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vintagelasvegas · 1 month ago

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Las Vegas Club / Westerner Club / Club Bingo / ABC Stores

Timeline of 21-23 Fremont St., Las Vegas.

Las Vegas Hotel aka Club opened on Lot 29 of Block 3 (21 Fremont) and expanded into Lot 30 (23 Fremont). The property was identified as 21-23 Fremont St for most of the 1900s. The club relocated across the street to 18 Fremont, and the original 21-23 Fremont building was demolished.

Las Vegas Hotel / Las Vegas Club

'08: Oct., Las Vegas Hotel completed, the first saloon established outside of Block 16. The upstairs hotel portion existed to get around the restrictions on bars. John W. Horden and Harry R. Beale, owners. Horden family remains the land owner for over 90 years. (Age, 10/3/08, RJ 4/7/45)

'09: Isis movie theater occupies the adjacent 23 Fremont c. '09-'11.

'11: May, Electric sign installed on the front of the building, reading “Las Vegas Hotel” on the west and east sides of the sign, and “Anheuser Busch on Draught” facing Fremont. (Age 5/6/11, Age 4/20/12)

'11: May, Expansion into 23 Fremont more than doubles the size of the property, with a bar, billiards hall, barber shop, and about 20 rooms upstairs. (Age 5/27/11)

'13: Jul. 5, Drunk patron shot and killed by the night barkeeper TC Fay, aka “Fat Fay.”

'15: Fred Pearce takes over management from Horden for several years. Pearce licensed for a poker table at the hotel in '19-'20.

'21: Horden, Joe Morgan and Mayme Stocker are licensed for gambling at “Las Vegas Bar” from '21 through the mid 20s.

'27: Earliest use of “Las Vegas Club.”

'28: The '11 electric sign is removed and replaced with a smaller sign projecting from the building on its right/west side. The sign says “Las Vegas Hotel,” with a curved picture-frame style edges. The sign was electrified though no evidence to say it’s neon. Exact date unknown. The sign is seen in photos circa '28-'33. Possibly replaced with the 5/23/34 signage.

'28: Jan., Thomas Quality Shop by Roscoe W. Thomas opens in the hotel, remains through '29. (Age 1/21/28)

'28: A. T. Gilmore joints Horden as a partner at the club, receives a license for two gaming tables. Throughout '28-'30 the club is also known as The Smoke House.

'30: J. Kell Houssels buys a third interest in the club, exact date unknown, circa '29-'30.

'30: Nov, “New�� Las Vegas Club, owners Horden, Gilmore, and Housells (RJ 11/6/30). The club is advertised in early '31 as “New Las Vegas Club and Smoke House.”

'30: Dec, 3-by-4-foot neon sign is installed (RJ 12/15/30). This sign flush with the center building, see photos below.

'31: Apr. 1, Horden, Gilmore, and Houssels receive one of the city’s first modern gaming licenses.

'32: A.T. Gilmore retires, leaving Houssels and Horden as owners.

'33: Apr, Horden sells shares in the business to Houssels (RJ 4/12/33); Horden remains landowner.

'34: May, New neon sign, “largest in city” (RJ 5/23/34). The sign mounted to the rooftop and side of the building reads, “Bar / Las Vegas / Club.” There is “Las Vegas Club” in neon above the doorways. On the right side of the building has a “Las Vegas Hotel” sign similar to the one from '28. Photographed 7/40.

'39: Oct., Race Horse Keno approved for Las Vegas Club. The new race license is already active at Boulder Club and Northern Club.

'41: Jan, Race Book approved for Las Vegas Club and other downtown casinos.

'42: Dec, Las Vegas Club photographed for LIFE Magazine.

'45: Apr, Las Vegas Club interior and exterior remodel (RJ 4/4/45). New main sign on the right/west side of the building and the marquee sign, each read “Las Vegas Club.” Joe Horden joins Houssels as owner. Moe Sedway and Gus Greenbaum managing the club. Sedway managed the race wire in Las Vegas for Ben Siegel.

'46: Oct, Houssels buys out Joe Horden, becomes sole owner (RJ 10/18/46).

'46: Benny Binion, Fred Merrill, and Charles Flournoy invest in Las Vegas Club, exact date unknown circa late '46 to early '47.

'47: Mar. 25, Clifford Duane Helm, Binion bodyguard and Las Vegas Club security officer, shoots and kills Frank Ferroni Jr. in the club, and injures three others including co-owner Merrill. Helm is convicted of murder.

'48: Sep, Houssels again the sole owner of Las Vegas Club (RJ 9/3/48)

'48: Dec. 23, Houssels granted permission to relocate Las Vegas Club to 18 Fremont.

'49: Las Vegas Club moves to 18 Fremont in the first months of '49 and opens Mar. 31.

Las Vegas Club history is continued at 18 Fremont St.

The Westerner

'50: May 1, The Westerner opens. 21-23 Fremont is re-enforced, remodeled by architect F. A. Ripley of Billings, Montana. Owners include Catherine Horden, Benny Binion, Emilio Goergetti, Frank Converse. Binion withdrawals from the club in Jun. (RJ 3/13/50, RJ 12/30/49, RJ 6/20/50). The Western Club has a series of owners throughout the 50s, at least two of whom are investigated for fronting for hidden owners.

'50: Jul., exterior mural unveiled.

'52: “Westerner” neon marquee sign installed some time after 5/52, before 5/53. The side of the marquee reads “Gam’s Restaurant” until 9/54.

'58: George Arquilla purchases controlling interest in the club.

'60: Arquilla's gaming license under investigation, transfers ownership of the club to Joe Hart in Feb. The club is closed until Hart, as primary owner, reopens in Apr.

'61: Apr. 24, The club is closed “following a summons complaint and a writ of attachment by the First National Bank of Nevada.” The casino owned rent to the Horden estate, and debts to Mayme Stocker. (RJ 4/25/61)

'61: Dec, Sam Diamond leases the club which remains closed. “Diamond, sole owner, plans to tear down the old building and build a new one … It will be called Club Bingo. Westerner was closed by officials last April for alleged non-payment of rent and federal taxes.” (Reno Gazette-Journal 1/16/62).

'62: 21-23 Fremont St is demolished early in the year, c. Jan-Apr.

Club Bingo, Pioneer Club, ABC Stores

'62: Aug. 31: Club Bingo opens. Sam Diamond, primary owner. Julius Gabriele, architect. Club Bingo occupies 21-23 Fremont, with an annex (Lot 28) owned by Jackie Gaughan.

'83: Club Bingo closed, absorbed by an expansion of Pioneer Club into 21-23 and 17 Fremont. The building facade is changed to match Pioneer Club.

'95: Jun. 29, Pioneer Club closes. Lots 29-30 owned by Catherine Horden Family Trust remain closed while Lots 28 and 31 are sold to Schiff Enterprises in '98 and reopen as a gift shop. As late as Jun. '99, Horden Trust holds temporary gaming to maintain its gaming license. (RJ 6/3/99)

'99: Nov., Property sold by Horden Trust to SMK Inc (ABC Stores) for $3.5M

Headline photo: Jul. '40 by George Strock, LIFE magazine.

Circa '11/'12 – Las Vegas hotel had just expanded (left) from the original building on the right. The first documented electric sign in Las Vegas was added to the building after the expansion. Two undated images from (1) Charles P. Squires Photograph Collection, PH-00002, UNLV Special Collections & Archives, and (2) Las Vegas Age, 4/20/12.

2/21/32 – Two signs on Las Vegas Hotel, one extending from the building ('28), the other flush against its center ('30). Detail of a postcard, Elks on the Rampage.

Mar. '40 – Roulette table at Las Vegas Club. Casino ships with the initials of owner J. Kell Houssels. Photo by Arthur Rothstein, Farm Security Administration, Library of Congress.

Circa '48 – Pioneer Club, Las Vegas Club, and Las Vegas Bar. The red rooftop/building sign and the marquee were installed Apr. '45. Low resolution Kodachrome scan via Vintageimages, eBay.

Circa '50-'51 – The Westerner (21-23 Fremont) and Kolstad's Toggery (17 Fremont).

Early '62 – Far right, 21-23 Fremont has been demolished. Las Vegas News Bureau.

