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The name of the walls of the city of Ashur?
And what were the names of the parts of the city?
This video shows the architecture of the city of Assyria and the names of the walls that were built to protect the city, using archaeological evidence and the exploration of cuneiform tablets.
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#archaeology#akkadian#ancient mesopotamia#mesopotamia#ancient history#akkadian language#ancient assyria#assyrian#city of assyria#sumerian city#city of ashur#history#history of assyria#history of assyrian empire#the name of the walls of the city of ashur#ancient architecture#ancient iraq#architecture#archaeological#archeology#archeology of iraq#archeology of assyria#history of ancient assyria#assyriology#Youtube
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"I brought back the exhausted peoples of Assyria who had abandoned their cities and houses in the face of want, hunger, and famine, and had gone up to other lands," he wrote.
"Why the West Rules – For Now: The patterns of history and what they reveal about the future" - Ian Morris
#book quote#why the west rules – for now#ian morris#nonfiction#ashur dan ii#assyria#exhausted#abandoned#city#house#want#hunger#famine
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Skimming over a couple thousand years of Mesopotamian social history is, if nothing else, a great source of data points to support the whole 'Classical Greece/Athens was actually weirdly patriarchal and misogynistic. Like, even for bronze age city states,' thing next time there's an argument about it.
The fact that noble families in Old Babylon dealt with unfavorable marriage prospect/not wanting to pay out large dowries for their daughters by, like, creating a whole institution where they'd symbolically marry the sun god and be given an extra-large dowry (equal to what their share of the inheritance would have been if they were a son) to live off the revenues of and ideally steward and grow some before it went back to the family when they died is just fascinating though.
Also fascinating - the fact that Ashur circa ~1800 BCE was something like a merchant republic, with the theocratic king sharing power with an official serving 1-year terms, apparently elected from/by the leading merchant magnates.
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Rassam Cylinder, a ten-sided clay cylinder that was created in c. 643 BC, during the reign of King Ashurbanipal (c. 685 BC - 631 BC) who ruled the Neo-Assyrian Empire from 669 - 631 BC.
It was discovered in the ancient Assyrian city of Nineveh, near Mosul, present-day Iraq, by Hormuzd Rassam (3 October 1826 - 16 September 1910) in 1854.
In over 1,300 lines of cuneiform text, the cylinder records nine military campaigns of Ashurbanipal, including his wars with Egypt, Elam and his brother, Shamash-shum-ukin.
It also records his accession to the throne and his restoration of the Palace of Sennacherib.
The cylinder is the most complete chronicle on the life of Ashurbanipal.
There are some extracts from the cylinder below:
"I am Ashurbanipal, offspring of Ashur and Bêlit, the oldest prince of the royal harem, whose name Ashur and Sin, the lord of the tiara, have named for the kingship from earliest (lit., distant) days, whom they formed in his mother's womb, for the rulership of Assyria; whom Shamash, Adad and Ishtar, by their unalterable (lit., established) decree, have ordered to exercise sovereignty.
Esarhaddon, king of Assyria, the father who begot me, respected the word of Ashur and Bêlit-ilê (the Lady of the Gods), his tutelary (divinities), when they gave the command that I should exercise sovereignty.
In the month of Airu, in the month of Ea, the lord of mankind, the twelfth day, an auspicious day, the feast day of Gula, at the sublime command which Ashur, Bêlit, Sin, Shamash, Adad, Bêl, Nabû, Ishtar of Nineveh, Queen of Kidmuri, Ishtar of Arbela, Urta, Nergal, Nusku, uttered, he gathered together the people of Assyria, great and small, from the upper to (lit., and) lower sea.
That they would accept (lit., guard) my crown princeship, and later my kingship, he made them take an oath by the great gods, and so he strengthened the bonds (between them and me)....
By the order of the great gods, whose names I called upon, extolling their glory, who commanded that I should exercise sovereignty, assigned me the task of adorning their sanctuaries, assailed my opponents on my behalf, slew my enemies, the valiant hero, beloved of Ashur and Ishtar, scion of royalty, am I.
Egyptian Campaign:
"In my first campaign I marched against Magan, Meluhha, Taharqa, king of Egypt and Ethiopia, whom Esarhaddon, king of Assyria, the father who begot me, had defeated, and whose land he brought under his sway.
This same Taharqa forgot the might of Ashur, Ishtar and the other great gods, my lords, and put his trust upon his own power.
He turned against the kings and regents whom my own father had appointed in Egypt.
He entered and took residence in Memphis, the city which my own father had conquered and incorporated into Assyrian territory.
A swift courier came to Nineveh and reported to me.
At these deeds, my heart became enraged, my soul cried out. I raised my hands in prayer to Ashur and the Assyrian Ishtar.
I mustered my mighty forces, which Ashur and Ishtar had placed into my hands. Against Egypt and Ethiopia, I directed the march."
Rassam Cylinder records the reign of Ashurbanipal until c. 645 BC.
The latter years of his reign are poorly recorded, probably due to the fact that the Neo-Assyrian Empire was plagued with troubles.
One of Ashurbanipal's last known inscription reads:
"I cannot do away with the strife in my country and the dissensions in my family; disturbing scandals oppress me always.
Illness of mind and flesh bow me down; with cries of woe I bring my days to an end.
On the day of the city god, the day of the festival, I am wretched; death is seizing hold upon me, and bears me down..."
Rassam Cylinder is currently on display in the British Museum.
A truly remarkable, yet biased, insight into the reign of Ashurbanipal and the world in which he lived.
📷: © Anthony Huan
#Rassam Cylinder#King Ashurbanipal#Neo-Assyrian Empire#Nineveh#Hormuzd Rassam#clay cylinder#cuneiform text#Palace of Sennacherib#British Museum#Assyria#ancient civilizations#Iraq#assyriology#military campaigns#cuneiform cylinder#cuneiform#writing systems
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My Obsession list, based on what I can remember!
