#taraveling

[chic-a-gigot]

L'Art et la mode, no. 40, vol. 14, 7 octobre 1893, Paris. Camail de velours noir brodé de jais, avec empiècement d’hermine. Petite hermine formant le col. Jupe mi-velours, mi-drap, jointe par une petite bande d’hermine. Garnitures et Passementeries de la Maison Coiquil, Taravel et Gay, 23, rue Étienne-Marcel. Créme-Oriza de Ninon, Parfumerie Oriza, 11, place de la Madeleine. Bibliothèque nationale de France

[noritama0301]

青森戻る

[thebankbazar]

Top 7 Speaker Brands in the United Kingdom

The United Kingdom has a long history of audio inventions that put out quite possibly one of the best speaker manufacturers in the world today. They have developed their skill in the heart of London all the way up in Scotland’s tranquil countryside views, British audio engineering has always cut the mustard. Here are the 7 leading speaker brands in the United Kingdom that have fascinated enthusiasts across the world.

Bowers & Wilkins

Heritage and Innovation

Bowers & Wilkins (B&W), a British loudspeaker manufacturer was founded in 1966 by John Bowers in Worthing, West Sussex. Research and Development has not been given emphasis by them but they have a taste of advanced technology in their building known as the Steyning Research Establishment. Speaking of perfection in sound that is further enhanced by the Nautilus range of speakers that has spiraling tubes which eradicates any form of resonance.

Notable Products

Nautilus Series: An outstanding design that served to introduce revolutionary solutions in the context of its industry.

600 Series: Popular for its value for money and great economy.

KEF

Cutting-Edge Design

KEF, the name derived from the initials of its founder Kent Engineering & Foundry, was founded in 1961 by Raymond Cooke. A Maidstone based company, KEF is well known for its creativity when designing speakers. One common method that distinguishes this company is the usage of Uni-Q driver arrays and Metamaterial Absorption Technology (MAT).

Notable Products

LS50 Wireless II: A tiny but powerful and authentic speaker system that does not require wires.

Blade Series: Leading the way in design aesthetics accompanied with highly acoustic sound.

Monitor Audio

Craftsmanship and Precision

Monitor Audio was started back in 1972 and the main principle has been to combine the beauty of design with clarity and quality of sound. Located in Essex, the company has one of the best image reputations when it comes to detailing, specializing in fine craftsmanship and the use of superior materials. Exterior acoustic features of their models include metal dome tweeters and C-CAM (Ceramic-Coated Aluminium/Magnesium).

Notable Products

Silver Series: High-for-high balanced sound favored shadings and overt details.

Bronze Series: This computer is famous for offering uncompromised performance in a relatively low price range.

Wharfedale

A Legacy of Excellence

Typically, Wharfedale is the oldest and reputable British manufacturer of speakers that was started by Gilbert Briggs in the year 1932. As in other chambers, the Wharfedale company was born in Yorkshire and it has a long tradition in the conception of acoustic designs. Their speakers are famous for clarity, the perfect balance of the sound, and the most reasonable price.

Notable Products

Diamond Series: Still legendary for impressive sound quality as well as for the price at which it is sold.

Elysian Series: A luxurious line that at the same time provides a higher level of functionality.

Read more

[elokian]

where?: the port™️ (caribella) when?: troupe 1's happenings who?: open to any who'd be there

It's been a while since Neptune's Fleet sailed the straits of Taravell. Elokian's latest treasure craze has kept his eyes beyond the Veiled Sea, but true to form his navigator's route had his armada sailing to Caribella. With a flagship as iconic as his, Elokian figured that word might spread about his return before he even reached the island, but docking in the port would undoubtedly get gums flapping.

