Mar. 15, 2013

#art #his dark materials #inspiration #iorek #lyra silvertoungue #lyra #philip pullman #the golden compass #books #fuck yeah reading


Mar. 13, 2013

#His Dark Materials #Iorek Byrnison #Lyra Silvertongue #iorek #lyra #philip pullman #the golden compass #books #fuck yeah reading


Mar. 11, 2013

#fanart #his dark materials #philip pullman #books #fuck yeah reading #the amber spyglass #lyra #will


Mar. 8, 2013

(Source: holyfuckabear)

#His Dark Materials #Phillip Pullman #The Golden Compass #books #fuck yeah reading #lyra #will #mary malone #iorek #lord asriel #marisa coulter #serafina pekkala #lee scoresby


Mar. 6, 2013

(Source: sjaejones)

#art #his dark materials #philip pullman #the golden compass #iorek #lyra #books #fuck yeah reading


Dec. 9, 2012

(Source: leetlejewliana)

#his dark materials #lyra's oxford #philip pullman #books #fuck yeah reading #lyra #oxford


Jun. 16, 2012
“If you do not find a way out of the world of the dead, we shall not  meet again, because I have no ghost. My body will remain on the earth,  and then become part of it. But if it turns out that you and I both  survive, then you will always be a welcome and honored visitor to  Svalbard; and the same is true of Will. Has he told you what happened  when we met?”
“No,” said Lyra, “except that it was by a river.”
“He outfaced me. I thought no one could ever do that, but this  half-grown boy was too daring for me, and too clever. I am not happy  that you should do what you plan, but there is no one I would trust to  go with you except that boy. You are worthy of each other. Go well, Lyra  Silvertongue, my dear friend.”
She reached up and put her arms around his neck, and pressed her face into his fur, unable to speak.
After a minute he stood up gently and disengaged her arms, and then  he turned and walked silently away into the dark. Lyra thought his  outline was lost almost at once against the pallor of the snow-covered  ground, but it might have been that her eyes were full of tears.
- Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (The Amber Spyglass)
sadsadkiddie:

Colored version of “Go well, Lyra Silvertongue”
Lineart: pen & ink
Color: photoshop
more by Caitlin Rose Boyle
<3

“If you do not find a way out of the world of the dead, we shall not meet again, because I have no ghost. My body will remain on the earth, and then become part of it. But if it turns out that you and I both survive, then you will always be a welcome and honored visitor to Svalbard; and the same is true of Will. Has he told you what happened when we met?”

“No,” said Lyra, “except that it was by a river.”

“He outfaced me. I thought no one could ever do that, but this half-grown boy was too daring for me, and too clever. I am not happy that you should do what you plan, but there is no one I would trust to go with you except that boy. You are worthy of each other. Go well, Lyra Silvertongue, my dear friend.”

She reached up and put her arms around his neck, and pressed her face into his fur, unable to speak.

After a minute he stood up gently and disengaged her arms, and then he turned and walked silently away into the dark. Lyra thought his outline was lost almost at once against the pallor of the snow-covered ground, but it might have been that her eyes were full of tears.

- Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (The Amber Spyglass)

sadsadkiddie:

Colored version of “Go well, Lyra Silvertongue”

Lineart: pen & ink

Color: photoshop

more by Caitlin Rose Boyle

<3

#Go Well Lyra Silvertongue #His Dark Materials #Iorek #Lyra #The Golden Compass #books #fuck yeah reading #panserbjorne #philip pullman #the amber spyglass


