#aresio

[a-dream-seeking-light]

Nishinippori under the snow by Marco S. Nobile (aresio on flickr)

[heroic-ignus]

May the Gods have mercy on our souls... ~*

Surface.

"Eveybody knows of the man with no name who travels through the land offering his services as a swordsman. He's been around for a few years, maybe one or two decades at this point, a wanderer, a vagabond, owner of the title "The Errant Knight", once used to mock him for his job as a sellsword with no place to call home, but that now has turned into something more, a label of respect, for his abilities with the blade are nothing but art. Rumors say he hunts those whose deeds are obscure whilst protecting those who need it from the darkness of the world, and that his sword knows no defeat against evil, a warden of light, but those might just be exaggerations..."

Biography.

( TW: Suicide; Violence; Abuse & Blood Mention )

The town of Skohfjell was home to the Ignus family for generations, tale told from father to son that once upon a time they had been part of nobility, tricked into ruination, but nothing to confirm these words. Tales such that made Arthos Ignus what he was: a man driven by his ego whose heart was as dark as the end of times, ruthless, violent and, unfortunately, a swordsman like no other, which helped him become captain of the townsguard. Of course that was not enough for the ambitious and selfish man, he needed more, he wanted an easy life, and more than that he wanted even more power over others. Although he couldn’t marry nobility, through his handsome appearance and his charming words he managed to lure in the daughter of a rich Merchant, Lucelia Aresio, whose naivety blinded her to the multiple signs that would eventually haunt her future.

Before marriage, Arthos was everything someone could wish for, he was strong, handsome, eloquent, charming and caring, but everything changed once the vows were made and their first son was born. Like water turning to wine, he became cold, distant, rude and even violent, and even though he never hurt her physically paradise became hell to the poor Lucelia who once dreamt of a happy family. She killed herself before Alder was ten, and the little boy was the one to find her hanging from the ceiling, swinging ever so slightly due to the wind coming from the window to the beautiful day outside but that to him was closer to a cold winter now, a scene that would remain burnt into his memory.

After his mother’s death, Alder was blamed for what she’d done to herself by his father, who desperately tried to revert the situation it had caused, her family asking questions and taking their money away from the claws of the man who they correctly believed to be at fault, leaving their legacy to be collected only by Alder himself on his sixteenth birthday. Now, having had his desired wealth and comfort stripped from him, Arthos became more violent than ever, constantly leaving his son at the brink of death every time he drank, which was almost every day, incapable of even eating properly. Rare were the days he would be able to go back to his bed to sleep, too weak to resist, too hurt to move.

Alder spent the next five years being only a punching bag to his father, incapable of defending himself. A wrong look or any word that was in a slightly different tone than what Arthos wanted would lead to punishment. It would’ve kept going if not for a call from the Lord of Skohfjell ordering Arthos to lead a few of his men outside of the town to deal with some bandits that had been terrorizing merchants. That kind of task would usually save Alder for a few weeks at best, but for some reason it took way longer than expected, and, as such, the cleaver boy could finally fully recover and take his time to go outside in search for help. Unfortunately, things weren’t as easy as they might have seemed.

Everywhere he went, people turned their backs on the young boy, and at first he didn’t understand why they all had that reaction, but soon he could see in their eyes that familiar look, something he had carried with him all these years: fear. They all knew about his father’s reputation, someone who would go out of his way to destroy those who were weaker than him, and few were the ones that could rival him in battle. Just before the boy gave up, a hooded man offered him a hand, a man by the name Errond, he trained the young Alder Ignus with a sword for the next few months, and for some that could’ve seemed like wasted effort, but it wasn’t. Some could say Alder was a prodigy with the sword, but, of course, that wouldn’t be enough to fend himself against his father, so he chose a path different from Arthos’s, instead of relying on strenght and overpowering his opponents, he focused on his dexterity, evading and parrying his enemy’s blade until he saw the opportunity to counter.

When Arthos came back from his task, Alder had already changed, there was fire in his eyes unlike before, and that wasn’t something he enjoyed, so the older Ignus decided to punish him for that, but this time the boy had a blade, so the swords had to clash before he could teach him a lesson. Perhaps it was because his father underestimated him, or maybe because his blade was corrupted by the alcohol he’d been drinking before coming home, but slicing his arm off was too easy for the younger Ignus, so he had to blink a few times before even hearing the screams of agony echoing through the streets and slowly bringing people out of their houses to see what was happening. His father tried his best to grapple him to the ground, but Alder was faster, and there went his other hand, blood painting the streets red, and in that moment he had the chance to choose, but what came to him wasn’t anger or sadness, it was apathy, so he cut that old man’s head to stop the loud noise.