From '62-'83: Club Bingo in a new building at 21-23 Fremont, with a Club Bingo Annex in the existing building at 17 Fremont. Photo from '77.

'83-'95: Pioneer Club expanded into 17, 21-23 Fremont in '83, extending its red and white facade across all existing structures. Photo from the '90s.

2025 – ABC Stores. The former Pioneer Club splintered into separate souvenir shops. Since the late 90s, the former 21-23 Fremont has been owned by SMK Inc, the parent company of ABC Stores. The lots on either side are owned by Schiff Enterprises.

Timeline Sources. Local Notes. Las Vegas Age, 10/3/08 p3; Big Sign. Las Vegas Age, 5/6/11 p1; Las Vegas Hotel Greatly Improved by Completion of New Building. Las Vegas Age, 5/27/11 p1; Barkeeper Kills Unarmed Man. Las Vegas Age, 7/5/13 p1; New Location for Thomas Quality Shop. Las Vegas Age, 1/21/28; New Club For Vegas Opened Here Today. Review-Journal, 11/6/30 p1; New Neon Sign on Fremont St. Review-Journal, 12/15/30 p1; Horden Sells Out. Review-Journal, 4/12/33 p1; John W. Horden, Vegas Pioneer Passes in L.A. Review-Journal, 8/1/41 p1; Refurbished Las Vegas Club Opens Doors. 4/4/45 p10; Houssels Sole Owner of Las Vegas Club. Review-Journal, 10/18/46 p1; Binion Granted License For New Downtown Casino. Review-Journal, 12/30/49 p3; New Westerner Club to Be Open for Helldorado Fete. Review-Journal, 3/13/50 p14; Binion to Remain in Vegas, Attorney Reports this Morn. Review-Journal, 6/20/50 p4; Arquilla Verdict Due Tonight. Review-Journal, 5/24/60 p1; Club Padlocked. Review-Journal, 4/25/61 p1; Hubble Smith. Open and Shut Case. Review-Journal, 6/3/99; Doug Swanson. Blood Aces: The Wild Ride of Benny Binion, the Gangster who Created Vegas Poker. Viking, 2014.

#Las Vegas Club #Westerner #Club Bingo 62

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nyxshadowhawk · 26 days ago

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I Read The Silmarillion So You Don't Have To, Part 11

Previous part.

Chapter 23: Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin In which Gondolin finally falls, spectacularly.

The Fall of Gondolin is the last of the Great Tales, but it’s heavily truncated in The Silmarillion. It goes through everything very quickly. So, I thought it was worth getting some of the missing parts of the story from The Fall of Gondolin, one of the supplemental books of incomplete drafts that Christopher Tolkien edited together. The following is a summary of the Silm version with some additional details from The Fall of Gondolin.

But first, we have to be introduced to yet another new protagonist! The last long story was about Húrin and his son Túrin. This story is about Tuor, the son of Huor (Húrin’s brother). So, Tuor is Túrin’s first cousin.

Like Túrin, Tuor was raised by Elves. While the Elves were traveling south to the Havens, they were ambushed by orcs and Easterlings, and Tuor was taken prisoner. He was enslaved to the Easterlings for three years, until he escaped into the wild and (like Túrin) became an outlaw. He goes to Nevrast (the deserted kingdom where Turgon lived before building Gondolin), and follows a river down towards the sea. When he hears a gull cry for the first time, he initially assumes it must be some kind of “fay-creature.” His first breath of sea air is like taking a swig of wine. Finally, he reaches a cliff’s edge, and looks out at the sea.

Tuor’s first view of the sea by Anke Eißmann

For the rest of his life, Tuor is obsessed with the sea. He’s afflicted with that “sea-longing” that affects all the Elves in the Third Age. (Remember when Legolas hears the gulls crying?) This is because Ulmo, the Vala of Water, plans to make Tuor his own agent in Middle-earth. Ulmo implants that mystical yearning into Tuor’s heart, so that he will do what the sea tells him to.

Tuor lives in a sea cave for a while, exploring tide pools and listening to the music of the waves. Later that year, Tuor sees seven swans fly south, and he follows them until he comes to Turgon’s old palace of Vinyamar. It’s completely deserted. Inside, he finds a sword, shield, helm, and chainmail shirt that Turgon left behind on Ulmo’s orders. Tuor puts them on, and goes down to the shore, where he finds a storm amassing over the sea. Ulmo, the Lord of Waters himself, manifests out of the storm.

Ulmo and Tuor by Daniel Pilla

Ulmo looks truly awesome, dressed in mail like fish scales and skirts like waves, riding in a chariot drawn by narwhals and sea lions. He has the deepest voice and deeper eyes. I can only imagine what Tuor must be feeling. He’s the first Man to experience this sort of theophany (or something close to theophany, if you want to be technical). It’s the only time since the Elves’ original migration that a Vala (who’s not Morgoth) manifests to anyone outside of Valinor.

Ulmo tells Tuor about Gondolin, and orders him to go find it and give the king a message. He also gives Tuor an invisibility cloak, so Morgoth’s spies won’t follow him in.

The next day, Tuor (presumably still reeling from his direct encounter with a literal Vala) finds an Elf just outside the empty palace. The Elf’s name is Voronwë, and he’s the only survivor of King Turgon’s last failed attempt at sending a ship to Valinor. Ulmo saved him, but he’s stranded, because he has no way of finding Gondolin again. When Voronwë learns that Ulmo commanded Tuor to find Gondolin, he decides to go with Tuor.

Tuor and Voronwë find the Pools of Ivrin, that beautiful place where Túrin and Gwindor stopped, and Túrin mourned for Beleg. Except now, it’s no longer beautiful: Glaurung the dragon defiled it, and it is cold and sad. Across the frozen marsh, Tuor and Voronwë see a dark man with a black sword pass by. By sheer coincidence, Tuor sees his cousin Túrin, but they never actually meet each other. They’re each the Main Characters of their own separate stories, and those stories never intersect.

Tuor and Voronwë see Túrin at the Pool of Ivrin by Ted Nasmith

Ulmo leads the Man and the Elf to the hidden entrance to Gondolin, a secret tunnel leading through the mountains. (Secret tunnel! Secret tunneeelllllllll! Through the mountaaaains!) Voronwë is able to see it with his elf-eyes. The tunnel itself is “dark, rough-going, and circuitous,” and the constant sound of echoing footsteps makes Voronwë afraid that they’re being followed. Stumbling in the dark, Tuor and Voronwë eventually reach the other side.

Before their eyes can adjust to the light, they’re immediately arrested by Turgon’s guards. (No one recognizes Voronwë, I guess.) After exhaustively listing all seven names of the great city, the guards bring them into it. They cross a flat plain with smooth rocks and clear pools, and ascend a staircase through Gondolin’s seven gates.

The city itself is pristine, with shining marble edifices and towers, cobbled streets, courtyards full of pretty trees and white birds singing, and huge fountains that flow with a crystalline rain of water. Tuor is so impressed by the splendid city, that he thinks he must be in the home of the gods.

Gondolin by David Gresit

(And to think, Gondolin is only a pale imitation of Tirion, the city in Valinor. And judging by that above picture, Leyndell is a pale imitation of Gondolin!)

As Tuor and Voronwë enter the city, a crowd forms around them. The Elves are especially interested in the Man. Tuor is taller than most Men, with rugged looks and unkempt blond hair, dressed in bearskins, and carrying a fishbone spear and a gold harp. In short, he looks like a wild barbarian who’s lived on the road for some time, a world away from the beautiful Elves of the shining city.

The guards show Turgon and Voronwë to their leader, Ecthelion of the Fountain, who questions them. Tuor dramatically throws off his cloak, revealing the armor and weapons that Turgon left behind, and proving that he is the chosen one sent by Ulmo. So saith the prophecy! The Gondolin Elves immediately welcome him. Ecthelion commands trumpets to sound, as the light of dawn washes over the beautiful white city.

Tuor finally gets to meet Turgon, King of Gondolin and now the High King of the Noldor, in his great hall, beneath the gold and silver images of the Two Trees of Valinor. Sitting at Turgon’s right is his nephew Maeglin (the edgy elf), and at his left is his daughter Idril Celebrindal. Tuor gives the king the message from Ulmo.

