crenelate replied to your post: anonymous asked:Is your Hawke a b…

pheebs the lore…like can you explain why the templars wouldn’t just kill her for being too powerful? mages aren’t even allowed political positions

ook well A: Kirkwall is so fucked at that point everyone is just like ‘what fuckin ever’ & B: if you’re going by that logic she shouldn’t even have been Champion 


Castle progress is very good.  The moat/lava barrier is complete, the inner walls have been decked out, nearly all of the towers are topped.  Now there’s just the exterior walls that need crenelations on them.  After that, it’s just filler at that point.  That and building traps.  Cause traps are necessary for a castle.

Some new words I picked up.

A lot of ESL students ask me if there’s anything they can do to improve their vocabulary, and I always tell them to read something enjoyable while writing down and looking up any words they don’t know. So as I was reading Making Money by Terry Pratchett, I kept track of all the words I didn’t know. It was a pretty fun exercise.

  • dishabille
  • insouciance
  • stygian
  • pecunious
  • noblesse oblige
  • mendacity
  • balustrade
  • charivari
  • crenelation
  • indefatigable
  • thurible
  • sepulchral
  • avuncular
  • gymkhana
  • suppurating
The paralian looks out to his sea. Curling waves mirror his unfurling fingers, revealing the abysmal lines in his palm. Crenelations in nearby rocks parallel the crinkles near his eyes. He sits against the dawn, legs crossed, and arms outstretched behind him, supporting him. The susurrus of crashing waves is an aubade, almost a devotional accompaniment to the paralian’s worship. He hums along to his sea’s lilting song, spirals of tide like arabesque embellishments in the composition. Midst of the cadence, the paralian wonders where firmament meets his precious child, the blurred ambiguity of their imbrication like a palliative balm. The allayer eases the paralian into a child-like ebullience, his puerile elation bordering lunacy. He is overwhelmed by the greatness of his sea – it envelopes his celestial spheres and his chthonian inferno. The paralian, once bound by isolated insularity, stands up. He finds mirth in the wet sand finding home betwixt his toes, and after a few minutes into his admiration, he notices the two chasms his feet have created beneath him. He laughs at his sea’s silly tide, and its ancient joke. The paralian walks further into his sea, a perpetual flame aglow at the bottom of his spine. A bubble of hot poison bursts in his chest as his sea’s water rises to his knees. He looks out his sea’s welkin, their marriage interrupted by a rising sun. His sea catches on fire, scintillating in aurora’s hearth. Undulating waves mimic the paralian’s curling smile. His grin widens in the morning’s dwelling, and he is flooded with happiness. Immured by the tangles of sweet delirium, the paralian finally sinks into his sea.
—  paralian: a dweller by the sea
They're Not Like Us #3 (February 2015)

More of the substance or the plan or whatever you want to call the intent of this comic is becoming apparent each issue In this issue specifically, a lot of things we’ve already seen are being emphasized and connected.

But first, some scenery.

Great city scenes. I can’t imagine how much time and patience it takes (never mind talent and skill) to put this much detail into an image. There’s the crenellation between the roof and the windows on that building, the spikes on that woman’s leather jacket, the tassels on that other woman’s headscarf. All those leaves.

Then there’s this. The building that takes up about two thirds of the panel is only there for background, but Gane's work on both it and the statue in the inset is astonishing. In both of these, he kind of reminds me of Eduardo Risso and all of the surprises he’d put in the panels of 100 Bullets

But here’s where the story comes back to the fore. 

Syd needs to practice The Calm, her ability to block out the mental noise and clutter of other people’s thoughts.

Her initial failure is illustrated with a visual metaphor used frequently in comics:

The slabs of color are a nice touch. 

Then, The Voice explains where they are and what surrounds them, really.

Uh, okay.

It’s hard, as a reader, not to see that this is come kind of quasi-cultish indoctrination, like a sinister version of the speech Professor X used to give new mutants on their arrival at his School for Gifted Youngsters. But it’s also hard to resist seeing where this is going.

And this was the cherry on top (or at the back):

How often do you see references to (or quotes from) Morrisey in comics?