Wallace Shawn’s hands would often tremble as he walked onto the set of “The Princess Bride” (1987). It wasn’t the challenge of delivering Vizzini’s complex, fast-paced lines that unsettled him; it was the paralyzing fear that, at any moment, director Rob Reiner would decide he was the wrong choice for the role. This fear wasn’t abstract. Shawn knew he hadn’t been the first choice for the character of the self-proclaimed genius Vizzini. Danny DeVito, a towering name in comedy at the time, had been Reiner’s original pick. While scheduling conflicts had taken DeVito out of the running, Shawn felt like an impostor who had lucked into a role meant for someone else.
Shawn’s anxiety wasn’t baseless in his mind. He viewed DeVito as a giant of comedic timing and larger-than-life energy, someone whose every movement commanded attention. Shawn, by contrast, had built his career on intellectual, understated humor in films like “My Dinner with Andre” (1981). He was intensely self-critical, believing his quieter, more cerebral style was entirely unsuited to Vizzini’s flamboyant, arrogant nature. That fear, that anxiety sat front frow in Wallace’s mind, with every take on set being overshadowed by that nagging thought that his performance lacked the bold confidence the character demanded.
Shawn’s insecurities peaked when filming the now-legendary “Battle of Wits” scene. In this pivotal moment, Vizzini engages Westley (played by Cary Elwes) in a duel of logic over poisoned goblets. The scene, layered with rapid dialogue and comedic absurdity, required Shawn to deliver a near-operatic performance, alternating between smug superiority and flustered frustration. While the crew laughed at his pitch-perfect delivery of “Inconceivable!” and his frantic attempts to outsmart Westley, Shawn remained convinced he wasn’t funny enough. He later revealed that he spent much of the scene preoccupied with thoughts of DeVito in his place, imagining the crowd laughing harder and the scene landing better.
Shawn didn’t realize how his fear shaped his performance in extraordinary ways. Vizzini, after all, is a character who masks deep insecurity with bluster and bravado. Shawn’s real-life unease brought an authenticity to the role that even Reiner hadn’t expected. With its distinct nasal quality, his voice became an instrument of comedic precision, capturing Vizzini’s arrogance and fragility in equal measure. Every exaggerated hand gesture, every strained attempt at sounding confident, carried a subtle vulnerability that elevated the character beyond mere parody.
Co-stars like Cary Elwes and Mandy Patinkin observed Shawn’s anxiety on set but admired his commitment. Elwes later described how Shawn’s internal struggle mirrored the story’s intensity, making his scenes electric. Reiner, meanwhile, never once doubted his casting decision. He saw in Shawn a unique energy that no other actor could replicate. DeVito may have brought a louder, more physical comedy to the role, but Shawn’s version of Vizzini became more layered, a study in the comedy of overcompensation.
Years later, Shawn admitted that his fear of being replaced never left him during filming. But this fear transformed Vizzini into one of the most iconic characters in “The Princess Bride.” The tension between arrogance and self-doubt became the heart of the performance, making Vizzini not just a comedic foil but an unforgettable part of cinematic history.
Vizzini (Wallace Shawn) matches wits with Dread Pirate Roberts (Carey Elwes)The Princess Bride (1987) Art by Chelsea Lowe
The USS Voyager’s mission to the Delta Quadrant was meant to be routine, a mission that would stretch the limits of space exploration and introduce the crew to the mysteries of this new region of space. The starship, an Intrepid-class vessel designed for scientific research, was launched in 2371 with high hopes. Its mission: to boldly go where no Federation ship had gone before, seeking knowledge, peace, and new frontiers. But fate, as it often does, had a different plan.
Barely on its maiden voyage from Deep Space Nine, Voyager, and its crew had no idea they were about to be thrust into a situation none of them could have prepared for. Voyager had no idea they were about to be caught in the grip of a mysterious and powerful force – an energy entity known only as the Caretaker. This incorporeal being, whose intentions were as enigmatic as its form, had a singular goal: to protect the Ocampa, a peaceful race whose survival was in jeopardy. In its attempt to safeguard them, the Caretaker had inadvertently endangered the entire galaxy, tearing a rift in space-time that pulled the Voyager and its crew 70,000 light-years away from home into the unknown expanse of the Delta Quadrant.
