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bethanythebogwitch · 6 months

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Wet Beast Wednesday: tardigrades

Last week on Wet Beast Wednesday I covered the largest animals to ever exist on our planet. This week I'm going to pull a full 180 and cover the smallest animals yet on this series. Meet the tardigrade, the internet's favorite micro-animal the is said to be basically immortal. How true is that? Let's see.

(Image: an electron microscope image of a tardigrade. It looks a lot like a potato with eight stubby legs tipped with long claws. At the front is a small, circular mouth. It has no other discernable features. In the background are bits of plant matter that look like seaweed at this scale. End ID)

The tardigrades are 1,300 known species (and probably a lot of unknown ones too) in the phylum Tardigrada. They are also part of the superphylum Ecdysozoa, which are animals that grow by molting their outer cuticles or exoskeletons. In particular, the tardigrades are believed to be a sister group of the arthropods, the group that contains crustaceans, insects, isopods, and a lot of other things. Tardigrades are truly tiny, the largest species reaching a whopping 1.5 millimeters in length, though most species reach no more than 0.5 mm. They have round, segmented bodies with four pairs of legs that end in either claws or suction discs. The body segments consist of a head, three body segments with a pair of legs each, and a caudal segment with the final pair of legs. The first three legs are used for movement while the final pair points backwards and is used for grabbing onto substrate. All of the body segments except for the final one correspond to segments found in the head section of insects. Tardigrades are missing many hox genes, genes that direct the body plan during development. Their ancestors may have had a body plan more similar to insects, but the loss of the hox genes has compressed them into walking heads with a bit of butt. The mouth is tubular and sucks in food. In the mouth are stylets, needle-like structures used to pierce food objects. Once food is drawn into the mouth, a structure called the buccopharyngeal apparatus activates. This is a combination of spines and muscle that acts like an inner jaw that pulls food into the digestive tract. The buccopharyngeal apparatus is distinct enough to be used as a major identifying feature between species. Tardigrades are translucent and many images you've seen of them have false color to show the details or are 3D models based on scanning electron microscope imagery of them. Tardigrades molt their exoskeletons multiple times (up to 12) during their lifecycle. Some species are unable to poop normally and instead all their waste is discarded during the molt. It was formerly believed that tardigrades could exchange genes with each other without mating, a process called horizontal gene transfer that is seen in bacteria, archaea, and other micro-organisms. It has since been discovered that while still capable of horizontal gene transfer, it is quite a bit rarer in tardigrades than we thought.

(Image: an electron microscope image of a tardigrade standing on a bit of plant matter. This one has a closed mouth with a ring of triangular tooth-like structures. It also has two simple eyes that look like black dots. End ID)

The name "tardigrade" means "slow walker", which is fitting as, despite their eight legs, tardigrades have a slow and awkward gait. This is the result of their legs being unjointed, only able to pivot at their connection to the body. Their gait has been compared to that of bears, hence why they are often called water bears and their discoverer, Johann August Ephraim Goeze, called them "kleiner wasserbär", meaning "little water bear". Tardigrades are found worldwide and have inhabited virtually every habitat, from the tops of mountains to the deep sea, from hot springs to the antarctic, from freshwater to saltwater. The one thing they have in common is a need to stay wet. Tardigrades can survive out of water as long as they can stay moist and are often found in mosses, hence another common name: moss piglets. The majority either eat plants or bacteria, but some will feed on smaller tardigrades or other micro-animals. Their famous survivability makes it easy for tardigrades or their eggs to be carried to new habitats by larger animals or other phenomena. Tardigrades are one of the first micro-animals to colonize a new habitat and they are a pioneer species, the first species to colonize a new environment and whose presence makes that environment fore suitable for other species to follow. Tardigrades are a major food source to other micro-animals and larger organisms. Most species have distinct males and females, though a few reproduce through parthenogenesis. In most cases, molting female will lay her eggs in her shed cuticle and males will them fertilize them. Other species have a form of internal reproduction. Males and females will court each other before mating and females will usually allow multiple males to fertilize her eggs. Female tardigrades are typically larger and more abundant than males. Eggs can take up to 14 days (species dependent) before hatching. All tardigrades of the same species have the exact same number of cells as each other. They are also born with the same number of cells they will have as an adult. Their growth is driven by enlargement of the existing cells rather than cellular reproduction making new cells. The lifespan ranges between a few months to a few years, depending on species.

(Image: a color photo of a tardigrade. It is a pale, translucent white, making it hard to make out details. Its body is curved, with the front end pointing at the camera. It has two simple eyes. End ID)

(Image: an electron microscope image of a tardigrade egg. It is round but covered in small pores and conical structures. End ID)

The most famous feature of tardigrades is their legendary durability. It is commonly said that tardigrades can survive just about anything (except for the things that are actually trying to kill them. They are prey to a lot of species after all). Among the things they can survive is extreme heat, extreme cold, dehydration, extremely high and low pressure, exposure to ionizing radiation (that's the scary kind), low oxygen environments, environmental toxins, heavy impacts, and the vacuum of fucking space. While the can survive in extreme conditions, tardigrades are not considered extremophiles. True extremophiles thrive in extreme environments and are negatively impacted by leaving them. Tardigrades can survive in extreme environments, but are negatively impacted and can't survive as well there as they can in less extreme places. The main trait that has allowed tardigrades to survive all five mass extinctions in history is cryptobiosis. Cryptobiosis is the rare ability for an animal to enter a state of dormancy where their metabolic processes come to an almost complete stop. While in cryptobiosis, metabolic activity drops to 0.01% normal and water content drops to 1% normal. In this state, the tardigrade is called a tun. Tardigrades usually enter cryptobiosis in response to arid conditions. One experiment showed that a species of tardigrade could last for at least 30 years in this state and return to normal lifestyle functions when exposed to water. Tardigrades will also enter cryptobiosis in response to low oxygen, toxic chemical exposure, increased or decreased temperature, and excessive salt content in the water. Tardigrades also show extreme resistance to both high and low pressure. They can live in 0 atmospheres of pressure and some species can survive up to 6,000 atmospheres, more than double the pressure at the bottom of the Marianas trench. More interesting is their ability to survive dangerous radiation. They can survive 1,000 times the dose of gamma radiation that humans can. Early tests focused on tardigrades in cryptobiosis and concluded that the extremely low water content of a cryptobiotic tardigrade doesn't leave much opportunity for the radiation to react with the animal. However it was later found that active and fully hydrated tardigrades are still considerably resistant to radiation. Studies into this resistance indicate that tardigrades can very efficiently repair damaged DNA and have unique proteins called Dsup that provides additional protection. Dsup introduced to human cells has provided additional protection against x-rays.

