#Crust War Zine

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"JAPAN UNDERGROUND HARDCORE ATTACK" -- REPORTINGS FROM THE CRUST WAR FRONTLINES.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on an homage to "Realities of War" era DISCHARGE, graphic art used as the back cover to the Japanese-published "Crust War" punk zine (c. 1999), issue no. 5. Photo borrowed via @maggotdeath666.

Dis nightmare still @$!*#%& continues!!

Source: www.picuki.com/media/2967780821189654346.

[backstagecurtain]

crust war volume 4, 1997 (source)

[tangentburd]

~ Oh So Fly! ~

From the rockin’ street doves to the coo-l Capuchines We’ll pick and peck apart every piece of bird-based bling Warmers, collars, capes… Gramma’s cornbread cowls? You might as well go back home with your head in a towel!

~ A nonsensical poem I wrote on pigeons and their Fabulous! Bread! Necklaces! for the recent "Toasty Mart" bread x animals zine hosted by @bycmykae. Thanks for the pun fun-filled experience!

Shoutout to @katsuayumu too for making all the super cute and delicious pigeon character art for this piece :D

🕊 [ Read the full poem on AO3 or under the cut! ]

🍞 [ Read the free zine via itch.io! ]

Greetings! Salutations! Birds of a feather! Welcome to the Bread Derby, sisters and brothers! The name’s Pasquale and I’m your host for today— Colomba of keen eye for fashions of the day ~✦

It’s party pigeon time down here in the square Where every-birdy’s decked in their fanciest neckwear Where the have-its flaunt it! And the have-nots want it! Where upper crusts and lower crumbs clash in showers of grit!

From the rockin’ street doves to the coo-l Capuchines We’ll pick and peck apart every piece of bird-based bling Warmers, collars, capes... Gramma’s cornbread cowls? You might as well go back home with your head in a towel!

We’ll see who’s the boss in their oven-baked best! And who’s burnt toast that’s only good for lining nests! Beaks up and b-ready, we’re starting the show Coo! Here’s our first lady—let’s fluffin’ go!

———

Behold! This uppity—I mean, blue-crowned royalty: The Duchess of Dovershire, come to visit from her county With her pearl-tipped crest as though dipped in icing And draped with a most exquisite braided bread ring Such graze! Delicacy! (Maybe a hint of power?) The air and flair of fresh-milled flour—

“How do you do? Your reds and greens are lovely!” Hold up, did... she just say something to me? Why yes ma’am, thank you! I adore them too! It’s just avocado bruschetta, nothing too frou-frou~ She chortles, nods; then away she struts: A portly, pleasant presence in her posh, plaited doughnut.

———

Kerfuffle from the crowds! Cue the world’s favourite Frillback: Pop idol Pae-Dae, in a cushy cape of flatbread Luscious curls of feathers bronze all across his wings A dishy dove indeed: he’s every fledgling’s prince! His shuffling feet pause, his misty eyes find mine I wonder what words might leave a beak so sublime...?

“Wish I could sleep, Mister Host, but I’ll do my best Ask me about the dramas I’ve been filming without rest Or how everyone thinks my wings are hazelnut flakes...” Sigh, a celeb’s life! You can’t ever get a break I’ll interview you next week! Now go and catch some Z’s Your tortilla blanket should be cosy—but don’t let your fans see!

———

An emerald dove patters by, sleeves shimmering green Donning the airiest, fairiest sourdough I’ve seen: Scored like a flower, flour dusted like a lace veil Aw, she’s proud of it! Look at her bobbing tail~ “My name’s Paige Pidgerton, I baked it just today I hope to open my artisan beak-ery someday!”

You’re a natural, miss, this here’s a work of art! But really, is that all you dream of deep inside your heart? She flusters, she flushes, her white headband askew The rosy eyes of a heroine’s fairytale come true! “Maybe... if I can’t bake for everyone in town Then at least for some-birdy I’m happy to be around.♥”

———

You hear them before you see them: Two lean, rugged doves Squabbling, squawking, crash-landing (on the) square from above “I told you to hurry, old man, now we’re late for the parade!” ‘Why don’t you stop by a corner shop again, you ingrate!’ Good day, gentlemen! I might have seen you somewhere, sir Aren’t you G.I. Low, that decorated war officer?

‘Some eye you’ve got, chap! Sharp as this one I’ve got left Better than my grandkid here who thinks he’s bloody EMS.’ “If this thumbdrive don’t reach later, I’ll be toast-er than my toast! Name’s Payload Swift, mister, I’m a racer turned pigeon post.”

(Aha! Do I sense a glorious generation gap? A question trap to set their wings and tempers aflap!) Living life in the fast lane? Your intake must be insane! Care to share with us your go-to holy grains?

“This grilled tuna sandwich melt from Leaven-Eleven’s Is the best thing since sliced bread—a taste made in heaven!” ‘It IS sliced bread, for heavens’ sake! See the junk this boy is eating? Not like this chipped beef on toast from back when I was serving It’s provisions! Nourishment! Blessings for the whole flock!’ “Yeah sure, if only you can eat it without a fork...”

———

A zig-zagging, a tango-ing, a high bird-song and dance A kererū, post-dine-and-wine, down on the bench in a trance That passé office plumage versus bland-as-heck handbag— Lady, your tastebuds are wrecked! And that fruit loaf’s a big red flag!

She waves her bottle—budget Pigeot Noir!—before my eyes “I’ve seen your shows on CooTube, you’re that real fly guy! That Nicobar fella who’s gone way up the pecking order...” Lady, your tastebuds are just fine! Ignore what I said earlier—

“Can you tell me how you’ve been eating every-birdy’s lunch? You’re now rolling in dough, but I’m just rolling off the branch... How can a common quill-pusher like me, Karolie Flee Fly to the top, eat all I want, and still be this carefree?”

