#Vikings wall art

[ofthewoodwork]

Sports Room Decor by of the Woodwork Elevates Your Space

Sports room decor from of the Woodwork can turn your home into a sports fan's paradise. Our meticulously created items bring the thrill of your favorite sports home.

Of the Woodwork knows how important it is to reflect your sports passion. We provide a variety of sports room decor to fit every taste and style. We provide basketball, soccer, baseball, and football for everyone.

We have amazing wall paintings of your favorite sports, finely made bookcases to display your sports memorabilia, and unusual accent items to add athleticism to any environment. Each item is meticulously designed and made with high-quality materials for durability and beauty.

Custom-made furniture is a hallmark of our sports room decor. Our basketball-shaped coffee tables and baseball bat-shaped bookshelves offer a humorous touch to sports-themed rooms. You can also customize your furniture to fit your room using our selections.

To finish your area, we provide sports-themed linens and accessories in addition to furniture and wall art. Our accessories, from sports-inspired throw pillows to comfortable throw blankets with your favorite team's insignia, complete your area.

So why delay? Of the Woodwork's sports room decor lets you show off your passion in flair. Our high-quality craftsmanship and vast selection will help you find the appropriate things to make your place MVP-worthy. 

[ofthewoodwork]

Of The Woodwork Sports Room Decor Revamps Your Space

Customize your sports wall decor to reflect your individuality. Of The Woodwork lets you memorialize your favorite teams, players, and sports experiences with personalized options. Make a unique display that shows your gaming love. 

Visit here: https://justpaste.it/f1q0t

[ofthewoodwork]

Discover Boston Celtics Wood Crest and Minnesota Vikings Gift

Our crests are made of high-quality wood and meant to last. The Boston Celtics wood crest will spark discussion and be treasured for years in your home, workplace, or fan cave.

[lotusdesignbyz]

[baby-blue-octopus]

Happy Tuesday!

Seeking knowledge - This is a dream of mine, I feel it symbolizes my thirst for knowledge. As in Odin sending out Huginn to look over the worlds. It’s an older piece but with new followers I thought I’d share it again. Have a great day ✨🖤

[maretriarch]

brother won't stop sending me youtube videos titled shit like "the war on consciousness" and links about gene research from the websites people go when they get banned from youtube for being too racist I mean redpilled

[sesamenom]

jrr tolkien feanor: CHARGE EM AND THEY SCATTER

already inflicted this on the discord server and decided to make everyone suffer here too

assigning silmarillion elves bad driving habits

feanor: speeds, unless you tailgate, in which case he will slow down until you back off. if he has to stop in the middle of the high way, that's your fault for entering a battle of wills with feanor

fingolfin: tailgates

finarfin: does 5 below the speed limit in the outside lane

maedhros: chronic backseat driver

fingon: incapable of using turn signal unless he has explicitly been reminded by maedhros in the past 15 minutes

maglor: plays music so loudly he cannot hear sirens if an emergency vehicle needs to pass

celegorm: explicitly ignores those special speed limits around schools (either they learn or they die)

curufin: has modified the shit out of his car so the engines are super loud because he thinks it makes him look cool

caranthir: knows the location of every speed and red light camera in tirion. abuses this knowledge.

celebrimbor: on his phone

nerdanel: thinks stop signs are a suggestion (see also: red flags)

finrod: incapable of recognizing when he is too drunk to drive. very insistent he gives his drunk friends a drive home because they're to drunk to drive and he wants them to be SAFE

turgon: tells everyone to get an electric car while not actually having one himself

[seafarersdream]

The Art of Braiding (Cregan Stark x Y/N)

In the harsh, unfamiliar North, Y/N Tully struggles to understand the strange customs that surround her. One of them, however, her new husband Cregan Stark knows all too well—and he’s not above using it to his advantage. The Wolf of the North, as it turns out, has a cheeky side.

*Inspired by the braiding traditions of the Vikings

TW // Strong language and profanities, possessiveness, non-consensual restraint.

“Bloody wind,” Y/N muttered under her breath, tugging her cloak tighter around her shoulders as another frigid gust swept through Winterfell’s courtyard. The North had its own bite, and it wasn’t just the cold. It was in everything—the stone walls, the silence, and even the people.

Especially the people.

Especially Cregan Stark.

Her husband.

That cold bastard. Honorable, sure, but colder than the winds battering against her face.

Y/N blew a strand of hair from her eyes, resisting the urge to curse her luck again. The riverlands were nothing like this. In Riverrun, there was warmth. Rivers that didn’t freeze over in the middle of freaking summer. Men who smiled, told bawdy jokes, laughed loud enough for the gods to hear. Here, everything was different. Even the laughter, when it happened at all, felt muted by the heavy weight of the Northern sky.

But this was her life now. A wife of the North. Lady Stark. By the gods, it was still strange to hear it. She knew the match had been made for peace and alliances—marriage between a Tully and a Stark was good for the realm, or so her father had said. But no one had prepared her for the rest of it. The weather. The silences.

And Cregan himself.

He was unlike any man she had known. Rivermen were warm, boisterous. Cregan was the opposite. He was distant, cold at times, the weight of Winterfell and the North resting on his broad shoulders. But he was fair, she’d give him that. And gods be damned if he wasn’t handsome. He had that Stark look, all strong jaw and piercing eyes. If only he’d smile a little more, maybe she’d feel less like she was wed to a block of ice.

Not that he wasn’t good to her. No, Cregan was kind in his way. Gentle in the nights they shared, even if he was quieter than she liked. He was a man of few words, unlike the men of her home, who’d fill the halls with stories and laughter. Still, he made sure she had everything she needed. He listened, even when he didn’t have much to say.

But gods, she missed warmth.

The sound of footsteps crunching in the snow caught her attention, and she glanced up to see him approaching. Cregan. He walked like he owned the place—because he did, of course—but it was more than that. There was a confidence in him, a certainty in his steps. He didn’t need to announce himself. The wind, the snow, the very stones of Winterfell seemed to bend to his will.