Each vessel of his mighty fleet brought its own, unique intrigue to the dock dwellers, but a flagship as magnificent as his dwarfing every other docked armada was what people would be talking about. Elokian knew how Caribella loved to spin its tales. And while he enjoyed being the center of it, there was no telling what some brash upstart might do with that information. That's why while his crew all went ashore to tend to their stomachs and lovers, Elokian remained behind, swinging low in a hammock rigged to the high bow of his flagship. "Aye, she's a beaut' wouldn't ya say?" he calls down to the passerby. The question comes seemingly from nowhere as the hat pulled over his eyes and aimless strumming of his lute gave the impression of carelessness. But Elokian was on guard no matter what his vibe may seen. Anyone who stared at his ship for too long, even if out of adoration, would be questioned. "No ship is as loyal, vicious, or stunning as she. Ah, the stories she could tell ... making every raft in this port shrivel in shame like a rat's cock wouldn't even make the list. The Captain is quite fond of her, as I'm sure you can imagine."

[thequeendomhq]

“Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts.”

Some time during the Dark Age –

A griffon shrieks –��its large, dark wingspan making a shadow over the sun. It lands a few feet from a woman, an Elvhen, dressed in dark armor. “Revas,” the woman greets the Griffon, who, after a moment, turns into a rather large mimic of a dog, pressing its head against the Elvhen’s chest.

She laughs, her hand scratching the cheek of the large griffon, the momentary pain forgotten. It had been a long day, the barren land that she had just come from finally burnt and left behind. 

Those who had survived the onslaught of what eventually would become Eastreach had dragged themselves towards the safety of the broken Tower, towards any place where an Old God and the Dark One’s power could hopefully not reach. What they did not expect was the desperation that followed, the death that would rise in these places that only knew how to kill or be killed. More and more took the Joining, more and more would begin to understand their sacrifice, and more and more became ghouls.

“Isseya!” 

Another’s voice pulled the Elvhen from her thoughts, her hand dropping from Revas’ cheek even as the Griffon gave a huff of annoyance. 

A sandy colored Griffon landed a few feet away, a man sliding off its back, “Andoral has been sighted, coming for the islands – what do we do? Valeria Mordecai and the witches have made it to Eterna. They’ll never last against Andoral alone.”

Isseya glanced at Danaro, then to his griffon, “Valeria has the palantír. She’ll know. Take Shrike and wait for me by the ruined Tower. We will fight the Old God head on.” Her words were strong, but even she was just an Elvhen – just one soldier part of the pattern. The Light of the Laurelin still shined within her, blades that were conjured out of nothing that she would send flying towards the Darkspawn that dared to rear their ugly heads, and she was of Sylaise – she would sacrifice blood for her goddess, and pray that those she fought for would continue on.

The city that would become known as Eterna currently lay in waste ahead of her; broken and shattered buildings, a Tower with white marble that was stained with fire and missing pieces that had fallen into the bay below – the city Valeria Mordecai, the future queen, would rebuild stone by stone. It was a ruin from a previous age, the original name perhaps lost to time. Isseya turned towards Revas now as Danaro and Shrike took to the sky, flying towards the battered city ahead. 

“Ir abelas, Revas,” Isseya’s apology was quiet, but the Griffon was noble – it would never turn from such a fight, and the Legionnaire would never ruin his honor by sending him away. She reached for his back, climbing onto the Griffon as she looked at the Tower far off in the distance. “Lasa ghilan, Sylaise,” she whispered, and the two launched themselves forward, the shrieking of a dragon the only answer to the quiet prayer.

Amon Sûl, a few weeks before the fall of Iskaldrik –

“Veilcrest has always been the reason. It’s a stain on all of Taravell. We can’t destroy the Blight without ridding those who worship Lusacan–”

“You’re talking about a full on war with the Queen and all her followers, it’s madness.”

“Taravell has forgotten about us, we’d have no support, not even–”

“You’re right, but if they knew we were marching to our deaths? They’d support us even less–”

“–Or support us more. Lose Veilcrest or the Legion? They’d be fools to choose them over us!”

