#cresset

[korgi]

Some NPC portraits for my players. The character, Bhrazhier, in the second portrait died two sessions ago unfortunately.

[littlencisthings]

Little NCIS Thing #1864

Lamar Cresset

[deepfivetraveller]

King Baldwin iv x Time!traveler!reader

chapter 2

Chapter 1 | chapter 3

You get up from your bed and sit on the floor cross-legged. “System, I have the ability to by clothes from you right? Can you show me a few of the clothes available at your store?”

Sadly Miss Y/n, when I meant you can buy clothes through me, I meant you can buy the fabrics only. It showed you a plethora of fabrics, ranging from cheap cotton to colourful silk.

Now this is annoying. You might have basic skills to stitch a button and all but making an entire dress from scratch? Yeah, that’s impossible. Not to mention tailoring machines don’t even exist. Now you have no choice but to buy from traders

When you began your mission the system gave you some money as an achievement for starting the main quest, which was more than enough to rent a room at the inn. But now that you have a place to sleep for some time you should probably start thinking about how to finish that small side quest you started.

After calculating the benefits and losses of the decision you’re about to make, you snap your fingers at the thrill of discovery and lean towards the screen. “System show me the food products you have available.” Within seconds it shows you all forms of food at the online shop. You scroll down a few times and find exactly what you’re looking for. Pepper, chilli powder, chat masala and many more spices were shown and you clicked buy,buy,buy on all of them. Considering the fact that most of the spices here weren’t even discovered in this timeline you have some faith that they will blow off in the market when you sell them.

I think I know what you’re gonna do to finish the side quest miss Y/n…

Last night

“Sadly this seems to be a bad time for you and your father to set up your shop madame.” The man held a cresset lamp, which illuminated the path while his wife helped you walk across.

“Why do you say so sir?” You’re confused. He seemed a bit hesitant to say this and signs his wife to reply.

“Many people in Jerusalem have been going sick. And it’s no ordinary sickness, no, people’s legs are getting swollen, they bleed at the slightest of injuries and the gums inside their mouth become tender to the point that their teeth start to fall off. Most doctors call it ‘The Barlow's disease’ or something along those lines but most of us just call it ‘The loosener of teeth’”

Yeesh that was a gruesome description. People here have less immunity as it is and something like this ain’t gonna help them much.

“Is it really that bad?” She nods a yes. “The sick have increased to a point where the king himself has taken notice. Although he has hired physicians from other lands to cure the sick, most of the people who have the sickness don’t have the money to visit them.” She sighs in defeat.

Wait a minute…Swollen gums? Falling teeth? Barlow's disease? You’ve studies about this before in history class, it’s scurvy! It affects people with a lack of Vitamin C in their diet that is, sailors and the poor. It can be cured simply by eating food which has the vitamin. A wave of relief washes you since you definitely won't be getting it.

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem anymore madame.” You smile softly while the screen shows a pop up.

Side quest unlocked! Cure all people in Jerusalem from Scurvy.

Present

The stall for your shop was quickly set up, partially because the last owner just left the shop as it is. Within some time, all the spices were neatly displayed. By looking at other shops it was easy to decorate your own and it’s safe to say, yours was the most organised. It was extravagant, but not extravagant enough to drive the common people away.

Good job Miss Y/n! I’ll help you in whatever way I can to make the mission easy for you. I’ll try my best to get a discount on the rates in my store so you won't have to spend too much money on this!

“Thank you screen, that’ll help a lot. Honestly I’m doing it mostly for the money I’ll get after completing the side quest.” You remark while the screen giggles with its emoticon mouth. “By the way, just refer to me as Y/n. Miss Y/n feels too formal. Talk to me casually! You’re the only person that connects me to my time anyway.” You dryly chuckle, looking at the containers sadly. Even now you’re mind is not able to comprehend the fact that you’re in the past. It’s still trying to convince you, you’re in a foreign rural village.

“Excuse me.” you look at the young girl standing in front of your shop. “Do you have any pepper available?” So cute! She has such chubby cheeks too!

But immediately you notice her teeth. They look like as if they are about to fall; multiple of them. Her gums are also swollen, indicating she has the disease. So that's why her cheeks are chubby! Now you feel kinda bad for thinking its cute. “Yes we do darling how much do you want?”

“About 2 Livre (pounds) please.” She waited as you wrapped it up for her. “Do you wish to pay with your money or win it for free in a contest?” She squints her eyes. “Contest?”

With a bright smile you say “Yes a contest! This contest is an eating contest that only the people with Barlow's disease can contest in.” You show her a plate filled with oranges. “If the person is able to eat these oranges before the hourglass stops the person gets whatever they wish to buy for free! Remember, the more you want to buy, the more amount of fruit you have to eat.” You point out. At first you were a bit worried whether the girl would openly admit she has the disease since it’s considered shameful to openly admit a person is sick, but considering how her mouth was watering when she looked at the oranges, it was quite easy to determine she’d do anything for free food.

“W-Well…” She lifts her skirt a bit to show her swollen legs. “I have the sickness. Can I contest? If so, will my name be revealed for having the sickness??” Oh my god her cuteness is crushing your heart! “Oh no dear, nobody’s name shall be revealed, winner or participant. Do you want to contest?”

The girl nods vigorously as you set up the hourglass. The moment you tell her to start, she shoves all the slices of oranges into her mouth, making her choke. You panic and tell her to spit it out but she ignores your pleas and swallows them all, making her oesophagus hurt from the pressure.

You shift your demeanour and hand the pepper over to her. “C-Congrats! You won the contest! You can have this for free.”

She however is in a state of shock. To get good quality food for free is a miracle, a gift from God really. 

“Did I…really win this?”

“Yes love you did! What you ate was quite a large amount too. Well done!” It wasn’t. You calculated time and time again this morning to get the orange slices proportional to the food they were buying in such a way that anyone with weak teeth could win it. You even used the son of the man and wife you met at first as a guinea pig, by making him eat them in the name of ‘A thank you gift.’ His sickness decreased drastically and his teeth became strong sometime after the meal, which was quite startling to see since you’ve never seen anyone recover that fast.