He came up beside her, his breath clouding the cold air. “Still not used to it?” His voice was a low rumble, almost lost to the wind.

Y/N snorted, rubbing her hands together. “Used to it? It’s like a gods-damned frozen hell up here.”

A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “You’ll learn. In time.”

She shot him a look. “And when exactly will that be? Because I’ve been waiting for weeks, Cregan, and I’m about ready to march back to the riverlands and throw myself into the water. Ice be damned.”

His brows arched just slightly, amusement flickering in his gray eyes. “The riverlands? You wouldn’t last a day without the North, now.”

Y/N scoffed, turning to him fully. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Stark. I was born by water, not ice. I think I’d manage just fine.”

He said nothing, but the smirk returned. Silence fell between them again, but this time it was… different. More comfortable, somehow. She studied him, wondering what was going on in that head of his. He always seemed to have something weighing on him, some unspoken burden of being a leader at such a young age.

Before she could press further, he stepped closer, reaching out. Her breath caught, not because of the cold this time, but because of the unexpected closeness. His hand brushed against her hair, fingers moving with surprising gentleness.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hold still,” he murmured, focused on her hair. His fingers deftly gathered strands, working them with a skill that surprised her.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, confused, but she stayed quiet, feeling the tug and pull as he braided her hair. Her pulse quickened as his fingers brushed against her skin, the sensation at odds with the chill around them. There was an intimacy in the act, in the silence that hung between them. And yet, it was just a braid.

Wasn’t it?

“There,” he said after a moment, stepping back. She reached up instinctively, fingers touching the braid he’d woven. It felt tight, but not uncomfortably so. She had no idea what to make of it. “What… is this?”

Cregan shrugged, that infuriating smirk still lingering on his lips. “Just a braid.”

“Just a braid,” she echoed, unconvinced.

His eyes flickered, something unreadable in their depths. “You’ll see.”

Y/N narrowed her gaze. “What exactly does that mean, Lord Stark?”

But Cregan was already turning, heading toward the main hall without another word. Y/N stood there for a moment, blinking in confusion. Just a braid? She huffed, shaking her head as she followed him inside. Northerners and their damn cryptic ways.

It wasn’t until they entered the hall that Y/N realized something was… off.

Eyes turned toward her. And not the usual fleeting glances. No, these were lingering, assessing stares. Several of the women whispered to each other, and a few of the men gave her respectful nods. She caught the eye of a servant who quickly dipped her head in what almost seemed like… deference?

Gods be good.

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” she muttered under her breath, shooting a glare at one particularly nosy maid.

Cregan didn’t answer, his lips twitching as though he was trying very hard not to laugh. The bastard was enjoying this.

“What did you do?” she demanded, her voice sharper now.

Finally, he met her gaze, and there was that smirk again. “The braid.”

“What about the bloody braid?”

“It’s… a tradition,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the stone wall. “In the North, braids have meanings. Especially for women.”

Her stomach sank. “What kind of meaning?”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “A braid like that? It tells everyone that you’re… claimed.”

Y/N blinked, feeling her face heat despite the cold. “Claimed?” she echoed, her voice rising a pitch. “By whom exactly?”

Cregan’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “By me.”

Her mouth fell open. “You—what?! You did that on purpose? You—sly, stubborn—”

His laughter was a rare, low rumble that warmed the cold space between them. “You’ll get used to it, my lady.”

“Used to it?” Y/N fumed, her cheeks burning as the reality of what he’d done sunk in. “You can’t just—ugh!” She shoved at his chest, but it was like pushing a damn wall. “This is the North, Y/N. My North,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And you are mine.”

A strange warmth bloomed in her chest, mixing with her frustration. The audacity. The nerve.

And yet…

Y/N's face burned hotter than the hearth fires in the Great Hall as Cregan’s words echoed in her ears: You are mine. Claimed. Oh, she was mortified.

She reached up, fingers fumbling to undo the braid that now seemed to burn against her scalp. “Absolutely not,” she muttered, her nails scraping against the tight weave as she tried to pull it apart. “I am not walking around Winterfell with everyone thinking—"

Before she could finish, Cregan’s hand shot out, closing around her wrist, firm but not rough. “What are you doing?”

She glared at him, teeth clenched. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m undoing this bloody braid before everyone in this hall assumes I’m some conquered—”

“You’re not,” he cut in, his voice low, but there was an edge to it. “And you won’t undo it.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the sudden command in his tone. “Excuse me?”

His eyes were intense, a storm brewing behind the calm gray. “The braid stays.”

She tried to yank her wrist out of his grip, but his hold was iron. Not painful, but resolute. “I didn’t agree to this—this.. this claiming nonsense,” she snapped, feeling a wave of embarrassment creep up her neck as she noticed more eyes turning their way.

Cregan leaned in slightly, his gaze unyielding. “In the North, it’s more than just words. It means something. You’re my wife. And you’ll wear that braid like it.”

Her heart pounded, heat flooding her chest. “I’ll wear what I damn well please—”

“Oi, Lady Stark!”

The loud shout from across the hall made Y/N freeze, her head whipping toward the source. One of the Northern men, a burly soldier with a wild grin on his face, pointed at her braid. “That’s a fine weave, my lady!” he hollered, winking.

The hall erupted into whistles, cheers, and hollers. Several of the men banged their fists on the tables, laughing and calling out words Y/N could barely make out. Some of the women were whispering behind their hands, giggling and exchanging knowing looks.

Y/N felt her face go crimson, her fingers still trapped in her hair, halfway through her attempt to undo the braid.

“Looks like the Warden’s laid his claim!” another man shouted, and more hoots followed.

Her stomach dropped. This was a nightmare. Mother save her, this is worse than a nightmare.