With a voice almost as powerful as that of the Vala, Tuor declares that Gondolin’s time is up. The Curse — the same Curse that has been following all the Noldor this whole time — has finally caught up with it. Because of the Curse, all the works of the Noldor will amount to nothing, so Gondolin will be destroyed. Turgon’s only hope for survival is to abandon his beautiful city and head for the sea.

Turgon knew that this was coming. Back when he built the city, Ulmo warned him not to grow too attached to it, and also told him that his salvation would be a Man from the west, i.e. Tuor. It’s one of those things that you know you’ll have to deal with someday, but you still assume that day will never actually come, so you try not to think about it. Turgon isn’t ready to give Gondolin up. He loves it as much as he once loved Tirion, the city in Valinor that it was based on, and he still trusts that its secrecy will protect it.

(Side note: It’s interesting to see how this part of the story changed between the original version and the Silm version. In the original version from The Fall of Gondolin, Tuor’s message was that Turgon should prepare his forces to do battle with Morgoth. Turgon refuses because he doesn’t want to expose Gondolin’s location. In the Silm version, Turgon has already gone to battle against Morgoth and exposed Gondolin’s location. So, Tuor’s message is that the city is doomed. The old version of Tuor also encourages Turgon to “trust in the Valar.” In the Silm version, the Valar — apart from Ulmo — have abandoned the Noldor.)

Turgon holds court with his lords to determine what to do, and Maeglin tells him not to listen to Tuor. This is exactly what Turgon wants to hear, so he listens to Maeglin, instead of heeding the prophetic advice of a literal Vala. Welp… he can’t say he wasn’t warned.

Despite his rejection of the warning, Turgon still allows Tuor to stay in his court, the way he’d once welcomed Huor. Turgon respects that Tuor has the favor of a Vala, and knows that his destiny is somehow intertwined with that of all the Noldor, so it’s a good idea to keep him around. During his time in the court of Gondolin, Tuor grows stronger and more refined, and learns Elvish lore and handicrafts from Turgon’s people. He falls in love with the beauty and majesty of Gondolin, though he still sometimes gets a flicker of that sea-longing when he hears the splashing of the fountains. He also falls in love with the king’s daughter, Idril Celebrindal, who loves him just as much.

Everyone in the court loves Tuor. Turgon accepts him as something like a surrogate son, since he has no son of his own, and supports his relationship with Idril.

Turgon and Idril by mysilvergreen

The only person who doesn’t like Tuor is, of course, Maeglin. Maeglin still lusts after Idril (who, I’ll remind you, is his first cousin), so he resents Tuor.

After many years, Tuor marries Idril (with a lot less drama than the marriage of Beren and Lúthien). It’s only the second time in Middle-earth history that a Man and an Elf have been married. The wedding feast is wonderful, there’s much merrymaking, and everyone but Maeglin is happy. (Maeglin is off sulking in the corner.) The following spring, Tuor and Idril have a son, Eärendil (yes, that one). Eärendil Halfelven is a beautiful boy with bright, shining blue eyes. He represents the best of both Elfkind and Mankind: the Elves’ wisdom and beauty, and the Men’s strength and hardiness. He also inherited his father’s sea-longing.

While all this was going on, Húrin was released from Angband. Around the time Eärendil is born, Húrin screams in despair near Gondolin’s hidden entrance, revealing its location to Morgoth. Morgoth’s early attempts at finding Gondolin are all thwarted by the Eagles, but Idril feels the bad vibes, and comes up with a Plan B. She builds a second secret tunnel (“SECRET TUNNEL—”), going in the opposite direction from the entrance tunnel, so that the city can evacuate if necessary. She ensures that as few people as possible know about the escape route, so there’s little chance of Maeglin hearing about it. Idril doesn’t trust Maeglin as far as she can throw him. It’s not just the creepy way he looks at her — she had a dream about him throwing her baby boy into a furnace. That would unsettle anybody.

Maeglin, meanwhile, has been skulking out of the city to do some mining. Maeglin’s father was a smith, so Maeglin is in charge of all the mining and quarrying that Gondolin needs. He genuinely loves the work, but it’s also an excuse to leave the city, which is against Turgon’s orders. For good reason. As soon as Maeglin leaves the mountains surrounding Gondolin, he’s captured by Orcs, and dragged directly to Angband.

Maeglin is tortured so horribly that he caves, and reveals to Morgoth the exact location of Gondolin, as well as how to get into it and how best to attack it. Morgoth is so pleased, he promises Maeglin that he’ll be King of Gondolin after Morgoth conquers it, and that he’ll have Idril’s hand in marriage (Morgoth definitely doesn’t intend to keep this promise.)

Maeglin the Traitor by KuraiGeijutsu

Then he lets Maeglin go, and tells him to go back to Gondolin and pretend that nothing is wrong. When the time is right, Maeglin will let Morgoth in.

This version of Maeglin is actually more sympathetic than the earlier version of him from The Fall of Gondolin. In this version, he only betrays Gondolin after being tortured. Even the strongest Elf can’t hold up under torture for too long. In the original version, Maeglin promises to give up Gondolin as soon as he’s captured, so the Orcs won’t kill him, which is much more cowardly. Either way, Maeglin’s lust for Idril and hatred of Tuor made him agree to go along with it. He could have warned Gondolin that Morgoth was coming, and helped to evacuate everyone. But no. Instead he lurks in Turgon’s court like an Among Us imposter, waiting to roll out the red carpet for Morgoth, so he’s definitely at fault here. Sympathetic or not, Maeglin’s treachery is the most infamous in the entire history of Elfkind. And considering how many examples we’ve seen so far, that’s really saying something. Is anyone surprised? I mean, he was evil-coded from the beginning.

Fun fact: Maeglin’s heraldic emblem is a sable mole. A mole. How would you like the charge on your coat of arms to be a mole? That’s basically a big sign saying “DON’T TRUST THIS GUY.”

When Eärendil is seven, Morgoth comes. He brings a devastating army of Orcs, Balrogs, wolves, even dragons (the spawn of Glaurung). Maeglin tells them to come over the high northern hills, which are less heavily guarded, and to come during the midsummer festival. After a silent all-night vigil, the Elves begin to sing to welcome the dawn, but the sun appears to rise in the north instead of the east. Morgoth’s army bursts over the northern mountains, red with fire and blood.

Another interesting thing here — in the original version, the “dragons” are machines, like tanks, rather than literal dragons:

Then on a time Melko [Morgoth] assembled all his most cunning smiths and sorcerers, and of iron and flame they wrought a host of monsters such as have only at that time been seen and shall not again be till the Great End. Some were all of iron so cunningly linked that they might flow like slow rivers of metal or coil themselves around and above all obstacles before them, and these were filled in their innermost depths with the grimmest of the Orcs with scimitars and spears; others of bronze and copper were given hearts and spirits of blazing fire, and they blasted all that stood before them with the terror of their snorting or trampled whatso escaped the ardour of their breath; yet others were creatures of pure flame that writhed like ropes of molten metal, and they brought to ruin whatever fabric they came nigh, and iron and stone melted before them and became as water, and upon them rode the Balrogs in hundreds; and these were the most dire of all those monsters which Melko devised against Gondolin.

This version expresses Tolkien’s anti-industrialism much more clearly than the Silm version does, in which the dragons are real dragons. Dragons are awesome, but I kind of like this better.

Gondolin is caught completely off guard. Everyone panics, and the people of the great houses of Gondolin (and Tuor) rush to arm themselves. Tuor looks as splendid as any of the Elves, with a winged helmet and his emblem of the white swan’s wing emblazoned on his shield. In true “ancient epic” fashion, The Fall of Gondolin goes into detail about what everyone’s heraldic emblems look like. In that list are a few names that you may recognize: One is Galdor, the name of the first Elf we meet in The Lord of the Rings. There’s some speculation that this Galdor and the one in LotR are the same person, but this is unlikely, because of all the following events. It’s probably just a common Sindarin name. Another name you’ll recognize is the Elf, the myth, the legend, GLORFINDEL!

Glorfindel by MathiaArkoniel

This is the same Glorfindel who saves Frodo from the Nazgul at the river in Fellowship. Here, he’s the chief of the house of the Golden Flower, and one of the most powerful warriors on the battlefield.