(Image: an electron microscope image of a tun - a tardigrade in cryptobiosis. It is smaller and very wrinkly, with the legs and mouth retracted into the body. End ID)

Tardigrades were the first animals to be exposed to the vacuum of space. They were exposed for 10 days, some in a state of cryptobiosis at the time of exposure and some still active. It was found that they were able to survive the vacuum when shielded from the sun's ultraviolet radiation, with those already in cryptobiosis doing better. Upon being rehydrated, many were able to resume normal life functions and successfully reproduce, though others died after being rehydrated. Those that were exposed to UV radiation fared much worse, with only a few hydrated individuals surviving. The individuals in cryptobiosis had a lower survival rate when exposed to UV than those not exposed to UV and were less successful at reproducing afterwards. Studies of tardigrade's space survival abilities and resistance to radiation could go a long way in helping human space travel. One of the largest dangers of space travel is that space is full of nasty radiation from the sun that Earth's magnetic field protects us from. Some scientists speculate about the possibility of accidentally seeding other planets or moons with tardigrades or other space-resistant organisms. This is a problem because introducing Earth life to other world has the potential to damage any native ecosystems and if we find life in space in the future we don't want to have to figure out if it's something we accidentally put there. While tardigrades could likely survive on other planets, they would eventually die without a food source. Some sources reported that tardigrades may have colonized the moon after an experiment with them crashed. Unfortunately, the moon is not crawling with tardigrades now. It's way too dry for them to exit cryptobiosis even if they survived the crash, which they probably didn't.

(Image: art of a tardigrade floating in the vacuum of space. End ID. Source: University of California - Santa Barbara)

#wet beast wednesday #tardigrade #water bear #moss piglet #micro animal #microbiology #marine biology #biology #zoology #ecology #animal facts #informative #science #space #astrobiology #radiation #cryptobiosis #tun #image described

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bitter-bats-cult-of-the-moon · 1 year

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Energy Explained in Other Systems

There is a lack of measurable evidence because any person that has worked with energies have had different experiences but were able to understand and manipulate energies according to their own will.

Energy has been used in many ways within culture and religion and have set beliefs depending on the system being practiced.

Next, are some given definitions defining energies within diverse philosophies.

Hindu = Prana

Chinese = Qi /Chi

Japanese =Ki

Greek = Pneuma

Hawaiian = Mana

Tibetan Buddhism = Lung

Hindu Philosophy

A Sanskrit word for "life force" or "vital principle" is often referred to as Prana. It is described as first coming down from the Sun and connecting all elements of the Universe. It has been invoked within the Hindu scriptures of the Vedas and Upanishads.

Prana is the belief of vitality surrounding all living beings. This energy is responsible for all bodily functions. There are five types of pranas, collectively known as the five vāyus.

1. Prāṇa: Beating of the heart and breathing. Prana enters the body through the breath and is sent to every cell through the circulatory system.

2. Apāna: Elimination of waste products from the body through the lungs and excretory systems.

3.Uḍāna: Sound production through the vocal apparatus. It represents the conscious energy required to produce the vocal sounds corresponding to the intent.

4. Samāna: Food digestions, repair or manufacture of new cells and growth, and heat regulations throughout the body.

5. Vyāna: The energy that is needed for the body to have proper circulation, and the functions for the voluntary muscular system in which there is expansion and contraction processes throughout the body.

Chinese Philosophy

The earliest texts in which Qi or Chi is described was in 'Analects of Confucius' where it could mean "breath" and was combined with the Chinese word for blood.

Xue-qi, "blood and breath."

Living beings are born because of an accumulation of qi, and as the beings live out their lives the qi declines eventually resulting in death. This indicates that xue-qi referred to all living things, but it is believed that qi or chi exists within all things tangible.

For example, the wind is the qi or chi to the Earth, and the cosmic concepts of yin and yang are "the greatest of qi"

Yin and Yang which means "bright-dark," and "positive-negative" are the opposing forces needed in order to complement the concept of balance. There are thoughts that this duality symbolizes contradicting energy forces which manifest as light and dark, fire and water, expansion, and contraction. With this said, Chinese medicine states that the balance of negative and positive forms in the body are believed to be essential for overall satisfactory health.

Japanese Mythology

During the sixth and seventh centuries the Chinese word qi (or chi) was written using the same kanji script for their interpretation for energy being "Ki"

However, the meanings are a tad different.

While the Chinese use chi or qi to describe that energy exists in all things, animate and inanimate objects, the Japanese believe it is the creative flow and expressions used within our daily lives, martial arts, and symbolizes aspects of nature, and thusly the spirits. It is the transfer from living, animate beings in to inanimate which can change and manifest into various forms. It is the necessary intentions one wields.

Greek Mythology

Pneuma, "The breath of life" or "vital spirit" is composed of kinetic energies within the vessel, while Ignis is composed of thermal energies. All human beings need both kinetic and thermal energies in order to properly function.

In Greek medicine, pneuma is the form of circulation throughout the body's vital organs. Due to this the role, pneuma plays within the body to sustain consciousness. Some physiological theories suggest that the pneuma mediates between the heart, and the heart is regarded as the seat of the mind, and the brain.

In similar, Stoic philosophy, pneuma is the active and generative principles that are organized between the individual and the cosmos. The highest forms are the Gods, and the human soul. The human soul is believed to be fragments of the gods given life force in order to be born and given a vessel upon the physical plane. This exists within all animate and inanimate objects as energy transfers and changes.

Hawaiian Mythology

Mana, the spiritual energy of power and strength. This energy exists within places and people; however, it is said that mana is both external and internal concepts.

The Hawaiian people believe that individuals can gain mana or lose it depending on one's actions in everything that they do.

In mythology there were two ways to gain mana, and this was either done sexually or through violence.

To sexually gain mana one must invoke the god, Lono, deity of peace and fertility.

To gain mana through violence one must invoke the god Ku, deity of war and politics.

Tibetan Buddhism

Lung means the wind or breath. Exists as a key concept in Vajrayana traditions. Generally, it's concept relates to the understanding of the subtle body, and Three Vajras. Those three are the body, speech, and mind. Lung relates to the subtle flow of energy and the five elements. (Fire, Water, Earth, Space, and Air) Lung is mostly closely connected to the Air Element.

Lung has also been used to describe the winds or prana being used in conjunction with the subtle body during a time of exercise, but also more importantly everyday functions of the body and its own senses. There are five psychic winds which manifest into mahabhuta. These five relate to the lifeforce that animate the body-mind (namarupa) of all sentient beings.

The Five Root or Major Winds

The root winds support an element and is responsible for a function of the human body.

The 'life-supporting wind' (Tib. སྲོག་འཛིན་རླུང་, sok dzin lung; Wyl. srog 'dzin rlung). Located in the brain, this lung regulates functions such as swallowing, inhalation, and concentration.

The 'upward-moving wind' (Tib. གྱེན་རྒྱུ་རླུང་, gyengyu lung; Wyl. gyen rgyu rlung). Located in the chest and thorax, this lung regulates, among other things, speech, the body's energy and vitality, memory, mental endeavour and diligence.

The 'all-pervading wind' (Tib. ཁྱབ་བྱེད་རླུང་, khyap ché lung; Wyl. khyab byed rlung). Residing in the heart, this lung controls all the motor activities of the body.

The 'fire-accompanying wind' (Tib. མེ་མཉམ་གནས་རླུང་, me nyam né lung; Wyl. me mnyam gnas rlung). Found in the stomach and abdomen area, the fire-accompanying wind regulates digestion and metabolism.

The 'downward-clearing wind' (Tib. ཐུར་སེལ་རླུང་, thursel lung; Wyl. thur sel rlung). Located in the rectum, bowels and perineal region, this lung's function is to expel faeces, urine, semen, and menstrual blood. It also regulates uterine contractions during labour.

The Five Branch Winds

The five branch winds enable the senses to operate.