She tried again to pull at the braid, but Cregan’s hand didn’t budge from her wrist. “Cregan, I swear to the gods—”

His voice was maddeningly calm, but there was a cocky edge to it that made her blood boil. “You’ll leave it. And if you somehow forget, remember—we’ve got different gods, love. And mine? They’re backing me up.”

Y/N’s mouth opened to protest, but when she met his eyes, something in her faltered. He wasn’t just being possessive. There was something more there—something ancient, deep-rooted. A tradition that ran through his blood, through the very stones of Winterfell. She wasn’t just in his home. She was part of his world now.

But hell if she’d admit that to him.

“Cregan,” she hissed through clenched teeth, trying once more to yank her wrist free. “Everyone is staring!”

“And?” he asked, with that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. “Let them.”

Her eyes widened. “You—this isn’t funny! They’re hooting at me like I’m some prize at the fair!”

His grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her pause. “You are no prize, Y/N,” he murmured, leaning close enough for his words to be for her ears only. “But you are mine. And in the North, we show it.”

Her breath caught at the warmth in his voice, even as her frustration grew. She had no idea what to say to that. What was she supposed to say? That she didn’t want to be claimed? That she didn’t want him? But the problem was… she did. And that was the most frustrating part.

The hall’s noise only grew louder. Some of the men had started clapping, whistling at them like they were some grand spectacle. Y/N wanted to sink into the stone floors.

“Let go of my wrist, Cregan,” she said, her voice quieter now, though it still carried her annoyance.

“Only if you stop trying to undo it,” he replied, his tone softening.

Y/N glared at him, her lips pressed into a tight line. But the heat of the stares, the teasing from the Northerners, was overwhelming. With a frustrated sigh, she dropped her hands from her hair.

“There,” she grumbled. “Now let go.”

He released her wrist, and immediately she wanted to punch him just a little bit. That cocky bastard.

“Was that so difficult?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

“You know,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “you’re lucky you’re my husband, or I’d throw you from the Wall.”

He leaned in, that smirk still present but softer now. “I’d like to see you try, wife.”

The word ‘wife’ sent another ripple of warmth through her, and she cursed silently under her breath. Why did it have this effect on her? And why did he have to look at her like that, with those damned Stark eyes, all cold and piercing but somehow still full of heat?

She crossed her arms, trying to hide her embarrassment under a glare. “Don’t expect me to be all smiles and sweet words because you’ve won this little battle, Stark.”

Cregan chuckled softly, his breath warm in the cold hall. “Who said I needed sweet words? You’re a Tully. I’d be disappointed if you weren’t fighting me.”

Despite herself, Y/N felt the smallest hint of a smile tug at her lips. Damn him. He knew exactly how to pull her in, even when she wanted to stay mad.

The cheers and whistles finally started to die down, though the teasing looks from the men and women of Winterfell didn’t. She sighed, looking up at Cregan. “You’re going to owe me for this.”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Owe you?”

“Yes,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes. “For the embarrassment. You’ll owe me.”

Cregan grinned, his cold facade cracking just enough to show the warmth beneath. “Fair enough, wife. I’ll owe you.” He paused, a glint of mischief in his eye. “But that braid stays.”

She rolled her eyes. But a small smile tugged at her lips.

As they finally made their way to the high table, Y/N couldn’t help but glance at the braid once more. The claiming. It was still ridiculous. Still infuriating.

But gods help her… it felt good—brutishly, maddeningly good—to be claimed like this. She was going insane, because part of her didn’t mind it half as much as she pretended to.

A treacherous part of her silently hoped that Cregan would braid her hair again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the next. For as long as they both lived.

[autisticlalna]

🎶 where are we in this world that we create?

⏯ NOW PLAYING: Through the Sky by JAMES ♥

for @mcyt-jukebox-bonanza, featuring... a whole lot of VikingPilots. good lord

ramblings under cut:

i was very on the fence about joining jukebox night (my only previous experiences with art challenges have been failed inktobers and artfight), but then Solar dangled Through the Sky in front of me and i knew what i had to do.

BUT BOY HOWDY WAS THIS A STRUGGLE. because, you see, i had made a critical mistake in the lead-up to jukebox night. i had drawn an unofficial jukebox with the pose i wanted to use for this. which meant a LOT of struggling and re-sketching and bonking my head against the wall until i found something i liked. ..and i'm just now realizing i forgot the writing on Navigator's arms. GOD--

so. Viking! a lot of Vikings. main series, one-off events, and a couple hypotheticals. where does Navigator fit into any of this? is tViking the first time he's intervened? is he really an individual person at all? even the design in the center is a shot in the dark based off of my conspiracy board interpretation of a video that doesn't exist.

but also the reality of this is Through the Sky is one of my favorite songs ever and Navigator is my special little guy so i'm gonna blow the fuck up.

[forestshadow-wolf]

A list of art pieces made for me by lovely people

Long hair soap by the amzing @thejacketscloset

Strong man soap by the lovely @transmascsimonriley

Soop-y soap by the wonderful @the-starry-raven

Viking!Ghoap by the astounding @garfieldisbetterthanyou

Ginger Roach by the stunning @elixioui

Roach nomin' by the talented @maxx-wooh

My ponysona by @/thejacketscloset bc jfc this dood is frickin talented as hell and so so so amazing

Mine and Jacket's ponysona made BY @/thejacketscloset himself

Silly little drawing of me and soap (my wife) by @sweetheartsofmidsummer

Half dead simon riley by @gavramous

Ghost yells at wall by @traumschwinge

Kelpie!Soap the beloved by @oshikiri-toru

I LOVE YOU ALL. Also we're now all in a wonky web type polycule with me at the center

[hometoursandotherstuff]

1989 home is a conglomeration of Contemporary, Art Deco, and Castle. If you like your modern homes extra, this one in Highland Park, IL has everything you could want, but not necessarily need. 6bds, 7ba, $1.495M.

The entrance hall with 2 metal doors, marble floors and a swirling staircase. What is that hole in the floor on the right.

