stone fortress


Staigue Stone Fort, County Kerry, Ireland

Staique Stone Fort is located three miles west of Sneem, on the Iveragh peninsula. The fort is thought to have been built during the late Iron Age around 300 to 400 AD.  It is at the head of a valley opening south to the sea and is surrounded by a ditch. The fort’s walls are up to 18 ft (5.5 m) high in places, 13 ft (4 m) thick at the bottom and 90 ft (27.4 m) in diameter. One of the most interesting things about the fort is that there are ten flights of steps, built in an X shape, along the circular internal wall giving access to the top of the rampart. Staigue represents a considerable feat in engineering since it was built without the use of mortar.

There is evidence that copper was excavated in the surrounding area and it appears that the fort may have been a place of worship, an observatory and a place of defense.

My two player party (I DM) had just made their way through an old magical stone fortress, in a ravine, to find a missing gnome child. They make it out the other side, exhausted and mentally scarred when they see the child up on a ledge. Her leg is bleeding and she yells for help. They climb and get her and start discussing how to treat her leg.

Barbarian: I hand her the health potion

Rouge: Wait- wait! She’s just scraped her knee!

Barbarian: She’s hurt!! 

Rouge: It’s a SCRAPE!! A broken bone I could get, but not this!

Barbarian: We got the potion to use on HER. From her MOTHER!!

Rouge: Can’t we just bANDAGE HER UP???

Girl: …. Are you taking me back to the village or not?

anonymous asked:

8 and 83 with Prinxiety

8. You’re so f*cking hot when you’re mad.
83. You’re just leaving me here? At least have the decency to finish me off with a stick.

Believe it or not, I was hoping somebody would give me #8. I’ve got ideas, and prinxiety fits perfectly into them. That other one is really random though. And again, I don’t cuss and neither does Thomas so forgive me for using substitute words.

Roman ran through the fairy tale forest as fast as he could. He felt fire catch on the trees behind him because the heat was so intense.

Today’s daydream wasn’t exactly going according to plan.

“GIVE IT BACK” a voice boomed across the landscape.

“Never! You will have to defeat me first!” Roman yelled behind him.

Though, this was pretty fun. Maybe he should trick the emo jerk into playing with him more often.

Roman ran into a huge stone wall. A fortress? When did that get there? Was Anxiety adding to his landscape? That fiend. He had just gotten it the way he liked it.

He stood his ground with his back to the fortress and his katana in hand. A fire burned to form wall in front of him, barring his escape. Anxiety emerged from the fiery wall not wearing his hoodie. The snow on the ground melted around him. He pointed to the black hoodie tucked into the prince’s belt.

“Give it back, Roman,” Anxiety said. “Or at least let me make a new one. Or do you want me to ruin you day?”

Roman smiled mischievously. “You’re so amazingly hot when you’re mad,” He said.

Just as he predicted, Anxiety’s flame grew hotter. Roman laughed dramatically. “Wasn’t I supposed to be the fire elemental, you witch?”

“Oh, so you want a witch do you?” Anxiety said. “Be careful what you wish for, your stupidness,”

“Alright, that is your worst insult yet. I can stand being burned, but if you are not going to put half an effort into your insults then… What are you doing?”

Anxiety moved his arms, and the fire turned black. It twisted and turned and warped until it formed itself into a tornado around the prince, trapping him. Then it forced him further and further back until the tornado of black magic collapsed the stone wall behind him, pinning him under several feet of stone bricks.

Anxiety began walking away. Roman didn’t know what to say here, so he just blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re leaving me here? At least have the decency to finish me off with a stick!”

Anxiety broke a stick off a nearby tree and pointed it at Roman in a very Harry Potter type fashion. The hoodie flew out of Roman’s belt and Anxiety caught it and put it back on.

“Daydream over, Princey,” Anxiety said. “And don’t let me catch you barring me from doing things again,”


Grianan of Aileach, Ireland

The Grianan of Aileach is an Iron Age stone fortress in Inishowen in County Donegal. It was occupied from about 800 BC until about 1200 AD. According to legend, it was built by the renowned Kind Daghda of the Tuatha de Danann. Supposedly, the king’s son Aeah was buried in the center of the fortress.

The fort was the seat of the Kingdom of Aileach, who ruled much of Ulster at the time. It was razed once by Vikings, and Murtaigh O’Brien, Kind of Munster finished the job in 1191. It was restored to its current state in the 19th century.