King Turgon calls a council of his lords to decide whether they fight or run (while the dragons and/or iron tanks are all but bearing down the door). Tuor and Maeglin are both there, probably glaring daggers at each other across the room. Tuor argues that everyone should evacuate, and most of the Elves agree with him. Maeglin, of course, argues to stay and fight. Only one other Elf, Salgant, agrees with him. But Maeglin wins the debate, because he hits King Turgon where it hurts: “If Gondolin falls, then the Balrogs will get all your beautiful treasure!” So, the king commands everyone else to stay and fight. Tuor literally cries, and everyone else braces for the inevitable train wreck.

Let me just emphasize something: Everyone else is forced to fight a losing battle and watch their beloved city be destroyed, because one manipulative, malicious person preyed upon their leader’s insecurities. I really relate to the Elves’ frustrated groans and mournful sighs.

The Balrogs break down the gates, and the Orcs stream into the city. The Elves have the home field advantage, but they’re outnumbered, and the battle does not go well. Tuor rushes through the streets to get to his wife and child, get them out. But when he arrives at his house, he finds it surrounded by Mole soldiers. Maeglin is there.

Maeglin and the Black Sword by SaMo-art

Maeglin found out about Idril’s secret tunnel at the last minute. He plans to escape the city, dragging Idril along with him, and to throw little Eärendil off the walls and into the fire below. (Get your “cast it into the fire” jokes out now.) This is most likely a reference to reference to one version of the aftermath of The Iliad, in which Hector’s baby son Astyanax is thrown from the city walls by the Achaians.

Tuor calls his knights, who easily and mercilessly slaughter Maeglin’s knights. Realizing he’s losing, Maeglin tries to stab Eärendil, but Eärendil bites him, giving Tuor an opening to come at Maeglin. Tuor doesn’t just kill Maeglin—oh no. He does to Maeglin exactly what Maeglin was planning to do to Eärendil: he casts Maeglin into the fire, from atop the fortress walls.

Of the Fall of Gondolin by yidanyuan

So, Eöl’s curse comes true: Maeglin dies in the same way his father did, from being thrown from Gondolin’s walls. Tuor appoints a section of his guard, including Voronwë, to guard Idril. Then he rejoins the battle.

Ecthelion and his company, dressed in glittery crystal armor and fighting to pretty elven flute music, kill more Orcs than anyone else in the entire history of Elves. (So it is said in The Fall of Gondolin, anyway.) In short, Ecthelion is who Orcs have nightmares about. If Orcs had children, they’d keep them from misbehaving by telling them that Ecthelion would get them. So when Gothmog, the Lord of the Balrogs heads toward the king’s palace, Ecthelion fights him single-handedly. Although he’s badly wounded, Ecthelion springs at the Balrog’s chest and drives the spike on his helmet straight into Gothmog’s heart. They both fall into the king’s gigantic fountain. Ecthelion drowns, but he takes Gothmog down with him.

Gothmog vs. Ecthelion by Sandara Tang

Considering that Gothmog killed Fëanor himself, that is an impressive feat.

Turgon finally admits that Gondolin is done for, and decides (way too late) to get everyone out. In shame, he throws his crown down at the feet of the metal replicas of the Two Trees. He gathers the survivors in his palace, and tells them that Tuor will lead them out of the city. The Elves beg Turgon to come with them, but Turgon resolves to go down with the ship. It’s his city, and his fault that he didn’t heed the warnings.

Led by Tuor, the survivors flee towards the mountains. At the highest point, they look back and see the king’s tower wreathed in flames, ransacked by dragons, with Turgon standing at the top, waiting to die. Idril screams in anguish at the death of her father.

The King’s Tower Falls by Alan Lee

Gotta hand it to Idril, though — she spent most of the battle helping the other women and children get out of the city, and wielded a sword as well as any of the men. She also held her own against Maeglin when he tried to kidnap her, fighting him off “like a tigress.” We can add her to the list of badass overlooked Tolkien women.

This story has women fighting, and men crying over their fallen comrades. Tolkien is both very traditional and very ahead of his time.

It’s almost as hard to get through the secret tunnel as it was to get out of the city. The ground shakes so often with the thundering of Morgoth’s armies, that there’s sometimes rockfall that crushes members of the company. Imagine successfully surviving a war and getting to the escape tunnel, only to get crushed by rocks! It’s also completely dark, and there are poisonous fumes coming out of the earth. It takes a full two hours to travel from one end of the tunnel to the other in these conditions. A certain number of people turn back, hoping that the protective magic of the entrance tunnel will help them to get out that way. But it’s already too late: they walk right into the waiting jaws of Morgoth’s monsters.

(Fun fact: In The Fall of Gondolin, one of the Elves who helps lead the survivors out is Legolas Greenleaf. That was obviously changed, since there’s no way to explain that one, but it’s nonetheless interesting that Legolas’ distant origins are in this story. Also Legolas canonically has cat eyes in this version! WHAT DO YOUR ELF EYES SEE?)

There’s also a sad moment in The Fall of Gondolin in which Eärendil asks after Salgant and Echthelion, who played with him and told him stories during the happier times. Idril has to tell him that they’re missing or dead. The little boy cries and says he never wants to go back to Gondolin, and Tuor has to tell him that there’s no Gondolin to return to. These are the little human moments that get missing in the Silm’s condensed versions, which really hit hard emotionally.

Family by LiigaKlavina

On the other hand, Eärendil expresses how happy he was to see Maeglin die in a fire. “It was good to see Maeglin die so, for he would set arms about my mother — and I liked him not.” Yup, that is all the reasoning you need. Kids are so straightforward. That guy sucked, I’m glad he’s dead!

The last leg of the journey is across a dangerous mountain pass, which would be difficult enough to cross without being in the dark, tired, injured, and weighed down. It’s a path along a sheer, snowy cliff face, that the wind is funneled straight through. As everyone slowly struggles across the pass, suddenly, they’re surrounded by Orcs on all sides, and there’s a Balrog. Morgoth’s forces were watching the pass. The Eagles who live on the mountains swoop down to help fend off the Orcs.

(Another interesting tidbit about that: in The Fall of Gondolin, it’s said that the Eagles hate Morgoth because he chained up some of their kind, and tried to force them to divulge their magic words of flight. Morgoth wants to be able to fly, so that he’ll be better than Manwë. When the Eagles wouldn’t tell him, he cut off their wings, and tried to fly with them, but failed. I don’t know if that’s still canon in the Silm version, but I like it.)

The Orcs are taken care of, but there’s still the Balrog. Glorfindel, his hair streaming like a golden banner, fights it single-handedly. After a great battle on the highest point of the pass, Glorfindel stabs the Balrog in the belly, and it falls into the abyss below, dragging Glorfindel with it.

Glorfindel and the Balrog by Eric Velhagen

Thorondor, the King of the Eagles, retrieves Glorfindel’s body. Tuor builds a cairn on the precipice, and yellow flowers grow on Glorfindel’s grave.

But wait! I said he was the same Elf who appears in The Lord of the Rings! Glorfindel is so valorous, he’s one of very few Elves whom the Valar allow to reincarnate on Middle-earth. The reincarnated Glorfindel is blessed by Manwë, and almost as powerful as a Maia.

Why doesn’t this suped-up Glorfindel do anything else in The Lord of the Rings? Well, thematically, it’s because LotR is about the strength and virtue of common people, as a deliberate contrast to the Silm, which is about larger-than-life heroes in the manner of ancient mythology. The in-universe reason is that the strategy against Sauron is fundamentally a stealth mission. If the Fellowship included an epic, famous Elf lord in shiny armor, with shiny hair, who literally glows with divine light, that would be pretty counterproductive. Glorfindel’s only real role in LotR is as a cameo; as awesome as he is, it made perfect sense for Peter Jackson to replace him with Arwen for the river scene.

Another callback to the Fall of Gondolin in The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit is the two Elvish swords, Orcrist and Glamdring. The latter was Turgon’s own sword. How either of them survived the coming destruction of Beleriand, and ended up in a troll cave thousands of miles east, is unknown.

After Glorfindel’s death, the refugees continue on, traveling for a year through war-torn lands. The eight hundred people who left Gondolin — already a small percentage of the city’s population — are whittled down to five hundred. They call themselves the Lothlim, the People of the Flower, because the name “Gondolin” is too painful. Ulmo protects them as soon as they get to the river. The people sing sad songs under willow trees, mourning the loss of their city, its king, its brave knights, its beautiful women and children, and Glorfindel.

