#v; his wolves are wandering ( youth )

[theharellan]

Solas hasn’t always been bald, perhaps to some people’s surprise. His hair often tells a story, whether he means it to or not.

For a long time, he didn’t cut his hair. The tangled ends would be trimmed as needed, truth be told he had neither the means nor the inclination to care for it. More often than not it would grow unattended while he walked in dreams, forgetting his physical form for years beyond count until he found it again. A common ritual for him after entering uthenera beyond the bounds of civilisation was waking up and chopping off his hair, typically to his shoulders if not longer. He preferred to keep it long if he could, his hair kept memories and emotions the same as most things in Elvhenan could. Once, he could run his fingers through his hair and summon memories of secrets whispered to him in confidence or the contentment he felt in the wake of Miolvun braiding his hair (they always knew how to make him feel beautiful).

The first time he shaved his head was after the war which led to Elvhenan’s creation. The death they sowed haunted him, and the memories rang in his ears whenever his hair fell forward across his shoulders. Shaving his hair, leaving only the beginnings of the new, did not mean he forgot those memories, but they did not haunt him. It was an act of mourning and self-care, a means of moving on.

From there he returned to a routine of growing it out and cutting as needed. His hair is naturally thick and grows in long waves, easy to tangle and difficult to game. It’s auburn, redder in sunlight and brunette in shadows. He preferred to wear it half-up, partly braided and the rest worn loose, but would often wear it in a loose bun or braid when it was necessary to keep it out of his face. His travels kept his style simple out of practicality, and his care routines were sometimes lacking. On at least one occasion, he showed up to Elvhenan’s courts with dried autumn leaves still in his hair after a long nap in the woods, inspiring a trend in the nobility who wanted to mimic the appearance of Mythal’s favoured.

The second time he shaved his head was when he became traitor to the evanuris, eventually earning the name Fen’Harel. This second time it was part of forging a new identity. His old name rang false in his ears, a name every strand of hair on his head carried. Cutting it was a way to rediscover himself and the parts of his identity he lost to godhood. As Fen’Harel he grew it out and cut it much more frequently, sometimes wearing it in a crest with the rest buzzed short. Given the role war played in this part of his life he only ever wore it down when at rest or located somewhere which in those turbulent times qualified as safe, such as the Sanctuary the Inquisitor finds in Trespasser.

That brings us to the Dragon Age. Solas wakes with his hair longer than ever, tangled with nature after centuries of uthenera and dead around his shoulders. Rising from uthenera to a Veilless world is a traumatic moment for Solas, it’s the first time he experiences it himself from beyond the Fade, and one way he has difficulty coping is the dead hair around his shoulders. No memories, no secrets, just dead weight holding him down. Magic fails him, so he takes the nearest knife to it and shears it as close to his scalp as he can manage. The initial result is uneven, it’s only later after he’s able to have calmed down that he shaves away the last trace of it.

It’s a way of avoiding one unpleasant reminder of what’s lost, and so he keeps it that way. After a few months he finds he likes it, preferring the upkeep, which after the initial shave can be maintained with magic. On top of being practical, bald hair in Elvhenan was considered a gender neutral expression rather than inherently masculine (or, as some would have it, a sign of weak masculinity) and so as someone who identifies with no gender, it’s one way to express that aspect of himself.

In the wake of Wisdom’s capture and death, Inquisition members may notice that after his return he is sporting an unshaved head. The length isn’t significant, it has had at best a month to grow, but it is indicative that he lacked the willpower to take a moment in the morning to maintain that look. It doesn’t last long, either. Ian shaves it at his request not long after his return.

As of now Solas has no plans to grow his hair out again, although there may be times in the days ahead when he fails to take that time for himself as he did after Wisdom’s passing. 

[kylo-v]

All V Poems

William Blake, A Dream

Once a dream did weave a shade

O'er my angel-guarded bed,

That an emmet lost its way

Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,

Dark, benighted, travel-worn,

Over many a tangle spray,

All heart-broke, I heard her say:

'Oh my children! do they cry,

Do they hear their father sigh?

Now they look abroad to see,

Now return and weep for me.'

Pitying, I dropped a tear:

But I saw a glow-worm near,

Who replied, 'What wailing wight

Calls the watchman of the night?

'I am set to light the ground,

While the beetle goes his round:

Follow now the beetle's hum;

Little wanderer, hie thee home!'

William Blake, Proverbs of Hell 

In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy. 

Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead. 

The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. 

Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity. 

He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence. The cut worm forgives the plow. 

Dip him in the river who loves water. A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees. 

He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star. 

Eternity is in love with the productions of time. 

The busy bee has no time for sorrow. 

The hours of folly are measur’d by the clock, but of wisdom: no clock can measure. 

All wholsom food is caught without a net or a trap. 

Bring out number weight & measure in a year of dearth. 

No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings. 

A dead body, revenges not injuries. 

The most sublime act is to set another before you. 

If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise. 

Folly is the cloke of knavery. Shame is Prides cloke. 

Prisons are built with stones of Law, Brothels with bricks of Religion. 

The pride of the peacock is the glory of God. The lust of the goat is the bounty of God. 

The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God. 

The nakedness of woman is the work of God. 

Excess of sorrow laughs. 

Excess of joy weeps. 

The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity too great for the eye of man. 

The fox condemns the trap, not himself. 

Joys impregnate. 

Sorrows bring forth. 

Let man wear the fell of the lion, woman the fleece of the sheep. 

The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship. 

The selfish smiling fool, & the sullen frowning fool, shall be both thought wise, that they may be a rod. 

What is now proved was once, only imagin’d. 

The rat, the mouse, the fox, the rabbit: watch the roots; the lion, the tyger, the horse, the elephant, watch the fruits. 

The cistern contains; the fountain overflows. 

One thought, fills immensity. 

Always be ready to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you. 

Every thing possible to be believ’d is an image of truth. 

The eagle never lost so much time, as when he submitted to learn of the crow. 

The fox provides for himself, but God provides for the lion. 

Think in the morning. 

Act in the noon. 

Eat in the evening. 

Sleep in the night. 

He who has suffer’d you to impose on him knows you. 

As the plow follows words, so God rewards prayers. 

The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction. 

Expect poison from the standing water. 

You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough. 

Listen to the fools reproach! it is a kingly title! 

The eyes of fire, the nostrils of air, the mouth of water, the beard of earth. 

The weak in courage is strong in cunning. 

The apple tree never asks the beech how he shall grow, nor the lion, the horse, how he shall take his prey. 

The thankful reciever bears a plentiful harvest. 

If others had not been foolish, we should be so. 

The soul of sweet delight, can never be defil’d. 

When thou seest an Eagle, thou seest a portion of Genius, lift up thy head! 

As the catterpiller chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys. 

To create a little flower is the labour of ages. 

Damn, braces: Bless relaxes. 

The best wine is the oldest, the best water the newest. 

Prayers plow not! Praises reap not! 

Joys laugh not! Sorrows weep not! 

The head Sublime, the heart Pathos, the genitals Beauty, the hands & feet Proportion. 

As the air to a bird of the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the contemptible. 

The crow wish’d every thing was black, the owl, that every thing was white. 

Exuberance is Beauty. 

If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning. 

Improvement makes strait roads, but the crooked roads without Improvement, are roads of Genius. 

Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires. 

Where man is not nature is barren. 

Truth can never be told so as to be understood, and not be believ’d. 

Enough! or Too much!

William Black, Earth’s Answer

Earth rais'd up her head,

From the darkness dread & drear.

Her light fled:

Stony dread!

And her locks cover'd with grey despair.

Prison'd on watry shore

Starry Jealousy does keep my den

Cold and hoar

Weeping o'er

I hear the Father of the ancient men

Selfish father of men

Cruel, jealous, selfish fear

Can delight

Chain'd in night

The virgins of youth and morning bear.

Does spring hide its joy

When buds and blossoms grow?

Does the sower?

Sow by night?

Or the plowman in darkness plow?

Break this heavy chain,

That does freeze my bones around

Selfish! vain!

Eternal bane!

That free Love with bondage bound.

William Blake, Love and Harmony Combine

LOVE and harmony combine

And around our souls entwine,

While thy branches mix with mine

And our roots together join.

Joys upon our branches sit,

       Chirping loud and singing sweet;

Like gentle streams beneath our feet,

Innocence and virtue meet.

Thou the golden fruit dost bear,

I am clad in flowers fair;

       Thy sweet boughs perfume the air,

And the turtle buildeth there.

There she sits and feeds her young;

Sweet I hear her mournful song;

And thy lovely leaves among,

       There is Love: I hear his tongue.

There his charmed nest he doth lay,

There he sleeps the night away,

There he sports along the day,

And doth among our branches play.

William Blake, Songs of Innocence, “Infant Joy”

I have no name

I am but two days old.—

What shall I call thee?

I happy am

Joy is my name,—

Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!

Sweet joy but two days old,

Sweet joy I call thee;

Thou dost smile.

I sing the while

Sweet joy befall thee.

William Blake, Poetical Sketches

Oft when the summer sleeps among the trees,

Whispering faint murmurs to the scanty breeze,

I walk the village round; if at her side

A youth doth walk in stolen joy and pride,

I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe,

That made my love so high and me so low.

O should she e'er prove false, his limbs I'd tear

And throw all pity on the burning air;

I'd curse bright fortune for my mixed lot,

And then I'd die in peace, and be forgot.

TO THE MUSES.

WHETHER on Ida's shady brow

Or in the chambers of the East,

The chambers of the Sun, that now

From ancient melody have ceased;

Whether in heaven ye wander fair

Or the green corners of the earth,

Or the blue regions of the air,

Where the melodious winds have birth;

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove,

Beneath the bosom of the sea

Wandering in many a coral grove,

Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry!