The actual purpose of the place is somewhat of a mystery.  Ring forts and hill forts were often used to contain cattle, and served as a defense when under attack. But the size and grandeur of the place leads most to believe it also had a special governmental purpose. In addition, there are theories that the word Gianana means sunny place, and that it also served as a sun temple.

In that vast shadow once of yore
Fingolfin stood: his shield he bore
with field of heaven’s blue and star
of crystal shining pale afar.
In overmastering wrath and hate
desperate he smote upon that gate,
the Gnomish king, there standing lone,
while endless fortresses of stone
engulfed the thin clear ringing keen
of silver horn on baldric green. 
His hopeless challenge dauntless cried
Fingolfin there: ‘Come, open wide,
dark king, your ghastly brazen doors!
Come forth, whom earth and heaven abhors!
Come forth, O monstrous craven lord, 
and fight with thine own hand and sword,
thou wielder of hosts of banded thralls,
thou tyrant leaguered with strong walls,
thou foe of Gods and Elvish Race!
I wait thee here. Come! Show thy face!’

Lay of Leithian, Canto XII, JRR Tolkien

Sometimes I wish the entire Silmarillion had been written in epic poem style, because this is AWESOME

Short story- Action Piece

Max stumbled as he ran through the wood as fast as he could. He heard barking behind him, mixed with the foreign shouts of guards from the Stone Fortress. Considering what he had just done, they’d probably sent every hound in the kennels after him, with an entire platoon armed to the teeth. Great. Once again, he has gone and dome something incredibly reckless to try and save Klaus. Despite his high-quality boots, he still occasionally slipped over the wet, moss-covered stones and stumbled over roots that came just above the ground. He took off his jacket and flung it as far away from him as possible, hoping it would confuse the dogs as he ran through a small river.

Okay, focus. Inventory. What do you have to work with to get out of here in one piece, what can you do to survive? His spirits rose as he remembered the gun in his sweater pocket, but then they promptly fell again as he remembered that he had used the last of his ammo getting out of the keep. No wand either. Damn, he had to remember to tie one to a bungee cord next time, he seemed to lose them like they were pens. He had a knife, but considering the sheer number of pursuers he might as well have a candy bar. On the bright side, the forest was too tightly packed to use tanks or carriages, so at least he didn’t have to try and melt steel.  Although if he could melt steel, their musket’s probably wouldn’t be a problem. No. Focus. He tried to remember any other ways of using magic that he might have seen over the years, stored in some dusty corner of his mind next to the safety instructions for half a dozen weapons of mass destruction.

As he ran he heard the voices and barks get fainter, and figured that his jacket must’ve held them off for a little while. He slid behind a large rock and allowed himself a moment to catch his breath.  As he examined the knife he remembered one other way to use magic that could help- power sigils. Similar to runes of old, they’d focus magic into a powerful and often raw form, and Max could remember just the one he’d need to take care of a large group like this. Of course, it’d be tricky to spread sand on the ground in the shape with such limited time, but he could always carve it into something.

He heard a large amount of shouting from behind him, and the barking picked up in full again. They must be mad about the jacket, and Max hoped he hadn’t left anything important in it as he got up and started to run again. He needed more time, he needed to formulate a plan. Something with such a faint smell like the jacket wouldn’t cut it a second time. He stopped for a moment and pulled off both his boots before setting off again. He frantically tied the laces together and flung them between the trees as far as he could. He was starting to reach the base of a small hill now, and there wouldn’t be anything worse than getting stuck in between some hills. There were a lot more fallen leaves on the ground here, and as he ran in between the trees his socks snagged once or twice on sharp rocks and his toes knocked against hard roots. The trees here all had incredibly hard bark, and with his relatively dull knife it’d take a good 5 minutes to carve so much as a small line into one. He didn’t have that kind of time. He smashed his feet against more rocks. It was no use, his flesh was just too soft, too squishy…

The man in the eyepatch followed the baying hounds. This man had caused trouble for the last time, and he’d personally see to that. His men informed him that once again, the dogs has gotten distracted with something else belonging to the man, this time his pair of boots. He hated interruptions like this, and made it clear to his men. If only the man had chosen to run over a nice clear plain, he could chase him down with a horse and cut him down personally from on high. But alas, beggars can’t be choosers, and in any case this man’s death promised to be a satisfying one. He ran, leading the charge with his sheath and holster bumping against his legs. No muskets for him, if he had the opportunity he’d take the man out by his own rules, damn it.

