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I'll leave you to guess until tomorrow evening why I posted this image.

Good night!

Berenice sends another greeting and is soon going back to us. Today, for example, she was on an excursion, where the guide casually mentioned that it was the Kharassukhumi doors that were the first among all the others to invent/discover some three things. Kharassukhum is generally known for its crazy leaps in technological progress and its reluctance to share its developments and patents with anyone else.

And you also know how much I love debunking myths.

1. Electricity. False: it is attested that the Khvenvants were the first to use it. However, it was indeed the people of Kharassukhumi who were the first to use it on an industrial scale. It was not so interesting to the Hvenvants, because first of all they were interested in magical research and built their culture on magic.
2. Friction bearing). The truth is: the very term for it, emşikkōñr, was recorded in writing as early as the third century AD. Unconditional leadership, what can I say. And if you think that this thing is not so important, then... Well, what can I say. Then the invention of the wheel is also nonsense.
3. Powder. Here everything is immediately very bad, because three people compete for primacy: the Kharassukhumi people themselves, the Mynyak people and... suddenly, the Eryakhshar people. Yes, my Geart relatives were also no strangers and knew how to do chemistry. Previously, it was generally believed that someone must have stolen the technology from someone else, but now they have come to some kind of consensus: the invention of gunpowder happened independently in three places at once, and it is hardly possible to determine the winner here.

I wonder if they’ll ever let me into Kharassukhum after everything I’ve said here?..

I recently heard something very cool, so I’m stubbornly fighting the desire to make this evening musical. Spoiler: I reached a compromise, and tomorrow evening will be musical. In the meantime, some news.

1. The experimental genetic therapy I volunteered for is working! Now I am not a completely bald dog, but actually have a thick mane. I haven’t attached any photos yet because I look very strange; When I’m covered with wool at least up to my waist, then it will be possible.
2. Berenice sends greetings to everyone from Harassukhum. She is now riding around all cities; whether he takes photographs or not, however, I still don’t understand. Most likely, it’s unlikely, because they generally allow photography or filming of few of the attractions there. I think she'll tell you more when she gets back - next week, she said.
3. Work began again on translations of “Walking to the Land of Stur” and the wolf notes. Expect them over time; We don’t promise any deadlines, because we remember our last mistake. But everything will happen!

And keep a cute toad just in case. It's Wednesday.

I accidentally became a poet-translator. Or a translator-poet. Forgive me for this.

Now to business. In Glinnar folklore, there is a song called "Ó Aiphensea" ("About Aiphensea") - in fact, a lament composed in honor of her untimely death. It is quite well known (by the way, I have already cited part of it here) and has been translated into a whole bunch of languages, but an interesting story is connected with its translation into Retsin.

It is alleged that the first translation was made in the middle of the nineteenth century, but what is characteristic is that the translator used in the text not the literary norm of Retsin, but his native dialect, one of the southwestern continuum. The reason is simple: the original was also written not in the literary norm, and the translator wanted to preserve this ... piquancy, let's say.

However, the translation has been irretrievably lost. In fact, it is not known for certain whether he existed at all, so you can consider this story a beautiful legend.

Why am I telling? It became interesting for me to imagine what this dialect translation could look like. So I took advantage of the existing literary, some amount of knowledge in the classic clay yard and ... wrote a thing. I do not pretend to be a great virshepet, but it turned out at least interesting.

The night softly covered the cold hearth,
In it, I broke down dead for a long time.
And the sky is black over Duammen Afrag,
And the leaves are yellow canvas.

The forest stands silent and mourns quietly
About the one whose tread is so light,
About the one in whose eyes the blue fire burns -
Clouds of stars twinkle in it.

She circled under the cover of foliage,
Intertwined with a chant pattern
Flowers of the field and tall grass,
Edge-red bonfire.

When the cross-section went to roam through the valleys
And the gray snow covered the branches,
She whispered: "I don't want to leave,
I want to stay here forever

I want to stay here forever."

