It wasn’t until a tunnel was built in 2004 that the residents of Gásadalur had an easy path to and from their home. At the time, the village—perched above this iconic waterfall on Denmark’s Faroe Islands—had all of 16 residents. Now that the village is accessible by car, and not just via an arduous hike or horseback ride, that number has risen to 18 residents.
Author Notes: One-Shot to make the creative brain juices going for my other stories. I have fallen in love with this smug bird. Sorry if he seems OC. Was going for a bittersweet tender moment.
All mistakes are my own, constructive criticism is always welcome.
Kudos for those who know which Golden Goddess it is.
Revali looked on to Hyrule castle from where Medoh perched
itself over Rito Village. The beam of red light touched the cage that kept Ganon
sealed for the time being. While hating to admit it, Revali knew that Link
would be the best bet for the kingdom.
Despite this, his thoughts wondered to you. They thoughts
always wondered to you, even in the last moments of his life fighting
The way your pointed at never stood straight up due to charm
that weighed it down. The brim of you
hat matching the width of your shoulders making the hat seem outlandish. The Mark of the goddess upon your forehead and
the way you always slightly floated above the ground with the gift from the
His throat clenched.
Even now he was to prideful to ask Link what had become of
you all these years.
Did you survive?
Did you live to see that Luna flower bloom?
Did..Did you move on?
Revali let out a sigh. He knew once this was over, he would
see you in the afterlife; He hoped anyway.
With his musings being the focus of is attention, he almost
missed the light taps coming toward him. Living he would have turned around bow
in hand, ready to fire, but being dead, nothing could do anything thing to him.
The taps stopped a foot from him.
“I wonder who was so brave to set atop Medoh. I can assure you
there is nothing of value upon the Great Beast. ” Revali spoke without turning
“I think there is a much greater treasure here than you
The Rito champion froze, then looked over his shoulder.
There you stood with your pointed, wide-brim hat covering the upper part of
your face from his vison. His feathers twirling in your hair against the wind.
The smile that had grown dear to him still visible to him.
The small sprites dance around you as you walked up to him.
Revali turn around dropping his arms to his side as you closed the distance
between the two of you. With each step, more of your face was reveled to him as
you looked at him.
You stopped once you were ‘chest to chest’ to him, despite being
much taller than you. The spirits that hovered around you both clustered together
You reached up to the side of his face, cupping it. It had
been so long since he felt your touch, that he subconsciously leaned into your
touch. Your thumb rubbing the red dot in his feathers.
“Ive waited so long to see you in this plane once more.” You
Revail pulled his face from your hand then tucked you under
his wings. He leaned over placing his beak over down over head, practically
concealing you from view.
Like the wind above Akota Nui, the Le-Akotan are fleeting, yet omnipresent, in nature. They drift across the land, seeking fulfillment before their passing. As such, they may be found in virtually all parts of Akota Nui- living all manner of lifestyles. The largest settlement of Le-Akotan is that of Le'kainga, a large village perched upon Ga'maunga Peak. It is here Lenua resides.
Lenua tends to the young Le-Akotan, helping them prepare for their journey of self-fulfillment. The beginning of this journey is christened by the Ceremony of the South Wind during which the young matoran leap from the side of the mountain and glide off to parts unknown. While Lenua takes satisfaction in training the young matoran, she is haunted by an indiscernible emptiness. It was upon meeting the young matriarch Galia that she had discovered what she truly yearned for.
Twin swords wielded by Lenua, the Turaga of Air. With these blades, Lenua dances across the sky with an elegance never before seen. The composition of the blades is unclear, for it appears to be a peculiar fusion of metal and crystal. Perhaps this strange alloy lends Lenua her control over wind?
Bonus: Air Katanas
Relics which predate even the Ancients. Legend tells of a warrior who once ruled the skies with these blades.
“This relic has been passed down through my family for countless generations. As the edge of its blade flows through the air, so does the wind flow between the mountains- and the river through the plains. We are alike, both fleeting- destined to move on from this world- to be replaced by another of our kind. You once told me not mourn our future passing, but seize life before it drifts away. This is my life.”
Imagine you have been chosen as a human sacrifice.
There used to be a lucrative gem mine under the mountain your village perches at the edge of, but it was picked clean some years ago and your once-prosperous mining town has diminished considerably. Legend tells that there is a Trickster God living on the mountain. The older generation say a blood offering will win his favour.
You have never been well-liked in the village. You were caught, as a teenager, kissing the minister’s son. He told everyone that you forced yourself on him and you’ve been branded a harlot ever since. Had you been included in the decision-making process it would have not surprised you to have been chosen. As it is you don’t know what’s happening when they come for you in the middle of the night. Unseen hands in the dark cover your mouth and bind your arms and legs. They drag you to the local shrine where fires have been lit and a feast of lavish fruits and meats have been laid out.
You are redressed in a plain white robe and sat, legs folded beneath you and arms still bound behind your back, on a stone pedestal. You can hear excited murmuring around you, everyone is so sure that this will work. You bitterly tell yourself that at least you won’t have to put up with these people any more.
The boy who kissed you so innocently all those years ago has since taken up his father’s position, and when the moment comes it is he that approaches you with the knife. With one hand he grabs a handful of your hair, tugging your head back to expose your throat. With the other he brings the knife closer, and closer.
And then stops.
There’s a hand on his arm, stopping him. Someone is there that no-one noticed until now. Someone with copper eyes and a jagged toothy smile.
