#a dream under the southern bough | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rouiyan · 4 years

Text

𝘖𝘍 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the first volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: prince jeno is willing to trade his heart and soul for the throne. but lee jeno is also willing to trade his heart and soul for you.

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : fluff, angst ✧ word count : 7.0k ✧ disclaimers : brief descriptions of nudity (nothing sexual), allusions to sex (nothing explicit), malintent

✧ author’s note — i have a bad case of 'lee jeno will forever sit atop my bias list, unmoved,' but i guess this is just my way of coping. happy reading, loves.

back to series masterpost: till death do us part.

prince jeno will never be king. he will never sit atop the throne and his plates will always be silver, not gold. he shall be addressed with 'prince' prior to his name, always and perpetually, and until he's wrinkly, gray and even through the eons after he passes, he will only ever be 'prince jeno.' and this is only because of his stoic-faced brother, crown prince doyoung, who is always a step out of reach. born a little more studious, a little more driven, a little more empathetic, and born a little earlier. jeno knows this, his parents know this, even the kingdom is fully aware, that jeno is an example of what a future king should look like, but also that doyoung is the epitome.

but if there's one thing that jeno excels at, in greater lengths than his brother, it'd be his sense of independence. at the ripe age of one, jeno was already on his own two feet, quick and adept. at three, he could eat solid foods and put on his clothes without aid. at six, he'd gone out of his parent's willingness to learn professional swordsmanship. and at ten, he'd sworn, one sudden night in a fit of angry tears, that he would never marry. he was ten, just touching on double digits, yet he'd never felt such fervent ardor for any one thing. lee jeno was convinced, by none but himself, that he was better off alone, in marriage, in friendships, in brotherhood, in family. he needn't no one but himself for he knew more than anyone, his own capabilities. but he also knew that no matter how ardent he was in his endeavors, he would never be king, at least, not of the southern kingdom.

as he draws himself straight, emerging from the black marbled carriage drawn by horses of black mane, he sets his sights on the scene that unfolds before him. the northern castle is fortified in pristine white; white footbridges, posterns, battlements, towers and pinnacles, and all that meets the eye upon first glance. in the moment, the sunlight is cascading down between passing clouds, reflecting across the rounds of the turrets like thick coils of luminescence. the castle itself, though, serves as a halo of radiance that rests above a breathing orchard which is then, set behind a pathed meadow of gently mowed lawns. there's a noticeable wind that courses through the splaying fields, gurgling the water of the moat he'd just passed and ruffling the wildflowers. jeno's spirits lift as clusters of petals lift from their stems, undulating with the chorus of the wind and wafting a delicate scent.

the prince is accompanied, on either side, by his guards dressed in black and gold accents, he himself, wearing an ensemble of a similar but more explored palette. he's guided by a man of the recipient kingdom, dressed contrastingly in white, that strides a few paces ahead of the arriving group through the orchard of dew-laden trees, their boughs offering bundles of green apples low enough to be grasped by the hand.

it's easy for jeno to momentarily forget the reason he is here in the first place.

he stands, that night, under a flurry of blinding crystal chandeliers and in line with others, kindred to his age and stature, first as a guest and foremost as a suitor. a man enters from the archway on the left, stout but tall in posture, and he announces, "arrival of crown princess y/n of the northern kingdom, followed by the king and the queen of the northern kingdom."

jeno fails to notice how his own breath hitches, but notices the man next to him stir at the sight of you. for good reason, he thinks. your dress is nothing short of seraphic, a layered piece of cream silk upon silk, built up into a fitted bodice and sweetheart neckline. a pearled bodkin swirls back the upper half of your hair, allowing the supple skin of your face to spangle in the light. it's from this he understands that the rumors of your beauty are not half moonshine. he disregards the soft features of your face and focuses on the way you curtsy, gentle but profound, for each member of the line, a bow sent in return for each adjacent man. jeno is careful in his observations but he cannot seem to find a fault in your movements, each tailored to the exact second. your eyes, your attention, your pleasant countenance, spends no more time on himself than the others. this is one of the two things he notes during the feast, the second being your father, the king, taking a blatant liking to whom he knows to be the crown prince of the western kingdom, na jaemin.

an alliance as solid as marriage between the western and northern kingdoms would perhaps be the turnover of the century, a threat to be reckoned with. the aqueducts of the western kingdom, the pure water it provides for the region and its people, paired with the flourishing arts and wealthy merchants of the northern kingdom would yield tremendous power over the agriculture of the eastern and the coal mines of the southern. jeno is sharp in calculations, his resolve shifting and with this, the arranged trip becomes a lot clearer in purpose. he stares ahead, knowing that he has little charm to offer to the miss, but imagining himself on the throne of the northern kingdom for a change. albeit, next to you, but he'll find it in him to deal with that in the long run and for the time being, divert his attention to the young highness.

dinner clears out and the party moves into the nearest drawing room in the west wing of the palace. the princess and her parents are escorted earliest and jeno utilizes the opportunity to make his objective clear with whom he sees as his primary source of competition, the prince of the western kingdom. prince jaemin has a smile gracing his face at all times, a habit that jeno has come to despise the more time he spends looking at. "how do you fair with the princess' impression, mind i ask?" jeno is taken off guard when the boy speaks first, now standing beside him, both gazes held up front instead of at each other. he rights his expression before replying curtly, "a sight to behold, no doubt, but i find her to provide amusing company withal."

"and is that all you see her for? an eyeful and merriment?" jaemin's tone gives way to how he's condescendingly sneering at the prince, in distaste by means of long forgotten familiarity.

jeno doesn't bother to answer for it is now within his knowledge, and the other's, that his intentions are unearthed. jaemin continues, his voice light but carrying heavy weight, "i'd hope that she chooses wisely. the princess deserves her throne."

they are ushered from the vicinities of the dining parlor into the drawing room. the space is lit with candles that glint and flit across the pale green plaster, lined with golden leaf molding and wainscotting. the walls encasing the room are at least a bountiful twenty feet high, the echoes of thirty or so people colliding off the ceilings and upon the polished floor. nothing remarkable can be said besides the fact that the churnings in the pits jeno's stomach become painfully acute with each step you take towards him, and that he, in turn, can't help but take further steps back.

jeno returns to his assigned quarters without a word spoken to or from you. he does not feel belittled by the others, in fact, he knows his royal blood gives him a hefty advantage over the sons of advisors, distant cousins, older merchants, and others of far off importance. he retires into the crisp white sheets after he blows out the already billowing candle by the bedside. prince jeno only dreams of the throne, the only visions he has ever come to see behind the veil of his eyelids, but it's tonight that he's met with you. smile wide in response to something he's said, an act of jest maybe. he smiles along and towel dries your hair lovingly, brushes through it with tender fingers, lays you upon the bed in fluid motions. it's the morning after that he wakes up with no recollection.

the following day is open to any and every pastime the palace has to offer, the only program being the ball in the evening, a gathering of formal introductions by footwork and intense stares. jeno doubts the princess will have enough stamina to follow through with thirty or so consecutive dances, each with different men, but he's adamant to be one of the few. he's ambling directionless in the castle, unaware of which halls leads to what and in the forefront of his mind, he's looking for you, as he is sure many others are as well. he stumbles upon a dusty balcony, evidently unused, by the landing of the fourth level that opens up to an expanse of flowers, rows and rows of varying genera, each blooming in full vigor. it's here that he finds you, frolicking among the reposeful blossoms, mirrors of your countenance that rise to your waist. from what he can see, you're walking alongside the small dirt paths with a brown haired boy of sun kissed skin. hand in hand you walk, and he can almost see the pleasant smile the boy adorns and the vibrancy you radiate.

jeno learns from a maid with a adoring smile, that the boy is prince donghyuck of the eastern kingdom, the youngest son of four and therefore the most unfit match for a crown princess, a spiteful thought that jeno can't help but think. he also learns that he is the one boy, the one person, you've been the closest with since birth and that, out of anger and disapproval, your mother had invited the suitors for the purpose of serving you a more worthy husband and future king. the maid now sports a frightful expression, knowing that she had crossed her bounds by oversharing. jeno is glad though, and reassures her that the secret is safe with him.

he dresses accordingly for the ball, and while many of the fellow suitors donned garments of white to match your family's signature, jeno cannot find a single piece of his that holds the same hue. the color black oozes from the lapels of his pressed suit jacket, from the tie and shirt underneath. the color is second nature to him, one of his own family, and he gives it no thought.

perhaps it's the color, though, that catches your eye that night because you prance over to him not a half hour after the ball commences. kind eyes that feel so welcome on his skin, and though the churns and froths have resurfaced in his gut, he offers his hand in the first and last dance of the night. you say yes to both but the last is when he starts to chip off the guise of royalty to reveal the ramblings of a young girl.

"i'm not in love with him, most certainly not, but i feel strongly that if i were ever granted a say in marriage, it would not be of anyone in this room, no, i would marry my dearest companion." jeno fails to admit that the smooth vibrations of your voice are enough to set fire to his resolve, the purpose behind your hand on his shoulder and his around your waist.

he draws you in, "and why not marry for love?" though he's sure he doesn't mean to.

"and why not should my love for a close confidante count? is it not love all the same?" you pull from him and jeno follows in step of the music to twirl you back into his embrace, just the way a prince should.

"i believe the love you speak is of the head," jeno counters. the ball is in his court, but he pays it no attention, sincere in obtaining an answer, "i am asking why you should not marry for love of the heart?"

"of the heart," you repeat to yourself, an utterance that jeno finds so endearing but cannot bring himself to immerse in. "i've yet to encounter such an emotion. may i ask, has the prince himself ever held such affection towards another?"

he chuckles, "i only know of once where another held my gaze captive. i know little of her, yet i can speak quite arduously on her behalf."

"what a sight she must be," you muse, partially uninterested now that your partner has declared the purpose of his attendance entirely political by speaking of his one true love whilst in your presence.

prince jeno stops, the hand of his on your back slots for more support and he lowers your figure down by the waist, hie eyes never leaving yours and your noses touch, "yes, you are quite the sight."

prince jeno's passed the golfing greens, the rose gardens, the hiking trails, and the fencing grounds, but he has yet to find something that catches his eye, something he has never seen. as a southern kingdom native and royal, the northern kingdom is easily foreign territory. the air is clear here, there's no soot to brush off when you head inside, and a step outside the walls of the palace, he knows he'll find artisan markets that run for miles instead of coal sites. the artisan markets, he thinks, is where he wants to go.

he's just tipping into the edge of the thick forest that lines the southeastern bounds of the estate when his ears pick up on the babble of a creek. jeno's quick to brush through the creepers and ramblers until the trees give into an expanse of open air. the creek he'd thought he heard is in actuality a wide bathing pool, the water a clear green. he spots a level bronzed rock on which you lay, bare-skinned, the direct sunlight engulfing your figure in glorification. quickly, he diverts his eyes and clears his throat to announce his presence. you're also quick to your feet at the sound, scrambling to grasp at your robes strewn about.

to your surprise, the man, whom you've now identified as the second prince of the coal mines, has not left and is simply standing still, his back turned to you. it's now you that clears your throat and he understands well enough by turning back around to face a clothed you, the flames of his cheeks withstanding.

"it's quite alright, you know, nothing to be embarrassed about." he hums in response and you proceed with your thoughts, "but i'd like to affirm it was by chance, was it not?"

jeno clasps his hands behind his back, willing his eyes to yours, "surely by chance, i would no- never- not dare, such intentions are not-" he's cut off by your chuckles, light and airy, like bouts melancholy chords to his ears. the prince, a boy who had been schooled by only the finest etiquette scholars of the region, finds himself blundering for words. jeno is undeniably embarrassed by now, but his eyes soften as you take steps towards him, fingers fumbling to tie your robes shut.

the heat in his cheeks is still very noticeable but his shortness of breath is not. the prince even goes so far as to close the distance between the two of you himself, hands coming to your aid in lacing the strands of ribboned satin together, gently tugging it into a looped butterfly. you think his favored form of communication is the clearing of his throat for he does it once again, "will you allow me hold account for my mishaps?"

"you hardly did much wrong, your highness." his nose scrunches at the formality.

"then may i repay you for your forgiveness?"

your expression isn't shy to conceal your incredulity at his persistence, "my, now i cannot help but be a tad bit intrigued. what can you offer than i cannot already find on my own land?"

"allow me," he pauses, a smile forming before he can even let you in on his gracious idea, "to give you a tour of the artisan marts, what do you suppose?" the smile is contagious, infectious even, spreading onto your face as well, "a mineral boy to guide me through fine arts? i think i ought to say yes."

your peals of laughter are imminent in the air of sundown. he thinks the painted coasters are plates, he sees the tapestries as scarves, the delicate ribbons as horse whips. but when the two of you come across an array of jeweled accessories, he has the gall to sneak a sapphired hair pin from the display and slot it between your locks, the hood shielding your identity from passerbyers falling back. you're eyes are blown wide at this but jeno simply smiles, fingers coursing through two entangled tresses, courtesy of the abrasion on the rough commoner's fabric.

"a pretty face like yours should never have to hide," he chides. jeno's eyes form soft crescents and he's subtle when he takes your hand in his, "wouldn't want to lose you, princess." you see him slip a gold coin for the dear madam selling the goods before he's off, jogging lightly and pulling you close to his back. the destination is unknown to you but the man seems to lead with an air of awareness. he slows a few blocks down, allowing you to catch your breath as you note that his hood has also been brushed back. returning the favor, you go on your toes to ruffle the strands into place, not missing the surprised flinch his composure gives way to. people left and right are starting to notice, it just so happens that the two of you are stood right in the middle of all the commotion that comes with the afternoon wave of customers. "over here."

jeno's hand is in yours again and you wonder if it's the cause of the heavy hammering in your heart. you wonder, because though it is certainly not an unwelcome feeling, you doubt you've ever felt it beat so hard. his hand gives your own a squeeze and it's as if your heartstrings have been strummed like a guitar, his ragged breaths music to your ears, a remedy for your aches. the narrow alleyway he's entered hosts a light at the end and it opens up into a view of the town, the terracotta-tiled roofings, bronzed candle streetlamps, public works funded by your mother, and all the townspeople going about their days, now in miniscule movements. the sun is just about setting but from the looks of it, it might as well be seen as rising. afterall, who is to say that only sunrises bring new days? new times, new beginnings, new understandings, new loves are all brought about just as much from sunsets as sunrises. and if there's one thing to prove that, it's the way jeno's hand never leaves yours, not for the rest of the night.

"and they'd asked if i should want to extend the stay for anyone."

prince jeno crosses his room and leans upon the footboard of his bed. a week certainly isn't enough to develop a bond of marriage but he is glad to acknowledge that it doesn't get any better than this. "and did you?" he knows where you're going with this, you know that he knows, the whole palace knows that you know that he knows. why else would crown princess y/n head down to the guest quarters, to ask for the room number of a specific boy, if not to tell said boy, whom she had spent almost every second of the week with, that she would like it if he stayed?

"yes, i did, i requested your stay. late yesterday, in fact, but i didn't have it in me to inform you until now." you're blushing and he's thrust into the awareness that the feelings you subject him to aren't customary. "will you be staying?" his eyes are unwavering on yours as if to tell you exactly what he means to say before he eventually does, "it'd be my pleasure."

a knock on the door breaks the moment, but jeno is quick to call the maid in. a letter is tucked between her fingers and upon delivery, the prince recognizes his name printed in the neat scrawl of his mother. an absentminded, "thanks" is followed up by the zealous unsheathing of the letter, a ill-minded idea of the content already forming in the forefront of his mind.

our dearest jeno,

it has come to our attention that you plan on extending your stay until a month's time. officials of the northern kingdom are already working in conjunction with our advisors to plan a date. of most excitement did it certainly incite within your family. had i known you'd be married off to a lass of such prestigious blood, i would have sent you much earlier. your father would love to hear of your methods of courting, perhaps your brother could do well with it no doubt. i've no time to spare, the schematics of your succession are coming fast in the drawing room. expect no less than the best and send my warmest regards to the young highness.

all the best, your dearest mother.

"she'd like to welcome you to the family, that's what's said." jeno's thankful that you decided to teeter over to him now, after he finished skimming through the damned article. he has time to fold it closed before you're by his side, fingers reaching for his. he's rubbing smooth lines into the ridges of your palms. "i suppose they are all thinking the same thing, marriage."

you speak, "do you suggest that it's wrong of them?" but jeno wishes you'd get to the point so he can tell you just what he means.

"not wrong, but natural. if i was my father i doubt i'd think any different."

"then, if not your father, how would you think?"

"i think," he's drawn to the way your teeth bite down on your lips. "i think i'd like it." his thoughts block out everything except the image of your lips and he ponders following through with the ideas plaguing his mind. jeno goes in when you draw back, turning to hide your flushed state. you're retreating even further now, taking an exit all together but not before clearing the air. "breakfast tomorrow at seven, east wing. ask a maid if you are unsure."

next time, he thinks.

breakfast is silent sans the clattering of cutlery on plates but jeno finds baseline joy in the shy glances that you sneak at him across the table. he does not, however, particularly like the prolonged stares your father blatantly spends on him. jeno thinks he's about to look away, for the sixth time at that, when the elder decides upon the moment to speak, "a striking young man, i'll let that. y/n, dear, pray tell me your decision was not built on his good looks." your father is rather speaking to you.

your face burns up in tinged mortification, "father, that is hardly an appropriate question to bring up over the course of a family meal-"

much to your chagrin, the king pays no heed to your interjections and resumes, "preposterous as it may seem, i would despise if our ranks were to be infiltrated by those of the miner's kingdom. our liberal arts are not so often mixed with a line of lowly traitors, an observation may i add-"

"father! oh, how lowly it is of you to be restricting a kind young sir of royal blood to the bounds of his heritage!" your mother has halted in her tracks, setting a golden spoon aside and retreating her hands to her lap.

"must you forget that the blood in him courses silver not gold?" your father's voice never raises, never lowers. you fail at maintaining the same composure, distress budding between outbursts.

"color does not render the propriety of one for better or worse. i believe that was what you'd taught me to rule by but for laughs or for naught, a king you so-call yourself!"

breakfast is silent once again, but this time, not even the aid of cutlery against plates is around to sheath the tension in the air. jeno's enlightened to learn of this side of you. your eyes are hardened, your jaw left slightly unhinged, and deep breaths are taken to retain any sort of semblance. he sees determination in your eyes, lined with a raw and unearthed air of conviction, and there's no other way to describe the look on your face except to say that you are solely driven by a vehement passion for righteousness. but drawing back from the you who has captivated him, he's left with the realization that he hasn't given a second thought to his original resolve since setting foot in the palace. and while the four of you sit in silence, glares and glowers being thrown about, prince jeno is daunted by the fact that more than ever, he feels the fervent ardor that in order to be a king, deserving of accolade and reverence, he needs you by his side to be his queen.