Straight ahead is a room built in a room, with double doors and glass block.

There's a dining area next to the structure, with a rounded wall and a fireplace.

Wine rack in the wall. From the dining room are 3 steps to a bar & lounge. (Why do they do that?)

Tipsy guests could fall.

Lounge area in front of a fireplace.

The lounge is between the dining room and the kitchen.

Sterile looking white and stainless steel kitchen.

Why do they put mirrored walls in bathrooms? They're so mind boggling.

Contemporary home office with a pink neon strip. Interesting medieval decor thrown in.

The most baffling room is the 2 story primary bedroom. It has a terrace, room for a sitting area, lots of windows, a spiral staircase to a loft, and a round bed with a sloppy square inflatable mattress.

Large 2 room en-suite. Note the blue lights in the glass block platform.

There's a separate area in the closet/dressing room for a makeup vanity.

All of the other bedrooms are also spacious and have access to terraces.

This looks like the kids play/TV room.

Must be the mud room. Everyone has a viking hat.

Look at the locker room. I don't see any sports facility in the house.

Huge rec room.

Glass block bar in the corner.

Home theater "lobby." The owner's name must be Sanan, so the new owner will have to change the marquee letters.

The theater is surprisingly plain.

Another mirrored bath.

Pool out back of the 1.02 acre property.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1949-Browning-Ct-Highland-Park-IL-60035/4902415_zpid/?

[superconductivebean]

#994: Hogwarts Inquires - 117

Did you know? - 18

The text on the Boards from the Undercroft:

appears before the In the Shadow of the Estate quest.

Few attempts on text legibility were made here and in the reblogs of that post. And no, these notes do not belong to Sebastian -- it is a headcanon.

We do not know the author. Howevor, Isidora is the most probable candidate for the authorship due to the name 'Percival' appearing but the what is likely a timestamp, 1632, veils on that probability, if to assume it is a timestamp, of course. It might be not. We don't know.

Interestingly, the artist tasked to fill up the boards wrote the spellings of the Middle English words: weter, strem, ston, chaungeable.

Diacritical marks were not widely used in the writings done in this language, if at all. You can read about it in more detail here.

These symbols are the triskelion and the valknut:

The latter although predates the Viking era, may not be as old as the former; the former is common in many of ancient art, going as far deep into the ancient history as Helladic and Mycenaean eras of the Ancient Greece and the neolithic mound in Meath, Ireland. Weirdly, the stone objects MC can throw with magic have blue-ish carved symbols on their surface; the carvings look somewhat distinctly Pictish, the choose for colour therefore sounds… like it's Let's Throw Everything Ancient To The Region To The Greater Mix Of Things.

This knot:

is the doire / dara knot; symbolises the oak tree, perhaps the most sacred among Celtic people.

This bit could be important to remember: according to this website, Oak's astrological period starts at June 10 and ends at July 7.

These:

are half Alchemy symbols for basic elements (tin, lead, silver, gold, mercury, etc), half transfiguration alphabet as seen from this image:

This little fella is Saturn/lead:

The congregation of the points at the lower left eludes me but the number of points is 7 and the number 7 appears on the end point of the dimensional door aka the wall MC and Sebastian appear at after they are teleported back to the Undercroft from the Isidora's estate:

Perhaps it tells us Isidora had 7 hideouts and not 3? Besides, the number 7 is the number of the planets corresponding to the 7 metals:

Sun - Gold - ☉

Moon - Silver - ☽

Mercury - Quicksilver - ☿

Venus - Copper - ♀

Mars - Iron - ♂

Jupiter - Tin - ♃

Saturn - Lead - ♄

Uranus, Nepture, and Pluto aren't a part of Alchemy due to a very simple reason: by the time Uranus was officially discovered in the 1781, Robert Boyle had already published the book The Sceptical Chymist: or Chymico-Physical Doubts & Paradoxes, in 1661. He'd effectively removed the word 'Alchemy' from the use and replaced it with the word 'Chemistry', thus also avoiding the confusion between branches of Alchemy that did research on various materials (that includes spagyric teachings; Paracelsian physicians were the people turning poisons into cures and remedy) -- and what people inspired by Hermes Trismegistus developed smooshing many different things together, such as philosophy, alchemy, astrology, etc, creating a wtf.

I'd say it gives geodesy but may also be a weird depiction of the sal commune err common salt:

What to say about these I can't decide, but they look like ~compound names for various alchemical substances, from left to right: Spiritus Fumans (Stannic Chloride), Aqua Tofana (the infamous tasteless belladonna poison), and Verdigris (Carbonate of Copper, once used as a green pigment; was mildly toxic):

What it's supposed to mean eludes me, besides, it is an assumption.

What I suppose it should mean: something Isidora, if that belongs to her, found; all things besides Verdigris were discovered after her death in the late 1400s, however, there is a person who could've been trying to decipher… these things.

In the In the Shadow of the Undercroft quest Sebastian mentions:

No, someone in his family knew about it [the Undercroft]. The Gaunts are full of secrets.

That Gaunt should've been alive in 1632, assuming it is a timestamp. They also needed to be at school at the time, so could be a professor, a member of the staff (a gamekeeper, for example), a Headmaster; unlikely it was Corvinus Gaunt, who was a student by the time the castle would receive plumbing update (late 17th--early 18th century).

'Aura? Ancient Magik' has to become my favourite kind of explaining things to meself because I, too, have no idea what this means:

I can only tell some text is in Greek. An attempt to type after this bit yielded some results:

Ιαεω is probably Ιασω, recovering&recuperation;

ΒαθρεμονΝΟΝΙΛα is probably βαθμολογία, a degree of smth or a grade;

ρπδ is a greek numerical for 184;

φ, a golden ration mention?;

πδ has to do with the Ptolemy's table of chords?

May not be linked to the much speculated Ancient Magic's capability of healing anything but more so of a celestial body's movement, tied, anyhow, to the Magic's power. Probably.