William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour

A Robin Red breast in a Cage

Puts all Heaven in a Rage

A Dove house filld with Doves & Pigeons

Shudders Hell thr' all its regions

A dog starvd at his Masters Gate

Predicts the ruin of the State

A Horse misusd upon the Road

Calls to Heaven for Human blood

Each outcry of the hunted Hare

A fibre from the Brain does tear

A Skylark wounded in the wing

A Cherubim does cease to sing

The Game Cock clipd & armd for fight

Does the Rising Sun affright

Every Wolfs & Lions howl

Raises from Hell a Human Soul

The wild deer, wandring here & there

Keeps the Human Soul from Care

The Lamb misusd breeds Public Strife

And yet forgives the Butchers knife

The Bat that flits at close of Eve

Has left the Brain that wont Believe

The Owl that calls upon the Night

Speaks the Unbelievers fright

He who shall hurt the little Wren

Shall never be belovd by Men

He who the Ox to wrath has movd

Shall never be by Woman lovd

The wanton Boy that kills the Fly

Shall feel the Spiders enmity

He who torments the Chafers Sprite

Weaves a Bower in endless Night

The Catterpiller on the Leaf

Repeats to thee thy Mothers grief

Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly

For the Last Judgment draweth nigh

He who shall train the Horse to War

Shall never pass the Polar Bar

The Beggars Dog & Widows Cat

Feed them & thou wilt grow fat

The Gnat that sings his Summers Song

Poison gets from Slanders tongue

The poison of the Snake & Newt

Is the sweat of Envys Foot

The poison of the Honey Bee

Is the Artists Jealousy

The Princes Robes & Beggars Rags

Are Toadstools on the Misers Bags

A Truth thats told with bad intent

Beats all the Lies you can invent

It is right it should be so

Man was made for Joy & Woe

And when this we rightly know

Thro the World we safely go

Joy & Woe are woven fine

A Clothing for the soul divine

Under every grief & pine

Runs a joy with silken twine

The Babe is more than swadling Bands

Throughout all these Human Lands

Tools were made & Born were hands

Every Farmer Understands

Every Tear from Every Eye

Becomes a Babe in Eternity

This is caught by Females bright

And returnd to its own delight

The Bleat the Bark Bellow & Roar

Are Waves that Beat on Heavens Shore

The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath

Writes Revenge in realms of Death

The Beggars Rags fluttering in Air

Does to Rags the Heavens tear

The Soldier armd with Sword & Gun

Palsied strikes the Summers Sun

The poor Mans Farthing is worth more

Than all the Gold on Africs Shore

One Mite wrung from the Labrers hands

Shall buy & sell the Misers Lands

Or if protected from on high

Does that whole Nation sell & buy

He who mocks the Infants Faith

Shall be mockd in Age & Death

He who shall teach the Child to Doubt

The rotting Grave shall neer get out

He who respects the Infants faith

Triumphs over Hell & Death

The Childs Toys & the Old Mans Reasons

Are the Fruits of the Two seasons

The Questioner who sits so sly

Shall never know how to Reply

He who replies to words of Doubt

Doth put the Light of Knowledge out

The Strongest Poison ever known

Came from Caesars Laurel Crown

Nought can Deform the Human Race

Like to the Armours iron brace

When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow

To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow

A Riddle or the Crickets Cry

Is to Doubt a fit Reply

The Emmets Inch & Eagles Mile

Make Lame Philosophy to smile

He who Doubts from what he sees

Will neer Believe do what you Please

If the Sun & Moon should Doubt

Theyd immediately Go out

To be in a Passion you Good may Do

But no Good if a Passion is in you

The Whore & Gambler by the State

Licencd build that Nations Fate

The Harlots cry from Street to Street

Shall weave Old Englands winding Sheet

The Winners Shout the Losers Curse

Dance before dead Englands Hearse

Every Night & every Morn

Some to Misery are Born

Every Morn and every Night

Some are Born to sweet delight

Some are Born to sweet delight

Some are Born to Endless Night

We are led to Believe a Lie

When we see not Thro the Eye

Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night

When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light

God Appears & God is Light

To those poor Souls who dwell in Night

But does a Human Form Display

To those who Dwell in Realms of day

[deputysaint]

five times + meals

      @housesmadeofglass  //  the call   [ always accepting ]

   i.   the first time they see each other when all is said and done, he’s a broken man. there’s fear in his eyes and every hint of movement has him flinching. he is ashamed of himself, of his actions before, and though joseph has gifted him new life and mask to hide out from his shame, he leans against a broken table, maskless and watchful.   joseph is greeting his flock, both old and new, and hands out cans to every member, smiling as they bless him. and deacon, deacon keeps watch, eyes falling every time someone looks at him, but raising once they’ve moved on.   when she appears, looking worn but strong, there are three shadows at her side, and a group of jacob’s hunters at her back. joseph exclaims her name in a whisper, and for the first time in a long time, he witnesses the father’s hands shake.   rachel smiles at joseph, warily at first, then with kindness. minutes pass as they talk, and deacon is all too aware of the eyes of a child on him, then the eyes of them all.   she settles beside him, pulling open a can of fruit and handing it to her daughters. ( twins, deacon thinks in awe, twin girls. and dinah, dinah is so big. ) he hands her a second can, the can he’s been poking at the contents of for minutes now, and she smiles at him, warm and kind.   it’s not a meal, but it is.   it’s not a fresh start… but it is.

   ii.   rachel and her hunters do not agree with joseph and his new lifestyle. they argue with looks and words and more than once, he has to step aside and close his eyes, the father’s disappointment too strong in the air even if it’s not directed at him.    she moves away, takes her daughters and her hunters, and joesph is sad for a while, a sadness that not even the appearance of his lost son and lover can fix. ( lover, son. he thinks nothing of it at first, then too hard, but he is too weary to wear the title of wrath and envy. )    they visit, because they can’t not visit despite any differences rachel and joseph have about the new world, they are family. there are meals, shared resources from both encampments, and her hunters bring more than enough for all of new eden.   joseph sits at the head, his son sits next to him.   he sits between rachel and ethan.   they don’t talk, but they do.   they are family, but they are not.

   iii.   the father gives him freedom that he never had expected to have. he wanders what is left of hope county, watches his once-friends as they survive from a distance, wanders the roads he had known so well… looks at buildings full of memories of harshness that he had, at the time, thought to be the worst.    he knows now the innocence of his thinking, the foolishness of his mind.   always, he wanders to rachel’s encampment, walks maskless with her in the fields they set up farm in, assists in the corralling of wild animals they are trying to domesticate.    he joins them on late nights for dinner, joins her for late night coffee ( an indulgence he should not take, but does anyway. ).    always does he marvel at her strength.   he had been the strong one once, and she had been the weak.   or maybe he’d always been weak, and she had been strong.

   iv.   they gather together one the one year anniversary of new eden’s creation. there’s a speech by the father, it’s inspiring and there are tears. ( he doesn’t cry, but rachel doesn’t either. ) from his spot at his father’s side, ethan forces a smile on his face, sets his jaw even as anger flashes in his eyes.   ( dinah whispers ungrateful under her breath, and rachel elbows her roughly. )    the feast is not as it perhaps should, there’s just enough for everyone to eat, but it’s more than many have seen in a long time. rachel’s hunters are owed most of the credit, they are still strong, built strong by jacob’s training, and nothing gets in their way of the hunt.   as they eat, rachel shares a look with him. small, sad but happy.   he wonders if she sees the murderer of her husband when she sees him.   it’s all he can see in his reflection.

   v.   one week before the highwaymen come, he finds himself tucked between rachel’s twins at her table. they’re eating breakfast, a curious mixture of new fruit and meat that makes him long for things from before.    the twins tell him everything he has missed since his last visit. there are new pups from what remains of jacob’s strong wolves. jael and judith are already making plans for them should they survive their youth. hunting dogs not house pets, practical animals for this new harsh world they live in.   briefly, he thinks of jacob, of how his girls would have made him proud, of how rachel had succeeded every possible expectation he’d had of her. their girls resemble him, in looks, in personality, in practicality and…   deacon had killed him.   his jaw sets as he remembers the feeling of jacob’s blood under his hands -   jael calls him uncle d and he jerks free of that memory.   jacob is not alive, deacon had killed him.   and still, he is family.

[magnetar1]

Palace of the Axe

I.

I’ve no longer heart for this beating of the drum . . .  

Pulled up by roots & left to die.  Gone are hatreds.  Convictions behave as deep depressions.  I head for wilderness to leave it behind.

Little’s worth keeping on the road to isolation.  Deep timbres shrouded in solemn secrets.  Men no longer speak.  

Sacrificing gods to gods, ugly reformations in the guise of easy living . . . Seasons are changing.  Time to move south, deeper into jungles. Dream longer in humid caves.

From the future, yet bound to past.  The journey to snake around & meet us.

Gathered in the bowels of pyramids.  Vernal stones cut from ancient mountains.  Describes the turning of the sun.

Too much life & too little consciousness.  The mud becomes a pungent stew . . .

Tetco-Inan.  Teach me to live off the land.  Away from tombs buried in undergrowth.  Mordant years, alone, wandering your verdant shores. I become more like you every time I step outside.  My skin absorbs the suns rays & dies & sheds a billion times . . .

Altars of my youth are gone.  

Land of dust & bone, death of the world brings me home.  Shadows stain dreams with music coming through the trees: a ghost-like timbre.

Shuddering inside the primeval abyss.  My spirit alive-in-ruins endures: suicide for knowledge

II.

Pantheon of venoms.  First tribes.            

Over parched lands.  Seek the cut of the blade.  A hard race with no love in their eyes.  Each night taking turns brooding under stars. Dark sorcery in the land forces the nature of those who wield it.            

Transmissions give them nightmares.  Blame other tribes & murder them in sleep.  Driven  by paranoia & a desire to keep moving.  

Shadows call down any who understand.  No matter the sacrifice to hideous conjurations.  Beasts roam free to break the will of men . . .

I’m called Seth.  Born in the Time Of the Worm.

Lulled from holes in a shroud-of-darkness.  

Sick from travel they come to offer food & shelter.  They gather ‘round to see what they found, fierce eyes & a stone-temperament.

Too weak to resist.  It’s my grave I seek, but I found them instead.Carried through fecund caves lit by torches, embroidered by veins which pump blood.

Steel quivers in flesh.  A tribe congregates in the garden.  

With only a child’s cock to join in . . .

Uncertain of what happened in those years, lineage of cowardice. Allowing distance between myself & stars, chained to daemons of flesh.

Moist caves hidden under crag & desert.  Far away from trials & rebirth. Strange nights alone . . . I begin to forget!  Oblivious patterns declare my drunkenness.  Surrounded by womb-like structures, yet no sign of life.

Numb to benefits of pain.

Fat bellied maggots.  Drink to life & it’s glory . . !

The Eye finds me.  From the murk, Grand Temples.

Violence divines the light in our souls, flesh it’s greatest failure.

We must return to hard earth!  Blackened blood runs anew.  Rivers etch their way through sand, razor-like visions.   Still, you don’t grasp the mark of perineal nightmares.  Carve out your sex . . . Rituals in silence spare no agony. CYBELE'S fatal abortion.  A pack of wolves shuddering in cold hungry for meat . . . Reality!

Deeper into desert in search of the BLACK STONE.

Power of the Eye guards across battle soaked hills of APOPHIS.

Demon-serpent coils gnashing in the sun.

Nightmares of childhood.  I’ve lived more than one.  To kill myself in another life.  Grown apart from gray logic.  Shadows of my elder self to sustain aether-like memories: unconscious accountability for ranging the modes . . .

It’s impossible to go on.  Spaces close.

Forward march!  In conjunction with my upbringing & it’s curse.

Even though I loved them . . . SETH never finds his way.          

Skins shed.  Seven-fold forms from it’s husk.  I leave him naked & afraid.

Broken open wounds reveal the worms inside.  My human side.  Formed from second thoughts.

Now I see through the Eye.  

Sorrows groan deep through an obelisk forest.

III.

Everything occurs at once.

Soul destroyed in the furnace, elemental sojourn.  Burdened by a billion galaxies & not joined to one.

Drifting through uncharted wastes, reservoirs of abandoned seed. Out here where light can’t reach, under the Stain.

Life decays as quickly as it’s sprung.  MONSTRA.  Daemon of spheres, white transmissions . . .