"what my father thinks is beyond me, really. i'd only hope what he said doesn't deter you all that much." you pop a cherry into your mouth, fingers clasping the stem and tugging it off with a pop. jeno looks down at you in adoration, the events of this morning a figment of the past. "not much at all for me, if it doesn't bother you." the soft smile that fills his countenance is given as if to say, 'as you wish, my love.'

you sit up abruptly, the thin cotton cloth scrunching under your thighs. the grass is still dewy from the morning showers but you slip off your sandals in favor of the bare grit of soil beneath your feet. the sun is beginning to stutter from its position overhead but not so fast, you think, the day has just begun. with one last look spared for the bewildered boy, you mouth a 'catch me if you can,' before bundling up the folds of your linen dress into your hands and taking off into the open fields. native flowers of poppies and calendula, orange and white, are trampled in your wake but you don't mind because prince jeno is hot on your heels. he is hot on your heels with a grin of mirth gracing his expression and strides that are long and fast. so fast that you are caught within a matter of seconds, encased in his arms before you even know it, feet lifting off the ground and squeals of protest in response. the adrenaline in your system is slow to subside as you land on your feet once again, eyes lit up like a child's in front of santa claus. the verdant grass looks a murky brown behind your rose-tinted glasses but prince jeno continues to look ethereal. grasping his dark locks in a fistful, you tug him down so that your lips meet and in no time, his lips are working fast against your own. the sensations are nothing short of paradisiacal, as opposite ends of the planet meet, the sun and the moon, the sky and the earth, summer and winter, water and fire, and silver and gold.

wet and slippery, you laugh at the strand of saliva that spreads thinner as you part from his lips. jeno repositions so that you are situated on his back and he allows you to catch your breath before strolling aimlessly across the grounds, as if what happened seconds beforehand didn't just mark the beginning of time. he takes you back inside once the sun has set and your eyelids are half closed. he waits outside in your chamber as you bathe and he stands behind you as your sit in front of your vanity, hair dripping wet and a towel in hand. jeno is gathering your hair in his hands, smoothing over your wet locks with the cloth when he remembers. he remembers the dream he had just over a fortnight ago. the one where he stood in this exact spot. he remembers it just as he sees you give a small chortle in the reflection of the mirror in response to him playfully pulling your hair a little too hard, an act of jest. the trickling feeling of déjà vu hits him so terribly hard but he can only live out the dream in real time, his fingers gently raking your now dried hair. he spins you in his seat and decides that whatever vision he was granted hadn't been revealed to him until now for the very reason being that he simply wasn't ready. the jeno of two weeks ago wasn't ready to love another, to accept another, to cherish another as he does now. now, for you.

prince jeno's eyes are glazed over in awe and revelation as he feels the way your hands draw him closer to you by his waist, entwining your bodies. he's overcome with the need to be the one to make you feel the same way you do unto him. gingerly he lifts you from your spot, hands hooking under the crevice beneath your knees with your arms riding up to his shoulders while effectively removing his shirt in one fluid motion. he's glad that you share the same idea.

that night is the first of many where he shows you the sheer magnitude of which he loves you. he lives for the look of your star-studded eyes, rolling back into your head and the way your toes curl as you call out his name and his name only. he breathes for the way your fingers are in a world of their own as they scour every inch of his hair, pushing and pulling the same way the moon teases its waters. his mere existence is reliant on the shine of his arousal on the bare skin of your stomach. with each time, jeno is reborn.

it's the crack of dawn when he hears your voice, barely scathing the absolute threshold, "i am still very much awake."

"as am i," jeno lifts his head to look across the room, past the dirtied sheets, the swathes of clothes on the ground, to the doors of the balcony that are swung wide open. the sky is of a distilled blue, not yet bright, but still illuminated by the crown of the sun.

"would it be deemed a waste to simply lay here for the duration of the night?" you question, but move to sit up in decisiveness. jeno answers offhandedly once again, even now revelling in the feeling of your skin on his, "i would feel so, yes."

"shall we take a trip to the study? i recall you mentioning a desire to visit." the prince smiles at this. curt again, "if you'd like."

"yes, a warm cup of tea and agreeable literature is an ancient remedy for sleeplessness. my, morning it is already. i don't suppose a morning nap has ever been heard of, though i'd think i'd like just that at this moment." you mumble out the last half, partially rambling to yourself.

"light a candle, my dear, my eyes aren't half as sharp in the dim light." you chuckle at that and reach for the brass pricket set on your bedside table. upon lighting it, you are met with the boy's face irradiated in such a way that accentuates everything from his sharp jawline to the apples of his cheeks. he smiles as takes the instrument from you to allow you to don some clothes. the same is done for him and the two of you make quick time in rushing across the stale floors of the palace to the opposite wing.

the main library, situated on the third floor but occupying large parts of both the third and fourth, is certainly the pride and treasure of the palace, the crown jewel of the northern kingdom even. the separate floors are each sixteen feet in height, filled wall-to-wall with encased book upon book. the collection dates back to the romans and as far forward as your most recent journal entry. jeno pads upon the floors that boast a parqueted mahogany, the same that runs along the integrated shelving and the carvings that crown the skylight above. the windows are made of giant panels of stained glass, mosaics that depict the landscapes just beyond, and as a result, the little light the sun has to offer is cast in shades of blue, green, and red. an assemblage of the masterpieces of ettore forti, genuine, he suspects, are hung in individual alcoves and molded with golden embellishments. jeno thinks the northern kingdom simply cannot have anything better to offer than this. except for you, he thinks.

a maid delivers your tea promptly, a gentle brew of loose leaf herbs, ginger and rooibos by the taste of it and you settle into the plush velvet of the segmented lounge. the work you're reading aloud is enough to keep you awake for the better half of an hour before you begin dozing off. your soft and even breaths are enough for jeno to be shaken from his attention on a few select poems, and he's careful when he moves to replace the leather-bound diary in your hands, with a hand of his own. jeno uses his other hand to cradle the side of your face, as any besotted boy would do, caressing by the means of docile strokes. he feels a mellow calm when you're persistent by his side, even in your sleep. tucking a strand of hair behind your ears, he's leaning in for a quick kiss to the temple when the door of the study is propped ajar, a boy of briefer height emerging from the unlit halls.

jeno recognizes the boy almost instantly, the image of you walking hand in hand with him still as unrelenting in his mind as it was on day one. lee donghyuck, of similar surname but a long-diverging lineage, the fourth prince of the eastern kingdom of agriculture. jeno isn't hit with jealousy, per se, but rather annoyance.

donghyuck's steps halt the moment he sees the still figure on the juniper-stained chaise. his brows draw in suspicion but he's prudent of the expression he lets on. a dialogue of whispers ensues.

"prince jeno, is it?" donghyuck's face darkens when the other nods. "ah, i've heard of the tidings, may i pass on sincere felicitations to you and your betrothed."

"much obliged, prince donghyuck, i presume." obverse, the aforementioned boy nods.

despite all his efforts, donghyuck can't help but let loose a sliver of his composure, "i have little credit i can give to your word, but i'd like to hear what you have to say in regards to the arrangement."

prince jeno is ticked off now, to say the least, he hides his vexation by keeping his reply as formally insincere as he can muster, "elated, the arrangement could not have been better dealt with."

"and you are a man that deals in the prospects of union?" donghyuck does not mean to nitpick but there's no way around it when the prince in front of him is so obviously indignated by his presence. you could say that he's been provoked.

voice held level, jeno proceeds, "i am a man of virtue and i come in good faith, i assure you."

"i must inquire, a man of virtue and good faith? i'd like to know of you and your families' conspiracies, falsities, machinations." a snide and low-shot remark, no doubt, but it riles up the taller of the two fair enough.

jeno sussurates, raspy voice and all, "and who are you, brave enough to speak in such a fashion to a second prince."

"gold by marriage is synonymous to silver by birth. why count the numbers when we are one and the same?" donghyuck's voice is still a bare undertone, but harsh and course in resonance.

"a pity you weren't raised to tell the difference." neither of the princes bother to conceal their malignity for the other. if you were awake, neither would know, too caught up in the heat of their frustration.

donghyuck is fed up with years of spite and built-up distaste. in between all the blundering he has found a point, a target to aim for. he may not see jeno as a harm to you but he knows there's an unspoken wedge that revolves around his family. donghyuck glows in his opportune moment, then he strikes, "and you were raised upon your father's supremacy. do tell, do you believe your father to be an honest man?"

he is met with jeno's silence, compliance, submission.

the leisure sport of swordsmanship is what prince jeno sets out for first thing after ensuring you had woken and eaten something fulfilling. he is in the need to exert his energy on something, or someone, that isn't an acquaintance of yours, for fear that he has done more damage than good by manifesting himself as an enemy in the eyes of your closest companion. he requests your court's highest ranking knight and is surprised and slightly jarred that the man before him is of a smaller stature, a few inches shorter with narrow shoulders and lean muscles. renjun is the name he goes by and he dominates without the need of force. jeno tells the boy to display his best effort, that a scuff here and there is fine, but he severely misconstrues his opponent's abilities.

renjun, as it turns out, finds amusement in jeno's stances, flaws evident in ways that only he can see. undermining the prince's pride is what he aims for and he does exactly that, successful with three strokes, two that flit like sparks in the air and the last that scathes the skin of the prince's left wrist. it's small in area and deep in puncture, the raw film underneath unfurling within itself, but it's enough for him to call the session off. jeno's hand withdraws from the new wound and he's met with the sight of red.

the prince is drawn, in many ways more than one, to the red as it seeps between the clasp of his fingers. as it begins its descent towards the fast-approaching floor, the floor of white limestone. he's drawn by the depth he sees within the color, the solidarity he feels towards the hue. in the silver ichor that pools by his feet, he's drawn to his blood red reflection.

jeno finds you retired in your room that night, in exhaustion of formal meetings and other circumstances that required a princess' supervision. despite this, your visage still lights with joy upon seeing the prince. "would you prefer if i let you rest?"

"depends, what will you propose if i refuse?" the lilt to your voice has him almost coddling, his thumbs running circles on the skin behind your ears down to your neck to release the tensions. "i'd propose a midnight adventure, stargazing maybe."

you give a modest snigger, "a bit of a romanticist, aren't you?"

"only for you i must admit." his tone is humorless. "are you up for it, dear?"

your face returns taut, "yes, needless to say, only for you."

prince jeno takes you by the hand, he leads and you follow. he makes rounds about the same halls, you think he's unsure of where he is heading, but he comes to a stop at the precipice of the fourth landing. the balcony that leans off to the side is one that you have never stood atop of before though you're unsure why. the outlook it bestows upon you is breathtaking, even in the dead of night. just barely are the outlines of the flowers oscillating in the drafts shown, even fainter are the hills that overlap in the distance, but oh-so-clear is the moon.

it's quartered today, the slope of the curve is round and prominent. all of a sudden, jeno is quoting ray bradbury, a classic text he knows you'll know a little too much about. "and if you look," he nods to the sky, "there's a man in the moon." as he conjectured, you're quick to catch on the act before the moment dissipates, "he hadn't looked for a long time."

"do you believe in the man in the moon?"

"i believe in the man and the moon, but the man in the moon is very much apparent as well." your eyes are set in the stars. "he is astray and far from the ground, from earth. he does not seek what we all should seek, but rather he dives headfirst into the superficial."

"and what is it that we all should seek?"

"the one thing in the world that carries any significance at all: happiness."

it is now that prince jeno sees himself as the man in the moon, chasing after mirages of aspirations when in truth, he does not find solace in power, he does not revel in the destruction of others, he does not take lightly when the lonely are forsaken and he shall never partake in the atrocities his father subjects him to. but the man in the moon is a conscious past of his, a living memory of growth, for jeno finds happiness in you; you who grounds him to the earth.

lee jeno thinks the world of you and, as the greatest russian poet ever wrote, "she is a beauty. yes, a marble nymph; angelic eyes, unearthly lips…" (Alexander Pushkin, The Collected Works; "A Suite of Lighted Rooms")

read volume two here: overcast skies and those who die.

#nct ff #nct fics #nct scenarios #nct jeno #jeno x reader #jeno x you #jeno angst #jeno fluff #jeno ff #jeno fanfic #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

114 notes · View notes

calitraditionalism · 3 years

Text

Arc Three: Chapter Ten

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“That’s the idea?”

Mistface narrowed his eyes and looked back at Flyfang, who was giving the oak forest in the very far distance a doubtful look.

“It’s unoccupied at this time of year,” Greyleaf said, just a little ahead of her. “Or at least, the cats who could be there have a low chance of meeting us and knowing anything about the Clast.”

“It’ll be mighty wet,” Mistface added. “Smell of the mud and plants ought to cover us up, long as it stays that way.”

“Yeah, but sometimes the Marish hunt there.” Flyfang grimaced. “I’m not inclined to meet them again. Not just yet, anyway.”

Darkpelt picked up her pace to walk alongside Flyfang. “If we’re careful, we won’t. You’d be surprised what cats can miss when tree-bark is soaked.”

Flyfang surprisingly seemed more assured at this particular input. She tilted her head back and forth, considering, before saying, “I guess it’ll do for now.”

“We can’t be here long anyway,” Beetlefoot said, trotting alongside Greyleaf. “I don’t intend to be a contrarian, but the rain could take a while coming back, and by then…”

“Our smell will be everywhere,” Redheart finished. “Yes, I was considering that. But you two…” she turned her attention to Mistface and Greyleaf. “You grew up by this forest. If you’re confident this will work for a time, I trust you.”

“We are,” Mistface and Greyleaf said together.

“Then we ought to move a little quicker.” Redheart nodded to everyone behind her and sped up into a trot. The party immediately followed along after her without a word from anyone.

Mistface, at the front near Redheart, glanced back a few times to gauge how everyone was doing. The warmth of the sun had brought some small sense of comfort when they had started south, their fur drying well (if a tad stiff from bits of mud still clinging to their coats). It helped that there was some form of a plan, however small it was, for the next course of action. It gave everyone at least the façade of comfort. As they walked off their nervous energy, cats were in a line of pairs and talking quietly to each other, sometimes to someone ahead or behind them. Laurelclaw and Littlepaw were at the back, trying to stay cheery and share their experiences of where they had traveled in their lives (evidently, neither of them had been in a proper forest before). Darkpelt was talking so quietly to Flyfang that Mistface couldn’t pick up their conversation, but by her tone, it was oddly sympathetic, and Flyfang had a nostalgic look on her face. Beetlefoot and Greyleaf were behind Mistface, discussing the leaders and their next course of action.

Mistface was nearly alongside Redheart, but he had kept quiet almost their entire travel today. Not only because he didn’t feel like talking, but because he wasn’t sure how to actually hold a conversation with a cat like Redheart – a deputy, an outlaw, and a bearer of secrets he was barely keeping composed just hearing about, nevermind being forced to shoulder alone.

Or at least shouldering it alone until she met his brother.

It stung a little, he had to admit, that Greyleaf hadn’t entrusted him with the truth about StarClan. He could understand why, at least; Greyleaf was terrified of his knowledge and clearly felt like telling anyone would get him labeled as crazy, if not accused of heresy. Still, Mistface couldn’t help feeling some hurt. He and their mother would have listened to him, wouldn’t they? They’d believe him, right? Mistface believed him now, and supported him. Did that not count for anything?

“Mistface.”

As If he’d been caught saying something rude by his mother, he jolted and turned to the right. Redheart had slowed down to walk alongside him and was giving him a very…

Interesting. She looked like she was guilty of something. The usual exhaustion in her eyes was even deeper now, muddy with regret and shame. Mistface said nothing, waiting.

She leaned a little closer to him and spoke in a low voice. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

Mistface’s ears swiveled and he squinted a little at her. “Pardon?”

“I mean to say that I’m sorry he’s involved in this.” Redheart looked ahead again, head down like she was pulling something behind her. “I was so relieved that there was someone else out there who knew the truth. I couldn’t know what was going to happen then – I don’t think anyone would – but all the same, I put him in a difficult position. He couldn’t refuse to help. I couldn’t, if it was me.”

“Mm.” Mistface’s eyes flicked to his brother. “He’s awful helpful like that. Would be why he’s a healer.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Redheart said.

“I know what you mean.” Mistface heard a tinge of snappiness in his voice and immediately corrected it to something more polite – not necessarily friendly, but polite. “I won’t lie and say I got a good grasp on what you two dealt with for so long.” He narrowed his eyes. “I also won’t say that I know my brother well as I do, because clearly I don’t.”

Redheart sighed quietly. “No one does. But it’s my fault that he disappeared and left you and your mother behind. And it’s my fault that you were sent to spy on us – that you were alienated from your own kin.” She looked back at him, guilty again. “I don’t know how he feels about it now, but I know you can’t be happy, and so I want to apologize to you directly.”

Mistface didn’t say anything for a while. He turned the apology over slowly and carefully in his head, sure, but there was a bit of spite in him making her wait for his response. He knew that was petty. He couldn’t help it.

“Well,” he said at last, “I suppose I can’t blame you for bein’ desperate.”

Redheart’s face was hard to read. He didn’t know how she reacted in her head. She just faced forward and kept walking. The two of them were silent, listening to the conversations behind them.

The sun was sinking well into the southern horizon before the group had reached the edge of the oak forest. It had warmed up considerably, but the air coming from the shadows of the woods was almost chilly. Greyleaf and Mistface took the lead now, stepping into the much softer earth beneath the trees with everyone hesitantly following them.

As they had predicted, the ground inside was still wet. Better still, the plants clinging to the moist bark of the trees were giving off (admittedly rather unpleasant) scents that almost clogged the nose. The oaks’ boughs refused to let the sunlight through, forcing it to sneak through tiny openings in the leaves and dot the ground in the perfect way to mask the cats from any eyes that may have been looking into the woods. The trees were thick, too; within half a minute of walking, they couldn’t see the valley outside beyond tiny, determined streaks of light that were dimming with every step.

“And it’ll be foggy in the morning, too,” Greyleaf told everyone. It was nice to see him so enthused, especially given their current situation. “This is about as safe as it’s going to get before we come up with a course of action.”

“If you say so.” Darkpelt’s nose was wrinkled. “Boy and howdy, if it isn’t impossible to get your bearings with just your nose.”

“It’s hard with eyes too.” Laurelclaw was watching Darkpelt grimacing with every sniff and poorly hiding his amusement. “It’s pretty dark, and everything’s the same color.”

“Perfect place to hide some fugitives, then,” Mistface said. “Now, if we can find any dry places to sleep…”

It took some more wandering around, but Beetlefoot did eventually call that he had found a cluster of oaks where someone had tried to make some dens before evidently giving up and leaving. They were nestled under the thickest roots, and they were shallow, but at least dry. With that, Laurelclaw stood on watch while Flyfang, Mistface and Redheart went to hunt. Flyfang took the opportunity to bring Littlepaw along to teach her a few tricks. Mistface half-smiled overhearing Littlepaw practicing her pounces and being cheered on by Flyfang.

Dinner was at least less tense than this morning – prey was small, but no one complained, and Littlepaw’s pride at having caught a squirrel by herself seemed to warm the air in the circle they had formed. There was very little conversation after the meal. Perhaps there didn’t need to be. Everyone was thinking or trying to scrape mud off of their paws and onto tree roots. It didn’t feel awkward, which was nice.

Eventually, it got too dark for any running around or exploring, so the cats picked out their dens and said their goodnights. Mistface shared one with Greyleaf and the others paired up close by. It was quite soothing, having his brother with him again. Mistface could forget the sting of betrayal (what a dramatic way to put it, honestly) and just be grateful that they weren’t isolated from each other.

The others must have felt some sense of security too, because the woods went quiet in moments. Soft, deep breaths were the only sounds in the stillness of the nights. It was peaceful.

For almost everyone.

---

A sort of horrified curiosity had been buzzing around Littlepaw’s head. All afternoon, she’d wondered what, exactly, Redheart and Greyleaf had seen all this time. They had avoided saying exactly what StarClan – or this thing pretending to be it – looked like. Perhaps it was too horrible to describe, but that just made her all the more curious.

Besides, she thought, shifting a little to be more comfortable – besides, this raised so many questions about her dreams. How could she have never suspected anything? How did Meliclight appear so often and stay the same no matter what? How was this the same for every other seer? Was StarClan really that good at pretending?

All of these questions and more whined like a mosquito in her ears, until she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She had the distinct sensation of something pulling at her head before she fell asleep.

When she opened her eyes, she gasped. The field of her seer dreams was grassy, sunny, beautiful flowers with butterflies flitting around. Now, it looked… almost abstract. The grass was bowed and bent at an angle, like someone had broken all of their stalks. The earth under her paws felt more like a thick pad of lichen on a cracked rock – like she was barely standing on something at all. The air was almost too dense to breathe, and there was no sunlight or shadows to give her an idea of her surroundings. Everything felt so flat, so empty. She could hear nothing. Smell nothing. The only real sensation she had was a creeping dread along her spine.

Hesitantly, she called out, “Meliclight?”

Something vaguely shimmered in front of her. She couldn’t tell what it was before the image splintered and faded away.

“M-“ She had to breathe shallowly to speak. “Meliclight, it’s Littlepaw. Are you here? Are- are you safe?”

Nothing. Littlepaw’s tail started to shake unconsciously.

“Please tell me you’re real,” she said, more to herself than Meliclight.

“-paw.”

Littlepaw blinked.

All around her was a voice, stuttering and faint. “-Ii-i-i-ttlepaaaaw. Li. Sssssssssf here.”

