#grand nord grand large

[stephanedugast]

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📣 Au programme : projection de films, retours d'expéditions et discussions... un brin givrées ☃️ 🗓️ Avec de nombreux spécialistes polaires dont Jean-Louis Etienne (qu'on ne présente plus), Dubreuil Nicolas, Stéphane Niveau, Sophie Galvagnon, Stéphane Dugast...

📎 Rendez-vous, de 14 heures à 20 heures, au théâtre de la tour Eiffel à Paris pour cette journée exceptionnelle organisée par Grand Nord Grand Large, acteur incontournable des voyages et des expéditions polaires.

🛒 Pour réserver votre billet ➡️ https://terdav-evenements.mapado.com/

[reyolivier]

Beagle, un canal entre deux océans

« Le plus beau contraste jamais vu entre mer et glace »  - Charles Darwin durant sa navigation à bord du navire Le Beagle dans le détroit qui deviendra le canal de Beagle.

Entre les océans Pacifique et Atlantique, entre l’Argentine et le Chili, le canal de Beagle forme un détroit qui s’étend d’est en ouest sur 240 km de long et relie les deux océans. Ce bras de mer coupe la Terre de Feu en deux : la grande île au nord et un archipel formé d’une multitude de petites îles au sud.

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Beagle, a channel between two oceans

“The most beautiful contrast ever seen between sea and ice” - Charles Darwin during his navigation aboard the ship The Beagle in the strait that would become the Beagle Channel.

Between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, between Argentina and Chile, the Beagle Channel forms a strait that extends from east to west for 240 km long and connects the two oceans. This arm of the sea cuts Tierra del Fuego in two: the large island to the north and an archipelago made up of a multitude of small islands to the south.

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#argentina #argentina🇦🇷 #argentine #argentinas #travel #travelphotography #travelgram #travelblogger #travelling #instatravel #voyage #voyager #voyageurdumonde #naturerey #summer #summervibes #ameriquedusud #ameriquelatine #sealife #patagonia #patagoniaargentina🇦🇷 #otarie #mountains #montana #animal #animallovers #sea #canalbeagle #ocean #lighthouse

[falmerbrook]

Snow Elf culture?

*pulls up a chair*

Perhaps...

A wee disclaimer that I'm not particularly good or creative with developing cultures or societies, but my brain has just latched on to the snow elves in a way where I can't stop myself. But anyway

I developed a lot of this because of a big ass draft for a fic I've been writing on and off about Gelebor and Vyrthur, so a lot of my headcanons are religion heavy. I'll start there:

Gelebor seems to place Auri-El and the Chantry of Auri-El as having significant importance to the Snow Elves over the other gods/temples. He's probably got a bit of bias in that regard since he's devoted his life to Auri-El, but in order to differentiate their religion from the other elven ones I like to think that their religion in general worshipped Auri-El as not even just as the figure head of their pantheon, but almost monotheistical, while the other gods (Trinimac, Syrabane, Jephre and Phynaster according to Gelebor) were like minor divine figures or just legendary heroes even more than in Altmer myth, depending on the interpretation. My idea is that if their culture had been allowed to continue on, it would've eventually become monotheistic, but by the arrival of the Nords they were in a bit of an awkward transition period with it.

I also like to lean into the sun motif with Auri-El that they established in Dawnguard and with Auriel's Bow, partially because it's another thing to make their depiction of him more unique, and in part because it makes some very juicy irony for Vyrthur. Some ideas include:

- The more religious folk tend to pray at noon when the sun is at it's highest. - The two biggest snow elf festivals happen on the summer and winter solstices. As far north as they are, the summer solstice is during a time of year where the sun barely sets and the winter one is during a time of year where it barely rises. The summer one is more jovial and celebratory, with a grand feast. With almost 24 hours of daylight, the festivities last up to three days straight, with folks commonly staying awake for over 24 hours. Most of it is spent outside, with the celebration being focused on making the most of the weather and daylight hours to spend as much time in the sun and the light of Auri-El as possible. The winter festival is as large scale but lasts longer and is lower-key. It also involves a feast but features more winter foods and meat and alcohol. It is more pensive. At this point in the year, there is no full daylight, and so this season is seen as a test of one’s faith and mental fortitude. This festival acts as a break from this trying time, taking time to relax, build community (a strong community will allow them to make it through the winter and strengthen their minds), and bond with family and friends. It is about a weeklong break, where leading up to the festival everyone works harder to prepare for it and allow themselves to have the break. There are activities and festivities, but they remain indoors for the most part and are smaller. - I've referenced this before, but with long winters with little sunlight (due to harsh weather and short days), they see that time of year as a reflective test of will and faith.

Due to their proximity to dragons, it was hard to miss the connection between Auri-El (/Akatosh) and dragons, and so their depiction of Auri-El is either much more influenced by the iconography of dragons, or is a dragon (although their depiction of dragon Auri-El is much more benevolent than the Nord/Atmoran one). I got the idea for this one from this Reddit post (i know I dog on Reddit a lot but this one has got some fun stuff in it, even if it's a bit out there)

^On that note, later in the timeline (post Dragon War (the timeline is very fuzzy on when this and the Night of Tear happens. They are both sometime vaguely in the late Merethic Era I believe, but it's unclear which happens first or how long each conflict is)) some Snow Elves see a sort of unreturned, unofficial comradery with dragons, seeing themselves as both on the receiving end of the Nord's/Atmoran's brutality (disregarding whether it was warranted or not in the context of the Dragon War).