The naga wind (Tib.ཀླུའི་རླུང་, lu'i lung; Wyl. klu'i rlung). This lung connects with the eyes and sight.

The tortoise wind (Tib. རུ་སྦལ་གྱི་་རླུང་, rubal gyi lung; Wyl. ru sbal gyi rlung). This wind connects with the heart and the sense of hearing.

The lizard wind (Tib.རྩངས་པའི་རླུང་, tsangpé lung; Wyl. rtsangs pa'i rlung) associated with the nose and the sense of smell.

The devadatta wind (Tib.ལྷས་བྱིན་གྱི་རླུང་, lhéjin gyi lung; Wyl. lhas byin gyi rlung) related to the sense of taste.

The 'king of wealth deities' wind (Tib. ནོར་ལྷ་རྒྱལ་གྱི་རླུང་, nor lha gyal gyi lung; Wyl. nor lha rgyal gyi rlung). This wind connects with the body and the sense of touch.

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bestworstcase · 7 months

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muttering about songs hours again

guide my way. “were you at least called a friend?”

friend:

but i found that humanity it came with sacrifice a pact to shield you from the wicked even if i can’t live for real it was worth it to know you

as always wrt penny this notion of ‘realness’ is not about transformation into flesh-and-blood but escape from the dehumanizing machine of the atlesian military: penny herself is the inevitable end result of the cynical atlesian devaluation and commodification of the human soul and her narrative struggle to ‘become real’ locates itself in the struggle to assert her agency and personhood outside of this system. anyway the point being,

atlas built a child-super-soldier to “save the world.” a savior. a weapon. not real. in v1 penny gives her handlers the slip and meets ruby, who calls her “friend”—v2 ruby learns she’s a robot, affirms her personhood (“you’ve got a soul, i can feel it”) in a way nobody has ever done before, and questions the destiny set out for her (“we’re in a time of peace!”)—v3 penny digests all of this and decides she’s not going back to atlas. not just that she doesn’t want to return, she actively devises a plan to stay at beacon.

she can’t because she’s killed to make a statement but she also can’t because she would never have been allowed to. atlas does not let her go. she’s brought back to life and made the ‘protector of mantle’ (a greater burden with less autonomy than she had before—no more free roaming). she tries to break free and the whole apparatus of the military pivots to dragging her back under control by force. a savior. a weapon. the only escape from this existence is to die; the hero is an object. the hero is not ‘real.’

(gestures at sacrifice. at divide. “you can’t have my life/i’m not your sacrifice.” “what if all the plans you made/were not worth the price they paid.” “sacrifice them for your needs.” gestures at time to say goodbye:

were we born to fight and die? sacrificed for one huge lie? are we heroes keeping peace or are we weapons pointed at the enemy so someone else can claim a victory?

no. you have sacrificed everyone else. as above, so below. penny is the sacrifice and she cannot be a person, can’t be ‘real,’ without also being subjected to horrific violence by those who view her as an object.)

“were you at least called a friend?”

<- this connects summer to penny in a very specific way. because while summer rose is flesh and blood… the first thing ozpin says to ruby is “you have silver eyes.” before huntsmen, before kingdoms, “it was said that those born with silver eyes were destined to lead the life of a warrior.” the silver-eyed warrior is not ‘real’ either. she is an object.

a savior. a weapon.

penny flouts orders by exploring in vale. ruby calls penny a “friend.” penny reveals herself to ruby as the not-real savior of the world. ruby affirmed that she is real and questions the idea that the world needs saving. penny decides not to return to atlas.

summer, the silver-eyed warrior, went rogue. she met salem. and she never came back.

were you at least called a friend?

gestures at rising:

stand firm outlast we won’t be beaten by the past one goal, one pact looking forward, never back

and so we must press on + summer would have pressed on. sacrifice: “the moon will sadly watch the roses die” + rising: “we’re looking to the sky/the light will guide us/the rose will grow to be a seed/from every life another leads” + friend: “even if i can’t/live for real/it was worth it to know you.” one goal, one pact + a pact to shield you from the wicked.

for summer rose, the person, to be free, summer rose, the hero, had to die. oh! who would inhabit/this bleak world alone?

#gnawing the bars of my enclosure

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henghost · 8 months

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thinking about why i love the jamie/sy dynamic so much. i think it comes fundamentally from their difference: sy's inability to remember, and jamie's inability to forget. we tend to think of memory as something passive, some kind of inevitable degradation, but--as sy reminds us every so often--to forget is something active, a pathway to advantage and strength.

nietzsche discusses this concept in depth in his genealogy of morals: for nietzsche, forgetting is "no mere vis inertiae as the superficial imagine; it is rather an active and in the strictest sense positive faculty of repression," "an apparatus of absorption," "a plastic, regenerative and curative force." finally he concludes, "What we experience and absorb enters our consciousness as little while we are digesting it . . . as does the thousandfold process involved in physical nourishment . . . so that it will be immediately obvious how there could be no happiness, no cheerfulness, no hope, no pride, no present, without forgetfulness." sy is the innocent child who cannot hold onto details that have no immediate value for him. this way, he is closer to a hippo or a vine: he is driven by desire or will alone, rather than some kind of historical debt. this is why he is reckless, difficult to control.

jamie, meanwhile, is of course the opposite. he is cursed to remember everything. he has an inescapable debt to memory in the form of his notebook. make no mistake: this is a punishment. nietzsche writes, "‘A thing must be burnt in so that it stays in the memory: only something that continues to hurt stays in the memory." to me, this suggests that jamie is in constant psychic pain, poor baby. perhaps this is why he must adopt his trademark cautious, skeptical, and above all passive demeanor.

this may also shed some light on the nobility's fascination with project caterpillar--at first it is easy to assume that they intend to use it for themselves as yet another "upgrade," but more likely in my view is that they intend to use it on their subjects. nietzsche documents how, in order to develop the faculty for memory in humans (because it would be a mistake to assume that it is "natural"; most if not all other living beings are incapable of memory in the way we understand it) it was first necessary to punish. punishment creates a kind of "memory of the future," it creates fear to control the natural animal impulse. we remember what happened to recipient of punishment and prevent ourselves from committing that same transgression. it stands to reason, therefore, that the nobility would like to make it impossible for the general public to forget, as it could only increase the nobility's power and control.

#twigblr #sylvester lambsbridge #henghost's twig arc #nietzsche #lots more to say about christianity's role in all this #but i'll cut it off there for now

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er-cryptid · 1 year

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Organelles

Nucleus -- located near the center of the cell -- contains the genetic material of the cell (DNA) and nucleoli -- site of ribosome and messenger RNA synthesis

Nucleolus -- located in the nucleus -- site of ribosomal subunit assembly

Ribosomes -- located in the cytoplasm -- site of protein synthesis

Rough Endoplasmic Reticulum -- located in the cytoplasm -- has many ribosomes attached -- site of protein synthesis

Smooth Endoplasmic Reticulum -- located in the cytoplasm -- site of lipid synthesis -- participates in detoxification

Golgi Apparatus -- located in the cytoplasm -- modifies protein structure -- packages proteins in secretory vesicles

Secretory Vesicle -- located in the cytoplasm -- contains materials produced in the cell -- formed by the Golgi apparatus -- secreted by exocytosis

Lysosome -- located in the cytoplasm -- contains enzymes that digest material taken into the cell

Mitochondria -- located in the cytoplasm -- site of aerobic respiration -- major site of ATP synthesis

Microtubule -- located in the cytoplasm -- supports cytoplasm -- assists in cell division -- forms components of cilia and flagella

Centrioles -- located in the cytoplasm -- facilitate the movement of chromosomes during cell division

Cilia -- located on the cell surface with many on each cell -- move substances over the surface of certain cells

Flagella -- located on sperm cells -- one per cell -- propels sperm cell

#medblr #studyblr #notes #my notes #anatomy and physiology #anatomy #physiology #biology #bio #bio notes #biology notes #anatomy notes #physiology notes #cells #cells notes #microbiology #microbiology notes #studyblr notes

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macla539ac · 5 months

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One can never live in the present because the past and the future don't want to take part in this banality. U have a thousand or more "heartbeats". One in your heart, one for the electrical timing of your brain, one for the peristaltic movements of your digestive apparatus. Naked life is already like a strange jazz drum solo and the idiot thinks he is living, reacting to the present, every time i hear the words "the now" to force to live.

