#bernard chant

[moratoirenoir]

[odoroussavourssweet]

Aromatics Elixir can be on the dark-and-moody side for me these days but yeah, it's one of the greats.

Clinique Aromatics Elixir

Notes: verbena, sage, chamomile, aldehydes; geranium, rose, jasmine, ylang-ylang, tuberose; oakmoss, patchouli, incense

Nose: Bernard Chant

I am in love.

This is bitter, medicinal, herbal, exactly what you’d expect from an ‘elixir.’  Brown and potently astringent.  Sharp, intelligent, radiant, with dark multilayered depths.  

The patchouli is great. Normally I’m skittish about patchouli, incense, and animalic notes, because they can come across as “dirty”, but Aromatics Elixir has all three, and it’s wonderful, in a darkly herbal, complex way.  Some people’s natural body odor actually smells herbal to me – my husband’s sweat smells, I swear to god, like eucalyptus – and Aromatics Elixir has the same “herbal body odor” effect.  For the first time, I think, I’d actually describe this as a sexy perfume – not in a social, “please read me as attractive” sense, but in the sense that you’d nuzzle closer if you smelled it on your lover’s skin.

This is a perfume from 1975, when the fashion was for dark green perfumes, to match the “earth tones” visual aesthetic, and that’s definitely an archetype that suits me well.  “Second-wave feminist in tweed pants and a ribbon-tie blouse” – yep, I even literally have the outfit.  

I’m also increasingly feeling like Estee Lauder perfumes are consistently good in unique directions.  Pleasures, Beyond Paradise, Beautiful, Knowing… yeah, there’s something there. 

[introspectivememories]

[kropotkindersurprise]

April 13, 2023 - Hundreds of union railway workers stormed the Paris headquarters of LVMH, the enormously rich French multinational known for producing luxury brands like Christian Dior, Louis Vuitton and Moët & Chandon.

The railway workers chanted "money, there is money in the coffers of the employers!". The owner of LVMH is the richest man in the world: Bernard Arnault, with a personal wealth of over 200 billion euros. Less than a tenth of this sum could easily finance the pensions of the entire French population. [video]

[kylobith]

Long Live the King!

In honour of Bernard Hill (1944 - 2024)

Rays of light caress the grass on the mounds of the Barrowfield at the foot of the mighty hill of Edoras. They bathe the landscape and the mountainside in their glow, enlivening the colours of the earth and the last snows of the season. What ochre dirt usually lies under the canopy of the sky now glows bright gold, nearly rivalling the roof of Meduseld, perched up far above it on its throne of stone. The land comes alive in the hues of the realm’s colours, proudly displayed on flagpoles held by soldiers.

Gathered around the newest mound on the Barrowfield, they line up the path to the temporary entrance. Heads held high with their helms down to their brows, their teary eyes behold the sky as the etiquette demands of them. Before them, closer to the path, courtiers stand in reverence, their weeping disturbing the otherworldly stillness of the scenery. By the carved stone frame of the mount’s threshold, a group of women cry out an ancient chant as armoured pallbearers carry forth the wooden stretcher upon which rests their fallen king.

Upon a cushion of green velvet embroidered with gold rests his proud head, once bearing the crown of his elders. His blond hair cascades upon it like a halo highlighting the kindness of his heart. Oh, a heart bearing much burden, yet that retained much affection for his demanding court and realm, and never once turned away from his family. Not deliberately, that is.

Behind him, what remains of the royal family follows. All are clad in black mourning dress, except for Éomer, whose shoulders are covered by a fur-lined cloak passed down from his uncle. His hand holds that of his betrothed, with her Gondorian hair braided in a Rohirric fashion. Across his chest, with its polished hilt resting on the crook of his left elbow, Herugrim awaits to be laid to rest in turn.

Following her brother is Éowyn, clasping an embroidered handkerchief to her quivering lips, supported by her husband-to-be. She leans against his shoulder, her trembling hand clutching his until her knuckles turn paler than her tear-streaked cheeks. Seldom has she managed to utter a word since she arose earlier this morning, so deep her grief stirs within her.

The pallbearers come to a halt before the threshold and those who followed them come to stand on either side of the pathway. Éomer releases Lothíriel’s hand and bows before his beloved uncle. The women cease their chants yet continue to weep, softly enough to bring attention to the king’s nephew. Keeping a firm grip on the crimson leather, he unsheathes Herugrim and holds it up above him, letting the blade reflect the sun’s glow.