Oh Miss Flee, let’s first put my inspiring haute coo-ture aside No matter what you’re doing, you should do it with pride! Push all the quills (and your bosses’ too) until you’re seen and heard But remember: there’s more to you than just this corporate bird!

Sure, your whites, greens and purples may not be the hottest stuff But if you’re a better you than yesterday then that’s good enough~★ That said, please just toss that brick of cursed candied fruit Get a loaf that tastes more chic! With marmalade to boot!

———

So there we go, folks—our roundup of this Derby: A true-blue cross-section of our bling-based society I’ve seen a future star baker, courier, wine connoisseur Stay inspiring, inspired and well rested, you youngsters!

Boast your bread-lace loud and proud, bake it till you make it The true slice-of-life is how you wear it and what you make of it! And to every-birdy else who’s stayed with us throughout— Beak thanks to you all! This is Col. Pasquale, signing out~♫

~ end ~

[humanhost]

HUMAN HOST IN PUBLIC: The First Two Decades Part 2 - a Realicide show at an abandoned apartment house in Cincinnati, Ohio; Autumn 2004

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

People who live in or near the midwestern city of Cincinnati possess an odd mix of cultural influences. Smashed up against the border of Kentucky bluegrass to the south, the Appalachian foothills directly to the east, and the agricultural bread basket of Indiana to the west, the citizens of this Ohio River beacon have all been defined by contentious issues of identity. The southern influences seem to bubble up stronger here than in any other city in Ohio, even though for the most part the state has always been squarely neutral or unapologetically alligned with the Union when it came to political divides left over from the American civil war.

One of the more harmless southern culture elements in Cinci is the southern accent. Many Cinci residents speak with a drawl more akin to that of their neighbors in West Va. and Kentucky. With this accent,  words, sometimes even single letters, can sound as if they have two or three extra syllables.

At Human Host’s first Cincinnati show, before the music began, we overheard a kid in the audience off in a corner talking with some of her friends. Her voice had a thick southern drawl. She was talking about how that day was her birthday and someone had gotten her “EGGS” as a present. This inspired laughs and a’lot of confusion. I stopped whatever I was doing and replied, ”Eggs??? Really? That’s a strange birthday present. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that, but...” She laughed and replied, ”No, no, no. Not eggs, i got ‘E’, as in ecst*sy” (aka the wild party drug so popular at raves and other EDM-type music fests). Her southern accent was so prominent that out of the corner of my ear the letter “E” seemed to sound more like “Ehhh” or “Ayy”. Since there is no such noun as “Ehh”, my imagination quickly transformed “Ehh” into “eggs”.

It was just a mistake, but in a weird way it was also a poetic allusion of things to come; eggs and ecstasy were ultimately the two things that symbolized the energy that went on to illuminate Human Host’s first Cinci show.

~

Before Human Host ever played Cincinnati, Rick Weaver’s other band New Flesh had made a splash in the town a few months-to-a year prior to HH’s debut there. Rick had turned the Host crew on to the records, flyers, zines, and web content created by Cinci multi-media collective Realicide; the collective’s teenage co-founder Robert Inhuman (who today is known as Robert Imhuman) was the promoter who booked New Flesh and he also had a great interest Rick’s other early 2000′s projects (mainly, Organ Donors, Flowers In The Attic, and eventually Human Host).

Anti-authoritarian/anti-imperialist provocation was and remains to be Realicide’s main raison d’etre, but these kids weren’t by-the-numbers punks. They refused to accept any strict convention involving punk tradition, especially when it came to hierarchies and aesthetic parameters. Much like Human Host, Realicide is concerned with creating a medium as expansive as their message. The group’s influence has extended far beyond the noise scene that initially embraced them. Today Realicide provides a free mobile sound system for local political demonstrations, they set up DIY film screenings with their offshoot group Gonx, and the Realicide artists have even gained a foothold in the global experimental punk scene by touring internationally. The Realicide record label releases material from like-minded overseas artists, and has secured worldwide distro for the releases of the many Ohio-based Realicide stalwarts.

Even though political elements have always been only a tiny piece of the chaotic puzzle that is Human Host’s inspiration, Realicide’s methods weren’t wildly different than ours. Their distinctly 21st century-style multi-media weirdness was drenched in classick crust punk presentation; just like us they refused to embrace the future, nor did they worship the present or the past. Just like us, this was a crew interested in altering their reality through creative work in as many different and positive ways as they possibly could. Come hell or high water, Realicide and their allies were going to save the world in their own weird way and we wanted to help them do it.

As we started booking our second tour in the fall of 2004, Rick Weaver convinced Robert and the Realicide crew to help book a Cinci stop for us. Memories about the tour date’s venue and exactly how the Realicide crew secured it are unclear; Rick Weaver seems to think this show may have originally been booked at a cafe or coffee shop. If that was the case, a last minute re-scheduling was probably neccessary after the original venue randomly cancelled on Robert. Touring around the U.S. playing experimental pop music was still a relatively new thing, especially when it came to the domestic DIY basement show scene circa the early 2000′s, a time that was essentially still culturally smothered by lingering trends of the 1990′s. Consequently, last minute cancellations were common for non-genre artists (aka artists who weren’t easily marketable) in this period.

But Realicide was acutely aware that problems like this were always possible. On a dime, the kids were able to find a back-up venue by utilizing the basement or laundry room of an apartment building one of their friends was sort-of living in. The place was a big old 5 story house on a hill with a basement and an attic. It had been converted into a apartment complex sometime in the 1940′s or 50′s, maybe earlier. By the early 2000′s the building was either abandoned, or its residents were about to be evicted. It felt very awkward hangin in there when the other acts (Realicide and poet/spoken word artist Jim Swill) were not playing. It often felt kind of like we were all tresspassing in there. We had to go upstairs to an apartment to use a bathroom and the place had almost no furniture, and many of the other apartments’ doors were wide open revealing spaces just as desolate as the one where the “public” restroom was. It was clear that - whatever was going on with the building - no one was supposed to be in there.