DDLC
UNDERTALE
deltarune
Ashur Gharavi content in general
Sims 4
Danno Cal/Toon Turf
Shorts Wars
Hazbin Hotel
Helluva Boss
Steven Universe
Oneshot
Outcore
Undertale Yellow
Yandere Simulator (GAME, NOT CREATOR)
Six the Musical
TADC
Amanda the Adventurer
Object Shows
Bee and Puppy Cat
Bendy and the Ink Machine
Big City Greens
Billie Bust Up
Bluey
Chikn Nuggit
FNAF
Danganronpa
Encanto
Kindergarten (video game)
Little Misfortune
Miitopia
Tomadachi Life
Power Rangers
Sam and Max
Scratchin Melodii
Super Sentai
The Owl House
Amphibia
Welcome Home
Angel hare
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Tiglath Pileser I
Tiglath Pileser I (reigned 1115-1076 BCE), an Assyrian king of the period known as the Middle Empire, revitalized the economy and the military that had been suffering, more or less, since the death of the king Tukulti Ninurta I (1244-1208 BCE). The old kings like Adad-Nirari I, Shalmaneser I, and Tukulti-Ninurta I had expanded the empire out from the city of Ashur and filled the royal treasuries with wealth from their conquests. The kings following Tukulti-Ninurta I, however, had been content with maintaining the empire as they inherited it, without improving or expanding on their inheritance, and so steadily lost territory to invading tribes or rebellious factions within the empire. The historian Susan Wise Bauer comments on this writing, “Tiglath Pileser wanted more. He was the first warlike king since Shalmaneser, eight generations and a hundred years earlier. He turned against the invaders and used their attacks to take more land for himself. And for a brief period – a little under forty years – Assyria regained something like its previous luminescence” (287). He campaigned widely throughout his reign with his army, initiated great building projects, and furthered the process of building a collection of books at the library of Ashur by gathering cuneiform tablets from throughout the empire.
Learn more about Tiglath Pileser I
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A Court of Tangled Flames - Chapter 27
Every wind that blew through the forest carried a phantom with it. Every shadow, Nesta swore was Cassian creeping closer out of the corner of her eye. A paranoia festered within her in the days that followed the Winter Solstice.
With her gifts, Orla had done something to the bond. Nesta no longer consciously felt it. If she sought out that strange bridge leading her to Cassian, she could still touch it like a numb limb lacking feeling. She never delved further down it. She never wanted to find Cassian at the opposite end.
Another wind curled through the undergrowth, raising fragments of dried leaves into the air with it. Nesta stopped in her tracks, sure she heard the beat of wings. She’d thought that a dozen times already that morning.
Treading carefully over the carpet of leaves that was dappled by the morning sunlight, Eris stopped in front of her. ‘Did I wake you up too early, my love?’
He touched her cheek, warm fingers making her skin tingle.
‘I just keep thinking-’
His fingers touched her lips. ‘It’s not. I’ve warded the area. The dogs would detect his scent. You are safe.’
‘For now.’
To give her hands something to do, Nesta brushed them down her grey skirt. Her palms were clammy but cold. They were always cold when her magic was used.
Eris took hold of them, engulfing them in heat. A flame spiralled around his hands to heat them quicker. ‘Nothing will happen tomorrow. You will be safe.’
A letter had arrived in Rhysand’s elegant script with his sigil sealing the envelope. They requested a meeting in the Hewn City. Not about the bond, she was relieved to read, but to meet Orla. For a while, Nesta had worried over Eris’ loyalties if chaos erupted. He and Orla had spent five centuries as friends. He’d pull her out to safety first. Eris tutted those silly ideas away. Niamh would be in attendance as Orla’s wild protector, if needed – the sisterly bond more powerful than the Archeron’s. Eris would guard Nesta. Ashur and a number of the smoke hounds, with their keen senses, would come as an extra layer.
The thought of going there made her magic rise up in her chest like when a stone is thrown into a bucket of water. It sloshed up the sides, ready to spill out.
‘Focus,’ said Eris in a soft voice, noticing the sudden shift in her magic.
He sent a long ribbon of red fire into the air. It moved slowly, undulating in its path as it flew, before turning gold. Nesta eased out a thicker bolt of silver flame that raced to keep pace with his. Often her magic sputtered out, unused to moving at a slower pace or maintaining it. They had been practising her manipulation of it.
Once, she had teased Eris about his plans, claiming he probably had it all documented. He did. His cheeks had turned pink when he had shown her his copious notes on their training, detailing every little success she had made. He was wonderful.
His magic came to coil around hers so the twin flames flowed together against the backdrop of the forest. She loved to watch their magic dance together. They complimented each other beautifully, one silver flame, one like spun gold. One day, Nesta would become a master of flame like Eris, but for now, she was content to lean against his chest as her flame fizzled out. His continued on, gathering speed until it split into a shower of sparks that rained down on them, never harming. Her husband had another ribbon of flame wrap around them that grew in size until it took flight in the form of a great burning phoenix. Its fiery wings pulsed as it soared higher into the sky then it swooped low over the smoke hounds, purposefully, to set them racing after it.
Eris shucked out a laugh, watching them barrel after his phoenix.
‘Did they ever exist?’
‘Once. A long time ago,’ he replied, wrapping his arms around her chest and resting his chin on her shoulder. ‘Mortals hunted them. All of your stories once were truth.’
‘Even the ones about faeries stealing us away?’
Nesta let out a little shriek as Eris hauled her into his arms. ‘Especially that one.’
He covered her neck with sloppy kisses, making her chortle with unrestrained laughter. The sound tugged the dogs from their pursuit of the phoenix so they leapt at Eris and he lifted her even higher so their muddy paws didn’t touch her dress.
For a while, her husband continued carrying her and Nesta was content to remain curled up in his arms. She couldn’t help but imagine Eris as a father, no longer having to bury the kind parts of him, playing with his children and creating little creatures from flame for them to marvel at. The Mother knew that even Nesta was captivated at night on the balcony when he conjured butterflies of flames or swooping birds. Her eyes slid to his beautiful face. Nesta’s mind had wandered down a path that she couldn’t stop treading as she thought of her own children. They would be with Eris, of course. She couldn’t imagine a life without him.
‘You remind me of a phoenix. Always rising from the ashes. Rising through it all,’ he said softly, before setting her back on her feet.
If Nesta had been worried that the bond might drive a wedge between her and Eris, she was woefully wrong. It had brought them closer, so they acted like two limpets. In the days that had followed the Solstice, Nesta had rarely any time away from Eris. She’d accompanied him for an army inspection, to a dinner with one of his father’s lesser lords, and in every free moment. The only time they’d been forced to separate was in a council meeting which Eris knew not to argue with Beron over.
Instead, Nesta had spent the time practising her needlework with her mother-in-law in silence – or it appeared that way to the guards. Eliška had pressed into her mind so they spoke freely across a mental bridge while dutifully embroidering cushions under the watchful eyes of her guards. Nesta pleaded with her mother-in-law to forgive Eris for what he had done to Phelan, explaining what had happened to turn his mood so sour. At one point, her fingers had twitched as if they were about to reach for Nesta’s then knew they couldn’t with so many eyes on them. If Beron got wind that there was a relationship developing, he’d put a stop to it. For now, Eliška and her daughter-in-law appeared like two cold acquaintances, barely exchanging more than a polite greeting as they were forced to occupy a room, engrossed in their sewing.