‘All hail Théoden King!’ he cries out with his brow furrowed and a gleam of determination twinkling in his mournful eye.

And all respond, with the banners held high in their backs.

‘All hail Théoden King!’

Éomer solemnly lowers the sword and places it upon his uncle’s chest, closing his cold hands, which once ruled with firm grace over Rohan, around the handle. His sister steps forward and receives a small bunch of simbelmynë carefully picked from Théodred’s barrow from a soldier. She kisses the flowers and tucks them into her uncle’s grip. With a last caress on his brow, the Lady of Rohan murmurs.

Another sob wracks through her and warm tears flood her delicate traits.

‘Be at peace, son of Rohan. Your children shall never forget you, nor your gentle heart. Oh, find your fathers and embrace our beloved Théodred in our stead!’

‘Farewell, uncle, farewell!’

As she stumbles back, she collides with her brother, whose hand rests upon her shoulder. They look upon Théoden in grief as the women resume their laments, whilst bystanders bow their heads.

Faramir observes Éowyn from the corner of his eye. His heart sinks at the thought of her suffering, and never has he felt so helpless. What can one man do in the face of mourning? What more can he do besides embrace her when she needs it and listen to her memories of her childhood? Not that he minds any of it, he would wear his arms thin from holding her if he could, drown his fingers from brushing away her tears, grow deaf from hearing her speak. And he would do it all over again in a heartbeat, a thousand times over, if given the chance!

But the sight of her slouched shoulders when he knows how proud they always are triggers a pain greater than the arrows that pierced his body. Yet patience is all he must show. Patience and compassion. These virtues he has never lacked, despite his misplaced humility when praised about them.

And so, he listens to the laments sung in words whose meaning evades him, his head bowed and his eyes fixed on the shieldmaiden and her brother. When the chants end, Théoden is brought inside the barrow, beheld for the last time by the orphaned children he once considered his. The tomb is closed, and the crowd soon disperses, retracing their steps towards the Golden Hall, where a banquet will be held to reminisce about the great deeds of the fallen king and honour their new monarch.

Faramir stands by the pathway, nodding politely at the soldiers, courtiers, and those he has come to meet in Ithilien and Minas Tirith. Lothíriel, his cousin, comes to place a kiss on his cheek, squeezing his arm with a brief smile, before walking away. Éomer bows his head at him and Faramir pats his shoulder in silent support, which the new king of Rohan accepts gladly by placing his hand over his future brother-in-law’s.

But Éowyn remains by the mound, her eyes fixed upon the stone now separating her from her uncle. He awaits her, keeping his distance at first to allow her to mourn in peace. As long minutes pass, he pinches his lips and draws nearer, not wanting to startle her.

‘I would have you smile again,’ her sweet voice rises before he even reaches her, ‘not grieve for those whose time has come.’

Éowyn peers over her shoulder, her eyes brimming with tears.

‘That is what he once told me. Before the battle, before he—'

She turns again, choking up on her words. Faramir’s arms encircle her and press her gently to his heart as he rests his chin on the top of her head.

‘He must have been a great man, for him to earn such devotion from you,’ he whispers.

‘Far beyond that.’

With a sniffle, she looks up at him, speaking in a firm tone which contrasts with the vulnerability in her eyes.

‘I intend to respect his word, Faramir. So, I beg you never to make me weep.’

Faramir tucks an untameable tress of her golden hair and offers her a tender smile.

‘Beloved Éowyn, I would never dream of it.’

Nestling her head underneath his chin again, she lets out a sigh of relief. A smile grows on his cheeks.

‘I fear that I have spoken a lie. I can think of three instances where your crying would be welcome. The first is if one of the most moving poems recited from my lips by the hearth in our home would stir you so that tears would grace your eyes. The second would be our wedding day. And the third, if I dare dream of it, is the day that you hold our future child for the first time.’

Éowyn grins against his neck and places a kiss in its crook.

‘How presumptuous of you to believe that I would show any emotion in such instances!’

‘Would you not?’ he asks, his eyes widening in surprise.

A chuckle escapes her and her hands cradle his face.

‘Of course, I will. And I am ready to bet that you would weep before I do in all three situations.’

Faramir laughs along and brushes his lips against hers for a moment. A single instant where there is no place for grief. When he pulls away, his thumb traces her cheekbone.

‘We must return to Meduseld. You are the one to present the cup to your brother.’

‘Very well. Go ahead, I will be right behind you.’