Adding to the eerie abandoned atmosphere was the fact that the night of the show was cloaked in a dense fog much more akin to that of coastal New England than any midwestern place. It was as if we brought a little piece of “The Evil East” along with us.

By late 2004 HH had been trying out many different line-ups and forms of live performance at gigs, but we were somewhat stuck in a rut by forcing ourselves to do something different at every single show (mostly as a means of adding a dynamic confusion texture to the work). One show we’d be an acid punk band with guitars and primal drums; the next we’d be doing improv drone music; the next we’d be playing quiet experimental folk using toy instruments; and the next we’d be stomping around crooning the paganistic electro-crunk that eventually earned us the 2005 “Best Live Act” award from the Baltimore City Paper (at that time we were one of the few non-genre groups ever to achieve that distinction).  

Since we knew that Robert and his friends were more than enthusiastic about stretching the parameters of performance and presentation, it seemed like the autumn 2004 Cinci event needed to be extra special. Back in the early 2000′s our sets were often meticulously planned, especially sets that we did on tour. Shortly before we hit the road in October ‘04, I came up with the idea of taking a big chance in Cinci and trying out a set that incorporated nearly all of the various shades of Human Host into one mega-diverse half-hour production. Even if the idea fell flat, even if we totally screwed up, we knew that the Realicide kids would at the very least respect us for honestly trying to do something ambitious.

As it turned out, the risky/schizoid set idea paid off. Even the screw-ups ended up making the set incredibly powerful and special. Our demonic crunk tunes would end and we’d collapse on to the floor only to start improvising drones created with tape machines, microphones, and processed live toy drum sounds that lasted only for a minute at a time. As each drone segement unfolded we’d kill the lights using a floor switch connected to the harsh work lights we used to light up most of our 2000′s gigs. When the painful white lights blasted back on we blasted back into our crunkenstein alter egos, howling out our vocals in operatic/troubadour style as we carreened around the room, possessed by music and the ethereal madness of creation on the fly.

Sometimes when we’d kick off the lights we’d forget where the switch was and there’d be a few seconds of maniacal laughter and confusing/out-of-breath discussion accompanying the opening of each crunk beat as we fumbled around attempting to find the “on” switch again. Instead of causing a hiccup in the action, these spontaneous introduction skits only made the performance and the subsequent flood of brutal light a thousand times more intense. Though the dance moves may consequently have been extra sloppy, the overall effect of this set was more energetic and rewarding for both artist and audience than anything we’d done before.

The lyrics and prose of Human Host often detail the symbiotic relationships of vulnerability and chaotic energy, reality and fantasy, intoxication and sobriety, stupidity and intelligence, the old and the new, the weird and the normal, Earth and outer space. As this set concluded I really felt we had covered all of these bases and probably about a billion previously unknown others. That feeling was beyond exhilirating; in the space of a few minutes our entire world had undergone a radical/irrevocable change for the better. While the spring 2003 Human Host show at St. Thomas Church in Towson* was where we were spiritually born, Human Host’s Autumn 2004 Cincinnati show was where our spirit came of age; the *egg* of Human Host had hatched in an outburst of interdimensional multi-media *ecstasy*.

  - Mike Apichella, co-founder of Human Host

~

photo credit: two shots taken by Scott Russell at a Human Host tour date that occurred at Nowarehouse in Cincinnati, Ohio circa Autumn 2008; unfortunately there are no known photos of the first HH Cinci show circa 2004.

* https://humanhost.tumblr.com/post/704049932941803520/human-host-in-public-the-first-two-decades-part

[funkzpiel]

Peace Offering | The Witcher

I wrote this over the course of spring/early summer 2020, I believe, and I’ve been so excited to eventually share this with you all. This was my piece for the first zine I’ve ever had the pleasure of participating in - @thewitcherzine​ - It’s been so surreal to see my writing manifest in something physically. Such a cool experience.

PEACE OFFERING (AO3 LINK) Fandom: The Witcher Pairings: Alludes to Geralt/Yennefer, hints of Geralt/Jaskier Summary: Every day is the same. Geralt wakes. He takes care of his farm and his horses. He works, he eats, he goes to sleep. Dark hair against a modest pillow, plain eyes staring up at the ceiling - quick to fall asleep. But always all too aware of this strange, gnawing thought that something is wrong, something is amiss. There is something to be worried about, he is certain of it; but when he wakes, nothing is wrong. The day begins again. He takes care of his farm and his horses. He works, he eats, he goes to sleep. He is just an ordinary man with an ordinary, peaceful life... Isn't he? He's happy... Right? Then a man comes hurdling out of the field, bloodied and screaming. And nothing is quite so peaceful anymore. [a/n] huge thank you to @rospeaks and @crocro-dyle - who both reviewed this piece multiple times with painstaking care to help get it to the right word count for the project. You two are angels. Thank you so much.

Happiness was a fickle thing. By all accounts Geralt should be happy. He was healthy, in his prime. He owned farmland, bred horses, and enjoyed a sustainable life. He hadn't been called to war. He needed no sword to protect his property. In fact, he was tucked in a corner of the kingdom that had known nothing but peace. Yet on pleasant days when the sun carded warm fingers through his dark locks and across suntanned skin, Geralt found himself standing on his porch and frowning. Beside the wolf in his heart that had glutted itself on peace there was another wolf. A haggard creature, with gold eyes and snowy fur, demanding vigilance. A wolf with fangs sharpened by lessons from a hard life he had never known and did not understand. It said this was too good to be true. Monsters would come. Villagers would turn on him. No peace lasted forever.

Days like that, Geralt closed his eyes, took a breath, and forced one step to follow another, working until that wolf was too tired to do anything but fall resentfully asleep. The horses helped ease his mind, grounding him with velvety muzzles and nosy lips searching for treats. Time passed like that, slow and sleepy. The sun would rise, he would work, and it would set again. On and on, peaceful and content like a piece of crockery on a shelf.