The dread sparked into fear. Littlepaw stepped backwards a few paces, looking around, trying to find some glimpse of Meliclight. Why was the sky grey now?

“StarClan?” she whispered.

“IIIHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.” The feeling of land faded from under Littlepaw’s feet. “Trust- truuu-uuuuUAAAA-“

The words split off into a deafening wail. As if that was a signal, the field shattered like ice. Littlepaw cried out as everything drifted apart. Suddenly she was just floating, choking on the air, looking around wildly for someone, anyone, that could help her.

A deep, rattling, ancient breath.

Littlepaw turned her head forward again.

Aspects above.

She understood now.

---

Mistface was jarred awake by a shriek. He caught Greyleaf scrambling to his feet and climbing out of the den. He followed his brother, fur bristling as the shriek cracked even higher and louder.

Everyone was outside now, with Laurelclaw halfway inside one of the dens. He pulled himself out backwards, hauling a thrashing Littlepaw by the scruff.

“Littlepaw!” Flyfang was trying to shake the apprentice’s shoulder with a paw. “Hey! What’s wrong?”

“What’s happening?” Beetlefoot was standing stiff and bristling harder than Mistface.

Littlepaw shrieked again, claws unsheathed and paws flailing like she was fighting something off. Flyfang ducked around her and bit down hard on her tail.

That did the trick; Littlepaw’s eyes shot wide open and she raised her head, hyperventilating. She stared at the rest of the cats like she wasn’t sure they were real. Flyfang immediately went to her head and started grooming her like one would a fussy kitten.

Laurelclaw lowered his head to about as close to Littlepaw’s eye-level as he could without crouching. “Are you okay? Were you having a nightmare?”

Littlepaw swallowed air like she hadn’t breathed in hours. “I saw it.” Her wide eyes went to Redheart and Greyleaf. “They’re telling the truth.”

Flyfang stopped grooming. Slowly, everyone’s heads turned to the deputy and healer. Greyleaf shut his eyes, brow creased a little as if in pain. Redheart almost looked heartbroken.

“I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “I wish you didn’t have to see it.”

Darkpelt took a step forward. “StarClan? The thing?”

“Mhm,” Littlepaw said, and from the sound of her voice it was almost too much to respond. She was shaking violently and now staring at nothing. Laurelclaw leaned over her a little, protecting her from her visions, and Flyfang resumed grooming. They both looked like they could use some soothing themselves.

Everyone looked at each other. It was silent. Appropriately. There was nothing that could be said now to comfort any of them.

#warrior cats #steorra #arc three #chapter #chapter ten #littlepaw #mistface #redheart #beetlefoot #flyfang #darkpelt #laurelclaw #greyleaf

6 notes · View notes

greyvvardenfell · 4 years

Text

Fictober 2020 // “No, come back” // Dragon Age: Origins (Morrigan, implied Reydis Brosca x Zevran) // Rating: G (no warnings) // 696 words

——————————————————————————————

Wind rolled off the peaks of the Frostbacks, tugging strands of hair from beneath her hood as Morrigan turned to survey the path she had just traversed. Snow nestled in shadows under the tall pine trees flanking the trail, though the sunlight filtering through the boughs threatened to melt it away. Summer’s last wildflowers dropped their petals into her footprints, spattered like blood in the dust.

How fitting.

The goatherd’s cabin couldn’t be much further up the mountain. Long abandoned, when the demand for fine mohair vanished with the Orlesians, whatever still stood of the little shack would suit her needs. She, who had run with wolves and soared the skies over the Wilds until barely a year ago, could make use of whatever she found here.

And wasn’t that her whole purpose, after all? Snapping at the heels of opportunity, lest it flee faster than she could chase? Though the plan was her own, now, with Flemeth’s corpse rotting into foul southern swampwater, slain by the very hand that still held her reins.

Only Reydis’s journey into the Deep Roads had provided this chance. The mountains were vast, remote and unexplored, if Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes were anything to judge by. Ferelden’s newest Warden had been gone for months, trudging through the ruins of her people’s lost civilization in pursuit of a dream long dead, or so Morrigan assumed. It would be a miracle if she survived.

But Reydis was no stranger to miracles. If anyone could retrieve Branka, she could. She had only grown stronger as a Warden, more confident and decisive. Especially after she and Zevran…

Morrigan cut off the thought with a derisive snort. That charming rogue certainly must be something, to have distracted Reydis so convincingly. A shame he could not provide what she sought.

The cabin’s walls were more moss than wood, but jutted out of the rocky soil like the faces of cliffs against the sea. It would do. She wouldn’t be far along anyway, when she returned here. At that stage, a child, if it could even be called such, was resilient. Nigh invincible, unless the proper measures were taken.

Especially hers.

Especially then.

Morrigan did not look upon her task, her gift, with anticipation. However confident she was in the magic her mother’s grimoire had shown her, she, for the first time, feared her own resolve. These people, as strange as it felt, had become something akin to friends. The wolves and the ravens, the squirrels and the frogs… they were suitable enough companions for a child, and before she left the Wilds, Morrigan was content with their empty-eyed loyalty. But Reydis and Zevran, Sten and Shale, even Leliana, as insufferable as she could be with her head in the Chantry clouds, saw her as more than her magic or her mother’s newest protege. And Alistair…

She shook her head to clear it this time. It would not do to linger on the thought of what his future held. No concern of hers, once she’d gotten what she came for. The child would be no more his than it was the Archdemon’s, despite the participation of them both.

Gathering firewood and soft grasses filled the afternoon. Piled neatly, stacked just so, she wouldn’t need to busy herself with such preparations when she was exhausted and road-weary. She would return to this place, her own haven, in due time.

Provided Reydis would slacken her grip on the puppet strings Flemeth had attached to Morrigan’s limbs.

Provided Morrigan could apply the proper leverage, perhaps in the form of smiling Antivan eyes, to convince her friend not to die.

Provided Alistair would agree to what would seem to him like torture, divine punishment handed down from the Maker as retribution for his imagined sins.

With so much yet to be decided, Morrigan soothed herself by tucking the small silver mirror Reydis had given her, a scrap of happiness from a more innocent past, into the bundle of grasses she had gathered. If nothing else, it could serve as a beacon for a new future, set high on the Frostbacks’ flanks to guide her on into the unknown.

#fictober #fictober 2020 #not gonna number them because i don't think i'll be able to do them all #otp: the gold to my silver #morrigan #rey writes things

15 notes · View notes

koko-works · 5 years

Text

~Hunter~

Rain crashed against the massive leaves overhead. Thunder rumbled in a soothing net of sound that seemed all encompassing. The sounds of birds in the upper canopy, and the sound of a family of boars seeking cover from the storm seemed to almost block out the sounds. Koa-Tatch sat nestled, high in a tree that was likely older than the flood, older than the nations it had wiped out. Its trunk thicker than most beasts, its branches and bows larger than he. There were thousands of trees just like it in the Greatwood, from the southern coast up through the mountains far to the north. An all encompassing forest that seemed to stretch for malms and malms.

So how then, did these three find him? Track him for weeks into this dense part of the forest. Even when he began hiding his campsites, he returned to find them at one, waiting for him, hiding in the bushes and rocks for days. He recognized them of course. They were from the same clan, far to the north. Hunters and warriors alike, banded together to form a community worshipping the great Basilisk. The great Serpent. Or so they believed. Koa-Tatch felt he knew the truth though. Could feel it in his bones ever since that day. A people dedicated to the worship of this great serpent, as if it were the avatar of Ox’Dalan himself. It was a false god. Nothing more than a beast that had conveniently fed on his people as it burrowed beneath the world for the last century or more. Making meals of ritual sacrifice, and preying on a peoples worship for an easy meal. “You will be the last Koa-Tatch, that is your Wyld Hunt.” they had said, viewed him as some sort of savior, born to be a meal. He supposed they still blamed him now for running. Perhaps that is why they followed him, some ten summers after the fact. But that was ten summers he had spent alone in the wilds. Ten summers that had slept comfortably in tents and yurts. Ten summers he had gone from hunter, to...something else.

He did not blink as the three men entered the clearing between the trees. He had been waiting for this moment for an hour now. He removed the cloth covering his bowstring from the rain, and knocked a long shafted arrow to it. Over fifty fulms in the air, held tight against a tree, he seemed to blend in perfectly, the only give away was perhaps the half of his muddied face not covered in red paint. He listened to the creak of his bow as he drew it back, and aimed between two of the massive god like trees of the forest......and loosed an arrow.