Fodallein came to the forests in spring,
Dancing on the grass with her.
And then the golden lights sang,
Ringing among the fashionable fires.

He laughed, looking into her clear face,
And the wind whirled in the sky.
Fled from her - and suddenly overtook again,
And again played in the hair.

Slowly floated haze on the slope to the river^[1]literary forms - "river", "far away"; in part of the southwestern dialects, the second palatalization was preserved in ... Continue reading,
Dew caressing the earth.
And the wormwood sang in the distant meadows^[2]literary forms - "river", "far away"; in part of the southwestern dialects, the second palatalization was preserved in ... Continue reading,
Dreams-dreams carrying a feather grass.

Crept up and the sickle is already golden,
And the hour has already slowed down.
She whispered: "Soul, you wait,
Stay with me forever -

Stay with me forever!"

Autumn slowly walked into a quiet ravine,
Where the moon was louder than the leaves.
Silently was her light step -
And the maiden following her.

In the frosty breath, the small ringing subsided,
The chant faded into the darkness.
The flute, almost screaming, broke into a groan -
And the frost froze on the forehead.

In the halls of the forest under the rays of the moon
Inoytta sings softly.
Forgotten dreams flicker in the grass,
The sound slowly freezes into ice.

Ages flew around, hid in the shadows,
Disappeared in the plexus of rivers;
Inoytta is spinning on the Volg stones,
She stayed there forever

She stayed there forever.

Hello, friends!

We've dropped out of online life for a bit, and there's a reason for that. Berenice left for a couple of weeks to her historical (very historical) homeland, to Kharassukhum. In fact, she had been planning for a long time, but now she was finally given a visa, and without a second's delay, she packed her bags and flew out this Monday.

You have no idea how much I envy her! Getting a visa to Kharassukhum is another challenge, but it pays off a hundredfold. Entire cities built in caves inside the mountains, a completely insane railway network, tunnels, caves, and each of them is at least two thousand years old ... ahhh, I really want to go there!

In the meantime, I have to write things myself. Zear helps me as much as he can, but he's also busy at work, so I can't ask too much of him. In the meantime, we're working on the next Dragar Spell material, and we hope to release it on Friday.

All health!

Some not-so-joyful news, again concerning that spear maiden named Gweylen. The picture of which is two posts below, yes.

A worn-out, but still not completely, name was found on her dagger. Ezil. And as soon as we found out about this, a bell immediately rang in Berenice’s head - and then in mine.

Once upon a time, we were looking through notes from a nameless girl whose daughter was burned in a fire. Can you guess it right once? The daughter's name was Ezil.

I don't believe in such coincidences. And therefore, being impressed, I wrote a short text. See for yourself, in short.

---

She ran as fast as she could. Her heavy breathing left round spots on the shapeless mirrors - they broke from moisture and painfully cut her back. The booming heartbeat did not keep up with the steps; Because of this, her feet constantly went astray.

Gweylen!

She stopped and froze. The wounded legs seemed to fill with cotton wool and stopped feeling anything. It seems that her pursuer himself was lost in the tangle of steps and glass.

She buried her gaze on the floor so as not to look at her reflection. They scared her; seemed lifeless - sculpted from wax impaled on a human skeleton. Their dead eyes, the color of swamp mud, watched her every move.

The stairs ahead were familiar. It resembled the one that rose from the sea coast and led through narrow streets to her house - only this one for some reason went down. Exhaling quietly, she reached up and touched the very tips of her fingers to her steps - and the space around, with a strangled cry, crumbled. She flew into the abyss.

Gweylen!

For a moment she was blinded by a bright light and someone's face, worriedly emerging from the twilight - and then fell back into a dirty gray whirlpool. All the mirrors have disappeared; the even radiance pouring from everywhere destroyed the shadows.

The steps twisted bizarrely and tied into a ragged pattern. They became smooth and flat, and then sharp and ribbed, like saw teeth. They led to and from houses; they entwined her and smothered her with their moldy stones.

