Nov 6, 2025
i love putting ancients in vaguely 20s formalwear :)
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i love putting ancients in vaguely 20s formalwear :)
The Ode to the Bread of Lughnasadh
The wind has wandered through the fields.
It has made the wheat,
the barley,
the oats,
and the rye
dance together
like one great sea of gold
beneath the gaze of the Sun.
Each ear carried the memory of a rain.
Each grain held the warmth of a morning.
Each stalk told the story of the Earth's patience.
O generous Earth,
you who keep within your silence
the secret of the harvest,
today we receive
what your depths
have so patiently prepared.
Neither the grain
nor the bread
came into being alone.
The sky offered its light.
The clouds poured out their rain.
The wind strengthened the stalks.
Men and women sowed,
weeded,
waited,
and hoped.
Thus is every abundance born.
When the sickle sings across the fields,
it is not the end of a cycle.
It is the voice of gratitude.
The grain leaves the ear
as a child leaves
its mother's hand.
It descends to the millstone.
Beneath the turning stone,
it surrenders its former shape.
It becomes flour.
And no one mourns this transformation.
For every transformation
prepares a new birth.
The flour meets the water.
Salt joins their union.
The sourdough brings
its unseen breath.
Hands knead the living dough
just as the seasons
have kneaded the Earth.
At last,
the fire embraces it.
And bread is born.
Bread of the Ancients.
Bread of the Wanderers.
Bread of the Hearth.
Bread of the Festivals.
Bread of Lughnasadh.
When the eve of the Great Festival arrives,
the first loaf
is lifted toward the sky.
Not to be possessed,
but to be offered.
For no one should eat alone
what the Earth
has given to all.
Around the table,
hands meet.
The elders tell their stories.
The children listen.
The bards sing.
The bread passes
from heart to heart,
just as the Awen
flows among all living beings.
Then each receives a share.
Not according to wealth,
but according to belonging
to the great family
of the Living World.
O Lugh,
Master of every art
and of every accomplished hand,
receive our gratitude.
May we never forget
that behind every loaf
there remains
a field,
a rainfall,
a sun,
patient hands,
and the unseen breath
that unites Earth and Sky.
Thus the grain becomes flour.
Thus the flour becomes bread.
Thus the bread becomes sharing.
And sharing becomes a people.
For as long as bread is broken
in joy,
in gratitude,
and in fellowship,
the Earth will know
that her children
have not forgotten
the language of the harvest.
Druid Hoc'hGouez-Nerzhus /|\
L'Ode au Pain de Lughnasadh
Le vent a parcouru les champs.
Il a fait danser le blé,
l'orge,
l'avoine
et le seigle
comme une seule mer d'or
sous le regard du Soleil.
Chaque épi portait la mémoire d'une pluie.
Chaque grain conservait la chaleur d'un matin.
Chaque tige racontait la patience de la Terre.
Ô Terre généreuse,
toi qui gardes dans ton silence
le secret des moissons,
nous recevons aujourd'hui
ce que tes profondeurs ont lentement préparé.
Ni le grain ne s'est fait seul.
Ni le pain.
Le ciel a offert sa lumière.
Les nuages ont versé leur eau.
Le vent a fortifié les tiges.
Les hommes et les femmes ont semé,
désherbé,
attendu,
espéré.
Ainsi naît toute abondance.
Lorsque la faucille chante dans les champs,
ce n'est pas la fin d'un cycle.
C'est la voix de la gratitude.
Le grain quitte l'épi
comme l'enfant quitte la main de sa mère.
Il descend vers la meule.
Sous la pierre tournante,
il abandonne sa forme.
Il devient farine.
Et nul ne regrette cette transformation.
Car toute métamorphose prépare une naissance.
La farine rencontre l'eau.
Le sel rejoint leur alliance.
Le levain apporte le souffle invisible.
Les mains pétrissent
comme les saisons ont pétri la Terre.
Le feu accueille enfin la pâte vivante.
Et le pain naît.
Pain des anciens.
Pain des voyageurs.
Pain des foyers.
Pain des fêtes.
Pain de Lughnasadh.
Lorsque vient la veille de la grande fête,
le premier pain est élevé vers le ciel.
Non pour être possédé.
Mais pour être offert.
Car nul ne mange seul
ce que la Terre a donné à tous.