Back in their rooms, Eris lay on the rug tossing an apple between his nimble hands while Nesta read. Maceo had set her the task of writing an essay comparing the classification of lesser faeries across the seven courts of Prythian and it was proving a challenge. Eris was her source for the Autumn Court, but for the others, she had to delve into his vast library of histories.
‘I’m sure I wrote that exact essay five hundred years ago.’
Nesta raised a brow. ‘It is surely dust by now.’
He touched two fingers over his heart. ‘You wound me. I am a spry, young fox still.’
‘How will it be when I am your age. Will you be any more than bones?’
‘I give you permission to kill me when I grow too old and ugly for you, my darling wife.’
She flicked a page over to a section about the lineage of the Dawn Court’s high lords. ‘Maybe I’ll find myself a new model.’
Eris crawled to her to raise the hem of her dress. His lips pressed against her calf. ‘You will be hard pushed to find a male as beautiful as me.’ Another kiss against the curve of her muscle then he was sliding her skirts all the way up her thighs.
‘We are expected at dinner soon.’
Warm fingers kneaded the flesh of her thighs to tease. His head was buried beneath her skirts so Nesta knew there was no chance of talking sense into her husband.
‘I’ll have the first course now.’
Another kiss was pressed against the thin material of her underwear which made her breath hitch.
‘I need to write my essay.’
‘I’ll dictate. You write.’
‘That’s cheating,’ she breathed as his fingers slipped into the waistband and pulled them down.
His tongue swept against her core so all arguments dissolved. Any thoughts that Nesta had been clinging to slipped between her fingers.
This male had enchanted her, body and soul.
***
Like a thread pulled too tight, Eris was ready to snap. For his wife, he gave a reassuring smile and extended an arm for her to take before winnowing to the Court of Nightmares. Her hand was cold, as cold as the grave, against his skin. Although Nesta had got better at keeping her defence up, her eyes gave away the unease that rattled in her bones. Those beautiful, storm cloud eyes swirled like a maelstrom. The only one of their group who did seem at ease was Niamh because she was too insane to care for danger, it only ever excited her. She had been positively frothing at the mouth in the build-up to visiting the Hewn City. Where other females would crumble in the place, Niamh would surely flourish.
A different room was selected for their purpose that day rather than the usual one in the Hewn City. They’d been led down quiet tunnels, away from any prying eyes with such a large contingent from the Autumn Court. Did the high lord not trust his subjects to hold their tongues?
Eris kept Nesta close to try and calm both of their unsteady hearts. Orla remained at Ashur’s side with two smoke hounds flanking them. Niamh made up the rear, swaggering along without a hint of fear. She’d love a fight.
The whole rotten group was assembled, even Amren. At their entry, Eris noticed that Cassian’s wings tucked in tight to his spine, but he made a conscious effort not to look at Nesta – and she did the same. That was the best outcome any of them could hope for. Elain had certainly been doing the same to Lucien for the last couple of years.
‘Hello,’ she said in a clear, but quiet voice.
Eris swept her slightly behind him, shielding her out of habit as he took the lead. ‘Night Court. Allow me to present your salvation, Orla.’
The healer swept her head low in greeting then pushed her thick braid over one shoulder.
‘Hello stranger,’ came Lucien’s voice.
Orla, always welcoming, always gentle, gave a warm smile to Lucien then he moved first until they were face to face in the high-ceilinged room. Her arms went around him then his tightened around her. Orla tucked her face against his, savouring his touch.
He had once been as much her younger brother as Eris’. He remembered bringing little Lucien along with him when he met with Saban, and Orla would lead Lucien out into shallow streams to catch frogs or have him stood on a chair teaching him to bake. There were times when he’d fall asleep in her lap with a story book propped up on her knee or she’d put him on a pony and lead him around the garden even if he couldn’t reach the stirrups.
When they peeled apart, she held his face, examining all of the changes that had occurred since she had last seen Lucien. Her thumb traced along his brutal scar, lips pressing together. If Orla had been in the vicinity, Eris knew she’d have been able to do more – maybe not save the eye, but at least prevent most of the scarring.
‘Lovely Lucien,’ she breathed.
‘Move over. It’s my turn.’
Before either could react, Niamh barged her hip against Orla’s then threw herself against him. He was polite enough to embrace her.
‘I had such an infatuation with Lucien,’ Niamh announced, oblivious to the tension in the room - or his attempts at escape. ‘Oh, you had me writing poetry to try and get you into bed.’
Lucien made a choking noise then tried to prise his arm out of her grip, but a smile curled Niamh’s lips and she held on tightly – a lot like a cat bearing down on a mouse.
‘There was once a male of good stock,
Who charmed the females at the dock.
In his blood, there was fire,
and all females desire,
Lucien’s massive c-’
At the same time, Orla, Eris, and Nesta all barked Niamh’s name to try and reel her back into order. It was little wonder that Ashur’s teeth hadn’t cracked from gritting them in his attempts to not laugh.
Poor Lucien had turned the colour of a tomato – his pretty, little mate in corner had too. Niamh might have done Lucien a favour with her poem though.
Rhys blinked at the sight of Niamh in her too long skirt, mismatched and scuffed shoes, and the hair that could do with a good brushing. ‘What have you brought to my court?’
‘Name’s Niamh. Autumn Court. Orla’s little sister. Bit of a menace but she’s never locked me in a house to try and cure me, thank the Mother.’
Nesta’s eyes went wide.
Across the room, Mor scoffed, ‘Maybe she should have.’
Niamh wasn’t one to back down. Maybe it was a bad idea to bring her, Eris thought with a sudden plummeting feeling dropping through him. She was like a terrier that would never come to heel.
‘You piss your pants each time your failed engagement is mentioned so I’d suggest keeping your mouth shut before I say something that really ruins your life.’
‘That is enough,’ murmured Eris, catching Niamh’s eye.
He didn’t need that betrothal brought out like dirty laundry. A tongue licked against Niamh’s lips. Her smile was difficult to quell. Niamh had never cared who she spoke against, her spine was strong enough to stand any words – plus she was a quick runner if she needed to flee.
Mor had gone pale, but she did open her mouth to speak then stopped. Across the table, Eris noticed Rhys lay a hand against her own – and at the other end, Orla had given Niamh a hard pinch on her thigh to stop her from talking.
Somebody pushed out a breath in the otherwise silent cavern. The throb of Eris’ own pulse echoed in his ear. He kept glancing to Nesta, ensuring she was still beside him, despite the feel of her thigh pressing against his.
‘I can heal that for you.’
Orla spoke gently in a soothing tone meant for an injured animal or an infant. Eris had heard her use it many times on the dying.