The Caretaker, despite its immense power, was dying. It could no longer sustain the Ocampa people on their arid world. The fate of the Caretaker and the Ocampa people had already been sealed, and pulling Voyager across the universe was a last-ditch effort of the Caretaker to ensure the Ocampa survived. The Caretaker gave no care or forethought to the fact that the crew of Voyager had no idea how to survive in this region of space. They were essentially left adrift, badly damaged, and had zero information about their location, the political environment (if any), or why they were there. And worst of all, the crew was utterly cut off from home and could not communicate with The Federation. Any hail would take seventy thousand years to be received. By then, Voyager would not be in the same place, so communication became impossible based on their current technology.
The Federation was now a distant dream, and the safety of the Alpha Quadrant seemed as unreachable as the farthest star. The crew, led by newly promoted Captain Kathryn Janeway in her first command, faced an unimaginable challenge: to survive in a hostile and unknown part of the galaxy and find their way home while continuing their exploration mission. The crew, resilient and determined, had to come to terms quickly that they would never see home in their lifetimes.
However, the vastness of space and the challenges of the Delta Quadrant were not the only obstacles they faced. Along the way, Janeway and her hodgepodge crew encountered a series of threats more dangerous than they could have ever anticipated. Among these was the Borg, the relentless, cybernetic collective whose very presence struck fear into the hearts of every Federation officer. As if stranded in a region of space where the Borg were a constant menace wasn’t enough, Voyager found itself not only in their path but also profoundly entangled with them. The Borg’s terrifying ability to assimilate entire civilizations was a looming danger, but ironically, their technology – a transwarp hub – ultimately provided the key to Voyager’s salvation.
In a twist of fate, the very enemy that posed such a threat to the Voyager’s mission became the instrument of its survival. By seizing control of one of the Borg’s transwarp hubs, Voyager could close the unimaginable distance between the Delta Quadrant and Earth in a single, staggering instant. A journey that should have taken decades was reduced to mere moments, a victory born not out of triumph over the Borg but through their own technology.
Captain Janeway, forever shaped by the harsh lessons of this extended journey, and her crew, who had been tested beyond measure, returned home – not as they had set out, with optimism and certainty, but with a deep understanding of the fragility of life in the universe and the complexity of fate. What started as an accidental detour in space had turned into a profound journey of self-discovery, resilience, and the unshakable belief that, no matter how lost one may seem, the road home might be closer than one thinks.
When you think of Star Trek’s legendary engineer, Montgomery “Scotty” Scott, you might picture him working furiously at a control panel, his face bathed in the dim red glow of the engineering bay, the ship’s fate hanging in the balance. But perhaps one of his most audacious, not to mention creative, acts of repair wasn’t something you’d find in a routine repair log. It was a gamble with time, a wager against fate itself. And it wasn’t in a clean, high-tech starbase; it was in a shuttlecraft, deep in the heart of space, on the verge of a century-long wait.
The year was 2267, and a life-or-death situation aboard the Federation starship Enterprise seized Scotty. During a routine mission, the Enterprise was thrust into an unexpected encounter with the Romulans, causing severe damage to the ship and the crew. The Jenolan, an old Federation starship, was in peril, and its crew was in jeopardy. Scotty knew the ship’s engines could barely hold together, and the distress signal was a faint echo lost among the stars. The crew had to escape.
In a desperate, seemingly impossible attempt to save the ship, Scotty devised a brilliant and ultimately risky solution: he decided to “suspend” himself. Rather than waiting for help the traditional way, with scanners, engines, and predictable systems, Scotty did something few engineers would even dare consider: He stepped into the Jenolan transporter.
But this wasn’t your ordinary matter-energy transport. No, Scotty’s idea was far more unorthodox. Rather than simply transporting himself to safety, he locked his pattern in the transporter’s buffer, not for minutes or hours, but for decades—75 years to be exact. He would exist in a time loop, his pattern cycling endlessly within the machine’s systems. His body would not age, not deteriorate, not experience the ravages of time, yet he would remain conscious, waiting for a rescue that might never come. In essence, Scotty was betting against time itself.
The machines of the 23rd and 24th centuries were as ingenious as they were dangerous. Transporters, designed to be a bridge between places and people, were never meant for such prolonged use. While intended for short-term storage of patterns, transporter systems weren’t designed to hold the consciousness of a living person for nearly a century of continuous use. But Scotty, the brilliant, somewhat eccentric engineer, knew the system well enough to tweak it beyond recognition. He managed to keep his pattern in a state of stasis, existing in the transporter buffer with enough stability to maintain his consciousness without experiencing the slow decay of time. While trapped in the system, his mind was active, thoughts intact, though he was effectively trapped in a time loop, waiting and hoping for rescue.