The little girl looked at you with doe eyes. “Can I contest again?”

“No love, a person gets only one chance per day. You can come tomorrow to try!”

“I will!” She squeaks. “I loved that fruit too. It’s flavour was unlike anything i’ve eaten, being sweet and tangy at the same time.” Damn it's hard to believe she was even able to taste it after seeing the way she shoved it in her mouth. “I’ll come again tomorrow to try nice lady!”

“Spread a good word for me!” You yell as she waves goodbye. It didn’t take much time for your shop to go popular.You told about this contest to anyone who entered your shop. Many were disgusted at the fact the sick have come here but others saw this as an opportunity to get free food. The sick came to you in disguise at first but within the span of four days they didn’t even hide  their sickness anymore. People started viewing your shop as a clinic at some point, an they started lining up, some even carrying family members who’ve lost their ability to walk.

It got to the point where all of this was happening at a loss, so the best course of action was to sell the oranges to other fruit traders. It not only gave you a huge profit but also made sure the cure was spread to all corners of Jerusalem. Your oranges were rumoured to be ‘The miracle cure’ so they sold out of shops within seconds. The poor still came to you for the free ones but the rich considered it a luxury product due to its high rates at shops. Funny how these were the same people who were disgusted at your idea at first.

Within one and a half months the sick decreased drastically. Your name became popular which worried you alot since you’re probably under the radar of assassins or someone more dangerous. Your quest too was finished, and the system gave you a heep of money which was enough to buy a moderately big home. While people were being cured, your anxiety surged more and more. You were certain your life was under a threat.

One faithful day while you were instructing the new employees on how to take care of the shop, the crowd became silent. They made way for a bunch of men on horses. It was the crusaders.

Everyone including you bowed slightly as they made an announcement.

“Madame Y/n, the king has noticed your efforts on eradicating the Barlow's disease. He has decided to meet you at the royal court to thank you properly. We shall be heading there NOW.” Two guards came up to you and dragged you inside a carriage like vehicle, which was poorly made.

This wasn’t an invitation to give you rewards. The KING himself has decided you’re a witch and has demanded your presence in court, to decide how to execute you.

[deluxewhump]

Pride of Princes

A story in the Blackmuir Reign Verse

2: the cell

CW: imprisonment, torture mention, fantasy religious persecution, threat of execution, royal caretaker

Prev

Robb Muirdwele was a prison guard for castle Blackmuir. He was not kingsguard, nor was he a knight as he’d once naively dreamed of. But guarding the cells below the castle was an easier job than others he’d had, and he was grateful for the relative shelter the stone walls provided, and the generous meal they were given once a day, as all staff and servants inside the castle were.

But there were drawbacks. For one, it was dark and damp, and even in high summer he had a cough he could not shake. For another, there was the new prisoner. Robb now had to be on his toes at all times because of unusual visitors to the cells, including clerics and more than a few knights. Not only that, but there were the awful sounds that accompanied these visits to the new prisoner. They were torturing him, that much was clear. Robb wondered what it was he’d done to elicit such ire from men of the Tercet and knights and soldiers of the king. The prisoner never said. He never said anything to Robb, or any other of his ordinary guards. He never begged for an audience with the King, or something to write with, or tried to bribe them with desperate promises of money and favor. He cried out and screamed during the torture, of course, but that was all.

When Prince Aedric came to the cells, Robb thought this prisoner must have really done something extraordinarily offensive to House Blackmuir. He bowed his head hastily to the prince, and let him inside the cell.

“Light,” he requested, and Robb lit the cressets. When he’d provided the prince with all the light the cell was designed to provide, he stood just inside the door and watched with his hands folded in front of him dutifully, his back straight. He’d never been this close to a Blackmuir, and only seen the king once. Aedric was the eldest son and heir, with pale brown hair and sharp, straight features that made his face both unforgettable and striking. He wore a doublet of black lined in silver, Blackmuir colors, and a knife at his belt. He’d brought two soldiers with him, but instructed them to wait at the entrance door ten yards down the corridor. They did so silently.

Robb watched as the prince approached the prisoner, his fine boots making soft chuffs on the stone. The prisoner lifted his head slowly, fearful and bleary. The last visit involved a cleric again, and he’d had him beaten before they’d even exchanged words.

The prisoner stiffened at this new presence and flattened as tight as he could against the cell wall. The prince squatted to sit on his heels before him.

“Lord Barrowfen?”

So that was his name. Not that it mattered to Robb. Sometimes he knew their names, sometimes he did not. It wasn’t his job to know them, only to guard them and keep them alive.

“Are you alright?”

The prisoner lifted his head. One eye was swollen to near shut, and he had caked blood that had dried from his nose to his upper lip. He held his arms protectively over his torso, which Robb knew was likely deeply bruised, if not riddled with breaks. The knights or soldiers did the hurting. The cleric only ever watched, holding his white robes an inch off the floor so they would not be dirtied.

“Will you not answer?”

The prisoner spat in his face. Robb flinched.

Incredibly, the prince did not retaliate, but lifted his sleeve to wipe his cheek. “I would feel the same,” he said wryly. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt. That was not on my orders, Lord Barrowfen. I want you to know that, because I’m trying to help you.”

“I’m not a lord in here,” said the prisoner. Robb strained to hear. “I belong to the gods. Not to my father’s new pretender gods. Nor yours.” The prisoner coughed and winced, giving an involuntary whimper at the pain it caused him to do so.

The prince turned. “Did you do this?”

“No, your highness,” blurted Robb. He’d forgotten the word royal. It was your royal highness for a prince, and then ‘sire’ thereafter. He licked his lips nervously. Why did the prince not know this was done by the king’s own men? Under supervision of the clerics? It didn’t matter. His job was to answer a Blackmuir’s questions.

“Who then?”

“Soldiers, sire. His Grace’s knights.”

“What about the clerics?”