Speaking of which, Is this the constellation of Lacerta? The number of stars doesn't match, however. Lacerta has 9, this one appears to have 10 or 11; likely 11 + it has a satellite constellation of just 3 stars. I summon astronomy nerds to solve this one + the text and the table below is likely have something to do with Astronomy. I might also suggest: weirdly drawn Draco.

[chasingshadowsblog]

"I've seen suffering in the darkness. Yet I have seen beauty thrive in the most fragile of places." - History, Culture and Identity in Cartoon Saloon's Irish Mythology Trilogy

Written accounts of Irish history and culture only begin to appear from the 5th century onwards and what came before we are left to piece together from archaeological remains whose meanings and motivations we can only guess at. What is clear, though, is that during that broad stretch of time between the Early Mesolithic and Late Iron Age, a distinctly Irish identity had been established and cultivated through by the craftsmen, artists, hunters, foragers, farmers and warriors that populated the country through their housing, weaponry, metalworks and stone monuments. The development of the Christian church throughout the Early Medieval period brought its own beauty to the art and architecture of the country, but also adapted its culture to suit the needs of an integrating religion and sites and ceremonies of pagan worship were amalgamated into the Christian calendar. Following this were Viking raids, Anglo-Norman settlement, English conquest, plantation, oppression, rebellion, famine and civil war. From the Early Medieval period to the present day Ireland has experienced an almost constant shift in leadership and identity with little time in between for the dust to settle. Culturally, a "Celtic Revival" in the late 19th and early 20th centuries sought to re-invigorate the arts and history of Celtic Ireland (a broad, problematic concept in itself) as an expression of nationalism and to bolster a distinctly Irish artistic and literary identity. All of this is to say that wading through Ireland's history of social upheaval, religious and political conflict, and loss and confusion of identity is no mean feat. To take those threads and conjure up original stories for modern audiences, embracing the suffering and celebrating the beauty, is impressive. To do it three times is witchcraft.

In their films depicting Irish history, culture and mythology, animation studio Cartoon Saloon have approached their stories with a respect for the past, both fact and fiction. By evoking the artwork, legends and real history of Ireland's past and combining it with their own fresh, unique visual style, Cartoon Saloon brings some much needed authenticity and vibrancy to the depiction of Ireland in mainstream culture. Absent are the twee figures of backwards island folk or the commercialised idolatry of a St. Patrick's Day parade. What we get instead is something more personal, recognisable on the surface to every child and adult who learned about Fionn, the Fianna and fairy circles in primary school and with nuggets of information and visual cues for explorers of Ireland's broader history.

"I can't tell you which parts of this story are true and which parts are shrouded by the mists." - The Secret of Kells and the line between history and mythology

Set roughly in the 9th century AD The Secret of Kells is the earliest depiction of Irish culture in the trilogy. This period saw the introduction of Christianity and the eventual integration of the religion among the native Irish, a relatively smooth transition when compared to later events as noted by historian Jo Kerrigan: "And so the people of Ireland combined the new ways with the old…not bothering too much that the names had changed." Although the main character, Brendan, comes from a Christian monastery and carries those beliefs, The Secret of Kells does well to capture this balance between a new religion and old beliefs with the inclusion of Aisling and Crom Cruach, and without dismissing them as a childish or archaic. "Pagans. Crom worshippers. It is with the strength of our walls that they will come to trust the strength of our faith." The threat of Viking raids is what spurs Abbot Ceallach's desire to build a wall around his monastery, but, underlying his actions is another aspect of a monk's work - converting the natives. In The Secret of Kells the abbot's wall not only protects them from invaders but cuts them off from the forest beyond - the domain of shape-shifters, wild animals and pagan temples, a world that Brendan can only glimpse through a crack in the wall. A staple of the entire trilogy is this depiction of wilderness in some form and its association with Ireland's symbolic wilderness and pagan ancestry. When Brendan enters the forest for the first time it is dark and frightening until Aisling, an ethereal Sídhe figure who can shape-shift into a wolf, shows him how to navigate it. Brendan's fear is eliminated and Aisling quickly becomes his friend, each amused and fascinated by the other.

Hidden throughout Brendan's trek in the forest are old, moss covered ogham stones and stone circles, allusions to native practices, but deeper in, the colour palette changes from bright greens and natural browns to a wash of dark greys and black when Brendan stumbles across a temple to Crom Cruach (a deity who, in Irish mythology, is eventually destroyed by St. Patrick). Aisling tries to warn him away, "It is the cave of the Dark One," but Brendan dismisses her worries, "The abbot says that's all pagan nonsense, there's no such thing as Crom Cruach." At the sounding of the deity's name, black tendrils emit from the cave and pull on Aisling as she stops them reaching Brendan. Later, Brendan returns to the cave to steal Crom's eye - a magnifying crystal that will help Brendan and Brother Aidan with their illumination. In a beautifully animated sequence Brendan battles Crom Cruach in his cave by trapping him in a chalk circle and stealing his eye. Crom Cruach is depicted as a never-ending snake (in a geometric pattern reminscent of both pre-Christian art and the knotwork of Christian manuscripts) possibly in reference to the 'snakes' (demons) banished from Ireland by St. Patrick. What's most fascinating about this sequence is that Brendan experiences it at all. Although the experience is supernatural it is never implied as anything other than real. Brendan is a committed monk in training who will spend his life in service to the monastery and creating the Book of Kells; even after meeting Aisling and battling Crom Cruach he never questions his faith or his elders and when he returns to the monastery with the eye no one disputes the story of how he came by it, "You entered one of the Dark One's caves?" At this time, at the edge of a growing monastery and with a direct reference to the abbot's desire to convert the natives, there is still space for pagan ideas to exist. Whenever Brendan is punished by Abbot Ceallach it is for disobedience not a lack of faith. Similarly, Aisling using Pangur Bán's spirit to free Brendan has an effect on the real world. There's an argument to be made that this is a film and anything can happen, but for problems to be solved by magic, the way Aisling frees Brendan, firm world-building rules must be established; in this world, 9th century Ireland, spaces exist in which otherworldly figures reside and actions beyond the mortal realm occur and these spaces exist alongside this film's version of civilisation, the monastery.

