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liminalpsych · 1 year

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Vita Merlini

So "The Life of Merlin" by Geoffrey of Monmouth is… weird. I don't quite know how to feel about it.

If you're a big Merlin fan, or a Morgan le Fay fan, it's worth a read. My understanding is that this is the first appearance in literature of Morgan le Fay, called Morgen in this text.

If you're just reading the literature for general Arthuriana, or anyone other than Merlin, you might be able to just skip it. If you want to read Geoffrey of Monmouth but don't want to slog through the entire Historia, maybe just read Vita Merlini since it summarizes all the Arthurian bits from the Historia anyway.

I read Faletra's translation (it's just included in the appendices of his translation of the History of the Kings of Britain). He says this about Vita Merlini: "The Life of Merlin was the work of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s later years, written around the year 1150. Unlike the “humble” prose style of The History, it was composed in elegant Latin hexameter verse and embellished with considerable descriptive passages, expositions on natural philosophy, and rhetorical flourishes; Geoffrey perhaps thought of it as his tour de force. It narrates the madness of Merlin at the end of his lifetime, having lived many years past the days of Vortigern and Arthur."

It's got still more prophecies, some by Merlin and some by his sister (???) Ganieda. He's also married (???). This is just kind of… dropped on the reader partway through, we're not given any context or background to his marriage.

Ganieda is married to Rhydderch, king of the Cumbrians. She's cheating on him with someone (we never get any more details on this lover), which Merlin tells Rhydderch about. Ganieda thinks quick and discredits Merlin's words by having a boy show up in three different disguises (one of which is a girl), and Merlin prophesizes a different death for him each time. She reveals that all three were the same person, and Rhydderch agrees with her that Merlin's words are not trustworthy in his madness.

(Of course, the boy grows up and then dies in a way that fulfills all three prophecies. But Rhydderch and Ganieda don't hear about that, I don't think, so the ruse works out for Ganieda.)

Merlin's wife is Gwendolena. She seems to love Merlin a lot, but he just wants to go live in the forest forever away from pesky humanity. Gwendolena has a full on breakdown when Merlin keeps insisting on leaving. He finally says she can just go remarry whoever, and he'll show up at the wedding with a bunch of gifts, so long as the guy she remarries doesn't show up in front of him because he'll probably kill the guy in a fury. (And he does, when the guy shows his face upon Merlin arriving on the back of a stag with a bunch of gifts.)

Rhydderch eventually dies just as the bard Taliesin arrives, and Ganieda grieves and decides to go be a forest-dwelling prophet like her brother. Taliesin and Merlin talk about natural science as Geoffrey understood it. Merlin becomes sane again and no longer has the gift of prophecy, but then Ganieda starts prophesying at the very end of the story.

We do get a little bit of Arthur, Avalon, and Morgan le Fay from Taliesin's lengthy speech. He describes Avalon as the Isle of Apples and expounds upon it at length.

"The inhabitants live to be a hundred years or more. Nine sisters govern that place, administering a very pleasant law code over those people who come to them from our lands. The foremost among these sisters is most learned in the art of healing, and she surpasses them all in beauty. Her name is Morgen, and she has learned the helpful properties of all the various herbs in order to cure the bodies of the sick. She also possesses the great skill of being able to transform her appearance and to sail through the air with new feathers, just as Daedalus did. She can be at Brest or Chartres or Pavia whenever she desires. And she can also glide down to your shores at will. It is said that she taught mathematics to her sisters, whose names are Moronoe, Mazoe, Gliten, Glitonea, Gliton, Tyronoe, and Thiten, who is best known for her cithara."

Taliesin additionally says, "We carried the wounded Arthur to the Isle of Apples after the battle of Camlann, guided by Barinthus, who knows all the seas and all the stars of heaven". They received a welcome from Morgen, who inspected Arthur and said he could return to health if he stayed in Avalon for a very long time.

Taliesin and Merlin's conversation provides a summary of the Arthurian parts of the History of the Kings of Britain, plus a bit extra. A lengthy summary. Nothing new if you already read the History.

All in all, it was interesting enough as a perspective on Merlin, with a different version than the modern narrative of his life, history, and relationships. It was tedious reading in parts; Geoffrey got very flowery and ornate in his writing, and tried to be Herodotus a few times. But it's pretty short, too, so it's a quick read if you don't mind the periods of tedium.

#vita merlini #life of merlin #geoffrey of monmouth #taliesin #merlin #morgan le fay #morgen #arthur #avalon #arthurian literature #arthuriana #arthurian newbie #ganieda #gwendolena #rhydderch

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eyes-of-nine · 7 months

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hi<3333 (with the intention of not shutting up about these two mfer and their lack of healthy coping mechanisms)

|| kofi ||

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magicalwales · 7 months

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My heart aches to find fellow bloggers who practice welsh folk magic or who love the mabinogion. Please interact with this if you are either or both!

#white book of rhydderch #red book of hergest #gwenhwyfar #blodeuwedd #welsh mythology #mabinogion #british folklore #celtic #welsh #wales #welsh witchcraft #witchcraft

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ace-malarky · 4 months

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Golden Years

It's a writing share Thursday I have decided so have some of the Feral family and Llinos being a Whole Badass bc I wanted to explore some Fun lineage powers

The building was a burnt-out husk, but Tamhas could imagine what it might have looked like in its heyday.

He almost remembered it, actually.

“This feels familiar, doesn’t it?” Tadg asked, echoing Tamhas’ thought.

“Like a memory,” Tamhas agreed. “But I don’t…” He stiffened, ears twitching as he heard something.

Tadg stopped a second later, tilting his head towards the old building.

There was someone in there.

They exchanged a glance and tightened their respective grips on their weapons.

“Hello?” Tadg called out.

“Ah, boys, you came!” Tilde stepped out through what once would have been the building’s main doors. “How delightful.”

“Where is she?” Tamhas asked. “Where’s Llinos?”

The human smiled. “All in good time, boys. Let me show you around first. It has been a long time since you stepped foot in here, isn’t it?” She looked back up at the ruin.

Tamhas looked up at the structure, taking in the skeletal remains of the upper floors, the roof beyond them gone. It would have been grand, once.

“This is our home?” Tadg asked. “I remember… burning. Maybe.” He glanced at Tamhas.

Tamhas shrugged. They followed Tilde inside the burnt walls.

“That was a nasty business. All in search of a legend.”

“What do you know of it?” Tamhas trailed behind Tadg, keeping a careful distance from Tilde.

The walls were scorched black and bare, and the ceiling was broken through in places, letting the stars shine through. There was nothing left but ash. Either everything had burnt or been stolen.

“All in good time,” Tilde repeated. She led them without pausing through the corridors towards the back of the building. Of the mansion.

There was a door that had not burned. It wasn’t even marked.

Tilde knocked at it, and the door swung open. She turned to the twins and beckoned them to enter first.

“Is Llinos in there?” Tamhas asked. He sniffed at the air, but all he could smell was ash, somehow. Still, after all these years.

“All your questions will be answered,” Tilde replied. “But please, enter.”

Tamhas fought to keep his ears from going back. His tail twitched against his legs.

“Don’t keep him waiting.”

He pressed up against Tadg’s side.

The room beyond the door was large, opening up far more than either of them expected. There weren’t any windows, and the ceiling was intact. There were paintings along the walls, of people both human and fox-bonded. Some of them looked familiar, in that they shared features with each other. With Tamhas and Llinos and Tadg, more so the ones that were simply human. Tamhas saw his eyes, saw Llinos’ courtesy smile, saw Tadg’s grin.

The floor was polished wood, and a rug had been pushed to the side to reveal an inset block of white marble. Beyond it was a desk, and against the desk leant a cloaked figure.

“My, you’ve certainly grown since I last saw you. Such is the passage of time, I suppose.”

“Who are you?” Tamhas asked.

“And where’s Llinos?” Tadg scanned the room, leaning as if to see around the figure.

“I remember this place in its golden years,” the figure said, ignoring their questions. “Or – well, I remember the stories of it. They were failing already when I was young, and when you two were boys – well.” He shrugged, spreading his gloved hands wide. “But you can help me restore all that. I just need one thing from you.”

Tadg pulled free his short sword. “Where is our sister?”