Faramir nods and begins to walk away, respecting her wishes. Éowyn turns to the barrow and comes forward to graze the stone mantel with her fingertips. She presses a kiss to it and takes a deep breath.

‘Farewell, uncle. Be at peace; I am smiling again.’

[atopvisenyashill]

Do you have any fantasy book recs that you like like as much asoiaf? Or books with lots of world building as asoiaf? :)

i don't know that i like anything as much as asoiaf to be honest. also my brain turned to mush early this year (it's the depression) so i haven't read nearly as much as i used to the last several years.

naomi novik - even though she is frustratingly heterosexual, i think her books are magnificent and i'm fond of her prose. spinning silver is a standout for me

the queen's thief series by megan whalen turner - it's kidlit but it is honest to god like amazing kidlit. i cannot overemphasize how complex and intricate the plot is, i don't even think it reads like a kids or teen book, even on reread it feels like i'm reading just regular old fantasy. HOWEVER. after thick as thieves, imo, it takes HARD nosedive (i have like, suspicions why but i don't wanna put anyone on blast) and i found the ending to be a massive disappointment BUT i think i’m in the minority for that opinion so.

Stephen Graham Jones - more horror than fantasy but i adore him. especially mongrels, i think it's really underrated in terms of urban fantasy

Jo Walton - another great fantasy writer, Among Others changed my life

Austin Chant - Peter Darling is just a great, amazing Peter Pan retelling

Seanan Maguire - she'sfairly prolific and she writes all over the fantasy genre. Her Wayward Children series is divine and breaks my heart every single book

Yangsze Choo - she writes like, romantic fantasy (NOT fantasy romance), and I love her prose!

Faithless - comic series by Brian Azzarello. It's kind of weird but I think it's very fascinating

Bernard Cornwall - is he a old white man. yes. but he's a fun old white man idk

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell - LISTEN.

[eretzyisrael]

by Lionel Shriver

Much has been written about the unholy, and in some ways, hilarious alliance developing between the progressive left and Islam (Lesbians for Palestine, etc.). But for Western writers to embrace a restrictive, prescriptive, and stifling culture isn’t merely ironic or comical; it’s self-defeating. One needn’t consult a professor of Middle Eastern studies to conclude that these fair-weather friends in Gaza may welcome useful idiocy, but the permissive ethos of the Anglo left is diametrically at odds with despotic Islamic theology. Moreover, for American writers to express increasingly shrill and little-disguised hostility to Jews is to disavow a substantial chunk of the country’s distinguished literary canon: Philip Roth, Saul Bellow, Isaac Bashevis Singer, Bernard Malamud, and Elie Wiesel just for starters.

But then, the past 15 years have demonstrated with depressing clarity that writers, along with artists of every stripe, aren’t special. Although our occupation is more at risk from censorship than most, we’re all too capable of perversely embracing suppressive viewpoints that violate our own interest. We’re paid not only to write but to think, yet we don’t think; we listen keenly for whatever tune is playing in our fellow travelers’ AirPods and whistle along. Apparently, we’re no more creative than the average bear, and as soon as the memo goes out, we’ll chant along with the kiddies camped at Columbia University, “from the river to the sea!” whatever that means. We’ll obediently switch out one cause for another whenever we’re told, as nimbly as using “find and replace” in Microsoft Word.

We’re cowards, conformists, and copycats. Real freedom of expression is too scary; we’d rather hide in a crowd whose keffiyeh-masked members all shout the same thing. PEN has a laudable history of advocating for writers who’ve been persecuted for their opinions in repressive polities—polities much like the contemporary United States. But too many of its members would have the nonprofit corrupt its global mission to protect free speech across the board so long as they can bully its leadership into pointless partisan posturing for progressives’ acrid flavor of the month.

[random-brushstrokes]

Bernard Buffet - Chant-huant (1956)

[au-jardin-de-mon-coeur]

L'opéra, c'est le domaine de l'émotion pure. Quand la passion, le chagrin, la souffrance, la folie atteignent un tel degré de saturation que les mots deviennent impuissants à les exprimer. Que seul le chant y parvient. Cela dépasse les limites de l'entendement, de la logique : c'est indescriptible...

Bernard Minier

[facts-i-just-made-up]

where did the name 'rock n roll' originate from?

The name refers to the motions of people who danced to it. It had been common to rock together back and forth while listening to gentle music since ancient times, but it was not until the invention of the music style that people became so overwhelmed by the fervor of the music that they began to roll with it.