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njbzh-clive · 2 years

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#chemical #PFA #TEFLON #TUBE #digestion tube #Digestion apparatus #Electrothermal digestion instrument #Graphite digester

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drakonyx121 · 7 months

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{language cortex initiated}

{Running Diagnostics}[hull:intact] [power: 100%] [circuits:...] [visual sensors:operational] [audio sensors:operational] [olfactory sensors:operational] .. [modulator:operational]

....

[circuits:operational]

i start up. an unfamiliar room,, whites, grays, a person. wearing some unfamiliar clothing.. computing computing.. astronaut suit?okay.....

they look at me and say "oh hey! youre finally awake-" i flinch as to prepare for punishment "a-anyways, heres your list of duties, make sure to do these everyday, understood?" i nod "understood?" i nod again. "HEL my dear you have to say it" i load up my modulator. its very dusty. i say "understood, mistress" a cloud of dust comes out of my modulator surprising them. "also im Beatrix i will be in the green house if you need me".

and she just left... anyways i look at my list of chores.

turn on energy core

go outside and gather planet conditions

document planet wildlife.

clean exterior

clean interior

charge

it was... simple enough i wonder why she wants me to document wildlife though.

first i go to the reactor core. i press the on/off switch and it starts reacting. i stay still for a moment. all parameters seem stable. i move on.

i stand outside and it takes a bit of time for my visual sensors to adjust to light..... we were not on earth. i saw vibrant greens complimenting vibrant reds. creatures colored in a vibrant blue ruled the skies while ceatures of many many colors played below.

thats why they wanted to study the planet. im much more disposable than divine organic lives . I am tasked to study gods my masters cant comprehend. a large task i must start now.

i exit the ship. the weather conditions seem to be clear. there were no rainclouds in the distance.

i make my way from the landing site which was a barren hill.

when i approach the forest i see tall tree like organisms on further inspection i see that they too make glucose by carrying out photosynthesis but they reflect much less red light making the plants be in a much more blue in color. on top of the tree was a small dark-maroon scaly 4-limbed creature 2 arms similar to humanoid arms. one arm on its abdomen similar to a crab arm except covered with flesh and having sharp talons-like nails. a fourth arm acting as a prehensile tail. It was surprised when i detected it because on the visible spectrum it would be hard to see but i luckily have UV/Infrared range sensors. i step back as to not make the divine predator think im a harm of any harm to it. it went back to its scanning of surroundings for food. it spots some... it swings from tree to tree with me following from below to document its behavior. it reflexes its abdominal arm to fast for my sensors to detect and grabs an unidentified creature. it eats the meat of the creature from its mouth but is then left with parts of the creature that were not meat but a mixture of solid substances that seemed to be cellulose it cracks open this cellulose-like shell with its teeth giving me the opportunity to see them. it had extremely sharp teeth with could easily damage my hull. it opens two cavities on its shoulders which it puts the shell's broken fragments. storage perhaps or maybe a separate digesting apparatus. more research is needed.

i get a notification. it is time for me to return. i go back to the ship. Beatrix stops me and says "bap-bap-bap, wait you cant go in like that, you are covered in mud" she points a hose at me and sprays me down. after i have dried i enter the ship and start making my way from the top outer surface to the ship and clean everything by night.

there was still a fair bit of light. even in the night so i stood on top of the roof and charged in the dim light seeing the yellow moon with hints of purple and -

( All Processes Exited )

{language cortex initiated}

{Running Diagnostics}[hull:intact] [power: charging,96%] [circuits:...] [visual sensors:operational] [audio sensors:operational] [olfactory sensors:operational] .. [modulator:operational]

....

[circuits:operational]

i turn on, another day. i go down the ship and turn on the power generator i stand there and monitor its parameters. when it stabilizes

i go outside. large storm clouds it will come over the ship in about 10 hours.

i go toward the forest. Beatrix yells at me from behind "Hey! HEL-1!" i turn "can you please get me a few samples!!" i nod.

i walk toward the forest its such a cool thing that i such a lower being get to live among gods. anyways i enter the forest. i see the animal i saw yesterday. it was tracking something. i go inspect it. it was a small rotund creature with a shell and hard coverings on top of its shoulders . it was the creature that the predator ate yesterday. today i follow it. as i approached the creature ,, it was startled,,, it started running away. it had 4 legs. it runs and i follow. it borrows underground and the predator watches disappointedly. perhaps it considers me to be the part of the pack. it would be mistaken. im just a piece of metal. anyways i follow the prey ,,, it goes to a clearing in the forest and borrows down into the ground. "im sorry i didnt mean to startle you" i say to where it tunneled. i waited the whole day for it to come up again but it didnt. perhaps it didnt want to view something horrific as me. it was night already again so i started to head home and on the way i collected leaves of many different sizes ,shapes and colors.

i approach the ship and i see Beatrix standing there with the hose. she collects the leaves from me and hoses me down. i start cleaning starting from the roof and making my way down.

at the end of the night i go to the roof and see the yellow-purple moon. it looked different slightly ..pink? hmm. i think my sensors are strained because i detect movement up there. i should shut up and charge.

( All Processes Exited )

#i-is good? 🥺#HEL-1 #Part-2 #robot girl #robotposting #robot girls #robots #robot oc #oc writing #alien oc #original character

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gaybichon · 1 year

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"Moreover, the kiss, one particular contact of this kind, between the mucous membranes of the lips of the two people concerned, is held in high sexual esteem among many nations...in spite of the fact that the parts of the body involved do not form part of the sexual apparatus but constitute the entrance to the digestive tract." freud that is absolutely the worst possible way to describe kissing. killing you

#freudposting

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palaeonecromancy · 9 months

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Happy Fossil Friday!

Who: Atrypids!

What: Atrypidae. A group of extinct brachiopods also called "lamp shells" because of their shape

When: Late Ordovician to the Upper Devonian

Where: Found most places other brachiopods are found (including but not limited to: China, Europe, and North America).

Fun Fact!: Like all brachiopods, one thing that sets them apart from clams (bivalves) is the filter feeding apparatus called a "lophophore". Characteristic to Brachiopoda, this structure allows the organism to feed by creating water currents that run over spiral shaped structures inside the brachiopod and filter out particles of food to be digested.