There’s a sensation in the air, the atmosphere is charged like the calm before a thunder storm. While there’s nothing physically inhuman about the stranger it would be impossible to mistake him for one of you. Somehow you just knowthat the being before you has power beyond comprehension and is older than the land itself.
He announces that since your life is being sacrificed it must belong to him. He says that he will be the one to decide what happens to it.
The minister’s boy drops the knife and scurries away like he’s been burnt. The Trickster takes his place behind you, one hand curved gently around your neck and the other slides under your robe to paw at your chest. While making a show of groping you he whispers in your ear that you have a choice to make. He can take your life in the spirit that it was offered with the promise that you will feel no pain in this world or the next. Or you could offer up your body along with your life, and you could live out your days as a priest at a temple dedicated to him. You nod, subtly. You want to live. He steps away immediately and rounds on the villagers with a grin on his face like a wolf worrying sheep.
He spreads his arms wide theatrically and proclaims that if wealth was what they wanted then they have come to the right god. Then he snaps his fingers and you black out.
When you come to it is daytime, and you don’t recognise your surroundings. You’re in some kind of open temple, a sloping roof held aloft by white marble pillars and no walls separating you from the view which is incredible. To the east; the sea. You must be on the other side of the mountain. You notice you’re wearing a different set of robes, more elaborate with fine stitching and laced with golden embroidery.
You don’t turn when you feel a heavy presence behind you, and fingers caress lightly over your cheek. Your new god makes love to you almost gently. He explains your new duties even while he’s still plowing you from behind. Your body belongs to him; is an extension of him. Any pilgrim who wishes to pay homage may do so. Any fruit of such unions are his. He won’t make personal appearances unless something draws his interest. He doesn’t leave immediately when he spends inside of you. He turns you over, twines your fingers, and lowers his mouth over your crotch until you find your own release. Then he takes you again.
You weren’t entirely sure what to expect but pilgrims do come. Most want to make deals, almost none are interesting enough for the fickle deity to show his face. It doesn’t take long for word to spread about your reason for being there and many wish to indulge. You spread your legs for any who ask it, mainly men though some women too, and it doesn’t take long for you to figure out what was meant by ‘fruit’.
Your first pregnancy is the hardest. You don’t know what to expect and it scares you when you realise your child isn’t human. Your belly grows alarmingly quickly, showing noticeably within only a few short weeks. You worry what will happen if you keep growing at that rate but before you even reach the size of a full normal pregnancy your water breaks.
You’re not the least bit surprised that the birth isn’t ‘interesting’ enough for the Trickster to deign you with his presence. Pushing a new life out alone isn’t pleasant but you are strong enough to keep it together. You are fairly startled to realise you’ve birthed a fully grown rabbit. Once you’ve cleaned and dried it’s fur it seems content to lop around the temple. Some of the more canny pilgrims bring it carrots.
Your second child is a coyote. The third initially comes out as an egg, which hatches into a raven.
Hoping to earn favour visitors to the temple redouble their efforts to knock you up. Some will hang around for days trying over and over to be sure. You spend very little time empty. The menagerie grows. Some of your children don’t stray very far, others disappear and reappear seemingly on a whim.
Eventually you hear word of your home village. It seems the villagers all vanished overnight leaving no trace. It was discovered soon after that the mine wasn’t depleted after all, it was full to bursting with rubies; red as blood.
Puentedey (Burgos, Spain) is a little village perched on an amazing natural bridge carved by the river Nela. The village lies on the rocks topped by a Romanesque church and the palace of Porres. We can also find the typical traditional architecture of Las Merindades area. | Picture by Javier Herrero.
Here it is, ladies and gentlemen! The first installment of my Empire of Storms fanfiction. This fanfiction will basically be what I think will happen in the next book, and the title may be cheesy, but it’s the best thing I can come up with. Please feel free to message or send an ask about your theories for TOG 6! I’d love to maybe incorporate them ;)
Word Count: 2,090
In a world blurred by rain and deafened by cracking peals of thunder, it was easy to miss the details of the night. Weary travelers lifted their hoods and ducked into nearby taverns and inns, craving the warmth and golden light spilling from windows and doorways, and the promise of shelter and food. A city guard snored in the gatehouse, his neck propped up against the back of his chair, secure in the knowledge that no one too suspicious would come prowling by. Not since the storm threatened to drown and decimate anyone on the precarious mountain roads.
Even the local villagers found it easy to miss the unusual, as they shuttered their windows and barricaded their doors in preparation for possible flooding, the wind howling around them and driving them inside.
And so, no one saw the hawk perched delicately atop the village clock tower, his unnaturally bright eyes observing the dynamic of the town, and not seeming to care that his feathers streamed water, that a spike of lightning reflected against his beak. No one noticed that he didn’t harbor the fear or caution that any other hawk–or animal, for that matter–would have harbored.
The hawk shook himself free of the rain water and spread his wings as lightning once again illuminated the night sky behind him, unleashing a cry that melded with the boom of the thunder that followed.
Celles et Ceux des Cimes et Cieux by Gwenn GERMAIN
Translated into English “Girls and Guys from Summits and Skies” is a 2D full-length animated film trailer that its creator 21 year old French animation student Gwenn Germain has stated is inspired by Hayao Miyazaki, Jean Girault and Syd Mead and took 5 months to create single handedly. The plot follows a young boy who lives in a village perched on a giant tree that falls in the depths of the forest where he meets two Aboriginal strange that will help him return home. The videos audio track is “Hanna bi” by Joe Hisaishi.