“Yes, sire. They are present for it.”

The prince turned back to the prisoner. “Roan,” he said gently, almost beseechingly. “May I call you Roan, then?”

The prisoner looked at him guardedly. He blinked, something like a wince. Perhaps it hurt to shrug.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m going to send a healer down to you.”

The prisoner was caught off guard, if only for a moment. His look of naked hope turned to one of distrust. “One of the king’s healers?”

Robb could only see the back of the prince’s head, but he tilted it slightly at that. “I’ll come with him. I’ll watch him.”

“It won’t matter. They’re not going to stop,” said the prisoner. “They want me to recant.”

“Will you?”

The prisoner’s eyes grew bright as if wet, and he looked away toward the dark corner of his cell. “No.”

The prince moved from a squatting to sitting, letting his fine clothes contact the cell floor.

“Get us water,” he said over his shoulder. Robb turned to fetch it, wondering if it was for the prince or the prisoner. When he returned, the prince held out his arm to receive the cup without turning around. He dipped a kerchief into the water, and motioned toward the blood on the prisoner's face. Robb watched as the prisoner allowed the prince to blot the kerchief against his upper lip until the blood came off. When he was done, he offered the prisoner the rest of the water. He lifted one hand gingerly from his ribs to take it.

“But would it not be surrendering to go through with the arrangement?” the prisoner asked. Robb understood he had missed a piece of their conversation when he’d gone for the water. “Would I not still be capitulating?”

“Not to me,” said the prince, with his knees drawn up and his forearms draped over them casually, as if he were picnicking on a green hill and not sitting on the floor of the dungeons. “You can keep your gods, as far as I’m concerned. I’ll build you a shrine.”

“My gods have no need of a shrine.”

“Whatever it is they need, then. Whatever you need. You’ll have it, but we have to say the vows. I can protect you much more effectively if you are my peaceweaver.”

“Why would you protect me?”

“You’re betrothed to me. Why wouldn’t I? ”

“They won’t let me out without a recantation. They’re going to do worse, and then there will be a trial, and then they’ll kill me.”

The prince nodded. “It seems so, at the moment. Do you know how?”

“How they’ll kill me?”

There was silence before the prince spoke again.

“Treason is usually resolved with burning at the stake.”

The prisoner dropped his eyes.

“I don’t tell you that to be cruel. I’m trying to find an answer, but I think you might need to be that answer for yourself. Will you work with me?”

“I won’t accept the Tercet,” said the prisoner. His voice trembled slightly. “And I’m not afraid.”

The prince hung his head, and then brought it back up again. “Don’t do it out of fear, then. Find something else.”

In the firelight, Robb could see the prisoner’s eyes well up again. He grit his teeth and hugged his arms over his abdomen, looking over the prince’s shoulder at the wall of his cell. He was resolute. At length, the prince climbed to his feet.

“I’m still bringing a healer,” he said as he walked out of the cell. Robb shut the wooden door and fastened its iron bolt with the prisoner inside.

Next

[ramlightly]

Hello I am back with various fire-related words. I looked for a bunch of different categories, but my personal favorites are Cremain (remains of cremation), Cresset (container for heating oil), and Mags as a short form of Magma. Cenerentola, Cendrillon, and Aschenputtel are Italian, French, and German names for Cinderella that denote cinders. Hearth, Kiln, Lantern, Candelabrum, Chandelier, Sconce, Beacon, Lantern, Angithi, and Girandole are all vessels for fire, and Girandole can be a display.

And crucible! Also fun for metaphorical forging implications :) I’m sending these as asks because it would be a looong post. I also had Cannel and Candle on the list. Bitumen, Binchotan, Ogatan, and Lignite are all kinds of coal. Ash and Asher are names on their own but also short for Ashley; Char (Charcoal, Charlotte, Charles, Charlemaigne), Corrie (Coruscate), Abby (Ablaze), Molly/Mols (Immolate/Smolder), Connie (Conflagration), Burn (Berenice, also a Poe character!), Torrie (Torch) “Alkali” comes from a wort relating to ash. Anthracite is a type of coal. For general fire base words I have Smoke, Ember, Spark, Sear, Scald, Incinerate, Ignite, Scorch, Singe, Sizzle, Blaze, Incendiary, Flare, and Combust. Coal, Slag, Joss, Culm (and Smut), are all residue from fires. Pyrolysis is the process of breaking things down with fire. Some igneous (formed directly from magma) rocks include Obsidian, Pumice, Gabbro, and Tuff. Ceramics are also made by firing. Last one! Stoke and Bank pertain to tending to a fire, and Stoker is also a surname (Bram…). Scintilla and Spangle both refer to small bright things, like sparks. Finally, Collier refers to people or ships who carry coals. “Carry coals” also used to mean “bear an insult” (Romeo and Juliet, 1.i, for example) because the job was viewed as demeaning. Wooo thanks for the word yelling opportunity.

Goodness!!! These are all really fun and well though-out, thank you! I'll post this publicly for other people as well.

[uwmspeccoll]

Shakespeare Weekend

"Torment of the boot" from Two Gentlemen of Verona.

Examples of face mufflers from Merry Wives of Windsor.

Types of carcans referenced in Measure for Measure.

Depiction of a bride bed.

Illustrations of "making the fig" from King Henry V.

The Illustrations of Shakespeare, and of ancient manners: with dissertations on the clowns and fools of Shakespeare by British antiquary and museum curator Francis Douce (1757-1834) was published in 1807 in two volumes by Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme in London. Quoting Shakespeare scholar George Steevens “if Shakespeare is worth reading, he is worth explaining,” Douce set out to collocate and clarify not only previous editorial notes on Shakespeare, but also words and customs he declared had been previously “partially and imperfectly” illustrated. His intention to write the perfect Shakespeare reference companion was shadowed at the time by his petty criticisms and curiosities, however, it was still an influential work of criticism.  