A glimpse is all I need to steal the seed & seal me in. Faceless warriors on the brink of extinction, reborn.  Only eternity poisons . . .

Daemonical tirades.  ATYS.  Born of  castration & love.  Impales the minds of creatures who glory in his blood.

Transfusion of misery to the germinant seed.

I rest among their bones & secrets.  The world outside transforms. Spirits co-mingled with daemon-sperm, pain in their eyes.

Progenitors of AGDISTIS.  Standing grim before impossible fates - Casting off ancestral chains in favor of original duty.

  IV.

Atoll’s green light whispers.

Furies gone & you can manifest.  Cradled by coral-bone & flecks of astral matter . . . Cosmic earth-child.  Rooted in aeons beyond your years.              I find you basking on alien shores, too distant dreams. The peace I bear & terror it withstands.

Yet I’ve not seen you here before.

Toxic amnesia.  Pure angles destroy rhythms . . .

Pry them awake little one.  Seeds in the garden where you abandoned them. Past the gate unhinged into alabaster ruins.  Across the stretching gulf you call the Sea . . . Isle Of Samothrake.

Savage magic rules here.  Totem-clans & torch-bearing mystics. Sacrificing dogs in exchange for lions & horses.

Into the mouth of Zerynthos!  Wield madness & step inside the circle.

Guided by shadows into the whorling flame, symbols branded to fade.

Awaken confused, sick, but alive. Young spirit at war with an ancient mind.

Cut the roots, nerves.  Move headlong to conquer space & it’s daemons.

Barriers of pure light mistaken for flame.

Corridors eschew darkness to lead straight in.                      

We die.  Instant of extreme exposure.  Frozen steps.  Across the wasteland go gods & men.  Enter the kingdom of consolidated power . . .

Knowledge for fools who pray, annihilation of the spirit & it’s dividends.  

Cursed passages lead to false death.   Lifetimes to supplant serpent-like memories.  Where we end up is beyond the Fabric.  Old bones wilt beneath the weight of sorrows.  Crumpled form on the edge of a shadowed land . .

Cry into my heart, child, it is no more.  We are the same.

Bargain for your spirit another day.

Escape to the White Star, gauze unveiled before the Illuminated Eye.

A void scarred by deep impressions.  Pregnant with visions of unruly races, sigils & signs.

Follow them into the Frozen Temple.

A hallway lined with sentient beings.  Austere life-forms.

V.

Weight of gods & daemons.  Driven across cosmos.   Ghosts lie en masse on the borderland.  While a turgid shadow follows oozing tumorous blood.

Massive blot that doesn’t rinse & crawls on it’s larval belly.

Bitter nightmares!  Tortured by pressures of wonderment.  Through ragged fields of stars & darkling seeds.            

Ghosts Of the Flame.  Life takes root & dies.

Stars go out as they pass by.  Traveling ahead in circles.

Energy divides the mind, glyphic auras . . .

Weep for what’s lost.  Enjoy the freedom.  Untethered host of a billion mythic deliriums.

Dirge Of Soma.  Ecstasy instead of Empire.

Resurrect worthy foes & lovers.  Penetrate it’s tightening grip. Aftermath of slavery & reunion of the White Dawn.

Spirits with altruistic nerves descending.  They go together. Separately. Risen from hazards of escape.  Open their eyes & hear the cries . . .  

No longer music or memory.  Deep silence & the rhapsody of alien tones.

[freenewstoday]

New Post has been published on https://freenews.today/2021/04/02/yeovil-captain-collins-dies-aged-32/

Yeovil captain Collins dies aged 32

Lee Collins played 470 games in a career that began in 2007 on loan at Hereford United

Yeovil Town captain Lee Collins has died at the age of 32.

Collins began his career at Wolverhampton Wanderers and spent time at Port Vale, Barnsley, Northampton Town, Mansfield Town and Forest Green Rovers before joining Yeovil in 2019.

He played his last game for the club on 6 February against Stockport.

A spokesperson for Avon and Somerset Police said Collins’ “sudden” death was not being treated as suspicious and had been referred to the coroner.

Yeovil were due to play Altrincham in the National League on Friday but the game has been postponed.

“All at Yeovil Town Football Club are mourning the loss of club captain Lee Collins,” a club statement read.

“Lee sadly passed away yesterday and our thoughts and prayers go out to his family and friends.

“We ask everyone to respect the family’s privacy at this time.”

BBC Radio Somerset’s Yeovil Town commentator Sheridan Robins told BBC Sport: “The main thing that everyone will be feeling is a deep sense of shock.

“He was a real winner. I remember when he first joined the club we were at rock bottom having been relegated to the National League.

“In his interview he was said he wasn’t there to make friends, he wanted to win.

“He wore his heart on his sleeve on the pitch and was known for his leadership, he was the epitome of a captain, he did everything he could in that 90 minutes to win the three points.”

Collins had been out with injury for large parts of the season, but returned to the bench last week in the 3-1 win over Barnet.

“After the game I spoke to Yeovil manager Darren Sarll and he told me how pleased he was to have Lee back,” added Robins.

“He was an old fashioned centre-half and we’ve not seen him play a lot this season because of injury.”

Mansfield Town owner John Radford – for whom Collins played from 2015 to 2017 – tweeted he was “shocked and saddened”external-link to learn of Collins’ death.

“A no-nonsense, battling braveheart on the field and a gentleman off it. A man who always gave his all in Stags’ colours,” Radford added.

Barnsley said they would pay tribute to Collins at Friday’s home Championship game against Reading.

Collins was part of the Wolves side, which included Wales keeper Wayne Hennessey and former Bolton midfielder Mark Davies, that reached the semi-finals of the FA Youth Cup in 2005, losing on penalties to a Southampton team featuring Theo Walcott.

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[asktheadeptus]

Jaghatai Khan

"Warriors of Chogoris! Brothers of the Great Tribe! The star hunt calls you, do you not hear it? The battle’s red edge is your home, the respect of your kinsmen your hearth. Plunge into the enemy’s breast like a blade, cut out his heart, and you will know fulfillment. The Emperor has given us strength. In return we give him victory!"— Jaghatai Khan, the Last Charge of Galathamar

Jaghatai Khan, known also by the cognomen, The Great Khan, and the Warhawk, was the Primarch of the V Legion of Space Marines known as the White Scars, who led them through the years of the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy. Jaghatai fought alongside his White Scars for another 70 standard years following the end of the Heresy, eventually disappearing in 084.M31 into a region of space known as the Maelstrom, a large Warp rift in the Ultima Segmentum that is a smaller counterpart of the Eye of Terror. Jaghatai is believed to have been in pursuit of the Dark Eldar who had savaged his home world of Chogoris following the Battle of Corusil V with his 1st Brotherhood when he went through a Warp Gate into the Dark Eldar portion of the Webway, ultimately vanishing forever. Jaghatai had been in pursuit of a mighty Dark Eldar lord, likely the Archon of the Dark Eldar Kabal that had attacked Corusil V and perhaps even Chogoris itself. Jaghatai Khan has not been seen since, though the White Scars believe he is still alive somewhere within the Webway and will one day return to the Chapter in a time of great need. As a result of their Primarch's disappearance, the White Scars hold a particularly savage grudge against the Dark Eldar and will gladly seek out any opportunity to make war upon those savage and terrifying xenos.

History

Youth

An ancient illustration from Carpinus' Speculum Historiale showing Jaghatai Khan, Primarch of the White Scars Legion in all his lethal glory

It is said that after being mysteriously transported from Terra through the Warp by the Ruinous Powers of Chaos, Khan landed on a planet in the Segmentum Pacificus named by the Imperium, Mundus Planus, or as the native population called it, Chogoris. It is a fertile world with wide, open, green plains and tall, white mountains and blue seas. At the time of the Great Crusade, the Chogoran or Planan people had managed to restore their technological level to one similar to the pike-and-shot level of the late Renaissance on ancient Terra. The dominant empire was a well organized feudal aristocracy which had conquered most of the planet with well equipped and highly disciplined armies, maintaining armored horsemen and tight blocks of pike and arquebus-armed infantry. Their leader was the Palatine, and he won all of his battles with this great army.

To the west of the Palatine's empire was the Empty Quarter, a barren grassland with few resources, and as such it was never invaded by the Palatine's armies. It was home to wandering tribes of vicious horsemen who fought each other for their ancestral lands. The Palatine would sometimes lead forces into the Empty Quarter to capture slaves or merely to hunt the tribesmen for fun. Khan's legacy began here. He was found by Ong Khan, leader of a small tribe called the Talaskars, who saw the young Primarch as a gift from the gods. It is said he had a fire in his eyes, the sign of a great warrior. He was hated by the other tribes because of his ability to see beyond the constant warfare on the steppes to a vision of unity for all the downtrodden peoples of the Empty Quarter.

It is said the most influential moment in Jaghatai's life was the slaying of his adopted father by the rival Kurayed tribe. Khan, even as a young child, was the greatest warrior of the tribe and gathered Talaskar troops to avenge the death of his father. They moved on the Kurayed tribe and razed it to the ground, killing every man, woman and child in a killing frenzy. Khan took the head of the enemy tribe leader and mounted it on his tent. This is what shaped him into a man of fierce honour, loyalty and ruthlessness. From then on, he swore to end the fighting, unite all the people of the steppes and bring an end to their practice of brother fighting brother.

Khan fought hundreds of battles against other tribes and defeated hunting packs sent by the Palatine. Each tribe the Talaskars conquered was absorbed into the Talaskar confederacy and Jaghatai made military service mandatory while splitting tribes up and merging them with others to remove and ameliorate tribal differences and long-standing feuds. His warriors were fiercely loyal and Khan promoted from the ranks based on merit and ability. Ten summers after his arrival on the world, as the tribe moved to their winter settlements, the Primarch was traveling on a mountainside with a group of his followers. A vast avalanche pushed him and his group back down the mountain, killing the normal men. Jaghatai survived, but could not get back up the mountain in time before the tribe moved on. Khan was caught by one of the Palatine's hunting bands lead by the son of that ruler. All that returned of that band was one mutilated rider with the head of the son of Palatine and a note saying that the people of the steppes were no longer his toys.

When the snows cleared, an enraged Palatine gathered a massive army and determined to march west to wipe the tribes from the face of the planet. He had, however, underestimated the power and ability of Khan and brought his highly-disciplined army of heavily armoured warriors and arquebusiers. This proved to be his downfall as they could not catch the lightly armored Talaskar tribesmen. The constant rain of arrows from the tribesmen took their toll on the tight ranks of the Palatine's warriors. Eventually the tribesmen defeated the army of the Palatine, who escaped back to his capital with a select few bodyguards. The rest of the army was slaughtered, almost to the last man. After the battle, the tribal elders gathered and announced that Jaghatai Khan was now Great Khan of the Empty Quarter .