Ok here's some more general cultural ones:

I mentioned my reasoning for this in this post, but I like to think their general settlements were not as permanent, with a larger focus on wood and building into the sides of hills (good for warmth), while their temples tended to be made of stone and much more permanent. This is why there are so few identifiable Snow Elf ruins across Skyrim. Their cities and towns were easy to wipe out, scavenged for resources, or were in good places for Nordic cities (perhaps Bromjunaar was originally the site of a Snow Elf city?), and their temples were either very hidden (e.g. the Chantry of Auri-El) or eventually converted to Nordic temples.

I love this journal in general for gleaning ideas for Snow Elf headcanons for, but one interesting this is the use of "Old Ones" and "Young One". They're treated like established titles. From that I like to think they place a lot of emphasis on the respect of those older than you. The social hierarchy and whose opinions are most valued is heavily influenced by age. Folks call anyone older or more revered “Old Ones” as a term of respect, and anyone younger than them “Young Ones”. Old One is almost never used in a demeaning way, but Young One can be (not always). Typically, “Old Ones” is used in the third person (e.g. you wouldn’t refer to someone directly as “old one”) whole “Young One(s)” can be used as an epithet for someone directly or in third person.

When thinking about death/"burial" customs (needed for some scenes in the fic I'm planning), you have to consider that there probably wasn't a lot of land in a place like Skyrim where someone can be buried. Nords intern their dead in crypts or burn them to get around this, and I like to think Snow Elves participated in something akin to sky burials (at least sometimes). After preparation, the departed's body is left outside on a ledge, cliff, or the temple balcony to be scavenged by birds. This is seen as a metaphorical return to Aetherius, while their soul literally returns to it. They do this even in poor weather or deep winter. If it doesn’t thaw and rot/be scavenged until months later, so be it. The length it takes to rot is considered indicative of how long it takes for the spirit to let go and move on (not in a bad way though. It’s interpreted more in the way of the soul or body grieving). It's seen as if they may wish to wait until spring to finally rot if they want to experience one more warm, sunny day.

Food (I mostly wrote this in my notes in the context of the Forgotten Vale and Chantry of Auri-El, but I think it could work elsewhere as well to an extent): Plant-based food is grown in gardens in the spring and summer, and that that is able to be stored is carefully preserved through the fall and winter. Winter foods include some nuts, dried vegetables, and dried and preserved/fermented grains (like wheat, barely). These foods must be eaten slowly throughout the winter to last, and winter diets are more meat based. Summer foods include apples, cabbage/lettuce, leeks, tomatoes etc. Snowberries can be found in the wild out of season of most other fruits, and provide fruit in very early spring. Occasionally, fungus from caves is harvested, but this is seen as a delicacy (foreshadowing).

Ok, that's it for now. I gotta go to bed. Thanks for the ask!!!! :D

[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 41, vol. 18, 11 octobre 1896, Paris. Créations des Grands Magasins de ta Place Clichy, à Paris. Modèles exclusifs. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

Vêtement de genre, en drap mélangé, doublé soie; application d'une large baguette tournant autour du vêtement et du capuchon. Cette baguette est unie p'faire apposition; il se fait en bleu capote, en mélangé beige et noir.

Vêtement de genre, in mixed cloth, lined with silk; application of a large baguette turning around the garment and the hood. This baguette is plain for affixing; it is made in hood blue, in mixed beige and black.

—

Paletot sac, en velours du nord doublé soie; orné d'un boléro passementerie faisant broderie, grand col bordé de Mongolienne et pans de ruban.

Bag coat, in northern velvet lined with silk; decorated with a bolero trimmings making embroidery, large collar edged with Mongolian and ribbon panels.

—

Cape en pluche sileshine doublée soie ouatée, haute fourrure de chinchilla de chine taillée au patron faisant le col et la garniture.

Plush sileshine cape lined with wadded silk, high Chinese chinchilla fur cut to the pattern making the collar and trim.

—

Vêtement de fillette, en drap cuir pure laine qualité extra, dos et devant à gros plis montés sur un empiècement taillé à pointes, grand col de chinchilla d'Asiepouvant se rouler; la taille de 5 ans.

Little girl's clothing, in extra quality pure wool leather cloth, back and front with large pleats mounted on a yoke cut with points, large Asian chinchilla collar that can be rolled up; size 5 years.

—

Costume tailleur, drap cheviotte, jupe à godets avec tablier orné de soutache et boutons denacre petit gilet d'homme jolie veste ajustée avec col et parements de velours, même ornement devant qu'au tablier.

Tailored suit, cheviotte cloth, gored skirt with apron decorated with soutache and mother-of-pearl buttons, small men's waistcoat, pretty fitted jacket with velvet collar and facings, same decoration on the front as on the apron.

—

Joli costume drap satin, jupe nouvelle avec pli chaque côté du tablier garni pattes velours, paletot droit, plis dos et devant, col velours à créneaux, pattes, parements velours doublé de polonaise.

Pretty satin cloth suit, new skirt with pleats on each side of the apron trimmed with velvet tabs, straight overcoat, pleats on the back and front, velvet collar with crenellations, tabs, velvet facings lined with polonaise.

—

Vêtement riche en velours du nord doublé soie ouatée avec bretelle de jais, revers devant, ornés de même jais, choux de ruban et pans devant.

Vêtement riche in northern velvet lined with quilted silk with jet strap, front lapels, decorated with the same jet, ribbon cabbages and front panels.