Unlike previous critical publications, Douce did not include Shakespeare's full plays within his edition, but rather cited notes primarily from Steevens's earlier editions. Douce’s writings are accompanied by woodcut engravings by British artist John Berryman (1778-1840). Berryman produced the engravings from Douce’s own collection of prints to hammer home his point of view and visually expand upon definitions including cressets, carcans, and bird-bolts in Volume One.

View more Shakespeare Weekend posts. 

-Jenna, Special Collections Graduate Intern 

[lov3-lik3-ghosts]

Another extract from my depraved!Severus x Poly!Marauders. This one’s set before the last, the masterpiece is coming along in misplaced pieces!

I hope to get it done soon enough! Enjoy for now though!!

Depravity Extract;Part One

Lupin tugged him quickly form Sirius’ weakening grip and threw Severus’ arm over his shoulders while hauling him into his side with a muscled arm wrapped securely around his waist. The fog cottoning his conception continued to lift in slight, enough that he could register his head placed into Remus’ neck and his ancestry painting the werewolves formerly pristine uniform and tan skin.

“S’rry.” He slurred and grunted through the the increase in pulsation encasing his face it caused. Lupin didn’t respond, only moving faster through the obscured passageway with his friends scuttling ahead.

Remus lugged him along him along for at least another two minutes before he felt strong enough to walk for himself, and foregoing the inane need to stick his head further into his throat, Severus pulled himself from the boy with shaky legs. Still, Remus forced him in front of himself with a grip on his hipbones that had Snape bambi-legged for a whole new reason, and muttered a refusal of letting him fall behind so gruff his brain lagged with a sense of attraction.

James stopped, the tip of his wand steadily orbing out, leaving Sirius’ to be the only source of light, before murmuring a spell under his breath that sent a minuscule fiery ball soaring into a cresset. Flames erupted in the metal plate as the three caught up, Black’s Lumos dying out with a flicker as he moved to place the stick in the back of his waistband.

[lorei-writes]

After Hours

Chevalier x Esther (OC Chart: Esther) Fluff ~400 words Chevlebration Day #6: Heart / Weakness

Something soothing after yesterday's angst :')

Content Warnings: none

“Chevalier?” Esther’s voice is like the last of a fading echo, hesitant and almost unreliable as it dissipates. Her brows knit together. “How much longer do you plan to spend here?” Until it is done. “I’ll finish soon.” “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

The pen nib scrapes against the paper, ink running dangerously dry. Chevalier will need to refill it soon, however, a “soon” is a term yet to be defined. For now, he can continue working. He can answer his correspondence, sign permits, cross out any errors in the submitted drafts awaiting his approval�� He can read, and read, and read he does until the door to the office creaks open and another spout of light ripples the dim shallows bordering the dark. Perhaps startled, the fountain pen stills in his hand. He does not need to look — the sound of her steps alone is enough.

“Chevalier?” Esther’s voice is like the last of a fading echo, hesitant and almost unreliable as it dissipates. Her brows knit together. “How much longer do you plan to spend here?”

Until it is done. “I’ll finish soon.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

He does not say anything, nevertheless conveying all that was necessary. Black storm roaring within glass bounds, the ink pot is pushed aside to make room for a newly arrived cresset, the wick a lighthouse and a cliff above oil sea. Esther has crossed the room already. Warm as spring chasing off last winter frost, her hands cup his face, her thumb brushing just below the corner of his eye to urge him to look at her. He does just that; dressed only in a thin shirt and a skirt hastily thrown over a chemise, Esther studies him, reads between his silent claims. Her frown deepens and her lips purse to then form a small pout.

“Then at least rest your eyes for a moment,” she whispers out a wish. His arms draw her forward by the waist — Esther understands or is willing to learn how to. A button comes undone as she straddles his lap, more following suit, all notion of what is and is not appropriate forgotten when her shirt opens and he leans into her, buries his face in her shoulder. A shallow sigh spills from Chevalier’s lips, drips down her midriff, soaks through the thin linen chemise-dam standing in its way.

Esther reaches for the documents.

His shoulders grow stiffer, almost as rigid as stone.

“It’s fine. Just… rest for a moment and let me do what I can.”

Perhaps he’s grown weak, but he does not resist. Not when she’s the one to ask.

Various Works: Esther x Chevalier

You've seen a typo? Let me know!

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[hanzajesthanza]

Hii i have a question abt tlol u mihht know thr answer to. ❤️

While geralt and ciri fight their enemies on the stygga castle, geralt tells ciri several times yen wants to look at the sky. (If i temember correctly it was yen) Why?? Its so random? Does it have a hidden meaning? Does it refer to vilgefortz quote 'You Mistake Stars Reflected In A Pond For The Night Sky' ?

i can’t be certain that it’s not a reference to something elsewhere in literature, but i just interpret it as an expression of weariness and exhaustion. as geralt’s emotions are described:

He didn’t feel anger, resentment or hatred. He felt only weariness. And a huge desire to be done with all of it. (…)

as geralt learns from ciri, by a shake of her head, the rest of his company (cahir and angouleme) also did not survive. so he realizes all of his friends were lost. and that there is nothing left for them here.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he repeated.

‘Yes,’ said Yennefer. ‘I want to see the sky.’

‘I’ll never leave you both,’ Ciri said softly. ‘Never.’

* funny mistake here - in the official english translation, it was printed that yennefer says “I want see the sky” :’)

so they go to leave:

In front of them was a stairway, a great stairway drowning in smoke, in the twinkling glow of torches and fire in iron cressets. Ciri shuddered. She had seen that stairway before. In dreams and visions.

Down below, far away, armed men were waiting.

‘I’m tired,’ she whispered.

‘Me too,’ admitted Geralt, drawing the sihill.

‘I’ve had enough of killing.’

‘Me too.’

‘Is there no other way out?’

