#Mór

[scavengedluxury]

ÁFÉSZ department store, Mór, 1972. From the Budapest Municipal Photography Company archive.

[dungeoncrawls]

a hospital office . mór brennan & open

it's supposed to be mór's lunch break, before they get back to helping out in the palliative care ward — and yet. here they are, with a stupid fucking hunter intruding on their space. they scowl at the intruder, dropping their pen. “ you better be fucking dying, ” they say. “ i have better things to do than fix the consequences of your shitass decisions. ”

[drondskaath]

Mór | Hear the Hour Nearing! | 2024

French Raw Atmospheric Black Metal

Artwork by Tryfar

[omniblades-and-stars]

No happy endings? 👀

Well, I recently replayed Origins and it reignited my obsession with Grey Wardens (tragic heroes of my heart) and ignited a new one for side character tourney-addict of my heart, Teagan Guerrin. So I'm playing in the mud with that. Here's the opening to what is already turning into a LONG one.

The frost settled on the tight packed earth of the training grounds. Despite the wise women and mage’s predictions to the otherwise, winter was making a brave attempt at settling in nice and early in northern Ferelden. The weather had its own ideas about how things were meant to go, especially where unforgiving cold was involved. The sharp winds from the coast wreaked their own special kind of havoc, biting at uncovered cheeks and noses for the audacity not to come properly prepared to face it.

Overcast skies and the low, early morning light lent themselves to a gloomy air, but that didn’t put a damper on the excited current running through Castle Cousland that morning. Visiting nobles and their retainers bustled about, laughing, packing and making loud and increasingly unlikely wagers. Servants scurried from corridors to the main courtyard carrying supplies for saddlebags. It was time for the annual Highever grand hunt.

Even in the smaller rear courtyard, the space set out for training guards and levied militia should such times call for it, the atmosphere was practically buzzing. The small archery range was full to bursting with hungover nobles getting in one last round of what one might charitably call “practice” before they left to go traipsing through unfamiliar forests on the slim hope they would be the one to bag an impressive deer or slay a wild hog, and earn an ounce of glory they could brag about over sloshing cups of wine until the next hunt.

Fat chance of that, Mór thought. Ser Tapley’s son was more likely to tear the ligaments in his shoulder, and Lady Conrad gripped her shortbow so tightly, her knuckles had gone from white to a very concerning shade of grey.

They should have been embarrassed of themselves, but no one in that courtyard right just then cared much for the opinion of Teyrn Bryce Cousland’s youngest brat on such matters. Mór licked her lips before adjusting her stance as she raised her longbow. The young woman tucked a loose strand of chestnut hair, slipped from beneath her knitted cap, behind her ear before plucking a blunt-tipped arrow from the quiver hanging from her hip. She would show this sorry lot how a Cousland did things, and then she would go and scare up some breakfast. All of these visitors were getting in the way of her training routine, anyhow. 

Mór knocked the arrow, pulling her bowstring taught with a smooth, practiced motion. Inhale, rel-

Something struck the bottom tip of her bow from between her legs, knocking her shot wide and sending the arrow careening uselessly past the packed hay target she had been aiming at.

“Son of a bitch. Roderick! What did I tell you the last time you did that?” Mór shouted and rounded on the man, who was decidedly not Ser Roderick Gilmore.

A man with auburn hair and eyes as blue as a deep storm-tossed sea looked back at her with a crooked grin. Bann Teagan Guerrin stood with his sword drawn but tilted down toward the ground. He sheathed his blade and said, “I would wager that it was an ambitious threat against his manhood. Really, Mór, we’re all just trying to keep your ego in check, no need for violence.”

A warm smile split across Mór’s face. She leaned her bow, a well-loved but simple thing made of yew, gently against her side and adjusted the fur lined collar of her coat. “Threats of violence go double for you, Teagan. Nothing motivates you quite so well. In fact, I think you rather enjoy them,” she teased.

“Well, now you're just being slanderous.” 

“Worry not, I'll keep your shameful little secret.”

“Less shameful than being sent as your father's errand boy,” Teagan shook his head, though his complaint had no teeth. He motioned for her to follow him. “Teyrn Cousland humbly requests your presence.”

Mór unstrung her bow, wrapping the string around the head and securing it around the notch. “Perhaps it was you whose ego was in need of a check if my father sent you after me. Ser Gilmore usually gets stuck with such ignoble tasks.”