He laughed. “You know, I have no idea. I really thought she’d be here by now!” He stood up. “I hope she hasn’t been too badly waylaid. Otherwise, this really isn’t the family reunion I had thought it might be.”

“What are you talking about? The rest of our family’s… dead.”

“Open the vault, boys.” The figure touched a foot to the marble. “One of you should be able to. Then we’ll see about that claim of yours.”

Tamhas stared at his foot. It was more of a paw, really, covered in white fur. “You’re – like us?”

“Open the vault, boys.”

Tamhas let out a strangled yelp as Tilde grabbed his arm, twisting it back and pulling him off-kilter before he could do anything.

Tadg whirled to face her, short sword raised, but she had a dagger at Tamhas’ throat.

“Do as he says,” Tilde says, her voice silky in Tamhas’ ear.

“Alright, alright!” Tadg set his sword on the ground, crouching to examine the slab of stone.

There were no markings on it.

Tadg pressed a hand to it, trying to find a seam. Nothing. “I… I don’t know how.”

“How many tails have you?” The figure stalked forward.

“What? Just the one.” Tadg looked up at him.

The figure was wearing a mask under the hood of his cloak, but his eyes glittered faintly red through it.

“Useless.” He kicked Tadg in the side, the force sending him tumbling across the floor until he fetched up against the wall. “You.” He pointed at Tamhas. “Open it.”

Tilde let go of him.

“Tadg–” Tamhas started towards his brother.

“The vault first.” The figure latched his hand about Tamhas’ wrist.

He was smaller, but as Tamhas took another look at Tadg – he was still conscious, trying to push himself up to sitting, hand at his ribs – the figure forcibly yanked him onto the marble.

“Fine!” Tamhas dropped to his knees.

He pressed both hands into the stone. There was nothing to it. It was a block of stone, nothing more. Barely even an edge where the wood stopped around it.

“Come on,” Tamhas hissed at it.

“Step away from my brother.” Her voice was a hoarse snarl, something animal and furious in it.

Tilde gasped behind him.

“Well, well, well… you finally made it.”

Tamhas chanced a glance over his shoulder.

Llinos had bonded since the last time he’d seen her. Her fur was more of a russet than her hair had been, her throat creamy white against the battered brown of her leather armour. Her armour was scarred and smeared with blood, but she was standing steady. Her ears were flattened back, her teeth bared in a snarl, and she had an arrow trained on the cloaked man’s chest.

“I mean it. Step away.”

Kaua and Jasper stepped into the room around her. Jasper went straight to Tadg, while Kaua stayed near Llinos, eyes on Tilde.

The figure put his food down on Tamhas’ hand, pinning him there. “Or what, Llinos?” He applied pressure and Tamhas hissed out a curse, wrapping his other hand about his ankle. “You’re hardly going to kill–”

Llinos shifted her hand minutely and fired. “Get fucked.”

He stumbled back, not quite reaching the desk before he fell to the ground.

Kaua charged to meet Tilde before she could turn on Tamhas, sweeping up her sword in a vicious attack.

“Tamhas?” Llinos took another arrow from the quiver strapped to her leg. “You alright?”

Tamhas flexed his hand. “Yes. But Tadg–” He twisted to look over at his twin.

Jasper had him sitting upright, carefully feeling for injuries. Tadg gave Tamhas a thumbs up, even as he winced.

Llinos stalked forward.

Tamhas got to his feet, falling in beside her. “They said they had you, that if we didn’t come out here, they’d hurt you.”

The figure was struggling, one hand on the arrow sticking out of his shoulder. “You missed,” he said.

“I never miss,” Llinos pushed back his hood, pulling off his mask.

He was another fox feral, mostly white with black ears and black markings around his eyes, which were dark blue with an encroaching red rim. There were fainter black markings across his head, disappearing under the collar of his cloak.

“Uncle Domhnall?” Llinos froze.

“Hello, niece.” He smiled. “How nice to see you again.”

“We have – I thought everyone else was dead? They all died?” Tamhas looked at Llinos.

“I thought so too.” She threw his mask away. “What the fuck.”

“The family was fading, you wouldn’t understand. The power, the influence they used to have–”

“So you burnt them all?” Llinos placed a foot on his stomach, keeping him on the floor.

“I was trying to get into the vault.”

“It’s locked to us for a reason,” Llinos snarled.

Tamhas felt his fur reacting like static. It felt like there was a thunderstorm coming, but there were just Llinos beside him.

As he watched, her single tail unfurled. Eight more formed like crackling spectres.

“Llinos?”

“You can open it!” Domhnall said, his eyes wide. “Bring back the golden years for us, Llinos!”

The light in the room went.

Kaua swore.

Llinos was lined with lightning, her spectral tails like a banner behind her. She leant down to place a hand on the arrow sticking out of Domhnall’s shoulder.

Tamhas reached out to her, unsure what he could even do to stop her. Unsure if he very much wanted to.

“Those years are gone, uncle. They’re in the ground with the rest of our family.”

A spark ran down the arrow. Domhnall cried out and went limp.

Llinos’ spectral tails vanished, and they were left in darkness.

“Fuck that was hot,” Kaua muttered.

Tadg snorted and then hissed at the pain.

“You really had to take out the light,” Jasper said, sighing.

“Bite me, catboy, you have night vision.”

“I don’t,” Kaua said. “I don’t think our friend here does, either.”

There was a groan from Tilde.

“He’s not… dead, is he?” Tamhas asked.

Fire flared up from the edge of the room as Jasper lit a torch.

Domhnall was lying limp at their feet.

“No, he’ll be fine.” Llinos checked his pulse. “He’ll just be out for a while, that’s all.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” said Tadg as Jasper helped him over.

“God, you’re all still taller, this is ridiculous.”

“I told you there wasn’t any height difference.” Jasper laughed at her.

Tamhas stepped around to stand on Tadg’s other side, putting some space between himself and Llinos.

“What about this one?” Kaua asked.

Tilde was on her knees in front of Kaua, sporting a swelling bruise about one eye and clutching at her wrist.

“She was the one that’s been in contact with us. She said you were in danger,” Tamhas said.

“Probably been spying on us for a while.”

Jasper frowned at her, tilting his head almost as if trying to remember her.

“Oh, she’ll have some answers for us as well then.” Llinos smiled, all teeth and hard eyes.

“Fuck I’m going to marry you some day.”

“You still haven’t?”

Jasper groaned. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” Tadg elbowed him and smirked.

“Do you know what he meant by the golden years?” Tamhas asked. He tried not to stare at the space where Llinos’ spectral tails had been.

Llinos shrugged. “Old and rich family. It’s always better for them in the Old Days. Before anyone alive remembers.”

Tamhas looked down at the stone. “We’re not opening that, are we?”

Llinos snorted. “I wouldn’t know how. Probably best left locked.”

“Come on.” Kaua hefted the unconscious woman. “You can take him.”

Tamhas glanced at Tadg, who was only slightly leaning on Jasper, and stooped to pick up their… their uncle. Llinos ducked under his other arm and offered Tamhas a slight smile.

Tamhas glanced back once at the vault. Yeah. Probably better not.

#writing pieces #mercenary mages #mist worlds #Llinos ferch Rhydderch #Tamhas ap Liram #Tadg ap Saril #Jasper sa Adrassa #Feral Mage #kaua burai #I did very much write a follow up piece to this in which Llinos does give in to curiosity #but that's for. some other time. idk #anyway yeah! writing!#This was mostly to explore the twins but I can't resist some Funky Magics #and then having to build in the world building to make it plausible lmao #possibly one of my favourite prompts of the last year I think #(... assuming I wrote it last year idk)

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talesofarcadiaforever · 1 year

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Since you sent me, I shall send in return!

Blorbos? Tell me about them if you wish!

YES

Okay. Technically he’s my own creation. But DR!Merlin is definitely my blorbo! I’ve made posts about his redesign (which I need to update) and characterization, so now it’s time for backstory!

Well, some of it. The meme I made definitely still applies, but I can, at the least, now tell you about his birth and his sister! :D

So obviously, Emerald Embers spoilers, but there are a lot of dark subjects ahead.

TW/CW for: rape, mentions of genocide, murder, and child death.

In the year 5,650 B.C., Adhan, a mortal human, is raped by a cambion. Merlin is born nine months later as a result.