A perfect existence until it finally tipped over.

His peace was shattered, sudden and unexpected, when a man stumbled out of his grain one day like a specter, arm mangled and pleading, “Someone help me, please!”

Spooked, the horse he was working with tried to rear back. As he hushed it, Geralt felt that scrawny wolf in his chest lift its head from thin paws as though it had been waiting for this. His heart thrummed, but Geralt felt strangely invigorated by it. He settled his horse and helped the man into the house. He sat him on a chair, opened his triage kit, and asked, “What happened? Is it still outside?”

Whether it was beast or man, the danger needed to be dealt with. The stranger was waxen from blood loss and fear, his answer carving an ominous feeling into the room. “Whatever they were, they stayed with the bodies.”

A startling list rattled off in Geralt’s mind. Stabilize the wound. Wash up, secure the horses, and grab an axe. Destroy the man’s blood trail to prevent anything from following it back to the farm. But most startling of all was the realization that for the first time he felt at home in his own skin. Though his peace was shattered, he felt whole.

✨✨✨

Amber eyes flickered open, heavy and hazy. His Cat Eyes Potion had worn off. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, echoing morosely. A cave... He felt gnarled wood beneath his weary fingertips, digging into him uncomfortably. He was cradled in the base of a tree then... His skin itched and ached, and there was an unsettling sensation of being attached to something.

The desire for sleep rolled over him, as vicious as the death-chill of a blizzard. He felt as though he were bleeding out, but he felt no crusted wounds, no weeping gashes. He needed to move, to break free of whatever was burrowed into his skin.

‘Stay awake,’ he ordered himself; an echo of Vesemir’s training. ‘Stay awake.’

A gentle hand – or what felt like one – brushed back sweaty white locks and murmured, “It needn’t hurt.”

Unbidden, his eyes closed again, gone before he could register that the hand had felt like bark and clay and stone.

✨✨✨

The next day, confident that the stranger – a merchant named Gil – could travel, Geralt saddled a horse to take him to the nearest town for better medical attention than Geralt could provide. Despite how neat the stitches appeared, he was no healer. Gil had been hesitant on the road at first, clinging nervously to Geralt's back, but as time passed and nothing sprung from the forest to ravage them, Gil’s sweating eased and his fingers became less claw-like in Geralt’s shirt.

The town was too small to be a proper city, too big to be inbred. It welcomed a decent trade and hosted the occasional royal. It was known as a sleepy, peaceful place, and today was no different. As they ambled down the main road to the town’s healer, delicious smells wafted from the inn along with a strangely familiar tune. It made something itch in the back of Geralt’s head.

“Oh, I love this song. Too bad it’s not the original bard singing. Not quite as good, but I can’t imagine a fellow like him performing here,” Gil said, “But y’see, maybe that’s a sign. Maybe that’s what we need right now.”

“What’s that?” Geralt asked as he dismounted carefully. The singer was too distant now to make out the words, but the melody haunted him. He patted a flat hand against his horse's shoulder only to freeze as Gil answered, “A w—h-r,” the word garbled and unintelligible, yet striking him like lightning spearing a tree and he—

✨✨✨

Geralt gasped, chest heaving like a man emerging from a frigid undertow. He knew that song. The voice had been different, but he knew that song. The words lingered as though Jaskier were singing it right there.

“Toss a coin to your witcher,” a voice groaned like falling timber. Fingers brushed Geralt’s temples, and in his mind something combed through memories like a breeze through willow reeds, stirring up images of cornflower eyes and merry singing. “He’s happy. Doesn’t that bring you peace? Have I not done enough? Ssh. Just a little longer now.”

An urge to flee rose in him, and yet his body couldn’t answer. He knew this beast, but the name eluded him. All he could recognize was that he'd die before he’d ever have the chance to apologize. That regret sank his heart like a stone.

He succumbed once more to the dream.

✨✨✨

After he left Gil with the healer, Geralt mounted his horse, preoccupied by a nagging sensation that he had forgotten something important. He paused to restlessly look back toward the healer’s home before dismissing his anxiety as the result of an eventful night. He just needed to tuck into a big meal, catch up on sleep, and everything would return to normal.

He passed the inn, doors open and bustling. The bard was singing something energetic and unfamiliar now. People milled around, mindful of his horse, as he headed for the edge of town.

A sound caught him.

Distant humming, followed by a babe’s gurgling laughter and a strange scent. That itch returned, and in his chest that scrawny wolf stirred, snarling. He reined in his spooked horse as he looked for the source. He knew that smell. That song.

The wind slowed, meadow grasses halting mid-sway. The townsfolk blurred in the streets. In a yard nearby, black and white linens fluttered on a clothesline, caught in that same eerie force. Geralt watched with bated breath, lungs aching, as the linens parted to reveal dark hair and smooth skin. A woman perched serenely upon a bench, her smiling visible behind the curtain of her hair. Tiny hands reached for her from within the bundle in her arms. The smell of lilacs dogged him though none bloomed nearby. Something sturdy and indescribable yanked at his chest, leading straight to her like a boat fastened to a dock, one useless without the other.

“...You flee my dream come the morning. Your scent: berries tart, lilacs sweet. To dream of raven locks entwisted, stormy,” she sang, notes drifting and pleasant, yet the words didn’t seem to fit. Her gaze lifted slowly to meet his, and Geralt was pinned beneath its mournful weight. “Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep.”

“Yennefer,” he said unbidden, her name slipping free as the world stilled and every sound fell away to nothing. She held his gaze, that dreamlike smile radiant on her face but her eyes, oh her eyes, pleading with him to wake.

He needed to wake up. To fight. To survive whatever had him – roots, digging into his skin, leeching him slowly while he slept – and return to them. Both of them. To apologize before a witcher’s end robbed him of that too.

How do you wake from a dream? You die. By the gods, how he hoped he was right. His hand reached for his dagger. Palms calloused from years of fighting and hunting, not tending to horses, clenched around the hilt. He lifted the knife. He closed his eyes.

