#Swords Ireland

[irisharchaeology]

Viking swords which were found alongside warrior burials at Kilmainham/Islandbridge, Dublin, Ireland

[somnas-writes]

If Shanks was a musician, he would be the type of musician who drops the most earth shattering song once every five years then goes back to doing random side quests

[mothlingmeg]

croí trom. lámha láidre.

[aodhan-art]

[winterwrites23]

Nevermind, I just read your info page about the Magic Items the brothers have. If it was the necklace, then you would've put it on the page.

Yup, the necklace isn't a Mark, just a magical item (although a powerful one). It used to belong to Ireland when he was a kid, but he gave it to North when he officially left the Union.

North doesn't know it yet, but that necklace he likes to fidget with is actually packed with protection spells. It's Ireland's way to indirectly keep North safe, all while keeping his distance.

[thatonebirdwrites]

Finally! It took me quite a bit of research to pull off this chapter. It's a pretty crucial one, where many of the threads I'm weaving all start to come together.

Excerpt:

Life refuses to give Lena breaks. 

That’s her first thought when her magic encounters the ominous grey fog. 

Her second thought is: Dammit, not again. Memories of her mother’s death deluge her.

Her third drops her into her CEO role, and she’s on her feet after gathering up remnants of the ritual. She relays orders to Kara and Nia. Doesn’t give them much chance to respond before she’s hurrying toward the car. 

The murmur of nearby voices ride the wind around the tower, this hulking stone structure that clings to the highest part of the Cliffs of Moher. That and the crash of waves feel far too peaceful for the unsettling energy she’d felt. Each time she looks over her shoulder, the fog seems to creep closer but maybe that’s an optical illusion. Fog on the sea near sunset is unusual, though not impossible, at least the science of it.

People may get hurt if that grey fog is anything like her dreams, which is her fourth and a thousand other thoughts. Dreams shouldn’t be real, but they weren’t, were they? They were manifestations of places she’s been before, things she saw as a child, all thrown together in a disturbing dream that has frightening parallels with reality again. 

She refuses to allow anyone to die like her mother did. To do that however, she needs the damn sword, and then she’ll rip apart that fog-person and end this whole aggravating situation.

Her thoughts trickle back to the disturbing vision of her first task: 

The Morrigan steps forward and a wrinkled, sun-burnt hand extends from her sleeve. “The truth has been unveiled, young one. Three days before full moon. Then and only then, seek the forge within Sliabh an Iarainn if you and your friends wish to live.”

Yes, she very much wants them all to live. Her heart cannot take more death right now.

Kara catches up to her. “Lena?” She reaches out and grasps her hand. “What is it? What did you sense?”

The worry in Kara’s voice breaks through Lena’s increasingly stormy thoughts. She flicks her gaze behind them, but the grey fog is still far out at sea, so they have time to make it to the dolmen. “The grey fog. Something walks in it. I have to obtain my mother’s grimorie before it hits us.”

“If it helps,” Nia says behind her, her voice suddenly shy, “it’s not today that it attacks.”

“What?” Lena stops and turns to Nia with a frown. “What do you mean not today?”

“Did you have a true dream?” Kara asks. 

Nia nods. “Earlier, in the car. Saw fog in the shape of an hourglass, us holding hands as we cross a bridge, and a falling tower. The hourglass signifies that we have time but it’s slipping away. The other elements all hint that confrontation is soon, and Lena, if you find the sword…”

“I know,” Lena says, impatiently. “Don’t unsheathe—”

Nia shakes her head. “You must fight with it, but choose your opponent carefully. Because I think, no, I’m sure it’s a fight to the death.” 

To read the full story, click here.

[breitzbachbea]

I'm With Him And This Is Real Life, Honey

Thank you all for your enthusiastic responses! This is a Spamano One-Shot which I originally wrote for the dearest @someone-you-do-not-know, as part of my Rake Courtship AU, vaguely set in the Regency or preceding Georgian era.

If you want some general backstory for this AU or read another piece of unbearable Spamano longing and Lovino never getting what he deserves, partially because he won't allow it to himself - here is another One-Shot set in the same AU.