Khan now began the long process of conquering the rest of the planet, which possessed only a single continent. He gave those cities he besieged two choices, to surrender or be wiped out. Most surrendered, but many were destroyed, utterly wiped from the face of the planet. Eventually they came to the Palace of the Palatine, where he demanded the head of the Palatine on a spike. His request was obliged by the capital city's population, which turned on its own ruler to save their own lives from the fierce tribesmen. Jaghatai Khan adorned his tent with his greatest conquest's head, just as he had with his first enemy two decades before.

In only twenty years he had conquered the largest empire in his world's history. He now had the problems of ruling that empire, not something he had originally expected. His nomadic people had no wish to rule these new, settled lands, only to carry on living in their old ways. The Talaskar people dispersed back to a tribal existence and Khan ruled over them all with his generals by his side.

Six months later, the Emperor of Mankind arrived on the world as part of the Great Crusade and Khan knew at once that this man could fulfill his dream, to unite all of the stars above them and all of humanity in one mighty empire. In front of all of his generals, he dropped to one knee and pledged his service to the Emperor. He was given command of the V Legion of the Space Marines, the White Scars, who had been created from his own genetic material. Khan eventually grew close to Lion El'Jonson, the Primarch of the Dark Angels, and his Marines would work in conjunction with the Dark Angels on many occasions.

The Horus Heresy

The Legion's legend grew with the events of the Horus Heresy, when the White Scars fought on hundreds of worlds for over 7 standard years against the Traitor Legions and the other Forces of Chaos. Unlike many of the other Primarchs, Jaghatai never even considered betraying the Emperor for the service of the Ruinous Powers. Such a course would have been dishonourable in the extreme since the Emperor had done no wrong to his sons and also because Jaghatai so deeply believed in the Emperor's goal of reunifying the entire human race under a single ruler so that it might claim final dominance over the Milky Way Galaxy. The White Scars Legion had already been engaged for several standard years in a punishing campaign against the Orks of the Chondax System when the news of Horus' betrayal of the Imperium and the actions of the Traitor Legions at Istvaan III and the Drop Site Massacre of Istvaan V reached the White Scars' Expeditionary Fleet. They were urged in an astropathic message by the Imperial Fists Legion's Primarch Rogal Dorn to return to Terra to help defend the homeworld of humanity from the Traitors as soon as possible. Jaghatai was next contacted by the Space Wolves' Leman Russ who had just returned from the Burning of Prospero and the assault against the Space Wolves old rivals the Thousand Sons Legion and offered to join his Space Wolves with the White Scars so that they could face the Forces of Chaos in a united front. But Horus had anticipated this move by the two close brother Primarchs and the Warmaster deployed the Alpha Legion to launch a massive assault on Russ' outnumbered Space Wolves. The Alpha Legion and its twin Primarchs, Alpharius Omegon, had long harboured deep grudges against the Space Wolves and Russ in particular for his criticism of their reliance upon trickery, manipulation and subterfuge to win battles rather than engaging in what the Space Wolves Primarch saw as honourable, open combat. The Alpha Legion relished the chance to prove their superiority against the arrogant Wolves of Fenris by delaying them long enough to keep them from contributing to the defense of Terra. Although he despised leaving the Space Wolves to face the Alpha Legion Traitor Marines on their own, Jaghatai Khan felt it was more important to honour Dorn's urgent request to retreat to Terra immediately rather than first engaging in a costly (and diversionary) battle against the Alpha Legion.

It is known that much of the White Scars Legion, including its Primarch, was present to defend the siege of the Imperial Palace during the climatic Battle of Terra alongside the Blood Angels and Imperial Fists Legions. It was said that Jaghatai and his men fought many of the Chaos Space Marines that tried to retreat to Terra's spaceports and flee, following the death of the Warmaster Horus at the hands of the Emperor aboard his Battle Barge Vengeful Spirit in orbit of Mankind's homeworld. The White Scars launched several highly-successful hit-and-run assaults against the Traitor forces and together with remnants of the Imperial Army's 1st Terran Tank Division and several infantry regiments they successfully harassed the enemy supply lines as the Chaotic armies fled to the Lions Gate Spaceport to get off-world and flee Imperial vengeance. It is said that Jaghatai led these assaults from the top of a Razorback, a tale that still elicits awe from those audiences who hear it ten millennia later.

Disappearance

Seven years after the end of the Horus Heresy during the period called the Reformation when the Imperium was largely guided by the Ultramarines Primarch Roboute Guilliman, the White Scars adopted Guilliman's Codex Astartes and the V Legion allowed itself to be grudgingly divided into several different Successor Chapters. In order to contain the outlaws, Renegades and aliens that dwelled within the Maelstrom and had taken advantage of the disruptions caused by the Heresy to run amok in the Ultima Segmentum, Roboute Guilliman ordered the surrounding star systems to be reinforced. The White Scars were tasked with the main responsibility of securing the area from their homeworld. According to the writings of the Great Khan of Quan Zhou, the White Scars learned upon their return to Chogoris following the end of the Heresy that their homeworld and its people had been the target of numerous raids by the Dark Eldar to seize thousands of Chogorians as slaves. Jaghatai swore many oaths against the Dark Eldar because of this crime and fought them in many battles until peace had largely been restored amongst the Imperial worlds that were adjacent to the Maelstrom.

Jaghatai fought alongside his sons of the White Scars for another 70 standard years following the end of the Horus Heresy, eventually disappearing in 084.M31 when he traveled into a region of space known as the Maelstrom, a large Warp rift in the Ultima Segmentum that is a somewhat smaller counterpart of the Eye of Terror. Jaghatai is believed to have been in pursuit of the Dark Eldar who had savaged Mundus Planus following the Battle of Corusil V with his 1st Brotherhood when he went through a Warp Gate into the Dark Eldar portion of the Webway, ultimately vanishing forever. Jaghatai had been in pursuit of a mighty Dark Eldar lord, likely the Archon of the Kabal that had attacked Corusil V and perhaps even Mundus Planus itself. None can say what befell the Primarch -- if he was lost in the Warp or if he was slain or captured at the hands of an alien warlord -- but the White Scars believe he still hunts across the galaxy, and beyond, in pursuit of his greatest foes. The White Scars believe he is still alive somewhere within the Webway and will one day return to the Chapter in a time of great need. As a result of their Primarch's disappearance, the White Scars hold a particularly savage grudge against the Dark Eldar and will gladly seek out any opportunity to make war upon those savage and terrifying xenos. The White Scars thus continue to fight in Jaghatai's name, destroying the enemies of the Emperor in preparation for the day when the Great Khan completes his consummate hunt and returns to once again lead his chosen warriors and begin the next Great Crusade to unify the galaxy.

Source: http://warhammer40k.wikia.com

[ackermancassandra]

Extended highlights: Bournemouth 1, Manchester City 3 | NBC Sports

Manchester city v bournemouth highlights - Manchester City 2 - 1 Bournemouth / Highlights Video | HooFoot

Mahrez struck the woodwork with a low shot and Foden was in the right place to tuck home manchester city v bournemouth highlights rebound.

City went in search of more and Delap's enthusiasm got the better of him as he crashed into Cherries goalkeeper Travers, collecting a booking for the late challenge. City had a explanation scare when De Bruyne went down after a blow to the head but he manchester city v bournemouth highlights able to complete the game. Manchester City manager Pep Guardiola said: "It was a young team. All of them played incredibly. It was good for us.

The opponent was tough. I felt we deserved the victory. In the second half we were much better. He's a striker we don't have - strong and good in the air. We have a lot of confidence with him for the future. City brought Kevin De Bruyne and Raheem Sterling off the bench in the latter stages and they eventually snatched victory on 75 minutes when Foden struck after Riyad Mahrez hit the post.

Pep Guardiola's side, who are bidding for a record-equalling eighth League Cup win and a fourth in succession, will now travel to Burnley in the fourth round next week.

Looking ahead to Sunday's clash with Leicester, City boss Guardiola made eight changes from the side which opened the campaign with victory at Wolves on Monday. His selections included handing manchester city v bournemouth highlights to the impressive striker Delap and American goalkeeper Zack Steffen.

Tommy Doyle and Taylor Harwood-Bellis were also given opportunities but it proved a sad night for year-old Adrian Bernabe, who was carried off injured before half-time. City's youthful side threatened early on as Ferran Torres, making his first start since his summer move from Valencia, and Manchester city v bournemouth highlights forced saves from Mark Travers.

They then took the lead on 18 minutes as Foden slid Delap through on goal with a fine through-ball. The teenager took the ball in his stride and swept a left-footed manchester city v bournemouth highlights into the top corner from just inside the box. CarabaoCup pic. It was a moment to savour for the youngster but City's lead proved short-lived as the Cherries responded within four minutes. Surridge was given too much space to turn in the box and buried a low shot past Steffen.

I thought the lads executed the tactical game plan very well and were very brave in winning possession. The gaffer's thoughts on tonight's performance against ManCity.

Written by davygravy. The City team, even at the start, was more experienced than I had expected. And pretty sure towards the end of the game, had a more experienced team on the pitch than we did.

The winning goal a lucky scuff, fairly sure if he had hit that true, Travers would have had source decent chance of saving it.

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Sheffield United Sheff Utd.

[eastbridge-sb]

UEFA Europa League Match Previews – 7th November Thursday

­Rangers v Porto

It promises to be another big night at Ibrox as Rangers hope to carry on their strong start to life back in Europe. It’s a very tight group with just three points separating all four teams and each of them have at least one win under their belt so far. It really does seem like one that could go to the final matchday and with a trip to Rotterdam and a home clash vs Young Boys left for the Teddy Bears they may see a point here as a good result.

Alfredo Morelos was the man who grabbed a vital goal at the Estadio Do Dragao but an earlier Luis Diaz strike meant the shares were spoiled. It was a completely fair result though with nothing between the two in terms of xG and chance creation. Ryan Kent was excellent in the build up to that goal but the pressure may be on the Gers here to do most of the attacking and not have the opportunity to play on the break.

I get the feeling like this could be like a chess game and possibly a low scoring encounter. Under Steven Gerrard, the Glasgow side look to be solid defensively first and foremost. We saw that in their qualifying game to Legia Warsaw and then another 1-0 followed on matchday 1 over Feyenoord. They have the quality to thrash teams in the SPFL but the Europa League is a different kettle of fish and Gerrard knows that greater respect has to be given to the opposition.

Under 2.5 goals looks generous at 2.000, I expected this to be a 2.25 line so I have to get involved with the straight 2.5 here and oppose a high scorer. Porto aren’t the most prolific side, 7 of their last 9 games have seen fewer than 3 goals and they’ve only notched twice or more in 2 of their last 8.

Asian Total Goals Betting Recommendation: Under 2.50 goals at 2.000

Wolves v Slovan Bratislava

Wolverhampton Wanderers came from behind to win in Slovakia two weeks ago and have a good chance to record a win as they welcome Slovan Bratislava to Molineux. There’s a clear gulf in quality between the two here I feel and the Old Gold look like they’re giving time and attention to this competition unlike so English sides.

Nuno’s men lost on opening day to Braga despite generating double the amount of xG than their counterparts, however since then they’ve recorded back-to-back victories away from home and in the Premier league they’ve started to motor after a relatively slow start. They’ve lost just once in their last ten games in all competitions, the only defeat came in the league cup where they played half a dozen youth teamers.