She ran, not making out the way. She did not understand where the right was and where the left was, she did not distinguish between up and down. The only thing that still made any sense was forward and backward.

The light began to flicker and dim to an unbearable brightness. The darkness around hurt the eyes and intertwined into a disgustingly dense fog, obscuring the road. She wrapped her arms around herself so as not to touch her finger to the thickening dense mass.

She froze. Stairs hung above her head and under her feet, surrounding her on all sides, forming an even square. Between every two adjacent steps there were black gaps, from which pale ruby eyes slowly floated up. They cut her with their cloudy pupils, scratched her face, loosened her teeth and pulled them out one by one.

She growled exhaustedly and slammed her elbows into the floor. The broken stone turned into weightless fine dust, into the gaps between which her body fell. The eyes blinked and dissolved into unbearable whiteness, spreading in uneven spots.

Gweylen!

She opened her eyelids. The bright sun looked shyly through the window and played on her face with small reflections. The burned back burned unbearably; she groaned from the sharp pain and immediately coughed.

- Gweylen, glory to the One! — a painfully familiar voice came from above and from the side. - Are you here!

The bright sun quickly hid behind the round clouds and peeked out laughingly from behind them. The tracks of salt water on my face stung my skin a little.

Many religions tell us about such a thing as “possession” - when a person is possessed by some immaterial intelligent entity and makes him do all sorts of strange things. However, does this really happen?

All magical schools say in unison: yes! It's unfortunate, unpleasant, but nothing can be done. Let us reassure you: this may not happen to everyone; This mainly applies to those who are too sensitive to all kinds of magical manifestations. And they are (or should be) aware of this for sure.

Why are we talking about this? Yes, a new find, again written in Proto-Rechansky in Glinnar vertical script. Judging by the handwriting (yes, we have already learned to distinguish between them), the author is Emed.

I’ll still sleep on my bed, be damned. There are many creatures that want to devour them in the night. To make your soul sour, read the words: ...

“Even while sleeping in your bed, be alert in spirit: after all, there are creatures that want to devour you at night. To keep your soul healthy, read the words: ..."

And then the classic tips on how to protect yourself from demons that are especially annoying during sleep. In short: pray, if you are a believer, clear your head of unnecessary thoughts and under no circumstances succumb to provocations.

A little light historical excursion.

What type of stringed instruments do you think had the greatest variety and distribution? Alvov? Dvergov?

But no! Geartskie. Why is that? The answer is very simple and obvious: they have claws, which were very convenient for plucking strings. This, however, imposed some restrictions: for example, it is difficult to play a guitar with claws - as, indeed, on a violin, a cello, and in general on any instrument whose strings need to be pressed against the neck. There were two ways out of this situation:

1. We used instruments where the strings do not need to be pressed against the fingerboard. As far as we can judge now, there were simply incredibly many varieties of them; Their names have not been preserved, for the most part, but they ranged from gusli and zither to koto and guzheng. They differed mainly in the arrangement of the strings in the horizontal plane, the method of tuning and the height of the strings: if they are located high enough, then with the fingers of one hand they can be divided into parts, while producing higher sounds, as on a modern guqin.
2. We used a notched neck. The funny thing is that it was rediscovered relatively recently (look, for example, scalloped fretboard). The Gearts stopped using it because, starting in the tenth century, they began to undergo operations to retractabilize the claws, and the need for such vultures naturally disappeared. And they reintroduced it into music for a completely different reason: the strings on such a neck can be deliberately pressed lower than necessary in order to extract microtones and various similar things.

And another one of the Aznat Dzheart tribes was the first in the world to invent bows. Their men specially grew their manes almost to their waists and took care of them in some special way, all for the sake of art! There is still debate about what is better to use for bows: horsehair or Geart mane.

We brought you some drawings. Remember the pierced pole and the pole? This is probably what their owner might have looked like.

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