Summary for this One-Shot: After Antonio's and Michele's wedding has been crashed by Michele's former suitor, Lovino urges Antonio to go after his former fiancé and Lovi's cousin, if only because if Michele's father Salvatore finds him first, there will be bloodshed. They find Harry and Michele, sadly just in time to witness their elopement wedding, which will complicate things further. This is the night after that Lovino spends in an inn room with Antonio. I also made a little playlist for Spamano and Sicire in the AU, if you'd like to listen to "Would you be so kind" whilst reading Lovino's suffering.

Here's the fic - enjoy!

It was a quiet night. No wind that howled, no rain that pounded. They were the only guests at the inn – It wasn’t shabby enough that they all had to share a single room, vermin not included, and not classy enough to carry gossip to where it shouldn’t be. Not that Lovino had ever been in an inn. People of a certain class always stayed with one of their own, that was what mansions were for. Everything about this was so beneath him.

But now he wished he had simply bitten the bullet instead of drawing the line and insisting on separate rooms. He’d rather have shared a room with these two sources of his malcontent than having to listen to their bed creak through the walls. Already a pillow over his head and he could still hear the creak of wood and the slap of skin on skin.

“I’m not sharing a room with you two knobheads! I don’t care, I’ll pay for it myself!” He had protested an hour earlier or so. “I’ve had enough of you as is, for all I care I never need to see either of you for the rest of my life, but a night’ll do! I’ve been a witness against my will to your we-” He had stopped himself, suddenly aware that there was no need to bellow details about the place. No need to blow their cover

“Well, kind of you to give us the privacy,” Michele had replied and there seemed to be genuine surprise in his voice. Of course, overshadowed by how pleased he and his lover had seemed by the implications.

He didn’t even end up paying for it, but his cousin’s rotten lover. Not that Lovino had much money on him, as he had left in a hurry, but Antonio hadn’t been allowed to pay either. Simply thinking of the entire charade made him want to retch again.

Michele had taken Antonio’s hands and looked him in the eyes when he said: “You’ve already done far too much for me to ever repay it. Please, Antonio, don’t make my debt any greater. I’ve caused you enough hurt as is, let me be the bigger person now.”

Bigger person, his ass. A bigger person would put their money where their mouth is and not fuck his new husband within earshot of his old fiancé.

Christ alive, why was that stupid candle still burning. The light it produced wasn’t much, but he could see Antonio clear enough as he laid next to him in bed.

Because of course his luck was just so that there was no more than one bed in each room. At least Antonio wasn’t talking to him. He had rarely spent a moment in silence with him ever since his father had asked to spend time with him and Michele.

Antonio was mute now, as he stared at the ceiling. He had his arms crossed over his chest, stripped to his undergarments and shirt like Lovino, who could see dark curly hair peak out at the top of his shirt. In his sculpted face – Lovino still couldn’t believe his cousin had chosen to bang someone who’s face looked like an entire carriage accident over this – the brows were slightly knitted and the full lips had a hint of a pout.

He couldn’t imagine how Antonio felt, but wouldn’t want to switch places with him. A twinge of guilt came over him to have dragged him into this whole affair. What concern should it be to Antonio if the man he was betrothed to ran off with someone else and incurred the wrath of his monstrous father? He was no longer Michele’s fiancé and was not obligated to care for him anymore. And yet he did.

There was another twinge and it took Lovino a moment to realize it was jealousy. Underneath fondness for Antonio’s selfless nature, it was jealousy that it had all been wasted on Michele. His stupid cousin got betrothed to a sweet, hot, rich, important guy and then he blew it, he would have deserved it so much more than Michele. He deserved to be fawned over and cherished and spoiled rotten, he deserved to have a husband who was as kind and doting and hot as Antonio. Instead he was relegated to be the best man and agony aunt, the company that Michele couldn’t be and now he was in bed with the hottest man he’d ever seen and wasn’t even allowed to touch him. Relegated to hear his cousin screw his lover in a second-rate inn and hiding underneath the pillow as not to hear the muted throes of passion...

