Amonrawya - Amon Rawya

gaslight gatekeep gollum

2nd of October: Light / An dàrna latha dhen Dàmhair: Solas

English Translation:

Thorin knew beauty, perfection, could recognise the mark of true craftsmanship with ease. Though still young in the years of Dwarves, he studied at the side of their greatest smiths, deep in the halls of Erebor before the dragon came, and learnt the true meaning of creation.

The forges of Men lacked skill and care; working on them brought him no satisfaction, only a pittance in his hand and scorn on the road. Reaching the Blue Mountains was a relief to his people and to Thorin but they did not relish to live on the charity of others.

Their prince would not forget the glory and honour they came from. They established halls of their own in the west and raised themselves out of ruin, enough that many among Thorin's folk lost all desire to seek for their lost homeland again.

For their sake, and the sake of his siblings, Thorin spoke little of it - choosing to look ahead rather than live looking back. It did not stop the dreams or the memories, nor quell his anger. Never again will we be beggars, turned from the door like animals.

Oft did Thorin go among their smiths, seeking the familiarity of a hammer in the hand and the heat of the fire on his face.

But eyes the light of the Arkenstone had seen could not easily forget its radiance, nor find equal in dull and dusty gems. In his dreams, it lay buried beneath the dragon's paws, forever in the dark within walls once strewn with firelight.

The Arkenstone. The heart of the mountain, they called it. He held its light closely, tightly, and allowed his hope to live on in its glow.

(Sorry this one is shorter, I'm working tonight and don't have a lot of time to translate it!)

Scottish Gaelic Translation:

Bha Thòrin eòlach air àlainneachd, snas. Dh’fhaodadh e ag aithneachadh comharra fhìor cheàirde gu furasta. Ged a bha e òg fhathast ann am beatha nan troichean, dh’ionnsaich e ri taobh na goibhnean as motha a bh’ aca, anns na h-uaimhean ìsle, aosmhoire Erebor mus tàinig an nathair-sgiathach, agus dh’ionnsaich e am fior ciall chruitheachd.

Bha na ceàrdaichean gun sgil is nàistinn. Cha tug e toileachadh dha a bhith ag obair orra idir. Cha d’fhuair e dad ach priobaid na làimh agus tàir bhuapa air an rathad. Nuair a ràinig iad na Beanntan Ghuirm, b’ e faochadh don t-sluaigh aige agus ris fhèin, ach cha robhar measail air a bhith a’ fuirich air carantas.

Cha dhìochuimhneach am prionnsa a’ ghlòir is onaraich a bh’ aca. Thog iad tallachan dhaibh fhèin anns an Iar agus thog iad fhèin a-mach à lom-sgrios. B’ e sin gu leòr dha tòrr dhen t-sluaigh Thòrin a bhith gan caill am miann a bhith a’ sireach an tìr-dhàimh aca a-rithist.

Air an son, agus air a phiuthar is a bhràthair, cha bhruidhinn Thòrin mu dheidhinn gu tric. Choimhead e air adhart seach a bhith beò a’ coimhead air ais. Cha do stad sin na h-aislingean, na chuimhneachain, no chuir mùch air a fhuath. Cha bhith sinn nar dìolachan-dèirce a-riamh a-rithist, feumach air taic mar gun robh beathaichean a bh’ annainn.

Chaidh Thòrin gu tric a-measg na goibhnean aca, a’ sireach cinnt dhen t-òrd na làimh is teas an teine air an t-aodann. Ach cha b’ urrainn sùilean a chunnaic solas an Arkenstone dhìochuimhneachadh an deàrrsaidh no lorg an aon rud ann an leugan luaireanta, ràsanaiche. Anns na aislingean bha i adhlaicte fon smàg an nathair-sgiathach, anns an dorchadas, ann an tallachan a bha air lìonadh aon uair le solas an teine, gu sìorraidh brath.