May. 21, 2012
He saw her before she saw him. There was a bounding and a heavy clank  of metal, and in a flurry of snow Iorek Byrnison stood beside her.
“Oh, Iorek! I’ve done a terrible thing! My dear, you’re going to have  to fight Iofur Raknison, and you en’t ready- you’re tired and hungry,  and your armor’s-”
“What terrible thing?”
“I told him you was coming, because I read it on the symbol reader;  and he’s desperate to be like a person and have a daemon, just  desperate. So I tricked him into thinking that I was your daemon, and I  was going to desert you and be his instead, but he had to fight you to  make it happen. Because otherwise, Iorek, dear, they’d never let you  fight, they were going to just burn you up before you got close-”
“You tricked Iofur Raknison?”
“Yes. I made him agree that he’d fight you instead of just killing  you straight off like an outcast, and the winner would be king of the  bears. I had to do that, because-”
“Belacqua? No. You are Lyra Silvertongue,” he said. “To fight him is all I want. Come, little daemon.”
She looked at Iorek Byrnison in his battered armor, lean and ferocious, and felt as if her heart would burst with pride.
[&#8230;]
Lyra was in tears. Her dear, her brave one, her fearless defender,  was going to die, and she would not do him the treachery of looking  away, for if he looked at her he must see her shining eyes and their  love and belief, not a face hidden in cowardice or a shoulder fearfully  turned away.
So she looked, but her tears kept her from seeing what was really  happening, and perhaps it would not have been visible to her anyway. It  certainly was not seen by Iofur.
Because Iorek was moving backward only to find clean dry footing and a  firm rock to leap up from, and the useless left arm was really fresh  and strong. You could not trick a bear, but, as Lyra had shown him,  Iofur did not want to be a bear, he wanted to be a man; and Iorek was  tricking him.
At last he found what he wanted: a firm rock deep-anchored in the  permafrost. He backed against it, tensing his legs and choosing his  moment.
It came when Iofur reared high above, bellowing his triumph, and  turning his head tauntingly toward Iorek’s apparently weak left side.
That was when Iorek moved. Like a wave that has been building its  strength over a thousand miles of ocean, and which makes little stir in  the deep water, but which when it reaches the shallows rears itself up  high into the sky, terrifying the shore dwellers, before crashing down  on the land with irresistible power-so Iorek Byrnison rose up against  Iofur, exploding upward from his firm footing on the dry rock and  slashing with a ferocious left hand at the exposed jaw of Iofur  Raknison.
It was a horrifying blow. It tore the lower part of his jaw clean  off, so that it flew through the air scattering blood drops in the snow  many yards away.
Iofur’s red tongue lolled down, dripping over his open throat. The  bear-king was suddenly voiceless, biteless, helpless, Iorek needed  nothing more. He lunged, and then his teeth were in Iofur’s throat, and  he shook and shook this way, that way, lifting the huge body off the  ground and battering it down as if Iofur were no more than a seal at the  water’s edge.
Then he ripped upward, and Iofur Raknison’s life came away in his teeth.
[&#8230;]
“Let me help you-I want to make sure you en’t too badly hurt, Iorek  dear-oh, I wish there was some bandages or something! That’s an awful  cut on your belly-”
A bear laid a mouthful of some stiff green stuff, thickly frosted, on the ground at Iorek’s feet.
“Bloodmoss,” said Iorek. “Press it in the wounds for me, Lyra. Fold  the flesh over it and then hold some snow there till it freezes.”
He wouldn’t let any bears attend to him, despite their eagerness.  Besides, Lyra’s hands were deft, and she was desperate to help; so the  small human bent over the great bear-king, packing in the bloodmoss and  freezing the raw flesh till it stopped bleeding. When she had finished,  her mittens were sodden with Iorek’s blood, but his wounds were  stanched.
- Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (The Golden Compass)

He saw her before she saw him. There was a bounding and a heavy clank of metal, and in a flurry of snow Iorek Byrnison stood beside her.

“Oh, Iorek! I’ve done a terrible thing! My dear, you’re going to have to fight Iofur Raknison, and you en’t ready- you’re tired and hungry, and your armor’s-”

“What terrible thing?”