He could see the hairs on Antonio’s strong arms. He realized he’d been staring at Antonio the entire time and felt his face burn up.

In that moment, he could hear something that sounded like a pent-up moan from the other side, followed by some laughter.  

Antonio’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment, face scrunched up in discomfort. He sighed through his nose as he relaxed and his eyes opened again.

Great, now he could even hear them suck face in the silence. Antonio’s own expression turned from displeased to awkward – and he turned to Lovino, who felt panic well up in his stomach and fan out to his limbs.

“What the fuck are you looking at me for?!” he asked him and buried his face in the mattress, hoping it would swallow him. He could still hear the damn bed creak. “It’s not my fault!”

“S-Sorry …” Antonio apologised. Great. Simply great. He could hear Antonio clear his throat.

He tried to visualize what was going on in the other room, in the hopes that his rotten cousin and his troll of a lover would be enough to exorcise his feelings of desire. Sadly, whenever he tried, his mind too soon drifted off and kept the steamy fantasy with a tanner body underneath his own fingertips, full lips ghosting over his own body, rough but gentle hands gripping his hips, his own fingers running through wild, curly hair -

Lovino screamed into the mattress. “I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him tonight, and if I don’t I hope his dad strings him up by his own entrails, he deserves it,” he muttered into it.

“Are you alright, Lovino?” Antonio asked and Lovino considered biting himself through the entire bed and then the floor to escape the situation.

He lifted his face but didn’t face Antonio. “These two have not a bone of shame in their entire body,” he said as he stared into the dark, since Antonio’s body blocked most light of the candle in this position. “We should just have bid Michele good riddance and washed our hands of the entire thing. He’s clearly enjoying himself as is, that ungrateful bastard.”

Oh god, as if the universe itself wanted to mock Lovino, he could hear the sounds on the other side increase in frequency. He gritted his teeth.

“I mean …” Antonio sighed again. “It was the right thing to do, Lovino. It’s not always easy to do the right thing, but still you do it.” He could hear the smile in his voice. “And I guess it is their wedding night …”

Something almost slipped Lovino’s lips, but he bit it back. There was no need to tell Antonio what he had seen the night before Antonio was supposed to marry. No need to increase his suffering.

“You’re being a saint about this,” Lovino said. “If I was you, I would have walked already. To do it with you around … aren’t you mad?” He’d be mad if he was Antonio. To be betrothed to someone who doesn’t want you, have that fiancé kidnapped at your wedding day and run after them only to barge in on their elopement wedding … If he was Antonio, he’d curse everyone he ever met. Lovino included – after all, he had spurred him on to run after Michele.

“I mean …” Another sigh, this time more of an angry snort. “I would prefer to not have heard it, but … what is done is done. Pretending that it isn’t wouldn’t change much, I can fool myself. I don’t need Michele for this.”

Lovino’s brows furrowed while the rest of his features softened. I wouldn’t have fooled you, he thought. Maybe he should have run to him the night before the wedding. To hell with Michele and his secrets, Antonio would have deserved the truth.

The noises from the other side had stopped. At least that torture was over. Lovino turned on his back and clutched the pillow against his chest instead. “You are a saint,” he said. “Michele doesn’t know what he’s missing.” He didn’t dare look at Antonio. “And I’m the fucking Virgin Mary for putting up with all of it!”

Antonio laughed. “Yes you are. Thank you, Lovino. I appreciate it and I’m sure that Michele does so, too.”

He snorted. “Psht. Yeah, sure.”

“When you get married, I’ll be your best man, yes? To pay back all you gave me.”

Lovino’s heart sank into his guts. “Yeah, sure.”

Antonio put the candle out. “Good night, Lovino.”

Lovino stared into the dark. He could hear indistinct murmurs from the other room between the lovers. “Good night … Antonio.”