An Arkenstone. Cridhe na Beinn, chuir iad oirre. Ghlèidh e an solas faisg, gu daingean, agus leig a dhòchas a bhith beò anns a deàrrsadh.

(Duilich gu bheil am fear seo nas beaga, tha mi air a bhith ag obair a-nochd agus cha robh àm gu leòr agam airson eadar-theangachadh a dhèanamh! Bidh mearachdan ann a sheo agus bheir mi sùil a-màireach air haha)

help this is way too accurate

Aliit

Somewhere along the way, the Bad Batch picked up not only Omega, but another young girl too, though older than the female clone. She reached just below Hunter’s shoulder, and wore a drastically severe, short haircut, that not long ago included a braid.

A former Jedi Padawan, survivor of Order 66, cast into the Galaxy with no protection, and her previous allies, her friends, sent out to hunt the girl down. By some miracle, she managed to avoid them long enough for Clone Force 99 to stumble across her, and none of them had the heart to abandon the rather reckless, passionate little Jedi. So, she became one of their own; an elder sibling to Omega, and a second adopted child to the group.

But the girl, whose name was Mai Kryze, (she claimed the name had no connection to the former Duchess Satine, but Echo thought she looked eerily similar to Obi-Wan-Kenobi,) did not have Omega’s innocent disposition. Mai had seen the war, watched her people slaughtered, and been on the recieving end of the clones’ persecution.

One night, aboard the ship, the crew rested after a particularly arduous mission. Most of them by now were asleep, apart from two: Mai, and Hunter; however, he was only awake because the quiet sniffling from the cockpit refused to be ignored. He tossed and turned for ages, feeling guilty for leaving the girl alone, but unsure of how to help. She gave him a run for his money when it came to keeping emotions close to her chest; though he supposed it was the Jedi way.

Eventually, once the sniffling turned to sob, Hunter left his bunk and carefully worked his way through the ship, not wanting to disturb the others. Especially not Omega. When he reached the cockpit, he saw Mai’s hunched form in one of the seats, curled into a ball as her shoulders shook.

“I know you’re there,” she mumbled, head buried between her kness.

Hunter sat down next to her, awkwardly leaning on his thighs. He knew how to comfort Omega, now he had practise, but Mai never seemed to need any reassurance or comfort. Though he knew it had been an act, sometimes they all forgot, despite being a Jedi, Mai was only sixteen.

She wiped her face, head angled away from him as she tried to control her breathing. “M’sorry if I disturbed you.”

“Don’t be. I’d rather know something was up than sleep while you cried. Wanna talk about it?” Hunter asked, remembering a piece of advice Cut gave.

For a moment, Mai held his eye, uncertainty crossing her own. Then she brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, staring out into space. “During the mission, I...I saw a wanted poster for the Jedi. Only two of the faces hadn’t been crossed out; Master Yoda, and my Master, Obi-Wan. The rest...so many. Even Master Windu.”

Hunter watched her expression contort, an array of emotions flashing across it in an instant. His eyes widened at this, as she never let anything truly register on her face, and now...

Blazing anger reared its head, and Mai clenched her jaw, her hands gesturing wildly. “They’ve destroyed my people, my culture, everything! They’ve taken everything from me, and they won’t stop. Not until every single person in the Galaxy hates the Jedi, until they tarnish our memory forever. I will never be safe, safe enough to practise my beliefs, to help and to be who I trained to be my whole life. I can’t do anything. For anyone.”

She took a breath, calming herself, using the techniques her Master taught her. Anger came rarely to Mai, but when it did, she needed to work hard in order to control it. Brushing hair from her face, she glanced at Hunter.

“I know the Jedi aren’t perfect, believe me, I know. But so many of us were just good people trying to do what was right, to save lives and...I don’t know, try and bring hope to the Galaxy. Everyone makes mistakes, even Jedi, so we didn’t always get it right. But we truly care for each person in the universe, would lay down our lives for them; and yet, this is how the Jedi fall? Betrayed by one of our own, and hunted down by our friends. Sometimes I wonder if the will of the Force isn’t just some joke made up to make us feel better when things fall apart.”