“You shouldn’t have struggled, witcher.”

He opened them to find Yennefer gone. He lowered his knife in a daze, taking in the empty village, the stillness, the silence, and finally his captor. A little girl, blue eyes too big for her face and long ashen hair like her mother’s.

“When I heard of the wish you made to spare the life of the insect who nearly enslaved my brother, I knew retribution was necessary. But you outsmarted my brother honorably, and so I offered you a peaceful death,” Ciri said. Without ever having met her, Geralt knew it was her as keenly as he knew that he was a witcher. “I gave you everything you wanted. A normal life. Happiness and success for your friends. No burdens, no child surprise. You could have died happy. You still can.”

A peaceful death. Not many witchers had the chance. Nearly none, in fact. But thinking of Vesemir, thinking of the pride and purpose he drew from training lads to survive and in taking care of Kaer Morhen, Geralt wondered what happiness truly was. Because it wouldn't feel like this.

“Tempting offer,” he admitted. Tempting to lie down and accept the dream for what it was: an easy way out. But he thought of Jaskier and Yennefer. How they looked when he pushed them both away. Of Cirilla, lost and alone. He knew what it felt like to be abandoned, to have your home and family stripped away. The importance of the people who took you in after. “Afraid I can’t.”

Ciri watched him with startling coldness. “So be it.”

Geralt gasped violently as he woke. Above him a glowing mist illuminated the cave, the tree cradling him, and the vines piercing his skin like a web of veins, sapping him slowly and steadly lest the well dry too fast. It was a Djinn. Without a master to subdue it, it was free to feast insatiably upon the lifeforce of mortals. It had used the dream to pacify him as it drank its fill. Geralt kicked himself for not realizing sooner.

“Remember that you chose this, Geralt of Rivia. You chose pain,” it rumbled like a rockslide, so deep it rattled Geralt’s bones. A misty hand dug into the earth, and from the bedrock a dozen more hands of stone emerged to latch onto Geralt. A D’ao, Geralt realized. A spirit of the earth rather than air like its brother. With the aloofness of a man stepping on an ant, those stone hands clenched. Geralt felt bones grind and creak. He clenched his jaw and quashed the panicked voice chanting, “I’m going to die,” as he reached for the training that Vesemir had drilled into him.

Igni would ignite vines, but not stone. Quen would crush him beneath his own barrier. There would be no influencing an Ancient with Axii. He had but one recourse left.

It was an effort to reach for his Signs, but he managed Aard. It burst the stone from his limbs. The Djinn howled. With a giant hand it tore Geralt from his prison of vines, casting him across the cavern. Something cracked as he hit the wall. Spots erupted in his vision. He slid to his ass, hands falling lank.

The mist drew near, the image of something humanoid taking shape under writhing vines and stone. Its booming voice reached Geralt in fits and pops, ears ringing. It raised a giant fist to crush him, yet Geralt cracked an exhausted grin.

He had just enough to cast this one thing: Yrden. It seared him to his bones to do it, and for a moment he thought it would not be enough. But a purple halo gripped the Djinn fast despite the trembling of the witcher’s hands and the slowing stutter of his heart. Geralt panted as enraged screaming filled the cave, pressing in on him from all sides.

“I’ve caught you, D’ao,” Geralt wheezed. Unconsciousness loomed, but he persisted, fueled by the lulling notes of Jaskier’s song, Yennefer’s violet eyes, and a child's beseeching gaze. “I’ve bound you to this realm.”

It didn’t matter that his trap wouldn’t last long. The Djinn was bound. The honor of the Ancients would handle the rest. Around the D’ao, Yrden flickered erratically but held.

“Make your wishes, witcher,” it snarled, the sound rattling inside Geralt’s skull.

“I wish to be healed,” Geralt said, and with an angry hiss magic cocooned his body until his heart steadied and his bones reknit. He sucked in a grateful breath, his spell strengthening as the pain ebbed.

“I wish for a truce between myself and all Djinn,” he said, and this time the D’ao howled until crumbles of stone pelted the ground; but none touched Geralt. Not while he was still the Djinn's master.

Had he asked for protection, it might have harmed him in some second-hand way. Had he asked it to leave, it might have sent another in its stead. But a truce was undeniable. He was not going to die. It was a heady realization, but most of all, it revealed what he had been content to ignore for so long. His path was suddenly bright, the way made clear for him.

“I wish to know how to find those to whom I am indebted,” he finally said. For he owed apologies to Jaskier and Yennefer, and to Ciri so much more. The Djinn ceased its howling and the air around them stilled. Geralt felt the D’ao’s heavy gaze upon him.

“Honorable…” the D’ao mused as his Yrden slipped away, and without further fanfare so did the Djinn. The tree wilted, the cavern now empty and unremarkable. The D’ao was gone.

In its place sat a certainty in Geralt’s chest that if he went west, he’d find Jaskier. That if he went northeast, he’d find Yennefer. That if he went to the epicenter of those two points, he’d find a small child with ashen hair and blue eyes, wading through the chaos of the world to find him. Like the stars above, those points rotated slowly in his heart. No matter which way he turned, he knew how to reach them. Their hearts shone in the darkness, illuminating what he hadn’t understood for so very, very long: Happiness was what you made of it.