And that rescue finally came. It took the Enterprise nearly a century to stumble upon the Jenolan, or rather, it took Cmdr La Forge a short time to discover that the transporter systems on the Jenolan still had power. When the Enterprise crew found his presence in the transporter buffer, Scotty had been cycling through the pattern for 75 years. And yet, in that time, he hadn’t lost his sense of self nor his ingenuity. Scotty’s mind had remained sharp despite being physically absent for seven-and-a-half decades. His most incredible creation wasn’t a warp drive or a dilithium coil; it was a time-defying solution, a testament to his remarkable understanding of both the limits and possibilities of technology.
This moment is one of Scotty’s most inventive and daring emergency repairs. It wasn’t just about fixing a broken ship; it was about manipulating time itself, becoming a living testament to what one engineer could do when faced with the ultimate test of survival. The idea of locking oneself in a transporter buffer, knowing that the only way out was a rescue almost a century in the future, is not only brilliant—it’s pure Scotty: resourceful, audacious, and ultimately triumphant in the face of impossible odds.
The story of Miles O’Brien in Star Trek is one of quiet perseverance and understated brilliance. When O’Brian first appears on screen, standing at the transporter console aboard the USS Enterprise-D, he appears to be seen in a role that seems, at first glance, to understate his technical prowess. Many wonder why someone of his skill wasn’t stationed in Main Engineering, working alongside Geordi La Forge. But O’Brien’s journey is a testament to how a career in Starfleet—or any career, for that matter—rarely begins at the top and how unassuming roles can hide profound importance.
Transporter chief isn’t just about “beaming people up.” The position comes with immense responsibility. O’Brien wasn’t merely pressing buttons; he was managing the delicate dance of quantum mechanics that kept crew members alive during transport. A miscalculation could result in tragedy—a fate Star Trek fans know well from transporter mishaps. On the flagship of the Federation, where every officer is expected to excel, being in charge of transporter operations meant ensuring absolute precision. O’Brien’s work had to be flawless, and it often was. Behind the console, he was quietly mastering his craft.
But transporter operations weren’t O’Brien’s only contribution aboard the Enterprise-D. Throughout his time on the ship, he proved repeatedly that his engineering expertise extended far beyond his station. O’Brien’s quick thinking and practical problem-solving approach allows him to play a critical role in saving the day. In critical episodes, such as when the ship faced technical crises, O’Brien’s quick thinking and deep knowledge of starship systems saved lives. Though his title was “transporter chief,” he was more than that. This duality of roles—official and de facto—laid the groundwork for his career’s defining characteristics: adaptability and quiet competence. But there are also other moments where you learn that Chief O’Brien is also a deeply flawed man who struggles with honor and duty, as well as a deep-seated hatred that borders on outright racism for Cardassians.
Once Chief O’Brien transferred to Deep Space Nine and assumed the role of Chief of Operations, his skills as an engineer were finally given the space to shine, and he received the spotlight on his unique problem-solving skills, which he deserved. The station was a hodgepodge of Cardassian and Federation technology, with systems as temperamental as they were essential. It was a chaotic, challenging environment that required someone who could think on their feet and make the impossible happen daily. O’Brien thrived. His ability to bridge his engineering acumen with practical problem-solving made him indispensable to the station’s operations and crew.
Why wasn’t O’Brien in Main Engineering aboard the Enterprise-D? The answer lies in how Starfleet operates. The flagship attracted the best and brightest, but every position, from the bridge to the transporter room, was critical. O’Brien’s skills made him a natural fit to ensure the transporter systems functioned flawlessly, a task no less important than maintaining the warp core. His time at the console also allowed him to build a reputation as a reliable, unflappable engineer—qualities that eventually earned him his promotion to chief of operations on Deep Space Nine.
