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Wow, I never knew something in real life inspired the Barrow Downs! Was there any fog? And did anyone fall asleep on the east side?

It's amazing how much ancient history you can just trip over in England.

"Usually get sent into sci-fi stuff since I kinda know my way around a spaceship."

"You?"

"Snacks aren't bad either." Joe added. "So, Farah, which department you with?"

I'd like a second opinion on if it's any good. The person who helped me says that it has potential.

On a boat on the river, the two princes rowed while Rayla sulked in the bow.

"Wow, I can't believe that worked," Callum said.

"I can't believe you're such a jerk," Rayla spat from beneath her hood.

"What?" Callum asked. "What's wrong?"

"You called me a bloodthirsty monster," Rayla said. "You have no idea how that feels."

"But I don't actually believe any of that," Callum said. "I was just trying to scare her. I thought she'd back down."

"Oh that went well" Ray.la turned to face him. "They tried to kill me."

Callum sighed. "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant to happen."

Rayla's retort was cut off by a screech coming from the sky. An angry flurry of brown feathers tried to claw at her face.

"No," Ezran shouted. "Leave her alone!"

The bird continued to attack Rayla as she huddled on the bottom of the boat to protect her face.

Ezran pulled a cape out of his satchel and threw it over the bird. "Stop that. Rayla's our friend. Why do you think she wants to hurt us?"

Once Ezran had adjusted the cape so the bird's head was free, it screeched.

Ezran frowned. "He says that he's dad, and that Viren used dark magic to switch his soul with Pip. He says that the elves killed his body."

"Ezran, this is no time for games," Callum said.

"It's not a game," Ezran insisted. I really can talk to animals and he says that he's dad."

"Don't listen to him, Rayla," Callum said. "I once asked him to prove it and he couldn't."

"I didn't know then that raccoons lie," Ezran said. "Ask me a question that only dad would know."

Callum shook his head.

Rayla had been quietly toying with the ribbon around her wrist. "The others got to the king. When assassins bind themselves to a mission, the ribbon won't come off until it's complete. I had two, but now I only have one."

Ezran listened to the bird making random notes. "He says that when he gave you the sketchbook, he hoped that you would see how good you are."

Callum's eyes widened. "That's what he said."

they fight.

I am grateful.

For real though, I chuckled continuously. May the shipfest continue to give you four times the pleasure.

Voyd was flying through a generic, undescribed forest, because he was a mothboi and that’s what mothbois do.

It so happened that he stumbled (metaphorically, of course) upon someone wandering through the forest.

“Hello!” Voyd said cheerily as he landed, then squeaked and had to restrain himself from glomping them. “Astolfo!*”

“Oh, hi!” Astolfo said, just as cheerful as Voyd and not at all put out by the admittedly adorable squeak. “Say, do you know how’ta get outta here?”

Voyd reigned in his urge to hug and cuddle and [explicit content redacted, because this is a wholesome minecraft server]. “Uhm, no, but if you walk long enough it might let you out?”

“Aw maaaan,” Astolfo groaned, sagging a bit before perking up. “Hey, can you walk with me?”

“YES!”

“Yay!”

And so they started walking.

“Say…” Astolfo said, looking like he had something illicit on mind. “How good are your hugs?”

“Soft and warm,” Voyd said immediately, miming a hug with his arms as his wings flapped gently.

Then he nearly got bowled over by Astolfo glomping him. Thankfully, Astlfo was in mundane clothes.

“You’re right!” Astolfo exclaimed.

Voyd did not restrain his squeed of cuteness overload, and wrapped Astolfo in all four of his mothfuzz covered arms.

Astolo grinned mischievously, standing up on his tip-toes and licking Voyd’s neck sexily.

Voyd gasped, some other body part rhyming with ‘stick’ rising as his eyes widened. Carefully, he ducked down and pressed a chaste kiss against Astolfo’s lips. Astolfo nipped at his bottom lip and explored Voyd’s pink cavern, which devolved into a contest of tongues battling for dominance.