[f8haus]

BLOODMOIST CRUSTED EYESOCKET & FLOWERS 🌻 AVAILABLE NOW AT ALL FINE PDF DUMPS "LINK IN BIO" https://ift.tt/rE2l7B0kY #photography #zine #bloodmoist #crusted #eyesocket #flowers #photographybook #lasvegas #nevada #militaryindustrialcomplex #landscaping #independentpublishing #war #thehorror #flower — view on Instagram https://ift.tt/aclUGPBuV

[evolstak]

is this to be … *from Crust War Zine Vol 8

[rain-jay]

My Thoughts and Theories on Pearls and Diamonds

...and Homeworld as a whole. So I'd like to start this long ass mess with my thoughts on Pearls. A lot of people like to make the statement that Pearls on Homeworld are basically slaves and the Diamonds are horrible irredeemable tyrants and... I just think that is untrue and here's why I think this. Now a lot of people would claim that the Pearls are slaves because they are treated as objects but the thing is... I kinda know what that is like. I mean in my own home I'm there to cook, clean, walk the dog, give my dad's fiancee money, fix their computer, buy them things, sort their work out and stay out of the way, I'm like a convenient inconvenience. I'm not saying the pearls are like that I just think that like myself they're treated more like secretaries than slaves. I guess this point is kinda irrelevant to my argument as it doesn't make much sense but I kinda know how they feel. However, tere is no stone evidence to suggest that the Diamond's Pearls have been abused physically or mentally. You could argue that YP backing away in fear from YD conveys this but YD is seen to just have a big temper in general and is also just... Pearl probably didn't want to get stood on. YP is also smug little shit who before YD began getting angry was seen to make snide faces and back talk. She's seen to look down upon others, she is snooty and has air of superiority around her much like Aquamarine; 'I am Yellow Diamond's Pearl! I am the best! Only the best for my Diamond! Blue Pearl is chilled out and is allowed to doodle during a court case, she is shown to perhaps be a bit sassy around Greg and even in the crewniverse zine, Blue Pearl is seen comforting Blue Diamond and touching her face, wiping her tears away, this suggests that Blue Diamond trusts Pearl. Blue Diamond probably doesn't have her Pearl do much either apart from open doors and do Pearl things, this is hinted at when she doesn't automatically react to Yellow Diamond and by extension Yellow Pearl's command to sing, she just not used to doing much and is used to Blue Diamond being easy going. Yellow Diamond also trusts her Pearl as well as Blue's, especially when they are allowed to witness such private exchanges between their two leaders and not be sent away as well as witness important political meetings and know information no other gem would ever dream of knowing. I could even say that Pearls would probably be allowed to order gems around on behalf of their Diamond, even someone like Aquamarine. I don't think people who are constantly in danger of being reprimanded would be so comfortable around the person who would hurt them either, if the Diamonds were that ruthless I doubt their pearls would be allowed to even move or speak without their say so when it is clear that this is not the case as Yellow Pearl has a little attitude on her. They're not slaves in the way people think they are, they're more like secretaries and as long as they do their job and stand next to the Diamonds then they are probably the most well protected gems in the entire empire, after all who would mess with a Diamond's Pearl and not expected to be punished? I could probably imagine that if BP went missing or had gotten lost or abducted Blue Diamond would be distraught and would not want another one and would do everything within her power to find her and an furious at the gem responsible and as for Yellow Diamond would be angry that her Pearl, if she had went missing, hadn't been found yet but her anger would come from a place of frustration because she is worried because YD expresses all of her emotions through anger, it's all she knows. I couldn't ever see the Diamonds just replace their Pearls without a single thought, they're around them 24/7 and it is hinted that the Pearls also care about their Diamonds that being with Blue Pearl mourning alongside Blue Diamond and Yellow Pearl getting offended when Peridot runs her mouth at Yellow Diamond. They must have some kind of bond. The Pearls wouldn't say no to their Diamonds and would do anything for them because they probably love them and the Diamonds probably know this. If the Diamonds were that cruel then wouldn't they ask their pearls to complete unreasonable tasks? Because they don't, their tasks are very easy and don't ask too much of them when they know fine well that their Pearls would follow them to ends of the universe. Also it is probably seen and viewed as unprofessional to loose your temper at something as little as a Pearl or to treat them with cruelty, the Diamonds probably see it as acting very juvenile and petty. Of course this would come from a pretty gemist(?) View that getting angry at something so harmless as a Pearl is pointless and if your Pearl makes mistakes it just means you are an inefficient owner and are blaming them for your own mistakes, as they are viewed as stupid of course to the Diamonds a pearl who is stupid must have a stupid owner and if there is something the Diamond's don't like is a gem who is stupid or for them to appear as if they are stupid. A regular pearl on the other hand is, yes probably treated like shit behind closed doors or around gems who don't have the balls to tell on them, its probably something the Diamonds would frown down upon as the Diamonds, Yellow Diamond in particular seem to dislike petty behavior and outright sneer at it. To put into perspective, upper crust gems are less likely to be nasty to Pearls than a more common gem. A Sapphire for example is probably quite nice to a Pearl, they are patient and calm gems from what we have seen and Rebecca Sugar claims that they are kinda like Zelda. So a Sapphire would probably see it as obscene or dirty to abuse a Pearl as it is probably a practice among more common gems and common gems = stupid gems. Going back to my theory up above it would make sense as to why a Sapphire would be perfectly pleasant and why someone like Holly Blue Agate would be quite vicious or passive aggressive, since she has a same rank as a Quartz. Aquamarine is another good example. She is extremely proud yet snarky. If her Pearl were to make a mistake she would most likely make a sarcastic remark but let it go, but since Aquamarine believes she is the best then she would probably reason that a Pearl made for her would have to be the best Pearl who would not ever make a mistake. These are just my own theories and things to consider. I don't think the Diamonds are all that bad and I think there's something else going on and it is to do with WD. Part of me thinks that both YD and BD are terrified of WD. I think YD knows that WD got rid of Pink and can't have Blue finding out because 1) she was threatened by WD and 2) Homeworld would fall apart. Homeworld is about to fall apart as Blue and Yellow Diamond have emotional breakdowns. As much as YD seems like, she likes to work I don't think she likes the weight on her shoulders. YD scoffs and rolls her eyes a lot as if she is fed up with her subjects, specifically brown nosing but also them just being ridiculous in the first place. I think this is because YD expresses love with actions rather than words. When Yellow sees how other gems treat those lower than her like shit basically only for them to kiss her feet, Yellow might view words as meaningless which is probably why she hates brownnosers. This also suggests that White might say some things that are hurtful to her and Blue which could make her think that all words said to her are empty and hold no value. Yellow shows love through actions, specifically her love for Blue and her mercy for Peridot. Let's first take Peridot as an example, Peri is a lower caste gem. Just a little technician who happened to destroy a whole ship, loose Lapis and Yellow's prized Jasper and yet Yellow Diamond was still willing to send out a ship to pick up Peridot when its clear that there is a resource crisis on Homeworld. Not only that but she then sends a Ruby Squad out to go get Pink Diamond's Jasper before Earth blows up. Yellow Diamond cares about her subjects, so much so that in the views of perhaps White Diamond she is wasting resources and should just leave them to die, I mean if I were the ruler of Homeworld and I wanted a strict system I would think this. Yellow Diamond has also shown her love for Blue by listening to her, dressing more formally to visit Pink Diamond's Zoo, placing her hands on Blue Diamond's shoulders when Steven accidentally makes her break down. Yellow has picked up the slack for her, that is very clear 'where's their Diamond when they need her Blue? You've got to be a leader Blue!' Which says to me that YD is telling her that there's only so much work she can do for BD and only so much time until someone notices her slacking. So perhaps Yellow does her work so White doesn't notice and reprimand her for it. And Yellow Diamond doesn't want Blue Diamond to be any more distressed than she already is so she tries to speed up her grieving process so no one notices. Blue Diamond should definitely not be in a position of authority as she is too mentally unstable, she needs a break and quite clearly does not want to deal with her job right now. It seems as if both the Diamonds do not want to do their job the way they are doing it. Blue Diamond seems like a gem who probably would not want to purge planets, she seems like a peacekeeper, she doesn't like conflict, this is evidenced by her loosing her temper at Yellow for silencing the Zircons because she didn't like what they had to say. Blue Diamond got mad because she is tired of Yellow getting angry and causing conflict. 'Can't you restrain yourself!?' As if to say just stop fighting for five minutes and listen, this is important, its important to me! Another piece of evidence is when Blue runs away from the battle in the sky arena to protect herself but also to stay away from the conflict. She was so relieved when she was told that the war was soon going to be over, she obviously does not like fighting. So why would a gem who hates war want to purge planets and start more potential wars, it doesn't make sense. It seems as if these two gems and probably Pink Diamond were forced into their jobs just because of their gem type yet their personalities suit either a different job or ruling a society that isn't so ridged and toxic. I think Pink Diamond got killed because she tried to utilize the planet without disrupting the Eco system or found a way to manufacture gems without sucking the life out of planets (they could just use a fertilizer but that's another post for another time) and I don't think White Diamond liked this Diamond who seemed to not be as whipped as the other two so before she could get to Yellow and Blue all the way with her ideas White quickly silenced her and got rid of her and didn't tell ANY of her era 2 subjects about the gem war or that Pink even existed. She was removed from every artifact and logo, from the minds of younger gems, told not to speak about her, it was as if she never existed and is probably why Blue is desperately clinging onto what is left of her and why Yellow is trying to destroy it. Yellow loves Pink Diamond too so it doesn't make sense, it makes a lot more sense when you think that White is threatening her and is basically saying 'get rid of it all or else'. These are my thoughts and I like them because angst. I kinda hope I'm right because this would be so dramatic and juicey and would explain a lot of actions that do not make sense. Most of this is speculation but its fun so whatever.