[sciatu]

Le nuvole grigie ricoprono l’azzurro del cielo, coprono i monti sopra Taormina e velano l’Etna fino a nasconderla. Scendiamo tra le vie di Taormina, lucide di pioggia, per andare nella grande Villa. Ci accolgono viali pieni di fiori e di profumi, e panorami in cui si intravede l’infinito, mentre il mare quieto, si svuota di sagge barche che prevedendo la tempesta, tornano lentamente a riva. La Villa è piena di alberi di ogni specie perché chi la iniziò a creare, Lady FlorenceTrevelyan, la cugina della regina Vittoria, volle creare una piccola oasi con fiori e piante di tutto il mondo dove gli animali potessero vivere indisturbati e lei potesse trovare il suo paradiso lussureggiante. Così, alberi tropicali crescono accanto a pini del lontano nord, fiori del nuovo mondo brillano luminosi accanto ai fiori locali lussureggianti ed eterni nel loro instancabile fiorire. I rumori del mondo sono lontani. Lontani il caos e le follie di chi crede nell’acciaio e nel cemento. Qui vi è solo il canto dei cardellini, il richiamo delle ciaule, il saltellare delle gazze, ed il sospiro del vento appena nato dal mare, che nervosamente sfida i monti a fermarlo, rubando nubi e stracciandole nel cielo. All’ingresso della villa due giovani amanti alati. Perché l’amore dona le ali degli angeli a chi di lui si nutre e con lui sogna.

The gray clouds cover the blue sky, cover the mountains above Taormina and veil Etna until they hide it. We go down the streets of Taormina, shiny with rain, to go to the large Villa. We are welcomed by avenues full of flowers and scents, and panoramas where you can glimpse the infinite, while the calm sea, empties of wise boats that, foreseeing the storm, slowly return to shore. The Villa is full of trees of every species because the person who began to create it, Lady Florence Trevelyan, cousin of Queen Victoria, wanted to create a small oasis with flowers and plants from all over the world where animals could live undisturbed and she could find her lush paradise. Thus, tropical trees grow next to pines from the far north, flowers from the new world shine brightly next to the local flowers lush and eternal in their tireless blooming. The noises of the world are far away. Far away is the chaos and madness of those who believe in steel and cement. Here there is only the song of goldfinches, the call of ciauli, the hopping of magpies, and the sigh of the wind just born from the sea, which nervously challenges the mountains to stop it, stealing clouds and tearing them in the sky. At the entrance to the villa two young winged lovers. Because love gives the wings of angels to those who feed on it and dream with it.

[late-nite-scholar]

Aug 16 (Day 5)-Crown/Gentle

Being Emperor isn’t easy. In fact, in some ways, it kind of sucks. Part of a Martin Lives AU. Prompts by @tes-summer-fest  

Nord HoK x Martin Septim 

Warnings- pregnancy

Wordcount- ~1300

***

It was much later than he’d hoped when Martin climbed the stairs up to the Emperor’s Suite, grumbling a little at how many damned stairs were in this tower. It was too late to read Gemille her bedtime story; she’d have been put to bed a good two hours ago now. There were few things he hated more than the way this damned crown took him away from little things like reading to his daughter and tucking her in. 

Once inside the doors of the royal suite and having shut out the rest of the world, he dropped the tall, square-shouldered walk of the Emperor. Ironically, this grand and overly-sumptuous apartment was one of the few places he could just be Martin for a little while. He closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. 

Gentle arms encircled him, a kiss planted on his cheek as a soft voice asked, “How did it go, love?”

“Longer than it should have. But we’ve got the dispute sorted out. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come see the new Blades taking their oaths. I really wanted to be there.”

“I know. Baurus and I handled things, don’t worry. I’m still technically a Blade myself, among all the other titles. I’m a good substitute for the Emperor when needed.”

He turned, reaching up to take her face in his hands. “Aethelfrid! Don’t say that about yourself! You are, among your other titles, Empress of Tamriel. You’re not a substitute, you’re just as important as I am. Considering how we got here, I’d say you’re more important than I am!”

She grinned. “Yeah, but you’re the Septim. Either way, it went very well. Gemille tried to stay up and wait for you, but she had a long day. She barely made it half an hour past bedtime. Come see what she got today.”

They crept over to the door leading into the nursery. Their daughter lay curled up around something wooden, her orange hair a riot around her. As she shifted, Martin got a look at what she held. 

“Is that a wooden sword?” he whispered in disbelief. 

“It is!”

“She’s three!”

“That’s probably when I got my first training sword,” Aethelfrid shrugged. “She won’t do proper lessons just yet, but she can have it and maybe we can do a few small techniques like proper grip. She’s very excited to show you.”

His face softened into a smile again, “She’s so much like you.”

“She’s more like you than you think.”

***

Once they’d come away from the nursery door, Aethelfrid took Martin’s hand and led him to another door, behind which the large bath waited. It was all prepared, enchantments keeping the water warm and inviting. As Aethelfrid pushed the robe off of his shoulders, he took off his crown, frowning at it. 

“I hate this thing,” he muttered. 

“I know, love. But we don’t need it right now.” 

He put it down on a small table, feeling the weight of it fall away. For a little while, it could. It was these few, precious moments that got him through the day, that made the weight of the crown bearable. He sighed again. 

“I didn’t even ask you how you’re feeling. I’m sorry, my heart.” He rubbed his face with the heel of his hand. 