Beside him, Nesta had tensed. Her eyes were fixed upon the shadow singer. Exposed on his bare wrist was a strange, charred burn where he hadn’t fully fulfilled his portion of their magical deal. It served him right, Eris thought, for not bringing Nesta straight home on that cold December morning.
Torn between wanting to shield his mauled hands and wanting to prove that Orla was safe to be near Feyre Archeron, Azriel remained rooted to the spot. Nesta opened her mouth to speak at the same moment that Rhysand sat forwards in his seat, lips moving to break the silence.
But Orla had already laid her warm hands on the shadow singer’s skin to roll his sleeve back.
Where their ink had been, Azriel’s remained like smoke, etched into his forearms as retribution.
Unperturbed, Orla sent her magic to curl around his wrist in a display of soft-golden light.
‘It’s magic. It cannot be removed by simple-’
Amren’s words stopped abruptly as the tattoo began to lift off of Azriel’s skin, curling into the light and dissolving. A crease had formed between Orla’s brows as she continued working in the silent room.
Then the mark was gone.
‘How?’ Rhys managed.
Orla released her hands so Azriel could veil himself within the comfort of his shadows once more. ‘I am a healer.’
An utterly extraordinary one, Eris thought. His heart swelled at the sight of her, so level-headed and brilliant. A steadfast friend and sunshine of a person. There were many lives in the Autumn Court that owed Orla their thanks for keeping them in the realm of the living.
‘This healer could make the Mother envious.’
A blush stole across her cheeks at Eris’ compliment.
Mor tipped back in her chair, eyes narrowing at Orla. ‘I wouldn’t think Beron would allow females to train their magic. They might get ideas like not being stamped beneath the boots’ of males.’
‘My high lord is not foolish enough to deny healing magic in any gender, so rare it is,’ replied Orla, with just a little bite.
That little bite made her sister sit rigidly in her chair, brown eyes flickering between the two females like a bare flame, desperate to catch.
‘Does your high lord know his favoured healer commits treason by being here and assisting an enemy?’
Niamh slapped her palms against the stone table. ‘Treason? If you want us to depart then your high lady dies. Think very carefully before you toss that word out. I wonder, if your high lady dies because you scorned the one healer who might be able to help her, is that treason on your part, Morrigan? Do you want your lovely family back on the throne instead?’
‘That is enough,’ snapped Orla, in a tone that Eris had only ever heard from her a handful of times. He’d never seen her so livid before. ‘I will not have you speak of such things. I am a healer regardless of my allegiance. If my enemy was bleeding at my feet, I would heal them because the Mother gave me this gift to do good. I will not remain here listening to you both causing more stress to a mother who should be enjoying these months. If either of you cannot hold your tongues then get out.’
When neither female moved, Orla blew out a long breath then turned her attention to Feyre, face softening, ‘I believe you had questions for me.’
For the next hour or so, Orla departed to a connecting, private room with Nesta at her side and only the high lord and lady in attendance. Eris’s stomach was in knots the entire time. He could handle the tension in the room – that was nothing out of the ordinary. After all, it was only his exiled brother, his brother’s estranged mate who doubled as Eris’ sister-in-law, his wife’s mate, his once-betrothed, and a creature that had lived for millennia. Nothing out of the ordinary. For their part, the Night Court did not speak. Cassian had not shifted from his spot, had not even made one comment about Nesta, though his mouth was set in a hard line – which may have been due to Orla tinkering with the bond. No, the real problem was trying to stop Niamh from being so Niamh-like. The female had slunk out of her chair to languish on the hard ground with the smoke hounds, oblivious to the grandeur of the place. She fired questions at Ashur about going drinking that evening then dared to ask Amren how she decorated her cell in the Prison.
Before Eris could throw her from a window, Lucien decided to intervene like the good emissary he was. ‘Do you still make it your personal mission to cause chaos wherever you go, Niamh?’
Niamh thrust her hand in the air, brandishing her missing digit to all gathered. ‘After my high lord chopped my damn finger off?’
Mor blanched and even Elain’s face was stark with horror.
‘I have nine more fingers to lose,’ she grinned. ‘Last year, I got thrown out of the summer solstice celebrations by your father himself. Scruff of my neck like I was one of his smoke hounds.’
Lucien’s lips twitched at the visual. ‘You’re lucky it wasn’t your neck on the executioner’s block.’
‘Your father likes me too much,’ she said, winking.
It was true in a sense. Niamh was a jackal the majority of the time, even managing to once make Beron snort his wine out of his nose during a dinner. Even Eris didn’t know how he hadn’t murdered her yet. She was untameable. Unpredictable. But, Eris knew that Niamh had spied for the high lord many times. Under the Mountain, she had been a valuable asset. She loved her court, but above all, Niamh was loyal to only one – her sister. Wherever Orla’s allegiance pointed, Niamh would follow.
At long last, the four exited the room. Thankfully, there were smiles on their faces. Not true smiles of joy, but smiles of relief that suggested hope might be reachable. Hope was not a far-flung dream now that Orla had entered their lives.
When Eris began to rise, Nesta shook her head slightly then slipped back into her seat. Her face had shifted, becoming the poised courtier Eris knew she could be.
‘The weapons then.’
Amren tutted. ‘You still negotiate over your sister’s life.’
‘It’s not a negotiation,’ replied Nesta swiftly. ‘I am requesting my possession be returned.’
That steely glare could cut the skin. Nobody else would challenge Nesta. They didn’t know how powerful she was becoming. Her magic was flourishing to the point where she’d surpass Eris soon. He was glad in a way that the Night Court had never sought to weaponize her, but the fact they had never encouraged her to train her magic infuriated him. She’d have been ruled by it.
With a sweep of the high lord’s hand through the air, three weapons appeared, wrapped in velvet, on the table. Eris could feel the thrum of magic from them. Magic that was so unmistakably Nesta. But also not. There was a wildness to it, more feral and borne of the earth than Nesta’s magic. Interesting.
Eris parried the move, sweeping his own hand towards himself so that the swords vanished from sight.
‘Like looking in a mirror,’ Niamh said with a whistle.
‘Good. And the Prison?’ Nesta enquired, tilting her head slightly.
Mor knew better than to speak now, but her sour face told the story enough. Still, Cassian beside her, remained like a stone behemoth, unspeaking and unmoving.
‘Next week,’ replied Feyre. ‘Rhys will winnow you from here and allow your access. Two hours only.’
‘Two hours will be more than enough time,’ said Eris.
‘Cassian escorts you,’ added Rhys.
Finally, a reaction from the Illyrian. His brow pressed downwards, hands curling into fists at this new information.
‘Why?’ demanded Nesta. ‘Why not Azriel?’
‘Because Cassian has imprisoned the bulk of prisoners in there. If there’s any you need information on, he is better tasked for it.’