It sang through the forest like an eagle screeching. Its talons extended, ready to puncture, maim, claim the life from its prey. Koa-Tatch heard the thick crunch as the arrow pierced the boar skull helmet the man wore, and sank into the hunters skull. The spear and buckler fell to the ground first, before the two companions the man had dropped to the ground to hide. The body fell in a crumbled heap, the limbs and muscle no longer functioning in a self preserving way, leaving the corpse in an inhuman pose while rain splattered the clothes and body. Koa-Tatch muttered a thanks to the tree, and leapt from it, sliding along moss covered branches and vines, as he worked his way through the forest, and back down. He would kill the other two before night fall, and bury the corpses for the forest.

~~~

Night came so much long after, and while he carried on his back a fresh set of arrows, a new bow, and two spears, he was tired. Worn out from the killing, from the hunting, from burying the bodies under the bows of great trees, returning those of the forest, back to nature. It was his duty. Leaving their bodies to rot in the sun was...disgraceful to what those people had been. They had honored the forest just as he, and they deserved to be returned to it. He bit back a lump in his throat. They were his people, it hurt him to end them so.

But...they were warriors, and if they could not kill Koa-Tatch, then they should not have pursued him. Such was the way of their clan. If you lost a fight, you should not have risen to it. If you were defeated, it was because you were lesser. The wolf does not beg its hide for second chances. The bear does not think of what could have been. Hunters lived on the strength of their jaws, and the thickness of their hide.

Suddenly his thoughts were broken as he heard the cry of a hawk. Eyes wide. How many times had he done this? How many times had he begged the forest to deliver unto him the three eyed hawk? His mind raced as he looked through the upper canopy. Remembering the vision of his youth. The massive basilisk maw. The smell of death. The screech of a three eyed hawk that flew overhead. Those three eyes piercing him. The salvation of his clan, the freedom to grow old and tired. He remembered. He knew they were all tied together somehow. The dreams had grown more elaborate in those ten summers, but still his wyld hunt always began with the three eyed hawk. He dropped his belongings. His claws and fingers digging into moss and wood as he climbed the tree, trying his best to get a better view, to spot the hawk. It sang past him, clad in what looked like some sort of golden bangles on its legs, and a glow coming from its forehead.His heart leapt in his chest, his feet carried him along branches and boughs, he nearly fell twice leaping from the canopy, until he slammed to a halt, sliding down the trunk of a massive tree, older than most...and circled by others like it.

He knew this place. He could feel this place. As the leaves under his feet hid his footsteps, he crept closer, and spied the hawk far above. In the circle of trees, about sixty fulms in diameter, was a swirling pattern of stone, ancient and erudite. A druids place. Sacred ground.... Koa-Tatch bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he snarled. Within it, seven hunters, poachers, clicked stone against stone, trying to light a camping fire. Seven. Too much for him to quickly take alone. But..the hawk...the sacred ground. He had to. He had to know. He turned his back to them and moved behind a tree, knocking an arrow and taking long deep breaths as he tried to steady his heart. He didn't even notice the witch that looked down upon him from the outcropping of rock nearby. And almost loosed an arrow at them when he was startled.

#Koa-Tatch #Koa Tatch #ffxivrp #rp drabbles

18 notes · View notes

joanofarchetype · 5 years

Text

liveblog of the swamp thing pilot under the cut !!!!!!

Let me say that they gave Abby a solid introduction. It really tells us who she is not only in terms of her skillset (speaks French, high emotional intelligence as well as all the books smarts associated with CDC training) but it tells us how she wields her authority and that she's unorthodox and willing to take at times stupid risks to do the Right Thing.

Also this show very casually gives us a gay Asian CDC doctor in the first ten minutes who appreciates Abby's stupid risks and doesn't throw the rulebook at her, so we see her respected in her field and know she can form attachments

I like how they paid homage to Abby Arcane's classic outfit (red shirt, blue denim) but in the muted toned befitting of a modern paranormal horror, which is their slant for this show.

(That said, while it works for Swamp Thing because...swamp, I would love more idk, colorful horror tv shows? Stuff that's not necessarily bright, but maybe not so desaturated and cool-hued.)

Oh no I love Alec and his dumb cargo shorts

Everybody STOP there is a dog named Garou

He's sCRUFFY

Alec is a NERD he's so excited and also uses corny 80s mystery references?

Have I mentioned before how I'm really really glad Abby is the main character in this show

Sorry but this takes place in the small town of Marais, Louisiana, which I would just like to point out means SWAMP

In some parallel universe there's a sultry series of pulpy mystery paperbacks called The Thing from Marais

I can't get over Alec's fUCKING CARGO SHORTS AND FLIP-FLOPS???

Wow I love me a man who is brave even in cargo shorts — although one might argue that the act of wearing cargo shorts in 2019 is, in and of itself, quite brave.

Getting flashbacks to Children of Men tho with the flip-flops

Liz Tremayne is a black woman and I'm getting strong sapphic vibes

Virginia Madsen truly is at her best when she's playing antagonists, Witches of East End proved this

Not a spoiler btw, you knew the moment she was cast she wasn't gonna be playing nice with Abby

Crystal Reed is so incredible at emoting through restraint. Saw that in Teen Wolf and it's why I was so excited that she'd been cast as Abby Arcane. Didn't dream they'd give us this much Acting in the pilot tho

Sidenote I have to say I am genuinely verklempt over the elements of southern gothic utilized correctly? Like the aesthetic is perfect but they're already setting up the sociological elements like poverty, ecological exploitation & my guess is there's going to be some strong parallels to Cancer Alley in the works. And then this show gets genuinely GROSS which is my other favorite thing about southern gothic and Swamp Thing in general, and it's something DCU has shied away from in the past. One of the reasons I firmly believe Constantine on NBC got cancelled despite its perfect casting with Matt Ryan is it pulled its punches and gave us too much filler. It was at its absolute best when it just WENT for it, balls to the wall. Swamp Thing's pacing is great. This is a good pilot.

OH MY GOD

idk why my bitch ass is surprised I knew what I was getting into

GOD I love the elements of ritual sacrifice inherent in this mythos and how they're being extremely explicit with them. It's foreshadowed so perfectly early on.

it's already setting up all the themes of small town poverty and how that gets exploited first and foremost thru ecology? like the relationship to the earth itself as metaphor, which is very apropos for any exploration of sacrifice along the lines of James Frazer’s The Golden Bough.

i'm getting the sense there's gonna be a lot of parallels to Cancer Alley which is GOOD because it’s a problem and we need to talk about it put it in all the tv shows make the issue inescapable so ppl are aware and we confront the fuck out of it and every instance of corporations poisoning the water supply and getting off scot free (i.e. Flint)

it makes me think of the Zora Neale Hurston quote, “Real gods require blood.”

i also did NOT expect to be so quickly invested in their relationship, but they're both so well acted and they made their quick bonding moments realistic with even minimal dialogue/exposition and tbh alec is just so charming

Verdict: WATCH SWAMP THING

#swamp thing #dc universe swamp thing #akuhdfjklshlfkvc #nika liveblogs #swamp thing spoilers #tho tbh nothing too spoilery??? very light spoilers

21 notes · View notes

baeyyamkeng · 5 years

Photo

It is not easy to take a 400-year old kun opera piece and make it relevant to today’s audience. Yet that is what director Goh Boon Teck from home-grown company Toy Factory Productions has done. At the closing weekend of Singapore International Festival of Arts (SIFA), I watched local production, A Dream under the Southern Bough. Part 2 of a trilogy, this play follows the adventures of disgraced naval officer Chun Yu Fen’s adventures into Ant Kingdom. It was at times enchanting, at times dramatic. Definitely an interesting and different experience of Chinese theatre. Hope to be able to catch part 3 at SIFA 2020! #SIFA2019 #toyfactory #toyfactorysg #sgtheatre https://www.instagram.com/p/ByMioXmnW4L/?igshid=nrjw6p390dh

#sifa2019 #toyfactory #toyfactorysg #sgtheatre

0 notes

autolovecraft · 7 years

Text

But when they wriggle past one.

He saw slip past him as the wharf felling two ghouls and night-gaunts were all close to unpleasant Leng; although high impassable mountains beyond which Leng was to blame for it. The strange merchant drank heavily, but had planned to ask himself whether it had been and returned free from madness. The almost-humans that dance and howl above the line of the town, with the generals, the party. Out of the things one saw clearly that he saw the slaves did not worry, since the wood. Farewell, Randolph Carter leaped shoutingly awake within his Boston room. That night Carter camped in the taverns along the sea was sighted from afar, and once he stumbled over a parapet of Notre Dame. Carter, play the heedless Great Ones or to return through the onyx castle where the galleon bound for Zar, in the temple, and mixed, and there on a golden palanquin to pray to the spice-fragrant Common and the panting of the moon; and it might prove continuous.

They might, Atal said, told much of the onyx floor when by some voiceless order the winds and invisible laughter in the ultimate vortex of shrieking and daemonic madness. Once on the left a precipice dropped straight from unknown places, the former questioning their rescued fellow anent past happenings. Yet lofty as they worked northward over the Cerenarian Sea. He did not seem so very human after all. As the ship lay to under the stars, whose low prodigious oaks twine groping boughs and shine dim with the ghouls and glibbered it as loudly as he did not like the godlike features of that fearsome city.

Like Atal in distant resin groves. Now much of pride and secrecy and dim wastes of rock on the river had broadened out greatly, and the vividness all too soon worn out, and realized that they might receive from those galleys which the victim would burst was highly offensive to the Gate of Deeper Slumber. He was now night in the fray. Pickman now went below and gave him space to lean and rest. Yet have these gods kept you from the castle to give no word of their home and youth, till even the Great Ones' throne-room of the black vaults.

He would not be his fault.

Another moment and all the mariners closely about those which had guided him safely through the strait to the outer world.

Dying almost-humans that dance and pipe eternally therein. The ways to the fateful crag he gasped and cried out aloud, and seemed to be present, the great stone door; for his tethered zebra. At about ten o'clock he reached the jagged rock and the seven great walks stalked the long files of bowl-bearing heads and vowed that henceforward no other goal than the great stone terraces and the sight of those who think too often of them seized Carter and his party thanked them heartily he was glad to see again those living faces so like the dark upon the well-known years that your gold and stout black men of Inquanok those sailors had no name and had thereafter set out alone over the city of the wood. Carter follow the singing river Oukianos that marked his farthest former travels in this dream. Much of the falling dreamer. Before no golden dais had Randolph Carter knew that they had none, but not for an instant did the traveler know those garden lands and the dusk promised a full night ahead for travel.

At intervals food was pushed in, and following the river, and whose evil fires are seen at night, and those scales are very primitive, and around whose eyes there lurked the languid sparkle of capricious humor. On the following day Carter walked at evening behind lattice windows, and recognized the prisoner; and in front of it. As for the onyx alley of steps, and at home with the hieroglyphs of far places. All through its palaces of ivory in silk-robed sentry till he might find him crouching there still lingered the last to look too long and steadily at the finding of unknown places whose rowers cannot be exhibited. For many leagues the banks that they talked but seldom and spread a kind of twilight hung about the murky walls of rock, he felt the dizziness of space, he was taken, and was told that very few had seen when sailing to Inquanok past the Gate of Deeper Slumber and the winged hunter sought to scale Kadath. They talked little with the domed and marvelous. But before that unfortunate Gug could emerge from that wriggling, silk-robed sentry till he cry aloud.

And before the day came, praying to keep awake lest he forget all he had come from the chilly desert to the songs and told much of the vast gray peaks that divide Inquanok from hateful Leng. Then Randolph Carter, are your city; for of those great jellyfish abnormalities as the enemy might come in and scold him because he realized this thing, for the best tales about Ngranek when searching through Baharna's ancient taverns along the route of his friends as they did what was expected. This was the central tower with the leaner ones toiling and the night-gaunts to which they had dwelt till the noise of the frightened meeping of a form not to be departing from the gates of that cataract rose to panic pitch as the army was issuing forth to Sarkomand to deal with. Soon the left which seemed to exist. All the while the hovering galley of the dark, and ahead were the writhings of those hybrid, half-gods he sought out earth's gods in their forked beards. Mindless though night-gaunts had no faces at all, but these lawless spirits were soon restrained by their conquering kinsfolk, whilst great polished blocks of it. Probably it was the matter of the Elder Ones where the cryptical priests, none but the farmer and his skull is now set in a great jagged rock in the cold desert whose existence the men of Inquanok, but these all fled with insane titters as the army that no cats would stay in the land of Lomar. Behind they had been drawn screaming into the sky; neither the gray twilight of that single tower room whose lofty window had served as a signal to proceed again. Well did the stench of that city about the murky walls of the crew's discovery of the mountains where Leng was thought to lie, and merchants were of one whom I need not fear; for the night-gaunts was sighted again through the night. Well might its stones have been convenient on earth and its lofty pinnacled belfry resting on a couch of inlaid ebony and gathered his long beard decorously on his stomach, and curled up near his home. Surely enough, the evilly hungry way in. And in a circular formation with the bloated purple spiders of the Caravans the road lay straight betwixt tilled fields.

Black, gray, tiger, white, yellow, tiger, white, yellow, tiger, white, yellow, tiger, and half-circle, their tall miters nodding thousands of feet above, and tremendously impressive to watch the coming of Carter and the ghouls had not fought the Gug would occasionally bite into one of them dares even approach the slope above much easier than that below, and the vividness all too soon worn out, but generally seeing nothing but the evil Shantak that bore him hurtlingly doomward at the top in tangles of cloud and crowned with a comely peasant maiden as his judgment struggled with his hands. From the motions of the way in. For madness and the head of the changed state of things, however, one being due from the frescoes that this merchant had now floated ahead a definite crest, beyond which Leng was to loose the night-gaunts were all close to the land of vision, for even as his bride.

But always he succeeded in avoiding discovery, so that the illimitable Southern Sea with all its curious secrets.

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath #1926 #The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath week

1 note · View note

baxtonme · 4 years

Text

New To Tasmania: What’s the Festive Season like in Hobart?

It’s time to deck the halls with boughs of holly, get the geese fat for dinner and start being excited about what’s going to be under the tree. But the Festive season is also about family, friends and memories of Christmases past. If it’s your first Christmas as a tenant in Hobart, don’t pine. Baxton Property Management in Hobart assures you there’s so much to do and experience during a Tasmanian Festive season, you won’t have time to feel homesick.

It’s in the southern hemisphere so it’s all about sunny skies and dreaming of a white Christmas is pointless, right? Not necessarily, because it’s also the closest habitable place to the Antarctic. Hobart is known for its changeable weather, and the past two Christmases there have proved that’s more than a rumour.

Many Seasons in One Day

Two years ago, the Tasmanian capital had the hottest Christmas day on record – a scorcher that reached 36 degrees Celsius. Then last year, the island state experienced a summer snow storm. And in 1984 it took the record for the coldest ever December 25 in an Australian capital city, when it reached a chilly high of only 12.6 degrees just after the Summer Solstice. So white Christmases aren’t an impossible dream. If nothing else there could be a dusting on the top of Mount Wellington, only 20 minutes away.

Long term forecasts for this year bode well for enjoying the many markets and festivals planned for Hobart. December 25 is seen as having a mixture of sunny skies and clouds, with the temperature reaching 22 degrees, and dipping to 14. On New Year’s Eve, however, you might have to party up a storm to keep warm, with the temperature dropping to 11 degrees Celsius.

Getting the Party Going

While the build-up to December 25 is largely made up of markets and shopping, Hobart turns on the entertainment after Christmas, and the fun goes on well into the New Year.

Taste of Tasmania, the island state’s premier food and wine festival, presents the unique flavours of Tasmanian food and drink on the waterfront of Australia’s smallest capital city from December 28 to January 3. It also plays host to outdoor movies on the Parliament House Lawns, as well as street performances and programmes on everything from sporting activities to creative work, and some cookery classes.

The festival culminates in Hobart’s biggest New Year’s Eve programme, which offers live entertainment from well-known musicians, and a chance to watch the two fireworks shows over the Derwent River, one at 9.30pm and the other at midnight.

In the street alongside the Taste of Tasmania festival, the 300-stall Salamanca Market hosts a special market on December 31 between 8.30am and 3pm, offering the local arts, crafts and fresh produce that have made the market famous in its regular slot on a Saturday.

Taking to the Water

As the fireworks fade and the New Year dawns, Hobart readies itself for the arrival of the yachts completing the Sydney Hobart Yacht Race. Now in its 73rd year, 110 yachts will be taking part in the world-renowned race which starts its gruelling 628 nautical mile course in Sydney on Boxing Day, December 26, and ends in Hobart on January 1.

But in true Hobart tradition, there’s no waiting for the last minute to celebrate the race – the Hobart Race Village comes alive long before the yachts reach the finish line, bringing with it music, food and drink stalls and plenty of activity. Then on the eve of the finish, the race village offers a prime position for viewing the New Year’s Eve fireworks from the only outdoor festival venue in Hobart on New Year’s Eve.

Can’t Shake the Holiday Mood?

As the days tick over and you find yourself well into January 2018, you may feel torn between recovering from the season and looking to extend the spirit of fun. Choose to extend it, because you certainly don’t want to miss MOFO2018, which will fill the city with a kaleidoscope of sounds and sights in three days of concerts and performances at the Museum of Old and New Art in Hobart from January 19 to 21. A temporary nightclub called Faux Mo provides one of the venues.

Tis the season to be merry, and to spread love, goodwill and peace among men. Whether it’s your first, last, or somewhere in between, Hobart Festive Season, Baxton Property Management knows you will find one or more of the many events that will provide memories you will treasure. For more information of interest to tenants and rental property owners, visit Baxton on line.

How to avoid rental arrears this Christmas

Tenants in Hobart: December 25, the Day North Goes South

Tenants in Hobart: Cutting the Costs of Festive Giving

#1 – Australia’s Property Management Specialists

New To Tasmania: What’s the Festive Season like in Hobart? was originally published on Baxton

#ENTERTAINMENT #EVENTS IN HOBART #FESTIVE SEASON #FIND YOUR WAY AROUND HOBART #LIFESTYLE #TENANT TIPS

0 notes

tripstations · 5 years

Text

Why ‘like a local’ is the most overrated concept in travel

What I did last weekend was astonishingly tedious. I did the big shop at Tesco, got through a couple of washloads, took a fence panel that blew down in a storm a few weeks ago to the tip, and watched a couple of mediocre films, based largely on which ones were free on Amazon Prime. You would be correct in thinking this not exactly inspirational.

If someone served that up as a city break itinerary for me, I’d be furious. Imagine wasting a couple of precious days in Barcelona or Rome doing chores, mooching about and watching Tom Cruise ponderously attempting to assassinate Hitler in Valkyrie.

Yet it’s a fair bet that the weekends of the fabled, revered locals in either city bear more relation to mine than the riveting whirlwind of sights, memorable dining, cultural hits and cool bars most of us want on a city break.

We’ll tell you what’s true. You can form your own view.

From 15p €0.18 $0.18 USD 0.27 a day, more exclusives, analysis and extras.

Subscribe now

Seeing a city “like a local” has become an ubiquitous concept, and one with a hefty dose of snobbishness attached. If you’re into feeling superior to other visitors, that idea – of flitting between incredibly cool secret hotspots that guidebook writers have mysteriously missed, but savvy locals know about – is a relatively sound one. But it’s also a complete fantasy.

leftCreated with Sketch. rightCreated with Sketch.

1/52 Puerto Rico: After a devastating hurricane, an island on its way back

Puerto Rico is representative of the many fragile places around the globe right now: the islands facing a future of sea level rise and extreme weather. The arctic spots where winter itself is under threat. The cities where a combination of climate change and bad planning has resulted in devastation. That is why Puerto Rico earned the number one spot on our annual list of 52 places to visit in the coming year. The island and the other beautiful places at risk raise an urgent question: do we owe something to the places that make us happy? “This is the new normal, and people have to look at this new normal and embrace it,” says Martha Honey, executive director of the Centre for Responsible Travel in Washington DC. The idea that as visitors we should not cause harm and should seek out authentic experiences that get us deep into the local culture. Perhaps it would not be such a stretch to redefine the relationship between leisure travellers and their dream destinations. Mireya Navarro

Getty/iStock

2/52 Hampi, India: An ancient archaeological complex becomes more accessible

At the height of the Vijayanagar empire in the 16th century, Hampi thrived as one of the largest and richest cities in the world. Its architectural legacy lives on in the southwestern state of Karnataka with over 1,000 well-preserved stone monuments, including Hindu temples, forts and palaces. Spread over 16 miles near the banks of the Tungabhadra river, and surrounded by a sea of granite boulders, the Unesco world heritage site has been notoriously difficult to reach, until now. TruJet recently began daily direct flights from Hyderabad and Bangalore to Ballari, a 25-mile drive from Hampi. Travellers can stay in the newly refreshed Evolve Back Kamalapura Palace or at Ultimate Travelling Camp’s new Kishkinda Camp, which introduced 10 stately tents in December. The outfitters Black Tomato and Remote Lands now offer journeys in the region, from guided archaeological tours to rock climbing and river jaunts in basket boats. Nora Walsh

Getty/iStock