She was still undoing and pulling off his clothes, and he reached out to the hem of her long tunic, beneath which her stomach had begun to get round again. She giggled. 

“I’m doing just fine. Feeling good. This feels as though it’ll be another strong, Septim child.” She pulled the tunic over her head. “It’s good it’s starting to show. Some of the nobles have been very pissy that we didn’t just have babies back to back to back. I think they just want to keep me busy and out of Council meetings.”

As they settled into the tub together, Aethelfrid’s strong, deft fingers began to message water and soap through Martin’s hair. He leaned back, savoring the feeling. 

“Can I tell you something, my dear?” he asked. 

“Of course.” She planted a kiss on his forehead. 

“I… I wish we could disappear somewhere. Live quiet lives, just you and me and the children. Maybe somewhere near the mountains.” He’d fallen in love with the mountains during their time at Cloud Ruler Temple. “But there’s still so much to be done, even with all the progress we’ve made.” 

Her fingers stopped scrubbing for the briefest second. “I wish we could, too. My family is from Morthal, and it's not too far from there that you could find a little spot in the mountains. Or east closer to Dawnstar. It’s about as far away from everything as you can get.”     

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Let’s retire there. Once the rebuilding’s done and we get everything back on its feet, let’s retire to Skyrim.” 

“Deal.” 

Martin helped Aethelfrid unbraid and wash her hair next. He ran a gentle comb through the flame-orange waves, wondering if their second child would also inherit this color. They made many grand plans as he worked; discussing the house they’d build and where. 

“I’d love a garden,” Martin admitted. “I had one at the chantry in Kvatch. I miss it.” Kvatch was being rebuilt, but even if a new garden was planted, he wouldn’t have the chance to do more than maybe see it. 

“I need a training yard. We also need a library.”

“Of course. And enough room for our family. You said you wanted a big one.”

“I do. It’s a Nord thing. We always have big families.”

Well, I will build the house myself to your exact measurements.”

***

Once they’d bathed, they settled down for a late-night supper. More pressing realities took over the conversation; an envoy from Mournhold arriving in two days’ time, a gala planned for the day after that. The trading guild had a petition about a contract to Hammerfell, and builders in the city wanted to meet about their progress. There was also a feast day coming up quickly, and they’d have to find the ceremonial robes to wear to the temple that day.  

It seemed never-ending, but Aethelfrid was as firm in her commitment as he, and it was less daunting with both of them facing it together. After all, they’d faced down the forces of The Dead Lands and its ruler together. Once you’ve done something like that, the mundane jobs of contracts and noble posturing seemed much less intimidating.

After dinner, they retired to their bed with a book each. Snuggling up, they did a little reading, before returning their attention to the other. 

“I’m sorry for being so grouchy,” Martin kissed his wife’s cheek softly. 

“You have a lot on your plate, love. We both do. It’s not easy. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“I really wish we could retire to the mountains.”

“We will. We’ll get things back on track and retire to Bruma. Or Morthal, or wherever you want. Falkreath is very pretty and has less snow.” 

“They’re not going to let us just leave like that.”

“When the time comes, we’ll leave before they realize. You have no idea the hidden places and trails and things I found running around doing Hero of Kvatch stuff. I mean it.”

“I would never doubt you on that. And, I hope we can take you up on it.”

“We will. I promise you that.”

***

It took Martin a long time to fall asleep that night. It seemed so impossible! That he could truly leave behind this crown and the weight it carried. But Aethelfrid had done the impossible before. Many times, in fact. He had no doubt she could do so again. One day, he told himself, once we’ve got things back in order. 

When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of a little farm with a garden and a gaggle of flame-haired children. 

[francepittoresque]

14 avril 1912 : naufrage du Titanic ➽ http://bit.ly/Naufrage-Titanic Nous sommes au milieu de l’Atlantique Nord, au large de Terre-Neuve. Le RMS Titanic navigue en direction de New York, sereinement, à belle allure : 22 nœuds, c’est-à-dire un peu plus de 40 km/h. Seulement, le grand paquebot insubmersible va sombrer

[whencyclopedfr]

Le Chamanisme en Corée Ancienne

Le chamanisme a été largement pratiqué en Corée depuis la préhistoire jusqu'à l'époque moderne. Il s'agit d'un système de croyances qui trouve son origine dans les cultures de l'Asie du Nord-Est et de l'Arctique. Bien que le terme "chamanisme" ait depuis acquis une signification plus large dans de nombreuses cultures différentes, dans l'ancienne Corée, il a conservé sa forme originale, dans laquelle des praticiens autoproclamés promettaient d'entrer en contact avec le monde des esprits et de l'influencer afin de venir en aide aux vivants. Les chamanes se voyaient confier leur autorité par ceux qui croyaient en leur pouvoir. Il ne s'agit donc pas d'une religion, et il n'y avait ni prêtrise hiérarchique, ni textes, ni dogmes auxquels adhérer. Pendant une grande partie de l'histoire de la Corée, le bouddhisme était la religion officielle de l'État, mais le chamanisme continua à jouer un rôle important pour la population ordinaire, essentiellement paysanne. Son influence sur la culture coréenne ancienne est particulièrement tangible dans l'art, l'architecture, la littérature et la musique qui nous sont parvenus.

Lire la suite...

[kagrena]

34. bauble

Dumac, who is neither a magnificent king nor a decorated general nor even a particularly celebrated diplomat (yet), but is instead a twenty-four year old legal assistant who stands in shadow to his tedious cousin – as instructed – and slinks between soirées in Bzanth-Vvarden's high spires when he is not giving maverick legal advice – which is not as instructed though largely tolerated – has just been given a gift he cannot receive. It's an awkward position.