[july-19th-club]

like ummmmm. one thought that im having. and this is specifically the way i read books about magic. but i am not imagining this as a great struggle between christiandom/romanization and 'old britain'/the green man/enchantment. but the CHARACTERS. at least some of them. are. and i think those are the characters who are most often drawn to the magic, whose lives have been shaped by it, but who have been taught and told that true virtue lies in God and The New World. collum, bedivere, arthur - all a bit out of place by being so determinedly christian despite how easily they fit into, and function within, the world of gods now so faint that in our own era people can pretty much make up whatever they want about them and there's nothing to disprove it

[ask-but-beware-the-consequences]

Heya guys!

I'm gonna be a bit absent soon, bc I'm going to fight as a knight on the weekends, and I'm really out of shape, so it will be a treat, I'll probably die more times than I should, so. Gonna be back on Monday/late Sunday, you be good.

If all goes well, I'll be playing as a medieval Irish warrior this time.💚🇮🇪

[kashilascorner]

Actually, I do have a lot of thoughts about Prose Tristan (not necessarily coherent ones) and I'm only halfway through

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1867 – Thomas Francis Meagher, born in Co Waterford, (“Meagher of the Sword”), Young Irelander leader, Irish nationalist and American politician, drowns.

“I now bid farewell to the country of my birth – of my passions – of my death; a country whose misfortunes have invoked my sympathies – whose factions I sought to quell – whose intelligence I prompted to a lofty aim – whose freedom has been my fatal dream.” –Thomas Francis Meagher Born in Co Waterford, Thomas Francis Meagher, Fenian, Nationalist and leader of the Young Irelanders in the Rebellion…

[irisharchaeology]

Two Iron Age sword hilts, from Ballyshannon, Donegal, Ireland & Yorkshire, England

[sword-site-official]

Classic Irish / Gaelic Long Sword Oakeshott Type XIX Editor's Note: Text below translated by Google from Italian. 17th Century Straight, wide, double-edged blade of lenticular section, slightly grooved at the first part and the tang; iron hilt with "S"-shaped quillon with flattened edges; octagonal, pierced pommel; featuring remains of the wooden grip. Rare. Length 98.5 cm. Estimated price: 1000.00€ | 1300.00 € August 2014 For more information on Oakeshott Type XIX Swords see this extract from Ewart Oakeshott's Records of the Medieval Sword: sword-site.com/thread/187/oakeshott-type-records-medieval-sword Source: www.czernys.com #ireland #irish #stpatricksday #steel #sword #espada #schwert #mma #martialarts https://www.instagram.com/p/CmvGUTdPZQz/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

man i fuckin swear to god the inconsistencies in LL are making me want to resurrect @wtflorienlegacies. getting to the end of FoF in my reread and being reminded that they completely retconned five's entire backstory without a word like

[lesbian-thespian-paladin]

I’m just gonna start live-blogging my journey into the world of medieval weapons fightings, because I think it’s a delight.

Today I learned that if you waltz into a VFW hall full of mostly ex-military guys as a young woman and ask them for a sword, sometimes they will adopt you and teach you shit.

Sometimes they will also say things like “this also works in a knife fight, or if a boyfriend tries something” and look at you and go “…or girlfriend, or whoever…”

I am slightly worried that if I keep hanging out with these men I will find myself wanting things like a truck, or a large dog, or my own custom-made set of armor.

[winterwrites23]

If Past UK Bros minus North met Modern UK bro's minus north, How bad would the brawl be? And would North have popcorn?

It would be the stand-off of a lifetime, that's for sure. The Past bros would think the Present bros are acting like old men with atrocious clothing, whereas the Present bros would just think 'omg I look like a fetus'.

Though, on a serious note, with a 250+ years gap between the two groups, which means having different ideologies and perspectives, there would definitely be some clashes. And that's a can of worms I won't be opening any time soon. Mostly to avoid spoilers haha.

But, one thing both Present and Past can agree on is that North is a little shit but if someone lay a single finger on him, there would be hell to pay. Because North is the baby of the family.

And North would have popcorn to watch the drama unfold until he realizes in dawning horror he was now in the presence of not four but eight over-protective brothers.