It was an attempt to bring the Anti-Christ into the world, and as the first human wizard, Merlin was supposed to be. His magic surfaces as a baby, because a demon’s magic is very powerful.

Being half-demon also gave him exceptional intelligence, and it first shows through his eyes. His eyes are a muddy color when he’s born, but as he gets older, and his blue eyes become clearer, intelligence shines in them.

(At two years old he speaks very eloquently, and he’s already beginning to act like an adult in a child’s body.)

Adhan falls in love and marries his stepfather, also a normal human, about a year after his birth.

Three months later, she gets pregnant.

One day, Adhan and Merlin are sitting in their family home. She’s rocking him, and he’s falling asleep. But then a noise coming from his mother’s stomach startles him awake. She’s very confused by what noise he could be talking about, but they eventually figure out that he was hearing a heartbeat from her unborn baby.

His sister, Ganieda is born, and when he sees her for the first time, he gets a gut feeling that she isn’t like him. He’s confused, because he doesn’t know why she isn’t, and he’s sad, because he thought she would be like him.

But he loves her, and when she grows old enough, she loves her big brother’s magic.

Back then, magic wasn’t feared or hated, and people were amazed by it.

But as he and Ganieda grow up, more wizards start being born, and so do more cambions who wanted to bring the end of the world, because Merlin apparently won’t. (He doesn’t even know the true circumstances of his birth until years later.)

Because of all this, people become afraid. They begin to associate all human magic with demons and evil, and they decide they need to exterminate it.

So… they start capturing wizards and killing then.

Whether the wizards are innocent or not isn’t the point; no matter what, it’s a terrible, brutal act that shouldn’t have happened, but it does, and it keeps happening.

But Merlin and his family are safe, and he has no idea what’s going on. (The mortal humans know he has a high amount of power, even if he hasn’t used it yet, so they want to get the drop on him.)

Ganieda gets married to a mortal man named Rhydderch Hael, and Merlin, who’s just started getting into crafting, makes them both wedding gifts.

She gets a necklace, and Rhydderch gets a knife.

Ganieda gets pregnant pretty soon after the wedding, and everyone is overjoyed. Merlin is very excited to be an uncle because it’s his only sibling, and unbeknownst to them, the baby is a girl.

The fear of magic keeps getting worse. Soon whole mobs dedicated to wiping out at all magic form, and they decide they have enough manpower to kill Merlin.

They arrive to Merlin’s village. A few of them infiltrate it, pretending to be newcomers searching for a home; the rest of them stay in hiding. They begin spying on Merlin, and they learn that he has a sister. And anyone who’s in proximity to magic and knows about it is helping them live, and helping the magic spread, so they need to die.

One day, Merlin and Rhydderch go out to trade metal for silk, leaving Ganieda at home because she’s very far along at that point.

The mob strikes.

They break the door to Merlin, Ganieda, and Rhydderch’s house down, and they stab her in the stomach, killing her and her unborn child.

Then they set a few houses on fire, driving everyone else out. They leave Merlin’s family home alone for him to discover.

Then they take their exit, satisfied that their work is done. They’d ruined the village, killed Merlin’s sister, and Merlin would definitely end himself when he discovered the carnage.

Merlin and Rhydderch arrive home to their village mostly burned down, with no one in sight. They’re confused, horrified, and terrified for their family’s safety.

They race to their house, and find the door broken, hanging off its hinges.

Ganieda is on the floor close to the entrance. She’s lying in a pool of her own blood, and it’s clear that she’s been dead for a while.

They stare at her in horrified silence, shock rendering them completely unable to speak.

Merlin starts to disassociate for the first time.

Rhydderch, who had gone to his sister and picked up her body while he was, calls his name and begs him to do something, snapping him out of it.

He walks toward them with shaking legs and kneels slowly, taking her into his arms.

And he tries to think of something, anything, that will help-

But he knows he can’t do anything, and Rhydderch sees it in his eyes. He starts sobbing, and Merlin starts crying too.

Merlin starts to lose his innocence that day. It would take a lot more centuries, a lot more losses, and a lot more trauma, but it was the first thing that changed him into the man he is now.

The village slowly starts trickling back, and they hold a funeral for Ganieda and the baby.

At the funeral, Rhydderch gives Merlin her necklace, saying that he should have it because he was the one who made it.

He takes it without protesting and puts it on, a thousand yard stare on his face.

A few months later, Merlin and Rhydderch find themselves in a battle with the steadily growing number of anti-magic humans. (Some of them are definitely the ones who murdered Ganieda and her child.)

One of them stabs Rhydderch in the heart, and Merlin sees him go down.

He races over, kneeling so quickly he roughly slams his knees, but he barely notices that.

Maybe this time his magic could do something.

He lights his hands up and slams them down into his brother-in-law’s chest, over and and over again.

It doesn’t do anything.

Rhydderch is already gone. He’s dead, just like his sister. Just like his sister, there are no goodbyes, no promises to see each other again.

He stares down at his brother-in-law’s body, his blood covering his hands.

He snaps. A grieving, agonized scream tears from his throat, and with it comes a wave of uncontrollable magic that blasts everyone away.

He picks his brother-in-law up and cradles his body, just like he’d cradled his sister’s.

The village has another funeral.

Eventually, Adhan and his father die of old age, leaving him with only Charlie.

Speaking of Charlie. I need to insert him in here. 🥹🤦‍♀️

Eh that’s a worry for future me 😎👍

Thanks for the ask!

#mine #talesofarcadiaforever answers #talesofarcadiaforever rambles #the-arson-author-gamer #tales of arcadia #trollhunters #wizards #toa fanfiction #Daylight’s Redemption #Journey by Daylight #Merlin Ambrosius #DR!Merlin #adhan #ganieda #rhydderch hael #long posts

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cappurrccino · 2 years

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any time I have a research paper where I'm turned fully free on the topic (within a given field) I'm like "this time I won't pick a topic that's so wildly obscure there's no information on it" and then I do that anyway

#//juri speaks #juri's grad school adventures #am i gonna doom myself bc i wanna talk about the white book of rhydderch? probably

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clancarruthers · 1 year

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THE SWORD OF RHYDDERCH HAEL - CLAN CARRUTHERS CCIS

THE SWORD OF RHYDDERCH HAEL ‘Dyrnwyn (‘White-Hilt), the sword of Rhydderch the Generous: if a well-born man drew it himself, it burst into flame from its hilt to its tip. And everyone who used to ask for it would receive it; but because of this peculiarity everyone used to reject it. And therefore he was called Rhydderch the Generous.’ The Thirteen Treasures of the Island of Britain I draw…

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#ancient and honorable clan carruthers #BPME JAMD;E #breacg if battke #BRYTHONIC #caledfwlch #Carruthers #Carruthers history #Clan Carruthers #clyde river #DYRNWYN #GOVAN #GWA;;PG #IROEM #MORGAN #RHYDDERCH HAEL #THE GENEROUS #WHITE HILT

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irelandseyeonmythology · 5 months

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DIAS Black Friday Sale

Once a year, the Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies (DIAS), offers a sale for Black Friday -- DIAS is one of the major publishers for Celtic Studies, many of the best studies of medieval Irish material have come through there.

Some books that I recommend, personally:

Fergus Kelly, A Guide to Early Irish Law (26.25 Euro, normally 35) (THE introduction to law in medieval Ireland)

"", Early Irish Farming (26.25 Euro, normally 35) (Everything you wanted to know about day to day life in medieval Ireland but were afraid to ask. Literally. Everything.)

Medieval Irish Prose

Fergus Kelly, Audacht Morainn (18.75 Euro, normally 25)

Are you planning on becoming a medieval Irish king? Do you want to know what you should do to involve the total destruction of the natural order? Then this is the text for you! Now with English translation!

In all seriousness, this text is used a LOT with regards to studies of ideal kingship in medieval Ireland.

Cecile O'Rahilly, The Táin from the Book of Leinster (26.25 Euro, usually 35)

I'll be real with you, lads: I hate Cú Chulainn. I hate him. I hate his smug, misogynistic face. His creepy multi-pupiled eyes. The shitty way he treats Emer. The way that his presence is like this black hole in the study of medieval Irish literature that means that the Ulster Cycle can get a prestigious yearly conference held in its honor while the other cycles are left with either crumbs or outright dismissal. I think the Táin is boring and episodic as a piece of lit and I've never found anything overly redeeming about it over any other piece of medieval Irish literature, especially since imo other pieces of literature do women (and homoeroticism) much better and get much less praise for it.