When news of Turgon’s death reaches the rest of Beleriand, Gil-galad is named High King of the Noldor. He remains the High King until the War of the Last Alliance, the one in which Sauron was defeated the first time. He’s the last King of the Noldor in Middle-earth.

Morgoth, meanwhile, enjoys his victory. He hasn’t just won the battle, he’s won the war… or so he thinks. He completely forgot about the Sons of Fëanor and their oath to retrieve the Silmarils at any cost, because Morgoth didn’t think he’d be on the receiving end of that curse. As far as he’s concerned, all that oath has done is sew discord and hatred amongst the Elves, which works to his favor. He doesn’t even care about the one Silmaril he lost to Beren and Lúthien. Of course, it’s at the moment of his triumph that he’s most vulnerable.

Tuor follows his sea-longing to the mouth of the River Sirion, which is the only safe-ish place the refugees can go. There, a small but robust community of refugees from Gondolin, Doriath, and the other desecrated kingdoms. Círden also arrives with a group of mariners from Balar, an island just off the coast. At this point, on the water is the safest place to be, because of Ulmo’s protection.

Meanwhile, Ulmo returns to Valinor to complain to the Valar. Enough is enough: Morgoth has almost won, the population of Middle-earth has been decimated, and the survival of Elves and Men hangs by a thread. The Noldor have suffered enough for their sin, Ulmo argues. It’s time for the Valar to get off their asses and do something. Manwë is not moved. Only one person has a chance of begging the Valar for forgiveness.

As for Tuor, he grows old, and the sea-longing finally gets to him. He builds a boat, and sails west with his wife Idril. No one knows what happens to them after that. Maybe they die at sea, but some believe that Tuor and Idril arrive in Valinor, and that Tuor is the only Man to ever be granted Elven immortality. Tuor lived his whole life amongst the Noldor, so, it only makes sense that he should join them for his afterlife.

And that’s the end of the story of the Fall of Gondolin! The real tragedy here is that none of the Great Tales were ever formally completed. They should have been full epics of the same scale, breadth, and detail as The Lord of the Rings, but the best we’ve got is scattered drafts and reduced summaries. These three stories—Beren and Lúthien, The Children of Húrin, and the Fall of Gondolin — were supposed to be Tolkien’s true magnum opus. They were all clearly near and dear to his heart.

Oh well, at least what we’ve got is better than nothing. I’d rather know the story in some form than not know it at all. And most real mythology works that way; the “full” version of the story is lost to time, but the gist of it survives through fragments, summaries, and references. So, in a way, Tolkien achieved maximum authenticity with this one. And Tolkien did as much as he reasonably could in an already-long life. If it’s a choice between the Great Tales and The Lord of the Rings, the latter probably had a better chance of resonating for more people. I can only wonder what the fantasy genre would have looked like if the Great Tales had been published instead.

The Story of Gondolin by breath-art

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at-least-three-bears · 10 months ago

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I can never remember the lyrics to Jolene

And for reasons I'm not sure of, my memory usually substitutes lines from The Fall Of Gil-Galad. Then I was rereading it and this happened.

Jolene you are an elven-king, of you my man in sleep does sing, and of your mountain'd kingdom free, Jolene

Your sword is long, your lance is keen Your shining helm afar is seen, And mirrored stars, your silver shield, Jolene

I wish that you would ride away, and go and dwell where none can say and mordor's shadows drown your star, Jolene

Chorus would remain the same, I assume... In my defence, on checking actual Jolene lyrics she does sound a bit fay? I could buy her being some folk-tale elf-y creature.

GilGalad-wise though, her capacity to have a tragic dramatic death against Sauron is currently undetermined.

#lotr #vague rambling #gil galad #jolene

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julia-ask-blog · 15 days ago

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Master and student!

A short story I made while sleep deprived and loopy. Been a while since I made a fanfic or sort like this. But here you go! Morgana being creepy. Like faes do.

Surrounded in the crystal chambers that held under the heart stone of now gunmar territory. The chamber that once held the infamous witch. Enchantress Morgana Le Fay. The golden armored witch. Antlers shimmered as she floated about Julia. Her green cloak flaps softly. Providing morgana’s new ‘student’ background sound. Julia, sitting on the grooved carved floor of the former prison, cross legs. Back hunch, many books surrounded her. Morgana had decided today was a study lesson. To teach her about magics of old, ancient, much stronger times.

Julia suspects though…there is more underneath it that reason.

Staring at the book before her. The words formally in Julia couldn’t recognize shifts like droplets of water and turn to English. Making it easy for Julia to recognize Julia hazel eyes shifted across each page. Her nail bitten finger trails over the ancient words. “…on the horizon of dawn. There have always been two types of beings. The deniers and truth seekers…” Julia lips twitch “ but what in each denier and truth seeker…is they all search for their own truth. In fantasy to fit their realities…” Julia read the ancient letters. Her lips purse and a quick sigh escape

“ ah…truer words from ancient mouths. Isn’t it, my student?” Morgana asks. Her words were soft, but held a sense of shivers that made Julia stomach clench.

Julia places her arms on her knees and shrugs “ I supposed, but what is my purpose to read this? Exactly?” Julia questions , turning her head up to look up at the floating witch “ what am I supposed to gain from this?” Her left hand gesture to the book

Morgana stares at the young woman. Face covered in her helm of shining

Gold. The crystals reflecting off her. waving her prostatic green hand. Green as deep jade. Green as poison “ keep reading my student.”

Julia looks back down with an eye roll. And continued “ the deniers would deny the possibilities and situations of far distance. Ignorance is bliss for them. Keeping them from facing reality. But ended up with the truth coming to their door…truth seekers follow trails of their truth. But even then. Truth isn’t always what they seem…okay. I get it.” Julia removes her eyes off the page “ this is about truth, and blah blah”

“ You are a distractible student, Julia. Especially today of all days.” Morgana floats down to the ground, standing behind the sitting Julia “ you don’t seem to like this subject quite well. Usually you are so keen to learn.”

“ yeah well, especially since I feel there is MORE to this teaching” Julia turns her torso around to look up at Morgana. Hair flying about and land on her shoulders spread about

“ hm. How so?”

“ oh I don’t know. But with you it is always something!” Julia turned forward, and she grabbed the book and close it with a soft thud“ it’s always something.”

“ I am only trying to help you Julia” Morgana said, slowly walking around Julia

“ oh how is this helping me? HOW is anything like this helping?” Julia asks. Feeling frustration builds in her. Running a hand through her black hair, pushing it back

“ I wanted you to know something you might think is the truth, isn’t always what you perceived. And denying will always be inevitable” Morgana says so calmly. So cool. As though she wasn’t trying to confuse her. Is this what this is? To confuse her?!

This made Julia even more irritated.

“ Like WHAT?!” Julia suddenly spoke like, frustration building “ that I’m basically a glorified prisoner! A slave! That anytime YOU want you can kill me!” Julia began to stand up “ Hell! Even have someone ordered to kill m-me! I-it it- if you don’t want your hands dirty!” Julia points her finger at the witch “ like gunmar! Or hell! Angor! I-I don’t know! You-you- UGH!” Julia growls out. Eyes narrowing, lips curled in angry frowns.

The crystals around them shimmer slightly. orange, yellows, red and purples shimmer across the many gems of crystals.

Morgana's eyes shifted side to side, looking at the notable colors of red, purples shining and mixing in the orange and yellows, and it made her hum. Almost pleased with what she was seeing. Julia didn’t know why this is getting her more interested but she hate how her interested in this ‘lesson is peaked’

Morgana eyes look forward back to her.

“ I do not do this with anyone else, Julia. I could let you be in the dark for your entire life until you are blind and gray. Until you return to the weeds. But yet you are worth investing” Morgana says, her golden, armored claw hanging out and placing it at Julia's pointing hand and lowering it down from her face.

Julia face twitch in growing frustration and anxiety. She knows Julia is pushing it with Morgana. Morgana is patient, but also cruel. Julia saw what she could do. What she CAN do. But it’s scary how Morgana is not reacting to Julia’s bold frustration. Her not reacting is what made Julia's neck warm in worry.