"I thought... but this was your gift, was it not?" He looks to the gift-giver, who stands upright like a tower but refuses to meet his gaze. "Was it not gifted to you?"

The gift-giver is resolute. "It is a pretty bauble. The sort you like. I have no need of such things."

The 'pretty bauble' in question is, in fact, an ornate geometric hairpiece spun from glass-woven-into-brass by a Bzanthan master crafter. He is almost certain that it was gifted by the Chief of Crafts themselves. It is intricate, stylish, and - yes, exactly the type of 'bauble' he would covet.

It also is inlaid with a ring of Lzrenti sapphires. The sort that would have been impossible to find during the War of the Mountains.

He sighs.

"This is supposed to be a peace offering. A symbol of harmony between our clans. Would you really turn that down?"

"I don't want peace," says the gift-giver. He is reminded, again, that they are just nineteen years old. "Do you believe the Nords care for our petty disputes? We are all just 'dwarves' in their eyes. They'll slaughter us without discrimination."

Dumac steps forward.

"I understand where you're coming from–"

"No, you do not."

Lzrent is now smouldering ash. Bzanth-Vvarden is not.

"You are right," he says, "but if I may – while 'petty' to you, this gesture means something to the elders here. They'll need help seeing your perspective. Play their game a little, and it will be easier to convince them."

They shake their head.

"I have spent six months playing their games, being placated by diplomats at their ridiculous little events. This city is an extravagant shambles. When the Nords come for us–"

They cut themselves off. They try again–

"When the Nords come for us–"

Their hands crunch into balls. Dumac considers reaching out – but thinks better of it.

"Kagrenac–" he begins–

"I almost think I'd be better off raising an army."

It is actually rather easy to imagine Kagrenac, the bold warrior queen, who unites the clans under a single fiery banner. Brazen and coarse and uncompromising, with all the blood on their hands. It is fanciful image, an almost impossible image, and it compels him as much as it makes him want to recoil. They have already been so many things. A refugee. A daughter of one of the Great Scrollkeepers in Clan Lzrent's Grand Library – reduced to ashes by the Nords less than a year ago. They arrived in Vvardenfell with nothing but rags on their back and pure hunger in their eyes. Sponsored by his grandmother in an act of unabashed self-interest, who seeks to apprentice them as an Architect. They are young and stubborn, they sulk during festivities and bicker with people five times their age. His cousin loathes them. Dumac, who has no younger siblings or relatives his age, for his part, well–

"You would be cut down in less than year," he says, simply. "You have no credentials, no family, and most Vvardenfell Clans have no great love for anyone in the Western Mountains. What little you would gather would be destroyed in a matter of minutes."

"It would be better," they snap, "than another year sitting and doing nothing."

"No, it would not." He wishes he could speak like an earthquake. That he could grasp them by the shoulders and shake them to their core. "It would be a year wasted. And what would that honestly achieve? Who would it serve, except your pride?"

They say nothing to this.

"Kagrena, don't waste your life on nothing. You're worth more than that."

They do not move.

Dumac sighs. "I'll take your bauble and even wear it, if it pleases you."

It takes a moment. Then, they shrug, suddenly, an awkward gesture that doesn't fit with their cutting words or their earlier poise. They place the bauble in his hand.

"I think it would suit you," they say quietly.

[nientedenada]

On the Arrrant Lies of The Septims' Most Deplorable Toady, My Former Employer, Bertrand Rielle, Duke of Camlorn

Apocrypha/Microfic written for r/teslore. Read it here or on AO3.

This angry pamphlet was published in the early years of the Septim Empire, during the reign of Emperor Pelagius I. Our one copy of this text comes from the Archives of the Adamantium Tower, and bears the simple notation "This is most diverting" in the hand of a Direnni scribe. The fate of the author is unknown.

I, Bazile Guimard, am a historian of the First Era, a role which means I am constantly thwarted in my researches by the imaginative genealogical efforts of the Breton aristocracy. Nowhere in Tamriel will you find such a mendacious crew as the nobles of this land. Pedigree means everything to them.

Don’t mistake my meaning here, certainly all nobles boast of their pedigrees. If you’re ever invited to a Summerset country estate for the weekend, I advise you to decline the invitation lest you succumb to the boredom of hearing an enthusiastic Altmer host monologue about his ancestors back to the Dawn. Breton stories of ancestral glory are much more palatable; largely because everyone is aware that most of them are hogswash. There is a tacit agreement among us Bretons not to look too closely into the actual facts of other people’s ancestors. Our friends and neighbours repay us the favour by not looking into our own.

Yes, pedigree means everything to Breton nobles. This does not entail respect for their ancestors. Instead, it means that they make up their pedigrees out of whole-cloth to suit their situation. The frustrated historian is left to sift through the nonsense of centuries to get at the truth.

And still, I’ve never met such an arrant liar as Bertrand Rielle, Duke of Camlorn.