...that being said. It's important. It IS iconic, both as a piece of medieval Irish literature and, in general, to Irish literature. Its status as The Irish Iliad means that, if you want to study medieval Irish stuff...you have to read the Táin. And this is a version of the Táin that you might not have gotten, translated and edited by a master of Old Irish, with commentary.

"", Táin Bó Cúailnge: recension I (10 Euro, normally 35)

See above.

Early Irish History and Genealogy

T.F. O'Rahilly, Early Irish History and Genealogy (30 Euro, normally 40)

So. On the record, a lot of what he says here is absolutely not currently believed in the field. Just. No. BUT. There's a reason why I always recommend him anyway, and it's because if you're serious about doing a study of Irish Mythology, whatever we take that to mean...you will not be able to avoid this man. His ideas were very popular for decades and still often are to people who don't really focus on mythology. It's better to know where these ideas come from and to identify them than not, and O'Rahilly, in his defense, had an *excellent* knowledge of his sources. It's dense, it's difficult (rather like the author himself, from the accounts I've heard), but it's necessary if you really want to attack this.

Joan Radner, Fragmentary Annals of Ireland (22.50, normally 30)

There is so much weird shit in the Fragmentary Annals. So much.

Welsh

Patrick Sims Williams, Buchedd Beuno: The Middle Welsh Life of St Beuno (22.50 Euro, normally 30)

I know what you're thinking: "Why the FUCK are they recommending this book about a random Welsh saint? Answer: Because this is how I learned Middle Welsh. The introduction to Welsh at the front of the book + the VERY good index at the back is still one of the best ways to learn Middle Welsh. Also if anyone was watching the Green Knight film and going "Why is there a lady with her head chopped off?" this answers that question.

R. L. Thomson, Pwyll Pendeuic Dyuet: the first of the Four Branches of the Mabinogi, edited from the White Book of Rhydderch, with variants from the Red Book of Hergest (15 Euro, normally 20)

Once you've gotten enough of a hang of Middle Welsh to know the basics, it's time to dive into the classics, and what better way to do it than with the Mabinogi, starting at the very beginning, with the First Branch? Personally, I dislike a lot of Thomson's orthographic decisions, but, hey, it's the First Branch, and that's Middle Welsh orthography for you.

Ian Hughes, Math uab Mathonwy (22.50 Euro, normally 30)

The Fourth Branch, my beloved. Incest, rape, bestiality (well...pseudo bestiality, really), creating a new life while not being willing to deal with the consequences of it...it truly has it all. Not for the faint of heart, but absolutely worth the read if you can stomach it because imo it handles its themes very well and it's incredibly haunting.

And a lot more -- go in, shop around, see what's available. Even with the older books, they're often things that we're still referencing in some way into the present.

#long post

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pegglefan69 · 11 months

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The first chapter of my current project is live & free to read over at my patreon! I've been working hard on this book & am so excited to share it with you!

The year is 2007. Norris is a 27 year old transgender Goth living in upstate New York. His life isn't exactly unhappy- his job at the library is rewarding, his friendships with the local lesbian farmers are enriching, and his beloved AMC Gremlin always miraculously manages to be tinkered back into shape, but the fact of the matter is that Norris is the only gay man he knows. Unwilling to leave the house his late parents left him for New York City and not in any hurry to figure out internet dating, he's resigned himself to longing for community, until he accidentally frees an old man magically imprisoned inside a tree.

Rufus ap Rhydderch is in fact an immortal magician, and he’s convinced that Norris is just the man to help him track down the former apprentice who betrayed him, and help him exact his revenge. Norris is never one to say no to people, especially a gay elder who hasn’t had contact with the world since 1970, and so despite Rufus’ overbearing and increasingly sinister tendencies, Norris finds himself drawn into the middle of a wizardly interpersonal conflict that may just end up helping him find what he’s been missing.

Happy Pride, & I hope you enjoy my gay wizards. More to come soon! 🧙🌈

#Wizard WIP #gay fiction #gay author #wizard #wizards #trans fiction #trans author #my writing #patreon #dial p for post

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nightsidewrestling · 2 months

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3 Generations of C.R.C V13

#D.U.D.E #original character #Rhydderch #C.R.C Wrestling School #C.R.C Wrestling Promotion #C.R.C Wrestling Family #Rhydderch Clan

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alephskoteinos · 1 year

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Notes from Ronald Hutton's lecture "Finding Lost Gods in Wales" from Gresham College

A major problem for locating Welsh paganism in historical terms is that there really is very little source material to work with, certainly not much medieval literature seems to have survived in Wales, at least when compared to other countries such as Ireland and Iceland. It was thought that several Welsh stories and poems reflected the presence of an ancient Druidic religion and thereby some form of paganism, but this idea has since been rejected. It is now believed these stories and poems originated much later, possibly dating to around 500 years after "the triumph of Christianity". Only four manuscripts written in the 13th and 14th centuries might contain some possible relevance to paganism. Hutton tells us that these are The Black Book of Carmarthen, The White Book of Rhydderch, The Red Book of Hergest, and The Book of Taleisin (so-called). About 11 stories from the White Book and Red Book were compiled into what was called The Mabinogion in the 1840s. None of these are stories are certain to be older than the 12th century, although the oldest stories in the Four Branches of the Mabinogion may have been written as far back as 1093, and according to Hutton some of the stories of the Mabinogion were actually inspired by foreign literature, including not only French troubadour stories but also Egyptian, Arabic, and Indian stories that were brought to Europe.

Hutton notes that, unlike in medieval Irish and Scandinavian literature, the stories of the Mabinogion don't seem to feature any gods or goddesses or their worshippers (at least not explicitly anyway), despite being set in pre-Christian times. Many characters have superhuman abilities, but it's apparently not clear if these are meant to be understood as gods, or magicians, or just narrative superhumans. If there are pagan survivals in these stories, it may be the presence of an otherworld realm called Annwn, often equated with the underworld, and/or the presence of shapeshifting abilities (and on this point I believe Kadmus Herschel makes a convincing point in True to the Earth about this being reflective of a non-essentialist pagan worldview). Of course, Hutton believes that these are generalized themes and no longer linked to paganism in themselves, but of course I'd say there's room for skepticism here (I'm not exactly picturing a Christian Annwn here).

An important figure within the Four Branches of the Mabinogion is Rhiannon, a woman from Annwn who often believed to be a surviving Welsh goddess or survival of the Gallo-Roman goddess Epona. Her marrying two successive human princes has been interpreted as signifying Rhiannon as a goddess of sovereignty. Hutton argues that this is not certain because Rhiannon does not confer kingdoms to her husbands, there is no clear sign of a sovereignty goddess outside of Ireland or British horse goddesses in Iron Age archaeology or Romano-British inscriptions. Hutton argues that it's more likely that Rhiannon was a member of human royalty or nobility rather than a goddess. Of course, this is perhaps a zone of contestation. Hutton does not deny the possibility that Rhiannon was a goddess, but believes that the decisive evidence is lacking. For what it's worth, Rhiannon is a unique figure in the literature of the time, as a being from the otherworld who chooses live in the human world and willing to stay there even after every misfortune or crisis she encounters, responding to every problem with an indomitable and perhaps "stoical" willpower and courage.

The mystical poems, or the court poets from 900-1300, are also thought to contain some aspect of lost Welsh paganism. These were to be understood as a kind of artistic elite that delighted in prose that was sophisticated to the point of being almost beyond comprehension. They apparently believed that bards were semi-divine figures, permeated by a concept of divine inspiration referred to as "awen". They drew on many sources, including Irish, Greek, Roman, and even Christian literature, but also apparently the earlier Welsh bards. Seven mystical poems are credited to Taliesin, and these could be dated any time between 900 and 1250, though contemporary scholars typically favour 1150-1250 as the likely timeframe. Despite probably being written at a time when Wales was likely already Christianized, the poems are repeatedly referred to as sources of paganism and ancient wisdom by modern commentators.