No. There isn’t. Only this stairway. We must, girl. Yen wants to see the sky. And I want to see the sky, Yen and you.

they want to get out of stygga castle, but between them and escaping it is one final battle, for at the end of the staircase they see stefan skellen and his men, who they know they will have to kill in order to leave from here.

they are tired, they are wretched after having killed so much. the moral weight of killing is a huge theme in the witcher, and here is no exception - it’s not glorified that the heroes brandish their swords, the heroes feel the weight of them.

they don’t want to kill anymore. but they have to, in order to get out of the place where they killed.

it’s like ‘the only way out is through.’

“seeing the sky” = an end to this episode, freedom from this place of killing and death, escape from this black citadel, return to life

why the sky?

a significant reminder here is that they cannot see the sky from within stygga castle. for it had no windows (which was mentioned in chapter 2, but likely ceases to be present in the mind by the time you get to chapter 9). but essentially, it’s dark in that stone castle, hewn from rock:

The tapestry measured about five foot by seven and its tassels rested on the floor. It showed a rocky cliff over a tarn, and a castle carved into the cliff, which seemed to be part of the rock wall.

The castle didn’t have any windows through which she could see the surrounding terrain, or even the sun to try to orient herself.

(what a horrible place, as percieved by our human heliophilia!)

i think generally, darkness/light symbolism (or cave/sky symbolism… hi plato) is very ancient, even primal, even biological.

another analogy might be finishing a work shift at a retail store where you’ve been under flourescent lights for eight hours, and now want to leave this infernal place and finally see the sky above. there’s a feeling of exhaustion, horror, nausea whenever you’ve been separated from the sky for so long

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): Before His Birth, His Birth and His Childhood

Extraordinary Events that Took Place When the Prophet was Born

The greatest event in the universe, for sure, is the birth of Prophet Mohammad, the Lord of the Universe.

This is because he is the seed of the tree of creation. If Allah had not willed his birth, there would neither be universe nor human beings now. Therefore, the door to the world of testing would not be opened. “If one looks at this great universe as if it were a book, the divine light of Prophet (pbuh) will be the ink of the pen of that book’s writer. If one considers this great universe as if it were a family tree, the divine light of Muhammad will be both its seed and fruit. If one considers the world a great living being, this divine light will be its spirit. If one considers it an enormous human being, that divine light will be its wit.” 

This is mystery to which the hadith “But for you, the dearest, I would not have created the skies (the universe)” indicates.

Moreover, Hazrat Muhammad’s prophethood is not particular to a specific community, but general and universal. Accordingly, some miraculous events would certainly occur when he honored the world with his arrival. And these events would make intelligent and sagacious people think.

During the birth of the Prophet Muhammad, the following miraculous events occurred:

A star was born at the night he was born

There were many scholars amongst Jews. They deduced from their books that the Messenger of Allah would come. They were expert in making conclusions from the movements of stars. At the night the Prophet was born, a star shone in the sky and Jewish scholars understood that the last Prophet was born.

Famous poet of the Prophet, Hassan bin Thabit describes it as follows:

“I was about eight years old. One morning a Jewish man was running crying out ‘Hey Jews!’ Jews gathered around the man saying ‘What is it? Why are you shouting?’ The man was crying out:

‘Let me give this news to you, Ahmad’s star was born tonight. Ahmad was born tonight.” 

The following is narrated by Ibn al-Sa’d regarding the issue:

“There was a Jewish man living in Mecca. In the morning after the night the Messenger of Allah was born, he went and stood in front of the people of Quraish and asked: “Was a baby boy born tonight in your tribe?” People of Quraish answered: We do not know. Upon this answer, he continued his speech: “Go, search and seek; the prophet of this community was born tonight. He has got a sign on his back.”

People of Quraish went and made a search. They came to the Jewish man and gave the news: “Abdullah had a son tonight; he has got a sign on his back.”

The Jewish man went and saw the seal of prophethood. And he cried out as if he had lost his mind:

“Prophethood is not with Israelites anymore. The people of Quraish will be bestowed with such a great fame that it will be heard everywhere from east to west.” 

The sky was celebrating the birth of the Great Prophet with cressets of stars shining brightly.

Fourteen towers of Kisra’s Palace in the city of Madayin fell down

It was the night the Lord of the Universe was born. The clock struck the hour he was born.

The city of Madayin, which was in a deep sleep, woke up with a terrible crackling noise. The scene was terrifying and hectic. Fourteen towers of the Sovereignty Palace, which were so firm, had crackled and fallen down.

Kisra, who spent the night in fear, called religious leaders of the country for a meeting as soon as the morning broke. They would discuss about what happened that night in the meeting.

Kisra sat in his throne with his crown on. No sooner had they started the meeting than a man on horseback, running at a full gallop brought a letter. In the letter, it was written that the fires which had been burning brightly for thousands of years in Istahrabad died out.

This news added to Kisra’s fear and excitement.

At that time, Iran’s head qadi (judge), Mubezan, took the floor and told them a dream he had: “I saw that hundreds of roaring camels, with rearing Arabian horses before them, swam across the River Tigris and spread into the lands of Iran.”

Kisra found this dream of honest, knowledgeable and just Mubezan very meaningful. He grew nervous to the utmost. He wanted to solve this puzzle. He asked Mubezan, whose knowledge and wisdom he trusted: “Then, what does it mean?”

The head qadi’s answer was short and yet succinct: “It means that something very important will happen on the Arabian side.”

Upon this, Kisra wrote a letter to Numan bin Munzir, the governer of Hira. In the letter, he said ‘If there is anyone from the scholars there who are knowledgeable enough to answer my questions, send him here right away!”

Having received the letter, Numan understood the seriousness of the issue and sent a scholar named Abdul-Masih bin Amr to Madayin right away.

The ruler gave audience to the scholar right away. After telling the scholar what happened, Kisra asked him to explain them.

Abdul-Masih told him that he could not give information to Kisra about what happened and he added: “My uncle Satih, who lives near Damascus, has got enough knowledge to answer them.”

Upon this, Kisra assigned Abdul Masih to go and get information about the events from Satih.

Famous prognosticator of Damascus, Satih, was a freak of nature, his body being boneless and having almost no organs, his face being on his chest, and he was very old. He would lie on his back all the time. When he was called to a place, they would fold him like a packet. The news of the unknown and unseen he said was true and he was very popular with people of the time.