Why are they cool?: Atrypids (as well as other Brachiopods) make fantastic fossils for determining the ages of assemblages, as they are restricted to very specific ranges and if you find a certain brachiopod in your fossil bed, you can easily get a good estimate of the age.

Here is a link to a video of a dissection of an extant brachiopod Lingula for those interested in the unique internal anatomy of these critters.

Science warning for information hunters!: While fact checking some of the information used in this post, I skimmed the Wikipedia article for this group and found that they say the range of the group was Ordovician to Carboniferous, following the link they cited the information to, I saw they used the ranges for a trilobite genus, rather an actual Brachiopod group. Just fair warning to all the new and experienced science lovers out there, Wikipedia is a wonderful source to jump from, to orient yourself in a sea of confusing and often bloated information, but ALWAYS check their sources yourself!)

Happy hunting!

Image Credits: (Both) A. Johnson

#palaeontology #paleontology #fossil friday #fossils #palaeoart #paleo #paleoart #atrypids #brachiopods #brachiopoda #marine fossils

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yellowfingcr · 3 months

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@of-forossa replied to your post “"..."”:

"... Heysel, love. We can rest a moment, if you desire...?"

She turns and blinks. It's a strange, uncoordinated motion- the asymmetrical little shiver of an apparatus hiccuping over a congestion within its mechanisms, before realigning.

It's all quite much, is all. The digestion and archiving and cutting of an ever increasing amount of information, the relentless hostility from everything that lives here. The ever present worry for him, thrice solidified in a knot in her gut. Her theory of scars demands: further. Crawl through the thorns willingly so that you may be peeled open and from that openness may come the armor of healed skin.

But she looks at him and understands this is not what she wants to do to either of them.

"...Yes. No, you're right, as you often are," she says, and in an unsecret nook of her smile lies what she would have liked to say instead, bold and sudden- I love your voice, lodestar, light of lights. Everything of you is the hearth that warms, the softness I lay my head against. "Let's rest a moment. I'll be fine soon. Are you fine?"

#of-forossa #er au #// look. he says anything and she is every small wet eyed kitten picture ever.#heysel vc dear heart this place sucks so much I'll have to come up with new theories.

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ambiguouspuzuma · 6 months

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The Horologist

The HRS Azimuth was doomed on the eighteenth of August. It had lost its bearings early in the morning, at exactly a quarter past three, and thus began its sombre journey across the Styx - for all souls aboard were lost when it was finally found again. A ghost ship, run into a sheer cliff face as if on purpose; scuttled, like the crabs which now roamed freely across its decks.

Maritime calamities are rarely recorded with such precision. This is inevitable, despite the best efforts of their attendant historians, due to the way that wood decays, or salt preserves; meaning that whilst corpses may be examined, in order to determine a general time of death, there is no knowing how slow and drawn out the wait for it had been.

There are too many variables: one crew might have saved more rations, or doled them out more carefully, and hence postponed starvation for at least a few more tortured days. The end was set, but they could take their time in getting there. In this case, however, Arturo knew the moment of the struck ship's doom for certain. After all, he had planned it all out in advance.

Of course, it could be argued that the ship had been doomed all along - dead in the water from the moment that she left her berth, the crew's fate having been sealed long before that fateful night. If he had been pressed on that point, Arturo might have pointed to an evening some months hence, the minutes following a dinner which had been too rich for his tastes; digesting his own first taste of crab, but struggling to stomach his dining companions most of all.

"And have you ever worn a beard yourself?" asked Lord Gastan, seated to his right. He stroked his own forked number as he spoke, consciously or not, in a way that shed stray hairs across the tablecloth. Arturo moved his glass a few inches to the left.

"I am afraid not, my lord," he replied, without a question of his own. He saw that topic opening up like a chasm before them, a long-winded conversation about nothing of interest, and did his best to close it down. "I must confess that I have never seen the appeal."

"Ah, but perhaps you are right." Those taciturn tactics seemed not to have worked; Lord Gastan only nodded sagely, as if prompted into deeper thought. "They are such work to care for! The lotions, the oils, the constant tending - oh, like a Persian cat, or a pedigree Afghan hound!"

He bore the air of a man who had neglected to shave one morning and, rather than apologise for such slovenliness, decided to make it his entire personality. Such men always spoke of wearing their facial hair, an accessory to be consciously donned or discarded at will, rather than a disordered growth which freely sprouted from untended skin.

Arturo kept his bat straight. "I have never kept pets either, my lord."

"My God, man! Whatever do you do?"

That roused his attention. I work, Arturo wanted to say: both to sap more energy from the conversation, and to emphasise the difference between them. But he had to make the effort of civility. These Guild dinners were a chore, but they were all part of that work, an important investment in his career.

The city's Makers were often self-made men, but there was a limit to how far that path could take them. Even the greatest artificers could only make so many sales directly from their crooked shops, largely surrounded by competitors and peers. To truly reach their potential, they required a degree of patronage - investment in the latest apparatus, commissions, introductions, renown - and that meant being patronised from time to time.

The Guild arranged these dinners so that those two worlds could meet, to mutual gain; playing matchmaker between aristocrats and artificers, between money-men and, well, matchmakers. The likes of Lord Gastan could invest in Arturo's work - purchasing a stake in the future, anxious not to be left in the past. They would make a tidy profit, increasing their wealth and forestalling that irrelevance, whilst helping him up to the first rung of a ladder they had never had to climb themselves.

"I am a horologist," he replied instead. "A crafter of pillars and plates, balances and barrels, caps and cases. A maker of fusees and escapements. A cutter of wheels, a painter of dials, an engraver, a piercer, a finisher. That is what I do, and that is what I am."

"Ah... very good." After bearing with his babbling for three courses, Arturo was pleased to leave Lord Gastan lost for words. "And these, ah, escapements..."

"I make watches and clocks."

"Right. Yes. Such valuable work! Why, I myself was saying just the other day - to none other than the Admiral, you understand - that we have such a wealth of talent in the city, we really must be able to solve the issues his chaps have been having in the fleet."

"Issues?" For the first time, in over eighty minutes - according to Arturo's watch, which was never wrong - their conversation threatened to become interesting.

"Oh, yes! The search for new chronometers, of course - just as vital as the hunt for new uncharted lands, to hear the Admiral tell it, and of course crucial to their success. The current batch of instruments are just not up to snuff, and his office has decreed a new Trials to muster up some alternatives."

"They need... clocks?" The colonial machine had always seemed, well, imperious. Arturo couldn't think of it running on clockwork, let alone struggling to do so.

"Something to do with co-ordinates, as I understand it," Lord Gastan said. "Mariners have no way of telling longitude at sea, and there have been some terrible disasters as a result. I always thought they used the stars, but apparently they're not up to anything but latitude."

He stroked those luxurious moustaches when thinking, as if hoping to turn the conversation back to his subject of choice. Arturo resented them, knowing just what a luxury they were: he had answered honestly about his lack of facial foliage, but it was not a matter of never having seen the appeal, rather needing to retain his appeal to others.

As a newcomer in this city, he'd had to appear clean and clean-shaven at all times in order to be invited to Guild dinners in the first place. Arturo was a watchmaker by birth, but an Armestadter by trade. Upon arrival, he'd made it his vocation to steep himself in the city's stereotypes and culture: first to earn his residence, and then to earn a living. Flowing locks might be accepted on imported cats and hounds, but the city's great and good would only brush shoulders with a certain kind of immigrant.