"I have lived through all the ages, through the eyes of salmon, deer and wolf." As an animated feature, there is a lot the film can tell us through visuals alone, and The Secret of Kells does a wonderful job capturing an Ireland in transition. The prologue opens with a close-up image of the Eye of Crom with abstract shapes swimming around it, followed by a glimpse of Aisling hiding in a tree as she narrates over these images in an eery whisper. Following these we see a salmon, deer and wolf, three animals important to Irish mythology, identity and history; the salmon, related to The Salmon of Knowledge, represents mythology, the deer is the national animal of Ireland, and wolves (in the world of Cartoon Saloon) represent its wildernes and history (the elimination of the wolf population became more active in Ireland during times of English occupancy, a theme that is explored more deeply in Wolfwalkers). Even the waves crashing around Iona as Brother Aidan escapes morph into wolves, futhering their symbolism as something wild and dangerous, yet they are never associated with the Viking raiders; the wilderness is as equally affected by change as the people are. The monastery is littered with Iron Age motifs existing alongside Early Christian imagery. Spiral motifs occur in trees and plants, in the ropes that bind the wall's scaffolding together, and circular, semi-circular and zig-zag shapes continue to appear with knot-work patterns and religious figures - even the snowflakes during the raid are strands of knot-work. The monastery itself is accurate to the period with its round tower, beehive shaped structures (called clochán) and the town growing around it, while outside its walls Brendan crosses a stone circle. We even see a game of hurling, the ultimate unifying bridge between pagan and modern Ireland. The walls of the abbot's cell are covered in his own drawings of plans for the monastery's construction. These are exquisitely detailed and clearly a plan for the future but drawn in a style that cannot escape the past; zig-zags, spirals, circles, semi-circles, dots, triangles, sun and star motifs and something that looks like an alignment chart. The style is evocative of the insular La Tène that preceded the arrival of the monks in Ireland; a combination of abstract and geometric, seemingly random, but clearly symbolising something greater.

"You must bring the book to the people." In their last interaction as children Aisling helps Brendan recover the pages of his manuscript as he flees the Vikings. In this gesture Aisling aids Brendan on his religious journey - during the montage later on she even guides him home. Faith never comes between these two, their relationship is one of mutual curiosity and sharing their differences. In Irish mythology, female figures (particularly shape-shifting ones) are often symbolic of Ireland itself and to have the support of these figures is, for kings and heroes, a mark of validation. At this time, these two worlds still live alongside each other and Aisling is allowed to support Brendan's work as a monk while maintaining her own natural way of life. Although Brendan's final journey home shows the spread of Christianity across the country we get one final image of Aisling, changed to her human form in a flash of lightning, that shows us she hasn't disappeared just yet. Brendan, now an adult, returns to Kells and although Abbot Ceallach is old and sick, the monastery stands strong and Brendan brings with him the completed Book of Kells, ready to continue the abbot's work.

"This wild land must be civilised" - Wolfwalkers and the taming of Ireland

Set in 1650, Wolfwalkers occurs roughly 800 years after The Secret of Kells and presents a vastly different universe. The monks' Christianisation of the natives was a far more gentle affair and one founded in a desire to educate people. Ireland under the Lord Ruler (a stand-in for Oliver Cromwell) is a world of service, punishment and fear. By chopping down trees and employing hunters to cull the wolf population the Lord Ruler is attempting to 'tame' the countryside and, most importantly, the people themselves. References to "the old king" and "revolt in the south" place us, historically and politically, in the Cromwellian Conquest, when Cromwell was sent to Ireland to quell uprisings against the newly established English Commonwealth. Heavy stuff and this is a simplification of a period of major conflict in Ireland but Wolfwalkers impresses on us the feeling of living under the thumb of an active oppressor on a much smaller, more personal scale. The Lord Ruler wants the people of Kilkenny afraid and complacent so that they support his efforts to cull the wolves and cut down their forests. Although the wolves pose no threat to the city, people have been made to fear them, resilting in the loss of their connection to the forest outside the town walls. Any reference to a world ouside of the current mode of conduct is cause for immediate punishment and suppression. Even Bill and Robyn, loyal English citizens, are punished. When one of the woodcutters talks of "pagan nonsense" he is confined to the stocks and Robyn is forced to work as a maid in the castle when she does the same. When Bill fails to cull the wolf population (and control his own daughter) he is stripped of his rank as hunter and forced into the role of soldier, robbed of the little freedom he had.

"This once wild creature is now tamed, obedient, a mere faithful servant." Although this line is spoken in reference to Moll, held captive in a cage in her wolf form, it is the human characters who suffer the most from this ideology - even the nameless background characters are confined to the walls of the city. What comes to mind when hearing this line is Robyn in her maid's uniform, once lively and imaginative, now returning home with lines under her eyes after a long day of hard, monotonous work, and Bill, shackled at the neck and forced to march behind the Lord Ruler's horse ("we must do what the Lord Ruler commands"). Although Moll is held captive too, it is in the form of a humongous wolf; she is locked away in the Long Hall for fear of the danger she represents because the Lord Ruler is aware of how poweful she is and so he must keep her locked up to show the people of Kilkenny just how much control he can wield, quelling any potential notions of power they might have held in themselves. In the case of Moll, Robyn and Bill, each time they are held captive by the Lord Ruler their captured bodies submit to the wolf form to escape: Moll uses its strength to break free of her chains, Robyn leaves behind her human body to launch an attack against the soldiers with the rest of the pack, and Bill, who had no idea what being bitten by Moll would do to him, submits to a primal instinct within him to protect his daughter and attacks the Lord Ruler. The Wolfwalkers are able to draw on this power but the people left behind in Kilkenny have no such escape.