Now that he had his revenge, he was ready for the punishment that, in his mind, would certainly follow his actions, but instead he was met with praise and joy from all those around him, as if celebration was the result of his father’s death. Graced with the title of  The Hero of Skohfjell by the people for dethroning an evil man in power, untouchable by even the law and the Lord, he would finally be able to live his life as a normal person from that day on... Or that’s what he thought.

A few nights after that, as he was laid in bed, looking intently at the ceiling, still unable to believe he’d killed a man, a confused mix of satisfaction and guilt for being happy about that bathing his mind, he felt it. Pain throughout his whole body unlike anything he’d ever felt, as if every bone in his body was breaking and healing at the same time, his voice unable to escape his throat due to the contraction of his muscles in response to everything. He couldn’t beath, and his vision started fading slowly, as the lack of oxygen took away his consciousness. That night he dreamt of running through the streets of Skohfjell under the moonlight, feeling the wind hitting his skin as he reached great speeds, and soon he was inside the Ironwood Forest, jumping fallen trunks, the scent of nature to his nose, and as he looked around, wolves, but he wasn’t scared, it was as if he’d connected with them in a certain way.

All that faded into non-sense as he woke up in his bed, and it would’ve passed as just a dream if not for his dirty naked body as he looked at himself in the mirror. It was the beginning of a new nightmare: he’d become something else, something forbidden across all Iskaldrik, a creature of shadows, a supernatural being, a werewolf. Now he had two skins in which he resided and none in which he felt free, a man deemed hero by the people and a monster to be hunted by the light. He clinged into that mask of rightousness crafted by the citizens to hide his secret, doing his best to become the symbol of justice they made him into so to distract them from the signs of his duality. Luckily, he had the talent and soon became the very best swordsman in the town, just like his father, but unlike him Alder was kind or was it just the mask? That’s something he never really figured out until the day of his death.

What was supposed to be his second, and final, chance at freedom became his third nightmare as he suddenly came to his senses covered in the blood of the people he’d sworn to protect, his features reflected on the broken glass from the window he’d broken through, feral, savage, demonic, and in that moment his heart sunk into hopelessness as he realized what he had become: the monster which resided in his interior, creeping around in between both his forms, always there to haunt him. Maybe that's what he really deserved, what he truly was. He wandered around for some time, but could never stay in the same place for long as eventually this dark side of him came out and took control of him, rendering him a mere puppet of the darkness that corroded his soul. Stories of The Hero of Skohfjell never stopped spreading throughout Iskaldrik, and every time he heard a song about himself he’d feel disgust for what he’d become.

When Iskaldrik suffered from the war that would crush it, he fled from there, becoming a citizen of the world, but it was only after meeting a certain someone that light finally fought back against the darkness he’d holed himself into, and since then he’s been trying to forgive himself while battling inside and out for a chance at redemption, maybe someday he hopes to live up to the title bestowed upon him, for now, he’s become a sellsword for anyone with a heart in the right place, helping those who need it and charging a price equivalent to what they can pay. That’s when he finally tried connecting to his wolf self to find a way to fight the urge to do evil, and that’s when he met Lor, the dire wolf he connected with and which helps him during his crisis, as he directs his feral instincts to evildoers.

Personality.

Charismatic +++ || Observing ++ || Just + Distant +++ || Quiet ++ || Headstrong +

Alias.

He goes by TEK, short for his new title.

Status.

Currently in Lysara.

SKELETON

[thequeendomhq]

NAME. Alder Ignus "The Errant Knight" AGE & BIRTH DATE. 279 & November 17th, 2745 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Cis Male & He/Him NATIONALITY. Iskaran SPECIES. Vuldak FACTION. Warrior's Guild ( Blademaster ) OCCUPATION. Sellsword FACE CLAIM. James McAvoy

biography

( tw: suicide, violence, abuse, blood )

The town of Skohfjell was home to the Ignus family for generations, tale told from father to son that once upon a time they had been part of nobility, tricked into ruination, but nothing to confirm these words. Tales such that made Arthos Ignus what he was: a man driven by his ego whose heart was as dark as the end of times, ruthless, violent and, unfortunately, a swordsman like no other, which helped him become captain of the townsguard. Of course that was not enough for the ambitious and selfish man, he needed more, he wanted an easy life, and more than that he wanted even more power over others. Although he couldn’t marry nobility, through his handsome appearance and his charming words he managed to lure in the daughter of a rich Merchant, Lucelia Aresio, whose naivety blinded her to the multiple signs that would eventually haunt her future.