He wore his curls cropped-close, his brown cheeks bare, and a simple, pressed white shirt - always tailoring his personality to match, keeping within the box they'd made for men like him. People wanted to do business with young Arturo, the neat and tidy islander whose impeccable service always came with a bow and a smile. He'd had to dispense with his traditional dress, his long, braided hair, and his pride most of all. They would not take him as he'd come, independent and free, so he'd suffered in subservience - and found pride in his work instead.

"Disasters?" That had his attention, even more than the talk of keeping time.

"Without a bearing, ships can be lost. Have been, in fact - and more than a few. Small wonder that the Admiral is making this a priority."

"Of course." The gears in his own mind were still turning. "Do you mind explaining how it works? I have a professional interest, you see."

"Well, from what I was able to grasp - and I am far from an expert, you understand - if a clock is set at its home port, and well-maintained, the navigator can simply check the time wherever he is and compare the two. The difference is his longitude: the number of degrees east or west."

"How would he know the local time?"

"Why, by observing the heavens!" Lord Gastan spoke as if it was obvious, the numbers plastered across the sky. "Again, I am hardly a mariner myself, but I gather that this is what sextants and such are for."

He talked as a man who often gathered, but rarely sowed. Lord Gastan was not the type to work the field himself. Arturo doubted he'd ever held a sextant, or any other tool more complex than the oyster fork he waved to make his point. It was his liberty to talk about such things as matters-of-fact, another man's life's work distilled into an anecdote, enjoying the fruits of a knowledge he had never had to earn.

Arturo eyed his shabby, ill-fitting clothes with contempt. Not for the style - having grown up on hand-me-downs himself, he had no right nor inclination to prejudge a book by its jacket - but that he was able to carry it off, due to the vest of privilege worn underneath. A chainmail forged from silver spoons. How much had he saved for his Guild dinner clothes, fretting each time over starching them enough? All when Lord Gastan could roll into this grand hall as if it was his drawing room. The nouveau riche could afford to dress well, but only old money could afford not to.

"That does sound useful." Arturo was an expert in the detail of his craft, but he hadn't considered such far-reaching applications. "But we have perfectly well-functioning clocks. I work on them every day. Forgive me, but I fail to see the problem."

"Well, this is your profession, not mine." Lord Gastan didn't try to hide his exhaustion with this line of questioning, but Arturo let the sigh go without comment. He was glad to be the bore for a moment. "But it is all to do with the pendulum. A reliable timekeeper on land, yes, but it simply cannot abide life at sea. The temperature, motion, corrosion, friction, lubrication..."

"I see." Arturo smiled. The pendulum. He would simply have to make a clock without its central part. "Well, I could certainly take a stab at that."

"If you wish to add your name, any and all attempt are welcome," Lord Gastan said, both magnanimous and patronising. "The two-hundred arum reward has attracted many young hopefuls. Of course, only the Masters have succeeded at a Trials before."

"Of course," Arturo echoed. He was not a capital letters Master, nor had much prospect of becoming one, though it was not for want of skill. In its lower case, he had achieved mastery within months of arrival; after years to hone consistency, he now produced a masterpiece every other week. But ability was not enough. Even Armestadt, that great beacon of talent, was far from a meritocracy.

The rank could only be bestowed by invitation from the Guild, and the Guild was comprised of Masters. They had grown old and rich on the backs of imported genius, young minds to be apprenticed and bound to their brands, shackled to their workshops with a distant promise of inheritance. They saw no reason to end that careful balance; the gate they kept barely ajar, so that they alone could mete out the proceeds of their work. They had no reason to promote him from inferior to equal; from underdog to competitor.

Arturo had forged his own path, but it had been a narrow, winding one, and it could only take him so far. He was a man who preferred his own company, to be left to - and with - his own devices, but he needed these dinners, the charity of patrons, in place of a Master to serve and suckle from. Then there was the prospect of these Trials: two-hundred arums would fund his work for months, or reduce his reliance on sponsors like Lord Gastan. For an independent Maker, it was a tempting reward all its own. But Arturo had another prize set in his sights, and it was worth far more to him than gold.

After dinner he retired to his workshop, the place where he'd strived to retire so many of his competitors. Arturo had never lacked for motivation, but now he was charged with a new focus: Lord Gaston had sold him the vision of a clock that could go anywhere in the world, and still dance to his beat with perfect rhythm. At least, Arturo thought, he had a project worthy of his talent. After years toiling in the shadows of the greats, this would be his masterpiece.

Armestadt was the city of the future. There were others with more prestige, certainly, more intellectual pedigree - and the Guild might have chosen the university towns of Tornfut and Roelm to seed its roots, if it had wanted thirsty minds and bright ideas, or the market capital of Hasanbout, if it was in need of golden arums most of all, raw materials and hefty coffers to buy them.

But it had settled here. Not for knowledge of the past, or the riches of the present, but the promise of the future. Armestadt was a city of Makers, most of all. Its bustling streets were crowded with all manner of artisans who had dedicated lives to their particular professions: polymaths who expounded genius with their hands rather than words, alchemists who created things from iron worth far more than their weight in gold.

It was Makers who crafted the specific, delicate pieces required for the advancement of Science - lenses for refracting light, intricate pulley mechanisms - and thus kept the wheels of progress moving on. Since his arrival in this foreign land, it was all Arturo had ever wanted to be. He had been powerless, impoverished, and knew that he could never gain the wealth or power lords like Gastan had been born with. But he could have knowledge, and talent, and graft. As a Maker, he could make himself their equal.

His workshop was nestled in the crook between Candlewick Lane and Creechurch Street, a thin building whose bulging bow windows gave the impression of being squeezed by its neighbours. It was an expensive part of town, with space at a premium, but convenient for his clients and potential benefactors. A twenty-minute walk from the Guildhall, if he made good time - and Arturo always did.

It was also his temple. He did most of his work in a narrow room, cluttered with all sorts of contraptions, half-finished, half-begun. It was a house of clockwork faces ticking in step, as Arturo did himself: he heard the music of the passing time, and knew how to play it on almost any instrument. His lungs breathed with the second hand, his heart beat with the pendulum.

Or not. He would have to find another way.

It wouldn't be the first attempt. There had been experiments with springs, for pocket-watches and carriage-clocks, but so far they'd lacked the precision of his more traditional work. Portable clocks were a novelty - some found them for short-term use, but they lacked the perfect accuracy Arturo had always craved. Still, if the Admiralty demanded it, he would have to see what he could do. He had long laboured at perfection; now he set his sights higher still.

It could be said that the HRS Azimuth was doomed that night: the moment the crew's fate was sealed behind glass, wound up and set to run. But their end might have been foretold even earlier, on another ship, bringing Arturo to their shores - or perhaps on the ships of the past, heading to conquer the land where he'd been born. He was the fruit of those seeds; the reaper their ancestors had sowed. The enemy who'd grown here in their midst. The cuckoo who now emerged from amongst his clocks.

Armistadt was the city of the future, as all of its local nobles loved to boast. Unfortunately for them, Arturo hailed from one of the nations of the past. His homeland was a once-mighty kingdom, brought low by the greed of its own rulers, and dragged lower by the greed of their new ones: imperialists who'd arrived to trade their sovereignty for a handful of magic beans, trinkets such as those he now made for their approval. When one man can be bribed to sell his kingdom, even the likes of Lord Gastan were rich enough to buy a crown.