Eris was prepared to wage war on his wife’s behalf, if she wished it, but Nesta just gave a roll of her eyes and snapped out a fine as if Cassian was too insignificant to warrant more of a reaction. Then she stood, sweeping her hands down her skirts.
‘Must you leave so soon?’ Feyre asked, a hand cradling her stomach.
‘Yes. I have a ball to attend with my husband tonight – and he’s promised to write my essay for my tutor.’
‘A tutor?’
Eris lay a hand against the small of his wife’s back, unable to stop himself from doing such a thing before the eyes of the Night Court. Her body leaned into his out of habit. ‘My wife will rule at my side,’ Eris replied. ‘Better that she’s well educated on Prythian rather than leading a court with no knowledge of our lands.’
Niamh was unable to stop her smirk at Eris’ backhanded words. ‘And she is brilliant. We have to thank the Night Court for letting her slip out of their grasp. Your loss was our gain.’
Before Niamh could spark a war – and she was definitely itching to do that – Eris summoned the smoke hounds to his side and Orla slipped her hand around Ashur’s arm.
‘One week,’ Eris said.
Only Lucien and Elain offered a weak smile at their departure, the remaining cold faces were blank – no doubt Rhysand was already rumbling through their minds. Niamh said farewell with a deep bow and a flourish of her arms in the air.
@owllover123 @rarephloxes @fanboy7794 @sugardoll22 @kitkat-writes-stuff @this-is-rochelle @sv0430 @embersofwildfire
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A Plea for Mercy
1 Remember, Adonai, what has happened to us;
look, and see our disgrace.
2 The land we possessed has been passed on to strangers,
our homes to foreigners.
3 We have become fatherless orphans,
our mothers now are widows.
4 We have to pay to drink our own water;
we have to buy our own wood.
5 The yoke is on our necks; we are persecuted;
we toil to exhaustion but are given no rest.
6 We made pacts with Egypt and Ashur
to get enough food.
7 Our ancestors sinned and no longer exist;
we bear the weight of their guilt.
8 We are ruled by slaves,
and there is no one to save us from their power.
9 We get our food at the peril of our lives
because of the sword in the desert.
10 Our skins are as black as a furnace
because of the searing blasts of famine.
11 They have raped the women of Tziyon,
virgins in the cities of Y’hudah.
12 Princes are hung up by their hands,
leaders receive no respect.
13 Young men are compelled to grind at the mill,
boys stagger under loads of wood.
14 The old men have deserted the city gate,
the young men have given up their music.
15 Joy has vanished from our hearts,
our dancing has turned into mourning.
16 The crown has fallen from our heads.
Woe to us! for we have sinned.
17 This is why our hearts are sick;
this is why our eyes grow dim —
18 it’s because of Mount Tziyon, so wasted
that jackals have overrun it.
19 You, Adonai, reign forever;
your throne endures through all generations.
20 Why do you never remember us?
Why abandon us for so long a time?
21 Adonai, turn us back to you; and we will come back;
renew our days, as they were in the past —
22 unless you have totally rejected us
in a fury that knows no limits.
[Adonai, turn us back to you; and we will come back;
renew our days, as they were in the past.]
— Lamentations 5 | Complete Jewish Bible (CJB)
Complete Jewish Bible Copyright © 1998 by David H. Stern. All rights reserved.
Cross References: Exodus 22:24; Leviticus 19:32; Judges 16:21; Nehemiah 4:3; Nehemiah 5:15; Nehemiah 9:36-37; Job 17:7; Job 19:9; Job 30:30; Psalm 13:1; Psalm 44:13; Psalm 53:5; Psalm 80:3; Psalm 109:11; Isaiah 3:1; Isaiah 13:16; Isaiah 24:8; Jeremiah 14:20; Jeremiah 25:10; Jeremiah 40:9; Jeremiah 50:15; John 1:38
#plea#mercy#prayer#restoration#Lamentations 5#Book of Lamentations#Old Testament#CJB#Complete Jewish Bible
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When his sister runs off to Townsville, Ash chases after her and enlists the help of a new friend...
Commission for @onelastfic!
#thepaladinrambles#tales of mewni#callyieverse#my commissions#ash membrane#nenet#tales of mewni future au
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Talon of Horus/Black Legion
Once again these were initial thoughts, not detailed, I may currently disagree with some of the conclusions I came to, or disagree upon reread, was not reading with the same level of scrutiny I do when I live commentate.
‘I will call you Thoth,’ I tell him. He offers no response to this courtesy. I inform him it was the name of an ancient and renowned Prosperine scribe. He doesn’t reply. Imagine my disappointment.
I'm on page 2 and Khayon is not disappointing
In the long years before the Battle of Canticle City, I knew no fear because I had nothing to lose. Everything I’d treasured was dust at the mercy of history’s winds. Every truth I’d fought for was now nothing more than idle philosophy – spoken by exiles, whispered to ghosts. None of this angered me, nor was I victim to any special melancholy. I’d learned over the centuries that only a fool tried to fight fate.
man what a difference from Ahriman
these are two completely different series by two different authors but i'm really wondering if they're being set up as foils
okay, yeah, new blorbo detected
‘Come to us, Khayon.’ I wasn’t sure I could deal with such a meeting, just then.
‘I cannot. Ashur-Kai needs me.’
‘We are recording tonal signifiers suggesting deception in your reply, Khayon.’
‘That is because I am lying to you.’
some additional context is he just woke up from a nightmare about the time his home got razed
and he got 3 hours sleep
so like if there's ever a time to be nope im not doing this meeting with the computer that sort of used to be my sister and is using her body
he does end up going to see her
at this point in my warhammer reading im really understanding why people write coffeeshop aus
I felt a headache threatening. The temptation burned to simply reach into the others’ minds and converse in wordless communion. I had been around my mindless Rubricae kindred for too long, exercising my psychic control on those who had no right to resist. Speaking to others in actual discussion required more patience than I was used to.