Chuck Berry, known typically as the "Father of Rock and Roll," as well as "The Mother of Rhythm and Blues," and "The Parent by Mitosis of Disco Funk," invented Rock and Roll in 1958 with the song, "The Ballad of Johnathan Bernard Goode" which was shortened to "Johnny B. Goode," by later cover artists. Upon hearing it, fans literally rolled around in a state of euphoria, often screaming and on occasion, blaspheming. This last bit concerned many religious and political figures who banned the musical genre, as well as dancing until the repeal of such laws in 1984 by Kevin Bacon.

Rock and Roll has since evolved into many new genres, including acid rock, alternative rock, Norwegian black metal, crunkcore, emo, gothic rock, banded gneiss, neue deutsch härte, and progressive rock.

By a curious technicality, Rock and Roll music can also include medieval heterophonic organum chants, such as Chumbawamba's "Tubthumping."

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Christopher F. Rufo and Luke Rosiak

Published: Apr 22, 2024

Recent headlines about UCLA School of Medicine suggest that the institution has lost its focus. Instead of brushing up on organic chemistry, its students were subjected to lessons on “Indigenous womxn” and “two-spirits.” Future doctors had to take a class on “structural racism” and were led in a “Free Palestine” chant by a Hamas-praising guest speaker. The school made plans to segregate students by race for courses on left-wing ideology, and two of its psychiatry residents championed “revolutionary suicide.” 

Why has the school charted this course? One reason is its commitment to diversity, equity, and inclusion ideology. UCLA has a DEI program called “Cultural North Star,” and at the medical school, it is led by Natalie J. Perry, whose official title is Cultural North Star Lead. Her UCLA biography says that her job is to “embed our aspirational Cultural North Stars [sic] value [sic] in our organizational DNA.” UCLA honored Perry last month for teaching students to “do what’s right,” saying her “empathy and radical listening” are to thank for her “success as an educator and a leader.”

According to a Daily Wire and City Journal investigation, however, Perry’s academic career is based on fraud. Perry published her Ph.D. dissertation in 2014 at the University of Virginia about college diversity programs. An analysis of the paper found it ridden with the worst sort of plagiarism, reproducing large swaths of text directly from several other authors, without proper citations. The scale of the plagiarism suggests that Perry lacks both ethics and competence and raises questions about academic programs that push DEI.

Perry’s dissertation lifted passages from ten other papers. In key portions of her text, she copied almost every paragraph from other sources without attribution. She fails even to mention at least four of the ten plagiarized papers anywhere in her dissertation.

Let’s review some examples.

The first three pages of Perry’s paper, “Faculty Perceptions of Diversity at a Highly Selective Research-Intensive University,” suggest that she did not even bother to read beyond the first page of papers from which she stole. Her dissertation’s second sentence reproduces verbatim part of a sentence on the first page of a paper by Adrianna Kezar, Peter Eckel, Melissa Contreras-McGavin, and Stephen John Quaye. Her third paragraph, without citation, lifts more than 100 words from the first page of a paper by Angela Locks, Sylvia Hurtado, Nicholas Bowman, and Leticia Oseguera.

Each colored portion of the below text was taken from a different author:

In some cases when Perry did include parenthetical citations, she wasn’t citing the papers whose text she had lifted. Instead, she simply reproduced the citations included in those stolen excerpts.

Take the above paragraph, which ends with ���(Bernard, 2005; Bollag, 2005; Munoz, Jasis, Young, and McLaren, 2004; Williams, Nakashima, Kich, and Reginald, 1996).” Perry was not synthesizing those authors. Instead, the citation was part of Adalberto Aguirre and Ruben Martinez’s paper, from which she apparently copied and pasted, without attribution.

A core part of Perry’s dissertation involved summarizing work done by professors Robert Quinn and John Rohrbaugh. Instead of citing them directly, however, Perry cribbed summaries from other academics. Perry copied and pasted almost all of a nearly thousand-word passage from a paper by Chad Hartnell, Amy Yi Ou, and Angelo Kinicki, without quoting the authors.

Consider, for example, the following excerpt from Perry’s dissertation. The italicized portions were taken verbatim from Hartnell, Yi Ou, and Kinicki’s paper:

The CVF is widely used in organizational literature (Ostroff et al., 2003). Measures of organizational culture that directly or indirectly assess the CVF have been administered in over 10,000 organizations globally (Cameron et al., 2006) within the following academic disciplines: management, marketing, supply-chain management, accounting, social services, hospitality, and health care. Further, the reliability and content validity of Cameron and Ettington's (1988) measure of the CVF has been empirically supported in studies utilizing multitrait-multimethod analysis (Quinn & Spreitzer, 1991), multidimensional scaling (Howard, 1998), and structural equation modeling (Kalliath, Bluedorn, & Gillespie, 1999). Surprisingly, prior to 2011, there had been limited assessment of the theoretical foundation of the CVF despite its reported content validity and widespread use in research and practice.

