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Harlen Tyrell
di Lord Beric
creato il 11 marzo 2014


Lord Beric
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Lord Beric
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Inviato il 11 marzo 2014 14:11 Autore

{{ Personaggio

| Nome = Harlen

| Cognome = Tyrell

| Casata = [[Nobile Casa Tyrell]]

| Titoli = [[Lord di Alto Giardino]]<br />[[Protettore del Sud]]

| StemmaF = St_Tyrell

}}

 

[[Harlen Tyrell]] attendente di [[Alto Giardino]], successivamente elevato a lord del castello e signore dell'[[Altopiano]] dopo la [[Conquista]].<ref name="AGOTAF">[[AGOT - Appendici#Appendice F|AGOT - Appendice F]]</ref>

 

 

__TOC__

 

== Resoconto biografico ==

Harlan Tyrell serve come attendente di [[Alto Giardino]], ma dopo la morte di [[Re dell'Altopiano|Re]] [[Mern Gardener|Mern]] alla [[Conquista#Battaglia del Campo di Fuoco|Battaglia del Campo di Fuoco]] si sottomette ad [[Aegon Targaryen (Aegon I)|Aecon il Conquistatore]]. Per questa ragione viene nominato [[Lord di Alto Giardino]] e gli viene affidato il governo dell'[[Altopiano]].<ref name="AGOTAF" />

 

== Titoli ==

 

{{Successione | Carica = [[Lord di Alto Giardino]] | Logo = St_Tyrell | Nome = [[Mace Tyrell]] | Durata1 = ???-??? | Predecessore1 = ??? | Successore1 = ???}}

 

{{Successione | Carica = [[Protettore del Sud]] | Logo = St_Tyrell | Nome = [[Mace Tyrell]] | Durata1 = ???-??? | Predecessore1 = ??? | Successore1 = ???}}

 

== Note ==

<references />

 

 

{{Portale | Argomento1 = Personaggi}}

 

<noinclude>[[Categoria:Altopiano]] [[Categoria:HP]] [[Categoria:Lord di Alto Giardino]] [[Categoria:Personaggi]] [[Categoria:Protettori del Sud]]</noinclude>


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Lord dei Pan di Stelle - Lord Comandante dei Peluche

The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real... for a moment at least... that long magic moment before we wake.
Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab.
Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end.
Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot.
Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines.
Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?
We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.
They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to Middle-earth.

 

[George R. R. Martin]

A
AryaSnow
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AryaSnow
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A

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17762 messaggi
Inviato il 11 marzo 2014 14:16

Ma non è meglio scrivere...

 

[[Harlen Tyrell]] è un attendente di [[Alto Giardino]], successivamente che dopo la [[Conquista]] viene elevato a lord del castello e signore dell'[[Altopiano]] .<ref name="AGOTAF">[[AGOT - Appendici#Appendice F|AGOT - Appendice F]]</ref>

 

Per il resto ok.



Lord Beric
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Lord Beric
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25113 messaggi
Inviato il 14 marzo 2014 19:03 Autore

Uppato.


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Lord dei Pan di Stelle - Lord Comandante dei Peluche

The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real... for a moment at least... that long magic moment before we wake.
Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab.
Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end.
Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot.
Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines.
Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?
We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.
They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to Middle-earth.

 

[George R. R. Martin]


Jacaerys Velaryon
Confratello
Utente
4476 messaggi
Jacaerys Velaryon
Confratello



Utente
4476 messaggi
Inviato il 05 gennaio 2024 11:10

Segnalo che AWOIAF ha aggiornato il titolo della voce. Il nome corretto del personaggio è Harlan Tyrell, Harlen è considerato un refuso delle appendici.


The time between the notes relates the colour to the scenes
A constant vogue of triumphs dislocate man, so it seems
And space between the focus shape ascend knowledge of love
As song and chance develop time, lost social temperance rules above

Then according to the man who showed his outstretched arm to space
He turned around and pointed, revealing all the human race
I shook my head and smiled a whisper, knowing all about the place

Jon Anderson & Steve Howe (Close to the Edge)

 

What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms… or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.

George R. R. Martin (A Game of Thrones)

 

The measure of a life is a measure of love and respect,

So hard to earn, so easily burned
In the fullness of time,
A garden to nurture and protect
It's a measure of a life
The treasure of a life is a measure of love and respect,
The way you live, the gifts that you give
In the fullness of time,
It's the only return that you expect

Neil Peart (The Garden)

 

Ernest Hemingway once wrote, ‘The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for.’ I agree with the second part.

Andrew Kevin Walker (Seven)

 

In this game that we’re playing, we can’t win. Some kinds of failure are better than other kinds, that’s all.

George Orwell (Nineteen Eighty-Four)


Lord Beric
Custode dei Corvi Messaggeri
Guardiani della Notte
25113 messaggi
Lord Beric
Custode dei Corvi Messaggeri



Guardiani della Notte

25113 messaggi
Inviato il 30 marzo 2024 17:04 Autore

Grazie della segnalazione, pagina editata.

Conviene comunque mettere un redirect da Harlen Tyrell?


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Lord dei Pan di Stelle - Lord Comandante dei Peluche

The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real... for a moment at least... that long magic moment before we wake.
Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab.
Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end.
Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot.
Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines.
Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?
We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.
They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to Middle-earth.

 

[George R. R. Martin]


Jacaerys Velaryon
Confratello
Utente
4476 messaggi
Jacaerys Velaryon
Confratello



Utente
4476 messaggi
Inviato il 30 marzo 2024 18:48

Direi di sì.


The time between the notes relates the colour to the scenes
A constant vogue of triumphs dislocate man, so it seems
And space between the focus shape ascend knowledge of love
As song and chance develop time, lost social temperance rules above

Then according to the man who showed his outstretched arm to space
He turned around and pointed, revealing all the human race
I shook my head and smiled a whisper, knowing all about the place

Jon Anderson & Steve Howe (Close to the Edge)

 

What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms… or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.

George R. R. Martin (A Game of Thrones)

 

The measure of a life is a measure of love and respect,

So hard to earn, so easily burned
In the fullness of time,
A garden to nurture and protect
It's a measure of a life
The treasure of a life is a measure of love and respect,
The way you live, the gifts that you give
In the fullness of time,
It's the only return that you expect

Neil Peart (The Garden)

 

Ernest Hemingway once wrote, ‘The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for.’ I agree with the second part.

Andrew Kevin Walker (Seven)

 

In this game that we’re playing, we can’t win. Some kinds of failure are better than other kinds, that’s all.

George Orwell (Nineteen Eighty-Four)

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