Voices continued to shout over one another, the halls of Amon Sûl no stranger to strife and disagreement. Legionnaires had been stationed here for years, those they dragged in, blighted and dying, and somehow survived the Joining – they had yet to leave. Even now, as different officers stood arguing around a large table with a map of Taravell, there didn’t seem to be any moment of respite. 

“Every minute we wait is another minute one of them could regain power. There are forces at work for all of them, nevermind the Dragon of Night.” This Legionnaire did not wish to speak the name Lusacan; names had power, and this one held fear in his heart.

“It’s not like they’re thanking Him for giving them a hobby, they–”

“Well what about the Darkspawn? Nornwatch has reported increased activity, they’re responding to someone–”

“Enough.” 

One voice seemed to silence the others, the Legion Commander standing now at the head of the table that the others stood at. The officers placed their arms over their chest in greeting, some looking annoyed they’d been interrupted, others chastised. 

“We do nothing.” Silas’ eyes were darkened with exhaustion, the commander moving towards a door. Voices called after him, but they were ignored as he shut a door behind him, closing off anyone who would enter the room that led to the staircase for the tower. Up and up he went, silent and weary. No one noticed the tiredness in his voice, or perhaps the way his blue eyes were always watching with an unknown emotion. No one dared question him, and those that had were admonished before they could ever finish their declaration. What good could the Legion be if they spent half their time in single combat, fighting over leadership?

Silas continued to walk the steps of the tower, the stone echoing every movement, every rustle of armor, every sigh – until he reached the top. The hilltop fort was one of the few things for miles around, and within the tower lay the only thing that Silas wished to look at. He walked towards the center of the room, a pedestal rising as he approached. Upon it was a round, crystalline stone. It glowed unnatural colors, twisting and turning, like it was whispering some quiet words as Silas got closer. The Commander pulled off one of his gauntlets, and he reached forward to place his hand upon the glass stone. 

The voices quieted, and Silas’ eyes turned white.

Aventia, Borderreach, Present Day –

“Oi! Get the hell out of my house!” An older man brandishing an axe chased after a young man, who was frantically gathering his clothes and sprinting out of the backhouse that he’d been caught in. The farmer’s daughter was left laughing in her beloved’s wake, watching as he ran, ass out, towards the woods. 

The young soldier stopped when he reached the treeline, a laugh on his lips as he thought about nearly getting axed by the farmer. Pulling his clothes on, he searched for the bow and arrow he’d set down. The woods were quiet, and as he trudged around, it wasn’t until he noticed how quiet that he took pause.

Not a single bird chirped, not even an insect dared to make a noise. 

This farm was settled on the edge of Aventia, the inner town itself a little worse for wear after being on the very border of Iskaldrik and Aetheron’s magical barrier. 

Suddenly, the ground started to shake, the young man falling backwards onto his bum as the noise suddenly became unbearable. Trees began to crash, creatures scuttled from their hiding spots as they sprinted past. The soldier couldn’t move quick enough, scrambling to his feet and discarding his bow and arrow as he raced away, back towards the village.

The farmer still had his axe, holding it up, “Hey! Ya little fucker, I’m gonna…” he cut off as the barrier started shifting, creatures shrieking and the forest seemingly coming alive as it groaned and creaked. 

“Run!” The ground continued to tremble, the farmer and his family gathering their horses. They raced away, despite the barrier…shrinking?

The soldier stopped, watching as it got smaller, and smaller –going further away. 

Eventually, the crashing noises ended, and silence fell upon the farm once more. 

He huffed out a laugh, unsure why they’d taken so much care to run the other way. He started to walk, following the tracks of the horses. It wasn’t a long march back to the town of Aventia, but the hoof prints he followed eventually were paired with…something else. 

Blood splattered in the mud, large sliding tracks that showed where a horse had fallen, where another had been dragged – and a severed leg was all that remained as he continued to walk. His weak stomach simply made him gag; an untrained soldier, he’d barely seen war. Aventia was a town plagued with pressure from the Iskaldran border, used to seeing witchers catch runaways, smugglers pass through with those they’d rescued. It was a strange town, but it had always been relatively peaceful – only because they avoided conflict as much as possible.