[cunctatormax]

Móron

2002. május 9-én déli 12 órakor nem sokkal léptek be az elkövetők a Dózsa György utcai Erste Bank fiókba, két, sötét nadrágot és fehér inget viselő hátizsákos férfi. A támadók az ügyféltérben pisztollyal és géppisztollyal ölték meg a biztonsági őrt, ezután egyikük visszament őrködni a bejárati ajtóhoz, ahol egy kézzel írt „Műszaki okok miatt zárva” feliratra mutogatva elküldte az ügyeiket intézni szándékozó ügyfeleket. Tettestársa egy Skorpióval járta végig a bankfiók helyiségeit, a banki dolgozókkal fejre illetve felsőtestre leadott lövéssel végzett. Ezután a bank számítógépét és telefonközpontját is szétlőtte. A páncélszekrényt nem nyitották ki, így összesen 7,3 millió forintnyi pénzt vittek el részint forintban, részint valutában. Mintegy fél órát töltöttek a rablók a bankfiókban, majd távoztak több szemtanú láttára. Egyik szemtanú arra figyelt fel, hogy a fiókból kilépő két férfi kívülről bezárja az ajtót, a kulcsot pedig eldobják. Mivel rosszat sejtett, a bankfiók felé indult, hogy kiderítse mi történik odabent. Ekkor fedezte fel a lövésnyomokat és egy közeli boltból értesítette a rendőrséget.

[witekspicsoldpostcards]

MOOR / Mór (German: Moor) is a town in Fejér County, Hungary.

[thedepressedpelican]

"Bring Me To Life"

[werewolfetone]

This weird historical fiction book that I'm reading rn and also a nonfiction book which colm tóibín apparently wrote on the same topic which argue that irish ppl took anti british sentiment during the great famine too far and it's some major problem that people hated the british during the famine are so bizarre to me because obviously on one hand, you are the cruellest person ever and it astonishes me that the words "the irish should have been nicer to the british people who were starving and colonising them" have just come out of your mouth and [james joyce the dead voice] west briton! but on the other hand girl it was, how do I put this nicely, nearly two centuries ago

[beatricecenci]

Mór Adler (Hungarian, 1826-1902)

Strandszene auf Capri

[scavengedluxury]

Mór Jókai's collection of shells, snails and rocks, Budapest, 1936. From the Budapest Municipal Photography Company archive.

[dungeoncrawls]

mór brennan ; a-rank healer of the lunar hounds • wields a military grade tranquiliser gun • weak to bad back which aches at the slightest provocation • best described as caustic but unpretentious • vibes of sometimes you have to break bones to mend them, often poison tastes sweeter than medicine  ;  a ‘ nice ’ doctor is not the same as a ‘ good ’ doctor, but some people need to learn this the hard way  ;  there is no universe in which death can be held at bay forever, not even with all the power in the world.

[ statistics. ]

given name : mór meaning : unknown — great (?)

surname : brennan meaning : little raven

age : thirty - five place of birth : christchurch, new zealand date of birth : 12 october 1988

gender : none pronouns : they / them / whatever orientation : asexual

face claim : emily browning height : 1.55m / 5'1" weight : 50kg / 110lbs hair : brown, long eyes : brown clothing : antipodean farm - core ( baggy t-shirt, frayed jean shorts & gumboots ).

[ biography. ] tw cancer, death.

born on a rainy spring afternoon in christchurch, new zealand, mór brennan was never entirely average. from the moment they were born, wailing as if the entire world had offended them grievously, their parents knew mór would be a handful.

they were a quiet child for the most part, unless something displeased them. when that occurred, mór became loud. very loud. they were never shy to express disdain or distaste, and got along much better with the animals on the family farm than the students at their primary school.

mór was seventeen and about to graduate when they were awakened. it was terrible timing, missing out on multiple final exams due to being bedridden. though, for someone like mór, who never had much interest in a formal education anyway, it wasn't that much of a tragedy.

with their newfound affinity for healing, mór spent even more time on the farm, helping with the animals. they weren't interested in trying to heal people until their uncle — one of the few human beings mór tolerated — fell ill.

as it turns out, however, even the power of an awakened wasn't enough to cure melanoma. mór's uncle passed away when they were twenty-three, after four years of battling the disease. in their grief, they moved away from their family, to the other side of the world — los angeles.

mór was twenty-eight when they were scouted by the lunar hounds. they'd gained a reputation for being a skilled healer — despite their atrocious bedside manner. initially, they refused the offer, preferring to operate on their own and only having to deal with people on their own terms — but eventually, the need for job security won out. there's always demand for healers both in and out of dungeons, so when they're not swearing at teammates for getting hit ( or tranquilising the fuckers to drag them out of there themself ), mór can often be found in one of the hospitals of los angeles, doing their utmost to invent a way to heal incurable diseases.