Abdul Masih covering a long, hard way, he arrived in his uncle Satih’s. Satih was living the last days of his life. He was suffering severely from a serious illness. The severity of the illness left him no strength to speak and he could neither salute him nor speak.

However, when Abdul Masih told him what happened, he suddenly changed. Satih, who was in throes of death in his bed, opened his eyes and started to cry out in excitement as if he was at the door of life and not of the grave: “O Abdul Masih! Divine revelation will be read more. The owner of the baton has been sent as a prophet. The Valley of Samawa had been flooded. The fire of the Persians has died out. And Damascus is not Damascus anymore for Satih. Keep in mind that the Unique Judge who can rule the time willed this and He tied up the both ends of the rope of prophethood.” He took a deep breath and added: “As many as the number of the towers that fell down, Rulers will come out from the Sasanids and then the promise will be realized.” 

Those words were the last words Satih spoke; as if he had waited to put this truth into words before dying. As soon as he finished speaking, he closed his eyes and submitted his soul to Allah.

Famous prognosticator Satih heralded the birth of The Last Prophet clearly with those words.

This event, which nothing like it was ever seen before, indicated that the sovereignty of Persia which was writhing in four dark beliefs of Mazdaism would be swept away by the undying light which the prominent person who was born that night brought with himself. As a matter of fact; history witnessed it and what Satih foresaw occurred: the State of Persia was included into the lands of Islam by the Prophet’s army is Qadisiyya, after the sovereignty of fourteen rulers which lasted for 67 years.

Most of the idols, which covered the Qaaba with darkness and filthiness, broke and fell down

The idolaters of Quraish had covered the Qaaba with darkness of idols, which once was the place where Allah’s oneness had become an honored symbol for the first time. However, these idols which were clinched with lead, could not stand before the greatness of the birth of Great Prophet, the representative of the creed of Tawhid (Allah’s Oneness) and fell down.

This had an important meaning: The person who was just born would sweep away the idolatry as the duty assigned to him required. The creed of Tawhid, so pure and blissful, would bloom in peoples’ hearts.

The world witnessed it. The Honorable Prophet set the Qaaba free from those lifeless idols and also replaced the idols in hearts by the faith of Islam.

Enormous fire of Zoroastrians which had been burning for thousands of years in Istihrabad suddenly died out

Zoroastrians regarded that fire as their god. Upon the birth of the Prophet, that enormous fire died out like a simple fire killed by flood from the ocean.

That is to say; the person who was just born would sweep away Zoroastrianism, like Idolatry, too in a short time and would light up the earth with the cresset of Tawhid.

The famous Lake of Sawa (Tabariyya), which was deemed holy, dried up all of a sudden

It also indicated that the person who was just born would prohibit glorifying the things which Allah does not allow.

A divine light, which lit up the east and the west as if they had been a small room, was observed at the time of his birth

It meant that the religion which would be conveyed by the person who was just born would embrace the east and the west and would train and educate one fifth of humankind affectionately.

The Valley of Samawa disappeared under the floods

It was the night The Great Prophet was born.

Floods covered the Valley of Samawa and the city of Samawa. The people of the city sought refuge by climbing up the hills and mountains in horror. Then they wrote a letter to Kisra, explaining the situation, and asked for food and drink from him.

Stars fell down from the sky

Stars fell down from the sky like the leaves in autumn at the night the Prophet was born. 

That event indicated that the devil and the jinn would not be able to take information from the sky anymore. “As The Messenger was born with revelation, of course it was necessary to hinder prognosticators and the jinn who gave superficial information mixed with lies so that they would not mix doubts into revelation. Yes, prognostication was very wide-spread before the prophet. After the Quran was sent, it gave an end to them. Moreover, many prognosticators became believers, because they could not find their informants from the jinn anymore”. 

Of course, it was not coincidental that those events which had not been seen before occurred at the time the Prophet was born. They occurred with the will of the Eternal Might and heralded the world about the birth of the Last Prophet, Hazrat Muhammad (pbuh).

[ekaarts]

RWBY fanfiction recommendation

On the anniversary of her mother's death, 12-year-old Ruby Rose is distraught that she can't visit her grave due to the recent mass of grimm population in the area. However, she decides she's good enough of a fighter to make the trip.

As it turns out, she's not.

Yang can't accept the truth, that her sister is now gone. No one could make her believe Ruby is no longer out there, not even Qrow, who only found her battered cloac, blood in disturbing amounts, and a broken Cresset Rose.

Meanwhile, in Vale, a certain criminal by the name of Roman Torchwick was convinced by his partner in crime to take in an ingured child. The child not remembering who she is was just another twist for their week. Though the biggest twist for him is how much he may end up caring for a random stray.

The story is in really early stages as of now. When writing this, we're on chapter 6, and we just had a few chapters for setting up for the future.

The archive warnings only include graphic depictions of violence and major character deaths, but in the tags you can also find suicide attempts, so I guess the story is about to take a darker turn in the future.

But it also changes Weiss' and Blake's backstories as well. So far, Blake's is more prominent, but I adore Weiss' so much that I actually want to use the base idea in a fanfiction I may potentially write.

Uhm, once again, I LOVE the trope of Ruby joining Torchwick, so any recommendations are welcome.

Lines that live in my head rent free, for better or worse:

“Now could you two explain to me why you’re pretending to be the parents of this young girl?”

“Doctor I have no idea what you’re saying! How could you think that two loving parents such as ourselves could be fakes?”

“Don’t give me that Roman Torchwick. Even out here we know of someone like you.”

After about 2 hours of Roman finding rose petals in the strangest places the girls returned home with a few bags of clothes.

“Also Red you don’t have to call me Mr.Torchwick, Roman is fine”

“Okay, Roman…Gah! That feels weird” She stuck her tongue out as she finished her sentence which caused Neo to smile a bit.