He began to jog along with his men again. Their target would have to rest soon enough, after all he was only human. Despite rumors of what he’d accomplished to get in and out of the keep in the fortress of stone, there was nothing else he could be than a man with a bag of tricks. The man in the eyepatch has a good sense for these things, and he was pretty sure that their target was all out of cards to play, and sooner or later they’d have him. Maybe they’d even be able to take him alive, and be able to painfully unravel each dirty trick from his skull. According to the commander-in-chief, he deserved it. After that, he’d be able to do whatever he wanted to the man. He knew most didn’t quite see it, but there was a certain peace and beauty in watching someone else’s hope and life extinguish before your eyes.

His train of thought was interrupted by the dogs, who had gotten a lot louder in a very small amount of time. They must smell blood. Despite being loud, dirty beasts, the man in the eyepatch had to admit they did their job well. There was something primal in their barks, something that made him feel his bloodlust rise up from inside him full throttle, screaming and shouting for more with an unquenchable thirst that had been made known to him all those years ago. As he and his impromptu firing squad reached the peak of a hill, they saw their target at the bottom. He was resting against a tree with his backs to them, seemingly exhausted. His men began to shout again and rushed down to surround him, but something wasn’t right. The man with the eyepatch felt uneasy, there was something off about this. It was too simple, and after all the stunts this man had pulled there was no way in hell he’d let himself get caught that easily. He shouted a quick retreat order, but it was muffled out by the din of the dogs. The man with the eyepatch quickly scrambled for cover, and seconds after he had jumped behind a large tree there was a sound like an explosion as a violent blast of bluish light burst out from the center of the valley.  The man with the eyepatch sat underneath the tree for what seemed like half a minute before he heard a creaking sound. He looked up, only to see the thing that protected him from the blast falling towards him, ready to crush him in an instant. He tried to scramble away, but his boot was caught on a root, and he fell face first onto the moss-covered ground. The only thing he could do is scream before he was snuffed out forever.

Max laid on the ground, unable to believe that it had actually worked. He glanced at his chest. It was red and raw, with the carving still etched into his skin and a painful sensation that came with it, as if he had been skinned and cauterized in an instant. He lay his head back down on the ground, and then turned it slowly from side to side to survey the damages. The entire valley had been cleared of trees, as if an arsonist or a sadistic man with a bulldozer had gone to town on it. Amidst the smoking and fallen trees lay the carnage, with some of those closer to the blast still sizzling with a sickly smell. Max didn’t care. He was alive. He raised one hand in the air triumphantly, and then put it to his mouth as he began to cough. His pickup crew would be here shortly, all he had to do was wait. It might not be the comfiest spot, but a short nap couldn’t hurt.

REQUEST: Q.E.D [Ravus/Reader]

Originally posted by stephicness

“quod erat demonstrandum” = thus it has been demonstrated.

Since I received two requests that involved nearly the same plot, this Ravus story will be split into two parts: QED and I Will Be. QED is the troubled marriage… and I Will Be will be the happy ending.

This story takes place in an alternate universe where the fall of Insomnia doesn’t happen. Tenebrae was still taken over by Niflheim, and the Queen Sylva was still killed. However, King Regis had predicted this, and had his own men ready to retaliate. The entirety of Tenebrae becomes a warzone, and to avoid more casualties, Ravus and Lunafreya both agree to send the Lucis delegates away. This eliminates the resentment towards King Regis. :3 He still becomes the emotionally constipated bean that we love.

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zevran wakes up one morning to find a note on the pillow where alistair should have been.

“i had to go. there’s a bloody hole in the sky, the wardens are gone, i heard someone say something about an archdemon… i’m sorry.”

zevran sighs. this is one of the many problems with loving a hero, he thinks, climbing out of bed and hunting for his smallclothes. he finds them hanging from the corner of a chair.

it also explains the unusual, though not unwelcome, passion alistair showed last night.

he slips into his armor the way others might slip into a silk robe, does up his clasps and slides his daggers (all five of them) into place, and braids his hair quickly. an extra gold piece left on the table for the serving girl, and he’s out the door.


alistair crests a hill and the towers of skyhold come into view, just as magnificent as he’d heard. he hefts his pack and smiles. it feels good to be doing good again. the big, making-a-difference kind of good, anyway.

the gates of skyhold stand open, welcoming pilgrims to the inquisition, and alistair takes a deep breath as he walks through them.