The man doesn’t lack a grand ancestry. There’s been a remarkable consistency in the Rielle rule of Camlorn over generations. Even if they’re thrown out on their ears, eventually they turn up again. I can trace Duke Bertrand’s lineage back to the hero of Glenumbra Moors, Prince Aiden Direnni himself. That, however, does not please Bertrand. Of late years, he has cozied up to the Septim family and with that, reinvented his ancestry to be more palatable to the current fashion. The last time I visited the Duke, he was boasting about his heroic Nord ancestress, Inge Blood-Swan. Bertrand knows damn well that Inge was the husband of the first Duke of Camlorn, Robert Rielle, and that he is descended from that Duke’s younger sister, Yselle. At least Bertrand knew it as late as last year before he met a so-called antiquarian who informed him that Inge could be a woman’s name as well and introduced to Bertrand the lure of a new more Nordic descent. The Septims will surely be impressed by this one!

In this new version of Rielle family history, Inge Blood-Swan, descendant of Ysgramor, (and as Bertrand tells it, most of the other five hundred Companions), inspired her Breton husband Robert Rielle to throw off the hated scourge of elven oppression. How utterly ridiculous, and what an insult to the memory of the First Duke of Camlorn, the wily opportunistic manmer who carved out his own chunk of the Direnni Hegemony.

Bertrand has revoked my access to his archives and disrupted my work of two decades chronicling the rise of the manmer polity of Camlorn. But In an instance of what I can only see as Divine Justice, he has also lost the boot-licking hobbyist who started him down this path. Scarcely a week into his new job, this idiot reportedly borrowed a late-Hegemony Levies Scroll for a bit of light bedtime reading. The servants report they had to scrape his viscera off the ceiling.

Duke Bertrand is in search of a new lorekeeper. Since no reputable Breton scholar will now associate with him, perhaps he can install a travelling Nord street magician next, as is the Septim-approved fashion.

Notes: Inspired by finding out Inge: a woman's name in Skyrim is more often male in Sweden/Norway. And by sorting through all sorts of dreadful amateur genealogy done by folks with big dreams of glorious ancestry and no skepticism or discernment.

The Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition, and the complaints of texts such as Frontier, Conquest, paint a picture of a period of Nord Fatherland nonsense in the early Septim Empire. If the Septims have loudly-declared roots in Atmora, would the Breton aristocracy pass up on acquiring some for themselves? The Breton aristocracy has a high turn-over and a strong self-aggrandizing streak. From the PGE1

Today, the social structure of the Bretons has divided itself into a poor middle class and destitute peasantry, a magical elite separate from their squalor, and an often incoherent jumble of nobility and ruling families above them all. It is beyond the small ambition of this pamphlet to address the latter in any better terms, for even the natives have difficulty distinguishing their leaders from one another. Indeed, it is an old joke among the Bretons: "find a new hill, become a king," and many have taken it to heart. Youths of all professions and trades in High Rock spend their free time in knightly pursuits, real and imagined, performing good deeds and the like for all and sundry, in oft-vain efforts to achieve, one day, a noble status.

Once you've found that new hill, you need a pedigree, I figure.

There are two more references to the PGE1 here: Altmer commenter YR's allegation that Tiber Septim hired a fake street magician to run his Thu'um college, and the dangers of trying to read Direnni Hegemony official documents without the proper ciphers.

[bethrnoora]

🐅 for hiisi and 🎇 for anfisa

yayayyy thank u pria!!

🐅 (tiger) - What makes your character angry? Are they angry often? Does it take a lot to make them upset or are they quick to anger?

for Hiisi sometimes i feel like the question should be what DOESN'T make him angry lmao. i do feel like there is a throughline of authority at large, especially when leveraged against people who have no way of pushing back on that influence. he would never characterize his rage that way as he prefers to keep himself on the unapproachable side to most, but it's part of why he is so quick to take on Aventus Aretino's request to kill Grelod - especially since he was at one point an orphan at the mercy of the people who took care of him.

tamriel and skyrim especially is full of people eager to abuse their positions of power, so Hiisi is DEFINITELY angry often and while it doesn't take a lot to make him blow his lid it hasn't always been that way; as he settles into the role of Listener and travels throughout Skyrim i think he learns to rein things in a bit so as not to end up as explosive as some of the local Nords. so he generally cultivates a general air of quietly-boiling rage - though diehard Imperial or Stormcloak sympathizers, as well as upper-class bigots who hold people under their thumb really grind his gears and make him not want to wait for the Night Mother's word (and on a few occasions sometimes he doesn't wait).

🎇 (sparkler) - If your oc had the chance to start their life over again, what would they change, if anything? How would this change them and the people around them? Would their lives be better or worse? Would they change anything in the first place?

so Anfisa is generally a "keep moving forward" type of person, which makes it kind of hard to say what she would change, if anything. I think that she would certainly not want to start over from the beginning, both because I don't think she would see the point in it and because there are some things that she sees as set in stone, things that would happen in any lifetime no matter how many times it would play out. Transitioning, for one - I think she knows the Hist would be kind to her in any lifetime and her transness would be realized and welcomed by the Hist and her community.

I think by the end of the events of Skyrim she regrets not being able to help a lot of people, not being able to achieve a perfect outcome for the actual citizens of Skyrim during the peace talks, and not being able to dissuade Hiisi away from the Dark Brotherhood in some way - though the last one especially she can't help but feel like fate took him where he needed to be (or would end up eventually). so in that sense the opportunity to go back and change these things would be tempting, but in the grand scheme of things I don't think she would find it worth the risk of altering some yet-unknown future, or potentially preventing her from meeting the people she knows and loves in Skyrim.

[reyolivier]

Beagle, un canal entre deux océans

« Le plus beau contraste jamais vu entre mer et glace »  - Charles Darwin durant sa navigation à bord du navire Le Beagle dans le détroit qui deviendra le canal de Beagle.