“I told him you was coming, because I read it on the symbol reader; and he’s desperate to be like a person and have a daemon, just desperate. So I tricked him into thinking that I was your daemon, and I was going to desert you and be his instead, but he had to fight you to make it happen. Because otherwise, Iorek, dear, they’d never let you fight, they were going to just burn you up before you got close-”

“You tricked Iofur Raknison?”

“Yes. I made him agree that he’d fight you instead of just killing you straight off like an outcast, and the winner would be king of the bears. I had to do that, because-”

“Belacqua? No. You are Lyra Silvertongue,” he said. “To fight him is all I want. Come, little daemon.”

She looked at Iorek Byrnison in his battered armor, lean and ferocious, and felt as if her heart would burst with pride.

[…]

Lyra was in tears. Her dear, her brave one, her fearless defender, was going to die, and she would not do him the treachery of looking away, for if he looked at her he must see her shining eyes and their love and belief, not a face hidden in cowardice or a shoulder fearfully turned away.

So she looked, but her tears kept her from seeing what was really happening, and perhaps it would not have been visible to her anyway. It certainly was not seen by Iofur.

Because Iorek was moving backward only to find clean dry footing and a firm rock to leap up from, and the useless left arm was really fresh and strong. You could not trick a bear, but, as Lyra had shown him, Iofur did not want to be a bear, he wanted to be a man; and Iorek was tricking him.

At last he found what he wanted: a firm rock deep-anchored in the permafrost. He backed against it, tensing his legs and choosing his moment.

It came when Iofur reared high above, bellowing his triumph, and turning his head tauntingly toward Iorek’s apparently weak left side.

That was when Iorek moved. Like a wave that has been building its strength over a thousand miles of ocean, and which makes little stir in the deep water, but which when it reaches the shallows rears itself up high into the sky, terrifying the shore dwellers, before crashing down on the land with irresistible power-so Iorek Byrnison rose up against Iofur, exploding upward from his firm footing on the dry rock and slashing with a ferocious left hand at the exposed jaw of Iofur Raknison.

It was a horrifying blow. It tore the lower part of his jaw clean off, so that it flew through the air scattering blood drops in the snow many yards away.

Iofur’s red tongue lolled down, dripping over his open throat. The bear-king was suddenly voiceless, biteless, helpless, Iorek needed nothing more. He lunged, and then his teeth were in Iofur’s throat, and he shook and shook this way, that way, lifting the huge body off the ground and battering it down as if Iofur were no more than a seal at the water’s edge.

Then he ripped upward, and Iofur Raknison’s life came away in his teeth.

[…]

“Let me help you-I want to make sure you en’t too badly hurt, Iorek dear-oh, I wish there was some bandages or something! That’s an awful cut on your belly-”

A bear laid a mouthful of some stiff green stuff, thickly frosted, on the ground at Iorek’s feet.

“Bloodmoss,” said Iorek. “Press it in the wounds for me, Lyra. Fold the flesh over it and then hold some snow there till it freezes.”

He wouldn’t let any bears attend to him, despite their eagerness. Besides, Lyra’s hands were deft, and she was desperate to help; so the small human bent over the great bear-king, packing in the bloodmoss and freezing the raw flesh till it stopped bleeding. When she had finished, her mittens were sodden with Iorek’s blood, but his wounds were stanched.

- Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (The Golden Compass)

(Source: sjaejones)

#art #books #fuck yeah reading #his dark materials #iorek #lyra #philip pullman #the golden compass #iofur


Apr. 7, 2012
“Why…” Lyra began, and found her voice weak and trembling, “why can’t  I read the alethiometer anymore? Why can’t I even do that? That was the  one thing I could do really well, and it’s just not there anymore, it  just vanished as if it had never come…”
“You read it by grace,” said Xaphania, looking at her, “and you can regain it by work.”
“How long will that take?”
“A lifetime.”
“That long…”
“But your reading will be even better then, after a lifetime of  thought and effort, because it will come from conscious understanding.  Grace attained like that is deeper and fuller than grace that comes  freely, and furthermore, once you’ve gained it, it will never leave  you.”
- Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (The Amber Spyglass)

“Why…” Lyra began, and found her voice weak and trembling, “why can’t I read the alethiometer anymore? Why can’t I even do that? That was the one thing I could do really well, and it’s just not there anymore, it just vanished as if it had never come…”

“You read it by grace,” said Xaphania, looking at her, “and you can regain it by work.”