Or did it? Rumor has it that the Chief was so skilled at using the transporter that he could beam two of Commander Riker’s pips off his collar and onto his own, thus reducing Riker’s rank to Ensign and promoting O’Brian’s from Chief to a full Lieutenant. The Chief kept a collection of pips in one of Keiko’s jewelry boxes on a nightstand by their bed. This shenanigan caused him to be punished and exiled to Deep Space Nine. A punishment that Keiko resented more than Miles. However, it was a punishment Miles wore as a badge of honor, as he could turn this into the shining beacon of his success in his career. As we can see throughout the show, despite Miles’ quiet displeasure with his punishment, he is a Starfleet Officer through and through and a consummate soldier who will do as he ordered despite his feelings on the subject.
O’Brien’s story reminds us that career paths aren’t always linear. Starting in a less glamorous position doesn’t diminish one’s abilities or potential. Instead, it often serves as the foundation for future growth. For O’Brien, the transporter console wasn’t a limitation but a launchpad. His journey from transporter chief to the heart and soul of Deep Space Nine is an inspiring narrative about quiet excellence, hard work, and the importance of being ready when opportunity comes knocking.
Strange times we’re living in World can put fear in ya Hierarchy parties, they make us feel inferior Greed runs through the parliament interior Devils walk among us, they fit the criteria
Eerie theories strike fear in weary minded men When we’re clearly living in dictatorships Nearly blinded by illusions to choose But who’s fooling who? A ball chained to your shoes
I’m pained, it’s a crying shame The pursuit of our own wealth lights a flame That makes greed a game that lets the whole world burn As the world turns, the whole world burns
Money was invented for trade But now those bits of paper twist hearts, make slaves Turns a saint into a sinner, a child into a killer His finger on the trigger of a money game
Oh, rain, rain, rain, rain A storm, it comes our way And those who rise through distorted lies Poison in the veins But we like to point the blame, blame, blame, blame It’s easier to blame But point the mirror at ourselves We’re all part of this old money game
This old money game
This old
Dear Mr. President, it’s evident that everyone’s a resident Of fear when they support the ideas that keep us separate When they make us believe that everybody Is coming to terrorise you in the streets They say proudly through gritted teeth “It’s my right to hate, that’s freedom of speech!”
When did freedom become a reason to hate? A way to justify a racial slur or insult we make There’s an irony in freedom, because us in the west We have pillaged and plundered and murdered like savages Colonised all of the rest, that’s called hypocrisy Preach a certain value that you’d never keep yourselves If your country was in flames, you’d emigrate yourselves in a second
Still, you spit your venom, demonising immigrants When really, you’re an immigrant ‘Cause all of us are immigrants Or descended from immigrants The irony is imminent, I’ll shed the light on immigrants
America was colonised by Britain Britain, it was colonised by Rome Also, colonised by the Saxons They were German, by the way You know how people throw shade upon the Germans ‘Cause of history’s pain
And yet we make the same mistakes all again Demonise a whole people, Jewish or Muslim the same and the same Old situations play on repeat The same old TV shows repeat Yeah, we worship the bleak Our opinions aren’t our own and we follow like sheep There’s no left, there’s no right In the middle we sleep
Rain, rain, rain, rain A storm, it comes our way And those who rise through distorted lies Poison in the veins But we like to point the blame, blame, blame, blame It’s easier to blame But point the mirror at ourselves We’re all part of this old money game
This old money game
This old money game
Money Game (Part 2)
Strange times we’re living in, panic and hysteria Poor man learn the rich man don’t care for ya Narcissist mindsets spread like malaria Sit back and watch the show, America! Britain split through fickle shit A government of hypocrites These counterfeit politicians sit In parliament, not adequate Needlessly bleeding resources all dry Turn a blind eye if it means a pay rise “Oh what a shame it would be I would die” If Number 10 Downing Street burned in a fire Only joking, only messing, don’t be stressing I’m a peaceful adolescent, there’s no need to be unpleasant Write my thesis in a rhyme scheme To analyze the brain While my fingers on the trigger of a money game
Oh Ren, Ren, Ren, Ren A storm, it comes our way And those who rise through distorted lies Poisoning the veins But we like to point the blame, blame, blame, blame It’s easier to blame But point the mirror at ourselves We’re all part of this old money game (This old money game) (This old)
Money is a game and the ladder we climb Turns a saint into a sinner with his finger in crime I’ll break it down for you motherfuckers line by line This is business economics in a nursery rhyme
She sells seashells on a seashore But the value of these shells will fall Due to the laws of supply and demand No one wants to buy shells ’cause there’s loads on the sand
Step 1, you must create a sense of scarcity Shells will sell much better if the people think they’re rare, you see Bare with me, take as many shells as you can find and hide ’em on an island stockpile ’em high until they’re rarer than a diamond
Step 2, you gotta make the people think that they want ’em Really want ’em, really fuckin want ’em Hit ’em like Bronson Influencers, product placement, featured prime time entertainment If you haven’t got a shell then you’re just a fucking waste man
Three, it’s monopoly, invest inside some property, start a corporation, make a logo, do it properly “Shells must sell”, that will be your new philosophy Swallow all your morals they’re a poor man’s quality
Four, expand, expand, expand, clear forest, make land, fresh blood on hand Five, why just shells? Why limit yourself? She sells seashells, sell oil as well!