The poem Preiddeu Annwn is one "classic" example. It is the story of an expedition into the realm of Annwn, which is undertaken to bring back a magical cauldron. The poem that we have seems to be explicitly Christian, but it is often believed that this is merely a Christian adaptation of an older pre-Christian text. But apparently no one really knows the real meaning of the Preiddeu Annwn, not least because no one can agree on what a third of the actual words in the poem mean. No one really knows if Taliesin was demonstrating a certain knowledge that only he possessed or what, if anything, he was referencing, so in a way we just don't "get" his poem.

Over the years the court bards ostensibly developed a new cast of mythological characters, or simply an enhanced an older cast of characters, to the point that they seem superhuman or even divine, yet just as medieval as King Arthur or Robin Hood. One example of this is Ceridwen, a sorceress who first appears in the Hanes Taliesin. Court poets apparently interpreted her as the brewer of the cauldrons of inspiration, and eventually the muse of the bards and giver of power and the laws of poetry. In 1809 she was called the "Great Goddess of Britain" by a clergyman named Edward Davies, which has been taken up by many since. Then there's Gwyn ap Nudd, who appears in 11th and 12th century texts as a warrior under the command of King Arthur. In 14th century poetry he seems to have been interpreted as a spirit of darkness, enchantment, and deception, and in the 1880s professor John Rhys identified him as a Celtic deity. Another major character is Arianhrod, who first appears in the Fourth Branch of the Mabinogion as a powerful enchantress whose curses were unbreakable. Over time it was also believed that she could cast rainbows around the court, the constellation Corona Borealis was dubbed "the Court of Arianrhod", and somehow since the 20th century she was identified as an astral goddess.

Then we get to the canon known as "Arthurian legends": that is, the stories of King Arthur. Hutton says that these tales originated as stories of Welsh heroes who fought the English, and these stories also contained what are thought to be residual pagan motifs. One example is the gift of Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake, which is either based on memories of an older pre-Christian custom of throwing swords into lakes, the rediscovery of an older custom through finds, or even a persisting medieval custom of throwing a knight's weapons into a water. The Dolorous Blow which strikes the maimed king and turns his kingdom into a wasteland is thought to suggest a residual belief in the link between the health of a king and the health of a land, though the blow itself is inflicted by a Christian sacred object. The Holy Grail is often believed to derive from a pre-Christian sacred cauldron, but it was originally just a serving dish before becoming a Christian chalice.

And of course, there's Glastonbury, featuring as the Isle of Avalon, the refuge and possible burial site of Arthur. It has been thought since at least the 20th century that Glastonbury was a centre of paganism, but no remains have been found there which might suggest the presence of a pagan reigious site. And yet, in 2004, some prehistoric Neolithic post-holes were discovered near the Chalice Well garden in Glastonbury after the Chalice Well house started a kitchen extension. Although no deposits were found that suggest anything about the religious life of the area, the point stands that it was the first trace of anything Neolithic at Glastonbury. But there is perhaps always more to be found. As Hutton says, there are always new kitchen extensions, garden developments, street work, or any other renovation that might result in archaeological excavations, and we could find almost anything at any time. For my money, if there's hope anywhere, it's in that. Almost makes me want to get back into my childhood metal detecting hobby. It would certainly have a purpose: to rediscover anything from our pre-Christian past that could possibly be found.

From the Q&A we can incidentally note that many contemporary artefacts of Welsh national/cultural identity are very modern, they have nothing to do with some ancient past, but they weren't always to do with the romantic nationalism of Iolo Morganwg. The daffodil, for example, was probably first taken up as symbol of Wales in 1911, during the investiture of the then Prince of Wales. The leek, on the other hand, seems to have been symbolically associated with Wales since the Middle Ages, possibly as a reference to St David as his favorite dish, or possibly as a less then flattering reference to Welsh agriculture. The dragon, or rather Y Ddraig Goch (literally "the red dragon") as it is called here, dates back to a medieval narrative about a tyrannical king named Vortigern. He tries to build a castle but it repeatedly collapses, and according to the legend that's because two dragons, one red and the other white, are always fighting beneath the ground. The white dragon is supposed to represent the English and/or the Saxons, while the red dragon represents the Welsh and/or Celtic Britons. Although traditionally, at that time, Welsh princes took up the lion as their symbol much like English and other European royalty did, the Tudors established the red dragon as an official heraldic symbol of Wales to distinguish from English iconography, and that has been a mainstay of Welsh culture ever since. All-in-all, however, probably nothing to do with paganism here, unless the dragon has some older significance that we don't know about (and I'm inclined to be charitable here, considering that dragons in Christian symbolism usually represent Satan and/or evil).

There is the suggestion that Arianrhod is to be identified with Ariadne, the Cretan princess who became the lover and consort of the Greek god Dionysus. Both Ariadne and Arianrhod are associated with the Corona Borealis, which in Greek myth was a diadem given to Ariadne as a wedding present from Aphrodite. But that's about it. Any identification based solely on that would be a stretch.

There is the discussion of the legend of Bran, or Bran the Blessed, a king of Britain whose head was said to be buried in a part of London where the White Tower now stands. Hutton says it's possible that this may have reflected an ancient pre-Christian custom of burying parts of "special" people in "special" places to give them enduring magical/divine power, or alternatively that it references a Christian tradition of similarly venerating the relics of saints (itself possibly adapted from pre-Christian traditions in the Mediterranean, but that's another story; any input on that subject though would be much appreciated!). Hutton suggests that Bran's head being specifically buried beneath The White Tower is one of the best indications that the Four Branches of the Mabinogion as we know them were composed no earlier than the early 12th century, because the White Tower was built by William the Conqueror in 1080, and the Norman occupation in Wales as well as England at the time was part of the backdrop of the writing of the Four Branches. Hutton also suggests that stories concern parables from a distant, lost ancient time that were marshalled by Welsh poets who applied them as lessons for how to survive in the present, against the threat of Norman occupation. I should like to have answers on that front, because something about the reactivation of a distant past against the present order resonates very well with Claudio Kulesko's concept of Gothic Insurrection. It makes for interesting horizons, especially when applied to radical political dimensions relevant to things like the question of political identity in the context of the British union.

Relating to the legend of Wearyall Hill, the place in Glastonbury where Joseph of Arimathea supposedly planted the "holy thorn", there is the point made by the late historian Geoffrey Ashe (who, incidentally, died in Glastonbury) that none of the legends concerning Glastonbury have been or even can be disproved, which means that they all just might be correct. Hutton seems inclined to take what could be described as the "glass half full" side of that problematic, in that he thinks the great thing about myths and legends is that there also the possibility that there's something to them. I think that this presents possibilities for paganism, but in the sense that we are to look at it as an act of assemblage, or rather re-assemblage, and in a sense it works to the precise extent that we take it as medieval and contemporary mythology, without at the same time believing the lies that we tell ourselves through our romance and mythology.

Then there's the subject of the demonization of Gwyn ap Nudd in the Buchedd Collen, which incidentally counts as yet another Glastonbury legend. Hutton says that there is no doubt that Gwyn ap Nudd was demonized by Christians, but says that this was not specifically the work of the St. Collen myth. The legend of St. Collen was already fairly well-established in the Middle Ages, and the Welsh town of Llangollen takes its name from St. Collen. The legend goes that Collen was preaching in Glastonbury when Gwyn ap Nudd had taken over the Glastonbury Tor (Ynys Wydryn) and set up a mansion from which to tempt and seduce the inhabitants with vices and pleasures. Collen then goes to Gwyn ap Nudd's mansion and sprinkles holy water everywhere, causing it to explode and leave nothing but green mounds. Hutton suggests that by the 14th century Gwyn ap Nudd was already interpreted as a demon, but we don't really know how or why that happened. Here a horizon of assemblage emerges from the context of Christian demonization.

Gwyn ap Nudd, if taken as a Welsh or Brythonic deity, is interesting to consider as a demon invading Glastonbury and being exorcised by a Christian monk with holy water. There's an obvious question, albeit one that may have no answer: why does Gwyn appear as the subject of an exorcism myth in the context of a Christianized society? It seems plausible to consider Christians interpreted Gwyn ap Nudd as a demon by way of his already being the ruler of Annwn, an otherworld realm then recast as Hell. It may also be possible that Gwyn was a persistent reminder of an older pre-Christian polytheism, even if it's unlikely that he was actually worshipped by anyone living in the Middle Ages. Everything sort of hinges on the fact that the figure of Gwyn ap Nudd was pre-eminent enough in medieval culture, and enough of a thorn on the side of the Christian imaginary, to first of all be recast as an evil demon and then become the central antagonist of the legend of a Christian saint who exorcises him. That might allow Gwyn's presence in the legend to be interpreted as symbolic of the pre-Christian past, albeit through Christian eyes, and a figure who could represent its potential reactivation in Wales.

