after all.

It takes an hour or so to reach the graves [1 on the map]. You pass over the collapsed building once more and, keeping your eyes peeled, don't see any other monks out and about. To the south, the flame still burns atop the monastery's tower.

"Low pilings of rock--the traditional drystone cairns of the mainland. There are seven, currently. The graves are neither named nor marked." The seventh shows some sign of being more recently dug than the others, albeit still a considerable time--many months at least.

The sea crashes against the cliff face over the edge and far below. The graves cast almost no shadows in the high, midday sun. To the west, you can see an ancient auld tree, warped by the wind [2, on the map] but with little else nearby. To the west, the 30 some foot high formation of stone stands in stark contrast with the oceanic horizon beyond [3, on the map]. It looks climbable, if you are careful. The birds certainly seem to perch their regularly.

[A short little transition entry this week. Lots of options still, and we haven't even hit the monastery itself (where the vast majority of the adventure lies)! If I find the time, I may do a midweek update as well to help us make a bit more progress. Thanks, as always, for reading and voting! - Christian]

[sharransepulchre]

[ ☽◯☾ . previously plotted starter ] - @relentlessgrief

The Sword Coast was a big place. Bigger still, if one traveled often without the use of carriages, and didn't know how to defend against random attacks targeting coaches and the like. Even on horseback, it would take many days and many nights to travel between bustling coastal cities and sleepy little towns. The Trade Way stretches most of this trek, connecting all major coastal cities through a path prone to bandit attacks, cult sacrifices and even the occasional dragon fly-by. It was random what one would run into when walking this long, winding path, laid in messy cobble in some places, while it was bare and worn grass in others.

One such person who walked this path was Shadowheart. Shadowheart, who left Baldur's Gate months ago in search for an answer, for a calling. After the conclusion of what Volothamp probably referred to as 'The End of the Gate...?', Shadowheart and her companions had all gone their separate ways. Each of them had a path they needed to take, whether it was in this plane or the next. Having recently been uprooted of her religion, of everything she ever knew, it was high time that she finally discover herself again. If you were generous, you could say she spent a quarter of her life in the Sharran temple - perhaps not even that. Forty years for a human or similar form would have been detrimental. But her elvish blood prevented her from aging as such, and she knew there was a whole world to explore.

More importantly, temples. Temples of all sorts. But the temples she wanted to see were those erected in the name of Selûne. The goddess she used to hiss Moon Witch so disdainfully towards, and still caught herself saying. Shadowheart wasn't a Selûnite, not really - because she was on a path of rediscovery. Years upon years of indoctrination kept her from following the goddess of the moon, and she reverted back to Sharran worship practices too many times. She needed to get over this. So off she went, exploring the coast, visiting different temples dedicated to said Goddess - but only the abandoned ones. Her first stop at a populated temple had been a memorable one, certainly. Calling the Selûnites Moon Witches, wearing a permanent expression that was far too similar to if she had smelled something rancid. Scarred nose crinkled up, lips drawn back - and she didn't even realize she was doing it. The trip had only crested when the Sharran assassins attacked her next.

Needless to say, her luck in exploring and learning in still flourishing temples was slim to nil. Instead, she began to visit those that time and nature had begun to reclaim - left in disrepair, but wrought with knowledge.

That's how Shadowheart found her way to a temple some clicks outside of Neverwinter, in a more mountainous region. An abandoned monastery built into the cliff side; tarnished statue of the Moon Goddess standing tall outside. Her steps carried her in - but she stopped dead at the door.

For just within, she peered a figure. Towering, it's back to her, and her palm shifted to the mace hanging off of her belt warily. She kept her eyes focused on them, unsure of who or what they were, and was already itching with the divine magic flowing through her hands. Prepared to cast.

❝ a little strange to be lurking in an abandoned temple , isn ' t it ? ❞