Six, guns, sell stocks, sell diamonds, sell rocks, sell water to a fish, sell the time to a clock Seven, press on the gas, take your foot off the brakes, Run to be the president of the United States
Eight, big smile mate, big wave that’s great Now the truth is overrated, tell lies out the gate
Nine, Polarize the people, controversy is the game It don’t matter if they hate you if they all say your name
Ten, the world is yours, step out on a stage to a round of applause You’re a liar, a cheat, a devil, a whore And you sell seashells on the seashore
Ren, Ren, Ren, Ren A storm, it comes our way And those who rise through distorted lies Poisoning the veins But we like to point the blame, blame, blame, blame It’s easier to blame But point the mirror at ourselves We’re all part of this old money game (This old money game) (This old)
Money Game (Part 3)
Let me tell you a story about a boy named Jimmy One years old and his first words were mine, mine gimme Two years old, he was walking, three years old, walking quickly Four years old, he was running around the pavements of his city Five years old, and his daddy told him, listen here son, you’ve got to learn to be a man A man he works for what he wants Six years old, and he’s reading, writing, top of the bunch And when he’s seven, his progression made him student number one Eight years old and he’s praised for unusual grades Nine, his parents pay for private school to nurture the flame 10, 11, 12, 13, he ascends and ascends, his daddy tells him, son, money is the means to all ends 14 solving complex mathematic equations, at 15, IQ 150, still elevating 16 he develops complex software code that detects weaknesses in cyber security protocol
17, and he sells his vision, keeping the share, not yet an adult But he’s practically a millionaire 18, and his daddy tells him now you’re a man the world don’t give a damn about you So take all that you can 19, he turns a profit, stocks and shares, invest in product 20, double down deposits 21, his income rockets 22, he learns that truth is just an obstacle to wealth If you manipulate the data, then the lie will sell itself 23, a life of luxury Crystal and cocaine 24, he makes the Forbes list, they’re applauding his name 25, and his daddy told him, listen here, son, while you’re sitting in the palace That don’t mean that you won 26, his business shifts, he switches business to arms He’s 27, dealing nuclear shells in Iran 28, inside the Senate, money bought him a seat He’s 29, role of counsel in the president suite And now he’s 30, his daddy says, you’re losing the race You’re just a servant to the king, not even in second place 31, a big maneuver for his daddy’s approval Moving imports over borders from the exports out of Cuba 32, moving grams, growing kilo to tons He’s 33, filling warehouses with powder and guns 34, turf war with nobody to stop it, blind eye from the Po po inside of his pocket
35, he gets a call, I’m sorry, son, but it’s your father, had a heart attack I’m sorry, he’s gone, 36, getting pissed off abusing this product 37, eyes glazed, disposition demonic 38, with a prostitute, a moment of passion Heating up the silver spoon and then chasing the dragon 39, getting reckless and hungry for power Daddy’s words still driving him to kill him and devour He makes a move against the cartel, but the strategy’s flawed They retaliate and leave him in the hospital ward A bullet buried in his vertebra, and one in his leg The doctor sighs and says, I don’t think you’ll be walking again, fuck
Let me tell you a story about a boy named Jimmy He was 40 and he cursed the words mine, mine gimme 41, he wasn’t walking, 42, not walking quickly, 43 Never running round the pavements of his city 44 inside a palace with a mountain of gold But those riches turn to rubble when perspective evolves Weighing heavy on his conscience is the value of gold, Lamborghini for a life Trading money for souls, Jimmy followed the code inside the land of the free Put your hand inside the cookie jar, take more than you need And his example is exaggerated versions of me, and it’s a version of him And it’s a version of she, and it’s a version of you There’s no escaping the blame, the way we live, it’s parasitic Fuck the money and fame, cut the music