Before marriage, Arthos was everything someone could wish for, he was strong, handsome, eloquent, charming and caring, but everything changed once the vows were made and their first son was born. Like water turning to wine, he became cold, distant, rude and even violent, and even though he never hurt her physically paradise became hell to the poor Lucelia who once dreamt of a happy family. She killed herself before Alder was ten, and the little boy was the one to find her hanging from the ceiling, swinging ever so slightly due to the wind coming from the window to the beautiful day outside but that to him was closer to a cold winter now, a scene that would remain burnt into his memory.

After his mother’s death, Alder was blamed for what she’d done to herself by his father, who desperately tried to revert the situation it had caused, her family asking questions and taking their money away from the claws of the man who they correctly believed to be at fault, leaving their legacy to be collected only by Alder himself on his sixteenth birthday. Now, having had his desired wealth and comfort stripped from him, Arthos became more violent than ever, constantly leaving his son at the brink of death every time he drank, which was almost every day, incapable of even eating properly. Rare were the days he would be able to go back to his bed to sleep, too weak to resist, too hurt to move.

Alder spent the next five years being only a punching bag to his father, incapable of defending himself. A wrong look or any word that was in a slightly different tone than what Arthos wanted would lead to punishment. It would’ve kept going if not for a call from the Lord of Skohfjell ordering Arthos to lead a few of his men outside of the town to deal with some bandits that had been terrorizing merchants. That kind of task would usually save Alder for a few weeks at best, but for some reason it took way longer than expected, and, as such, the cleaver boy could finally fully recover and take his time to go outside in search for help. Unfortunately, things weren’t as easy as they might have seemed.

Everywhere he went, people turned their backs on the young boy, and at first he didn’t understand why they all had that reaction, but soon he could see in their eyes that familiar look, something he had carried with him all these years: fear. They all knew about his father’s reputation, someone who would go out of his way to destroy those who were weaker than him, and few were the ones that could rival him in battle. Just before the boy gave up, a hooded man offered him a hand, a man by the name Errond, he trained the young Alder Ignus with a sword for the next few months, and for some that could’ve seemed like wasted effort, but it wasn’t. Some could say Alder was a prodigy with the sword, but, of course, that wouldn’t be enough to fend himself against his father, so he chose a path different from Arthos’s, instead of relying on strenght and overpowering his opponents, he focused on his dexterity, evading and parrying his enemy’s blade until he saw the opportunity to counter.

When Arthos came back from his task, Alder had already changed, there was fire in his eyes unlike before, and that wasn’t something he enjoyed, so the older Ignus decided to punish him for that, but this time the boy had a blade, so the swords had to clash before he could teach him a lesson. Perhaps it was because his father underestimated him, or maybe because his blade was corrupted by the alcohol he’d been drinking before coming home, but slicing his arm off was too easy for the younger Ignus, so he had to blink a few times before even hearing the screams of agony echoing through the streets and slowly bringing people out of their houses to see what was happening. His father tried his best to grapple him to the ground, but Alder was faster, and there went his other hand, blood painting the streets red, and in that moment he had the chance to choose, but what came to him wasn’t anger or sadness, it was apathy, so he cut that old man’s head to stop the loud noise.

Now that he had his revenge, he was ready for the punishment that, in his mind, would certainly follow his actions, but instead he was met with praise and joy from all those around him, as if celebration was the result of his father’s death. Graced with the title of The Hero of Skohfjell by the people for dethroning an evil man in power, untouchable by even the law and the Lord, he would finally be able to live his life as a normal person from that day on… Or that’s what he thought.

A few nights after that, as he was laid in bed, looking intently at the ceiling, still unable to believe he’d killed a man, a confused mix of satisfaction and guilt for being happy about that bathing his mind, he felt it. Pain throughout his whole body unlike anything he’d ever felt, as if every bone in his body was breaking and healing at the same time, his voice unable to escape his throat due to the contraction of his muscles in response to everything. He couldn’t beath, and his vision started fading slowly, as the lack of oxygen took away his consciousness. That night he dreamt of running through the streets of Skohfjell under the moonlight, feeling the wind hitting his skin as he reached great speeds, and soon he was inside the Ironwood Forest, jumping fallen trunks, the scent of nature to his nose, and as he looked around, wolves, but he wasn’t scared, it was as if he’d connected with them in a certain way.