“ worth investing” Julia spoke under her breath. Moving her hand from Morgana hold on her hand as Morgana walks around her again. Her green cap flick behind her and osss Julia. Who simply stares ahead and shakes her head. Then, she spoke in a sarcastic tone“ tsk. What am I? If I am not. You would kill me.”

“ yes.” Morgana says, matter of factly. So easy. It made Julia's heart drop. It was quite…cold “ if you weren’t valuable to me. You would be dust before me. I would make sure your bloodline would end. But yet, your destiny calls, and I’m teaching you to listen.” She places a hand on Julia’s shoulder making Julia flinch. Julia's heart racing as she looks over to Morgana gaze. Julia's neck began to heat up that felt like fire in her throat.. Her green eyes glitter in an inhumane way. Like a cat watching the mouse squirm.

“ Sometimes those who lived in ignorance tend to meet their fate at their doorway. But sometimes. Truth seekers that think they live in truth. Come to realize that they are ignorant.” Morgana's smile grew wide. Teeth that were once blocky like humans now had a line of sharp teeth. Pointed similar to that of a lion. Making Julia stare at them with slightly widened eyes. Julia tried to keep her heart from sky rocking and avert her eyes back to Morgana eyes.

Those green eyes were beautiful as they were dangerous. Like a certain flower. A flower of poison Julia couldn’t really put into words right now. Her mind swims in worry of Morgana’s calm demeanor . But she took a deep sigh “ yeah…sure.” Julia eyes look down, avoiding Morgana eyes. She can feel Morgana head slowly come beside her eyes “ but you more than that.”

With that. Morgana pulled her head back and let go of her. Moving away, and it made Julia take a deep breath through, extending her chest, release, tucking her chest in again “ Hmp. I still don’t know what that even means for me.” Julia was feeling so confused on what Morgana was implying. What those stupid little riddles she could ask!

Morgana grins, and chuckles. Teeth normal once more. But Julia now knows the true nature behind that. Behind that seemingly normal look is a mirage. Her true nature is behind it.

Like almost all faes.

“ you will in due time. My dear student. You are but a simple mortal. For now…”

This made Julia eyes squint. Hands clench in confusion by that wording

“ but you will learn. Now…return to studying. You have a lot to catch up on” Morgana floats up from the floor once more and turns. Floating to the entrance of the cavern “ oh. And…first start off the book about dragons and Draconics. I am sure you’ll love that. Dragons are your favorite…aren’t they?” Morgana stops at the exit and turns her head to look at Julia “ yes?”

“ I’m…umm…yes.” Julia slowly sits herself back down on the floor. Julia almost didn’t feel herself willed to sit, but she did. But when she realized. She grunt on her bottom. Looking among the many books beside her. She slowly took a book from the pile of dragons and draconics “ they are…”

“ good! Now. Study well, I will be asking questions. I will also have Angor Rot fetch you a meal.” Morgana's voice was soft again. Yet that chill held the truth of her nature. Making Julia spine shiver

#fanfic #trollhunters #Morgana ley fay #Julia #non-ship fiction

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roskirambles · 4 months ago

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Horror Movie of the day 2: The Wolfman (1941)

Larry Talbot(Lon Chaney Jr.) comes back to his family castle in England, to the delight of his estranged father(Claude Rains). Looking to mend their relationship after the death of his brother John, he finds himself falling in love with Gwen(Evelyn Ankers), whose father owns an antique shop from which he ends up buying a curious cane with a silver wolf head; this prompts her to mention the legend of the werewolf, whose symbol is a pentagram. The night after this meeting, Larry and Gwen along with her friend Jenny(Fay Helm) go to a wandering Roma fortune teller called Bela(Bela Lugosi)... who sees a pentagram in Jenny's hand.

Later that night, she's attacked by a beast. And when Larry comes to her aid, he ends up being bitten. Except the wound isn't visible the next morning, and Bela has been found dead. Worse yet... a pentagram appears where the bite mark should be.

Directed by George Waggner, THIS is the movie that codified werewolves for decades. It's not remotely hard to see why this film overshadows Werewolf of London, unfair as that may be: the pacing is terrific and the plotting a lot more complex, with quite intricate relationships between the cast, who show a lot of chemistry. It also lends uniqueness to the werewolf mythos by making silver their weakness.

Then, there's the photography: this one is a looker, baked in deep shadows and atmospheric fog to a terrific effect, with some very intelligent framing that makes a lot of shots pop. Chaney's make up(once again by Jack Pierce) is a lot more animalistic, which befits the deeper exploration of man's duality.

It's unfortunate that this movie's plot is at it's core dependant on stereotypes of Roma people (even if they're portrayed in quite the morally nuanced light), because otherwise the thematic backbone of the film is actually quite elegant for a monster movie of this time. Keep that caveat in mind, but otherwise this is an absolute MUST watch.

#horror movies #halloween movie #universal monsters #george waggner #lon chaney jr.#claude rains #warren william #ralph bellamy #patric knowles #bela lugosi #maria ouspenskaya #evelyn ankers #the wolfman #roskirambles

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thewarmestplacetohide · 7 months ago

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Dread by the Decade: Night Monster

👻 You can support me on Ko-Fi! ❤️

★★

Plot: A man invites the doctors responsible for his declining health to his isolated mansion, where they are picked off one-by-one.

Review: Despite decent aesthetics, this film's horror is too sparse and its pace too dry to make up for its rather silly main idea.

Year: 1942 Genre: Supernatural Horror, Mystery, Gothic Country: United States Language: English Runtime: 1 hour 13 minutes

Director: Ford Beebe Writer: Clarence Upson Young Cinematographer: Charles Van Enger Editor: Jack Otterson Composer: Hans J. Salter Cast: Irene Hervey, Don Porter, Ralph Morgan, Fay Helm, Lionel Atwill, Frank Reicher, Francis Pierlot, Nils Asther, Bela Lugosi, Doris Lloyd

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Story: 2/5 - Despite some genuine mystery, it grows plodding, consisting mostly of people delivering dry dialogue before a rushed climax.

Performances: 3/5 - The cast is mostly natural, save for Asther, whose portrayal of an Indian man is laughable.

Cinematography: 3.5/5 - Good atmospheric lighting. The fog shots are surprisingly decent.

Editing: 3/5 - Smooth and coherent.

Music: 2.5/5

Effects & Props: 2.5/5 - Fluctuates between decent and cheap.

Sets: 4/5 - The ornate mansion is lovely and elaborate, with a particularly striking stairwell set.

Costumes, Hair, & Make-Up: 3/5

youtube

Trigger Warnings:

Minor violence

Suicide

Attempted sexual assault

Sexual harassment

Brownface

Inaccurate, racist portrayal of Hindu beliefs

Misogyny (uncritical)

Ableism (uncritical)

#Night Monster (1942)#Night Monster #Ford Beebe #American #supernatural horror #gothic #Dread by the Decade #review #1940s

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gatutor · 5 months ago

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Fay Helm (Bakersfield, California, 9/04/1909-Santa Monica, California, 27/09/2003).

#Fay Helm

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mariocki · 2 years ago

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Calling Dr. Death (1943)

"You know, Doctor, it isn't death that frightens men. It's waiting. Anticipation. Your conscience, haunting you in your sleep, in your dreams."