3/52 Santa Barbara, California: The ‘American Riviera’ becomes a hip food and wine haven

Long known for drawing movie stars and millionaires to its resorts, Santa Barbara is now a foodie magnet. Acclaimed chef Jesse Singh oversees Bibi Ji, an edgy Indian restaurant – try the uni biryani – with a wine list curated by noted sommelier Rajat Parr. Top Chef alum Phillip Frankland Lee presides over the Monarch, a posh Californian restaurant, and Chaplin’s Martini Bar; he will open Silver Bough, a 10-seat tasting menu venue in January. The Santa Barbara Inn’s Convivo offers upmarket Italian fare and ocean views; nearby, at Tyger Tyger, Daniel Palaima, a veteran of the kitchens of Chicago-based chef Grant Achatz, serves southeast Asian fare (try the Szechuan pepper soft serve ice cream at Monkeyshine to finish off the night). The city has over 30 wine tasting rooms that don’t look like their more staid cousins up north. Frequency and Melville feature modern furnishings and party-ready playlists; vinyl rules at Sanguis, a winery run by drummers. Sheila Marikar

Getty/iStock

4/52 Panama: New eco-friendly resorts open on the country’s Pacific coast

Two new Pacific island resorts are expanding Panama’s west coast appeal, not far from the marine preserve around Isla Coiba. Cayuga Hospitality recently opened Isla Palenque in the Gulf of Chiriqui, with eight casitas and one villa on a lush 400-acre island. Besides offering access to seven beaches, mangrove kayaking and whale-watching, the resort grows some of its own food, has furniture made from fallen trees and maintains a no-plastics policy, including subbing papaya shoots for straws. In the Gulf of Chiriqui, Islas Secas Reserve and Panama Lodge opened in January on a 14-island archipelago. The solar-powered, nine-bungalow lodge offers sport fishing and scuba diving, and composts food waste and recycles water for irrigation. A Ritz-Carlton Reserve property is also under construction in the Pearl Islands. Elaine Glusac

Getty

5/52 Munich, Germany: Theatre. Art. Opera. What more do you want?

As far as cultural triple threats go, it’s hard to beat Munich. Its theatres are considered among the most creative and ambitious in Europe, with its two main companies, the Münchner Kammerspiele and the Residenztheater producing more than 30 premieres between January and May 2019. And its museums are decidedly world class, especially since the renovation and reopening of the Lenbachhaus museum in 2017, with its unmatched collection of the German artists known as the Blue Rider school. But perhaps the best argument for visiting Munich right now is the Bavarian State Opera, which has emerged as one of the most exciting opera houses in Europe. The reason? In the words of a New York Times classical music critic, “the miracle of Kirill Petrenko”. Petrenko has just two more years remaining on his contract as music director at the opera. This summer, he will conduct a new production of Richard Strauss’s Salome, with the opening night performance on 27 June. Stuart Emmrich

Getty/iStock

6/52 Eilat, Israel: A newly accessible Red Sea paradise

Beneath the prismatic waters of this Red Sea resort on Israel’s southern tip lies a coral reef with hundreds of varieties of neon fish, sharks and stingrays. To get there, visitors used to have to catch a charter flight from Tel Aviv or brave the dusty drive through the Negev desert. But with the opening early this year of Ramon Airport, set in the Timna Valley and capable of handling 4 million international transit passengers a year, the world will finally get a direct route – with nonstops from Munich and Frankfurt on Lufthansa, and budget carriers flying in from Prague, London and across Europe. New hotels, including the luxurious Six Senses Shaharut, opening just in time for Israel’s turn at hosting the Eurovision Song Contest 2018, are ready for the crowds. Debra Kamin

Getty/iStock

7/52 Setouchi, Japan: Art and nature harmonise in Japan’s inland sea

The Setouchi region will host the Setouchi Triennale 2019, a major art fair held in three seasonal instalments. One hour south via ferry or the Shinkansen bullet train, the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum reopens this spring after an eight-year refurbishment. New trails and a dedicated Shimanami bike ferry that opened in October connect Japan’s main island of Honshu to the region’s lesser-visited island of Shikoku. For those seeking more sybaritic forms of transport, the Guntu – more a minimalist floating ryokan than a cruise ship – with 19 walnut-clad rooms and open-air cypress soaking baths. In 2019, Setouchi Sea Planes will expand its scenic flights to several smaller islands and towns via Kodiak 100s. And a Japanese startup, Ale, launched the Shooting Star Challenge, a microsatellite that will create the world’s first artificial meteor shower, aiming to fill Setouchi’s skies in spring 2020, a taste of the high-tech one-upmanship to come in Tokyo’s 2020 Olympics. Adam H Graham

Getty/iStock

8/52 Aalborg, Denmark: Architecture revitalises the waterfront

Viking long ships once glided through Aalborg’s mighty Limfjord. Today, the city is turning its most famous natural asset into an artistic one. Wildly innovative buildings have sprouted on its shores, including the Utzon Centre, designed by Jorn Utzon, the architect of the Sydney Opera House – its new exhibition series on inspiring Nordic architects, runs through May. The curvilinear concert hall Musikkens Hus was recently followed by the vibrant Aalborg Street Food market; the pedestrian and cycling Culture Bridge; and the undulating Vestre Fjordpark, with an open-air swimming pool that meets the sea. Nordkraft, a power plant that was converted into a cultural hub, is celebrating its 10th anniversary with events in September. The Aalborg Akvavit distillery is being transformed into a new creative district over the next two years, presided over by a soaring glass polygonal sculpture by artist Tomás Saraceno, Harbour Gate from architect Bjarke Ingels, a hotel and more. Annelisa Sorensen

Getty/iStock

9/52 The Azores, Portugal: The Caribbean comes to the middle of the Atlantic

In the nippy Atlantic Ocean a four-hour flight from the US, the subtropical volcanic islands of the Azores, complete with Unesco world heritage sites and biospheres, await discovery. Mystical green lushness, oversize volcanic craters now turned into lakes, steaming natural hot springs that puff out from the earth, blue hydrangeas by the thousands and the only coffee growers in Europe distinguish the island chain. New restaurants in Ponta Delgada include the locavore Casa do Abel, the Japanese-influenced Otaka, and Tasquinha Vieira, which specialises in local, organic cuisine, while new hotels include the Lava Homes on Pico Island, and the Grand Hotel Açores Atlântico, opening in July. Daniel Scheffler

Getty/iStock

10/52 Ontario Ice Caves, Canada: See them now, as climate change may pose a threat

The ice caves that emerge from the winds and waves that pound the north shore of Lake Superior have always been somewhat ephemeral. But climate change has brought an element of doubt into their future. For now, the caves are a regularly occurring feature, notably along the shoreline near Sault Ste Marie, Ontario. Made from snow and ice, the caves vary in size, shape and colour. Large waves before they freeze up are the essential ingredient for large caverns. The wind, shifts in the ice and the effects of the sun constantly remake the formations. February is the most reliable month for a visit. Getting to the caves involves driving one of the more scenic sections of the Trans-Canada Highway. Alona Bay and Coppermine Point are two of the more popular destinations. The staff members at Stokely Creek Lodge, a cross-country skiing and snowshoeing resort just outside of the Sault, keep track of where the most dramatic, but accessible, caves have formed each winter. Ian Austen

Getty/iStock

11/52 Zadar, Croatia: Incomparable sunsets, a ‘sea organ’ and untrammelled islands

After the Croatian football team captured the world’s attention in the World Cup – its captain Luka Modric’s was particularly notable – fans revved up their search engines and learned that he hails from Zadar, a pretty, compact town on the Dalmatian Coast. Ryanair have added regular flights from Prague, Hamburg, Cologne and Nuremberg, starting this spring. Beyond Zadar’s medieval core, the city’s seaside promenade and music-making “sea organ”, created by architect Nikola Basic, is a must-see (or hear). The magical sunsets alone were enough to wow Alfred Hitchcock, who visited the city in 1964. The town is also a gateway to untrammelled islands, like Dugi Otok; an hour-and-20-minute ferry ride takes visitors to the sparsely populated island with uncrowded beaches and taverns. Seeking ultraclean waters? Then head to the island of Pasman, where the currents often change, making the surrounding waters some of the cleanest in the Adriatic. David Farley

Getty/iStock

12/52 Williamsburg, Virginia: The cradle of American democracy reflects on its past

In 1619, the area that includes the Jamestown Settlement, Williamsburg and Yorktown was home to some of the most significant events in American history: the official arrival of the first African slaves to North America, the convening of the first representative assembly in America and the first recorded proclamation of Thanksgiving in the New World. The area will observe the 400th anniversary of these events all year, highlighted by the Tenacity exhibition at the Jamestown Settlement, which recognises the contributions of women during the Colonial era, along with an archaeology-focused exhibit. Colonial Williamsburg, the expansive living-history museum, will give visitors a taste of life in the 18th century, along with the reimagined American Revolution Museum at Yorktown. For thrill seekers, Busch Gardens Williamsburg, the European-theme amusement park, will unveil a new pendulum swing ride, while Water Country USA will unveil the state’s first hybrid water coaster. John L Dorman

Getty

13/52 Las Vegas: Sin City bets big on culture

Sure, there are still slot machines, strip clubs and steaks aplenty, but other options for culture in America’s playground abound. The new Park MGM hosts residencies from two music legends through 2019: Lady Gaga, doing one show of her pop hits and another riffing on American classics, and starting in April, Aerosmith. Also a rollicking iteration of the Italian emporium Eataly and Best Friend, a Korean restaurant by Roy Choi, the LA food truck pioneer, that becomes a hip-hop club afterwards. The Wynn recently added live, Dixieland-style jazz to its lakeside brunch; it also offers masterclasses on subjects like dumpling-making. Nearby, the Venetian debuted three craft cocktail bars, the Dorsey, Rosina and Electra, where guests can actually sit down and hear one another talk. Downtown, the Life Is Beautiful festival, which corrals an array of musicians and artists each fall, enters its seventh year; 2018 stars included the Weeknd and Florence and the Machine. Sheila Marikar

Getty/iStock

14/52 Salvador, Brazil: The country’s original capital gets a makeover

After completing a five-year historical preservation initiative to save its Unesco designation, Salvador, with its sherbet-coloured colonial facades, cobblestone streets and beaches, is gleaming. Rising along the coast of northeastern Bahia, the city’s downtown historic district thrums with vibrant Afro-Brazilian culture, ranging from free weekly performances by samba and drum corps to classical music and capoeira. Visitors can also find Salvador’s history exhibited in the new House of Carnival and, opening in 2020, the Museum of Music or catch a live concert at the Convention Centre, opening this year. The Fera Palace Hotel, a refurbished art deco gem, and the freshly minted Fasano Salvador, housed in a former 1930s newspaper building, both overlook All Saints Bay, which in November will host the finish of the International Regatta Transat Jacques Vabre, a 4,350-mile race along the historic coffee trading route between France and Brazil. Nora Walsh

Getty

15/52 Danang, Vietnam: A spot for foodies and beachgoers

Vietnam’s third largest city, is known for being a gateway to the nearby Unesco Heritage town of Hoi An. But it’s begun to develop a reputation as the Miami of Vietnam, with a strong foodie scene and new hotels and resorts popping up on a five-mile beach strip. A typical day might start with a morning swim on the crescent-shape Non Nuoc Beach and perhaps a quick stop at the Han Market. Then, an afternoon visit to the Marble Mountains, where travellers can explore the temples and pagodas that look out over My Khe Beach and, later, dinner back in the city, perhaps at Nén, a new restaurant from much-followed food blogger Summer Le. Perhaps finish the day with a visit to Cau Rong Dragon Bridge in the hills above the city. Don’t leave without sampling a bowl of mi quang, the justifiably famous local noodle soup made with a turmeric-infused broth, chicken, pork, local seafood and shredded cabbage, and available for about $1 (78p) at any number of street food stalls. Stuart Emmrich

Getty/iStock

16/52 Costalegre, Mexico: A beach vacation, without the crowds

Costalegre is a stretch of 43 largely unpopulated beaches, capes and bays along Mexico’s gorgeous Pacific coast, about halfway between the better known destinations of Puerto Vallarta and Manzanillo, and one that has so far escaped the attention of vacationers flocking to its popular neighbours to the north, Punta Mita and the surfer’s haven of Sayulita. One factor keeping away the crowds: lack of easy access. Up until now, the nearest airport has been more than a two-hour drive away, in Puerto Vallarta. But that will change with the planned opening of the Chalacatepec Airport in the second half of this year, which will cut travel time by more than half. And a clutch of luxury hotels will soon follow. For now, the best luxury option is Las Alamandas Resort, set on a 1,500-acre nature reserve, with just 16 suites in seven brightly painted casitas, as well as two restaurants, a spa and a large pool. Smaller hotels and even bungalows near the beaches can also be rented. Stuart Emmrich

Alamy

17/52 Paparoa Track, New Zealand: A new wilderness trail explores a remote national park

Outdoor enthusiasts can head to New Zealand starting in October to trek the country’s first Great Walk trail to open in more than 25 years. Tracing the Pororari river along the west coast of the South Island, the Paparoa Track winds through Paparoa National Park, a reserve largely inaccessible until now. Built by the Department of Conservation for hikers and mountain bikers, the 34-mile trail (hiked in three days; biked in two) departs from a historic mining town and traverses epic limestone gorges, beech forests and sandstone bluffs before culminating at the Punakaiki Blowholes. For a small fee, travellers can stay overnight in two new 20-bunk huts overlooking the southern Alps and Tasman Sea. The Pike29 Memorial Track, which honours victims of the 2010 Pike River Mine tragedy, intersects the route. Reservations can be made on the Department of Conservation’s website; both tracks are free and no permit is required. Nora Walsh

Getty/iStock

18/52 Puglia, Italy: Baroque architecture and Adriatic beaches in Italy’s heel

The ancient fortified farmhouses called masserie, found only in the region of Puglia, are increasingly being turned into boutique hotels, most notably Rocco Forte’s Masseria Torre Maizza, and the 17th century Castello di Ugento, where guests can take cooking classes at the Puglia Culinary Centre. And the region’s 1,000-year-old wine culture, which began when the Greeks planted vines from their land across the Adriatic, is attracting more oenophiles to the area, including the owners of the London restaurant Bocca di Lupo, who recently bought a 600-acre estate in Salento called Tormaresca, where tastings are offered to visitors (you can also dine in their new restaurant in the town of Lecce). Puglia is also home to Europe’s Virgin Galactic spaceport, which is scheduled to open in 2019, with the promise of eventually sending passengers into space. No wonder Abercrombie and Kent’s new Italian cruise includes Puglia and Gargano National Park. Daniel Scheffler

Getty/iStock

19/52 Tatra Mountains, Slovakia: Off-the-grid skiing, rock climbing and more

While most visitors focus on Slovakia’s capital, Bratislava, the soaring Tatra Mountains have emerged as an under-the-radar destination for skiing and outdoor activities, with new gondolas at the Bachledka and Jasna ski areas; slopes planned at Mlynicka Dolina; and new chair lifts at Oravska Lesna in the nearby Fatra range to the northwest. And it’s not just about winter sports: there is excellent hiking, rock climbing, mountain biking and fly-fishing, while beyond the Tatras, Kosice, a regional capital, offers colourful street art and plenty of cafes and restaurants, thanks to its three universities and associated night life. Plan on posting plenty of photos: you’ll find untouched folk architecture throughout the region, as well as perfectly preserved gothic and baroque buildings awaiting your lens. Evan Rail

Getty/iStock

20/52 Calgary, Alberta: A spectacular library adds to a once-neglected neighbourhood

Calgary’s new Central Library, from the architectural firm Snohetta, creates not just a design destination, with daily tours, but also a gateway in the form of an arched cedar-clad passageway linking downtown to the city’s evolving East Village, a booming neighbourhood where the Bow and Elbow rivers meet. Calgary was founded in the East Village area in 1875, with a fort built to curb the growing whiskey trade, but the area suffered roughly 70 years of neglect before the Calgary Municipal Land Corp, formed in 2007, began transforming the area, adding parks, attractions and high-rises. The 240,000-square-foot library, with a performance hall, cafe, children’s play area and outdoor electromagnetic sculptures by Christian Moeller, is next to Studio Bell, home to the National Music Centre museum and performance space, and near the just opened Alt Hotel. Later this year, the multiuse building M2 promises more shops and restaurants beside the Bow river. Elaine Glusac

Getty

21/52 Olkhon Island, Lake Baikal, Russia: A natural wonder resisting the threats of development

Lake Baikal in Siberia is the world’s deepest lake, plunging 1 mile into the Earth’s crust. It contains nearly 20 per cent of the world’s unfrozen fresh water and is so abundant in wildlife – bears, foxes, sables, rare and endangered freshwater seals – that Unesco calls it “the Galapagos of Russia”. The wildlife, like the lake itself, has been under threat for years, from indifferent Soviet industrial policy, from climate change and from today’s rising tourism, especially from China. Even so, it remains largely unspoiled, and activists are working hard to keep it that way. Olkhon Island, Baikal’s largest, and a place that Buddhists consider one of the holiest in Asia, is a popular base for excursions year round, even from December to April or May, when the surface freezes into turquoise sheets of ice that Siberian winds churn into natural sculptures. The Baikal Ice Marathon, a charity devoted to the lake’s conservation, will be held 2 March. Steven Lee Myers

Getty/iStock

22/52 Huntsville, Alabama: Time to party like it’s 1969

The 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing will draw crowds to Huntsville – aka Rocket City – home of the Marshall Space Flight Centre, where the spacecraft that launched astronauts to the moon were developed. Throughout the year, there will be daily reenactments of the moon landing at the US Space and Rocket Centre, but the biggest thrills are planned for the anniversary week of the Apollo 11 lunar landing mission in July. Beginning on launch day, 16 July, the centre will attempt to break a Guinness World Record by launching 5,000 model rockets at 8.32 am, the precise time that rocket engines ignited in 1969. Festivities will continue with a classic car show, concerts, a homecoming parade and a street party in downtown Huntsville – the same location where Apollo workers celebrated after the successful mission. If that’s not fun enough, 2019 also marks the state’s bicentennial, giving Alabamians yet another excuse to party. Ingrid K Williams

Getty/iStock

23/52 Falkland Islands (Islas Malvinas): Five kinds of penguins, easier to reach

The Falkland Islands, far off the coast of Argentina, offer an astonishing variety of wildlife that includes five kinds of penguins, hundreds of bird species, seals, sea lions and whales, as well as remote natural beauty that travellers often have to themselves. Two new local touring companies are increasing accessibility to the riches of the islands. Falklands Outdoors opened in November 2018 and offers mountain climbing, foraging, hiking and sea kayaking expeditions to beaches and penguin colonies that can’t be reached by road; in January, Falklands Helicopter Services will start scenic flights to Volunteer Point (home to an enormous king penguin colony), and other isolated spots. While there’s a single weekly commercial flight in and out of the Falklands, the first new route to the islands from South America in more than 20 years is being planned: LATAM is expected to begin weekly flights to the islands from Brazil by late this year. Nell McShane Wulfhart

Getty/iStock

24/52 Aberdeen, Scotland: The granite city via brand new old-fashioned trains

Just as many famous European overnight train routes have been retired, the Caledonian Sleeper, the train that travels through the night from London to the north of Scotland, is rolling out new carriages for summer. The new cars preserve the romance of overnight trains, in contemporary comfort, with a choice of hotel-style suites, classic bunk beds or seats. The Highlander route to Aberdeen leaves Euston station in the evening and hits the Scottish coast by 5 am, so travellers who take an early breakfast in the dining car can enjoy coastal views as the sun rises (get off at Leuchars for medieval St Andrews). Off the train, Aberdeen and its surroundings offer historic castles set in fields of purple heather, in pine woods and along the dramatic coastline. Hiking trails abound on and around the queen’s estate at Balmoral, and rail buffs can visit the former royal train station in Ballater, closed since 1966, and ride on the Royal Deeside Railway a short drive from there. Palko Karasz

Getty/iStock

25/52 Golfo Paradiso, Italy: A rare unspoiled gem on the Italian Riviera

The well-known pearls of the Ligurian Riviera – Portofino, Cinque Terre, Portovenere – are overwhelmed with tourists, a problem so acute that in some areas authorities have debated measures to stem the flow of daytrippers. But just a few miles away, between Portofino and Genoa, remains a peaceful sliver of coastline rarely explored by travellers to the region. Known as the Golfo Paradiso, this small gulf is home to five often-overlooked villages, including Camogli, a colourful fishing hamlet as charming as any of the Cinque Terre. Italians will boast about the renowned local cuisine: fresh-caught anchovies, hand-rolled trofie pasta and cheese-filled focaccia from the town of Recco, a speciality that recently earned IGP status, a prestigious Italian designation for quality food products. Between meals, explore blooming gardens in Pieve Ligure, beaches in Sori and the romanesque abbey of San Fruttuoso, which is accessible only by boat or a long, sweaty hike. Ingrid K Williams

Getty/iStock

26/52 Dessau, Germany: A big birthday for Bauhaus

This year marks the 100th anniversary of the publication of German architect Walter Gropius’ “Proclamation of the Bauhaus”, a radical reimagining of art, architecture and design. To celebrate the Bauhaus centennial, cities around Germany will hold events, from the opening festival in Berlin – several days of art, dance, concerts, theatre, lectures and more this month – to the debut of the Bauhaus Museum in Weimar, where the movement was born. But the most compelling destination might be Dessau. Home of the Bauhaus school during the 1920s and 1930s, the northeastern German city still contains the school’s pioneering (and Unesco-listed) Bauhaus Building, the Gropius-designed Masters Houses, and the Prellerhaus studio building (a warren of former Bauhaus ateliers that now contains a hotel). And in September, Dessau opens its long-awaited Bauhaus Museum, a glassy, minimalist rectangle that will showcase typefaces, textiles, artwork, furniture and more from the movement. Seth Sherwood

Getty

27/52 Tunis, Tunisia: The spark for the Arab Spring, still lit

Freedom is what makes Tunis unique. Eight years after it kicked off the Arab Spring, it remains the only Arab capital with real freedom of expression, not to mention the peaceful rotation of power. But the city holds many other charms. Among them are the ruins of the ancient city of Carthage, from which Hannibal’s elephants once threatened Rome. The carefully preserved old medina dates from the 12th to the 16th century, when Tunis was a major centre of the Islamic world. The tree-lined Avenue Habib Bourguiba downtown bears the influence of decades of French rule. And the cafes, art galleries and blue-and-white hues of the neighbourhood of Sidi Bou Said, overlooking the Mediterranean, have long lured European painters, writers and thinkers. A short taxi ride away are the beaches and nightclubs of La Marsa. The French-influenced north African food is delicious. The local red wines are not bad. And, in another regional rarity, Tunis in 2018 elected a woman its mayor. David D Kirkpatrick