"What cannot be tamed, must be destroyed." The ending of Wolfwalkers is bittersweet. Robyn, Médb and their parents are safe after defeating the Lord Ruler and his soldiers and ride off, not quite into the sunset, but onto horizons new. "All is well," Bill and Robyn tell each other and the family appear content, but, before now, leaving the forest was not on the agenda; leaving the forest meant retreating from a threat, as Moll desperately wanted Médb to do, and this is still the case. Médb wanted to save the forest, but, after everything that's happened, the family are no longer safe on the borders of the town. Robyn, Médb, Bill and Moll all save each other but they can't save their home and their retreat from Kilkenny is just that - a retreat. The Lord Ruler may have been killed but that doesn't mean the end of his conquest. Historically, this period saw Ireland amalgamated into the Commonwealth and Irish Catholic landowners ousted by English colonists, as well as a high level of deforestation and the elimination of the wolf population. By having the family leave their home, together and with a bright sky and grassy hills ahead of them, Wolfwalkers' coda balances the narrative conventions of a story by giving the viewers their satisfying ending without sanistising the history it's based on.

"Remember me in your stories and in your songs" - Song of the Sea and loss:

If Wolfwalkers is the taming of Ireland then Song of the Sea is Ireland tamed. Set roughly in the 1980s it is the closest depiction of a modern Ireland in Cartoon Saloon's ouevre. In contrast to The Secret of Kells and Wolfwalkers, which represented Ireland's native identity in the forest, here it takes the form of (drumroll) the sea, but while those other films depicted the battle between the wilderness and civilisation Song of the Sea depicts its defeat. The last of the Sídhe live in hiding in a rath disguised as the centre of a roundabout and use a sewage system to get around. In their diminshed forms, Lug, Mossy and Spud also resemble more closely what we might think of as 'fairies' in Ireland today, not the imposing figures of mischief and chaos the Sídhe really are in mythology. Still, Lug, Spud and Mossy wear torcs, brooches and earrings of gold and strewn about their home are ogham stones and hurls; in a nice marriage of modern and ancient tradition, they play the bodhrán, fiddle and banjo, singing a version of the Irish language song 'Dúlamán'. Only in this one pocket in the middle of the city do different aspects of traditional Irish culture survive.

All throughout Song of the Sea we see iconography of modern Ireland. Conor drinks a pint of Guinness (unlabelled but unmistakable), the front of the pub he sits in is decorated in proto-typical Irish pub fashion. On the wall in Granny's house sits proudly a picture of Jesus with the Sacred Heart lamp as she warbles along to the classic Irish children's song, 'Báidín Fheilimí'. Ben and Saoirse take refuge in a shrine to a holy well with a rag tree outside that is bursting with religious iconography as well as a toy sheep. Symbols that are as much a part of the national identity as those pre-historic and mythological ones. There are also references to the assimilation of pop culture outside of Ireland in a Lyle's Golden Syrup tin, the Rolling Stones poster on Conor's old bedroom door and Ben's 3-D glasses and cape, an emulation of a superhero costume. These images are, ultimately, harmless but have overtaken their native counterparts. Although we see statues of the Sídhe in the background, these are not shrines but detritus, and they lie forgotten, covered in plants and moss, in the company of bags of rubbish and old televisions. The diminishing of one era of Ireland's history to make way for a newer more powerful and modern identity is just one kind of loss that is portrayed in Song of the Sea, but each character experiences their own version throughout. The loss of Bronach that has affected Ben and Conor; the potential loss of Saoirse as she grows sicker; the loss of Mac Lir that drove Macha to such despair she literally bottled her emotions and those of others until they turned to stone. All of this comes to a climax at the end of the film when these tragedies are laid bare. As in Wolfwalkers the greater connotations of this theme are presented on a smaller scale: Ben and Conor's pain by the loss of Bronach.

Ben and Conor are representative of the human world and so suffer her absence more visibly than Saoirse who approaches her mother's world with curiosity and ease. In contrast, Ben, although he misses Bronach, rejects the sea (her home and symbolic identity) and his sister, a physical as well as spiritual reminder of what's been taken away from him. He turns his back on his past as much as he mourns its loss. We see it less obviously in Conor who wallows in his own memories and grief and tunes out Ben's references to his mother "It's as though I've been asleep all these years. I'm so sorry." Ben's grief is more expressive compared to the inwardly focused Conor and even towards the end of the film when Ben is trying to help Saoirse, Conor brushes over his insistence that only her selkie coat can save her. It's only when Saoirse is finally wearing the coat and wakes up from her sickness that he finally engages with Ben on the subject of Bronach, "She's a selkie, isn't she? Like Mam." "Yeah." (Which looks like a weak conversation written down but it's the happy smile on his face and the emotion in his voice that give the single word weight). "Please don't take her from us." During the film's final sequence, when Saoirse sings her song and wakens the sleeping Sídhe, Bronach returns but only to take Saoirse away. With tears in her eyes she begins to lead Saoirse along until Ben and Conor stop her, not forcefully but pleadingly, "she's all we have." All they have is Saoirse, all they have is a thread connecting them to Bronach's world and their memories of her.

"All of my kind must leave tonight…" As the Sídhe are wakened by Saoirse's song we watch them rise joyfully to form a glowing processional in the sky as they make the journey across the sea to their home. This scene is so beautifully animated and so filled with a sense of magic and wonder that we are charmed into believing this is a good thing. The Sídhe are returned to their noble forms and going to their home "across the sea"; they fill the sky with a warm, mystical light, but they are taking that light and their magic with them. As Bronach quotes in the film's prologue, "Come away, o human child, to the waters and the wild, with a fairy, hand in hand, for the world's more full of weeping than you can understand." This is a world that can no longer bear the force of two identities. Unlike The Secret of Kells where Brendan and Aisling were allowed to live alongside each other without compromising their beliefs or ways of living, Bronach, a spiritual being, is forced to leave, while Ben and Conor have no choice but to stay and Saoirse, who walks both worlds, is made to choose between them. Although this is a happy ending it is still being depicted on a personal level. On a grander scale, the country has lost something that isn't coming back and this is depicted as a relief for the ones leaving it behind. On the other hand, Saoirse's decision to remain shows that, in small pockets of the country, the magic remains.