When they surfaced for air Astolfo slipped his hands under Voyd’s shirt, caressing his smooth flesh. A seductive smirk sat on his lips.

Voyd gasped again, then grinned as well and got to work. Four arms was four times the pleasure, after all.

Astolfo ran a hand up Voyd’s back to the base of his wings. Even as he moaned, one of Voyd’s hands went down Altolfo’s skirt and he was making delightful sounds of pleasure as well.

Astolfo pushed Voyd against a tree, and from there clothing was discarded at a very quick rate.

---

A/N: You asked for it, Voyd :3. (This is terrible I'm so sorry)

So the world ended. That was kind of bad. But all of the gods and goddesses got together and decided to rebuild the world, on the condition that they stay out of each other's business. So Earth has been rebuilt from the ashes and now a council of gods and goddesses basically keep watch over all the domains making sure they play nice.

This is a mirror of our Earth where all the myths are true. All the gods and goddesses exist and are active, in varying degrees, in everyday life. The world is connect through Wyrd Stones allowing nearly instantaneous travel between the far reaches of the world. However not everyone can use them. Only a chosen few. Special individuals chosen by the gods and goddesses for some fate. For some it may be revealed, others it may be unknown. But all that is certain is that when the Chosen are gathered Fate has ordained something will happen.

Who you will be playing: One of the Chosen - if you are interested in playing I will eventually need what region of the world you will be from and what deity chose you.

Other notes: There will likely be swearing as I DM so keep that in mind.

So with the current goings on my usual RPG group looks like they will not likely be operational for the foreseeable future. So I figured I would see if anyone would be interested in starting a game on Discord or some similar tool. I will post a brief description below this. If anyone else has something they are interested in running feel free to add it to the list.

If any of you all are interested just reply to the game with the days/hours you are most available for and we will see if there is enough interest. I would ideally be looking for between 3 and 6 players.

I don't even know if you got my email.

"Just saw the invite when I got back from a mission, so I had to scramble to get out here. It's a nice party, though I didn't quite work out what we're celebrating. But hey, someone did a nice job with the punch!"

"It's going pretty good. How're you?"

((This week's Friday Blog is cross-posted to Dreamwidth and Livejournal, and for one week only, the Barrow-Downs.))

On the southern limits of the Shire (Oxfordshire, specifically) lie the Berkshire Downs, part of the greater North Wessex Downs. It is stated in various sources that J.R.R. Tolkien visited this area - once on a hiking trip in 1912, and later with his family while working on either The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings - and that it inspired the haunted Barrow Downs of LotR. This week, I got a chance to visit the area, and let me tell you, I am entirely convinced.

Image: Google Street View

The Downs are a world without a horizon. The landscape is all gently rolling hills, and other than the trees which stud them there's no indication of how far away any given green mound is. If it weren't for the road, it would be shockingly easy to become lost, wandering the hills until darkness took them.

Their way wound along the floor of the hollow, and round the green feet of a steep hill into another deeper and broader valley, and then over the shoulder of further hills, and down their long limbs, and up their smooth sides again, up on to new hill-tops and down into new valleys. There was no tree nor any visible water: it was a country of grass and short springy turf, silent except for the whisper of the air over the edges of the land, and high lonely cries of strange birds. - J.R.R. Tolkien, Fog on the Barrow-Downs

And not all the hills are natural. The seven barrows of, uh, Seven Barrows lie right alongside the road, and I'm certain I saw others crowning distant hills. I can imagine mist rolling between them, a silver carpet studded with green featureless mounds.

One thing Tolkien did not mention is the shocking suddenness with which the Downs fall away. From where we eventually parked, the south view was the gentle hills of the Downs; the north was flat countryside, stretching for more miles than I can count.

We turned out backs on that green country, heading up into the wild lands. Specifically, we took the ancient Ridgeway, following it down a shallow dip and back up the far side. A line of trees marked the roadway ahead of us, but our course took us beyond it: to the top of a shallow rise, where the Great Barrow waited.