Conquest had been a matter of business. They'd taken over the local mines, replaced their textiles, all industries now run from Hasanbout, native owners paid off for a fraction of their worth. With no opportunity at home, Arturo's peers had fled the sinking ship: their best minds flocked to Tornfut and Roelm, to learn how to supplant their mother tongue, to memorise the approved version of history. So it was that the ship continued to sink, with no-one left who knew how to right it again.

Arturo had arrived in Armestadt no better, but with little other choice: there were no Makers at home, no patrons, no Guild. If he wanted to master his craft, as he so sorely did, he would have to do it here. Armestadt was the city of the future, and it drew it in from miles around, leaving other places with little future left. This city was oft described as a melting pot, but Arturo had worked with furnaces, and knew that raw materials rarely arrived willingly. They were wheeled in as tributes to the flames; a sacrifice to something greater than themselves.

All four cities were a distortion that sat low across the landscape, a drain that drank in a hemisphere. Armestadt drew in talent as Hasanbout did cobalt, gold and iron ore, as Tornfut and Roelm did raw intelligence, and they all thrived like ticks upon their host. But such asset stripping was not without its costs. Trading routes were slung like grappling hooks across a vast and hostile continent, harpoons buried in the belly of a great whale, forgetting that roads run in two direction - and, once hitched, could be boarded from the other side. They exported resentment, and imported revenge.

Arturo made for an unassuming architect of destruction, stooped over his workbench: bow spectacles perched upon his nose, bow window allowing in the first glimpse of dawn to filter through. He worked delicately, as if wiring the clock to explode - his nimble touch dictating hands more graceful still, its calamity calibrated to the minute and minutest detail. He'd always taken care over his work, but this device might be his only chance to call an empire's time of death. Moreso than ever, he had to make it count.

Time was of the essence, with the Trials so soon. He worked around the clock, and then again, tinkering with every aspect to perfection, and then adding his imperfection back in. The trap would need to be intricate, to avoid detection by the judges, or those who oversaw the final installation. But nobody saw him now. The political philosophers loved to ask who watched the watchman, whilst the watchmaker entirely slipped their lofty gaze.

Arturo toiled for sleepless nights and restless days, counting down the seconds, one lined face above another. Time danced for him, allowing him to fit a month's work in a week, and he aged a year in exchange. But all that sacrifice was worth it. When the day of the Trials arrived, the device was finally ready: a carriage clock to fit a ship, more and less accurate than any that had come before. Arturo had cut his teeth on grandfather clocks, and now he'd created a clock worthy of his unborn grandchildren. Time had danced for him, and he'd plucked this dial straight out of the next century.

As promised, the Trials were flush with Masters. Arturo knew most of them by reputation, or past encounters, all of them disappointing. Lord Gastan had also shown up for the big event, along with some other high-rolling patrons of the Guild, as had the top brass of the admiralty. It was as if his whole world had been condescend into the docks for the day - or at least the ceiling that had always kept it contained. These were the limits of his present, and the pathway to his future.

As a late entry, and the lowest in seniority, Arturo's was the last scheduled attempt. He liked it that way. He was able to sit back and watch the so-called Masters expose each others' flaws, failing and falling one-by-one, before he took to the floor and exposed them all again. He needn't have worried so much before; or perhaps his fears had been well-placed, and driven him to resolve each and every one. Either way, there were no worries on the day. It all went like clockwork.

Going last, and coming first, meant that his coronation was easily lined up. Arturo stood clear as the most successful applicant, and there could be no doubt that his work had improved on all those who had come before. The device had worked just as intended; meaning that it worked well, for now, and didn't reveal the secret at its heart. Many of the Masters hadn't stayed past their own failed attempts, and Arturo thought it was the shame the whole Guild couldn't see his coronation - but it was sweet enough to be crowned by none other than the Admiral himself.

"I must congratulate you," he said, clasping his arm with a presumptuous hand. "Master...?"

"Arturo," he said, not bothering to make the correction. There was no stolen valour there. The rank was a formality he'd more than earnt in practice. "I am new to the Guild, but rising fast."

"As I see." The Admiral had seen what little he had permitted, but was the sort of man who liked to feel in charge. "Yours was an unexpected entry, as I understand, but the admiralty is fortunate that you decided to compete. You have your people's gratitude."

Arturo did not doubt it; though he suspected the Admiral was mistaken as to whom his people were. He was grateful now for the onerous Guild dinners, all of the practice with the likes of Lord Gastan, which had been rehearsal for this main event. He smiled and nodded, nodded and smiled. He was a metalworker, amongst everything else, and he knew how to manipulate the highest brass.

"It is my honour to serve," he said; a poor facsimile of patriotism, his mouth dry in the salt air. He was a far better liar with his hands. It was fortunate that these men heard only what they wanted to hear. "The fortune is all mine. But I have to thank Lord Gastan for his patronage. It was he who inspired me to stand before you here today."

He waved to his beloved patron, who seized this invitation to come and stand there with them. Lord Gastan had derived such pride from his previous conversation with the Admiral - none other, you understand - and Arturo knew he wouldn't resist a chance to bask in this reflected glory.

"Well, I can't quite take all of the credit," he said, as one who still felt tempted to give it a try. "But yes, it was my suggestion, I confess. I have always believed in the promise of Arturo here, and thought that this might be just the project for his keen and brilliant young mind."

Lord Gastan was hubris as always, but Arturo did not begrudge him the idea. It was true that, had they never spoken, he might well not be here today. He had planted the seeds of this ambition: the device, the Trials, the Admiralty's hour of need. There had been much about dogs and moustaches besides, but Arturo supposed that not everything the man said could be waffle. What was it they said about broken clocks?

"In fact," he said, "His Lordship deserves to enjoy the fruits of his inspiration. I have other commissions which keep me here, alas, rather than accompany my device on its grand voyage, but please, let him set sail in my place. If there is bounty, let him claim a share of it, in compensation for his generous patronage. If there is glory, doubly so."

"On uncharted seas? At my time of life?" Lord Gastan was as full of bluster as the dockside wind. "Oh, come now. In my youth, perhaps; but my seafaring days are long since past. I leave such adventures to the courage of younger men."

The Admiral coughed, perhaps to indicate that the pair were of an age; Arturo took the opening. "Oh but my lord, surely you do not doubt that the Admiral can keep you safe and secure? On his own flagship, no less? I am but a humble Makers, but surely our fleet are the power upon any waters they so choose to sail. Can you really question that?"

"I cannot," he conceded, although his eyes said otherwise.

"It won't be as frightful as it seems," the Admiral moved to assure him. "Ours is only an expeditionary voyage: to see and then return, with no drawn out engagements. We are simply to observe the unobserved; wonders never seen before by civilised man. I can offer you every comfort. Of course, it goes without saying that you can share my personal quarters."

Lord Gastan brightened at that prospect; a captive audience for his tedium. "You honour me, Lord Admiral."

"The honour will be mine, I am sure, to have such an esteemed guest upon our maiden voyage."

Arturo let them carry on the dance. He had learnt some of the steps, some of the words, across his early Guild dinners, but only aristocrats truly had the gift of it: like the food served, the language of diplomacy was too rich for an artificer's palate, and sickening in any but the merest quantities. Only those born to wealth, having been raised on its receiving end, actually had the stomach to enjoy it.