Ownership group FOSUN have made no secret of their desire to get the club on the European scene and they could go seriously far given the quality of their squad with Ruben Neves, Raul Jimenez, Diogo Jota and the threat of Adama Traore. They’ll be fine in the domestic league so they should give this competition a real go and I sincerely hope they do.

I fancy them here and we can back the hosts with a -1.25 start on the asian handicap at 1.940 and they should have too much quality for this Slovan side if they play to their optimum.

Asian Handicap Betting Recommendation: Wolves -1.25 at 1.940

Borussia Monchengladbach v Roma

Possibly the game of the night takes place in North-Rhine Westphalia as Roma travel to Borussia Park to take on 1979 champions Monchengladbach.

The Foals have had an excellent campaign thus far under former Salzburg manager Marco Rose. They sit top of the tree in the Bundesliga with an impressive 22 points from their opening 10 games and Rose is further enhancing his reputation as one of the best young coaches in the world. He tends to operate in a 5-3-2 formation but it’s a very fluid one and it really does make it hard for opposition to stay touch tight to them.

Strikers Patrick Hermann, Alessandre Plea and Marcus Thuram don’t mind drifting out wide to create space for each other and their selfless running can allow the extra man in the middle of the park to burst into the box, whether that be Lars Stindl or Florian Nehaus. Their pace up front means they can play on the shoulder effectively too and it’s perfect for Rose’s ethos of fast-paced, direct attacking.

Given their impressive form many will be looking at the hosts at 2.100 and be tempted in, however they’ve lost 1 and drew 2 so far in their Europa League campaign and one of those points came in this reverse fixture courtesy of a last minute penalty that was inexplicably given by Scottish referee Willy Collum for a Chris Smalling handball that never was. There are also doubts over Plea, Breel Embolo, Ramy Bensebaini and Fabian Johnson.

That been said, Roma aren’t without their own injury concerns. Centre half Gianluca Mancini has been filling in in holding midfield with Amadou Diawara, Bryan Cristante and Lorenzo Pellegrini all ruled out. It’s a good job head coach Paulo Fonseca has a squad with decent depth, Nicola Zaniolo has returned to form recently and Turkish youngster Cengiz Under is back after a long term injury, he will add some more craft going forward.

I think even with injuries, these two sides have greater strengths going forward than they do at the back and given Gladbach need to get a win here to give themselves a decent chance of qualification then I’m happy to take over 2.75 goals at 1.830. 7/10 Gladbach games have seen this bet profit including each of their last 3. What’s more, the Foals have smashed in 11 goals in their last 3 home fixtures. Roma have also seen this bet profit in their last 3 games, the Giallorossi have bagged in all but one away game so far this season so we should see goals at both ends.

Asian Total Goals Betting Recommendation: Over 2.75 goals at 1.830

Preview by: @TomLove_18

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[runridedive]

6 more points to play for

A title race like no other. Whoever finishes second will have more points then most title winners in the previous Premier League campaigns. It’s been a glorious season for the Reds and the Citizens and to a degree for Spurs while everyone else is hoping for a wonderful transfer window again. Arsenal still have a chance of glory with one foot in the Europa league final. Spurs could still make the Champions League final and Watford have an outside chance of winning the FA Cup but for everyone else it’s all over bar the shouting. City and Liverpool have just been a few steps better than everyone else at everything.

On the Superbru front, my challenge faded towards Christmas from a season high top4 to somewhere in the forty’s. Tyron continued to have a better second half of the season steadily moving up into the mid-twenties and Dirk, with his love of an upset for the underdog struggled to pick up points and stayed in the 50’s and 60’s for most of the season. Our yellow cap winner in the previous round was “Waynebell” with 13.5 points. I scored 7, Dirk and Tyron both scored 2.5. As many as 4 managers are still in the hunt for the overall title in our pool, good luck!

Everton v Burnley

Tyron

EVE 2 – 1 BUR

Everton with a late push for Top 8

Dirk

EVE 2 – 1 BUR

Everton are finishing the season quite strongly and at home should be strong enough to beat Burnley

Marcel

EVE 2 – 1 BUR

Everton, much like Arsenal are much better at home than away. Burnley are almost certainly safe from relegation and may relax

Bournemouth v Tottenham

Tyron

BOU 1 – 2 TOT

Spurs biting their way to top 3

Dirk

BOU 1 – 2 TOT

Spurs have struggled recently but will need a good result to hang onto their top 4 position, they should have enough to win here

Marcel

BOU 0 – 1 TOT

Spurs are struggling at the moment. Consecutive defeats in the new stadium, injuries and suspensions, it could be a tight match

West Ham v Southampton

Tyron

WHM 1 – 2 SOU

Saints marching on to safety

Dirk

WHM 2 – 1 SOU

This should be a good game really, both teams in some decent form but I think West Ham should just be that little bit strong and get the win

Marcel

WHM 1 – 1 SOU

Southampton are safe, West Ham are unlikely to make much headway on the table.

Wolverhampton Wanderers v Fulham

Tyron

WOL 1 – 0 FUL

Wolves smashing to 7th

Dirk

WOL 1 – 0 FUL

Fulham will be wondering where there current form has been all season, but at home Wolves should win here and strengthen themselves as best of the rest

Marcel

WOL 1 – 1 FUL

Fulham have gone on a wonderful run since being relegated, they could pick up a top 10 scalp here

Cardiff City v Crystal Palace

Tyron

CAR 1 – 0 CRY

Cardiff crawling to a frenetic final day

Dirk

CAR 2 – 1 CRY

I feel like Cardiff with more to fight for will find a win to keep their hopes alive for another week

Marcel

CAR 0 – 1 CRY

Cardiff must win to keep any hope alive, Palace can catch West Ham and earn a better payday

  Newcastle v Liverpool

Tyron

NEW 1 – 2 LIV

Liverpool sprinting to 2nd place

Dirk

NEW 1 – 2 LIV

Liverpool will make sure it goes down to the wire with a good away win against Newcastle

Marcel

NEW 0 – 1 LIV

Does Rafa want to leave England as the manager who stopped Liverpool’s charge or as another manager who couldn’t win the Premier title with them?

Chelsea v Watford

Tyron

CHE 2 – 0 WAT

Chelsea jogging into the top 4

Dirk

CHE 1 – 1 WAT

So many teams dropping points in the race for the top4, I think Watford will score a goal and take points off Chelsea here

Marcel

CHE 1 – 0 WAT

Chelsea are really poor but just good enough to beat an inconsistent Watford

Huddersfield v Man. United

Tyron

HUD 1 – 2 MUN

Man Utd stumbling to the top 6

Dirk

HUD 0 – 2 MUN

Ole needs a win and will get just that against a Terriers side who are limping through the last few games of the season

Marcel

HUD 0 – 2 MUN

Does Ole have the balls to drop Rashford and De Gea? Does he have the mental strength to pick youth in the light of criticism? If the answer is no, Huddersfield could repeat their only win against a top 6 team from last season.

Arsenal v Brighton

Tyron

ARS 2 – 1 BRI

Arsenal are drunk

Dirk

ARS 2 – 1 BRI

Brighton aren’t safe yet but Arsenal should be too strong at home – and they’ll get the points they need in the race for a top 4 finish

Marcel

ARS 3 – 0 BRI

I expect the ‘home ground’ advantage to kick in again at the Emirates and the soft Gunners players to raise their game in front of the home fans

Man. City v Leicester City

Tyron

MCI 2 – 0 LEI

City sprinting towards the title

Dirk

MCI 2 – 0 LEI

Leicester could be a side to unsettle City but City have shown great concentration lately and this will prove to be the difference here.

Marcel

MCI 2 – 1 LEI

If City wins this game the officials at the EPL can start tightening the sky blue ribbons to the trophy. Leicester will put up a fight but City should prevail.

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[theharellan]

An incomplete list of my Solas’ names, listed semi-chronologically:

Da’Fen. An affectionate name given by Wisdom when he was young, and likely was invoked by it throughout their friendship until its death. Only a few know him by this name, and fewer still ever took physical form.

Fen’amelan. A name given by Mythal, more or less translating as “wolf guardian,” it references his role as her protector although later was adopted by the People to represent his expanding role as their guardian. One of the most common names to refer to him by, up until he took on the name Fen’Harel. Obviously when writing with a Mythal this headcanon is flexible and won’t be forced upon them.

Fenara. A name given by the People, but often used by friends. He wore many disguises to walk among the People unnoticed, and eventually earns a name to reference the habit-- “the wolf that wanders.” He had a particular fondness for this name, especially when it was invoked by people who just figured out who he was. Often such cleverness was rewarded, either through a gift or recruitment.

Fen’Samahl. A name almost exclusively used by friends, although I’m sure that there have been people who picked it up after overhearing those close to him use it. It just means “the laughing wolf” and is more or less the ancient elvhen equivalent to “Chuckles” because his laugh has always sounded Like That.

Fen’ghil’an. It means “the wolf that guides” and was given to him by the faithful, mostly invoked by lost travellers, traders about to make a long journey, or on more dire occasions by Andruil’s sacrifices. I should note here that this is a feminine name, and that Solas was not exclusively seen as a masculine entity-- in fact, most often he was seen as neutral (most ancient texts likely refer to him with the neutral len over lan or lin), but there were those who would exclusively or occasionally use she/her pronouns when referencing him.

Fenvir / Fen’an. Two very niche names used during the period just before he broke off to ultimately become Fen’Harel, and only by those who knew his heart. Fenvir references the new path he is on, and Fen’an represents his changing heart. They also likely could have been used after his turn for those who didn’t want to call him something his enemies had named him.

Fen’Harel / Fen’Harellan / Fen’Harillen. Names given to him by his enemies, intended as an insult but adopted by the revolution and by Fen’Harel himself. It means both “wolf traitor” and “rebel wolf” and can invoke either a terrifying god-monster bent upon destroying the people he was meant to protect, or a person who has upheld the meaning of his ancient names even if it meant turning against those who gave them to him. Fen’Harel is a strange name which contributes to Solas’ ill feelings towards it, to some it is a god’s name, to others it is a hero’s name, to others still it is a monster’s name, albeit a divine monster, rarely is it is his name. Especially after the creation of the Veil. Also interesting to note that the gender of the noun associated with the name is feminine.

Solas. A name he chose for himself after he wakes, representing both his own self-admitted pride and the pride of the elves. Pride isn’t an inherently negative thing, least of all to a race of people whose pride has been purposefully stripped from them, and I don’t believe every Fade denizen who represents Pride is necessarily demonic or violent in nature. But getting into that would be opening up another discussion about the nature of spirits so we won’t be getting into that. One thing I should note is that if someone notes that “Solas” is a strange thing to name a child, if he has a positive relationship with that person he will mention that he wasn’t born with that name, although if someone responds by asking what his real name is he will greatly disapprove. I have written a little fic about Thora and Solas discussing his (and hers) names and their meanings here for an example of what I mean. In addition to those who knew Solas in the Inquisition, those who are close to Solas and understand ancient Elvhen naming conventions and his feelings about his own names are likely to call him Solas, too. At least under certain circumstances.