Entre les océans Pacifique et Atlantique, entre l’Argentine et le Chili, le canal de Beagle forme un détroit qui s’étend d’est en ouest sur 240 km de long et relie les deux océans. Ce bras de mer coupe la Terre de Feu en deux : la grande île au nord et un archipel formé d’une multitude de petites îles au sud.

.

Beagle, a channel between two oceans

“The most beautiful contrast ever seen between sea and ice” - Charles Darwin during his navigation aboard the ship The Beagle in the strait that would become the Beagle Channel.

Between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, between Argentina and Chile, the Beagle Channel forms a strait that extends from east to west for 240 km long and connects the two oceans. This arm of the sea cuts Tierra del Fuego in two: the large island to the north and an archipelago made up of a multitude of small islands to the south.

.

#argentina #argentina🇦🇷 #argentine #argentinas #travel #travelphotography #travelgram #travelblogger #travelling #instatravel #voyage #voyager #voyageurdumonde #naturerey #summer #summervibes #ameriquedusud #ameriquelatine #sealife #patagonia #patagoniaargentina🇦🇷 #otarie #mountains #montana #animal #animallovers #sea #canalbeagle #ocean #lighthouse

[talldarkandroguesome]

27th of Second Seed, Morndas

Well, I cannot say that I am surprised in anyway, but the circus mysteriously disappeared the morning after we had attended. Apparently many people who attended found themselves light on coin and other valuable items and when the Ordinators went to question them, they only found the matted down vegetation in the shapes of their various tents.

Tel was moderately upset about it and seemed to feel responsible for not turning the thief I had caught in. I think after so much congratulations to me, they felt worse about not having simply allowed me to do whatever it was I was going to do to them.

As I had said previously, I was not about to waste my time on a pickpocket. Really those of the upper crust who lost items only have themselves to blame. Did they not have their items enchanted? Did they honestly assume that Nords would be too stupid to attempt such distraction techniques and so allowed themselves to go in without any protection whatsoever?

Do I feel bad for some that may have been of lesser means, certainly! They did not deserve that. Honestly, this is why I hate the Thieves Guild so much, they do not teach any common decency.

The Breton siblings continue to tout themselves as the great intellects who have finally solved the issue of low pregnancy issues amongst mer. I cannot tell if they are simply trying to amass as much fame and fortune before people discover their ruse, or if they truly believe that which they espouse.

As long as it keeps them out of my home, I do not much care. I hear that they are being summoned before the Grand Council to give a talk on their methods. Mother has kept silent on her opinions on this matter. She cannot be seen to be against their ideas and have voted for its use during the House Council meeting, though I suspect that she was more interested in keeping more eyes upon me.

I received a letter from Fennorian today. It was rather sad news. Devastating, really.

It seems that Count Ravenwatch has passed. I will not recount the details here, I have the letter if I should wish to remember them. Still, it was hard news to swallow, even if it explains the long absence of our communication.

News of his death makes me realize that I had thought of him in some ways as a sort of mentor. Well, not quite so intimate, though he was certainly a confidant. Verandis was very candid with me and when I solicited his advice, he gave it rather freely. I can only imagine how difficult the politics of High Rock must be right now. Such a precarious position that the Ravenwatch must find themselves in. Verandis was such an accomplished politician and able to assuage the fears of leaders around him. I can hardly see Gwendis or Adusa-Daro able to provide as much assurance. Adusa-Daro seems the most natural choice as leader of their house, but I wonder if the Covenant would allow a Khajiit, let alone a vampire Khajiit to have such power within their ranks.

I know Fennorian has elected not to step into that role. I fear he is the one most capable of being the political face of the house, yet his fear of losing control has seen him abstaining.

In my response to him I have sent an offer of a place of safety, should the political situation become too delicate there. It is perhaps overstepping my position as a Widow, but I owe the Ravenwatch much. There is much to be gained from an alliance if it were to come to it, though I know most of that house must curse the names of all Daedra given that they are bound to Coldharbour upon their passing.

Oh gods! Poor Verandis!

I wonder, would there be a way to free him, given that the Mages Guild still has a portal to that plane?

I must stop. I have more than enough to deal with in my own immediate vicinity, I need to not rush off to solve someone else's problems when mine loom so large before me.

Still, I would very much like to go and visit the Ravenwatch. Perhaps I can find an excuse to bring Sildras to High Rock. Perhaps as a family trip before Tel's pregnancy proceeds too far. I have no idea what the impact of teleportation might do on a child in womb.

So very much to consider.

[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 5, vol. 15, 29 janvier 1893, Paris. 1. Costume de réception et manteau. Modèles de Mme de Mirebourg, 40, rue de Provence. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

(1) Robe de drap de soie aubergine. — Jupe cloche plate frôlant terre, dans le bas baldaquin de velours même ton plus foncé, petit volant de taffetas un peu plus clair. Corsage plat fermant sous la berthe: berthe revers en velours aubergine entourée d’un volant de taffetas finissant de côté à la taille, étroit velours entoure un peu le haut de la ceinture. Manches larges au coude resserrées par deux volants, un de soie, l’autre de taffetas.

(1) Eggplant silk cloth dress. — Flat bell skirt brushing the ground, at the bottom canopy of velvet in the same darker tone, small ruffle of taffeta a little lighter. Flat bodice closing under the berthe: aubergine velvet lapel berthe surrounded by a taffeta ruffle ending on the side at the waist, narrow velvet surrounds a little the top of the belt. Sleeves wide at the elbow tightened by two ruffles, one in silk, the other in taffeta.