It is fitting that Song of the Sea, as a representation of modern Ireland, draws on loss; Ireland has been experiencing loss on a grand scale for centuries. Although the march of progress is mostly positive, in some cases it has altered our respect and interest in the past. Today there is a nihilism attached to Irish heritage; the spirituality that is associated with airy fairy hippies dancing naked in a moonlit field; the language that is almost universally despised by every secondary student forced to grapple with the Tuiseal Ginideach; its disappearing and continually exploited ecological landscapes; traditions and tales that grow more twee and archaic with every tourist bus that passes by; the preservation of archaeological sites in frequent battle with the progress of industry. In the interest of leaving behind the worst of our past we are at risk of losing the best. The writer Manchán Mangan suggests that this desire to forget lies in the pain we feel when we consider our history. Some, like Conor, try to push all reference to this pain out of their lives, others, like Ben, divert their pain into misplaced anger. Mangan cites the Famine as a source of generational pain and its effect today on our use of the language, but really it can be attached to many events and periods of time, "English was the future; Irish would only bring suffering and death." This is a sentiment that carries through to this day; despite encouragement from schools, local councils and the government, Irish remains a least favourite subject for most people who dismiss it as unuseful for success in the wider world. By proxy, anything to do with the notion of "Irish", the language, history and culture, is old-fashioned (suffering and death) while success and the future lie outside of the country. Mangan goes on to suggest that only by confronting the pain of our past can we unlock an ability in ourselves to engage more fully with our identity, "We might stop blaming our failure to learn on teachers, or the education system, or Government policy, and realise that we have no difficulty learning any other subject…" Ben and Conor are given the opportunity to say goodbye to Bronach before she leaves, allowing them to carry on with their memories of her and the last strand of their connection to her as represented by Saoirse. More and more people today are looking to Ireland's past, ecology and language for whatever it is they need or want to find. It isn't necessary to convert to paganism and live on the shores of the Connemara coastline to achieve this connection, but actively disengaging from your past can only hurt more than it can help. In their respective stories Brendan does not compromise his beliefs but still builds a friendship with Aisling, while Robyn and Bill integrate fully into Médb and Moll's world. There is no right way to engage with this side of our history and identity, but in contrast to Ben and Conor, Brendan and Robyn have balanced and fulfilling relationships with their native counterparts - the threats to their world come from outside sources. Ben and Conor were stuck in their pain over Bronach's loss and it is only after getting to see her one last time that helped them to move on and heal. Conor tells Bronach that he still loves her, he will carry his love and memories of her forever; Ben lets Saoirse into his life and is able to move past his grief and fears of the sea. Here, the threat of loss and destruction in modern Ireland comes from within, and can only be treated by engaging with the past - its rich heritage and tragic history - and moving on with all of the wisdom and experience it provides.

[lotusdesignbyz]

[baby-blue-octopus]

Happy Thorsday! Here is a one of my unique style Viking ships in my shop.

[alex31624]

Duck Comic Reading Club Week 15: Paperinik New Adventures: Urk

So, a week late, but here it is, the review of Urk. To be honest, I'm a bit disappointed. PK was on fire, but this issue extinguish it.

The first thing I notice is that this particular issue has the ugliest art yet.

I don't know what they were looking for. If it was nightmare fuel, they got it.

The story was also not that great, and I may be a little to mean, but is hard to not be harsh with Urk, because we just had Trauma, and everything in that issue was top tier.

Anyway, there have been kidnappings in the city, and no one seems safe.

PK is on the case, but he's as lost as the rest of Duckburg. In the mean time, he beat the hell out of the Elvis gang. That was my problem with Trauma, because PK beat him. The meanest, strongest Evronian ever, and PK beat him.

How in the blue hell could anyone else be a treath for PK? Those ugly bastards, fourth rate mobsters, have no chance.

Back in the tower, one poor employee fall into his doom, but his partner save him with some impressive moves.

What's the deal with the long ass hair? Why is that the look everyone decided to go?

Uno and Donald were impressed with the guy, and investigated him. Turned out that he was using a fake identity, what immediately make him a suspect.

PK paid him a visit, and they have their first encounter.

Urk won the round. That's comic magic, PK beat Trauma, now Urk beat PK. Is my fault to ask for logic. I should have know that, if the story needs to PK to lose against Dr. Fossil, to say a name, he's going to lose to Dr. Fossil.

Hey, is Rat from The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad.

Anyway, Lyla found out that Urk may be a chrononaut, like Raider. She joined PK in the search for the big duck. After a brief fight, in were Lyla had a wall falling on her, we learnt that Urk is not a bad guy.

Urk then tells his story. He lived in a different dimension and his community came into contact with an alien race who shared their knowledge with them.

Everything was nice and sweet until the vikings invaded.

Yes, Columbus, the biggest genocide "the new world" has ever known. I'm sure you would have liked it

Anyway, remember Day of the Cold Sun? When Raider activated his machine, the after blast brought Urk to PK's dimension. It also brought the vikings bio weapon, the creature.

PK and Urk join forces to defeat the beast.

The creature was the one who kidnapped all the people, to use them as lunch.

I get why they tried to do, going for an abstract form, but it didn't work. The creature is just a doodle.

PK shoot the creature, killing it.

The good guys win, and Urk now has to live in Duckburg.

This one goes into the I didn't like it basket.

We had some really good issues lately, in this one wasn't on their level, at all.