“How long will that take?”

“A lifetime.”

“That long…”

“But your reading will be even better then, after a lifetime of thought and effort, because it will come from conscious understanding. Grace attained like that is deeper and fuller than grace that comes freely, and furthermore, once you’ve gained it, it will never leave you.”

- Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (The Amber Spyglass)

(Source: tooyoung4revolution)

#Alethiometer #Golden Compass #His Dark Materials #Lyra #books #fuck yeah reading #philip pullman #the golden compass #Xaphania


Mar. 29, 2012
At once she saw that something strange was happening in the sky. She  thought it was clouds, moving and trembling under a nervous agitation,  but Pantalaimon whispered:
“The Aurora!”
Her wonder was so strong that she had to clutch the rail to keep from falling.
The sight filled the northern sky; the immensity of it was scarcely  conceivable. As if from Heaven itself, great curtains of delicate light  hung and trembled. Pale green and rose-pink, and as transparent as the  most fragile fabric, and at the bottom edge a profound and fiery crimson  like the fires of Hell, they swung and shimmered loosely with more  grace than the most skillful dancer. Lyra thought she could even hear  them: a vast distant whispering swish. In the evanescent delicacy she  felt something as profound as she’d felt close to the bear. She was  moved by it; it was so beautiful it was almost holy; she felt tears  prick her eyes, and the tears splintered the light even further into  prismatic rainbows. It wasn’t long before she found herself entering the  same kind of trance as when she consulted the alethiometer. Perhaps,  she thought calmly, whatever moves the alethiometer’s needle is making  the Aurora glow too. It might even be Dust itself. She thought that  without noticing that she’d thought it, and she soon forgot it, and only  remembered it much later.
And as she gazed, the image of a city seemed to form itself behind  the veils and streams of translucent color: towers and domes,  honey-colored temples and colonnades, broad boulevards and sunlit  parkland. Looking at it gave her a sense of vertigo, as if she were  looking not up but down, and across a gulf so wide that nothing could  ever pass over it. It was a whole universe away.
- Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (The Golden Compass)

At once she saw that something strange was happening in the sky. She thought it was clouds, moving and trembling under a nervous agitation, but Pantalaimon whispered:

“The Aurora!”

Her wonder was so strong that she had to clutch the rail to keep from falling.

The sight filled the northern sky; the immensity of it was scarcely conceivable. As if from Heaven itself, great curtains of delicate light hung and trembled. Pale green and rose-pink, and as transparent as the most fragile fabric, and at the bottom edge a profound and fiery crimson like the fires of Hell, they swung and shimmered loosely with more grace than the most skillful dancer. Lyra thought she could even hear them: a vast distant whispering swish. In the evanescent delicacy she felt something as profound as she’d felt close to the bear. She was moved by it; it was so beautiful it was almost holy; she felt tears prick her eyes, and the tears splintered the light even further into prismatic rainbows. It wasn’t long before she found herself entering the same kind of trance as when she consulted the alethiometer. Perhaps, she thought calmly, whatever moves the alethiometer’s needle is making the Aurora glow too. It might even be Dust itself. She thought that without noticing that she’d thought it, and she soon forgot it, and only remembered it much later.

And as she gazed, the image of a city seemed to form itself behind the veils and streams of translucent color: towers and domes, honey-colored temples and colonnades, broad boulevards and sunlit parkland. Looking at it gave her a sense of vertigo, as if she were looking not up but down, and across a gulf so wide that nothing could ever pass over it. It was a whole universe away.

- Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (The Golden Compass)

(via notangenerico)

#His Dark Materials #Philip Pullman #books #fuck yeah reading #illustrations #lyra #the golden compass #the northern lights


Feb. 17, 2012
When that was done, she sat next to Iorek Byrnison as he gnawed a haunch of reindeer that was frozen as hard as wood.
“Iorek,” she said, “is it hard not having a daemon? Don’t you get lonely?”
“Lonely?” he said. “I don’t know. They tell me this is cold. I don’t  know what cold is, because I don’t freeze. So I don’t know what lonely  means either. Bears are made to be solitary.”
“What about the Svalbard bears?” she said. “There’s thousands of them, en’t there? That’s what I heard.”
He said nothing, but ripped the joint in half with a sound like a splitting log.
- Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (The Golden Compass)

When that was done, she sat next to Iorek Byrnison as he gnawed a haunch of reindeer that was frozen as hard as wood.

“Iorek,” she said, “is it hard not having a daemon? Don’t you get lonely?”

“Lonely?” he said. “I don’t know. They tell me this is cold. I don’t know what cold is, because I don’t freeze. So I don’t know what lonely means either. Bears are made to be solitary.”

“What about the Svalbard bears?” she said. “There’s thousands of them, en’t there? That’s what I heard.”

He said nothing, but ripped the joint in half with a sound like a splitting log.

- Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (The Golden Compass)

(via thiswildplace)

#books #fuck yeah reading #his dark materials #iorek byrnison #philip pullman #the golden compass #lyra #armored bears


Feb. 14, 2012
The consul turned to Farder Coram and said: “Do you realize who this child is?”
“She’s the daughter of Lord Asriel,” said Farder Coram.
“And her mother is Mrs. Coulter, of the Oblation Board.”
“And apart from that?”
The old gyptian had to shake his head. “No,” he said, “I don’t know  any more. But she’s a strange innocent creature, and I wouldn’t have her  harmed for the world. How she comes to read that instrument I couldn’t  guess, but I believe her when she talks of it. Why, Dr. Lanselius? What  do you know about her?”
“The witches have talked about this child for centuries past,” said  the consul. “Because they live so close to the place where the veil  between the worlds is thin, they hear immortal whispers from time to  time, in the voices of those beings who pass between the worlds. And  they have spoken of a child such as this, who has a great destiny that  can only be fulfilled elsewhere-not in this world, but far beyond.  Without this child, we shall all die. So the witches say. But she must  fulfill this destiny in ignorance of what she is doing, because only in  her ignorance can we be saved. Do you understand that, Farder Coram?”
“No,” said Farder Coram, “I’m unable to say that I do.”
“What it means is that she must be free to make mistakes. We must  hope that she does not, but we can’t guide her. I am glad to have seen  this child before I die.”
- Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (The Golden Compass)

The consul turned to Farder Coram and said: “Do you realize who this child is?”

“She’s the daughter of Lord Asriel,” said Farder Coram.

“And her mother is Mrs. Coulter, of the Oblation Board.”

“And apart from that?”

The old gyptian had to shake his head. “No,” he said, “I don’t know any more. But she’s a strange innocent creature, and I wouldn’t have her harmed for the world. How she comes to read that instrument I couldn’t guess, but I believe her when she talks of it. Why, Dr. Lanselius? What do you know about her?”

“The witches have talked about this child for centuries past,” said the consul. “Because they live so close to the place where the veil between the worlds is thin, they hear immortal whispers from time to time, in the voices of those beings who pass between the worlds. And they have spoken of a child such as this, who has a great destiny that can only be fulfilled elsewhere-not in this world, but far beyond. Without this child, we shall all die. So the witches say. But she must fulfill this destiny in ignorance of what she is doing, because only in her ignorance can we be saved. Do you understand that, Farder Coram?”

“No,” said Farder Coram, “I’m unable to say that I do.”