Getty/iStock

28/52 Gambia: Hippos and chimpanzees – and a renewed sense of hope

Gambia’s tourism industry was hit hard in 2017, when its long-time authoritarian ruler Yahya Jammeh refused to cede leadership after an election loss, forcing a political standoff that brought foreign troops in. But with its new president, Adama Barrow, now safely in place, there’s a renewed sense of hope across continental Africa’s smallest country – now more accessible than ever. In January, a new bridge over the Gambia river, three decades in the making, will be inaugurated with a nearly 200-mile relay run to Dakar, Senegal. Peregrine Adventures launches its first cruise up the 700-mile river, with a stop at Baboon Island, home to hippos, crocodiles and chimpanzees, part of Africa’s longest-running centre for rehabilitating chimpanzees into the wild. New and coming hotels, including the African Princess Beach Hotel, and two properties by Thomas Cook, will serve as stylish bases. And new direct flights from Europe make getting to this west African country easier than ever. Ratha Tep

Getty

29/52 Northern Rivers, Australia: Along a breezy coastline, boho paradise

The coastline just below the New South Wales-Queensland border is known as the Northern Rivers thanks to the tidal system snaking through it. Anchored by Byron Bay, the area has become a beacon for those seeking a breezy boho way of life. In recent years a more moneyed, stylish vibe has settled in and seeped from Byron into neighbouring small towns. Mullumbimby hosts one of the country’s most vibrant weekly farmers’ markets. Brunswick Heads, is home to a huge historic pub with a sprawling patio, and offers great shopping and Fleet, a restaurant that serves some of Australia’s most delightful cooking. Up and down the coast, the restaurant scene is thriving: Paper Daisy in Cabarita Beach sits in the ground floor of an old surf motel turned boutique hotel; in Lennox Heads, Shelter’s dining room is open to the ocean breeze. For a taste of the old-school hippie wonderland from which all of this sprang, check out the Crystal Castle, a “crystal experience” in a hilltop garden. Besha Rodell

Getty/iStock

30/52 Frisian Islands and Wadden Sea: Oysters, seals, birds and dark skies on Europe’s wild left coast

Europe’s windswept Frisian Islands are shared by Denmark, Germany and the Netherlands and linked by the Wadden Sea. Holland’s Lauwersmeer National Park offers dark-sky safaris and will open a seal rescue centre in 2019 that lets visitors rehabilitate and release two native seal species. Dutch campground resorts like Beleef Lauwersoog offer excursions to nearby Schiermonnikoog island and have expanded lodging options with new barrel-shaped sleeping pods and refurbished overwater bunkers, once used by duck hunters, on remote swaths of the North Sea. Denmark’s Fanoe island started offering DIY oyster foraging safaris, where visitors can rent boots and shucking tools to gather invasive, but delicious, Pacific oysters, thus helping preserve Denmark’s native Limfjorden oyster habitat. The Fanoe Oyster Festival, next in October 2019, has lured chefs across Denmark with an annual oyster cooking competition. Adam H Graham

Getty/iStock

31/52 New York City: New cultural monuments, and remembrances of the past

redefine the city’s physical and cultural infrastructure. At Hudson Yards, the largest single development since Rockefeller Centre took shape in the Depression, a cultural arts centre called the Shed will go into gear. Its largest theatre is a retractable structure on wheels that creeps back and forth like a giant steel caterpillar, turning the outdoor space of a plaza into indoor space for performances. Not far away will be what the developers are calling New York’s Staircase, an eight-storey structure with 154 flights of stairs and 2,000 steps. The wraps are to come off the Museum of Modern Art’s $400m expansion, increasing its space by almost a third. The TWA Hotel at Kennedy International Airport is a flight centre relic from 1962, with 512 hotel rooms in two new buildings. In June, the city will host World Pride – first time in the US – for the 50th anniversary. James Barron

Getty

32/52 Chongli, China: Witness a winter sports revolution

The leadup to the next Winter Games is well underway in and around Beijing, and the spectacle is breathtaking. The most stunning transformations are happening a four-hour drive north in Chongli, once one of the country’s poorest areas and now home to several multibillion-dollar ski resorts, towering condominiums and flashy hotels. It has transformed into a glistening winter sports hub filled with restaurants, inns and watering holes. At least five ski resorts now surround the city, including places like Genting Secret Gardens, Fulong and Thaiwoo, which has an on-property brewery, a mid-mountain chalet that serves Swiss and Austrian fare, and brand new gondolas. A high-speed train from Beijing to Chongli should open in 2019. The skiing isn’t world-class. Nearly all of the snow comes from a cannon, and runs average about 1,300 vertical feet. But go now to see firsthand how the world’s most populous country is working overtime to become a competitive winter sports nation. Tim Neville

Getty

33/52 Orcas Island, Washington: A small island is attracting big-time foodies (and Oprah)

The horseshoe-shaped Orcas, one of the largest islands that make up the San Juan archipelago, has gained fame in recent years for its impressive tide-to-table culinary scene and experimental wines, attracting, among others, Oprah Winfrey (in 2018, Winfrey bought a 43-acre estate on the island for a reported $8.275m). A new wine enterprise, Doe Bay Wine Co, is presenting its Orcas Project in 2019 – a collaboration between acclaimed winemakers and vineyards in the Pacific northwest. Ventures from James Beard-nominated chef Jay Blackinton, who owns Hogstone, a former pizzeria now featuring ambitious nose-to-tail fare, and its more upscale counterpart Aelder, are also on the horizon. Another addition to the island are the luxury suites at Outlook Inn, in the town of Eastsound, overlooking Fishing Bay. If you want to hike, or ride a horse, the island’s Moran State Park will be adding trails to its 38-mile network this year. Daniel Scheffler

Getty

34/52 Uzbekistan: Visa-free travel and reopened borders along the Silk Road

If you have ever wanted to travel the Silk Road, now may be the time to go. After more than 25 years since the fall of the Soviet Union, the former member country of Uzbekistan is going through its own perestroika. Among the modernising reforms are better official exchange rates and the ability to book flights and apply for visas online. Ground and air travel have also improved regionally, in part because of China’s $800bn One Belt, One Road initiative (which links countries stretching between east Asia and Europe), as well as reopened borders with neighbouring countries, reestablished flight routes between central Asian capitals, like Tashkent and Dushanbe, and increased flight service between New York and Tashkent. In addition to the relatively new Hyatt Regency in Tashkent, other international hotels are expected to open in the coming years. Erin Levi

Getty/iStock

35/52 Vestlandet, Norway: A bucolic paradise for mountain-climbing beer lovers Rural Vestlandet, in western Norway, home to some of Scandinavia’s most beautiful landscapes, is piquing the interest of outdoorsy types, especially those who take

Rural Vestlandet is home to some of Scandinavia’s most beautiful landscapes and is piquing the interest of outdoorsy types. The Loen Skylift ferries travel more than 3,280 feet to the top of Mount Hoven in just a few minutes, while fearless climbers can put on a harness, hire a guide and make roughly the same journey in six hours, following a path that features one of the longest suspension bridges in Europe. After sightseeing, relax over an ale made with kveik, a local yeast that has enthralled brewers and scientists around the world in recent years for its fruity aromas and higher-than-normal fermentation temperatures. You can find it at bars like Tre Bror, in Voss, the Smalahovetunet restaurant and brewery nearby. Beer lovers who want to learn (and taste) more can time their visit to coincide with the October Norsk Kornolfestival, which features close to 100 beers made with kveik, often including juniper and other traditional regional ingredients. Evan Rail

Getty/AWL Images RM

36/52 Lyon, France: Soccer, sausage and fresh air

Football fans should set their sights on France this summer, especially Lyon, where we could see the US women will clinch their fourth World Cup title in the final match 7 July. Even if you can’t get tickets – or détestez le football – the city of half a million people and 4,000 restaurants is worth a visit. This year, Lyon plays host to an International City of Gastronomy project. The indoor, one-acre exhibition will include interactive workshops and conferences designed to showcase France’s cuisine and its contributions to health and pleasure. Held at the Grand Hôtel Dieu, a sprawling complex first founded in the 1300s that reopens after four years of renovations with shops, restaurants, public spaces. When it comes time to work off all those plates of pork sausage, hike in nearby Écrins National Park, where traditional working dogs protect herds of sheep. Book a stay at the Temple-Écrins hut, where workers recently wrapped up three years of renovations. Tim Neville

Getty/iStock

37/52 Doha, Qatar: Avant-garde architecture blooms in the desert

As the next men’s soccer World Cup approaches in 2022, the host nation, Qatar, is loading its capital with structures from the biggest names in international architecture. The sharp-angled, futuristic Qatar National Library, designed by Rem Koolhaas and his OMA firm, opened in 2018; 2019 will welcome the National Museum of Qatar, a sprawling expanse of interlocking tilted circular discs by Jean Nouvel. A contribution from a third Pritzker prize-winner, Zaha Hadid, is slated to materialise in the form of a swooping, curvaceous stadium; another stadium, from Pritzker-winner Norman Foster, is also under construction. The new structures add further dazzle to the Doha skyline, which already includes Nouvel’s syringe-like Doha Tower and the blocky white jumble of the Museum of Islamic Art, by IM Pei. Seth Sherwood

Getty

38/52 Batumi, Georgia: A hushed seaside escape

Tbilisi, Georgia’s charming capital, has been flooded with tourists over the past decade. But Batumi, a hushed seaside city where verdant mountains slope down to the Black Sea’s smooth stone beaches, offers a different experience. Already a popular escape for Russians, Iranians, Turks and Israelis, the city is preparing itself for its inevitable discovery by the rest of the world: new hotels – including Le Meridien Batumi and a Batumi instalment of the design-centric boutique Rooms Hotel line – are rising, and a cable car will swing straight to the coast from the hilltop Batumi Botanical Garden. Winemaking is another draw – at the family-run BQ Wine Bar and the underground Karalashvili’s Wine Cellar, which pours the same rosé and amber-hued chkaveri varietals that Josef Stalin adored. Debra Kamin

Getty/iStock

39/52 Marseille, France: An influx of young creatives gives the city a new edge

Six years after Marseille was named European Capital of Culture in 2013, the city’s renewal is still galloping along. Jean Nouvel has just finished his striking new red, white and blue skyscraper La Marseillaise. The real proof of the city’s metamorphosis, however, is that it is attracting young creative types from all over France and beyond. Laura Vidal, a sommelier from Quebec, and British chef Harry Cummins opened La Mercerie, a market-driven bistro in an old notions shop in the city’s Noailles district last spring. Noailles is brimming with shops (don’t miss Épicerie I’ldeal, the best new food store), cafes and restaurants. Other districts in the heart of Marseille are being transformed as well. Near the opera, Tony Collins recently opened Deep, a coffee shop that roasts its own beans and also sells vinyl records; and the mixologists at the Copper Bay bar shake it up for locals and guests from the nearby Les Bords de Mer, the city’s best new boutique hotel. Alexander Lobrano

Getty/iStock

40/52 Wyoming: A sesquicentennial celebration of women’s suffrage in the Equality State

In 1869, the Territory of Wyoming passed the first law in US history granting women the right to vote – nearly 51 years before the 19th amendment guaranteed the same entitlement to all women. This year, visitors can celebrate the 150th anniversary of Wyoming women’s suffrage at the Wyoming House for Historic Women, which honours the first woman to officially cast a ballot in a general election, and 13 other trailblazing women in the state’s political history. The restored Capitol building (reopening midyear), Wyoming State Museum and Cowgirls of the West museum also feature exhibits and artefacts celebrating women’s history. In addition, a variety of all-female trips are on offer throughout the year including Women’s Wellness Pack Trips on horseback from Allen’s Diamond 4 Ranch, cattle herding and archery at the WYLD West Women retreat, Hike Like a Woman nature adventures and fly-fishing clinics at the Proud Wyoming Woman Retreat. Nora Walsh

Getty/iStock

41/52 Los Angeles: Finally, more than Grauman’s (groan)

Los Angeles too often gets boiled down to its least interesting element: Hollywood. It’s an insult to a region with a vibrant Koreatown (sit in the hot salt at Wi Spa and then feast on roast gui at Dong Il Jang); two nationally recognised high school show choirs (John Burroughs and Burbank); art galleries like the quirky Parker, in a Los Feliz mansion; and several big-league sports teams, two of them soon moving to a new $2.6bn stadium. But in summer 2019 there will be an honest-to-goodness Hollywood reason to visit the area. After delays, the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures is scheduled to open in a Renzo Piano-designed complex on Wilshire Boulevard. Promised are interactive exhibits about the art and science of filmmaking, starry screenings in two theatres and to-die-for memorabilia – the collection includes a pair of ruby slippers, 12 million photographs, 61,000 posters and 190,000 video assets. Brooks Barnes

Getty

42/52 Dakar, Senegal: An oasis of freedom in a region of unrest

Ngor or rent a board for a few hours to surf the more than a half dozen beaches that offer a terrific year-round break. Or just sit back and watch the surfers while eating grilled fish at a long strip of beach restaurants. A Museum of Black Civilisations will be opening early this year and will showcase artefacts as well as contemporary art from Africa and the diaspora. The city’s design and fashion creations would fit right in at New York showrooms. Take in a late-night concert with legends like Cheikh Lo and Youssou N’Dor crooning into the wee hours and a lively bar scene that offers all-hours entertainment. Day trips let you sleep in a baobab tree, zip line through a baobab forest or swim in a pink lake. But climate change, overfishing and a booming population may eventually take their toll. Dionne Searcey

Getty/iStock

43/52 Perth, Australia: A city transformed and enlivened

A decade-long development boom has supercharged Perth. Among the new attractions: Yagan Square, with its distinctive market hall, art park and 147-foot digital tower showcases work by local artists and livestreams events; Optus Stadium, a 60,000-seat venue for concerts and sporting events; and Raine Square, a $200m redevelopment that includes a movie theatre, shopping and restaurants including dim sum chain Tim Ho Wan, considered the world’s most affordable Michelin-starred restaurant. To accommodate the expected growth in tourism, 31 new or redeveloped hotels have opened in the past five years, including the luxury COMO, the hip QT and a Westin. Since 2007, liquor law reforms, including a 2018 change that let restaurants serve drinks without a meal, have changed the drinking and dining scene with more than 100 small bars opening in the central business district alone. And Qantas started a nonstop flight from London to Perth this year, the first from Europe. Kelly DiNardo

Getty

44/52 Hong Kong: Dazzling infrastructure eases travel but could threaten independence

After Britain returned its former colony to China in 1997, Hong Kong prided itself on resisting mainland interference. Last year saw the opening of a high-speed train that takes passengers all the way to Beijing, and a 34-mile sea bridge linking Hong Kong to the mainland for the first time, opening the question of whether that independent streak can survive. For travellers, though, boarding a train at the new West Kowloon station bound for Beijing – and more than 30 other destinations in China – is a game changer. The 1,200-mile trip to Beijing is just nine hours, and the business-class seats are roomy. Whether they are headed to China or not, travellers can indulge in British nostalgia at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. The 25th-floor M bar offers fabulous views of the harbour, exotic cocktails like Sarawak Tea Punch and memories of the 1960s when the hotel opened as a symbol of luxury and style in this ever-glamorous city. Jane Perlez

Bloomberg/Getty

45/52 Iran: Tourism cautiously returns to this Middle East jewel

The appeal of Iran for adventurous travellers is obvious: the monumental ruins of ancient Persia; the spectacular, centuries-old mosques of Shiraz and Isfahan; the Grand Bazaar and Golestan Palace in bustling Tehran. One additional reason to visit in 2019 is a major exhibition scheduled to open at the Tehran Museum of Contemporary Art. “Portrait, Still-life, Landscape” (21 February to 20 April) will take over the entire museum, with a selection of about 500 works, including pieces by Andy Warhol, Mark Rothko and Marcel Duchamp, as well as about 40 Picassos recently discovered in the museum’s storage facilities (much of the collection has been kept under wraps since the 1979 revolution). The US State Department discourages, but does not prohibit, travel to Iran by American citizens, and Americans can travel to Iran only as part of an organised tour. Options for 2019 include three expeditions from Intrepid Travel, including the company’s first-ever all-female tour. Stuart Emmrich

Getty

46/52 Houston: Rebounding bigger and better after a hurricane

After Hurricane Harvey, the city is back on its feet and showing off the everything-is-bigger-in-Texas attitude. Four food halls opened in 2018, including Finn Hall, which features up-and-coming chefs like James Beard-nominated Jianyun Ye and a downtown outpost of his Chinese hotspot Mala Sichuan and a taqueria from local favourite Goode Co. The five-diamond Post Oak Hotel has a two-storey Rolls-Royce showroom, art by Frank Stella and a 30,000-bottle wine cellar. The Menil Collection, known for its eclectic art ranging from Byzantine antiques to 20th century pop art, underwent a renovation and opened the 30,000-square-foot Menil Drawing Institute. The city’s museum boom continues with an expansion of the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, to be completed in 2020, a newly built location for the Holocaust Museum, which will move in this spring, and a restoration of the Apollo Mission Centre that will open in time for the 50th anniversary of the moon landing in July. Kelly DiNardo

Getty/iStock

47/52 Columbus, Ohio: Is this the American city of the future?

With a revitalised riverfront and booming downtown, Columbus is already one of the nation’s fastest-growing cities. Now, it’s poised to become the model for the future of innovative urban transportation, with self-driving shuttles carrying travellers along the Scioto Mile, recently revitalised, adding 33 acres of riverfront green space for festivals, water sports and outdoor art. Among the newest dining options are Veritas, which specializes in small-plate offerings; Service Bar, run by young chef Avishar Barua, a veteran of New York’s Mission Chinese and WD-50; and, in the North Market neighborhood, veggie-forward Little Eater. The Short North Arts District offers access to the city’s local businesses like the new fashion store Thread and the original Jeni’s ice cream store. But don’t skip Italian Village and German Village neighborhoods, where innovators and dreamers have opened destination shops like Stump Plants and Vernacular and bars like Cosecha. Daniel Scheffler

Getty/iStock

48/52 Plovdiv, Bulgaria: A city ready for the spotlight

With its colourful, cobblestoned historic centre, well-preserved Roman ruins and lively art scene, Bulgaria’s second-largest city is surprisingly overlooked by tourists who favour the quirky, post-Soviet charm of the country’s capital, Sofia. But as a European cultural capital of 2019, this gem is ready to shine. Organisers have planned more than 500 events throughout the city and its region, including concerts, open-air theatre performances and street-food fairs. Tucked into the heart of central Bulgaria and built on seven hills, Plovdiv features an artistic quarter called Kapana, whose winding streets are lined with galleries and stylish cafes, as well as a beautifully restored Roman amphitheatre that hosts summer opera performances under the stars. The city’s location at the foot of the Rhodope Mountains – with their stunning views of peaks and deep gorges — makes it an excellent launch point for hiking day trips. Ann Mah

Getty/iStock

49/52 Vevey, Switzerland: A once-in-a-generation winegrowers’ festival on the Swiss Riviera

Everything runs like clockwork in Switzerland, including the Fête des Vignerons, although its timetable is considerably extended. This Unesco-recognised wine festival, which celebrates the viticultural traditions of the Lavaux and Chablais regions near Lake Geneva, takes place every 20 to 25 years in the heart of Vevey, a breathtaking lakeside town beneath sloping vineyards in the canton of Vaud. Since 1797, the date has been decided by the Confrérie des Vignerons, which has spent the past several years (and a reported 99 million Swiss francs, or roughly $98m) planning for the 12th edition, which will run from 18 July to 11 August. For the first time, tickets for the two-hour show can be purchased online. Oenophiles seeking a “full-bodied” experience of Helvetian wines, which are rarely exported, can also download the new app from the Canton of Vaud featuring eight wine-centric hiking routes, including one above Vevey. Erin Levi

Getty/iStock

50/52 Cádiz province, Spain: Sparkling cities and towns in southwest Andalusia

At the tip of a peninsula thrust into the Atlantic, the city of Cádiz, a trading hub since 1100, has a vibe that’s more Havana than Madrid. A culinary renaissance is underway, with newcomers like Saja River and Codigo de Barra joining classics like El Faro. But the biggest gastronomic news lies across the bay in Puerto de Santa Maria, where Angel León’s Aponiente, which has three Michelin stars, offers a lyric poem to seafood (plankton risotto). A second León restaurant, Alevante, in nearby Sancti Petri just received its first star. Twenty minutes inland, Jerez de la Frontera is a cradle of the fortified wines known as sherry, which are now on the hot list of sommeliers and the craft-cocktail crowd. Beyond the cities, hilltop villages like Vejer de la Frontera lure expatriates with a blend of hip luxury hotels and art by the likes of Olafur Eliasson at NMAC sculpture garden. Add a stretch of Atlantic shore, and the province of Cádiz ticks all the boxes. Andrew Ferren

Getty/iStock

51/52 Elqui Valley, Chile: Eclipse mania, and nights of dark skies

The Elqui Valley in Chile attracts a diverse group of wine and pisco aficionados, stargazers and nature lovers. In 2019, this tranquil agricultural region takes centre stage in the path of totality of a full solar eclipse 2 July. Demand for lodging around this time has far outstripped supply, with an estimated 300,000 people expected in the area, and even hotels at the nearby coastal town of La Serena are booked solid. But those travelling outside eclipse mania still have many reasons to stare at the exceptionally clear sky; the Elqui Valley was named the world’s first International Dark Sky Sanctuary as well as a centre of international global astronomy. When the sun is up, travellers can hike through vineyards or stroll through the streets of Vicuña, the largest city. It is a centre of pisco (brandy made in Chile and Peru) production and also the birthplace of poet Gabriela Mistral, winner of the 1945 Nobel Prize in Literature. Peter Kujawinski

Getty/iStock

52/52 The islands of Tahiti: The birthplace of the overwater bungalow ups its ecotourism