Suddenly he saw, towering ominous before him and leaning slightly towards one another like the pillars of a headless door, two huge standing stones.. - J.R.R. Tolkien, Fog on the Barrow-Downs

Image: Own work

This is Wayland's Smithy, a burial mound dating back eight thousand years. At one time it was revered among the Saxons as the forge of the gods; later it was overgrown, a cave in the woods. But at all times it has been a place of power - tucked away on its hillside, like something out of another world.

And you can picture Tolkien coming up here with his children, and them playing around the 60 foot grassy mound. You can picture them clambering into the small chambers between the great leaning stones, and calling out "help, help, the monster has got us!". And then along comes Tolkien and peeks the head of a raggy Dutch doll over the stones: "Fear not - Tom Bombadil is here to rescue you!" You can see it, when you stand by the barrow.

When you leave the Barrow, the Middle-earth connections become if anything even stronger. Ahead of you, as you walk east along the ancient road of the Ridgeway, lies Uffington Castle - a great Iron Age hill-fort, with its entrance facing you: two great earthen banks, and a cut between them like a grand gateway.

Certainly the distances had now all become hazy and deceptive, but there could be no doubt that the Downs were coming to an end. A long valley lay below them winding away northwards, until it came to an opening between two steep shoulders. Beyond, there seemed to be no more hills. - J.R.R. Tolkien, Fog on the Barrow-Downs

And beyond that? Beyond that lies the Uffington White Horse, a chalk-carved figure of a galloping or rearing horse. A sign of a prancing pony, if you will, though there is no inn on the hilltop. Beyond that, on the very edge of the Downs, stands Dragon Hill - a flat-topped hill set apart from the rest of the uplands. It is said that Christopher Tolkien believed the area of White Horse Hill inspired Weathertop, and Dragon Hill certainly looks the part (even if it is a little small).

Image: Own work

The correlations aren't exact. Tolkien wasn't one to transpose our world directly into Middle-earth. But driving and walking through this ancient landscape, it's hard not to feel like one has at least one foot on the Barrow-Downs.

hS

So, I got a rough draft of a Permission request prepared, and I guess I'm looking for a beta now. If you're interested, my gmail is orangefox724@gmail.com.

"Nice to meet you!" she said. "How's life?"

"Joe. Nice to meet'cha."

"H," she said, "I'm Farah!"

Well, I actually wrote it! Sorry that I’m fairly late, I had some tests to revise for.

Thanks a lot MOE

Anyway, I made this one “unique”, and I hope that everyone can get a laugh or two from this piece of writing. I will also bet this question mark shaped piece of pie that this will be the only Shipfest story involving me.

~SomeRandomPersonAccount

Woodenheart hmphed at the sight before him. "Really," he muttered, "this is no state to leave something in."

The record of his new clan were absolutely abysmal. They were still primarily operating on oral history, it was true, but that was no excuse for their complete library of records to be a collection of prophecy, a few scrolls of contract, and a truly tiny pile of trade receipts.

Well. He would just have to fix it himself, now that he was here. First order of business: an interview with the Progenitors. Or perhaps the Coatl with the crown he'd heard someone refer to as Prince. Or possibly the prophets. Or maybe it was best to start with the sailors, or the off-putting undead...

He sighed. So much to do.

At least it would get done now.

Shadestar had always been a deeply empathetic dragon. As a Skydancer, his ability to read emotions had influenced that - and he had always been a bit too good at that, often allowing them to dictate his own entirely.

This turned out to be very, very bad for him when the nightmare plague struck.

He was no longer simply overly empathetic then. Then, he started absorbing the nightmares of other members of his clan - granting them peace and respite, yes, and keeping the clan in one piece until true help arrived, but at the cost of much of his mental - and some of his physical - health.

Shadestar is mute, now, and his eyes are cold and distant. Black cracks thread their way across his body; on frigid winter nights, they leak droplets of magic and dreamstuff, which soak into the soil and would spread the plague afresh if not for the efforts of his mate. Every now and again, he wonders if he bleeds that same substance. It takes effort, sometimes, not to find out.