Chuckles. It counts as a name in his mind, and one of the few he’ll accept as gladly as he does Solas. How you interpret the meaning of Varric’s nickname varies and I will leave that up to any Varrics I write with, personally I tend to see it as literal rather than ironic as the first time he invokes it in-game is after Solas snort-laughs. I also think he had this nickname before you as the Herald meet Solas or Varric (they obviously know each other if Solas is giggling over the prospect of Varic being with the Chantry) but again I ultimately leave that up to Varrics.

Vhenan / Sal’shiral. Affectionate nicknames given to him by Ian over the course of their relationship, but begin to feel as real as any other name he’s been called, especially when they rendezvous in the Fade and the full meaning of what Ian feels when he says it can be felt. Shout-out to Ala (seahaloed) for giving me feelings about this.

Many of his old names may provoke negative feelings in Solas, as they’re names associated with his false divinity or are easy to project onto on a scale that can be disorienting. When people called upon Fen’ghil’an or Fen’amelan for protection, they called upon him, but also they didn’t. It’s one reason Solas is a more comfortable name for him, it’s the one he owns completely.

And one final name:

Lavellan. You may have noticed Solas has never had a last name! In my modern Thedas verse he does invent one, but he doesn’t put as much weight in them as he does first names (I don’t think Elvhenan quite had surnames, as nuanced meaning could be put in one name or dispersed over several). In the Dragon Age not having a last name is pretty acceptable for lower classes, and therefore suitable for an apostate elf dressed in rags. However, when Solas does marry Ian he takes his last name as a symbol of their joining. In modern Thedas it’s the first time he ever gives his students the option to call him by his last name, as before he typically instructed them to call him by his first name and the more polite students would just have to suffer or call him “Professor Solas.”

This is all 100% fanon/headcanon and diverges from canon, please don’t reblog this unless we’re rp partners!

[mavwrekmarketing]

Image copyright Hulton Archive/Getty Images

Image caption England celebrate winning the 1966 World Cup final against West Germany

The World Cup, the British Invasion, the Summer of Love, imported teams – and a bunch of US businessmen looking to make a buck – created a gleaming vision for professional football in 1960s America… only for it to quickly end in tears.

When Geoff Hurst smashed his third goal into the roof of the West German net in 1966, he not only secured the World Cup for England, he helped kick-start a bold plan to introduce the round ball version of football to America.

The venture launched on this day 50 years ago, but was facing an uncertain future just six weeks later.

The mid-1960s was the time of the so-called British Invasion of the US, when UK music, fashion, photography, drama and other creative arts were in huge demand Stateside.

That movement coincided with the emergence of fledgling satellite TV technology, which beamed the football World Cup in England to a captivated television audience on the other side of the Atlantic.

Their positive reaction to the football – a sport most viewers actually knew little about – prompted a group of US businessmen to get together to draw up plans to establish a professional football, or soccer, league in the country.

Image caption The programme for Washington Whips (Aberdeen) v Vancouver Royal Canadians (Sunderland)

And in a strange quirk to the tale, the UK also ended up providing a majority of the teams, which were reborn with new exotic American names for the duration of the US season.

So Wolverhampton Wanderers became the LA Wolves, Aberdeen the Washington Whips, Hibs the Toronto City, Sunderland the Vancouver Royal Canadians, Stoke the Cleveland Stokers, Dundee United the Dallas Tornado, and Glentoran the Detroit Cougars.

‘The next big sport’

Alan Rothenberg, the man who would later bring the 1994 World Cup to the US, was there on the inside when the plans were first hatched by that group of sports entrepreneurs.

“The 1966 World Cup in England had been shown on satellite television in the United States, and had been a big success,” he tells me.

“I think it was the first time satellite had been used to broadcast sport to any great extent. So a bunch of entrepreneurs said to themselves, ‘This is the next big sport.’

“There was no element of soccer evangelising. These were hard-nosed entrepreneurs, they knew sports, and they believed soccer was a great financial opportunity.”

Image copyright Keystone/Getty Images

Image caption The Beatles led the so-called British Invasion of the US in the 1960s

Back then Mr Rothenberg was a lawyer for sports entrepreneur Jack Kent Cooke, owner of the Los Angeles Lakers basketball team and Los Angeles Kings ice hockey team.

Cooke was also building the Los Angeles Forum indoor arena, and had an ownership interest in the Washington Redskins American Football team.

But as often happens with a new business idea, two rival camps of sports entrepreneurs emerged. It meant that a duelling, politically combative pair of leagues came alive at the same time, both seeking control of the marketplace and of the game.

Image copyright Doug Pensinger/Allsport

Image caption Sports entrepreneur Jack Kent Cooke was a driving force behind the USA soccer league

They were the United Soccer Association (USA), headed by Cooke and his allies and sanctioned by the US soccer authorities and global governing body Fifa, and the “outlaw” National Professional Soccer League (NPSL).

“The others did not get officially sanctioned, but decided to go ahead anyway,” Mr Rothenberg recalls. “Also, we, as the official league, did not get a TV deal but somehow the NPSL did with CBS.”

Imported teams

To make matters worse, the original plan of Cooke and his allies – such as Lamar Hunt, who went on to be an original founding investor in Major League Soccer in the 1990s – had been to launch the United Soccer Association league in 1968.

But the NPSL again outflanked its official rival and announced it would kick off its league in 1967.

“The USA league owners said, ‘Jeez, we have got to do something.’ So they turned to international transatlantic relations,” says Rothenberg.

Image copyright Mikey Rito/Courtesy of Chicago Sun-Times

Image caption Dundee United (white) representing Dallas Tornado v Cagliari, rebranded as Chicago Mustangs

“They went to a whole lot of teams in England, Scotland, Ireland – and elsewhere – and brought them over to play in our league.”

Each of the American soccer franchises, which stretched from New York to San Francisco, was allocated an imported club, and each of the teams were given a new name, and in some cases new playing kit.

The rebranded Aberdeen, Stoke City and Wolverhampton Wanderers (who represented Jack Cooke’s own franchise, the LA Wolves), plus Bangu of Brazil kicked off the league on 27 May 1967, just before the famous “Summer of Love”.

Non-UK clubs in the United Soccer Association league 1967

Boston Rovers – Shamrock Rovers (Republic of Ireland)

Chicago Mustangs – Cagliari (Italy)

Houston Stars – Bangu (Brazil)

New York Skyliners – Cerro (Uruguay)

San Francisco Golden Gate Gales – ADO Den Haag (Netherlands)

‘Bond Street suits’

A straight fee for agreeing to take part was paid by the league to each of the imported teams, with each US franchise paying the club’s expenses.

“There were a number of reasons we turned to the UK for the bulk of the teams,” says Rothenberg. “Remember it was the World Cup in England that had fired the initial interest. Also, by winning the tournament England was the uppermost soccer power in the world.

“In addition, it was the close season in England, and their FA was very co-operative in helping us find teams to take part.”

He adds: “It was also a time when British things were generally in vogue in the US, and the nexus between America and the UK was stronger then. And Cooke as a Canadian was very British in his outlook, very UK-focused, in his Bond Street suits.

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption Alan Rothenberg (left) went on to bring the 1994 World Cup to the US

“I walked into all of that as a 28-year-old. I was a vice president of the league and its general counsel, and I also became more or less general manager of the LA Wolves team too.”

In fact the LA Wolves went on to win the league, beating the Washington Whips (Aberdeen) 6-5 in a thrilling final on 10 July 1967.

“It was an abbreviated season and crowd turnouts across the board were disappointing,” admits Rothenberg.

“The fans who came along really got involved, but most of them were not soccer converts unfortunately. They were people from around the world who already knew the sport and were curious to see if our league would be a success.”

‘Financial disaster’

For every gate in five figures there were downsides, and indeed gates of over 10,000 were very rare. When Northern Ireland’s Glentoran (Detroit) hosted the Republic of Ireland’s Shamrock Rovers (Boston) only 684 people turned up.

With hindsight the US just wasn’t ready for two soccer leagues, maybe not even for one in 1967. At the end of the season the two leagues merged as the NASL, and Cooke got out after just one more season.

Image copyright Mikey Rito/Courtesy of Chicago Sun-Times

Image caption The US could not support two football leagues in 1967

“After the end of the first season it immediately became clear it had been a financial disaster for both leagues,” says Rothenberg.

“All the owners who had invested money had been optimistic. But it was a great unknown that they were taking on, and ultimately they proved to be too early in trying to introduce soccer.

“It was inevitable that soccer would eventually become part of the US sporting landscape, with the big breakthrough of the 1994 USA World Cup.

“But 1967 provided a kick-start and soccer gained momentum in the 1970s – with the NASL, Pele, the New York Cosmos, and a great explosion in youth football which laid down the roots for future decades.”

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USA 1967: When American soccer’s Summer of Love ended in tears – BBC News

Image copyright Hulton Archive/Getty Images

Image caption England celebrate winning the 1966 World Cup final against West Germany

The World Cup, the British Invasion, the Summer of Love, imported teams – and a bunch of US businessmen looking to make a buck – created a gleaming vision for professional football in 1960s America… only for it to quickly end in tears.

When Geoff Hurst smashed his third goal into the roof of the West German net in 1966, he not only secured the World Cup for England, he helped kick-start a bold plan to introduce the round ball version of football to America.

The venture launched on this day 50 years ago, but was facing an uncertain future just six weeks later.

The mid-1960s was the time of the so-called British Invasion of the US, when UK music, fashion, photography, drama and other creative arts were in huge demand Stateside.

That movement coincided with the emergence of fledgling satellite TV technology, which beamed the football World Cup in England to a captivated television audience on the other side of the Atlantic.

Their positive reaction to the football – a sport most viewers actually knew little about – prompted a group of US businessmen to get together to draw up plans to establish a professional football, or soccer, league in the country.

Image caption The programme for Washington Whips (Aberdeen) v Vancouver Royal Canadians (Sunderland)

And in a strange quirk to the tale, the UK also ended up providing a majority of the teams, which were reborn with new exotic American names for the duration of the US season.

So Wolverhampton Wanderers became the LA Wolves, Aberdeen the Washington Whips, Hibs the Toronto City, Sunderland the Vancouver Royal Canadians, Stoke the Cleveland Stokers, Dundee United the Dallas Tornado, and Glentoran the Detroit Cougars.

‘The next big sport’

Alan Rothenberg, the man who would later bring the 1994 World Cup to the US, was there on the inside when the plans were first hatched by that group of sports entrepreneurs.

“The 1966 World Cup in England had been shown on satellite television in the United States, and had been a big success,” he tells me.

“I think it was the first time satellite had been used to broadcast sport to any great extent. So a bunch of entrepreneurs said to themselves, ‘This is the next big sport.’

“There was no element of soccer evangelising. These were hard-nosed entrepreneurs, they knew sports, and they believed soccer was a great financial opportunity.”