Lastly, there's the matter of apparent similarity between Welsh and Irish mythology, and the idea of a shared "Celtic origin" between them, in which we are again at a crossroads of possibility. That whole connection comes with a problem: there are definitely similarities between the Irish and Welsh characters at least in name, but these characters also to tend to share names more than they share almost anything else. The two explanations are either that these characters were deities that were worshipped in pre-Christian Wales as well as Ireland, or that Welsh authors were just well-acquainted with Irish folklore and literature and simply borrowed ideas from there. Hutton suggests that the first explanation may not be entirely wrong, or at least not completely invalidated, and leaves it up to the individual to decide between the two possibilities. It is very difficult to be certain is the first possibility holds up, and I have the suspicion it might not, at least not sufficiently. But it doesn't seem totally impossible, given the resonances between the mythical figures in Wales vs the pre-Christian gods of other lands. A relevant example would be Nudd, or Lludd Llaw Eraint, the mythical hero whose name was cognate with the Irish Nuada Airgetlam and apparently derived from the name of the ancient god Nodens. Not to mention Lleu Llaw Gyffes coming from the name of the Celtic god Lugus. That presents the slim possibility of connection, and perhaps assemblage by way of Irish myth.

If you want to see the full thing I'll link it below, here:

youtube

#wales #welsh paganism #britain #celtic polytheism #welsh literature #medieval literature #paganism #brythonic polytheism #glastonbury #arthurian legend #mabinogion #welsh mythology #british mythology #celtic mythology #gothic insurrection #Youtube

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eyes-of-nine · 5 months

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posting them here like a proud parent putting drawings on the fridge LOOK AT MY CHILDREN AAAAAAA

#agsjgshsh i know i already updated ashmix refs this year but I keep neglecting theo(green) and star(blue) so have another set #I lovb them smmm i'm hoping to actually start writing their story soon #they've been living in my head for like 7 years now i think i should at least start writing it ywy #also feel free to send any oc asks I love talking about them sm and i'm willing to sell my soul to you #from left to right ->#theo kartal #star mccarthy #phoenix e scriven #mitchell ann #asher rhydderch #they all get their own tags now yay #oc posting #ashmix trio #quintessence #my art #character redesign #original character #ocs #character design

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magicalwales · 7 months

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In very basic summary, this is how I feel in regards to the continual arguments against the many mighty characters in the Mabinogion NOT being dieties.

I understand they may not be dieties and there's a rather grand lack of evidence in favor of them being dieties. Nonetheless I have heard the Cwn Annwn in my dreams and felt the presence of them in my day to day life. Even if they may not have been some sort of pre Christian, Welsh pagan dieties it does not de-note the modern day practioners and followers. The powers are there and the wonder is real.

#white book of rhydderch #red book of hergest #gwenhwyfar #blodeuwedd #welsh mythology #mabinogion #british folklore #celtic #welsh #wales #witchcraft #welsh folklore #welsh witch #welsh witchcraft

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ace-malarky · 11 months

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Hey those are *my* siblings back off

I woke to a message from my friend this morning that went off into headcanons about my travelling band of chaotic feral mages that then spawned this piece of writing and ok it's probably rough and yes I did just write it in the two hours after midnight but hey

