Vingilote

Greta aka Wivylma

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Handcuffs by Vingilote, literature

Fortune by Vingilote, literature

Literature

Fortune

"Sorry I'm late," April said as she turned to slip past a chair. The words were perfunctory, as they both knew. April had not been on time to their dinners in six months. She smiled briefly at Mark before hugging him, taking the time to notice that her hands brushed the cloth of a jacket much finer than any she owned. She pulled away and met his eyes. Immediately, her hand went to her hair, which had been thrown in disarray by the wind and her frantic search for the cell phone she had dropped in the car. "It's a long story," she told him. She tried to smooth her hair back and sit down in the booth at the same time, causing her to bump

Glanos of Ashtan v. 2.0 by Vingilote, literature

Literature

Glanos of Ashtan v. 2.0

Selected Sources: Glanos of Ashtan Historian's Note: The personal feud between Glanos and Sahart, the founders of Ashtan and Shallam, is legendary. They loved the same woman, Enalia, and though she bore three children to each, the brothers eventually grew embittered at the thought of sharing her. After a painful quarrel they departed, and many people followed each. This marked the beginning of millennia of conflict between the two cities, which continues today, although its intensity has diminished. (For more on Sahart, please see "Sahart of Shallam.") The following letter was found between the pages of a history of the first cycle of the

Mica, Part 3 by Vingilote, literature

Literature

Mica, Part 3

I left home when I was eighteen years old. There are rumours of the Trial of Rebirth, even in the dankest alleys of Ashtan. Rebirth by flame sounded like just the thing I needed, too. Flame cleanses, after all, I told my mother. And the Logos knows we've been living in enough filth that I need it! She got tears in her eyes at that, and I wanted to apologize, because of course I didn't really think I needed a bath that badly. I just needed to get out. I couldn't tell her that, though. If I did, I knew it would all come tumbling out, how I had gone to see my father, how I had hated him for what he done to me, or what he hadn't done. Ho

Isaian Rituals by Vingilote, literature

Literature

Isaian Rituals

Half in an icy, marble cave, Half submerged in ocean deep, Isaia lies in fog and haze, Precarious, and without sleep. Within the twisting chambers dwells The queen Denaye, raven hair, Her face of woe and sorrow tells, Lady of Ice, fierce and fair. Older than she is by ages, Xeyana is her priestess wise, Knowledge unmatched by the sages Fills her voice and hands and eyes. "Ah friend, it burdens me, the pain! It rests on me and Denaye! But still my path is clear and plain. Now swiftly do what I will say: Oil to feed the hungry flame, A dark and secret, ancient room, The souls of two young children claim. Save us through their

Midnight Prayer in the Temple by Vingilote, literature

Literature

Midnight Prayer in the Temple

To be chanted at night by a solo voice in a dark, echoing chamber. The only accompaniment should be three deep-voiced drums, each tuned to a different pitch. The drums are to be silenced for the sixth stanza, which should be sung after their echoes have faded. --- Again the dusk has fallen and around us is the night, The shadows thick as curtains rustle at the temple doors, The dust now seems to settle and to dull the shining floors. We here are watchers, waiting for the coming of our light, The Goddess who breathed into us a fire beyond compare, Who left us, and now does not seem to heed Her Chosens' prayer. Perhaps this silence ma

Sestina for a Forgetful Grove by Vingilote, literature

Literature

Sestina for a Forgetful Grove

Dear sloping pine wood, why did you forget That I belonged to you, and you my grove? When I awoke from sleep and then perceived, Your heart was bare, and you bore no imprint, For in the passing of a little time, You withdrew, forsook so deep a bond. Do you recall how we once forged our bond? How could our spirits' blending be forgot? As I knelt we seemed to stop all time, In endless seconds you became my grove, And you breathed into me your own imprint As mine in you all travelers could perceive. Or earlier, when I your pines perceived, before we joined in our mutual bond, I gasped with joy when I found no imprint, Knew I woul

Wielder of the Blade by Vingilote, literature

Literature

Wielder of the Blade

Wielder of the fatal steel blade Flame-wreathed Mother, ruler of my heart With one glance Your raging fires start Your blade's single stroke cleaves Gods in twain. From the earth's own metals was it made And in blazing fires forged with art Just as Crow and Serpent did impart Their grace to my soul, refined through flame. Sheathed at Your side Your blade now rests Your commands in patience it attends So through passions, fires, and all tests May I stay where'er this blade commends Image of the flame it manifests Ready to be wielded for Your ends.