[ abilities. ]

as an a-rank healer, mór can heal all but the most grievous of wounds — if they feel like it.

targeted healing : can provide more concentrated healing to one ally. requires concentration, takes between one to five minutes depending on level of injury.

general healing : can heal allies within a certain radius. requires less concentration to maintain, but can only heal minor injuries ( scrapes, cuts, etc ) and reduce inflammation for things like dislocated limbs or broken bones.

that being said, mór's specialty is off-field healing — away from the combat, where they can force their patient to lie down and they can target specific injuries, set bones and even treat concussions. not to mention it sets their back off less. hence the tranquiliser gun — it's great to take out immediate dangers in the vicinity of them, but even better to sedate know-it-all fighters and tankers.

[ connections. ]

patients : tankers or fighters who just keep getting injured and mór is their go-to healer — for whatever reason. maybe they're a fount of endless positivity who can't read a room, maybe they enjoy getting on mór's nerves ... maybe it's a deal between their guilds and nobody is enjoying it.

fellow healers : coworkers, associates, mentees ... all viable connections for other healers to have with mór. maybe someone who disapproves of their methods / attitude ?

[jordeclans]

the dreamer trilogy smau part 9/?

part 8

[killyourbrain]

i could go on for days about how this fandom hates niall lynch for NO good reason. after GREYWAREN? where he spent his whole life trying to keep a wife and son safe, a wife he wasnt sure even really loved him, a wife who lowkey scared him a bit at times. its implied he killed a man to keep her safe and took her across the ocean so they could be peacefully happy together. the man who wanted a stable family for his son so bad he would have it or die trying. who drew cows for weeks maybe months and read and read about them to create his herd, and when his abusive mother comes to town he still loves HER so much he would give up part of that herd to keep her afloat when he knows hes being used and lied to. he makes friends with the people in singers falls and is on a first name basis with the man at the gas station. the man who loved his son so much that he let a strange and terrifying entity in the shape of a boy into his heart and family and home, all for declan. everything he did was for declan, and before everything he did was for declan everything he did was for mór. HOW THE FUCK DO YALL STILL HATE NIALL LYNCH AFTER GREYWAREN!!!!!!

[cunctatormax]

+1 Mór

"Krausz Ferenc a tanulmányait felidézve elmondta, hogy először a móri általános iskolában Kiss tanár úr érdekfeszítő óráin, majd később a móri Táncsics Mihály Gimnázium tanóráin szerette meg a fizikát."

[lotusfeather-and-bone]

Signal boost time:

Sunday December 8, 2024, beginning 9:45am EST

"Fundraiser Tickets go on sale Nov 1st!

A full day of Online Workshops and more.

Proceeds go to 'BeLoved Asheville' for Hurricane Helene Relief of Western NC"

https://facebook.com/events/s/fulacht-na-mor-rioghna-cooking/1479556669421347/

________

As we all know, Hurricane Helene caused an extreme amount of damage to Asheville, NC and the surrounding area, damage that the residents weren't expecting or prepared for.

The Fulacht Na Mór Ríoghna fundraiser event is being held on Sunday Dec 8 to help raise funds for this community, with a whole slew of notable speakers throughout the day, including both Live and Pre-recorded sessions.

If you are interested and able to donate, I highly encourage it! We are all one witch/pagan community here, no matter where we live. Support Asheville and help them get back on their feet.

Fundraiser Hosts:

NC local, Sam "Bo" Thompson, magical blacksmith at Ravens Keep Forge, and author of "Metal Never Lies: An Introduction to Metal Magic", is a priest of the Morrígan and puts a great deal of energy into both his magical and smith craft while also teaching in his community. The magical items he forges for use in people's spiritual paths are beautiful, and he's an all around great guy. (His wife's tea shop, The Grove Teas and Botanical Gifts is one of my favorites as well!) You can follow Sam on Instagram @ravenskeepforge.

The Tuatha Dé Morrigan is a group that honors the Morrigan, the Irish goddess of battle and sovereignty. They host a yearly retreat for witches, pagans and anyone who is interested in learning more about this Goddess regardless of background or path, known as the Morrigan's Call Retreat.