Until now. 

Smoke rose from one of the nearest farms, the entire home and field burning. The ground rumbled once more, and the young soldier had to lift his eyes to see the town of Aventia under siege. Creatures that he’d never seen before were climbing the wooden walls. Archers who hadn’t seen battle in many winters attempting to shoot them off. Screams echoed through the valley, and the young man suddenly wished he hadn’t left his arrows behind. 

Pulling the shortsword from his belt, he took a breath, ready to charge forward to help his home. A noise from behind him made him pause, however, the ground shaking with every step that seemed to come closer and closer. 

He turned, eyes lifting up to a monstrous creature that was born easily from nightmares. The ogre roared, and the young man fell backwards, eardrums shattering from the sheer proximity. The last thing he would see was the ogre’s axe swinging down. 

OOC Information:

Enjoy some spicy Legion things and a first insight into what those in Amon Sûl have been arguing about for a while…

Legionnaires will occasionally have visions of a blighted dragon in their dreams. Infrequent, but it leaves a bitter taste upon awakening.

The barrier surrounding Iskaldrik put up by Aetheron has shrunk. 

The town of Aventia is located in Borderreach, you can find it on the Lysara map. 

Aventia is under siege by a massive amount of darkspawn. News has spread towards Feronia and the edges of Northreach, and news will slowly be making its way down through the Silverlands and Lysara to Eterna. This is the first time in modern history that a large, seemingly coordinated attack has been made against a capital town by darkspawn. 

Lady Severian, a silver faiman and the ruling noble, has called for aid from Lórien’dal, Caer Glas Keep, Feronia, and Eterna.

Aventia is not known for its modern defenses, only its strategic location and old but sturdy stone walls. 

[freydis-freydat]

Who: @riandur Where: Caer Glas When: Post-Neptunalia, a little more than a week after her quest in the Arches

Caer Glas, now inhabited by the handful of Legionnaires who had helped shepherd the Iskaran refugees to the queenslands, stood as looming and ominous as it had been the first time Freydis had seen it. The first time she had walked the halls logically ought to have felt like a colder, more foreboding setting than it did now as she had made the trip to the Legion’s lodge some weeks back with the intention of simply helping clear a room or two for the group to settle in. Although she hadn’t been able to provide her help for more than a day or two, bringing the abandoned barracks back to working order had been quite the undertaking. She was glad to find it much improved from the state it had been in a few weeks back, but it would be a lie to say she was happy to be there. 

Riandur, who she had come to understand as the authority of the Legion, had not struck her as an unkind man. He had not approached her on the pitch after the fight with the blighted dragon nor had he spared a few moments from his duty to speak with her when she had lent a hand to fix up the keep, but he had never necessarily made her seem outright unwelcome. Even so, she had dispatched some page to send him a note a few days prior to request an audience with him to discuss a topic she doubted many in Taravell would know more about: the Dark One. Several days later, she stood outside the main doors of Caer Glas wishing she could turn back and go to the comfort of her own home instead of engage in another conversation she didn’t want to have that was focused on a topic that made her blood run cold. But she felt she had a duty to be here, and that this was a feeling she would be better for getting used to sooner rather than later. 

Freydis only made it a few paces into the keep before recognizing Riandur’s face. She had barely pulled off her riding gloves before she met his eye, and suddenly she felt at a loss for a place to begin. Small talk seemed a bit frivolous in the face of what she had come to speak with him about. At least she had waited long enough to come to speak with him that she didn’t fear she would burst into tears at any given moment. Weeping was probably the only thing that would help less than small talk. “Thank you for setting aside the time to meet with me,” she greeted, tucking the gloves away in a pocket of her riding cloak. Although she vaguely knew her way around Caer Glas she remained in her place waiting for him to indicate where he wanted them to hold their conversation.