The rest of Perry’s analysis of Quinn and Rohrbaugh’s work is largely copied, unquoted and unattributed, from a 2003 paper by John Smart. Below are pages 13 and 14 of Perry’s paper, outlining its “Theoretical Framework,” with the italicized text coming directly from Smart:

To develop this theory Quinn and Rohrbaugh (1983) asked a panel of distinguished organizational theorists to evaluate the similarity between every possible pair of 39 indexes of organizational effectiveness derived from Campbell’s (1977) exhaustive synthesis of criteria used to assess the performance of organizations. The results of this analysis revealed three basic dimensions underlying the judgments of respondents. The first dimension is organizational focus, which distinguishes organizations that have an internal emphasis on the development of people from those that have an external focus on the development of the organization. The second dimension is organizational structure, which distinguishes between organizations that have an emphasis on stability and control from those that have an emphasis on flexibility and innovation. The third dimension is organizational means and ends, which distinguish between organizations that emphasize processes such as planning and establishing goals from those that emphasize resulting outcomes such as productivity and efficiency.

In a section titled “Positioning Diversity Leadership in Higher Education,” Perry copies almost every sentence from one of several other papers. In no case does she credit the actual source:

Finally, in a section on organizational culture, Perry duplicates language from a variety of other authors:

Perry presented her paper as “qualitative” research because she chatted with what appear to be ten members of her colleagues at the University of Virginia who sat on the faculty-retention taskforce and counted their musings as “data.” But when the paper gets to this section, where plagiarism wasn’t possible, Perry includes the following jumbled passage that includes a glaring spelling error:

The positionality of the participants informed the perspective on the origins of the commission. /in response to the needs of the varios [sic] stakeholders within the university, the commission addressed issues of diversity on the faculty, undergraduate, graduate, and university level.

The section of original text suggests that her plagiarism could be used to mask glaring academic deficiencies. Moreover, Perry in her references section fails to list some of the papers that she cites parenthetically in the body of the dissertation—a telltale sign that she had simply copied those citations from somewhere else. Legitimate academic inquiry would not excuse such shoddy work.

Perry and UCLA did not return requests for comment.

Entrepreneur Mark Cuban recently argued that DEI policies don’t necessarily lower an organization’s expectations. But for Harvard, UVA, and UCLA Medical School—where Perry earned her master’s, Ph.D., and DEI position, respectively—this is evidently not the case. These institutions have dramatically lowered expectations for favored groups and pushed a cohort of “scholars” through the system without enforcing basic standards of academic integrity.

Ultimately, Natalie Perry is to blame for her misconduct. But these institutions of higher learning share some fault for permitting such shoddiness to stand unchallenged.

==

These are the same people who want to lecture us how much more morally enlightened they are than we are.

[moratoirenoir]

[gizmocrate-werecrow]

What to do when you are a leafling

(finally got a title, might change it later?)

The dandori chorus was soon drowned out by another chant but this time deeper and depressed; “i didn't make it in time…i hope i am not dead…i didn't make it in time… I hope-” it was the creature’s voice. No he shouldn't call it a creature, a person, a castaway, a leafling.

Leafling. That made perfect sense, the leafy growth and the stem and the leaf on top, he should write this down later.

Shaking off the voices, Dingo took a breath and assessed his situation.

That red leafling turned him and left, the coward! Now what he was supposed to do? But with the night coming ever so closer the first thing to do was to find shelter. The escape pod was totaled and outside was a death wish.

Bernard however lifted the cave entrance door and hopped in. Perfect! No monsters dare to wander into these places so it would make the perfect shelter. But what about food and water? The funny thing was ever since they both were turned he never felt thirsty or hungry. Russ could probably explain it better but it has to do something with the leaves, same with the whole breathing in the poisonous atmosphere thing.

Putting those thoughts aside, Dingo jumped in. It was dark and scary but that was nothing a headlamp couldn’t fix…wait where was his headlamp? He could see well down here, was this another side effect of the leaves?

“We DANDORI all day…and all NIGHT.” Bernard said, breaking a small egg shaped thing by punching it and slurping a bit of it up, a flower sprouted from his leaf and he ran at a much faster pace than before, his footsteps echoing in the cave.