“What it means is that she must be free to make mistakes. We must hope that she does not, but we can’t guide her. I am glad to have seen this child before I die.”

- Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (The Golden Compass)

(Source: goldencompass)

#His Dark Materials #philip pullman #the golden compass #lyra #the alethiometer #books #fuck yeah reading


Feb. 1, 2012
There was a light on the sea front outside shining straight up into  the room, and in the glow reflected from the ceiling she looked down at  the sleeping boy. He was frowning, and his face glistened with sweat. He  was strong and stocky, not as formed as a grown man, of course, because  he wasn’t much older than she was, but he’d be powerful one day. How  much easier if his daemon had been visible! She wondered what its form  might be, and whether it was fixed yet. Whatever its form was, it would  express a nature that was savage, and courteous, and unhappy.
She tiptoed to the window. In the glow from the streetlight she  carefully set the hands of the alethiometer, and relaxed her mind into  the shape of a question. The needle began to sweep around the dial in a  series of pauses and swings almost too fast to watch.
She had asked: What is he? A friend or an enemy?
The alethiometer answered: He is a murderer.
When she saw the answer, she relaxed at once. He could find food, and  show her how to reach Oxford, and those were powers that were useful,  but he might still have been untrustworthy or cowardly. A murderer was a  worthy companion. She felt as safe with him as she’d felt with Iorek  Byrnison, the armored bear.
She swung the shutter across the open window so the morning sunlight wouldn’t strike in on his face, and tiptoed out.
- Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (The Subtle Knife)

There was a light on the sea front outside shining straight up into the room, and in the glow reflected from the ceiling she looked down at the sleeping boy. He was frowning, and his face glistened with sweat. He was strong and stocky, not as formed as a grown man, of course, because he wasn’t much older than she was, but he’d be powerful one day. How much easier if his daemon had been visible! She wondered what its form might be, and whether it was fixed yet. Whatever its form was, it would express a nature that was savage, and courteous, and unhappy.

She tiptoed to the window. In the glow from the streetlight she carefully set the hands of the alethiometer, and relaxed her mind into the shape of a question. The needle began to sweep around the dial in a series of pauses and swings almost too fast to watch.

She had asked: What is he? A friend or an enemy?

The alethiometer answered: He is a murderer.

When she saw the answer, she relaxed at once. He could find food, and show her how to reach Oxford, and those were powers that were useful, but he might still have been untrustworthy or cowardly. A murderer was a worthy companion. She felt as safe with him as she’d felt with Iorek Byrnison, the armored bear.

She swung the shutter across the open window so the morning sunlight wouldn’t strike in on his face, and tiptoed out.

- Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (The Subtle Knife)

#books #fuck yeah reading #his dark materials #the subtle knife #philip pullman #lyra #will


Dec. 21, 2011

angelarizza:

I’ve been looking for an excuse to draw an armored bear for a while and this week’s Illustration Friday word, Brigade, gave me an excuse! I really liked The Golden Compass and wish they would continue with the movie series. I’m going to play around with some fanart for the rest of the month so be prepared! 

(via goldencompass)

#books #fuck yeah reading #his dark materials #lyra #lyra silvertongue #Lyra Belacqua #armored bears #iorek #Iorek Byrnison


Dec. 19, 2011

(Source: kalelle)

#books #fuck yeah reading #philip pullman #his dark materials #lyra #Lyra Belacqua #iorek #Iorek Byrnison


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About
 
gravatar - kaylee 01
 
Heathen. Vegan. Feminist.


love love love:

♥ Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials;
♥ Margaret Atwood (especially the Mad Adam series & The Handmaid's Tale);
♥ The Hunger Games;
♥ The X-Files;
♥ (Mostly) everything Joss Whedon; and
♥ Unicorns, narwhals, time travel & zombies (not necessarily in that order).

Also, I'd rather pretend that season 6 of Lost never happened, and that Alias ended with the 2003 Superbowl episode.


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