Matériaux: 14 mètres drap de soie, 3 mètres velours aubergine, 8 mètres soie.

—

(2) Grande redingote vague en velours du Nord noir qui semble posée sur une seconde redingote en drap gris dépassant d’une dizaine de centimètres dans le bas et devant. Elle est ouverte sur une bande de velours uni. Double col, l’un droit en drap et l’autre évasé forme Médicis arrondi. Manches bouffantes au coude en velours, de là partent de hauts poignets plats, en drap gris.

(2) Large vague frock coat in black northern velvet which seems to be placed on a second frock coat in gray cloth extending about ten centimeters at the bottom and in front. It opens onto a strip of plain velvet. Double collar, one straight in cloth and the other flared, rounded Medici shape. Puffed sleeves at the elbow in velvet, from which rise high flat cuffs, in gray cloth.

Matériaux: 22 mètres velours, 2 mètres drap, 14 mètres soie pour doubler.

[sciatu]

MILAZZO - BAIA DEL TONO

Partendo da Milazzo in autobus, si raggiunge facilmente il lato che guarda verso Palermo di quella lunga striscia di terra protesa verso nord che è Capo Milazzo. Su questo lato, da cui è possibile vedere le Eolie e l’Etna, vi è una lunga spiaggia amata dal sole che prosegue dritta e chiara fino a finire in un golfo formato dal piegarsi verso ovest dell’alta collina che costituisce il Capo. Dopo quella curva, la scogliera prosegue alta e scoscesa, formando qua e là insenature e spiaggette fino ad arrivare alla punta estrema del capo per poi piegarsi verso sud a formare l’altro lato del lungo promontorio. Su questo lato, ricco di uliveti e lunghi filari di uva da cui nasce il Mamertino, solo poche case, immerse in grandi giardini circondati da bouganville rosse o arancione e palme dall’esili forme. La lunga spiaggia sul lato ovest è quindi l’unica parte dove è possibile fare quell’oziosa attività che consiste nel prendere il sole e nuotare nelle acque calde e trasparenti del mare. Dove la lunga spiaggia finisce c’è la baia del Tono o, come è chiamata in siciliano “a N’ Gonia”, parola derivata dal greco che vuol dire semplicemente “l’angolo”. La baia del Tono era la parte terminale della più grande tonnara del lato nord della Sicilia, attività cruenta dove centinaia di tonni venivano uccisi per garantire la sopravvivenza della popolazione costiera. Di tutto quel dolore e sangue che si perdeva nelle acque marine non è rimasto nulla. Pigramente ci si lascia bruciare dal sole attendendo l’ora di pranzo per mangiare a prezzi modici nei vari stabilimenti balneari un delizioso piatto di paste con le sarde o alla norma. Verso sera il cielo si accende in tramonti che tolgono il fiato e stupiscono per l’assoluta bellezza.

Leaving from Milazzo by bus, you can easily reach the side facing Palermo of that long strip of land extending northwards which is Capo Milazzo. On this side, from which it is possible to see the Aeolian Islands and Etna, there is a long beach loved by the sun which continues straight and clear until it ends in a gulf formed by the high hill that forms the Cape bending towards the west. After that curve, the cliff continues high and steep, forming here and there inlets and small beaches until it reaches the extreme point of the cape and then bends towards the south to form the other side of the long promontory. On this side, full of olive groves and long rows of grapes from which the Mamertino wine is born, only a few houses, immersed in large gardens surrounded by red or orange bougainvillea and palm trees with slender shapes. The long beach on the west side is therefore the only part where it is possible to do that idle activity which consists of sunbathing and swimming in the warm and transparent waters of the sea. Where the long beach ends is the Tono bay or, as it is called in Sicilian "a N' Gonia", a word derived from the Greek which simply means "the corner". The Tono bay was the terminal part of the largest tuna fishery on the north side of Sicily, a bloody activity where hundreds of tuna were killed to ensure the survival of the coastal population. Of all that pain and blood that was lost in the marine waters there is nothing left. You let yourself be burned by the sun while waiting for lunchtime to eat a delicious plate of pasta with sardines or alla norma at reasonable prices in the various bathing establishments. Towards evening the sky lights up in sunsets that take your breath away and amaze you with their absolute beauty.

[luc3]

Les Enfants, morts sans baptême.

« Dans le canton de Matignon (Côtes du Nord) on dit que [les enfants morts sans baptême] sont condamnés à se tenir sur le bord d'une grande mare. Ils sont armés de baguettes blanches et battent l'eau pour essayer de se jeter de l'eau sur la tête ; s'ils pouvaient réussir, ils seraient, pour ainsi dire, baptisés ; mais leurs petits pieds sont mal assurés, et comme à chaque pas ils croient glisser, ils essaient en vain de se tenir debout, et ne peuvent parvenir à se jeter de l'eau.»

(Lucie de V. -H)

“In the canton of Matignon, it is said that [the children who died without baptism] are condemned to stand on the edge of a large pond. They are armed with white sticks and beat the water to try to throw water on their heads ; if they could succeed, they would, so to speak, be baptized; but their little feet are unsteady, and like at every step they think they are slipping, they try in vain to stand upright, and cannot manage to throw water on themselves.”

-

(In Revue des Traditions Populaires, 1899, repris par N. Belmont dans l'article "Les enfants des Limbes")