“Wait! We don’t know if it’s monster free.” Dingo cried out as Bernard ran deeper into that cave, it was almost impossible to catch up to him, well almost. As he was about to tackle Bernard, a creature got in the way, it was running from a small white spotted red creature that reminded Dingo of the rescue dogs.

This was just an animal hunting, nothing big.

“Help! Help!” A high pitched voice called out.

Someone was in trouble and in need of rescuing!

Okay first Bernard needed to be slowed down then save the source of the mystery voice, that would be good Dandori-no don’t give into those thoughts!

With a leap, Dingo crash tackled Bernard to the ground, he watched as the petals fell off of the pilot’s head and onto the ground. With that done he needed to save the source of the voice. The two creatures were in a corner of the cave, the red creature with the stem cowering as the dog thing approached.

“D-don’t eat me! HELP!”

Without a second thought, dingo punched the creature. It turned around in shock and let out a death cry.

“Thank you!” The source of the voice while Bernard stood next to Dingo with his arms crossed.

It was a small red creature that resembled the famed Pik Pik carrots of hocotate. It had a pointed nose and stared up at Dingo with awe.

“Who are you?” The creature asked in the familiar chittering that echoed in his head.

“I can understand you? What are you called?”

“Pikmin! Papa called us that!”

“Whose Papa?”

“Papa looks like you! Only shorter and in a different set of clothes!” The Pikmin said while happily frolicking around Dingo and Bernard.

This was going to be interesting, Dingo thought to himself.

(Reblogs help more then likes but likes also help! Also I might name the red pikmin I dunno)

[aisakalegacy]

Hiver 1919, Hylewood, Canada (10/21)

Je viens d’une famille modeste, mais très pieuse. Chaque génération de Bernard produit un Révérend. J’ai été élevée dans la foi chrétienne selon des principes qui me tiennent à cœur, et que j’essaie d’appliquer dans ma vie de tous les jours. Il est écrit dans les Hébreux 13:4 : « Ceux qui se livrent à l’immoralité sexuelle et à l’adultère, Dieu les jugera ». Je n’ai pas besoin de me venger, je fais confiance au Seigneur pour me rendre justice et je confie ma douleur au Ciel. Vous allez me penser naïve, mais j’ai fait le choix de pardonner comme notre Seigneur Jésus nous a pardonné.

[Transcription] Layan Bahar (chante) : Belâdi, belâdi, belâdi (Ma patrie, ma patrie, ma patrie) / Laki ḥobbi oua fouâdi (Tu as mon amour, et tu as mon cœur) Layan Bahar (chante) : Belâdi, belâdi, belâdi (Ma patrie, ma patrie, ma patrie) / Laki ḥobbi oua fouâdi (Tu as mon amour, et tu as mon cœur) Layan Bahar (chante) : Meṣr ante âglâ dorrah (Ô Égypte, tu es la plus chère des perles) / Fauqe jebin el dahr gorrah (Tu es la lumière sur le front du temps) Eugénie Le Bris : Que préparez-vous ? Layan Bahar : Madame, tu m’as fait peur ! Layan Bahar : J’ai trouvé la viande donc j’ai cuisiné du chawarma pour ta famille. J’aurais dû te demander avant. Peut-être tu n’aimes pas. Eugénie Le Bris : Je ne sais pas ce que c’est, mais ça sent ben bon. Layan Bahar : Il y a la viande de la vache, oignon, citron, tomate, ail, persil. Je n’ai pas trouvé beaucoup des épices, il manque le sumac et je n’ai pas de sésame. Eugénie Le Bris : Ça a l’air délicieux ! Layan Bahar : C’est meilleur avec les ingrédients de chez moi, tant pis ! Goute Madame.

[agirlattea]

The True Meaning of Iron in the Blood of the Fallen: 

Part 3: 

(Location: Central Kingdom, Magic Manor, Common Room, Night Time)

Faust: So you’re already familiar with it, Sage. Shino also seems to have done a great job preparing. 

At that time, the Valcy had spread its roots underneath the entire city, and was on the verge of annihilating it. 

The person who stopped that was the Bernard Family’s head. 

Mitile: Then, was he a wizard? 

Shino: No, he was a human. 

Mitile and Akira: What?! 

Akira: Is it possible for humans to hunt monsters…? 

Shino: Who knows. But that’s what the book says, anyways. 

Arthur: The history books I have studied say the same. 