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Bari by Vingilote, literature

Literature

Bari

Of course I grow weary as I scrub these floors, Wash all the curtains and polish the doors, I stay in this dreary castle so grim And all around me are salamandrin Their fire oppresses my body and mind But my Lady, of course, she is kind, very kind And why to the nixie Chiada should I Bow and swear to obey- and why When she freed each Glubbian, each of my kind But some other harshness entered her mind When she looked upon me, sweating, in pain My pleadings for freedom were all in vain. Perhaps I was ugly, perhaps I was old Perhaps for the Lady, icy and cold Perhaps for the Lord, her lover so fine Perhaps for her child- for her s

Scarlatti's Fall From Grace by Vingilote, literature

Literature

Scarlatti's Fall From Grace

Grace was in each footfall and each movement of Your hand, In the single sable curl which Your veil did not hide, In the silver eyes which looked about and saw this lovely land, Which I built for Your love, so We could walk there side by side. A bard requires a subject for his words and for his lyre, And what more could a poet love than love, and beauty true? Alas, it was Your Nature that My words could not beguile, You could not love so narrowly, though I'd give all for You. I wandered blindly for a time, and grief dwelt in My heart, While You reclaimed Your own, all of love and what is fair, And mortals looked in vain for the Pat

A Conversation With Daqsool by Vingilote, literature

Literature

A Conversation With Daqsool

"Daqsool, golden-eyed, you tower above me Secure in this fortress, surrounded by guards Why do you stay here, why not go flee Back to your people and to your home?" "Child, have you not read the books of your lands? Your race killed my people, though gifts they bore They found only cruelty and death in your hands Though they came with friendship and questions of lore. The scouts came first, to teach and to learn And they even deigned to teach you our speech Only your violence they got in return Your people slew them, gave death to each. They gave you a diplomat, come to make ties And Hingar held meetings and counsels with you An

Prayer to the Three by Vingilote, literature

Literature

Prayer to the Three

Great father of this human race Callisto, bless me in this place Teach me to a leader be As You led your family. You who suffered rage and pain Who killed Your kin and then were slain Grant me Your own fortitude To face my tests with strength renewed. Loving mother, Sinope Teach me tenderness today Kind and caring may they find Me, who come here pure in mind. You, whose beauty is renowned May loveliness my heart surround May You who know love's power for ill Help me use for good my skill. Lord and ruler of all time Who gave to me all that is mine Created all, and rules it still Help me to my dreams fulfill. Logos, may I al

A Portrait of Aran'riod by Vingilote, literature

Literature

A Portrait of Aran'riod

Nestled in Tundra unforgiving Lies a village called Aran'riod A path has been trampled over the long years Dotted with rocks and clumps of mud No dust escapes it from my footfalls Cold is the path as the air around me A simple archway beckons me in. Magic she weaves with her threads, this mistress In a hut piled with wool and dyed cloth Vibrant her voice and friendly her speaking Beads hang off her red-braided hair. Smells assail me, clutter greets me Smoke hangs over the central cauldron O'ising stands by mysterious bottles Placed on his shelves. Then he mutters His pot boils green. He is wild Soot-stained and fraying, with

The Death of Callisto by Vingilote, literature

Literature

The Death of Callisto

Dark lay the night on the forest deep A crescent moon scarce lit the sky Footsteps stumbled over the grass. In a cottage there lay asleep The children, sister-wife and man. The feet had walked for fourteen years But never had this cottage found. Soft breathing could be heard within- His tread was light as any deer's Wild, more animal than man. Eyes opened wide from in the wood In trembling hand he held a shard- Sharp obsidian. In shaking mind The image of Sinope stood Planted there to drive him mad. From cowering chamber he had come Provoked. He softly entered in Looked at the faces lying there Beheld his daughter and his