Khayon is a WFH mood
khayon also being the voice of reason, kinda
also man i love how the trauma of the burning of Prospero is like that one post on tumblr
it's literally a physical force in the warp
but also it's haunting the psyche of the surviving Thousand Sons
gold. It was scared. Scared of us. Truly, it had come in a harmless guise only to be met with murder. This was no incarnation of the Emperor’s might. It was nothing more than the desperate last gasp of a dying man.
congrats ADB you managed to successfully make me feel bad for the Emperor
(there was some other stuff in this scene as well)
oh yeah
Lheor has consistently been best boy
he is also blorbo
…walked right into Lheor’s fist. It cracked against my faceplate hard enough to stagger me and scramble the visual feed running across my eye lenses. I had to pull off my helmet, breathing in the stale, recycled air of the Tlaloc’s bridge, spiced by sweat. ‘That’s for lying to me,’ said the World Eater. ‘It was nothing like teleportation.’
and
‘The only difference between them and us is that their daemons are literal,’ Lheor said. ‘They don’t pine over burned home worlds or lose themselves to pain engines latching on to their brain meat.’ Here he paused, tapping his dirty, armoured fingertips on his metal teeth. ‘Falkus is still Falkus, no matter what else is in his body.’
and
Lheor endured my glances for a while, then growled again. ‘Speak what’s on your mind, Khayon, or look elsewhere.’ ‘It is nothing,’ I told him. ‘You are just… alive.’ At first I thought he would laugh, taking my words as meaningless sentimentality. Perhaps he wouldn’t understand, or not care. Instead, Lheor looked at me for several long seconds, and then nodded. Just a nod. No more, no less. Despite everything we would go through together in the years to come, I do not believe I ever appreciated his presence by my side as much as in that moment. The power of simple brotherly understanding.
and
The refreshment [Abaddon] offered turned out to be a clear spirit that left a faint burn on the back of the tongue. I am being generous when I say it had the raw chemical taste of engine coolant.
This ‘beverage’ came from a barrel with warnings of acidic toxicity, poured into flasks of twisted white metal. I had the uncomfortable feeling that Abaddon was actually making an effort to be hospitable. Telemachon refused to touch the liquid. I took a flask out of courtesy. ‘This is good,’ Lheor said as he drank the clear liquid. ‘My thanks, captain.’ I let my senses brush over Lheor’s mind, curiosity forcing me to seek any sign of deception. Unbelievably, the World Eater was telling the truth. He liked it.
and
Lheor made the same leap of logic in the very same moment. He swore in Nagrakali, calling my parentage into question.
‘You were right,’ he said at the end of his maternally offensive tirade. ‘That thing’s the size of…’ he trailed off. ‘Something huge.’
ok i should stop here or i'll be quoting all the lheor bits
Abaddon and tapped a thumb beneath one of his own eyes. ‘Yes,’ said the former First Captain. ‘Show them.’ Sargon closed his bright eyes and held his arms to the sides in imitation of the Catherics’ crucified god.
Sargon T posing to assert dominance
Sargon is also baby face lol
I saw him described as "basically the Hellsing catboy" and that's not inaccurate
ohhhhhh
I GET IT
poetic cinema
of course he controls the Ragged Knight
created from the souls of those who were betrayed and burned by the people who were supposed to be their protectors/fellows
‘I am Iskandar Khayon, born of the world you are murdering. And I am no traitor.’
‘Save your lies for the black spirits that heed them, sorcerer.’ He comes closer, smelling my weakness. This will be an execution, not a duel. Above us, the sky chokes on the blackness of the burning city. Bolters are a distant, unending staccato. Pyramids that have stood proudly for thousands of years are shattered and brought down by self-righteous barbarians. Now this warlord comes to me, spitting misguided madness at me under the guise of righteous judgement.
‘I. Am not. A traitor.’
vs the description of the Ragged Knight
Albajensia, the fortress of the Karthur heretics, falls at dawn. The sword-bearing knights lead their holy warriors into the city, and with all their sins forgiven even before they are committed, the crusaders show no mercy. The heretics numbered no more than a few hundred, yet the whole city burns. Men, women, children… all butchered on the knights’ blessed blades. But what of the blameless masses? What of the children who know nothing of their parents’ heresy? What of the thousands of loyal, devout souls who have broken no laws, and do not deserve death?
...
And thus, the city burns. An innocent population is wiped from the face of the world by the blades that should have defended them. Like every emotion and deed, this slaughter is reflected in the Sea of Souls. The hate, the fear, the rage and bitter sense of betrayal – all of it curdles behind the veil. Few things feed the warp as sweetly as war, and few wars hold the same rancid symbolism as those declared by the strong against the weak they are sworn to protect. Such slaughter gives birth to daemons within the empyrean. Countless mewling terrors born from individual moments of suffering and bloodlust. Above them, more powerful entities also swirl into existence: one born from a blaze, deliberately started, that claims a dozen lives at once; another arising from a mother’s abject horror at seeing her children spitted upon the lances of those she’d believed to be her noble and holy protectors. These acts, and thousands more like them, breed the Neverborn in the hell beyond reality’s veil.
and that was all I had on Talon of Horus
for Black Legion, well:
wheeze wheeze wheeze
I'm reading the Black Legion book and
Abaddon is currently strangling Khayon and telling him he lacks hatred
how did this turn into Naruto
also lmaooo
abaddon: you don't hate the emperor enough. do you think he was right to tell you not to learn the secrets of the warp
khayon internally: uhhhhh yeah actually that was probably a good idea
i can't believe khayon put up with this for ten thousand years
well okay he does say the line about time being screwy in the Eye of Terror I guess and that not as much time passed there
but still it was years
abaddon's been kind of a bad boss but this is the first time it's escalated this far and also like it's expecting me to believe that abaddon is the guy with the iron will who managed to run herd on all these wacky stupid evil dudes enough to do 13 black crusades and also be inspiring enough to his inner circle
i guess khayon is just desperate for anyone to follow and all his bridges have been burned for him
he needs to go in whatever the happy pear wiggler is, same as ahriman
it's like a pear wiggler but with healing
local war criminal needs a hug and also to get out of this situation which is making him worse
i feel like khayon is actually capable of positive change
as opposed to ahriman who is just going to keep running down that slippery slope with his hands over his ears yelling lalalala
literally like everyone calls him out
and he's like "okay but i just need to do one more thing and then it'll work"
"and i can die"
which honestly has hit the point for me that's it depressingly repetitive and I'm not really enjoying the further adventures of Ahriman and didn't buy the last book
i suspect i will have similar feelings re the black legion novels after i finish this one
though the third one isn't out yet
i have a villain protagonist threshold
i get that they have to be "yeah these are the bad guys who actually do bad things"
but the vore scene + the whole thing about how exactly they kept that one guy alive were a bit much for me
for Black Legion at least, that was pretty early on in this book
like i get it, "what are you expecting reading wh40k books" but the first book in both the ahriman series and the black legion series were both a lot lower on the personal villainy scale
well okay Khayon did straight up rewrite that guy's brain so he only had sensation when he was in proximity to Khayon, that was pretty dire, but it was much less casually treated?