[guidedbynors]

The Ancient Burial: A Quest RPG Adventure

Premise

In The Ancient Burial adventure for Quest RPG, Questers take on the role of the first journalists to ever exist in Svaldra. They travel from town to town, distributing their Zinepaper of the latest news of Svaldra. They travel with a magical printing press they can tow around in a wagon. They typically sell their Zinepapers to townsfolk who live in villages adjacent to each other. 

Questers find themselves between two towns, Drogmar and Kelish, that are at each other’s throats. The conflict between the two towns can’t quite be called a war, as neither is large enough to have any real army. However, recent grievances between the two sides has sparked fighting over the last three weeks. A handful of Drogmarians and Kelishies have been killed by the opposing side. The reasons for fighting include is that the Kelishies believe the Drogmarians are dumping something into the lake from which the Kelishies grow magical healing algae. In the last three weeks, a rainbow-like film has graced Lake Kel, and there have been accounts of Drogmarians dumping something into the lake. 

Setting

The land that Kelish and Drogmar are on is a pastoral place of rolling hills and valleys. There are a series of caves that populate the region, as well as copses of trees, paths to known hunting grounds, etc. Kelish is located on a hill that overlooks the largest lake in the region, Lake Kel. Kelish draw magics from the algae that grow near the banks. Drogmar is tucked between two hills known for their geodes that they use for magic.

Entering the Kelmar Region

When Questers enter the Kelmar region they are quickly waylaid by either the Kelish or the Drogmar (Guides Choice). People from both towns are suspicious of the Questers and will interrogate them, scared that the machine they pull in their wagon is a type of weapon the other town might use against them. Questers can attempt to sell them Zinepapers, news of a neighboring town, but what news and what town they have written about the Questers must make up on the spot. It’s up to the Guide whether the townspeople find it interesting enough to trade anything of value for a Zine or two. If the townsfolk are Kelishie they will explain how horrible the Drogmarians are for dumping poison in Lake Kel. Alternatively, the Dragmarians will tell Questers how the Kelishies are always blaming them for their problems. Both will mention the deaths the other town is responsible for. The townsfolk will ask Questers to go to the other town, and gather information and expose their enemies for what they “truly are” but writing an expose on their enemies.

Kelish

Kelish is a moderately sized village with 200 people as residents. They live up the hill from Lake Kel and use the algae from the lake to brew potions, food, and even spin it into clothing. Items made from the aglae have magical healing properties. However, about a month go the algae has stopped growing. The Kelish harvest so much of the algae that they rely on its rapid growth during the summer months to replenish their crop.