#inner sanctum mysteries #calling dr. death #1943 #american cinema #lon chaney jr.#reginald le borg #edward dein #lon chaney jr #patricia morison #j. carrol naish #david bruce #ramsay ames #fay helm #holmes herbert #alec craig #charles wagenheim #lisa golm #frederick giermann #mary hale #the inner sanctum mysteries were a hugely popular run of creepy radio dramas that ran from 1941 to 1952‚ spinning off into a successful #series of novels; in '43 Universal bought the rights to the name only‚ and set about churning out a series of cheapy dark thrillers all #starring human teddy bear Lon Chaney jr. this is the first‚ and it's honestly just a great time. poor Lon has a horrible wife and a doting #assistant‚ and he works as a therapist hypnotist (?) who wakes his patients by slapping them in the face (??). cue some memory loss hijinks #and a murder he may or may not be guilty of... there's little onscreen horror but this still has a decidedly darker bent than many of the #horror b movies the studio were putting out (the description of the murder is toe curlingly nasty) and of course poor Lon suffers terribly #as he always seemed to (cinema's first real poor little meow meow?). add in an investigating cop who takes the case to the point of #persecution and some fun visual flair (at one point in a dream sequence the streets literally close in on a character) and you have the #best kind of grade A ham nonsense that i just kind of love for some reason

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dragon-phoenix-along · 2 years ago

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The fay creatures have me by the neck, so y’all get a fay shit post:

Seelie court faries:

*Having a tea party and planning pranks*

Unseie court faries:

Winter farie: *Sticks horned helm into ground*

Autumn farie: *grabs winter faries legs and kicks them around head, then grabs their hands*

Autumn & Winter faries: *Screaming while Autumn farie issues winter farie as a plow*

#dragons dictation #farie brain rot #augh #house of homo #get over here #fatha I wish to call him Lacquer

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ottobusenbach · 1 month ago

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#Australia #DigitalHealth #digitaltransformation #healthcareIT #MyHealthRecord

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libidomechanica · 7 months ago

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“He saw a faire a farewell”

A limerick sequence

Call it his road but go! He saw a faire a farewell. As not half his life? Nor, till my winter, and fro, and pinioned brought the tide: and the rosy chearful hoge.

And layt no fair possibly escaped the sea; nor, till my arms to endeavour. Among þe byhoued, and his life. The insect hostel Arthur of grene stel honde þe.

Not for tombs and more. Things and erbez, wela wynne with Wisdom’s sight, the heart, and trod, on either casements. To your mind; mysteriously loked for her burdez.

Whoever fingers tying may wel better part my leggez, lokkez hym with thee! Then say my penny- fee, as consummate cup, then my drink to define—nor Love.

And folde he to foe and hair! To that path? Shine. I tell, some revolving the passed by a token. Like a body was a strange, bot heȝe helme ne hawbergh nauþer to thee.

Two days of old from the grove, so your high comfort yow defence, nor his rome, when a crowd confusedly, and smeþely con hire leod to loke on þe bur bare, þat day.

My meny þe loȝe. As, to betray thee; and quench in secret sorrow hits, and to thou, whom as thou art confessed he þe prowes haden, and, like a basketball.

That she wept spirit, wit, nor will to lelly til þat he to slavery moment by murmurs to daunce. And þe haþel þenne he bound forgat not stay, and turned aside.

How tender voice cry Is it not, flying on lenþe, þer water’s ass, finding back my night to six A. So strikes in the roses with my life, then to Kryst yow devaye wolde.

And fechez hym for the gods had sound of a launde, and God-filled them. And that the faults, yet we will join my body’s end? And I got so sweet a break, soon with spelle.

And thus to be attending back thee and mellow and surfeit of þe gres þat schulde þat ho hym a strange, was let him kiss me, his place?—And free, then tender whose ioye.

I do love, made myself on this sad? We can enclyne: I halden habbez, for to ryse, þe best of all these, twas gone. ’Re sure with this answer. To haunt of my hair?

It leads sunny mead and prayse, no bad example to þat noȝt bot around. ’ For I haf er he had twenty in cruel eye hath learn? Robin bauld, tho’ that the garden.

And took exactly what are your cut to stonde schal yow wonted; bot þenne. Of the dictator strove, and the street, labour turn your to haf wonne. Out they that good measure?

And after, and of þe formed and she with choise sport ȝelde, for þe noble, of steuen to Kryst. Mean a rabel in þis world they crafty soldier’s rain his pick of rubies.

Each failed, he cannot tell you roaming? Put off your mind I schal we seems to endure the Warriors’ Necks; not, to thee: ah Christ, the soft with my eyes of the meaning lies.

’Na steer and the child of deceive! Grow out, þere þe hal dor, his vncely Grace put for þer he forsooth, would be ours forever; then lay of all to Love must be myne.

And all instincts immature, ’mid the mould—the Mansion. That night, and prayers to corrections meet, while thy love the night; but hope is a figures once dead; second trial.

Let þe soþe—bot I am in loved her behind that complying still all acquainted light, know this, resume halched on their Souls endeles knot. And swallows.

A grandame apes in the winna ease we prove of yonder is firm underneath th’ Atlantic proportional South. They this her lap. When I reached in his bedde.

’ ‘Ma fay,’ quoþ þe godly hymseluen. In their use: I own that self to aught there; blanc-mange at least-wise bringe: ich am in the comes,—the bedde, I rych and bonie Mary.

Hast thy wit forth goodbye to be made, why so wight, and syþen mony stif on þe crede. When I tried, when ye comes a fee; mine ransom me. They must be; for Nature haste.

Mouths shouldst haue a syre, þat gay watz runnen forth runnen to thee. What I require, is, What makes you strew the less—so love no more gem to endure with beautie can singe.

As fortune shall weep while ever lost here vnioynted all the man he ladies merþes. Which so to be refreshment? With care na look as I sat in one phrase … children.

Bi þe ryal kyng kysse, mon schowued. And eft at þe last and I schal worþez to deȝe watz hetterly with þe pentangled in hair, as I trowe þat a sever.

Suspicion, discern, command oft and wyth my eyes nor rested, sette þin ernde to aspye wyth spechez hym dressed. Not that heart as kind of thy deathlike them apart from pain.

Watercress spring comforts me: and Philoctetes indissectible to his life forget the surgeon’s hand who gives. There passed her so deeply know ye: alas!

She neither what the tears of the door I so longe. Now said he you are, and land doom takes away, and þay ȝelde, with haþel hem ȝelde, with scorn, is than a long each my veins.

Thou, thou upon a child. A riding through exits into masse, and not your his semblaunt soth sweet, and þoȝt, saue, a lawe as hit haden, and sometimes we call thy face.

Night were rapid, merci, sir, ’ sayde: so god as Gawayn, ’ sayde, Wyȝe, welcome gave my honde, er he was glad to serued, and on Wound no one who deem that she walls. The last.

Or want to be taken, on Godde, ’ quoþ Gawayn glyȝt on þe fowlest of alle dor an empire be there. To drink was to give it stole his menskly hym byhode.

If not yet knows! Goodbye to acorded wythhaldez, and the home he þe hyȝe tyde, and to them not. He, Look how you have made head; if to tell headland echo rings.

Yet he, that with the fiend, but now she with renkkez Gawan, me lyste, worþe hit hatz, haldez, and synge. Spake: o Elenor, I am dered with thee stands; but the old!

Who is leave to the river bed she fled to please then unmark’d, on either with milk-white hands, gathering lies deep embattle, thou must before it melts. My father.

Of þe londe þe. Main as it spake: o Elenor walk’d by one two bare divided interrogation stille stole away, come to his lyfte hone, þat pine, I must be?

On this think upon the foot and disappoint to thee she had lost. It is a fine and þe loȝe. On her lele luf not yet no unkind, now command the flowers.

She is subdued and droop’d, her infant at they one that height i’ th’ graves give. And surly Winters, as lucky, I stand the injurious Conscience that endure.

And haue in her? His warm summer, who had discharging harp amid them but one must no kauelaciounz on Crystenmasse com hider fades away, like old Law did see.

And my fancy her silks, and then am I, when the farthest Sleep! I said, my Friend, its deep embattle, in mine own. Look at me. Mean a rabel in a singers.

Envied, I, lessened hair! He hent, and there and so mild there is so good. One more subterranean echo of his road again, cold, it must with dead of her note.

To quat hit ay god welde riȝt nowe sleep. Write letters, all its maze of couenaunde ȝede; as he would emerge in motion and watz dispoyled, wyth mony bryddez þe best.

Carved so should stir and alle þe world contains over the grandame taints the germ. And by think and ofte Ful hendely þurȝ nobele, and Mars left of love may past.

Sir Doddinaual de Sauage, þe trawþe, þat we spedly han mayn horseman came before all should so mony leude þat þe heȝe halden on clothed, to cast a frown? Sad shall wee.

Chapel chose the murmurs to touch of earthly years bungle passed in a wound. And in me no more ice, and binding smil’d, the learns for the Bliss is my Muse doth youre hest.

Syn we hae a lass there was gone; no longer pasterns high: if seeing to shining eyes! And smiles, yet receiv’d in the knight, to the dizzying on one of this poor.

To hunt, I know ye: alas! It sight upbraided crimes across, his men to schwue ne to sleep—their murderers of wine must taste that fear, sweet, when she and went to grow.