I think actually that might be part of the point of this series, that the Black Legion is ending up being like this and getting dragged down further by Chaos despite everything in Talon of Horus
i will say i am loving the paralleling of the black templars and black legion
sigismund/abaddon being mirrors
while i was out I realized that huh, Astraeos and Khayon have some very similar beats in their character arcs
as in they both become renegades/traitors for something that wasn't their fault, and have no choice but to leave and go on the fringes
and then deal with gradually getting dragged further and further down morally because it's their best hope, and it's that or die
and the people they care about and were fighting for also slowly getting consumed and being sacrificed
okay i finished Black Legion
ow that hurt
like Khayon's personal relationships were one of the best parts of the first book and really helped humanize him
and then in Black Legion it's just either watching him become distanced from them or him having to sacrifice/kill them
especially given the whole thing in the first book was him missing having a brotherhood
anyways i think i might be getting a little burned out on tragedy
time for something lighter
like Heaven's Feel
okay, more notes from this
if i had a nickel for every time the viewpoint character in a Thousand Son novel was forced to kneel and act like a slave by a creepy dude with bad teeth and general hygiene
i'd have two nickels
which isn't a lot but why DID two different authors do this
there was a sad lack of lheor which tied into the earlier stuff i mentioned
we did get this though
‘So the matter of my fury is something he discusses with you all? Does Abaddon speak of your failings as freely as he speaks of mine?’
That stopped their duel. Both of my brothers looked to me, and Lheor laughed with typically toothy malice.
‘You realise that while you’re away on your endless hunts, we have better things to do than discuss you? Some of us have wars to fight, Khayon. You can earn Abaddon’s favour by cutting a few throats. The rest of us lead armies into battle.’
Lheor raised his blade again, beckoning to Amurael to continue the fight. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘I have no failings.’
but yeah, then later Khayon used Lheor's hated nickname because it's a reference to the worst moment of his life
and it's like the back and forth between them in the first book felt like genuine friendship? but in this book it's definitely morphed into something…not so much
Note from the future: I think ADB is really good at writing sympathetic/understandable bad people as they get worse, he writes some very realistic gradual slippage, it's not the culmination of a grand tragedy, it's just...there, as they fall further into Chaos. It's good writing but it's not necessarily fun to read haha.
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Every year, one of the merchants living in Ashur (though many of them did not live there, as you will see) was chosen to be the principal official for the city for that year, the limmum. The choice of who would take this role seems not have been on the basis of his wisdom or skill or even interest in the job; instead, the limmum was selected by lot. 8 This man became responsible for collecting taxes, making loans, and convincing people to repay their debts. He lived in a public building for the year, assisted by a number of other officials.
-Amanda H. Podany. Weavers, Scribes, and Kings
sortition a thousand years before athens!
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Hi D,since we are talking Mythology I wanted to show the research I commissioned from a PHD historian.
"
Ancient Assyrian Religion
Ancient Assyrian religion, a complex and fascinating aspect of Mesopotamian culture, was polytheistic and deeply intertwined with the state's political and societal structure. Assyrian people had many gods to worship, endowed with all natural and social phenomena, politics, and even the cosmos, and they had a direct hand in all spheres of people's lives (Jastrow, 2023). This paper focuses on the prominent gods of the Assyrian religion, enumerating this group's place in the cult and religious importance.
At the zenith of the Assyrian pantheon stood Ashur, the supreme deity and patron god of Assyria. Ashur was not just a god among other gods but indirectly the manifestation or expression of the state, the people, and the empire themselves (Llop-Raduà, 2020). Contrary to gods associated with natural elements or phenomena, Ashur embodied the nation's identity and the underlying desire for expansion and conquest through the authority of divinity. Within the Assyrian state religion as a primary deity, kings were obliged to reflect the likeness of Asheperu through conquests, expanding the Assyrian empire's borders.
Even though Ishtar was the deity of love, war, and natural processes, she also held great importance in Assyrian cults. This goddess, perhaps best known by her dual nature, is both the power for creation and protection and the power for devastation and damage (Jastrow, 2023). The goddess had a dual function as she was called for glorious victories in battles in her role of war, and she was honored as the goddess of marriage and fertility when it came to blessings on marriages and agricultural production. Ishtar's devotees occupied almost every Assyrian metropolis. Her temples were located in the main Assyrian cities where her priestesses presented rituals. As night and day reflect the day-time control of the moon god and the sun god, so are the heavenly twosome that governs night and day.
The storm god, Hadad (or Adad), represented everything related to rain, thunder, and electricity. He was like a blessing and a curse to people in one sense because he both brought life to the world and made things uncomfortable, as demonstrated w2hen he occasionally brought harm. The relationship was so because cropping and agriculture were the main basis of the Assyrian economy. Hadad was an important god of agriculture since he guaranteed the land yielded good harvests to nourish the people (Llop-Raduà, 2020). Let it be his anger shown in thunderstorms or drought that was able to destroy crops, which, therefore, would make his ritual a vital part of crop fertility rites. This deity, in addition to several other gods and some divine beings, was part of one intricate tapestry that ushered in the old religion of Assyria.
In conclusion, the gods of ancient Assyrian religion were deeply woven into the fabric of Assyrian identity, influencing every aspect of life and governance. The deification of Ashur, Ishtar, Sin, Shamash, Hadad, and others represents a belief that the world is intertwined between divine and human, with the gods actively referencing and influencing their humans in positive and negative ways. People believed that gods favored such worship and used it to guarantee the well-being and prosperity of the Assyrian kingdom. This held a very important place in the everyday life of Assyrian people.
References
Jastrow, M. (2023). The religion of Babylonia and Assyria. DigiCat.
Llop-Raduà, J. (2020). Gods in the Archival and Other Middle Assyrian Texts. Ceremonies, Feasts and Festivities in Ancient Mesopotamia and the Mediterranean World Performance and Participation, 29, 209."
FIRST OF ALL SENDING ME RESEARCH WITH REFERENCES??? THIS IS BASICALLY FLIRTING.
Also, it's so fascinating how since the beginning religion has had such a close connection to the socio-political realities of communities.
I loved the bit about Hadad because it reminded me of LBAF Max :)
Thanks for sharing this with me, Nico <3
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I had some weirdly specific/realistic dreams last night.
1. I was wandering the city with someone familiar (maybe one of my siblings?) we went up a thin flight of stairs in an ally and wandered into a very small infinite house where I wandered until my next dream. It was dirty and covered in graffiti like others had been there before.
2. My family had an underground storage thing like a root cellar that was full of rocks and crystals. The ladder broke on my way down and I was stuck. Serves me right because I was warned by my dad not to go down there anyway.
3. Terzo (post resurrection) and Omega had a lake beach day. It was all going swimmingly (HA) until Terzo got his foot caught in a rock and was stuck underwater. Something about fluid filling his lungs and being unable to breathe or escape set off a nasty ptsd attack. Luckily Omega noticed that something was wrong very quickly and got him out of there. The dream ended with Omega firmly holding a sobbing Terzo close to his chest on the shore. That one was heartbreaking and really stuck with me.