[ryujinseaborn]

starter for @hiddenvaldis.

where: caribella, the docks

when: current timeline, night before neptunalia festivities truly begin

note: :uwu:

The pit of a cherry was spat into the gulf of Taravell, Ryu idly staring out into the ominous black that became the choppy water of the sea once the sun disappeared on the horizon. The docks were barely illuminated, faint lights dotted above Ryu's head as he relaxed; a makeshift bed from sacks and satchels that sat at the precipice of the dock. Footsteps resounded behind him and though many cruel and unusual faces filtered through the streets of the island, Ryu knew these well. Quick and purposeful, somewhat harsh against the wooden planks of the docks that both grew up around, Ryu smiled, though he did not turn to face the captain of Rán's Armada.

"Skulking off somewhere my friend?" The only witness to their friendship was the sea; when either crew was around a rivalry was established, it spoke towards respect he had for all that she cared for herself. Valdís created such leadership and dedication on her own strengths, a bastion of devotion behind her, a life where she was once nothing and she made it hers - Ryu could not say the same. He'd been birthed unto the right of the sea, but he had to steal and double cross, betray the sea while still commanding at it's helm - a Captain with honor no longer. "Neptunalia is soon to begin," within a day or two, "Are you to pay your respects?" Now the Seaborn turned to grin at her, biting off another cherry at the stem.

[dalishious]

Name my next Solasmancing Lavellan??? I suck at names! She’ll have Mythal’s vallaslin but I haven’t chosen which class I’ll play yet.

Here's a list of example names using my fanmade elven dictionary

Here's a list of names in DA lore that you might want to pick from, i.e. naming your character after a historic elf (you can filter by origin)

Some of my personal favourites from List A:

Ajalen: child of the sea

Alenriel: true strength

Beylen: one who saves; saviour

Elgaris: little spirit

Mithravel: moonlight

Tarasan: rain

Taravel: lightning

Wenalen: one who is brave

[ofkaedon]

Location: Mercury's Bazaar, Eterna

Tag: @haelimthewatcher

While only seven years have passed, it feels like a lifetime. Iskaldrik and the witchers have been in his rearview mirror as he moves forward. He was trained to be a witcher, though he would firmly tell you he is not a witcher - Kaedon has made a new reputation for himself among the thieve's guild and Eterna is the playground in which he gets to play. He really isn't all that concerned by what is going on around the continent of Taravell. It's all happening somewhere else to someone else and let's be honest, in full pettiness, he's not upset about what happened in Iskaldrik. It's a life he left behind.

He's in the bazaar on a job. At a glance though, he appears to be gazing through the bakery window perhaps eyeing the fresh rolls placed out and enjoying the sweet smell of freshly baked goodies. Enticing, yes, that is not what he is doing. In the reflection of the glass he sees the target he is currently following. Said target owes money to the guild and has done quite a good job avoiding them. That's where Kaedon comes in. He was trained in the harshest of conditions to track monsters, he's putting that skill to use, though this was definitely not what had been intended for.

The target moves from the table they had been eyeing and moves further in. Kaedon waits, silently counting the seconds in his head before he turns and moves to follow. But in those seconds as the target merges with the crowd, Kaedon's eye is caught by another figure crossing through his line of sight. He freezes in recognition - something he doesn't do - he doesn't believe in ghosts and yet, he swears he just saw one.

His head turns to follow the way his would-be apparition had gone. Standing there as a ghost of his past, Haelim.

It had been fifteen years and yet Kaedon felt eleven years old again, a witcher trainee hanging on every word of one of the few witchers he had looked up to. He remembers Haelim's sentencing as a criminal and traitor to the witcher cause, the other had been sent away then and forgotten. Kaedon had thought the wise witcher dead but always remembered the words that he was better than all that they were trying to make him become.