Autour de la table,
les mains se rejoignent.
Les anciens racontent.
Les enfants écoutent.
Les bardes chantent.
Le pain circule de cœur en cœur
comme circule l'Awen
entre les êtres vivants.
Alors chacun reçoit sa part.
Non selon sa richesse.
Mais selon son appartenance
à la grande famille du Vivant.
Ô Lug,
Maître des arts
et des mains accomplies,
reçois notre gratitude.
Que jamais nous n'oublions
que derrière chaque miche
demeurent un champ,
une pluie,
un soleil,
des mains patientes
et le souffle invisible
qui unit la Terre au Ciel.
Ainsi le grain devient farine.
Ainsi la farine devient pain.
Ainsi le pain devient partage.
Et le partage devient peuple.
Car tant qu'un pain sera rompu
dans la joie,
la reconnaissance
et la fraternité,
la Terre saura
que ses enfants
n'ont pas oublié
le langage des moissons.
Druid Hoc'hGouez-Nerzhus /|\
Lugos and Cernunnos
Coven, finally here are the two posts on Cernunnos and Lugos, go read them! This is also why our Coven is called the Crystal Circle, because the cycle between the Age of Myth and the Age of History, the cosmic and hierohistorical Samhain and Beltane, are fundamental to us! May Cernunnos open the gates of the Sidhe for you and guide you to knowledge!
Well, Coven, the time has come to talk about Lugos and Cernunnos. I refer you to other posts for more information on our method. Here, we're
Lugos is also the Light, and in fact he brings light to a world prey to the miseries of History, bringing back to our world the Hope of a be
Lunatic(s)
"So you're...like...magic ?"
They are five, sitting in a pretty large room. No decorations, no furnitures except five chairs, and five people seated on there.
First, there is a girl named Sukina, the one who was brave enough to ask this question, with long raven hair and a smile so big it starts to be creepy. She is wearing a uniform, and playing with a knife between her fingers. But her eyes are fixated on the other people in the room, and her attitude would make someone think she's about to throw the knife at them.
Next to her is another girl, a lot younger. She is blond-haired, and her blue eyes are all empty, as if she was unable to see the real world, which is precisely her problem. Wearing black and grey clothes, and a very big top hat on her head, she seems all small and pathetic in this assembly, even though she's probably the creepiest of all, with this faint glow in her gaze, the kind of glow which makes people shiver in her presence. Her name is Kezelyu, the Vulture from beyond the Woods.
The third protagonist of this little story seems a lot less at ease than the two previous girls, even though his smile is much more genuine. He's too tall, about two meters tall, maybe a bit more, and is wearing a large suit very nicely tailored, even though it has seen better days, considering the multiple patched-up holes in it. He also has a hat, but his is not on his head, but in his hands. Those hands are big, but not strong at all, and maybe it's the best way to describe Lugos Lecerf, a laughable, tall, gentle and generous man.
Such could not be said about our fourth person in the room. His name is Adam, and he doesn't seem too at ease here. His smile is faint, a drop of sweat can be seen on his forehead. Even though he feels in control, he's very not happy of the presence of the fifth person, as well as Sukina's and her knife. He's wearing his pink set of robes, complimenting his eyes of the same color, and wearing his brown hair quite short, for convenience purposes.
Finally, there is the fifth. It's silent. It's looking at the floor. Sometimes, you see a bone under her clothes, and a smile while she waits for something. Behind her chair lies a gigantic scythe, forged in a black metal, infused with strange glowing symbols.
"I ask that because, you know, the scythe, and the way you all dress..."
Sukina is a very bold girl. You could say she has no survival instincts, and maybe it's because of this that she kickstarts the conversation.
"I would say, you're all dressed pretty strangely", coughs Adam.
He's not familiar with the cloth used in these clothes, not the technique. He's, after all, pretty old, and from a world where magic helps you create your clothes. Why would he know of the way 21st century girls dress, nor what the tall, gentle giant is wearing.
The only clothing he recognizes is the Fifth's.
"Are we, like, dead ?" finally asks the blonde girl, like she just emerged from a very long slumber.
"Yes", answers Adam.
"Certainly not !" screams Lugos in horror.
"Probably", shrugs Sukina.
"Not all of us."