you know what

I kinda fucken like it

(in which Jasper might get pissed off by his siblings but no one else is allowed to even think about hurting them)

~~~~

The laughter – good natured as it is – grates at him like the screech of a badly timed parry.

Jasper clamps his sword in his hand and flattens his ears against his skull, snapping to his feet and turning on his heel in one smooth movement.

“Hey, Jas–” Llinos starts, falling out of stance even before the music halts.

“Don’t,” he replies, barely making the word not a snarl. “Just – don’t.”

Kaua and Tadhg stop playing. Tamhas is on his front, getting to his feet.

“Sorry,” Llinos says.

“Yeah.” Jasper stalks out of the clearing they’d made their camp in, leaves them all behind.

He walks far enough that he can’t see the play of their campfire, can’t hear them pick up the halting threads of a conversation he’d been part of when they’d sat down.

It’s nights like this when Kallyin feels closest to the surface, when the fire burns under his fingertips, when everything feels just a little more… a little more.

He won’t stay away long. Just long enough to soothe out his scorched nerves. Just short enough that they won’t bother to send someone out after him, because he doesn’t think he wants to find out who they’d send to talk him down first.

Even if he knows it will always be Llinos; they’ve known each other out here too long for her to send anyone else in her stead.

Jasper lets a little fire escape on his breath, siphoning off a little of his anger. Not anger. Annoyance. He remembers the way Kallyin would prowl, ears twitching, teeth bared in a quiet snarl. She’d always held his anger, and now he held hers.

It isn’t too much later when he turns back to the forest he’s left them in. There’s nothing out here but the plains before the mountains, and he can only see them as a distant void against the night sky.

He’s stepped too well to leave much of a trail, but he follows his nose back in along the faint promise of smoke, ears twitching to catch the faint sound of conversation.

Jasper’s far closer than he ought to be before he realises that something is wrong, that he should have heard something of their conversation now, however faint. They wouldn’t have all fallen asleep without him there.

He slows to a prowl and flicks his sword partially free of its sheathe, dropping into a crouch.

The second thing he notices is that the fire is brighter than he’d left it. More spread out.

The third thing is the charm that’s been painted onto a tree, still fresh and stinking of iron. He doesn’t recognise its design, but he knows it’s been painted in blood.

A low growl slips past his teeth.

Shapes in the clearing sharpen as his eyes adjust. Tamhas and Tadhg, back to back and slumped forward, noses almost to their knees. Kaua, gagged and tied up, struggling furiously under the watch of a man holding her down with the blunt end of a spear. She’s oddly muffled even for the gag, and that must be what the charm does, some kind of silencing.

Llinos, flat out on her front like she’d been dropped, arms tied behind her, her bow in the grass beside her and dangerously close to the fire. There’s a scattering of arrows in the scuffed grass, Kaua’s sword, and another two figures watching them. They’re gesturing with their swords – little more than machetes, maybe, more suited for cutting through plants than people – and seem to be arguing. He can’t hear what they’re saying.

He doesn’t care what they’re saying.

No sign of Rhydderch, and Jasper hopes – he can’t see Llinos well enough to tell. He doesn’t think she’s bonded, he thinks that if she had they wouldn’t be caught like this, he thinks there would be more damage to their surroundings (he remembers bonding with Kallyin, the panic and the fire and the yowling pain that had nearly split his senses apart on the path).

Rhydderch must be free, he thinks fiercely, not looking too closely at the pile of their belongings. It would kill Llinos for it to be any other way.

He’s still growling. That’s his family down there.

Fire slides between his jaws, eyes sharpening to slits as he places a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Llinos hasn’t moved.

The sound of it drawing rasps in the night, amongst the creak of branches and the rustle of leaves. There isn’t any wildlife nearby.

They haven’t heard; their charm works both ways.

One of the boys – he thinks Tamhas, the fire turning his sandy coat umber – groans and lists sideways, ears flicking up.

Jasper bares his teeth and lunges from the treeline.

Sound rushes back in; the fire, the argument, the fire, Kaua’s indignant muffled curses that are half shrieks, the fire.

“You let that damned fox get away–”

“It’s just a fox, what does it matter, some dumb animal–”

Jasper slams into the two arguing men before they’ve realised he’s there; chops into one as he shoulder-barges the other to the ground, barely stumbling as he digs a foot into the ground and rips his claws through the dirt as he turns, holding his sword out.

A screech pierces the night, a rolling alarm that isn’t any of them.

The one he’d hit with his sword reels back with a cry, almost dropping his machete. He takes one look at Jasper and tries to run.

Jasper snarls and fire tips his teeth and he doesn’t let him run. He throws his sword’s sheathe between his legs and brings him down, kicking the other in the face as he turns again, towards Kaua.

The fire’s between them. It’s not as tall as he’d thought, but it’s more spread out. They’d added to it, made it more of a bonfire, a signal.

The fire under Jasper’s fingers wants to answer it. Kallyin purrs in his chest, ready to play.

The man levels his spear at Jasper, kicking Kaua away. She curses him again, digging her talons into the grass, flicking her head to try and dislodge the gag.

Something screams in the forest beyond the clearing.

Jasper’s grin sharpens as he recognises Rhydderch’s call. “You made a mistake,” he says, and his voice is barely recognisable, all low snarl and rasping threat.

“You’re surrounded,” the man replies, and keeps the fire between them.

One of the other men, coughing, sets off a flare that shatters against the sky, blinding the stars.

“You think we didn’t come prepared?”

“I think you’d like to think you did,” Jasper replies, and feints to his other side just to see him flinch. He turns his sword in his hand.

There are other people in the forest, coming closer. Now that he’s broken the barrier, he can hear them. They’re not quiet.

Llinos still isn’t moving.

“If you’ve hurt my sister,” Jasper says, “Nothing will save you.”

“Jasper,” says Tadhg, tailing off with a groan.

“There’s more of them.” Tamhas sounds a little more alert. “Mages.”

His opponent tries to take an opportunity, thinking him distracted as his ears flick in their direction, and stabs at him through the fire.

Jasper twists sideways and slaps the spear away with his sword.

The fire gutters under the draft of their weapons.

Jasper breathes in.

The fire dips some more. Shadows grow through the clearing. The flare dies above them, the stars reappearing.

Jasper blinks, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.

His opponent catches his breath, hands tightening on his spear.

Jasper lunges forward, through what’s left of the fire, and sweeps his sword up to catch on the spear’s haft, smacking it out of the way. There’s little finesse in his attack and they go tumbling as he lands, over and over until Jasper is on top and their weapons have been left behind.

He manages to punch Jasper. He hits Jasper’s cheek, splitting his lip against his fangs, snapping his head to the side.

Jasper snarls – he’s been growling almost the whole time, but it erupts now, fire licking out between his jaws – and catches his hands, slamming them into the ground. “No one touches my family.”

Several things happen.

A group of men charge into the clearing with their weapons drawn. Rhydderch dashes in, another man on his tail. Tamhas breaks free and throws himself at one of the men Jasper had already downed, just as he got to his feet.

Kaua spits the gag from her beak.

Jasper throws himself sideways just before an arrow whistles through the space he had been. He rolls, steadies himself, lunges forward without really getting to his feet. He grabs his sword on the way, and charges into the group as the fire blazes back up in his wake.

Kaua takes a breath and shrieks. There’s no melody to it; there are barely words. It rends the night, cuts through the clash of metal, slices the growl that buzzes in Jasper’s chest.

Two of the men stumble, go ashen, fall to their knees and scramble backwards to the tree line. Several more turn and run, disappearing amongst the trees with Rhydderch on their tail.

Jasper ducks a wild blow and twists his sword into two from the handle, palming one into his off hand. He wreaks havoc, surrounded as he is, and every slice finds its mark.

Somewhere, Rhydderch barks. Somewhere, someone screams.

“And fucking get gone!” Someone – Tadhg, he thinks – yells.

There’s only one of them still standing, and that’s either because he’s stayed out of the way or because he’s actually good.

Jasper’s keen to find out which. He could do with a challenge.

This man has a curved sword and a buckler and a taunting smirk that he levels at Jasper as he backs to a clear space.

Kaua has stopped shrieking.

Jasper steps over one of his opponents and can’t find it in himself to care whether or not he’s dead. He bares his teeth in a facsimile of a grin, eyes dancing with fire.

There’s a soft moan behind him – Llinos, finally awake.

Rhydderch appears amongst the trees, stands tall and still for a moment, and then races towards her.

Jasper’s family is safe, but they almost weren’t.

Their swords meet in a discordant clash, his second screeching against his opponent’s shield.

If Jasper cared, maybe he’d taunt him. Maybe he’d ask for information, find out if anyone hired them or if they were just being opportunistic.

Jasper doesn’t care. Not really. His family was hurt and he hadn’t been there, but he’d got back in time.

He locks the hilts of their swords together and pulls to the side.

His opponent slams his buckler into Jasper’s chest and attempts to yank his sword back.

Jasper stumbles backwards and coughs fire, staining his opponent bright with its warmth. His sword slips from his grasp and his opponent smirks, slowly repositioning as if he has the time to gloat.

Jasper swings his other sword in and under his buckler, punching through his armour and between his ribs.

His opponent has the audacity to look surprised, as if Jasper hadn’t been toying with him the whole time.

Jasper steps back, yanking his sword free.

The man staggers backwards, lifting a trembling hand to his chest. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something.

Jasper tilts his head, lifting his sword to let the blood run off it and drip into the fire, where it sizzles.

The man falls and slowly – finally – stops moving.

One of the twins whistles.

“Maybe we shouldn’t get on Jasper’s bad side,” said Tamhas.

Kaua snorts.

“Hey.” Llinos is partially leaning on Kaua, her bow in her hands with an arrow on the string, though she didn’t look like she’d tried to pull it at any point. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Jasper says, and wipes his sword clean.

#writing pieces #jasper sa adrassa #llinos ferch rhydderch #kaua burai #mist worlds #tadg ap saril #tamhas ap liram #feral mage #mercenary mages #apparently that's their group tag? wild #anyway I'm gonna. go sleep now. but yeah! fucking writing!#no it's not connected to the current novel but holy shit was it good to do some actiony writing #I say knowing full well I keep skating over writing Kari's fights lmao #don't worry about it. that wip really isn't the place for them #anyway Jasper has Zuko-style swords which I love #this is set after soul of the party!#I'm not sure by how much #but it's after that and before fox family drama which is a whole 'nother thing I have vaguely written #Jasper tends to be teased most readily because he is the oldest sibling but they love him really #and he knows this just sometimes it gets too much #the rest of them probably try to get better at reading his tells after this #they're not gonna stop teasing him but they will stop poking it so far #either that or the twins try to instigate it into fights idk #just to burn off the aggression or whatever #neither of them are really fighters