All that faded into non-sense as he woke up in his bed, and it would’ve passed as just a dream if not for his dirty naked body as he looked at himself in the mirror. It was the beginning of a new nightmare: he’d become something else, something forbidden across all Iskaldrik, a creature of shadows, a supernatural being, a werewolf. Now he had two skins in which he resided and none in which he felt free, a man deemed hero by the people and a monster to be hunted by the light. He clinged into that mask of rightousness crafted by the citizens to hide his secret, doing his best to become the symbol of justice they made him into so to distract them from the signs of his duality. Luckily, he had the talent and soon became the very best swordsman in the town, just like his father, but unlike him Alder was kind or was it just the mask? That’s something he never really figured out until the day of his death.

What was supposed to be his second, and final, chance at freedom became his third nightmare as he suddenly came to his senses covered in the blood of the people he’d sworn to protect, his features reflected on the broken glass from the window he’d broken through, feral, savage, demonic, and in that moment his heart sunk into hopelessness as he realized what he had become: the monster which resided in his interior, creeping around in between both his forms, always there to haunt him. Maybe that ‘s what he really deserved, what he truly was. He wandered around for some time, but could never stay in the same place for long as eventually this dark side of him came out and took control of him, rendering him a mere puppet of the darkness that corroded his soul. Stories of The Hero of Skohfjell never stopped spreading throughout Iskaldrik, and every time he heard a song about himself he’d feel disgust for what he’d become.

When Iskaldrik suffered from the war that would crush it, he fled from there, becoming a citizen of the world, but it was only after meeting a certain someone that light finally fought back against the darkness he’d holed himself into, and since then he’s been trying to forgive himself while battling inside and out for a chance at redemption, maybe someday he hopes to live up to the title bestowed upon him, for now, he’s become a sellsword for anyone with a heart in the right place, helping those who need it and charging a price equivalent to what they can pay. That’s when he finally tried connecting to his wolf self to find a way to fight the urge to do evil, and that’s when he met Lor, the dire wolf he connected with and which helps him during his crisis, as he directs his feral instincts to evildoers.

personality

+ charismatic, observant, just – distant, quite, headstrong

played by zeus. gmt-3. he/him.

[ps1]

Aresio

[fatehbaz]

Nike pulls shoe product after Guna people of Panama protest corporate appropriation of their iconography (22 May 2019)

Excerpt:

Nike has apologised and withdrawn one of its shoes after an indigenous group in Panama said the sportswear giants had used its traditional “mola” pattern in its design.

The Air Force 1 “Puerto Rico” model was a limited edition version of one of the brand’s signature shoes and was not due to launch in stores until 6 June.

But images of the multi-coloured trainer were posted on social media and clearly showed the pattern, prompting accusations of "pirating" from the Guna community of Panama, who make up one of the seven indigenous groups in the South American country. They are now seeking compensation from Nike.

The majority of Guna people live in the Guna Yala region, which is a narrow strip of land on the east coast of Panama that environmentalists say is under threat due to rising sea levels as a result of global warming.

Their distinctive mola design features colourful geometric patterns and swirls.

Guna chief Belisario Lopez accused Nike of using the design without permission at a a press conference in Panama City on Tuesday.

"They must recognise that the mola that appears on the Nike shoes is from the Guna people,” he told French news agency AFP, adding that “thousands” of other designs from indigenous people are regularly “pirated” by multinational companies.

A lawyer for the group, Aresio Valient, described the design as “part of the spirituality of the Guna people” and said he was seeking compensation from the sportswear brand.

In a statement, Nike said: "We apologise for the inaccurate representation of the design origin for the Nike Air Force 1 'Puerto Rico' 2019. As a result, this product will no longer be available."

- Olivia Petter. “Nike apologies for ‘pirating’ shoe design from Indigenous group in Panama.” The Independent. 22 May 2019.

[euguilhermemorato]

Amigo Secreto da Escola Municipal Aresio Eleutério Amaral Junior. ❤️⭐ (em Nova Serrana) https://www.instagram.com/p/B6BNJXAFX4G/?igshid=pd68boglt86s

[chillypepperhothothot]

Flakes by Aresio on Flickr.