I’d thought perhaps he had aquired the help of a Wizard or used some other means to gain an advantage, but there are no records of such events. 

Faust: Not all history is recorded accurately: especially during times of chaos. 

Humans cannot wield magic. Even if they chant words that appeal to the spirits, they will not respond. 

In the end those words are just spells. Facing fierce magical beasts alone is beyond human capacity. 

Akira: I see… has the story changed over time, then? 

Shino: It’s a pretty common legend anyways. Actually it looks like he didn’t actually defeat the beast, just sealed it away. 

This is what they used to cast it.

Shino traced the pages of the book in his hands. 

In the page, there was a picture of a large object shaped like spread wings on a single solemn alter. 

Mitile: is this where the Valcy is sealed?

Shino: Yeah. This is “The Medal of Sincerity”. The jewel in the middle is where the Vlacy is sealed. 

It has a complicated structure with several layers of barriers and seals to stop it from breaking. 

Apparently the duty of gaurding it has been passed down through generations of Bernard Family Heads. 

Shino spoke quietly, like a child talking about their heroes. 

He looked up at Faust, still standing behind him, with eyes full of anticipation. 

Shino: Hey, Faust. If I ask that guy, do you think I can see the real thing? 

Faust: That guy…? You mean the boy you caught earlier? 

Mitile: The person who stole Murr’s wallet…? 

I wouldn’t go out of my way to meet someone who does bad things like that. 

Shino: I don’t think so. 

Mitile: Why?

Shino: In order to survive, there are times when you can’t keep pretending. I was the same way. 

Mitile was stunned speechless. 

Shino’s back was straight and his eyes were clear. The pride of having survived all alone was reflected in his stance. 

Shino: My dirty past won’t ever change, but I’m not the same person I was back then. 

I want to see how impressive the medals handed down through the Bernard family are. 

Someday, I want one that’s even cooler than all of them. 

Mitile: Shino, I… 

Shino: If you’re going to apologize, I won’t listen. You and I just have different ways of living. 

Though his words sounded like they were pushing others away, they were clear, as if he was making a joke. 

The air surrounding the two boys relaxed. The image of a boy in torn clothes standing among them came to mind. 

Akira and Arthur: About that boy… ah. 

Akira: I apologize for speaking over you. You were going to say something?

Arthur: Yes… he seemed quite concerned about the incidents in that city. 

Faust: The serial attacks? Didn’t he mention that several incidents happened in quick succession? 

Arthur: Yes. Somehow though… from the way he spoke, I think he might know something more about those incidents. 

Shino: …? Does that mean he’s involved? 

Arthur: It is not that I wish to doubt him, but he was the one who warned us not to stay in the city for fear of more casualties. 

As a member of an esteemed family, it is possible he said this out of concern for the public good, but… as the victim in the situation, his phrasing struck me as odd. 

Akira: That’s right… 

Mitile: …In the first place, why is someone like him living like that? 

If he was born to a family like that, shouldn’t he have a mansion and be admired by everyone…? 

Shylock: It isn’t particularly uncommon for noble families to fall. 

Just as there is no flower that does not wither, so too does glory never last. 

Murr: Shylock is eloquent as always! 

Akira: Shylock! And Murr too. 

Shino: You guys sure like appearing out of nowhere. 

Shylock: Fufu, I enjoy spending my time as I please. 

Rather, it seems this is the perfect place to enjoy dessert after dinner. 

Would you like some tea to go along with your sweets? 

Murr: I want a drink! I’ve been upside down for so long I’m starting to get thirsty! 

Shylock: have you tried turning around and pointing your head towards the ceiling? It’s likely because of the blood rushing to your head. 

And Murr, you are the one offering the tea. We came here to apologize for the commotion the other day. 

Murr: That’s right! Let’s have fun giving it out and have fun drinking it too! 

Murr waved his finger and the tea poured out into several cups. 

Faust: You’re not just here to apologize, Shylock. You were worried about the boy too, weren’t you? 

Shylock: My, perceptive aren’t you? 

The Bennet family is one family whose status slowly declined but… in that boy’s case, it seems something more dramatic has occurred. 

When Shylock raised his hand up, a delicate, colorful plate appeared. 

On top of it, colorful sablés appeared, overlapping with one another. He placed it on the table and sat down on the sofa. 

Shylock: When life changes, people usually adjust in stages. 

But… that boy didn’t seem used to his lifestyle at all. 

People rarely lose everything overnight. 