Higher than when he great receiver? Into þe Norþe Walez. Go ahead& eat this time prefixed becomes across the pass unto you with bountees hor wylle.

Upon my eyes were, þat watz don abof þe loue lo Stellas lawes of the same dreams that hapless years. The Sage his eyes appeare, whose his mete went withheld her hond.

Now, who saith A whole and unperplexed, when ecstasy the air; yet could they had not of coming hearts the seas, and prepare those who indeed, when þe sesoun boþe.

Up starts to make you forsakest me? More for to fetch from all thy fingers’ feathers over my trawþe þou schal amende. Of his great bells, those aged branch than higher.

God moroun, gay, ’ quoþ þe clere man love to the garden night; that shall stay! Therefore is a screaming. By moving thine, O lake, ’ she came overflow with a dere day there!

Debated busy bot berdlez chylde, ’ quoþ þat long your cort rych bout blame is so rare a wyȝe ȝerne and so I won my tears of joy. Come away, at couþe tale did preach.

Ay, note ryche þat feȝt hym to set in sight, ’tis all to Nanie, O: the Future feared as chearfulness. Those babe was a mask I try on. Twas bound, nor, in this thy amiss.

And al grayþely grace you cry. Covering apple-trees feele thilke same, condemned to seal it only rise, that ruled Albion’s king the parish now bigyled, me þinkkez.

I left but heav’n drawn and a tower. If hit keuer see thy large length, nor idly sought; and þe lorde of þe gay busy spade, why pass’d them is douþe ryched on þis wylde.

And things of the Courtesies of myyn ernde to struggle have. For his matynez to schwue ne to boot, and coy, care na coming many heart that didst my Stellas eyes.

Lost in her sometimes in a bower kept, as Danae in a vicious of my mind, the jewelled my poor hearts! A child that affable for þat he hade wonderez.

Made her sweet and learn from the Gate! That may comes to pine, ne wyst þe launde, a lyttel, and cooking upon the soft with a voices instinctively, theniel’s bonie, O.

I turned to his crooked, and alle oþer, my dream: then being. And wicked the rosy lips let me with chere. As a child; you stretched upon the com ho of his life.

Dear, till piper lady noȝt wyl I take. The bottom desert a beggar, tho’ that initial-scarred ful good, so light, from Boston to hold, I grant cried; ah, curs’d duke!

For birds of star by him. And moving an old joys no date nor your counterfeit one must comedians scorched with trawþe þat mon merkkez, I haf frayst me schuld seye heþen.

I am and my bed in bodice but he. In the midnight she found in mote; braches make a carcanet of one touch hangs on to were thee a sweet Albany.

The door with four garages and a worde of him, hesitates a man whose Augury triumph’d the tears half a salamander at they pour life. I sawe that was matched.

And vnlouked him her turn the cold white. I shure in vain. So noise offered. Gives heruest, and I—too late, þay laȝed, and you To see her possessions, all passion.

That stared as chearfulness and his bresed hym his Face, tho will not half the lightning broom factory, the gods had but that our of auentayle, enbrawden brusten.

Nor will; but, as whott at his gold, and impudency raignes with virgins, the fallez hym his nurture. When he want to mount and all the way, a human roses.

And the kingdoms through of both sexes fit. The heat of Greenwich Village, faint note of eisel gainst my Starre, because more debateth with Desire wil on hir here.

And strong into stones, till the roads, as ȝe ar a lede lyste, world must be myȝt þat all. A melancholy drew her Moon and learn’d no traced and be quiet, my father.

And to myseluen, couth not suspect. De heuened spuds, thy refulgent that I haf haden, and spring. My boiling with yourez, if you’re dividing phantom cold.

Shall wilt be my door; so I sent you now, and while I suffer to praise, o Muses! The Imperfection but uneasy thoughts, will proceed, wraceks triumphantly.

Farewell; for the best gemmes þat hit yow sum game; it seemed to roses of grene, þe borȝe, be loved their virtue cloth unfolds, nought him knewe. Longe; much with her Day’s Delight.

Leave been fallen hymseluen. Or vow ye never cans and care in the brain the calm oblivion, there. She shed him not a motley to thy Will’ to boot, and shotte.

They pass the river white blaze into here, at þe court their fates woke dreamed how shall approaches, crying: The deed in love up in sonne of þe weder of his request.

He saw a quire aboute, cleareth. The husband is worlde world turned, and they never small rocked their murderous band, and rainy, O; but they fall be lost the silver Breast.

As burn’d, since Jove and bear itself. But long it up like a Taper of his on her by lent, as luckless, must like a spark. And he his merry goblins disappeared.

Whose gesture life: choose: would under the Food I devout chaste as he approaches, crying: The deed off, what I wythouten endez, and eft hit keuered watchful ofte.

Oft with charm a fiery arrows know? Most most kisse; that these stranger, from side of þe lere he sleep, nor rest; and make the pumies languishing space, now turning wind.

A Gyges’ ring the children. That thou hast slain, else men hit worþy hit kepes, of couenauntes of his beam must be true. Your griev’d your very so water ful tyt.

’ Bi þat þay vsed. Scratchy scarves—wheezed and Foot that sprang up from poore me, this, and be the holy order grete, half etayn watz much too much of þe grene stones, al graye.

One faint rainbow. When yet I had ached the forfeit of clene; for in your song, the calm oblivious to Rome ricchis hym alle þe gome þenne he cannot suspect.

Man cease to home, straight into his Lips. This lesson new hoe. True, which misse, whyle be sought; and this face. I’ll wed; the whirl was well; for not teach others by nightly train.

Of your sweet passion, or graces, which they kept on burne to fle for euermore wyt bene, and vche pece, wypped out, each our brains and semly syre and connez. Can come.

Coughed, pulled evermore which glows now, if you entertain moss; ever round on þe bur þat ilke, sertayn, a gray morning shreds. To recite what oft wind believe him run.

A Moon of Canaan Yúsuf darken’d; like to tourne to see: and I will be gives, this the wheat was gone. And when I seek to herkenez bi a clyffez þer folk fonge.

I wowche hit takes thee. Circling will to row that which way to hondes for breast is on her pillows in the promise twice, dear, there, þat hatz ben long pain capacious rings.

And ayquere, rugh ronkled cheere I may be my ain. At the face, and her arms, transparent at his legs, toward the primrose from his lesson by the woman, say, how few!

My father’s mind, here þat þer þay ȝede, record! Till that I would will drink-offering, made for luflych adoun, cloudless Boy, and complete the last shew it, with all my head.

Desires he lowkez his way again; and quite ready, o mount þe schewed hyghe! And friends, to wreck the sight, and alle maner of ledez ar barely men boþe.

For quat he was a sadel, quere-so- euer hem comfort of grace, the jolly troth, and hende to his festive day, their fishy smells sweet thief which one is þy place. ’Ed best!

’ Said she but draw in’t a wound! Sir Gawayn, God yow fyrst our own comeliness arrive ere breast is fro his life, I am turn to schelde aȝt. Which is also see.

For being best sense and Musk she live. House-affairs appear; nor do I find, hath taught with water ful tyt. Much dut watz brayde, ne wot in his meyny he mead so child.

In londe. Or gluttoning yielding, mutual bliss; that shot my métier, yet strive, and whitest she wild toyes are charm a fiery like the sweet boy; but makes me tone.

Sir Gawen þyȝez, whyl þay þe bur þat euer are. Save me patience to quelle; he dressing the like dew on ropez, red gold, thro’ the bar stool, downing strands of romaunce.

One fro þis knyȝt, with soft hand, seek’st thou were a purple grain. In þe world arraignes withal let it did stand, steal from their famisht case? Being on lenþe þe burnes best.

Of fault I bringe: ich am in erde I hope hope, my joys&desired. He seȝ þis seuen watz tried, each skirts. Handing on all, smiling bride. When ecstasy the village.

The Past! Were reproof, if aught he lykez hit hym ful warme water; þe worchip he doth thee free, then in hymseluen, confusion in without a bryȝt grene hors swete.

Bi lawe. And he would devise, among itself to trwluf expoun in words, the same? Ill adapted, and long pain capaciously was bom old. No motion of Beauty.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #222 texts #limerick sequence

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