Hunter wished he could take this pain away from her. The way it tore across her face, dug into her heart...she felt differently to others, he knew that. Force users connected with the world in a strange way, more deeply, and when something hurt, that pain ripped them apart. “Kid, I...I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make this any better. I saw Order 66, what happened to our Jedi...we cannot imagine what it was like for you. I’m sorry, truly sorry. The only thing I have to offer is...us.”

Mai raised her eyes to him; they glistened with tears, but her confusion at his words momentarily halted their fall. “What do you mean?”

“You lost a family, your people,” Hunter said, grasping her shoulder gently, “and we can never replace them. But we can offer you a new home, a new family, one where you are still free to be a Jedi. None of us will ever think less of you, or try to change you. Us lot may be a bit odd, but we’ll do our best to look after you, Mai.”

In the dark cockpit, their faces only illuminated by the stars outside, Hunter felt a connection, something had reached out and touched him in the silence. It took seconds for him to realise it was Mai; he recognised the presence, and smiled. She returned it, albeit shyly, and fought back a yawn.

“Thank you, Hunter. I don’t think you know how much it means to me that you all care so much. And I’m sorry I don’t really show how I feel in return...it will take time for me to get used to you guys. You bear your emotions so freely...that was a downside to the Order. No matter how deeply I cared for the people around me, I could never say it.”

Hunter hesitated a moment, then carefully pulled Mai into his arms, cradling the youngster with as much care as he would give Omega. She tensed, and he wondered if he had gone too far, then her arms wound around his middle and she clutched onto him. The way Mai clung to him, Hunter realised she’d probably never been hugged in her life, which only made him hold tighter.

For her part, Mai couldn’t have been more thankful for them. With these men, her new family, she might get the chance to heal, to continue her training in peace, knowing she was protected and cared for, so that one day, she could save them, as they had saved her.

Holding onto Hunter as if he’d vanish if she let go, Mai smiled, recalling a word in Mando’a Cody once taught her. Aliit. She had one of her own, now.

the way lord huron sings about immortality and reviving the dead is so enamouring to me,,,, the speaker of the man who lives forever refusing to believe he'll ever die when he has so much love and life in him,,, la belle fleur sauvage content to spend the ages enjoying the wind and sun and rain,,, the ecstasy of "i came back from the edge!" i mean, have you HEARD the TRIUMPH of dead man's hand? this entire verse??

this shit makes me want to woop and holler with joy. like YES!!! LOOK DEATH IN THE EYE AND SAY NO! LIVE FOREVER! our lives ARE too short and i would LOVE to step out of my grave and walk into an endless night.

The tribes of Tumblr appeared to worship Apollo as their primary patron deity, most often under the epithet Apollo Sphairahemon ("Apollo the Ball-Thrower") as a god of prophecy and sport. His name was typically invoked to celebrate a user blessed with uncommon prescience. Moments of prophecy were considered highly sacred and were often recorded, and such texts are sometimes accompanied by an artistic depiction of the god — either his traditional masculine image or, unusually, in the form of a young woman, which appears to have been an earlier style before a conservative shift toward more conventional iconography — preparing to cast a round rubber ball that our scholars believe was used in the sport known as "dodge ball". Much as other cults regarded his arrows as bringers of disease and health, this community believed that being struck by this ball would bestow prophetic visions.

Some icons are reproduced below:

An earlier depiction (c. 2020) of Apollo as a girl clad in a simple tunic and playing with other children. Figures are smiling and the image is brightly colored, indicating a celebratory outlook toward knowledge of the future.

A later piece (c. 2022) that resembles the traditional appearance of Apollo. References to childhood and play are omitted, and the god carries a more frightening aspect; perhaps this icon represented grim omens rather than good tidings.

I am begging conspiracy theorists to do what they do best this one time.

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