Image copyright Keystone/Getty Images

Image caption The Beatles led the so-called British Invasion of the US in the 1960s

Back then Mr Rothenberg was a lawyer for sports entrepreneur Jack Kent Cooke, owner of the Los Angeles Lakers basketball team and Los Angeles Kings ice hockey team.

Cooke was also building the Los Angeles Forum indoor arena, and had an ownership interest in the Washington Redskins American Football team.

But as often happens with a new business idea, two rival camps of sports entrepreneurs emerged. It meant that a duelling, politically combative pair of leagues came alive at the same time, both seeking control of the marketplace and of the game.

Image copyright Doug Pensinger/Allsport

Image caption Sports entrepreneur Jack Kent Cooke was a driving force behind the USA soccer league

They were the United Soccer Association (USA), headed by Cooke and his allies and sanctioned by the US soccer authorities and global governing body Fifa, and the “outlaw” National Professional Soccer League (NPSL).

“The others did not get officially sanctioned, but decided to go ahead anyway,” Mr Rothenberg recalls. “Also, we, as the official league, did not get a TV deal but somehow the NPSL did with CBS.”

Imported teams

To make matters worse, the original plan of Cooke and his allies – such as Lamar Hunt, who went on to be an original founding investor in Major League Soccer in the 1990s – had been to launch the United Soccer Association league in 1968.

But the NPSL again outflanked its official rival and announced it would kick off its league in 1967.

“The USA league owners said, ‘Jeez, we have got to do something.’ So they turned to international transatlantic relations,” says Rothenberg.

Image copyright Mikey Rito/Courtesy of Chicago Sun-Times

Image caption Dundee United (white) representing Dallas Tornado v Cagliari, rebranded as Chicago Mustangs

“They went to a whole lot of teams in England, Scotland, Ireland – and elsewhere – and brought them over to play in our league.”

Each of the American soccer franchises, which stretched from New York to San Francisco, was allocated an imported club, and each of the teams were given a new name, and in some cases new playing kit.

The rebranded Aberdeen, Stoke City and Wolverhampton Wanderers (who represented Jack Cooke’s own franchise, the LA Wolves), plus Bangu of Brazil kicked off the league on 27 May 1967, just before the famous “Summer of Love”.

Non-UK clubs in the United Soccer Association league 1967

Boston Rovers – Shamrock Rovers (Republic of Ireland)

Chicago Mustangs – Cagliari (Italy)

Houston Stars – Bangu (Brazil)

New York Skyliners – Cerro (Uruguay)

San Francisco Golden Gate Gales – ADO Den Haag (Netherlands)

‘Bond Street suits’

A straight fee for agreeing to take part was paid by the league to each of the imported teams, with each US franchise paying the club’s expenses.

“There were a number of reasons we turned to the UK for the bulk of the teams,” says Rothenberg. “Remember it was the World Cup in England that had fired the initial interest. Also, by winning the tournament England was the uppermost soccer power in the world.

“In addition, it was the close season in England, and their FA was very co-operative in helping us find teams to take part.”

He adds: “It was also a time when British things were generally in vogue in the US, and the nexus between America and the UK was stronger then. And Cooke as a Canadian was very British in his outlook, very UK-focused, in his Bond Street suits.

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption Alan Rothenberg (left) went on to bring the 1994 World Cup to the US

“I walked into all of that as a 28-year-old. I was a vice president of the league and its general counsel, and I also became more or less general manager of the LA Wolves team too.”

In fact the LA Wolves went on to win the league, beating the Washington Whips (Aberdeen) 6-5 in a thrilling final on 10 July 1967.

“It was an abbreviated season and crowd turnouts across the board were disappointing,” admits Rothenberg.

“The fans who came along really got involved, but most of them were not soccer converts unfortunately. They were people from around the world who already knew the sport and were curious to see if our league would be a success.”

‘Financial disaster’

For every gate in five figures there were downsides, and indeed gates of over 10,000 were very rare. When Northern Ireland’s Glentoran (Detroit) hosted the Republic of Ireland’s Shamrock Rovers (Boston) only 684 people turned up.

With hindsight the US just wasn’t ready for two soccer leagues, maybe not even for one in 1967. At the end of the season the two leagues merged as the NASL, and Cooke got out after just one more season.

Image copyright Mikey Rito/Courtesy of Chicago Sun-Times

Image caption The US could not support two football leagues in 1967

“After the end of the first season it immediately became clear it had been a financial disaster for both leagues,” says Rothenberg.

“All the owners who had invested money had been optimistic. But it was a great unknown that they were taking on, and ultimately they proved to be too early in trying to introduce soccer.

“It was inevitable that soccer would eventually become part of the US sporting landscape, with the big breakthrough of the 1994 USA World Cup.

“But 1967 provided a kick-start and soccer gained momentum in the 1970s – with the NASL, Pele, the New York Cosmos, and a great explosion in youth football which laid down the roots for future decades.”

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[theharellan]

8. A hazy memory

Memory Meme | Not Accepting

The river runs cold around his ankles, memories of snow washing over him. It remembers being solid and still, before the sun’s face bore down too hard and commanded it flow. The sensation is fascinating and familiar, he wants to dwell in it until he remembers why. Drink it until his other senses dull. Snowmelt unearths memories from mountain peaks he has only ever glimpsed on clear summer days, and for a moment he is a sure-footed wolf pursuing its quarry, or a tree soaking in sunlight on the year’s shortest day. In the next he feels the new spring air like a knife in his throat, a last sharp, stinging breath before he dips beneath the rapids. The rocks that had marked his crossing now throw him against them.

His eyes open, hands fly to his throat and soothe the panic that threatens to choke him, smoothing the chill that has stolen over his skin. His eyes open, and he sees something new.

A pale shape floats in the water, white as the full moon in a dark sky. Caution bids him halt, but curiosity drives him forward, bare feet feeling for a path between the lichen-laden rocks. A dead face bobs with the water, mouth agape as though it still draws breath, as though it might call out to him. Their last memory strains through the water, nails blunted where they tried to cling to unyielding stone, lungs raw when they used the few precious breaths they had left screaming out for help.

He tries to remember their face years later, but his memory fails him. Sometimes their eyes return to him, accusing and hollow. Sometimes their memory comes to him, and in those final few seconds before the fall, he sees himself in their reflection.

[theharellan]

11. A memory that may or may not have happened

memory meme | not accepting

(The memory comes as a pretty dream, pleasant to remember, but linger too long and it seems too clean, its faces too perfect, its verses too rehearsed.)

They say the Wolf came to us from the woods, where he spent his days amassing great Wisdom to one day bring to the People.

From hollow bones he breathed life onto blank canvas, and in common dirt he saw the potential for great works of art. He might have stayed there, and kept these wonders to himself, dreamed and grown, and Elvhenan would have been all the poorer for it. But the wind in the trees told tales of the great Mythal so grand not even he could picture her.

He came to her bearing gifts, scrolls with paintings of roads lit by the soft light of stars leading to cities of twirling crystal spires and worlds that were meant only for wisdom. It was said he was asked where he had seen this in his travels, to which his response was: “I haven’t.”

It was a fragment, a dream of Elvhenan, and though some among Mythal’s people saw them as naught but a young Dreamer’s fancies, she saw their worth. He was welcomed to her side as an ally, then friend, the dreams in his eyes a spark that helped kindle what would become the place of our People.

(The memory fractures, doubt steals into what once was clear. A dagger is clutched behind the young Wolf’s back, then naught but brushes woven with hart hair. What was one fragment of nine doubles, then doubles again, until millions upon thousands of pieces come together to make a beautiful whole. A voice rings out, different and defiant from any heard before.)

This place of love is yours to take back.

[theharellan]

Five times enlightened (Wisdom)

solas & wisdom through the ages | @spiritualjourneys​

one. There are not many people who can make him sit still, not when there is a world bursting with new experiences, too vast for his imagination to comprehend. A single word from Wisdom stills him every time, and he settles in the grass with his legs crossed. “You know the difference between knowledge and wisdom, don’t you?” it asks, and smiles when it sees how his expression twists.

He knows Wisdom (it stands before him) and he has met Knowledge, who tends to paintings upon the side of a cave far to the east of where they sit. Wisdom wears many shapes, Knowledge wears one. Yet he knows if he is to answer with differences between Knowledge, the person, and Wisdom, the person, he will receive only a stern look in response. “Ahn…” he hums, in place of an answer. The two words are different in more ways than sound, the impression they leave upon the Fade is unique. “They are not the same,” he decides, “but can they exist without each other?”

“Wisdom may come with knowledge, but it does not guarantee it. The wise will seek knowledge in the unknown world, and wisdom in their own. You may know the fire will burn you, and yet try to touch it all the same. The wise will abstain because they know better,” and with humour in its eyes, it adds, “perhaps because they have tried before.”

two. “There is always something– beyond.” That word, he thinks, has never sounded more inviting. He thought beyond the walls of his village, he would find the end, but the farther he strays, the farther the world stretches, as though it folds infinitely beneath his feet. “I reach out, but come no closer.”

Wisdom laughs at him, but it does not make him flinch. It laughs, but not cruelly, his ears twitch and yet hear no derision in the sound. “You seek the deepest Fade, Da’Fen, and that is not somewhere you find on a whim. Especially not one borne as you were.” As if to demonstrate, its hand settles on his shoulder, but do not weigh as his would. He has left his body to sleep for weeks, years, but it is an anchor he cannot cast aside. Not when Mythal may have need of more than a sharp mind.

Its hand moves, fingers lifting his chin. “Do not despair,” it says, “I will teach you to find it.”

three. “It hurts.”

His hand comes over his heart, which aches as though it bleeds. But his body is whole, and leans into Wisdom’s form for comfort. Fingers curl into its fur to forget the touch of lifeless skin, but still the memory plays, overlaid upon everything. Aridhel’s end is persistent. Her final words a whisper in his ear as her life seeps away, and her end begins again. The blow that killed her feels as if it is his own, and he check again for blood, but touches only cold chain mail.

“I know,” Wisdom’s voice is smooth, comforting, and he wants to beg it to not stop speaking. Until it speaks again, and draws dread into his heart: “It will always hurt.”

His throat closes. He tries to imagine forever, a word that has always felt so full of possibility, now wrought with grief. Unless– “I have seen you erase memories before.” Joy makes and remakes itself with the seasons, and Wisdom takes happy thoughts and spins them into thread. Are his so different? “Can you not take mine, as well?”

Wisdom moves away, pulling from his grasp to watch him with disappointed eyes. “You do not want to forget.”

He prickles at what sounds like an order, as if it knows better than him. He wants to protest, to insist, but this body he chose chokes on his sorrow, and instead, he weeps.

Wisdom’s words come not in sounds, but shapeless suggestions that melt into his skin. It settles its nose upon his shoulder and draws him into an embrace, where his tears wet its fur. A memory is pressed into him, a distant sadness for a friend he has never met, but gratitude, too, that he knew them at all. “It will always hurt, remembering her, but forget her, and she will die a second death.”

four. The sky frames Wisdom’s shape as it watches from the sanctuary’s steps. Free elves sprawl out on the grass beyond the doors, a peal of laughter bursts through idle chatter as one splashes another. Wisdom is shaped as they are, its face the reflection of a stranger, but there is never any mistaking it.