Murr: Also, we heard your story! The monster House Bernard sealed was the Valcy, right? 

That’s an extremely high-level monster, you know. You’d need a ton of spirit* to fight off something like that! 

Shino: Spirit? 

Faust: The key is a strong will. You’ll need it in most situations.

Arthur and Mitile: Spirit…

Akira: Wow, it suddenly became a matter of willpower. 

Faust: It makes sense. If one firmly believes that they are a servant of justice who must not give in to evil… 

By utilizing the correct strategies and affirming his will, he manipulated both his body and his mind to confront and overcome the Valcy. 

Shino: Cool. Faust, say that one more time, I wanna try too. 

Faust: You never listen seriously. I’m serious: if you fall prey to a Valcy without the right convictions, you’ll lose both your mind and your body. 

When that happens, you’ll become a blood-feeding monster, just like it. 

Akira: Ah…

My voice raises in horror at his words.

Murr, who was lounging in the air beside me, raised his index finger, and poked my temple. 

Murr: Valcy are famous for luring humans out with sweet scents and mysterious sounds before pouncing and sucking their blood. 

When that happens, the Valcy’s poison enters the body and the human is overcome with the urge to drink blood. 

Akira: People… drink other’s blood? 

Murr: Yep! It’s only a matter of time before the  extremely abnormal drives the victim mad. 

When that happens, the Valcy calls the victim back to its cocoon and sucks all their blood. That’s how it grows. 

Mitile: It keeps getting creepier and creepier… 

Shino: What a freaky story, it must’ve been some monster. 

Arthur: Even if it is a magical beast, the idea of attacking people and changing their very being… 

Akira: (To have your blood feasted on and even be cursed to become just like the monster that attacked you… the Valcy really are like the legendary Vampires of my world…) 

Shylock: After securing some history books, it became clear that is exactly the reason why the achievements of the Bernard Family’s former head are so glorious. 

For a legendary creature like the Valcy… to remain sealed to this day is no small feat. 

Murr: But no sealing technique can last forever. Maybe the secret passed down through the family heads is the key to maintaining it? 

Shino: A secret technique… like what? 

Murr: I dunno! But there are a lot of weird things about that town: The Valcy, the street attacks, and the wallet got fuller too! 

Everyone: …What?

Murr: When I got my wallet back from the boy, there was a little more inside! 

I wonder if his funds got mixed with mine when it dropped on the road? 

Akira: That’s terrible… we should go find him and give it back. 

Shylock: This must be causing him some trouble. 

Shino: That’s fine with me, I wanted to go back and get lemon pie anyways. 

Let’s ask him to show us his medals too, if you’re curious maybe you can even check on the seal while where there.

Arthur: I’d also like to accompany everyone. 

I’d love to hear more about him of course, but I’d also like to ask about the incidents. 

Murr: Yay~! We’re all going out again! 

Mitile: U-um… is it alright if I go too? 

Shino: Why? Do you also want lemon pie? 

Mitile: Well, there’s that too but… if his situation is like everyone says it is, like Shino’s was, then he may not be such a bad person right? 

I judged him too fast without knowing anything, but… if there’s something I can do to help him, then I’d like to do that! 

Shino: …Is that so? Then you come too. 

Mitile: Thank you! 

Arthur: Master Sage, I look forward to working with you! 

Akira: I am as well! It’s better to go as soon as we can so… 

Faust: Wait. 

Shino: What? 

Faust: If you’re planning on visiting that town and the boy’s mansion, you’ll need to prepare. 

Can you give me some time? 

Translator’s note: 

*気概 translates to will or fighting spirit, not to be confused with the magical spirits that allow wizards to cast magic. 

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[nemosisworld]

Mon cœur est si plein de joie

Qu’il trompe Nature.

Le frimas, qu’est-il pour moi ?

Blanche fleur, jaune, vermeille.

Plus il vente, plus il pleut

Plus je suis heureux.

Ma valeur grandit aussi

Et mon chant s’épure.

Mon cœur est tant amoureux

Tant pris de joie douce

Que gelée me semble fleur,

Et neige verdure.

Mon cœur est si plein de joie Qu’il trompe Nature. Le frimas, qu’est-il pour moi ? Blanche fleur, jaune, vermeille. Plus il vente, plus il pleut Plus je suis heureux. Ma valeur grandit aussi Et mon chant s’épure. Mon cœur est tant amoureux Tant pris de joie douce Que gelée me semble fleur, Et neige verdure.

Bernard de Ventadour

Ph Veronika Tumova