[faerunsbest]

Zevlor is definitely the type of husband to buy the lavender le cresset set and find a matching mixer solely because his partner said it was a pretty color

He would decorate the kitchen around it. The whole damn kitchen because while he doesn't care too much about appearances, he loves how excited tav gets to see the place looks with a little pomp and frill.

The whole place is just him doing his best to make tav happy about coming home.

He does like a good knife set though, sharpens them himself.

[reasoningdaily]

Trump found guilty: Stock markets slide, read investor reaction

https://www.reuters.com/legal/view-jury-finds-trump-guilty-all-counts-hush-money-trial-2024-05-30/

NEW YORK, May 30 (Reuters) - Donald Trump became the first U.S. president to be convicted of a crime on Thursday when a New York jury found him guilty of falsifying documents to cover up a payment to silence a porn star ahead of the 2016 election.

After deliberations over two days, the 12-member jury announced it had found Trump guilty on all 34 counts he faced. Unanimity was required for any verdict.

The verdict, which came back after the close of the U.S. stock market, plunges the United States into unexplored territory ahead of the Nov. 5 presidential election, when Trump, the Republican candidate, will try to win the White House back from Democratic President Joe Biden.

Shares in Trump Media & Technology Group (DJT.O), opens new tab

, parent of the former president's social media site Truth Social, fell 14% after the verdict.

TOM HAYES, CHAIRMAN, GREAT HILL CAPITAL, NEW YORK

“I think the next step will likely be an appeal. And if he appeals that would get pushed out past the election. So ultimately, the risk is that the rest of the world views this as a political prisoner, which undermines our legal and economic system."

"If the world starts to view it that the last bastion of democracy, free markets, fair legal system, is perceived to be tainted, you could start to see a shift in capital flows. We’ve been a major beneficiary of equity flows and demand for our Treasuries.”

BILL STRAZZULLO, CHIEF MARKETS STRATEGIST, BELL CURVE TRADING, BOSTON

“What I think ... is that the biggest threat to the economy, markets and democracy is Trump. He gets more and more unhinged every day and the fact that he’s convicted on all counts, I assume, will resonate with some people.

"The election will more than likely be a close election because we have a divided country. He has done everything he can to circumvent these various charges. For the American people, there’s no excuse. He’s a convicted felon. Period. End of story. If this is the guy you want in the White House, shame on you and shame on us as a country . . . The fact that today is a serious blow to his reelection chances is a big deal.”

JACK ABLIN, CHIEF INVESTMENT OFFICER, CRESSET CAPITAL, CHICAGO

“I don’t think there will be a lot of impact.”

“The market will just digest it and move on.”

“We likely know most of (Trump and Biden's) thoughts on economic policy and other crucial questions. Certainly, both seem to agree on running large deficits.”

Ablin said that even looking past the November election date, market volatility – as reflected in options pricing – remains low.

KEITH LERNER, CO-CHIEF INVESTMENT OFFICER, TRUIST ADVISORY SERVICES, ATLANTA

“There was a lot of uncertainty about the election before this. This adds to some of the uncertainty going forward, but in the interim is probably not going to be a significant market mover, and the market right now is relatively flat reacting to this news.”

JAMIE COX, MANAGING PARTNER, HARRIS FINANCIAL, RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

“I don’t know if it has any effect on markets necessarily. But it certainly has an effect on the recently-IPOed DJT. It’s market-moving news for that. The market has already discounted a guilty conviction in the hush money case because it was widely believed to be more of a side show. I think it would have been much more news for the market had he been not convicted. But at this particular moment, markets have been down all week for other reasons, specifically about inflation. That’s what markets is concerned with and not the theater of the trial of a former president.”

PETER CARDILLO, CHIEF MARKET ECONOMIST, SPARTAN CAPITAL SECURITIES, NEW YORK

“I don’t think it means much to the markets, what matters tomorrow is the PCE report. As we get closer to the election it could make a difference.”

“What does this mean going forward? We’ll have to wait and see if the Republicans even nominate him. Now that (Trump has) been found guilty there’s a good possibility that they’ll have a change of heart.”

“But regarding tomorrow, PCE will dominate the market action.”

Jumpstart your morning with the latest legal news delivered straight to your inbox from The Daily Docket newsletter. Sign up here.

Compiled by the Global Finance & Markets Breaking News team

[bforbetterthanyou]

Edward Hall, in his “Chronicle”, describes how on the evening of Shrove Tuesday at York Place, Cardinal Wolsey, the King and ambassadors enjoyed a supper followed by a pageant in the great chamber, which was richly decorated with arras and torches. At the end of the chamber was a castle with towers decorated with banners, one showing three “rent hartes” (torn hearts), another showing “a ladies hand gripyng a mans harte” and the third showing “a ladies hand turnyng a mannes hart” upside down. One of the towers had a cresset burning and in the castle were musicians, hidden from sight, and eight ladies visible in the towers. These ladies, dressed in white satin, were Beauty, Honour, Perseverance, Kindness, Constance, Bounty, Mercy and Pity, the virtues held high in chivalric tradition. The King’s sister, Mary Tudor Queen of France, played Beauty, the Countess of Devonshire played Honour, Jane Parker (later Boleyn) played Constancy, Mary Boleyn played Kindness and Anne Boleyn played Perseverance. Hall describes how each lady had her name (or virtue) embroidered on her dress in gold, and how they wore cauls and gold Milan bonnets decorated with jewels.