“I was beginning to wonder if I would ever see you here,” Fen’Harel confesses as he approaches it. He leans uneasily against the former temple’s walls, arms folding over his chest. Like this, dressed in threadbare robes, the People scarcely recognise him, but Wisdom need not look twice. He feels its recognition as his own. It would take more than a new name to fool it. “You never were fond of this place.” In the centuries he had roamed this land as a god-- or, rather, the shadow of one, he could have counted the number of times Wisdom had graced these halls on one hand.

“I like it better now,” it says, honesty threaded through its words. “This place, these people, I could not deny myself the chance to know them.”

They both fall silent. His eyes fall upon an elf examining their own reflection, hands touching their face as though they gaze upon something holy. A question settles in his stomach as he tears his gaze away, sweeping towards the distant mountains that surround this place. “You never tried to put me on this path,” he says, his voice subdued. He does not wish for it to sound like an accusation, he knows there is no one to blame but himself, but he cannot help but wonder. “You must have known, or had doubts about where we were headed.”

“Some answers you must find in your own way.” It answers without so much as a moment’s reflection, knowing what he wanted to ask before he had asked it. “And you did.” Its name is Wisdom, but in that moment he feels a flicker of Pride, as though a flame had come to life in its chest.

But it is not pride in itself that lights the fadefire braziers that line the sanctuary walls, casting green across the half-finished murals.

“You have come far, da’len. Now it is your duty to help them find themselves, but--” A rare pause, as it stops to laugh. “You have taught yourself that lesson already.”

five. Its scream tears through his mind long after the dream is done. His hands shake as they pour his tea, liquid spilling over the edges into the saucer beneath. His breathing is measured, each inhale three seconds long before he exhales. Each movement is deliberate, done to stitch together his seams as they threaten to tear him apart.

Wisdom needs him.

The thought threatens to break Solas, his world is reduced to shapes that blur before his eyes no matter how he may try to blink them away. As flat as the murals he painted around the room. Pieces of plans slip through his fingers: he could steal away that night to find where it had been taken. He remembers where, he sees it when his eyes close. A circle, stone outcroppings, elvhen ruins over the rise of a hill, it lay in the Dales and if he make he can make the journey in a few days’ time on horseback.

Magic pulses through his fingers, bringing some of the old world through. It is stable, but he knows he is not strong enough to do this alone.

Wisdom’s voice rings in his head. Not its desperate cries for help, but an older lesson. One passed on to a much younger elf. He runs his fingers absently over a faded burn scar bridged across his knuckles, recalling Wisdom’s directions and the cool touch of a leaf spread over his injury. “I never knew aloe vera had healing properties,” he remembers admitting, to which Wisdom answered:

“You will never know who can help, if you do not ask.”

The memory soothes him as surely as the aloe vera had drawn the sting from the wound. Solas reaches for his tea, hands steady enough that he will not spill it in his lap. The taste is foul, and his mouth curls into a terrible frown, but its effects wash over him immediately. Dreams do not seem so close at hand.

“Something wrong with your tea?” Thora’s voice falls laughingly upon his ears, and he sees her smiling from the door. He tilts the mug to look at the tea leaves that swim at the bottom, clumped into the shape of a dagger. She had not laughed at him when he explained to her that spirits were not the mindless monsters the Chantry taught, but listened with an open mind. And agreed. Perhaps her approval ends with words, but--

He will never know if he does not ask.

“It is tea. I detest the stuff,” he sighs, setting it down on his desk, “but this morning, I need to shake the dreams from my mind. I may also need a favour.”

His heart feels poised to drop in his chest, knuckles going white around the arm of his chair. He sees her smile fall, concern knitting her brow, and the sound of her voice steadies his anxiety.

“What’s wrong, Solas?”

[theharellan]

three times indulged, once denied. written for @ancientimpudence. just because ❤️

They move around the statue, a lithe, alive thing juxtaposed beside stillness. It was marvelous, how motionless the stone is, as if the magic of their world cannot move it. “Its sculptor claims the stone was mined from the depths of the world,” Fenara says as Miolvun spins, glitter spilling from their skirts, as though the trail of their dress holds the sky. “That it dreams, but not as we do.”

It would be easy for him to dismiss this as self-important nonsense, but when he looks at it there is undeniably something there. It has an elven shape, but a foreign feel. “It is missing something,” Miolvun hums, head tilting as they gaze upon it, lips parting in contemplation. They rise where they stand, toes pressing into the ground, so that they linger just inches from the sculpture’s lips.

He has already begun drawing it in his head before he thinks to retrieve his journal. The first few lines are messy, clumsy, quick to capture a moment before it passes.

But Miolvun hovers there, as still as the statue reflected in their eyes. “Why do you hesitate?”

Their answer comes in a soft pulse of uncertainty, which rattles the stonedust along the studio floor. The broken heart of a scolded child flutters and then fades. But Miolvun’s parents are not here, and he is not as stern an influence. He responds with a wave of restrained rebellion that lifts their heels another inch off the ground.

The kiss is so gentle he is convinced he sees the sculpture lean into its first taste of affection. Truer than the affection its creator had poured into her creation, this studio stinks of self-glory and not art, and no dwarven stone will hold sincerity at its heart. When Miolvun pulls away, their lipstick leaves a metallic cobalt impression upon stone lips. A grin slowly tugs along their features, eyes moving to their corners to watch his response.

“However it dreams, they will be sweet tonight.”

No amount of scrubbing will ever cleanse Miolvun’s mark.

The room hums with conversation, as Mythal’s gatherings always do. Some are sharp, witty, and on any other evening would be more than enough to tempt him. A few speak louder as he passes by, hoping to bend his ear, but tonight he moves with greater purpose. He slows to a stop before Miolvun, whose face catches starlight as they turn to look at him.

“There you are,” he says, “I have a surprise for you.”

He takes their hands in his, spiriting them from the soiree and into a room meant only for them. An enchanted curtain falls over the doorway, swallowing the sound and siphoning them into patterns that flow through the threads. Miolvun speaks no words, but their curiosity presses upon the weave of the world. He releases their hands, turning to rifle through the research subjects that had piled upon his desk: scrolls that sing of new frontiers, new inventions ripe to change the world. Tonight, he does not seek something that will shape the future, merely inspire a smile upon a friend’s face.

He finds what he sought in a wide box, that opens with a gesture. “Not giving away the surprise was difficult, but it was important I didn’t come into this completely blind.”

Their fingers press into his shoulder blades leaning around him to see past. He hears a sharp inhale in his ear, followed by a quiet, “oh” as he takes out what he had brought them. An instrument with a tall neck and heavy base, carved from a grove of fresh trees that sing with the promise of a new dawn. “I asked everyone I knew who had ever touched an instrument what sounds best pairs with a harp. Half swore by the flute-- the rest, well...” Fen’amelan trails away, lifting the cello from its case to rest its base upon the floor. “I had to start somewhere.”

Miolvun is silent, the atmosphere around them like a vacuum of energy that for a moment, worries him. His tongue pushes against the back of his teeth, suddenly concerned that this was not a kind gesture but an encroachment upon what they loved best. “I lack your talent,” he adds, “but I wished to complement what you do so well.”

The absence of feeling snaps, and euphoria wells like a spring from the earth. “You did this for me?” they ask, blinking a few times in quick succession. He nods, and their lips break in a smile. “Thank you.” They sound breathless, but quickly contain their joy, which shines like a halo around their form, as though the sun rises at their back. “I only wish you had hinted for me to bring my harp.”

“I did not want to run the risk.”

They shake their head, tight curls bouncing with the effort. “It’s no matter-- here.” From thin air they spin the shape of a harp, strings shining with the same silver they had woven into their hair. “Come, show me what you have learned.”

Miolvun’s brush is soft against his cheeks, drawing a soft shadow beneath his cheekbones. They watch him with a neutral expression, brow every so often quirking as they review their progress. He does not say it, but they look like his father, who wears that same look when he sculpts. He keeps the thought private, not allowing it to bleed into the surrounding Fade.

Over their should he catches sight of himself in the mirror, his face painted with highlights and shadows that sharpen his every feature. He does not often feel handsome, his shape is so often a burden, but he spies the soft blue in his eyes, coaxed out by the false blush of his cheeks, and sees beauty in his reflection. He wonders if this is how Miolvun always feels, and if it is always this pleasant.

“Don’t smile,” they say, pressing the edge of a pencil against his lip. Immediately his mouth presses shut, its corners twitching up. Their brow comes together, nose wrinkled. “I said--”

“I have never had much of a talent for taking orders.”

“Then prepare for your lipstick to smear across your left cheek.”

He only grins wider, long lashes skirting his cheeks when his blinks. “If you do yours the same, it is no longer a mistake, but a statement. Who is to say my smile ends at the corners of my lips?” Miolvun frowns at the remark, but cannot stifle their amusement, which ripples beyond their form and stirs wisps that had settled about them.

“Remind me again what Mythal sees in you.”

“My wisdom, of course.”

“Of course.” They reach forward and, with nimble fingers, pluck a stray lash from his contoured cheeks. “Be grateful I am here to listen to every foolish thought in her stead. Else she may not think you so wise.”

“I am unerringly grateful for you, my friend.”

The smile that follows his remark is unbridled, and no one orders it away.

They are weary with war, and in the silence after the fray there is always part of him that wishes to weep.

Miolvun-- no, Misuin does not weep, do not bleed. In a camp of wounded soldiers they are flawless, so very like the statues their father’s workshop. It feels foolish, to admit to them that he is tired. His chest bears a freshly healed wound, the magic still weeping where blood had once poured, and his eyes betray the sleep he has neglected.

He sits beside them without a world, filling the hollow air with silent reassurance. No smile curves their lips, no stars shine in their eyes, only the blade they sharpen against conjured stone. The sight of it gives him an idea, however, one that sparks a light in his expression. From a twig, thought whittles a simple flute. He turns it in his hands, cupping the mouthpiece against his lips.

The first few notes are fragile with feigned joy, but it is enough to fool the fire, which leaps in its pit to an uneven tune. It has been too long since this land has heard the sound of music, and the march of soldier’s is a poor substitute. Fen’amelan pauses as quickly as he began, looking towards Misuin for the next refrain. “Not tonight, lethallen,” they answer in a distant tone. “We have tomorrow to think upon.”

His tune dies, the life strangled by the short silence that ensues before he finds his voice. “Tomorrow is what I hoped to play for,” he says, “but very well.”

Across the camp, he hears the faintest stir, followed by his name upon a fellow’s tongue. “Music may breathe some cheer into this darkness,” he hears them say, “are you taking requests?”

He looks at Misuin out of the corner of his eye before rising, hand briefly bracing their shoulder, conveying an apology he does not give a voice. For a moment, he thinks he feels the impression of a wound beneath their doublet, but they shrug his hand away before he is certain. “Go,” they say, and add with a teasing lilt, “let them marvel at your music, it will make mine sound all the sweeter when I take my turn.”