The fifth's voice is rasp, scary in a way no voice should be. It's like the rattle of bones on stone, a sound so profundly unique you wouldn't want to hear it again.
"Strange. Kezelyu, next time, try to smoke a little less", jokes Sukina.
"I am not smoking anything", responds the girl, her dreamy tone still attached to her lips.
"Wait, wait, wait. I don't understand. If some of us are dead, what are we doing here ?" finally asks Lugos.
No one answers him, unfortunately. They all look at each other in disbelief, except the fifth, still staring at the floor, a faint smile on her teeth.
"Are you Death, big scary lady ?" Kezelyu solicits.
"Merely her daugther."
"Another one that I have to escape" grumbles Adam between his teeth.
"Oh, so that's why you're...you know...Boney" Sukina snickers, totally ignoring the priest's remark.
The fifth has a faint laugh. Still that same old raspey sound.
"Why don't we me present ourselves ?" she asks.
They look at each other again. Nobody seems to want to be the first. In a class, in a temple, the subject is the same. Who really wants to attract attention, when they're all fleeing it ?
"I'm Sukina. I guess you could say I'm a loner, and you would be right. I like freedom, I like birds, I like to punch things. What more ? Bah ! You wouldn't care. You're all the same."
"I am...Kezelyu. They call me a vulture, but i do not..eat the bodies. I bury them. I have a cemetery. People come and they want me to bury other people and I...I do it. I love people. But they don't like me that much."
"I am Lugos. I am...was. Was a cult leader. One of three. I...I guess you could say I killed my brother. I had to leave. I tried to save someone, everyone. I think I failed. Because the world is not so gentle as what the priests said to us."
"You can call me Adam. I have not much to say."
"...They call me the Collector. My real name is...Cassandra. Cassandra Kozakios. I am Death's daugther. And I search for the true meaning of life."
All five of them are mad. Lunatics, you could say.
Paranoia. Delusion. Hopefulness. Psychotic. Hopeless.
All of them, different types of lunatics.
But when the minutes starts to go down, when they turn into hours, what they are doing here, why they are here, all those questions do not hold any meaning anymore. And so, they talk. About themselves, about anything.
If Hell is the others, why does hellish lunatics, murderers, criminals seem to like each other's company ?
Even Adam, so silent, ends up joining the conversation. Because he doesn't want to be like his father, in a way, the only silent voice in the crowd.
They're all lunatics.
Why are they getting along so well, if those lunacy are so different ?
When Adam shares his story, they all agree he is a disgusting person. Even himself.
When Lugos shares his story, Adam puts a hand on his shoulder, says he understands, in a way. That it's the first time he can relate to someone. That is soothes his soul, and Lugos smiles at him, a tiny bit.
When Kezelyu shares her story, what she remembers, they all try to piece it together. Lugos tells her she looks like a girl he considered his own child, a long time ago. Adam tells her it's normal to feel lost when you don't have anything, that maybe, her parents are somewhere, elsewhere, that she'll talk to them one day.
When Sukina shares her story, they all cry in outrage. Adam calls her abusive mother a treacherous leech, she agrees. Lugos calls her mother a monster, she agrees. Kezelyu calls her mother lost, she agress. But in the end, she still miss her. And they all understand.
When Cassandra shares her story, they nod. Sukina tells her it's not always as simple as finding a big meaning in life. Kezelyu tells her that she does not look that menacing, that she feels at ease with her. Lugos tells her it was a lot of responsability, she had to flee, it's normal. Adam tells her he's so, so sorry.
When they separate, walk out of the strange room, it's as if a weight has been lifted from their shoulders.
Lugh Lamhfada- Lugh au long bras - lugh of the long arm - on the shore of Lough Dunlewy lake at the foot of mount Errigal - Ireland
500 Picspams Challenge | #144 | Celtic Mythology ↳ Lugh, Celtic God of Sun and Craft
Lugh is known as the Celtic god of the sun and crafts. Both in Celtic and Irish mythology, he was known as a fierce warrior. Accordingly to legends, Lugh had miraculously survived a slaughter run by Balor, the leader of the evil underworld group, Formorii. Having said that, he was able to kill Balor by throwing an eye that had the ability to kill whomever looked at it.
Reference sheet commission for for D&D characters Colin and Lugos, who belong to Sleepybunny and Ravn Vidarson respectfully!