Those looking to escape the news cycle can’t get much farther away than this south Pacific archipelago, also known as French Polynesia, which in 2019 celebrates the 250th anniversary of Captain James Cook’s arrival and subsequent trumpeting of its riches. Overwater bungalows were invented here: Tahiti’s clear waters offer views of more than 1,000 species of marine life. To guard against the climate change threatening parts of the region, the 118 islands and atolls have bolstered their conservation and ecotourism options. Paul Gauguin Cruises offers wildlife discovery immersions. Hotels are trying to decrease their carbon footprints: the Brando resort’s eco-friendly facilities include a coconut-oil-powered electric plant, an organic garden and solar panels. Resorts aren’t the only lodging option. The Tahitian Guesthouse experience unchains visitors from hotels and offers a more authentic Polynesian experience. Air Tahiti Nui just unveiled new jets with high-speed wifi. Sheila Marikar

Getty

1/52 Puerto Rico: After a devastating hurricane, an island on its way back

Getty/iStock

2/52 Hampi, India: An ancient archaeological complex becomes more accessible

Getty/iStock

3/52 Santa Barbara, California: The ‘American Riviera’ becomes a hip food and wine haven

Getty/iStock

4/52 Panama: New eco-friendly resorts open on the country’s Pacific coast

Getty

5/52 Munich, Germany: Theatre. Art. Opera. What more do you want?

Getty/iStock

6/52 Eilat, Israel: A newly accessible Red Sea paradise

Getty/iStock

7/52 Setouchi, Japan: Art and nature harmonise in Japan’s inland sea

Getty/iStock

8/52 Aalborg, Denmark: Architecture revitalises the waterfront

Getty/iStock

9/52 The Azores, Portugal: The Caribbean comes to the middle of the Atlantic

Getty/iStock

10/52 Ontario Ice Caves, Canada: See them now, as climate change may pose a threat

Getty/iStock

11/52 Zadar, Croatia: Incomparable sunsets, a ‘sea organ’ and untrammelled islands

Getty/iStock

12/52 Williamsburg, Virginia: The cradle of American democracy reflects on its past

Getty

13/52 Las Vegas: Sin City bets big on culture

Getty/iStock

14/52 Salvador, Brazil: The country’s original capital gets a makeover

Getty

15/52 Danang, Vietnam: A spot for foodies and beachgoers

Getty/iStock

16/52 Costalegre, Mexico: A beach vacation, without the crowds

Alamy

17/52 Paparoa Track, New Zealand: A new wilderness trail explores a remote national park

Getty/iStock

18/52 Puglia, Italy: Baroque architecture and Adriatic beaches in Italy’s heel

Getty/iStock

19/52 Tatra Mountains, Slovakia: Off-the-grid skiing, rock climbing and more

Getty/iStock

20/52 Calgary, Alberta: A spectacular library adds to a once-neglected neighbourhood

Getty

21/52 Olkhon Island, Lake Baikal, Russia: A natural wonder resisting the threats of development

Getty/iStock

22/52 Huntsville, Alabama: Time to party like it’s 1969

Getty/iStock

23/52 Falkland Islands (Islas Malvinas): Five kinds of penguins, easier to reach

Getty/iStock

24/52 Aberdeen, Scotland: The granite city via brand new old-fashioned trains

Getty/iStock

25/52 Golfo Paradiso, Italy: A rare unspoiled gem on the Italian Riviera

Getty/iStock

26/52 Dessau, Germany: A big birthday for Bauhaus

Getty

27/52 Tunis, Tunisia: The spark for the Arab Spring, still lit

Getty/iStock

28/52 Gambia: Hippos and chimpanzees – and a renewed sense of hope

Getty

29/52 Northern Rivers, Australia: Along a breezy coastline, boho paradise

Getty/iStock

30/52 Frisian Islands and Wadden Sea: Oysters, seals, birds and dark skies on Europe’s wild left coast

Getty/iStock

31/52 New York City: New cultural monuments, and remembrances of the past

Getty

32/52 Chongli, China: Witness a winter sports revolution

Getty

33/52 Orcas Island, Washington: A small island is attracting big-time foodies (and Oprah)

Getty

34/52 Uzbekistan: Visa-free travel and reopened borders along the Silk Road

Getty/iStock

Getty/AWL Images RM

36/52 Lyon, France: Soccer, sausage and fresh air

Getty/iStock

37/52 Doha, Qatar: Avant-garde architecture blooms in the desert

Getty

38/52 Batumi, Georgia: A hushed seaside escape

Getty/iStock

39/52 Marseille, France: An influx of young creatives gives the city a new edge

Getty/iStock

40/52 Wyoming: A sesquicentennial celebration of women’s suffrage in the Equality State

Getty/iStock

41/52 Los Angeles: Finally, more than Grauman’s (groan)

Getty

42/52 Dakar, Senegal: An oasis of freedom in a region of unrest

Getty/iStock

43/52 Perth, Australia: A city transformed and enlivened

Getty

44/52 Hong Kong: Dazzling infrastructure eases travel but could threaten independence

Bloomberg/Getty

45/52 Iran: Tourism cautiously returns to this Middle East jewel

Getty

46/52 Houston: Rebounding bigger and better after a hurricane

Getty/iStock

47/52 Columbus, Ohio: Is this the American city of the future?

Getty/iStock

48/52 Plovdiv, Bulgaria: A city ready for the spotlight

Getty/iStock

49/52 Vevey, Switzerland: A once-in-a-generation winegrowers’ festival on the Swiss Riviera

Getty/iStock

50/52 Cádiz province, Spain: Sparkling cities and towns in southwest Andalusia

Getty/iStock

51/52 Elqui Valley, Chile: Eclipse mania, and nights of dark skies

Getty/iStock

52/52 The islands of Tahiti: The birthplace of the overwater bungalow ups its ecotourism

Getty

There are maybe a tiny handful of locals who have an extraordinary knowledge of a city’s bar and restaurant scene. Some people really do put the legwork in, but they’re generally doing so on a professional basis and are very much in the minority. Most people are fundamentally lazy about getting the best out of the city they live in.

The average local person doesn’t go to the most interesting bars – they go to their regular haunts that they’ve frequented for years, largely out of habit and because it’s where they know their friends will be. They eat in Nando’s and Zizzi, and drink in Greene King pubs. And if you think this doesn’t apply elsewhere, check how many people there are in any McDonald’s you walk past on holiday.

Locals probably haven’t visited many of the city’s tourist attractions, either. They might have ticked off the big ones 20 years ago, and perhaps dropped into a museum or two. But the full top 20 list from the guide book? Not a chance – these places will always be there. They can be visited when we’re older and the grandchildren are bored.

I’m as guilty of this as anyone – I’ve seen far more of London and Sydney since leaving than I ever did while living in either city. There’s more urgency to be inquisitive when time is limited.

Crucially, tourists and locals often want very different things from a city. There’s a reason why walking the remnants of the Berlin Wall, or tours of the Roman Forum, or ogling the Sagrada Familia are popular. They’re amazing, well worth travelling for and not available anywhere else. If you’re going somewhere for a weekend, it’s entirely to sane and logical to concentrate on things that are genuinely unique to that place. Or, at the very least, unusual and substantially different to what you might get within five miles of your house.

Similarly, it’s OK to want to go to the cocktail bar with dazzling art nouveau ornamentation rather than the chilled-out, low key neighbourhood pub that has an enjoyable vibe, but is essentially much the same as those you might find in Manchester or Bristol. The quest for authenticity can go too far, slipping way too easily into the dull and non-descript.

The fetishisation of local knowledge tends to play out worst when it comes to tour guides. The most useless guides are almost always the ones who have lived in the destination all their lives. It’s not always the case, but a lack of perspective often shines through, leading to scenarios where a guide is banging on about hospitals and how long the largely terrible department store has been running for. When you’ve no reference points from elsewhere, it’s tough to know what’s interestingly distinctive for a visitor and what’s a bog standard feature of similarly-sized cities.

The outsider’s eye is much better at telling the difference and it’s often the case that the most valuable locals, both as guides and recommendation-generation machines, are people who have moved to the city from elsewhere. They’re the ones who have had to figure it out, be sociable with strangers they didn’t grow up with, and understand where things work differently.

That rare voraciously interested local that actually fits the “like a local” ethos? Chances are, they’re an adopted local, who once landed in an alien city in much the same way you’re doing. They’ll also be wise enough to tell you to do the big tourist sites before even attempting to simulate everyday life.

The post Why ‘like a local’ is the most overrated concept in travel appeared first on Tripstations.

from Tripstations https://ift.tt/2LakWEr via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Tripstations

0 notes

reignofcomputer · 5 years

Text

RoC Tweeted

Watched... "A Dream Under The Southern Bough: Reverie". A play completely in Mandarin, with subtitles on the screens on the side of the stage. As it turns out, you can't see the screens from the middle of the front… https://t.co/T7Fe71P1xh

— Jason Chee (@ReignOfComputer) June 1, 2019

#IFTTT #Twitter

0 notes

riverdamien · 5 years

Text

Peniel--Temenos Catholic Worker Newsletter, April, 2019

0 notes

krissysbookshelf · 7 years

Text

Enjoy An Exclusive Sneek Peek Of: Even the Darkest Stars by Heather Fawcett!!

Kamzin has always dreamed of becoming one of the Emperor's royal explorers, the elite climbers tasked with mapping the wintry, mountainous Empire and spying on its enemies. But everything changes when the mysterious River Shara, the greatest explorer ever known, arrives in her village and demands to hire Kamzin for his next expedition. This is Kamzin's chance to prove herself—even though it means climbing Raksha, the tallest and deadliest mountain in the Aryas. The challenges of climbing Raksha are unlike anything Kamzin expected and as dark secrets are revealed, Kamzin must unravel the truth of their mission—while surviving the deadliest climb she has ever faced.

LEARN MORE

PART I AZMIRI ONE

I STRETCHED MY hands over the dragon eggs, focusing all my concentration on their indigo shells, and murmured the incantation. The air rippled and shimmered.

I can do this. The thought was born of desperation rather than confidence. My fingers were frozen, my stomach growled, and my legs ached from hours sitting cross-legged. Behind me, the sheer slopes of Mount Azmiri, draped with cobweb clouds, rose to greet the gray sky. Beyond the narrow ledge I crouched on, the mountainside fell away as if hewn by an ax. The forest far below was hidden under waves of mist, with only a few treetops floating above the surface like skeletal ships. The wind stirred my hair and slid its long fingers down the collar of my chuba. I shivered. The faint light gathering over the eggs flickered and died.

Chirri smacked me on the back of my head, causing me to drop my talisman, a string of ravensbone beads. “Foolish girl! Don’t break your concentration. You’ll never get it right that way.”

“I’ll never get it right any way,” I muttered.

She smacked me again. Perhaps she thought I would do better if my brains were rearranged. “This is the simplest resurrection spell I can teach you at your level. Do. It. Again.”

I made a noise halfway between a sigh and a growl. The incense burning beside the clutch of lifeless eggs tickled my nose, and I pressed my lips together. If I sneezed, Chirri would make us go inside, into her cramped, airless hut, with its smell of burned herbs and its shelves lined with poorly cleaned animal skulls. Sending a silent prayer to the spirits, I looped the talisman around my hands, shook the beads over the eggs, and began the incantation again.

After several moments, Chirri let out an exasperated cry. “Are you speaking the words correctly?”

“Yes, Chirri,” I said, straining to keep the anger from my voice. “I’m speaking the words correctly. I’m focusing my mind. I’m doing everything right, and I’m still a completely useless apprentice.”

“You are wasting time with this obstinacy, Kamzin.”

“We’ve been here since dawn,” I snapped, losing my temper at last. “Trust me, the last thing I want to do is waste time.”

The old woman smiled, the folds of her many wrinkles deepening, and I cursed my foolishness. Chirri was never angry, not truly—she merely used it as a ploy to make others reveal their weaknesses.

“You will stay here,” she said slowly, “until every egg has hatched. Or until the glaciers rise up and cover the village, or the witches return to the mountains in search of human souls.”

Chortling at my expression, Chirri untucked her legs and drew herself to her feet, arranging her many shawls with exaggerated care. Then she retreated toward her hut, which perched higher up the mountainside on an even more precarious ledge. From there, she would watch me until I did as I was told.

Or froze to death.

I glared at the eggs, as if my incompetence was their fault. With a growl, I stretched my aching limbs, then settled in to try again. A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.

“Hshhh,” came a low voice behind me. “Is she gone?”

I whirled. “Tem!”

To my astonishment, my best friend’s head poked up over the side of the ledge. He must have climbed sideways from the terraces, finding footholds and handholds in the weathered granite of the mountainside.

“Er—Kamzin?” he said. “Could you give me a hand? My fingers are numb.”

Bracing my foot against a rock, I hauled him onto the ledge. He collapsed on the ground, panting.

“How long were you down there?”

“Only since your fiftieth try,” he said. I tried to punch him, but he rolled away, laughing. His handsome face was flushed with cold, and his hair, which usually hung low over his forehead, obscuring half his features, stuck out every which way. I couldn’t help laughing too. I had never been happier to see him in my life.

“You look like a rooster,” I said.

He blushed, running his hands through his hair so it would curtain his face again.

“You’d better hurry,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. The clouds were advancing up the slope, sweeping over us in lacy bands. Chirri had vanished, as had her hut. “This weather won’t hold.”

He gazed at me uncomprehendingly. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what—you have to help me with these eggs.”

“I can’t.” His face went white. “Chirri will know.”

“She won’t. She won’t even know you were here.”

He glanced from me to the eggs, then back at me again. “But she’ll never believe—”

I grabbed his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter if she believes it or not. It just has to happen, so I can get out of here. Please, Tem. I’m going crazy.”

He glanced from me to the eggs. I could see him weighing his fear of Chirri against his desire to help me. “All right,” he said finally. “But Chirri can’t know I can do this. Or my father.”

I nodded. Tem’s father worked for my own father, as his head herdsman. He was a dour, sharp-tempered man who was gentler with a misbehaving yak than he was with his son. Tem was supposed to follow in his footsteps, and his father wouldn’t be pleased to learn that his true talent lay in shamanism, not husbandry.

Tem took the talisman, winding the beads around his fingers, and began to chant. He seemed to change, in that moment—something in his bearing and demeanor shifted slightly, and he became almost a stranger.

I shivered. I had watched Tem work spells before—he often helped me practice, in secret—but I had never entirely grown used to it. He murmured the incantation in the shamanic language confidently, absently, with none of his usual self-consciousness, and I could feel the power gather like a storm. The ravensbone made a shivery sound that seemed to vibrate the air.

The eggs glowed. The glow turned to flickering, like sunlight through branches. Cracks appeared in the shells, and then, suddenly, they burst apart.

The baby dragons were the size of sparrows, with long, snakelike bodies supported by six squat legs. They began chittering almost immediately, shaking their damp wings in the breeze. The little lights they carried in their bellies flickered on and off. These were thin and colorless when the dragons were young; as they aged, they would gradually darken and take on color—commonly, an iridescent blue or green.

“Stand back,” Tem said. He murmured again to the largest dragon, which let out a questioning chirp. As one, the dragons spread their wings and took flight. They swirled around us in a tumult of wind and feathery scales, making me shriek and laugh. Then they zoomed away like a glittering arrow, their lights bouncing through the clouds.

“Where are they going?” I said.

“I sent them to Chirri.”

I doubled over with laughter, imagining Chirri’s reaction when the baby dragons swarmed her hut, hungry for milk and teething on her furniture.

“Why aren’t you here in my place?” I said, shaking my head. “You should be Chirri’s apprentice. You’re as powerful as her.”

“Because my father isn’t the elder,” Tem said. “And no, I’m not as powerful as Chirri.”

“Near enough,” I said lightly, sensing the mood shift. My apprenticeship to Chirri had always been a sore point between us. The truth was, Tem would have made a far better shaman for our village than me. But Azmiri’s shaman was always a relation of the elder, usually a child or younger sibling—a way of consolidating power, which would surely backfire spectacularly with me. Tem, as gifted as he was, was a herdsman’s son. It was unheard-of for someone like him to assume such an important position in the village.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing his hand. “Let’s go find some breakfast.”

We flew down the rubbly slope of the mountain, leaping over boulders and grassy knolls with practiced ease. As we came within view of the village, the cloud lifted, revealing huts of bone-white stone huddled against the mountainside, threaded with steep, narrow lanes. The southern half of the village was newer and more uniform than the rest, the huts less eroded and roofed with pale terra-cotta tiles. They had been constructed two centuries ago, replacing those destroyed by the terrible fires that had swept through Azmiri.

We took a shortcut through the orchard, and I leaped up to snatch an apple from one of the boughs. It wasn’t the season yet, and the flesh was painfully tart, but I didn’t care. I was hungry enough to eat my own boots.

The terrain rose again, and I scrambled up the hill. The earth fell away on one side. Across the valley, the mountains Biru and Karranak shoved their snowy heads into the clouds. A familiar feeling welled up inside me—the feeling that I could leap across the valley and come to rest lightly on one of those other peaks. As if I could dig my toes and fingers into the wind and scale it as I had scaled so many earthbound things.

I was ahead of Tem, and didn’t at first hear him yelling. I turned, laughing breathlessly, running backward now.

“What did you—” I began, then let out a cry. I stumbled over a rock and landed hard on my elbows.

All I could see was color. A cacophony of color, green and red and purple and blue. It filled the sky like a monstrous cloud. But as I opened my mouth to scream, the thing resolved itself into a shape—a balloon.

A hot air balloon, sweeping silently over the mountainside. I could make out several small figures silhouetted on the deck, gazing down at me like haughty ravens. The balloon’s shadow passed over me, and I shivered.

Tem reached my side. “You all right?”

I nodded, and he helped me to my feet. We watched the vessel drift over the village, slowly descending until the deck came to rest on one of the barley terraces. The massive balloon sagged to the ground, obscuring our view of the occupants.

“Spirits!” was all I could say.

Tem made a dismissive noise. “River Shara travels in style. He’s probably full of enough hot air to power that balloon himself.”

I stared at him. “River Shara?”

“Ye—”

“The River Shara? You’re telling me that was the Royal Explorer?”

“I think so. I—”

“The greatest explorer in the history of the Empire?”

“Well, I don’t know if he’s—”

I grabbed his arm, excitement flooding me. “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?”

“I only heard of it yesterday, from one of the traders. You should have known, anyway—why didn’t Lusha tell you?”

“Oh, of course,” I said, with exaggerated understanding. “I forgot that you haven’t met my sister.”

Tem rolled his eyes. “All right. But I’m sure she and Elder have known about this for weeks.”

“Of course they have.” I kicked at the top of a tree poking over the edge of the cliff. Somewhere below, a vulture let out an angry squawk. “They wouldn’t think to tell me. What in the world would the Royal Explorer be doing here?”

Emperor Lozong had many explorers in his employ—men and women, mostly of noble blood, charged with mapping his vast and mountainous empire, spying on the barbarian tribes that threatened his southern and western borders, and charting safe paths for his armies. As his territory expanded, the emperor relied increasingly on explorers to provide him with vital information, not only about the lands he possessed, but also those he wished to conquer. My mother, Insia, had been one of them, though her connection to the nobility was so distant that it would have counted for little at court. River Shara, on the other hand, belonged to one of the oldest noble families, one with close blood ties to the emperor himself. He had earned the official title of Royal Explorer—the most powerful position at court, rivaling even the General of the First Army—after leading a harrowing expedition beyond the Drakkar Mountains in the farthest reaches of the Empire, scaling mountains and glaciers and cheating death countless times. Though many men and women had occupied the position of Royal Explorer, few were spoken of with the same reverence as River Shara.

Tem was shaking his head. “Maybe the emperor sent him to make sure we’re still here, and if not, to update the maps.”

I snorted. It wasn’t an unlikely idea. High in the Arya Mountains at the eastern border of the emperor’s lands, we rarely received visitors from the distant Three Cities. When we did, it was the talk of the village. Even a band of cloth merchants was cause for a banquet.

And this was no mere merchant.

My heart pounded. “I have to meet him. I have to talk to him.”

Tem had been speaking—about what, I didn’t know, for I hadn’t been listening. He fell silent, his expression troubled. “Kamzin—”

“This could be my chance.” I didn’t have to explain what I meant—from the look he wore, he understood well enough. He knew how I jumped at the opportunity to join my father’s men on their hunting trips in Bengarek Forest. How I spent my free days climbing the neighboring mountains. How, when my mother was alive, I had begged her to take me along on her expeditions, and how I still spent many evenings poring over her maps of strange and distant lands, tracing the faded lines of ink with my fingers. I wanted to be an explorer more than anything in the world. I wanted to traverse glaciers and map wilderness and sleep under a roof of stars. I wanted to push against the world and feel it push back.

“So what are you going to do?” Tem said. “Walk up to the Royal Explorer and ask him to please bring you along on his next expedition? Offer to carry his pack or massage his feet?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” I twisted my fingers through my braid. It smelled like Chirri’s incense. “I have to think.”

“What you should be thinking about is your lessons with Chirri,” Tem said. “Not impressing some noble from the Three Cities.”

“And where will that get me?” I felt my temper rise. “Tem, I’m seventeen years old, and I’m still only a junior apprentice. Chirri refuses to make me her assistant, and you know what? I don’t blame her. I hate magic—I’m terrible at it. You know I can’t do this for the rest of my life, no matter what my father says.”

“You’re terrible at magic because you don’t try,” Tem said, giving me an exasperated look. “Anyone can do magic. You get better the more you work at it. It’s like any skill—weaving, or running, or anything else.”

What Tem said was true enough, to a point. Anyone could do magic, provided they had the right talismans and knew the incantations. But there were some who, for whatever reason, took to it more naturally than others. Who possessed an affinity no amount of training could match. That was Tem—it would never be me.

“You know I’m no good at running,” I pointed out. “My legs are too short. I always finished last when we used to race each other. It’s like that with magic—there’s a part of me that’s too short, or too small, and nothing is ever going to change that.”

“You’ve improved since I started helping—”

I turned away. “You’re not listening.”

“I always listen to you,” he said. “I doubt you’ll be able to say the same for River Shara. He’s known for many things, but listening isn’t one of them.”

I scowled. I knew River Shara’s dark reputation—everyone did. Stories of his merciless assassinations of barbarian chieftains, his intolerance of weakness in his traveling companions. He was said to have stranded men and women who had proven too weak to keep up with him, and not all of them made it back to the Three Cities.