This isn’t entertainment, this is real life, the way we live is lunacy, community it declines We’re hyperpolarized, we’re always fighting and we divide Truth is less important than the money that we designed? Money’s an invention, politics from our invention, they all come from people’s ideas Did I mention, border’s an invention Law and order fuels the tension that leads to people killing each other My solution? Everything is subject to change We could build utopias if individuals were taught to use their brains But if we teach kids in schools to always be sheep and put themselves before the herd If there’s more money for meat Then there’s no future I see where the humans survive We’re parasites inside the Petri dish, with cannibal mines Mold will grow upon the surface, then consumes ’til it dies And our fate could be the same without this story to the wise 45, Jimmy comes home out of the rain, soaking wet upon a wheelchair Drinking again, he has everything he wants, he has fortune and fame Such a fortunate fool with an unfortunate fate with a 45 caliber aimed at his brain 45, a fitting number because his age is the same Here’s the words of his father, it’s such a damn shame Then he presses on the trigger of a money game
The Harri, known to their enemies as the Germanic Shadow Warriors, emerged from the impenetrable forests of Germany like fierce, elemental spirits of vengeance. The Romans tell us they were not a tribe but an elite cadre of warriors drawn from multiple Germanic tribes that roamed the dense forests of ancient Germania. They were bound together by a shared mastery of guerrilla tactics and psychological warfare, serving as the vanguard of terror in battles against Rome and rival tribes alike.
The Roman historian Tacitus wrote about these warriors with a mixture of awe and dread, describing their tactics as “a tempest of fear and darkness.” He noted their ability to transform the battlefield into a stage of terror: “They appear as shadows, blackened as the night, their presence felt before it is seen.” Cloaked in darkness and smeared with black warpaint, the Harri moved like wraiths through the mist, their war cries breaking the silence with a chilling finality. To a disciplined Roman legion, they were an affront to the order of war—a primal, chaotic force that turned strategy into folly.
“As for the Harii, quite apart from their strength, which exceeds that of the other tribes I have just listed, they pander to their innate savagery by skill and timing: with black shields and painted bodies, they choose dark nights to fight and employing terror and shadow of a ghostly army they cause panic since no enemy can bear a sight so unexpected and hellish; in every battle, the eyes are the first to be conquered.”
Tacitus, Roman historian and politician.
Unlike the Romans, who fought for empire and wealth, the Harri were defenders of something ancient and intangible: their sacred groves, their gods, and the unyielding freedom of their kin. To the Romans, they were barbarians, but their tactics revealed a profound understanding of the human psyche. Pliny the Elder remarked that “their savagery was calculated, their chaos deliberate,” observing how they used fear as a weapon, eroding the discipline of even the most seasoned soldiers. The Harri’s painted faces, gleaming eyes, and howling chants turned the orderly rhythm of Roman warfare into a nightmare. They were warriors forged not in the discipline of the barracks but in the chaos of the wild.
To meet the Harri in battle was not merely to fight an enemy; it was to confront the untamed heart of Germania, a realm where man and forest were one and where survival meant mastering the darkness. I can’t imagine many things more terrifying than confronting a large group of Harri deep in the forests as your Legion is stretched out in a thin line.
There are varying opinions as to the origin of The Harri; according to John Lindow, Andy Orchard, and Rudolf Simek, connections are commonly drawn between the Harii and the einherjar of Norse mythology, those that have died and gone to Valhalla ruled over by the god Odin, preparing for the events of Ragnarök.
Lindow has written that regarding the theorized connection between the Harii and the Einherjar, “many scholars think there may be basis for the myth in an ancient Odin cult, which would be centered on young warriors who entered into an ecstatic relationship with Odin” and that the name Harii has been etymologically connected to the -herjar element of einherjar.
Simek says that since the connection has become widespread, “one tends to interpret these obviously living armies of the dead as religiously motivated bands of warriors, who led to the formation of the concept of the einherjar as well as the Wild Hunt”.
Asgårdsreien [The Wild Hunt of Odin] (1872) by Peter Nicolai ArboMax Bruckner (1836-1918), The Walhalla, backdrop for the scenic design of The Ring of the Nibelungs by Richard Wagner (1813-1883). Bayreuth, Richard-…