[jornalbelem]

Mulheres Guna vestem roupas feitas com o tradicional bordado mola, considerado patrimônio do povo panamenho (Foto: GETTY IMAGES)  A Nike teve que cancelar a comercialização de uma nova versão de seu clássico modelo de tênis Air Force 1 por conta de um desentendimento com um povo indígena.A multinacional norte-americana de roupas esportivas havia criado uma edição limitada do calçado que era descrita como sendo uma homenagem à ilha de Porto Rico. A ideia era que o lançamento acontecesse no dia 6 de junho, mas ele foi cancelado."Pedimos desculpas para a representação incorreta da origem do desenho do Nike Air Force 1 Porto Rico 2019. Como resultado, este produto não estará mais disponível", disse a companhia em um comunicado.Mas o que aconteceu?Acusação de piratariaUma tradicional etnia indígena, a Guna, que vive principalmente em ilhas do Caribe na região do Panamá e da Colômbia, denunciou a multinacional por usar no calçado um icônico desenho têxtil chamado "mola". A mola é um bordado feito à mão em que se usam linhas e agulhas finíssimas para bordar telas coloridas com desenhos geométricos e de animais.Os Guna alegam que a Nike usou os desenhos sem o consentimento deles ou uma consulta prévia.Em um comunicado, a comunidade Guna disse que a ação da Nike era "pirataria", porque a arte têxtil mola é protegida por uma lei nacional e considerada um patrimônio do povo panamenho. A arte é considerada propriedade intelectual dos Guna.Os Guna são um dos sete grupos indígenas do Panamá - que juntos representam quase 15% de uma população de quatro milhões. Eles são conhecidos em geral por causa da mola, que é um de seus principais meios de subsistência.A mola é usada em peças de vestimenta, quadros e objetos de decoração.Aresio Valiente, advogado que representa a comunidade, disse em entrevista coletiva na terça-feira que a retirada do modelo não é suficiente e que eles buscam compensação."Já houve um dano porque foi utilizado nosso desenho, que faz parte da espiritualidade do povo Guna. Portanto, a empresa [Nike] tem que indenizar, porque foi uma cópia ilegal de nossos desenhos", disse Valiente à AFP.Os representantes da comunidade Guna disseram que vão atrás de uma compensação financeira (Foto: GETTY IMAGES) Belisario López, um líder tradicional da comunidade, disse em um comunicado que não se opõe à venda da mola, mas que incomoda que isso tenha sido feito sem consultá-los.Vamos procurar o caminho possível para que a empresa Nike reconheça que está usando um projeto que nos pertence", disse Lopez em entrevista à agência AP. "Não somos contra a nossa mola ser comercializada, mas sim que isso seja feito sem consulta prévia."//s[r].sources.indexOf(c)){var t=e.createElement(n);t.async=1,t.src=c;var a=e.getElementsByTagName(n)[0];a.parentNode.insertBefore(t,a),s[r].sources.push(c) }} (window,document,"script","https://news.files.bbci.co.uk/ws/partner-analytics/js/pageTracker.min.js","s_bbcws"); s_bbcws('partner', 'epocanegocios.globo.com'); s_bbcws('language', 'portuguese'); s_bbcws('track', 'pageView'); //]]> Fonte: Globo

http://www.conjuntosatelite.com.br/2019/05/os-indigenas-que-acusam-nike-de.html

[iluvalgarve]

Stingy 2 from Aresio http://ift.tt/2BMsOa3

[ccyotras]

Aresio y su ADV

Ayer, estaba en clase en la universidad, cuando vi por la ventana que una chica estaba haciéndole una paja a su novio en pleno jardín, toda la clase los vio, esa chica era mi prima. ADV

[a-dream-seeking-light]

top: nishinippori in the snow by aresio on flickr

bottom: unidentified photographer x

haha so cool to see two different shots of the same location from two different elevations.  i can’t tell if it’s just the same photographer who just changed position or it was just coincidence that someone else likes this view enough to shoot it. do believe it was from a different floor though because the ledge in the foreground wouldn’t be seen if they stood up higher. or am i wrong?  anyway here they are together in a photoset so they can be flipped for comparison. 

[ps1]

Aresio

[iluvalgarve]

:O from Aresio http://ift.tt/2kC9HoR

[iluvalgarve]

Signals from Aresio http://ift.tt/2kBIoe7

[iluvalgarve]

Marinhas' stack from Aresio http://ift.tt/2wovpVk