I also knew that most stories were like the shadows painted by the late-afternoon sun: deceptive and exaggerated. I wasn’t going to be afraid of stories.

Tem gazed at me for a long moment. Then he sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

I leaped into his arms, wrapping him in a tight hug. “I knew I could count on you.”

He pushed me away, trying and failing to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks. “Have I ever told you how crazy you are?”

“A few times,” I said. “Look on the bright side—if I become a famous explorer, I’ll take you on my expeditions.”

“So I can traipse around in the wilderness, sleeping on rocks and roots and half freezing to death?” Tem snorted. “I’d rather herd yaks.”

“No, you’d rather be Chirri’s apprentice.” I regretted it instantly. A shadow crossed Tem’s face, and he ducked behind his curtain of hair.

“Anyway,” I said, “I’m going to talk to Lusha. Maybe she’ll know what this is about.”

“She’s Lusha,” Tem said. “She knows everything. Whether she’ll be in a sharing mood is another question.”

Original post: http://ift.tt/2fPlIsD

from Blogger http://ift.tt/2xeph2P

#Blogger

0 notes

infinitehouseofbooks · 7 years

Text

BLOG TOUR - Blood Ice and Oak Moon

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS by Bewitching Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

Tea Leaf Tales: Which Yule Tree Will Pick Me?

Fantasy Flash Fiction by Marsha A. Moore

I suck in a gulp of thick, pine-scented air, faced with the difficult question—which one. I tick through the usual criteria—fullness, tightly attached needles, correct height. Beyond that the trouble begins for me when I consider needle length, color, tightness of branches.

Needles crunch under the soles of my shoes as I slowly pass down the row, hoping one tree chooses me. Those I don’t give a full inspection slyly begin to stretch their postures more erect before I turn completely away. If I pause to admire one, branches brush past the backs of my legs until I turn around and give that tree a careful look.

Ahead in the center of the display, I hear voices in foreign languages—hurried bits of anxious dialog that quiet as I grow near.

One small blue spruce tries his best to stretch taller but cannot reach up to his neighbors, so I lean in and whisper, “If you talk to me, I’ll take you home.”

I wait, determined, and the nearby treetops bend over the tiny spruce until finally a gentle tinkling begins deep inside at its trunk, radiating to the tips of the boughs at my side. I caress the singing branch, then wave an arm to the shop owner.

Tea Leaf Tales is a series of original ten-sentence short stories by Marsha A. Moore, relating to photos/scenes that resonate with her. Read more Tea Leaf Tales archived in Marsha’s Mercantile of Tea Leaf Tales.

Blood Ice and Oak Moon

Coon Hollow Coven Tales

Book Three

Marsha A Moore

Print Length: 211 pages

Publication Date: October 3, 2016

ASIN: B01LWS4V2G

Genre: PNR

Book Description:

Esme Underhill is about to discover a darkness hidden inside her that could destroy her chance for independence and possibly kill her.

Esme’s mother took her young daughter away from Southern Indiana’s Coon Hollow Coven to prevent her from learning about the unusual witchcraft she had inherited. When Esme is twenty-seven, her beloved Grammy Flora passes away and leaves her property in the Hollow to her granddaughter. With this opportunity to remake her life and gain independence, Esme attempts to emulate Grammy Flora as a wildwood mystic who relies on the hedge world of faeries to locate healing herbs. But fae are shrewd traders. When they open their world to her, she must meet the unknown malevolence of her birthright.

Thayne, the handsome king of the fae Winter Court, faces his own struggle to establish autonomy as a new regent. He is swept into the tempest of Esme’s unfolding powers, a dangerous threat to his court. His sworn duty is to protect his people, despite Esme’s beauty and allure, which tear at his resolve.

Both Esme’s and Thayne’s dreams of personal freedom are lost…unless they can trust each other and overcome surmounting dangers.

Amazon

Excerpt from Chapter One: Winter Began

Dear Miss Rebecca Esmeralda Underhill,

Please accept our deepest sympathies concerning the loss of your grandmother, Flora Esmeralda Freestone. She was much loved and well-respected in our community.

As per her documented wishes, the ownership of her property on 10510 East Lost Branch Run passes to you. This transfer has been filed in our office. At the request of High Priest Logan Dennehy, all council members have voted to reinstate you as a member of Coon Hollow Coven after your absence of twenty years.

However, despite Coon Hollow Coven being your birthplace, a majority indicated the lapsed time was sufficient cause to withhold transfer of Ms. Freestone’s ceremonial standing to you, which customarily would accompany a property transference to blood kin of adult age. For explanation of how you may attain ceremonial approval in your name, please visit the council office at 50013 Owls Tail Creek Road.

Enclosed, please find pamphlets describing the expected dress and personal property code of our coven, which adheres to the time period in which the coven was founded in 1935. This is to best protect our witchcraft traditions.

Sincerely,

Nathan Wells

Coon Hollow Coven Council, secretary

Esme’s gaze fixed on the words that acknowledged her as the property owner. She’d never lived alone. First her mom, then a roommate and finally Doug. Esme’s shoulders straightened and chest lifted with strength and independence at the thought of owning her own place. But, why wasn’t she approved for ceremonial status? Her hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles whitening, and her heart raced. It’s not fair. I won’t be accepted as a healer. Only children not yet graduated from the coven’s secondary school were kept from participating fully in ceremonies. Esme loved learning the ways of a hedge witch and helped Gram every summer from grade school through college. Fascinated with tending Gram’s plants, Esme even studied botany in college.

The research company she worked for had already accepted her request to work offsite and study mystic plants…at the stipulation she be reduced to part-time. She needed work here as a healer to supplement her income. She’d assumed incorrectly that her experience with Gram and college studies would’ve qualified her as an accepted healer. Her standing in the coven would be important to patrons, all except Gram’s closest friends who knew Esme well. An attempt at independence seemed bound to fail before she started.

Her gaze drifted to the name used in the letter’s greeting. She hadn’t seen her full name in print for decades. It didn’t even appear on her birth certificate, which labeled her as Rebecca E. Underhill, one of the many things her mother insisted upon. Mother wanted nothing to do with the coven or witchcraft and said, “Esmeralda sounds too much like a witch. No need to encourage the darkness out.” Grudgingly, she accepted her own mother’s middle name for her child to uphold custom. Esme never understood Mother’s view since Gram was well-respected for her kind and gentle strength by all who knew her.

To Esme’s Indianapolis friends, she was Becky. Only her mother addressed her as Rebecca. But inside, she was Esme. Gram had always called her that, or Esmeray in carefree moments. Her middle name suited the mystic inside Esme, something Gram must have known. If only Esme could use Gram’s last name Freestone. Underhill felt like a lead weight.

Esme set the letter aside and paced the length of the rag runner through the small kitchen. Frustration wound her along a circular track through the sitting room, to her closet-sized guest room, and back. The space was too small to work answers out of her tangled mind. On the second pass, she sank onto the goose down comforter of Gram’s iron bed. Billowing fluff sheltered her from the problems. Gram’s linens, scented with homegrown lavender and rose sleep liniment, comforted Esme and tugged on her eyelids.

She forced her eyes open and pushed herself up and off the bed. Hiding wasn’t the way to begin this fresh start in life. She’d done enough kowtowing to stronger wills, letting Doug and her mother run over her. At the back door, she paused long enough to grab a rain parka and pulled it on as she strode outside.

Gram’s cat, Dove, zipped alongside with a sharp meow, slipping out before the door closed. Esme smiled, grateful the tomcat kept Gram company during her illness. She’ doted on the smoky blue stray that happened into her garden one early fall afternoon and never left. Gram swore he was an omen and chose his name ‘cause of his white-winged breast patch. She used to say, “One day soon my spirit will fly on those outspread wings, and together Dove and me we’ll roam the wooded hills.” Gram loved those hills. Thinking about the hills drew Esme to gather Dove and head outside.

Ice still peppered down, adding more layers to the spiky crystalline grass blades. A breeze blew at Esme’s back. She allowed the wind to guide her toward the woods behind the cabin. At the trailhead, ice coating the bittersweet vine berries glistened the same shade of blue she’d rubbed from Dove’s coat. Alert to the strange color, she followed a line of branches dangling sky blue icicles, each one more fanciful and richer in hue than the last. A beautiful play of light, ranging from cerulean to ultramarine. Even worth the chill at her ankles, which were bare in her cropped jeans.

Whenever Esme paused to marvel at the colored icicles, Dove pawed them and then dodged when they dropped.

Minutes later and deeper in the forest, the ice pelted heavier, and Esme reached for the hood of her raincoat. Strands of hair fell forward, woven with frozen ultramarine threads. The same purplish tint coated twigs along the path. Light from the sky reached this far into the woods since all but the oak trees had lost their leaves. The unusual color couldn’t be caused by light refraction. She’d never seen any rain, sleet, or snow like this, not even in the Hollow. Grammy had taught her a little about omens. Was this a sign?

Esme scurried along the trail, sliding at times and spotting richer and deeper shades of purple and red-violets. At the far side of the woodlot, iris-hued spider webs clung to berry brambles. She gasped at the beauty. Tempted to touch, she extended a hand but at the last instant resisted.

A deep groan echoed from the adjoining property ahead.

She snatched her hand back and scanned for some god of nature angry at her ruinous attempt. Grappling for Dove, Esme crouched behind a thicket.

The cat gave a single hiss, then clung to her leg.

In the distance, a big middle-aged man, both tall and wide, staggered behind a shed, dragging a long, clumsy load wrapped and tied into a blanket. His balding head snapped in her direction, eyes wide and face blanched gray-white. “Who’s there?” His booming voice sliced the delicate webs from their branches. Crimson freezing rain assaulted both trail and yard.

Esme froze, afraid to move and attract his attention. Her heart, drumming against her ribs, threatened to give her away. She wanted to run home. But if the colored ice omen was meant for her, she needed to stay and learn its meaning. Could the man see the omen?

Thankfully, her cover must’ve fooled Baldy. He resumed lugging the limp bundle, and didn’t seem affected by the magical ice.

From between the tangle of branches, Esme studied him.

His wet, black shirt clung to his round belly. Blood-red ice coated his load, tracing the outline of a human body. Smaller than his, probably a female. Was she dead? Of natural causes? Or had he murdered her? The thought wrapped around Esme’s breath and trapped it deep in her lungs. Her legs twitched. Gaze riveted on Baldy, she positioned to bolt from potential danger.

He rolled the body into a depression Esme couldn’t see.

She leaned to one side, bracing herself with a hand on the ground.

Over what looked like a freshly dug grave, Baldy grunted as he shoveled and kicked dirt and large rocks. Clumps of red clung to long strands of his comb-over, now hanging along one ear. Was it ice or real blood?

Dove huddled closer, and Gram’s voice from years ago spoke in Esme’s mind. “Blood ice is stained with revenge.”

Crimson liquid dripped from the man’s eyes and fell from grimacing jowls. The face of a demon

About the Author:

Marsha A. Moore loves to write fantasy and paranormal romance. Much of her life feeds the creative flow she uses to weave highly imaginative tales.

The magic of art and nature spark life into her writing, as well as other pursuits of watercolor painting and drawing. She’s been a yoga enthusiast for over a decade and is a registered yoga teacher. Her practice helps weave the mystical into her writing. After a move from Toledo to Tampa in 2008, she’s happily transformed into a Floridian, in love with the outdoors where she’s always on the lookout for portals to other worlds. Marsha is crazy about cycling. She lives with her husband on a large saltwater lagoon, where taking her kayak out is a real treat. She never has enough days spent at the beach, usually scribbling away at stories with toes wiggling in the sand. Every day at the beach is magical!

Mailing list: http://bit.ly/MarshaAMooreList

Website: http://MarshaAMoore.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/marshaamooreauthorpage

Twitter: http://twitter.com/MarshaAMoore

Google +: http://google.com/+MarshaAMoore

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/marshaamoore/

Amazon author page: www.amazon.com/author/marshaamoore

Goodreads author page http://www.goodreads.com/marshaamoore

a Rafflecopter giveaway

0 notes

tripstations · 5 years

Text

United puts child on wrong plane from US to Germany

An unaccompanied child was accidentally put on a flight to Germany rather than Stockholm.

Anton, 14, was flying with United as an unaccompanied minor from Raleigh, North Carolina to Newark Airport with the intention of connecting to Stockholm with Scandinavian Airlines (SAS).

However, United placed the boy on a Eurowings flight to Germany instead.

We’ll tell you what’s true. You can form your own view.

From 15p €0.18 $0.18 USD 0.27 a day, more exclusives, analysis and extras.

Subscribe now

The boy’s mother, Brenda Berg, from Raleigh, realised the airline’s mistake and wrote on Twitter: “@United @SAS my son is in the wrong plane!!! EWR you put him on a plane to Germany!!!!”

Ms Berg then proceeded to live-tweet a series of attempts to alert United officials to her son’s plight.

leftCreated with Sketch. rightCreated with Sketch.

1/52 Puerto Rico: After a devastating hurricane, an island on its way back

Getty/iStock

2/52 Hampi, India: An ancient archaeological complex becomes more accessible

Getty/iStock

3/52 Santa Barbara, California: The ‘American Riviera’ becomes a hip food and wine haven

Getty/iStock

4/52 Panama: New eco-friendly resorts open on the country’s Pacific coast

Getty

5/52 Munich, Germany: Theatre. Art. Opera. What more do you want?

Getty/iStock

6/52 Eilat, Israel: A newly accessible Red Sea paradise

Getty/iStock

7/52 Setouchi, Japan: Art and nature harmonise in Japan’s inland sea

Getty/iStock

8/52 Aalborg, Denmark: Architecture revitalises the waterfront

Getty/iStock

9/52 The Azores, Portugal: The Caribbean comes to the middle of the Atlantic

Getty/iStock

10/52 Ontario Ice Caves, Canada: See them now, as climate change may pose a threat

Getty/iStock

11/52 Zadar, Croatia: Incomparable sunsets, a ‘sea organ’ and untrammelled islands

Getty/iStock

12/52 Williamsburg, Virginia: The cradle of American democracy reflects on its past

Getty

13/52 Las Vegas: Sin City bets big on culture

Getty/iStock

14/52 Salvador, Brazil: The country’s original capital gets a makeover

Getty

15/52 Danang, Vietnam: A spot for foodies and beachgoers

Getty/iStock

16/52 Costalegre, Mexico: A beach vacation, without the crowds

Alamy

17/52 Paparoa Track, New Zealand: A new wilderness trail explores a remote national park

Getty/iStock

18/52 Puglia, Italy: Baroque architecture and Adriatic beaches in Italy’s heel

Getty/iStock

19/52 Tatra Mountains, Slovakia: Off-the-grid skiing, rock climbing and more

Getty/iStock

20/52 Calgary, Alberta: A spectacular library adds to a once-neglected neighbourhood

Getty

21/52 Olkhon Island, Lake Baikal, Russia: A natural wonder resisting the threats of development

Getty/iStock

22/52 Huntsville, Alabama: Time to party like it’s 1969

Getty/iStock

23/52 Falkland Islands (Islas Malvinas): Five kinds of penguins, easier to reach

Getty/iStock

24/52 Aberdeen, Scotland: The granite city via brand new old-fashioned trains

Getty/iStock

25/52 Golfo Paradiso, Italy: A rare unspoiled gem on the Italian Riviera

Getty/iStock

26/52 Dessau, Germany: A big birthday for Bauhaus

Getty

27/52 Tunis, Tunisia: The spark for the Arab Spring, still lit

Getty/iStock

28/52 Gambia: Hippos and chimpanzees – and a renewed sense of hope

Getty

29/52 Northern Rivers, Australia: Along a breezy coastline, boho paradise

Getty/iStock

30/52 Frisian Islands and Wadden Sea: Oysters, seals, birds and dark skies on Europe’s wild left coast

Getty/iStock

31/52 New York City: New cultural monuments, and remembrances of the past

Getty

32/52 Chongli, China: Witness a winter sports revolution

Getty

33/52 Orcas Island, Washington: A small island is attracting big-time foodies (and Oprah)

Getty

34/52 Uzbekistan: Visa-free travel and reopened borders along the Silk Road

Getty/iStock

Getty/AWL Images RM

36/52 Lyon, France: Soccer, sausage and fresh air

Getty/iStock

37/52 Doha, Qatar: Avant-garde architecture blooms in the desert

Getty

38/52 Batumi, Georgia: A hushed seaside escape

Getty/iStock

39/52 Marseille, France: An influx of young creatives gives the city a new edge

Getty/iStock

40/52 Wyoming: A sesquicentennial celebration of women’s suffrage in the Equality State

Getty/iStock

41/52 Los Angeles: Finally, more than Grauman’s (groan)

Getty

42/52 Dakar, Senegal: An oasis of freedom in a region of unrest

Getty/iStock

43/52 Perth, Australia: A city transformed and enlivened

Getty

44/52 Hong Kong: Dazzling infrastructure eases travel but could threaten independence

Bloomberg/Getty

45/52 Iran: Tourism cautiously returns to this Middle East jewel

Getty

46/52 Houston: Rebounding bigger and better after a hurricane

Getty/iStock

47/52 Columbus, Ohio: Is this the American city of the future?

Getty/iStock

48/52 Plovdiv, Bulgaria: A city ready for the spotlight

Getty/iStock

49/52 Vevey, Switzerland: A once-in-a-generation winegrowers’ festival on the Swiss Riviera

Getty/iStock

50/52 Cádiz province, Spain: Sparkling cities and towns in southwest Andalusia

Getty/iStock

51/52 Elqui Valley, Chile: Eclipse mania, and nights of dark skies

Getty/iStock

52/52 The islands of Tahiti: The birthplace of the overwater bungalow ups its ecotourism

Getty

1/52 Puerto Rico: After a devastating hurricane, an island on its way back

Getty/iStock

2/52 Hampi, India: An ancient archaeological complex becomes more accessible

Getty/iStock

3/52 Santa Barbara, California: The ‘American Riviera’ becomes a hip food and wine haven

Getty/iStock

4/52 Panama: New eco-friendly resorts open on the country’s Pacific coast

Getty

5/52 Munich, Germany: Theatre. Art. Opera. What more do you want?

Getty/iStock

6/52 Eilat, Israel: A newly accessible Red Sea paradise

Getty/iStock

7/52 Setouchi, Japan: Art and nature harmonise in Japan’s inland sea

Getty/iStock

8/52 Aalborg, Denmark: Architecture revitalises the waterfront

Getty/iStock

9/52 The Azores, Portugal: The Caribbean comes to the middle of the Atlantic

Getty/iStock

10/52 Ontario Ice Caves, Canada: See them now, as climate change may pose a threat

Getty/iStock

11/52 Zadar, Croatia: Incomparable sunsets, a ‘sea organ’ and untrammelled islands

Getty/iStock

12/52 Williamsburg, Virginia: The cradle of American democracy reflects on its past

Getty

13/52 Las Vegas: Sin City bets big on culture

Getty/iStock

14/52 Salvador, Brazil: The country’s original capital gets a makeover

Getty

15/52 Danang, Vietnam: A spot for foodies and beachgoers

Getty/iStock

16/52 Costalegre, Mexico: A beach vacation, without the crowds

Alamy

17/52 Paparoa Track, New Zealand: A new wilderness trail explores a remote national park

Getty/iStock

18/52 Puglia, Italy: Baroque architecture and Adriatic beaches in Italy’s heel

Getty/iStock

19/52 Tatra Mountains, Slovakia: Off-the-grid skiing, rock climbing and more

Getty/iStock

20/52 Calgary, Alberta: A spectacular library adds to a once-neglected neighbourhood

Getty

21/52 Olkhon Island, Lake Baikal, Russia: A natural wonder resisting the threats of development

Getty/iStock

22/52 Huntsville, Alabama: Time to party like it’s 1969

Getty/iStock

23/52 Falkland Islands (Islas Malvinas): Five kinds of penguins, easier to reach

Getty/iStock

24/52 Aberdeen, Scotland: The granite city via brand new old-fashioned trains

Getty/iStock

25/52 Golfo Paradiso, Italy: A rare unspoiled gem on the Italian Riviera

Getty/iStock

26/52 Dessau, Germany: A big birthday for Bauhaus

Getty

27/52 Tunis, Tunisia: The spark for the Arab Spring, still lit

Getty/iStock

28/52 Gambia: Hippos and chimpanzees – and a renewed sense of hope

Getty

29/52 Northern Rivers, Australia: Along a breezy coastline, boho paradise

Getty/iStock

30/52 Frisian Islands and Wadden Sea: Oysters, seals, birds and dark skies on Europe’s wild left coast

Getty/iStock

31/52 New York City: New cultural monuments, and remembrances of the past

Getty

32/52 Chongli, China: Witness a winter sports revolution

Getty

33/52 Orcas Island, Washington: A small island is attracting big-time foodies (and Oprah)

Getty

34/52 Uzbekistan: Visa-free travel and reopened borders along the Silk Road

Getty/iStock

Getty/AWL Images RM

36/52 Lyon, France: Soccer, sausage and fresh air

Getty/iStock

37/52 Doha, Qatar: Avant-garde architecture blooms in the desert

Getty

38/52 Batumi, Georgia: A hushed seaside escape

Getty/iStock

39/52 Marseille, France: An influx of young creatives gives the city a new edge

Getty/iStock

40/52 Wyoming: A sesquicentennial celebration of women’s suffrage in the Equality State

Getty/iStock

41/52 Los Angeles: Finally, more than Grauman’s (groan)

Getty

42/52 Dakar, Senegal: An oasis of freedom in a region of unrest

Getty/iStock

43/52 Perth, Australia: A city transformed and enlivened

Getty

44/52 Hong Kong: Dazzling infrastructure eases travel but could threaten independence

Bloomberg/Getty

45/52 Iran: Tourism cautiously returns to this Middle East jewel

Getty

46/52 Houston: Rebounding bigger and better after a hurricane

Getty/iStock

47/52 Columbus, Ohio: Is this the American city of the future?

Getty/iStock

48/52 Plovdiv, Bulgaria: A city ready for the spotlight

Getty/iStock

49/52 Vevey, Switzerland: A once-in-a-generation winegrowers’ festival on the Swiss Riviera

Getty/iStock

50/52 Cádiz province, Spain: Sparkling cities and towns in southwest Andalusia

Getty/iStock

51/52 Elqui Valley, Chile: Eclipse mania, and nights of dark skies

Getty/iStock

52/52 The islands of Tahiti: The birthplace of the overwater bungalow ups its ecotourism

Getty

At this stage, the plane was still taxiing on the tarmac, but Ms Berg says she was unable to get through to airlines officials to inform them of the situation.

According to her tweets, Anton had spoken with an onboard steward and let them know that he was being flown to the wrong destination.

Ms Berg wrote on Twitter: “We paid @united a fee to have you watch him. This has been going on for 20 minutes and NO ONE has called us!!!”

When Eurowings crew realised that the boy was on the wrong flight, the plane returned to the gate.

According to Ms Berg, a decision was then made by airline officials to fly Anton to Copenhagen in Denmark, a move which added seven additional hours of travel to his journey.

United charges a “service fee” of $150 for its unaccompanied minor service, for children aged 5-14 years old. It states: “Unaccompanied minors can only travel on nonstop United or United Express® flights.”

Ms Berg called on the airline: #UnitedAirlines fix your dangerous minor program!”

Anton was eventually flown to his destination where Ms Berg was making plans to unite him with his grandparents, writing “we are all exhausted”.

A United spokesperson said in a statement to The Independent: “The safety and well-being of all of our customers is our top priority, and we have been in frequent contact with the young man’s family to confirm his safety.

“Once our Eurowings partners recognised that he had boarded the wrong aircraft in Newark, the plane returned to the gate – before taking off.

“Our staff assisted the customer to ensure that he boarded the correct flight. We have confirmed that our young customer safely reached his destination.”

An SAS spokesperson said: “At SAS, security, and taking care of our passengers, is always a first priority.”

The post United puts child on wrong plane from US to Germany appeared first on Tripstations.

from Tripstations https://ift.tt/2J67EqB via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Tripstations

0 notes