Kaedon was no longer the witcher trainee, again he was not a witcher and he remembers his target and....fuck...his target was nowhere in sight. He would have to try and pick up the target again back at the docks as they were sure to return there. And yet he can't bring himself to go and whether it was his heart or head that made the decision, he was crossing towards the other former witcher.

In the earshot of the other, "Excuse me," He said to catch the other's attention, "Haelim Wormwood?" A tone of questioning as if maybe this ghost of the past was just a mistaken figure for someone else.

[casimirnoctis]

starter for @vuldak-juneau.

where: somewhere near the iskaran borders

when: 2-3 years ago? don't make me do MATH

note: what we talked about xoxo

Casimir had been contacted to help Ivar; many thieves ran along the continent of Taravell and it seemed unavoidable that each would not run into each other at a time or two. He couldn't say he knew the man farther than any obligation for a thief aiding another thief but regret soon became paramount as Ivar's ireful tangents filled the late evening. A thief with an unchecked temper? It gave Casimir the ick and the dhampir merely sat quietly as angry footsteps exited Ivar's tent and stalked off wherever. Meeker footsteps came minutes later, those that attempted to conceal and hide as though shamed and embarrassed.

The dhampir turned, he cared little for whatever hiccups Ivar had with his stowaway - or thief in training - but it was started to trickle onto the quest and Casimir grew tired of it. "If you're all packed, we could probably leave him out in the woods to finish this ourselves," they were almost back to the agreed upon point, treasures had been stolen for their gain and the border of Iskaldrik was only a few short sunsets away. A dhampir had never been known for their outstanding breadth of humor, but that sentiment was the closest he could get.

Ivar seemed long out of ear shot and they'd likely not see the mess of a thief until morning; Casimir could not wait for this to be over and the only reason he'd not cut out early was because one could not simply trust another thief to see their end of the deal through. "You know, I noticed that dreamweaver ring was missing from the parcel." Something not accounted for by the bumbling rage-incensed man, but Casimir had noted it's disappearance after they'd raided the place four nights prior. "You should feel delighted that it slipped past your talented friend," now that was a blatant dig, paired with a sharp smile.

[chic-a-gigot]

L'Art et la mode, no. 42, vol. 14, 21 octobre 1893, Paris. Toilette en drap dahlia. Boléro d’astrakan s’ouvrant à volonté sur une blouse en drap. La jupe mi-drap, mi-astrakan. Garnitures et Passementeries de la Maison Coiquil, Taravel et Gay, 23, rue Étienne-Marcel. Bouquet-Lympia, parfum distingué, L. Legrand, 11, place de la Madeleine. Bibliothèque nationale de France

[noritama0301]

和歌山城　蒸気機関車

[valshirathelight]

Date: After most recent plot drop Locations: Lorien'dal Characters: @faelortianyou & @valshirathelight Notes: A platonic, conversational carriage scene

Tianyou had been far more places in Taravell, but she'd never once gone with him. The world outside the Moongate was a sacred and personal experience for her, something the elve treasured doing on her own. But things were different now. Val'shira wasn't here for pleasure, she had a self-proclaimed mission that she wasn't going to manage all on her own. "That street didn't used to be there," she marveled quietly, her eyes glued on the outside of the carriage window. After seeing Tianyou walking by, she had invited (insisted) him into the carriage that was taking her to the stables by the gate of the city. Though Val'shira had said she would explain what she was doing and where she was going, the city's beauty thoroughly distracted her now.

[princemordecai]

We protect the people we love. No matter the cost.

"This would be your legacy, to spread the word of the One God to the four corners of Taravell with your spears and your unfailing devotion."

@blightedmikhael

[thequeendomhq]

welcome to taravell!

The Spawn - Uriah ( Aldis Hodge ) - Zennifer's Body The Beginning - Drystan Agathangelos/Fiore Hazelcrown ( Corey Mylchreest/Ben Hardy) - Toge The Historian - Eris Dalathor ( Timothée Chalamet ) - Heppy

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