“did you encounter bandits, mi amor? it took you so very long to arrive, i had begun to worry.”

he whirls, dropping his pack. zevran is leaning casually against the stones of the fortress, grinning.

“did you truly believe i would let you take all the glory?” he tsks. “you still have so much to learn. what a relief that i am here to assist!”

alistair laughs, crosses the courtyard, and kisses him. he is solid and warm – real, then, not a dream.

“yes,” alistair murmurs. “what a relief indeed.”

US 1st Cavalry Division crossing the Pasig River, Manilla, February 1945
“For the next three tough days, troopers of the 1st Cavalry Division battled with flame throwers, bazookas and every weapon on hand to clear the historic Manila Hotel, one of the finest hotels in the Far East and former home of General MacArthur. "A” Troop, 12th Cavalry led the attack, supported by medium tanks and one platoon of heavy weapons. In addition to the maze of tunnels running beneath the building, nearly every room of each floor was heavily fortified with sandbags and automatic weapons. Veteran troopers had to fight “room-to-room” in order to gain control.“
"By 10 February, the cavalry had extended its control south of the river. That night, the XIV Corps established, for the first time, separate bridgeheads on both banks of the Pasig River. Despite initial American euphoria, much fighting remained. Although the approach to the city had been relatively easy, wresting the capital from the Japanese proved far more difficult. Manila, a city of 800,000, was one of the largest in Southeast Asia. While much of it consisted of ramshackle huts, the downtown section boasted massive reinforced concrete buildings built to withstand earthquakes and old Spanish stone fortresses of equal size an
strength. Most were located south of the Pasig River which bisects the capital, requiring that the Americans cross over before closing with the Japanese.”
“On 13 February, the 12th Cavalry reached the waterfront turning the axis of its attack to the North. During the Battle for Manila, a new type of combat was added to the 1st Cavalry Division repertoire, that of combat engagement in a modern city - urban warfare. They thrust south to the Pasig River, launching a drive through the city.” (
(Photo source - ‘Time’ Magazine)
Colourised by Royston Leonard from the UK)


asoiaf meme: (3/3) legends ➝ DEEP ONES

An even more fanciful possibility was put forth a century ago by Maester Theron. Born a bastard on the Iron Islands, Theron noted a certain likeness between the black stone of the ancient fortress and that of the Seastone Chair, the high seat of House Greyjoy of Pyke, whose origins are similarly ancient and mysterious. Theron’s rather inchoate manuscript Strange Stone postulates that both fortress and seat might be the work of a queer, misshapen race of half men sired by creatures of the salt seas upon human women.


Le Temps des Forteresses by Shade Ows
Via Flickr:
Château de Trécesson, Campénéac - Morbihan - Bretagne, France.

Dangerous Game

Stonebrill was on edge. Since they got the news about the Kiden’s recent attack the men inside the stone fortress stayed clear of their lord’s office. It was a place where only two people were allowed.

Robar carried a small wooden tray of soup, a large hunk of bread, and a mug with milk. Upon entering the room the steward looked at Moonie who was resting in a chair with a book in his hands.

 On the opposite side of the room Darsa was stripped down to his tunic and breeches, his feet were bare on the wooden floors. Darsa looked ragged, his hair wet from sweat, and his eyes highly focused on the acupuncture dummies on the other side. In his hands were about eight needles that he was throwing with a growing accuracy.

“How long has he been at it?” Robar muttered to the older man.

Looking up from his book Moonie sighed. “An hour, this time. He’s been on and off, going from his training to his work…”

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Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Fic: The Toy-Box

8K words, PG-13 rated

Voldemort rules the wizarding world. It’s a dangerous time, and Astoria and Draco are determined to keep their son safe, so they begin teaching him Occlumency. It’s an essential tool for anyone, especially a future servant of the Dark Lord. 

@cursedchildscorpius is totally to blame for the idea of Scorpius being a skilled Occlumens. I think the angst is my fault… I was just deeply fascinated by how the Scorpion King could be trained from birth in this kind of thing, and how that could partly explain how different he turns out from our Scorpius, who has never really had to hide himself away or restrain himself.

Beta’d by @bounding-heart

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