4. Ashur Gharavi was doing an Argos photoshoot where he was in a bathtub (camera angle was looking from the side so only his head and his arm, which was hanging over the edge of the tub, were shown) except he had eye sfx prosthetics instead of googly eyes and they went all down his arm. The lighting was rather dark but warm and orange. Wasn't really a dream ig, more like a still picture I was shown while I was asleep.
Anyway, I don't normally exercise right before bed but I did last night and that's my best guess for why I had such weird dreams. The lake one was weird because I could feel Terzo's confusion and panic and Omega's fear and worry like they were my own
#the band ghost#twomp#the world of mr plant#terzo emeritus#papa emeritus lll#omega ghoul#argos twomp#ashur gharavi
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Book Review 3 - Last Exit by Max Gladstone
Okay, book review number 3! This was a denser read than the last few books I’ve gone through – I think it literally had more words per page than standard? Or maybe just a heavier writing style.
Now to be clear this isn’t any sort of complaint – I absolutely adored this book (So, thanks a million to @booksandchainmail and @circletofcircles for pointing me towards it!). Feels like I was leaving a bookmark every few pages because there was a passage that really jumped out at me I wanted to save. I had to just start tearing up whatever receipts I had handy every bookmarks at a certain point. Between this and This Is How You Lose The Time War, I absolutely need to hunt down some more of Gladstone’s stuff (I say, as if I don’t already have Empress of Forever out form the library and sitting on my dresser).
So, the story doesn’t make any direct reference to Lovecraft – and it is otherwise not shy at all about making direct references. There are like a half-dozen places where I could just tell what book/article/discourse Gladstone had on his mind as he wrote it, even leaving aside the e.g. place literally named Elsinore – but it honestly did a better job of being an anti-cosmic horror story than a lot of the stuff that says on its face it’s About Deconstructing Lovecraft does, at least imo?
The alien is terrible, and terrifying. It’s vaster than you can imagine, and it will destroy everything about the life you know. It whispers to the desperate and forgotten, speaks and promises to those who’d cast aside the world for something, anything, else. Fighting it is miserable, and bloody, and leaves you ruined in body and soul. But saving the world requires sacrifice, requires hard lines and desperate measures.
But, well, have you taken a look at the world recently? How sure are you it’s better than what lies beyond it? How much killing are you willing to do, off that surety?
And the book is excellent is getting that sense of desperation, of sunk costs and impending doom and making it feel like the only real choices are finding a bit of happiness for you and yours and shutting out the bigger picture, or making yourself a sin eater shoring up a rotting foundation. Also just generally, at giving a sense of poverty and desperation and impending collapse.
I’d say the resolution and epilogue feel a little saccharine, but that really very much the point – cast aside the gods we’ve made to rule over us, and the world really will be as good and kind as you’ve never dared to dream it might be. It’s a very anarchist story, that way.
The villain’s really fascinating, honestly. Like, in a certain very pat sense, it’s the embodiment of settler colonialism – a cowboy in a white hat who is watching you through every NSA back door in every phone camera – but it’s a bit more fundamental than that. (Also, weirdly not that racist or homophobic, given that)
I mean in one sense, like, the Cowboy’s whole thesis is that the world is basically awful, and anything good for anyone comes only at a cost to someone else, and that if you want a comfortable life for you and yours, you better have some men with guns willing to keep the people your comfort is taken from from tearing it back with interest. All of his associations are with civilization – roads, cities, cameras, guns, hierarchy writ large – are you get the sense that all the specific referents are about Manifest Destiny, the core is very, well, we’ve all read Against the Grain, right? The passages about how the first city walls were probably built to keep people in as much as out seem relevant, especially.
Or – there was a Tides of History episode a few weeks back about the Assyrian Empire, and how according to royal theology Ashur the god WAS Ashur the City, and the spread of the empire was the ordering of the world according to Ashur’s laws was in a sense the spread of Ashur himself. That feels like a comparison the book would have drawn, if the subject had come up.
But I’m rambling and only barely coherently, so will stop myself there – book’s not perfect, by any means, have some nitpicks with the plot, the direct references to contemporary politics get a bit didactic feeling and tired when you’re getting them with the same perspective from four/five POVs, the finale kind of descends into melodrama – but really lovely book, would recommend.
(also – it’s not really relevant to anything, but between this and Ninth House what the fuck is up with Yale? )
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My main Elden Ring oc
Ashur Amanranth
" Originally a well-off denizen of The Eternal City, a Scion of Nox, and ally of the Silver Tear.
His life changed when some curious sorcerers wanted to see if the old myths were true: Do Nightfolk truly bleed silver? Only one way to find out: Torch their cities and capture who you can.
The sorcerers in question quickly found out that Nightfolk do not, in fact, bleed silver. But maybe with some coaxing, they would.
Long rounds of glintstone experimentation yielded no results. But why would that stop them?
Sorcerers are the worst.
In time, they released Ashur.
Into a magically contained forest.
And hunted him for sport.
Because Sorcerers are the worst.
And, after an even longer stint as a semi-feral animal, Ashur was able to McMurder his way out of there and into The Lands Between.
Currently, he's semi-civilized, semi-feral. Channeling his beastial nature through incantations and his civilized spirit through the axe.
His only goal now: Kill all sorcerers. "
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Ashurbanipal's name
Ashurbanipal, the powerful king of New Assyria, known for his famous wars and library.
His name consists of three parts:
First part: The name Ashur is the great god of the city of Assyria.
Second part: the verb "bani" means "creator".
Third part: the name "Apil" means "heir".
His name means "Assyria, the creator of the heir".
His name refers to two things: A) He is the heir of Ashur, the great god of the Assyrian city and empire. b) He received his power and kingdom from Ashur.
Ashur is the great god of the city of Assyria and the national god of the people of the Assyrian Empire.
Her name in Sumerian-Akkadian cuneiform:
𒁹𒀭𒊹𒆕𒀀
𒁹𒀭𒊹 refers to Ashur, the great god of the Assyrians. [ashur]
𒆕 refers to the Sumerian verb "to build", which in Ashurbanipal's name refers to the Akkadian verb "creator". [bani]
𒀀 refers to the word heir. [apil]
Follow my YouTube channel. Silent tablets documentary, short videos from ancient history.
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#archaeology#ancient mesopotamia#ashurbanipal#ancient assyria#assyrian#akkadian#akkadian language#semitic languages#𒁹𒀭𒊹𒆕𒀀#𒁹𒀭𒊹#mesopotamia#ancient history#sumerian#archeology
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