Hall goes on to describe how these women, or virtues or graces, were guarded by eight women dressed as Indian women who were named “Danger, Disdain, Gelousie, Vnkyndenes, Scorne, Malebouche, Straitngenes” or Danger, Disdain, Jealousy, Unkindness, Scorn, Malebouche (evil tongue/mouth or Sharp Tongue) and Strangeness, which Eric Ives takes to mean “Off-handedness”. Suddenly, eight lords dressed in cloth of gold caps and blue satin cloaks entered the chamber “led by one all in crimosin sattin with burnyng flames of gold, called Ardent Desire”. These men were named “Amorus, Noblenes, Youth, Attendance, Loyaltie, Pleasure, Gentlenes, and Libertie” and the kyng was chief of this compaignie”. Ardent Desire then asked the ladies, the virtues, to come down from their towers, but Scorn and Disdain told him that “they would holde the place”, so the men attacked the castle throwing dates, oranges “and other fruites made for pleasure” at it. The ladies defended the castle with rose water and “comfittes” or sweetmeats and although Lady Scorn and her company tried to defend themselves with “boows and balles”, they were forced to flee and the lords took the “ladies of honor as prisoners by the handes” and led them out of the castle to dance. The lords and ladies then unmasked themselves and went on to enjoy a rich banquet with those who had watched the Château Vert pageant.

—Claire Ridgeway talking about the Château Vert pageant on 4 March 1522*, On This Day in Tudor History

*Ridgeway dates the pageant to 1 March, but most other sources date it to 4 March. I think the confusion comes from mixing up the more general Shrovetide celebrations and Shrove Tuesday. Shrovetide (the name for the entirety of the Shrove celebrations) began on 1 March, whereas the Château Vert pageant happened on Shrove Tuesday which was 4 March.

[darkpoisonouslove]

For the fic ask!

🤩a WIP snippet about or with dialogue from Valtor

😔published lines or a section of a fic that was super sad, angsty, or difficult to write?

🤩a WIP snippet about or with dialogue from Valtor

Well, I swore I'd never post this and now here I am. *sigh* This WiP has given me perpetual brainrot and I am weak.

Betrayal. It was all that was left in her world. One after another, her life had turned into a series of betrayals. Her crown had betrayed her with the promise of power it did not hold. Her husband had betrayed her for another woman. Her own dignity and self-control had betrayed her to a sight she’d confidently refused to dread.

“And to think the only thing I had to do to make my wife enjoy herself was sit her in a chair where she could watch me fuck the woman I love,” Valtor’s voice made it through all the raw sexual energy suffocating the room.

There was that word again. Love. That was what Valtor had told her. His commitment to her meant nothing all because the royal librarian had stolen his heart. Amongst other things. He might have given Samara a ring and a crown but he’d given his love to Griffin. Amongst other things.

“Excuse me?” Her nails dug in the expensive silk of her dress.

It was no matter. He’d buy her another one if she tore it to shreds. He’d buy her anything – fabrics and jewels finer than the librarian had ever seen in her life. Not that she needed clothes or trinkets when she had his lust and his heart.

Samara didn’t need replacements either. A tasteless affair would never leave visible traces on her appearance.

“Your thighs are squeezed together, your breath hitches just barely and your pupils are dilated enough for me to make it out all the way from the bed,” Valtor's words slapped her in the face harder than he was clutching at his toy. She couldn’t draw enough air to dispute his insanity even if her decorum allowed her. “You’re aroused. Tell her, Griffin,” his hand tugged on the purple hair to direct his mistress’ gaze to her.

Griffin moaned like her life depended on it. She barely looked at Samara, as usual. She kept her eyes to herself – not out of humility or decency. If that were the case, she’d stifle her voice too. The entire palace could hear her making obvious the disrespect she and Valtor held for Samara. One more reason for Samara to hate her and stagger when the feeling wasn’t there.

😔published lines or a section of a fic that was super sad, angsty, or difficult to write?

They're shorter so I'll give you two, both from Smolder:

"She hadn’t had the will to leave the prison she’d called home before Oritel’s warmth had overwhelmed that of her inner flames. She hadn’t had the power to protect Oritel from the dark magic twisting his own until it’d frozen in his veins and killed him. She hadn’t had the heart to leave Daphne’s side and incinerate his murderer lest her daughter figured out that her presence didn’t amount to much more than her absence did. Her mother had seized the opportunity to take over Daphne’s schedule and life when Marion hadn’t had the presence of mind to care for her own child. She didn’t even have the voice to speak up and reassert herself as the only parent Daphne had left."

This was hard to write both emotionally and from a technical aspect. I think you can tell why it was so heartbreaking to put it together but, honestly, wording this almost killed me. For one simple reason - I don't have a name yet picked out for Marion's mother and I didn't want to bother with it but that left me maneuvering with the words "mother" and "daughter". It's still a little messy for my liking but I think it's comprehensive, at least.

And the other snippet:

"The liquid inside the chalice was blue – the color of a flame burning too hot, ready to reduce her insides to cinders. The light coming from the cresset glimmered on the surface like a flickering sun blinding Marion. She couldn’t tell if her fingers would brush cold metal or colder magic but running away was not an option. She had to pass this test, had to come out on the other side despite feeling like a small speck of ash drowning into the sea of a potion held up against her."

Again, wrestling this into words was a struggle. Especially the last sentence. I don't know, I don't think I really had a very good idea of what I was trying to accomplish with this at first and that led to getting tangled into several different threads that I could follow with it. At the same time, I somehow had a very specific vision of it (the part with the liquid reflecting light mostly) and that added to the hardships because I had to mold my stray thoughts into a particular shape. I am more satisfied with how this one turned out, though!

[florriescreamlagoon]

I dreamt of standing knee deep in the unruly tide off the western strand, gathering limpets and winkles, filling my apron with "sea fruit" as my grandmother called them, the wind lashing my hair against my face, my wet dress slapping at my legs. Seeing a soft light over Woman's Island west of the strand, I heard behind the noise of the wind a tinny, hardly audible music, the melody of Donal na Grainne. In my dreams, my mother and father danced, embracing each other in the private sweetness between them. That is how I saw them, set that way. I could barely recall them at all, except as the two mythic figures, my father's back articulated with muscles and my mother's head gracefully reposing on his chest. Hopeless that they would take their eyes off each other and see me, I'd travel back up to the empty cottage, struggling to cook the limpets and winkles. The low, single flame from the cresset's wick, which floated in its little vessel of seal oil was so dull and oily and low it barely cooked the bit of flesh scraped out of the shell.

Regina McBride, The Marriage Bed