Quinn is a non-binary bearded person who seems to be the unofficial leader of Kelish. They are slim, yet sinewy and muscular. They will tell Questers that, about a month ago, some Drogmarians were seen near Lake Kel dumping something into the lake, though the scout said it was too far away for them to see exactly what the Drogmarians were doing. When Kelish sent ambassadors to speak with Drogmar, the ambassadors were turned away and told that Lake Kel didn’t belong to any one people.

Drogmar

Drogmar is a small village of, perhaps, 50-75 people. The rocky landscape surrounding the village is different from the pastoral aspects of Kelish and Lake Kel. Drogmar has two, conflicting, leaders as is their custom. A man (Biel) and a woman (Suso).

Biel is sympathetic to the Kelish. He believes if they just had a more honest dialogue, the two towns would get along better. Biel will tell Questers that the Drogmarians wash their geodes in Lake Kel, and have done so for generations. They also fish in Lake Kel, but leave the algae to the Kelishie. If asked whether the Drogmarians dumped anything in the lake, Biel will deny any knowledge of this event. He doesn’t know if the Drogmarians have dumped something in the lake. He does, however, admit to washing the geodes that come from the hills and caves nearby. 

Suso is less sympathetic toward the Kelishie. She tells Questers that the Kelishie have been blaming Drogmar for their problems ever since she was a girl. If asked whether she knows about something being dumped in the lake, she only admits to washing the geodes in the lake as well. If pressed about the geodes, she will admit that the newest geodes they have harvested from the mine are different than any they had seen before. Each one is covered with a film of slime, sticky to the touch. She will tell Questers that it gives off a pungent smell that gives her a headache. (For all intents and purposes, the slime covering the geodes is like a petrol gel.)

Geode Mine

The geode mine is only a short walk away from Drogmar. The first thing Questers notice as they enter the mine is the sweet and noxious smell Suso told them about. There is also a strange sensation of wind in the mine. First air is pushed out from its depths and then sucked back in. Questers can find some geodes if they go deep enough into the mine, but some Drogmarians are there and will question them about what they’re doing. Many of the Drogmarians who are harvesting the geodes, will tell Questers how the depths of the geode mine are hot in temperature. They will also tell Questers that they have opened a new chamber in the cave system. The very air within this chamber seems to burn all by itself, it is so hot, and the whole chamber is lit by flecks of fluorescent orange that hover in the air, like ash that is still burning.

Jutting from the floor in the center of the chamber is a vertical mounded, red-toned stone. The mound is about 20 feet tall and has two large holes in it which blow out hot air, then suck air back in. On closer inspection, it is clear that this mound is not stone at all, but crusted and hardened scale, as strong as a rock cliff face. The holes at the top of the mount are the nostrils of an Ancient Red Dragon (Monster Manifest, p40). While Quester may be able to identify that the mound is not stone, it will take some clever roleplay to deduce that this is an Ancient Red Dragon, as these creatures are rare and few who see them live to tell the tale, and thus dragons of this size are often thought a myth. However, as the dragon breaths out, Questers can see flecks of the burning ash issue from its nostrils, and the same gel that coats many of the geodes in the mine can be found inside the nostrils of the dragon.

Where To Go From Here

There are many ways this can play out once Questers realize the mound isn’t stone, and the activity isn’t volcanic but draconic. If they attempt to plug the nostrils, the dragon awakens and destroys the mine with Questers and miners inside (unless Questers do something about it). Questers can also try to convince the Drogmarians to quit harvesting the geodes from the mine or stop washing them in the lake, which is polluting it with the petrol gel. However, the Drogmarians use the geodes to create magic items by placing the geodes in different mundane items. (Guides should feel free to create their own magic items with this theme in mind.) Due to this, the Drogmarians are loath to cease their mining, though it is clear that if they continue to do so, they will likely wake the dragon.

A larger plot arc can be implemented if Questers decide to write a story about the buried dragon and print some Zinepapers and distribute them to the surrounding towns (of which there are quite a few). This may complicate matters in terms of the politics of the region. The Drogmarians, if they feel their livelihood of magical geodes is threatened, will begin forging magical weapons with their geodes in order to protect themselves.

There are likely, other, more creative directions this adventure can go in and that’s the beauty of Quest. Please, reach out and tell me what your experiences are with this adventure starter if you use it. Until next week, this has been: Guided by Nors!

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

VISIONS OF DEATH, DOOM, DRUGS, NOISE, DEPRESSION, & WAR.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on Japanese raw punk & sludge DOOM metal bands DISCLOSE✝ and CORRUPTED (respectively), from the pages of "Crust War" zine (Japanese import) featuring interviews and pictures of similar and/or like minded bands such as:

REALITY CRISIS, ONSLAUGHT, DRUG NOISE, ATROCIOUS MADNESS, DISCLOSE, CORRUPTED, DECONTROL, GLOOM, EFFIGY, DECLAIM, DISTURD, CONTRAST ATTITUDE, and FINAL BLOODBATH.

Dis nightmare still @$!*#&% continues!!

Source: https://vebuka.com/print/130225163556-af5e0d50f0e847638732200a1ae78454/Crust_War_07.

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

CAL -- BONES -- RAINY -- TEZZ -- BAMBI -- GARRY -- ACCEPT NO SUBSTITUTES.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on the mighty DISCHARGE, inarguably the most acclaimed and influential band in the second wave of UK punk rock, from the pages of Japanese zine "Crust War" #7.

"We don't play music, we make noise. And as long as you can dance to it, it's alright."

-- ROY "RAINY" WAINWRIGHT (bassist and co-founder of DISCHARGE)

Dis nightmare still @$!*#&% continues!!

Source: https://vebuka.com/print/130225163556-af5e0d50f0e847638732200a1ae78454/Crust_War_07.

[evolstak]

CRUST WAR THE ZINE ❤︎❤︎❤︎