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MagmaRock

zebabeth

WonderLemming

Rzar

Himmapaan

LapisKnight

CyrenianLad

Pahnna

Keilexandra

Tew-et-al

Kiusha

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yraelceadenanch

zebabeth

witchlady

DarkeningFire

WonderLemming

FlamesofDeath

Soludra

LittleChiye

redfishvanish

Himmapaan

LapisKnight

CyrenianLad

Pahnna

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White On White by Scarlatti, literature

A Letter to my Brother by Pahnna, literature

Literature

A Letter to my Brother

a Letter to my Brother Dusk is shedding its husk to reveal the ripe black night and snow is a crystal scatter in the moonlight. We huddle around the hearth like primitives, as intent as we used to be in church, in prayer, and you tell me stories of our mother and other ghosts. It is the perfect time, you say, for family archaeology. Reconstruct lives from bones and fragments—that is archaeology and that is what we do here on this longest night of the year, because we cannot escape our ghosts. They float in a flurry around us like snowflakes in moonlight. I ask you to let us say for the dead a prayer, but you say religion is

Selected Sources: Sahart v.2 by Keilexandra, literature

Literature

Selected Sources: Sahart v.2

Excerpted from a text entitled, "Selected Primary Sources in Reference to the History of Humanity": Sahart of Shallam ----------------- As the astute reader and scholar will note, Sahart founded the great city of Shallam after quarreling with his brother Glanos* over their common lover, Enalia. After a millennium of peace, Sahart encountered his brother near the Siroccian Mountains as they again competed for the same prize--this time, a safe and secure source of precious metals. Their conflict ignited a long enmity between Shallam and Ashtan, including three violent wars. Below is a transcription, with modernized spelling, of a sealed lett

Sonnet to the Queen of Night by violetsorceress, literature

Literature

Sonnet to the Queen of Night

She drifts through shadow with the kiss of night Upon her brow, a black rose in her hair, Her beauty like an ember whose fierce light Shows only how much darkness lingers there. The nightmare forest parts to let her pass In tribute to her power and her grace. The Moon falls dim and all the stars fade as Glomdoring welcomes her in its embrace As mistress of the Shadowdancers guild And keeper of the coven's mystic lore, She reigns enthroned in shadows, truly filled With Mother Night's dark blessing evermore. Let all who see her tremble at her might; Behold the glory of the Queen of Night!

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Sestina for a Forgetful Grove by Vingilote, literature

Literature

Sestina for a Forgetful Grove

Vingilote

About Vingilote

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Artist // Literature

United States
Deviant for 17 years
She / Her

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Vingilote

Apr 10, 2009

New Livejournal

0 min read

I think the best thing for my blogging problem is to make a new livejournal account.  And here it is!  http://vingilote_muses.livejournal.com  If any of you are on LJ- or just want to make an account so that we can stay in touch- I'm happy to friend you.  You won't currently be able to read any of the journal without being friended. And someone stole my username :(  Hmph! :hug:

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Vingilote

Apr 9, 2009

Journaling Dilemma

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I'm feeling the urge to start blogging regularly again.  Well, the urge never left, I just sort of tapered off.  Here's the thing: I don't like that the journals here at dA are open to the world.  I'm sure no one actually cares enough to stalk me and track my journal down, but it's still a possibility.  I also maintain a livejournal account, which I like because I can close off, but I've decided I'm not entirely comfortable the the group of readers I have friended over there.  Do any of you use livejournal or another site?  I mostly want a space that I can write in and feel safe, even if no one ever reads it- but the thought that some of my n

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Vingilote

Apr 7, 2009

On Saying Goodbye

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I find it deeply ironic that I've roleplayed a Victorian matron who thinks that her cats talk to her for years.  In her mind, they are intrinsically telepathic and care about her life, always ready to jump in with their advice and guidance.  I haven't sunken quite so far into insanity, but a few times in the last week I've woken up suddenly, convinced with a disturbing certainty that Orpheus, my orange tabby, is sitting right by my head where he always would, purring and rubbing his face against my and being insistently present. For cats and other innocent things, there is no saying goodbye.  There is only the now.  Orpheus sat by my head an