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vikingsong · 11 days

Text

Reforged (excerpt)

Fill for my Merlin Bingo 2024 adopted square “Aliens” 😉

Hello! For context (if you haven’t already heard me ramble about this WIP in one Discord server or another), this is the first half of Chapter 1 of a loooong and not remotely complete WIP, hence sharing it here rather than AO3 or FFN. It’s a modern-with-magic reincarnation fic.

(TW: graphic violence)

Fic summary:

Arthur Rhydderch had spent years trying to ‘find his calling,’ as his thesis advisor described it. This wasn’t quite what I had in mind, the reincarnated Once and Future King thought as he gave his sword a twirl and launched himself at the alien before it could breathe another blistering spurt of flames.

Up-and-coming paleontologist Dr. Merlin Emrys had thought he was adulting quite well; most days, he even managed to avoid getting yelled at by his landlady. Then secrets from his past life resurfaced, and everything fell apart. Facing an impossible choice, Merlin must come to terms with who he was, who he is, and—most importantly—who he wants to become.

Or:

When Albion’s greatest need arrives in the form of an alien invasion, the reincarnated figures of legend must deal with the consequences of their shared past even as they fight for humanity’s future.

Chapter 1 (excerpt):

Arthur was in the library when the world ended. It was barely 10:00 AM on a Tuesday, and it was shaping up to be one of the worst days of his life even before the sky rained fire.

Six hours ago, Arthur had shaken off the claws of a nightmare for the third night in barely a week. Running, always running, with watering eyes and screaming lungs as the soot threatened to choke him. Four hours ago, he’d paused in the middle of his training run through the city to sit on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and watch with bleary eyes as the pale dawn crept up from the horizon, silhouetting Capitol Hill against the clear autumn sky. His t-shirt stuck to his skin as his sweat cooled. Blood and sweat mingling, trickling down his back as he twisted away from vicious claws that slashed his shoulder from behind. The fresh air hadn’t banished the phantom tang of acrid smoke, so he’d dragged himself home and attempted to drown the taste with a fourth cup of caustically strong coffee, nearly scalding his tongue in his haste. Burns blistering on his forearms as he gripped the sword hilt with white knuckles while hissing creatures stalked him from the shadows. The shifting shadows had still dogged his thoughts as he’d headed to an early one-to-one meeting with the head coach of his college soccer team.

Three hours ago, his coach had informed him, not unkindly, that he wouldn’t be nominating Arthur for the pro soccer draft at the end of the semester, despite Arthur being co-captain and the best on the team. Arthur understood his coach’s reasoning, but it did nothing to ease the sting. The prevailing industry view was that most players peaked in their mid-twenties, and Arthur was already twenty-six. His American uni scholarship had already been his fallback option, a new route to the same professional goal after he’d aged out of Manchester United’s football training academy without a pro contract at twenty-three. Now, the coveted draft slot would go to a younger player—a domestic player who wouldn’t have to deal with visa complexities—and Arthur would simply have to find another calling.

Two hours ago, Arthur’s thesis advisor—never particularly interested in Arthur’s athletic goals—had inadvertently poured salt in that raw wound by asking, as he did at least once a semester, if Arthur had “found his calling” yet.

Arthur’s self-control had slipped, and he’d answered bluntly, “If it’s a calling, then it needs to make itself heard.”

Dr. Taliesin had simply sighed and said, “Someday you will know your destiny.” Then he’d asked to see the latest draft of Arthur’s senior thesis and proceeded to spend the remaining twenty minutes of their meeting eviscerating it.

One hour ago, Arthur had clocked in for his work-study shift at the campus library. The students who’d pulled all-nighters on midterm assignments had all gone to bed or to class by the time Arthur arrived, and it hadn’t taken him long to reshelve the trail of reference texts they’d left in their wake.

Thirty minutes ago, he’d settled at the circulation desk with a stack of books which Dr. Taliesin had just recommended. Arthur had tried—and failed—to concentrate on his thesis research instead of his imploded career plan, even as he’d tried—and failed—to ignore how the silence amplified the harrowing echoes of his nightmares.

Fifteen minutes ago, Arthur had scrubbed a hand over his itchy stubble, regretting that he’d forgotten to shave in his distracted state that morning. His neck had popped audibly in the quiet lobby as he’d stretched and had given up on his thesis research for the moment. Having concluded that he needed to distract himself from anything having to do with his future, he’d pushed aside the heavy books and pulled out the latest reading assignment for his Medieval Lit elective.

One minute ago, Arthur had realized that he’d been staring blankly at the same Middle English paragraph for several minutes. He’d given up on studying altogether and gathered up his reference books to shelve. When he’d stood, his rolling chair had skittered sideways out of his reach. He’d been ready to chalk it up to caffeine tremors and jittery nerves when he’d heard the lobby’s floor-to-ceiling windows rattle.

That was when he’d glanced up and discovered that the world was ending.

He blinked—once, twice—and craned his neck to get a better look. Well, his tired brain amended as it struggled to process the latest milestone in his terrible day, perhaps ‘ending’ is too strong a word. Maybe just the ‘start’ of the apocalypse?

Semantics aside, the sky was raining fire.

The ground shook as each flaming meteorite crashed, one after another after another. One hurtled toward the window, and the prospect of his impending fiery death finally jolted Arthur into action. He dropped the books and dove behind the circulation desk, throwing up an arm to shield his face as the glass shattered and the fireball barreled through.

Over the greedy crackle of flames as a row of study cubicles caught fire, Arthur heard an unnatural hissing. It grated across his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. He peeked around the edge of the circulation desk and froze.

Am I dreaming?

From within the smoldering wreckage of the thing that hadn’t been a meteorite, a creature emerged—a creature unlike anything Arthur had ever seen. The firelight glinted off its burnished scales as it unfurled leathery wings like a monstrous bird hatching from a cursed egg, like a cassowary made of fire and brimstone. The creature fixed its glowing red eyes on him and uttered a shrieking hiss.

Arthur knew that sound.

So that’s what they look like, he thought, half-hysterical. He ducked back behind the desk, even though he knew it was too late to hide. The beast had seen him, and just like he knew that horrible cry, he knew that thing would hunt him down. He heard the creature flap once, and then a spurt of flames shot past the edge of the circulation desk where his face had been moments before. The industrial carpet melted.

Arthur’s instincts took over. One. There was no hope of getting out through the burning front entrance, so he scrambled away from the flames and ran the length of the circulation desk, staying low as another fiery blast raced over his head and immolated an oil painting on the wall above him. Two. Just like in his nightmares, he counted, and just like in his nightmares, he had no idea why. He reached the end of the circulation desk and made a run for it across an exposed stretch of the lobby, dodging more fireballs—Three. Four.—as the creature chased him toward the winding, windowless corridors that formed the only route to the back exit.

He skidded into the corridor and ricocheted off the wall as he took the first turn at full speed. Another volley of flames hit the wall just after he’d turned the corner; he felt the heat at his back as he continued his flight. Five. The fire alarm kicked in, and the reverberating noise in the corridors nearly drowned out the creature’s shrieks and hisses. After several more turns and another near miss with a fireball—Six.—that left one sleeve of his red hoodie singed, Arthur hit a dead end.

He cursed colorfully under his breath as he realized he’d taken a wrong turn on autopilot; he’d been so focused on dodging fireballs that he’d turned left instead of right at the special collections display case. He’d reached the central elevator’s windowless alcove rather than the exit. The elevator was out of service, he’d already passed the nearest stairwell, and he didn’t have time to retrace his steps to the turn he’d missed. He heard a crash followed by scuffling as the creature—the alien, his brain so helpfully supplied—slammed into the display case before approaching the final turn. I’ve got thirty seconds at best. Arthur backed away from the sound, wracking his brain for any remaining options. His shoulder bumped into something sharp; he glanced back and saw it was the corner of a wall-mounted display case containing a medieval-style sword from the university’s eclectic collection of artifacts. On the lower right corner of the plate glass front, a snarky student had added a sticky note that read:

In case of emergency, break glass :)

What have I got to lose? he thought, glancing around. There were no fire extinguishers—Ironic, he lamented—nor any other heavy objects in the alcove to break the glass. Out of time and options, he raised his hood for protection like a knight’s coif and shielded his face with his right arm before slamming his left elbow into the glass as hard as he could. It cracked but didn’t shatter.

The hissing grew louder. Ignoring the pain in his arm, Arthur struck the case a second time, and then a third.

Razor-sharp shards grazed Arthur’s hoodie as the glass shattered and spilled out onto the floor. As the security alarm blared in concert with the fire alarm, he reached into the case and drew out the sword.

It felt strangely comfortable in his hand. Not quite like the sword in his dreams, but familiar all the same. He gave it a quick twirl with his wrist, then faced the hallway just as the alien appeared.

It stalked toward him on all fours with its folded, bat-like wings curving up from its clawed forefeet; the barbed tips met in a sharp arch over its back like crossed lance poles. Its glowing red eyes were nearly level with Arthur’s as it paused, tilting its large, draconic head side to side on its long neck as though sizing up the sword in Arthur’s hand.

Arthur stood his ground. Not like I have anywhere left to run, he thought as he tightened his grip on the sword. Might as well go out fighting.

The alien hissed, and smoke curled out through its nostrils. It opened its jaw wide and coughed out a sulfurous black cloud. Arthur gagged as his eyes watered. The alien hacked again like a chain smoker, but no flames burst forth.

Arthur saw his window and took it. Just like on the footie pitch, he feinted left, then spun to the right. With a screech, the alien fell for the trick and lunged, leaving its neck vulnerable to Arthur’s attack. Arthur used the momentum of his spin to throw his full weight into his one shot at survival, bringing the blade down squarely on the creature’s neck.

The steel sliced clean through sinew and bone, and the creature’s head hit the ground mid-snarl. Arthur dodged the body’s writhing death throes and vaulted over the convulsing tail as he raced back down the corridor toward the exit. He slipped more than once on the wet linoleum—the emergency sprinklers had finally activated—before he stumbled out through the back exit into the deserted alley, soaked and bleeding, still clutching the sword.

#merlin bingo #bingo fill #alien invasion #aliens & swords #bbc merlin #fanfic #wip #shameless self promotion #my stories #writing #angst with a happy ending #wip wednesday #aliens #fic: reforged

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