If Lord Gastan suspected a trap, he no longer shied away. He might recognise Arturo's insincerity, but think his motive plain: favour, patronage, influence with the Guild. He would be accustomed to such flattery, after all: the efforts of ambitious Makers to curry favour with whatever they had to offer as a bribe, compliments and complimentary mechanisms. All bare-faced manipulation, but all in good taste. He had courted such courtship himself, in attending Guild events. It he did not enjoy it, he would not have been there.

Arturo smothered the inner protests of his own anaemic pride. Against all odds, he had acquired two champions of the highest rank; with their support, should he continue, he would surely now make Master within the year. With a foot in that door, his path would be cleared for the next decade: to greater recognition, arums more than he could need, commissions to the greatest in the land. But he was himself a champion to others, from before he had arrived at these docks, and his first duty was to them.

At 3:15 on 18 August, the crew of the HRS Azimuth could feel that something was wrong.

They knew no fear upon these waters. Theirs was the flagship of the expeditionary fleet, the apex of the admiralty's ambition, the quill which would better divide the globe from Hasanbout. With sister ships to starboard and port, fore and aft, they'd set a course over the edges of the map, afraid of no peril or piracy that might assail them. They were the cutting edge that pierced the veil of ignorance: the Masters had crafted a sharper deadrise for speed, more powerful cannon for strength. Every plank of their ship was state-of-the-art.

Of course, that was where they were undone. Arturo's art had served a different state, a different muse. Following the successful Trials, he had been commission to outfit the whole fleet with his perfected chronometers, each set to the same exact time. He decked them out and cabined them in, a device wherever one might fit, and the Admiral was pleased to stand upon the future's gleaming prow: a line of shining clockwork galleons, a dozen cogs filled with a thousand gears and pinions.

It was a fortnight out to sea before the fear made itself known to them. For some, having grown used to the rhythm over the past weeks, it was simply a silence they couldn't place: a hole in the air, a lacuna in the melody of lashing surf and ocean gales. Amongst the music of the far side of the world, they'd been soothed by the ticking of a shell held to their ears, a clockwork conch that held the sound of home.

Some officers, with devices in their quarters, their every hour, minute and second tolled away, had found themselves attuned to that metronome: their breathing subconsciously aligned, their heartbeat keeping pace. It had become a crutch, taken for granted, until it fell out from underneath them; at 3.15 they found themselves stumbling, awoken gasping from their sleep without knowing why, before their assorted organs remembered how they'd functioned before.

For the navigators, it was an even graver problem. The night shift were already a skeleton crew, and they didn't notice when their bearings disappeared: the clocks simply stopped, frozen at a quarter past, and it was several minutes before they realised it had been a few. They tried to keep track, but there was no hope of counting on their own. From that point on, their hours were already numbered.

The next bearing was wrong. Days of ocean in every direction, not a glimpse of land in sight. As ever, Arturo had timed it to perfection. Stripped of its ability to navigate, the ship had been forsaken on the open sea: at the mercy of the winds and the tides and the twinkling mockery of the stars above, tracing a map that none on board had ever learnt to read. Such was the price of progress. Each advance in understanding covered over its own foundations.

Arturo knew all about that. Armestadt was the city of the future, and it built atop whatever past it came across, diverse cultures buried underneath its steel grey perfection. The progress of this expedition had a price that he had deemed too great to pay - and so he buried them instead. There were no bells to toll their death, nor the salvation of the lands which would go unrobbed, unmolested by the hunger of their endless tomorrow. The sand in the hourglass simply ran out, as the HRS Azimuth was quietly lost to time.

#writing #short story #writeblr #creative writing #original writing

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dailycharacteroption · 1 year

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Races Among the Stars 7: Scyphozoan

When you think of sea life that might evolve one day into sapient organisms, you might think some manner of fish, or perhaps an octopus. You probably, however, don’t think of cniderians, which covers sea anemones, corals, and yes, sea jellies.

And yet, that’s exactly what happened on the world of Primera, where life with internal skeletons never evolved, making the most complex life forms on that world various forms of arthropod, aquatic and terrestrial alike. However, it was not the insects or the crustaceans that rose to sapience, but a species of amphibious jellyfish, their bells and tentacles sporting complex collagens to support their weight and keep their shape out of the water. Thus arose the scyphozoans, a people that only came to galactic prominence around 100 years ago in setting when they launched their first organic ships into space, and have a history of nomadic wandering and expansionist war, which they seek to put behind them.

Indeed, the scyphozoans started out as hunters and pastoral herders, though the prey they hunted were fish and the beasts they herded were domesticated plankton. In search of more resources they came onto land, where they fell into conflict with their sapient neighbors, the fungal mycelars. The mycelars interpreted the droves of scyphozoans entering their territory as an invasion, and soon the two societies were embroiled in conflict that lasted generations.

However, while this war was tragic, it led to interesting social changes, the scyphozoans united under one banner against their common foe being one. That unification led to mutualism that saw the jelly-folk questioning the very expansionist ways that had led to the conflict in the first place, and soon both sides entered talks for peace.

With peace came advances in technology, particularly biotech, and while minerals are still occasionally used, almost everything made on Primera is biotech, from construction to medical apparatus to furniture to the very vehicles and starships that connect far-flung communities and the planet to the rest of the galaxy.

While it is accurate to describe a scyphozoan as an ambulatory jellyfish, that is a grotesque oversimplification. Like a jellyfish, they are composed of a bell, inner mantle, and tentacles. The skin of the bell if reinforced with collagen, making it able to support itself and resist cuts and tears as well as retaining moisture, which aids in respiration through the skin. However, the bell does remain flexible enough to be contracted for locomotion underwater, as well as contracted with air in order to breathe and speak by flexibly manipulating the bell itself and their inner mantle and tentacles to make various complex sounds, though many note that their voices tend to have a crackling quality on land as air bubbles out. Additionally, the bell has bioluminescent points, which while not strong enough to illuminate their surroundings, but can convey emotional states and even rank, often giving them a rosy inner glow.

Meanwhile, their inner mantle is where their organs reside, including a hybrid complete/incomplete digestive system, with food travelling in an entrance, looping the digestive tract, then exiting the same orifice. Meanwhile, several pores in the mantle pull in hydration to sustain their bodies, and while they can remain on land indefinitely, entering water is important to cycle in new water and relieve waste products that might build up.

Finally, their tentacles. Unlike the basically limp tendrils of Earth’s sea jellies, scyphozoans have mobile and strong tentacles that come in three types: locomotion, sensory, and grasping. The four locomotion tentacles are longest, helping them stand at the height of a human, and have toes and cartilage “bones” inside them to help support their weight. Scyphozoans on land move with surprising grace on these tentacles, seeming to glide forward smoothly with the tentacles moving under them. The second type of tentacle, being sensory, are the most numerous, and consist of the many sensory organs that give them their awareness of the world around them, such as sight, scent, hearing, and so on. Finally, the grasping tentacles are strong and prehensile, able to grasp objects with ease. What’s more, they retain the stinging nematocysts one associates with jellyfish, though in their case the payload is a corrosive acid rather than a toxin.

Despite their efforts to move on from their expansionist past, scyphozoans have a deep love of their history and the simple life of herding and wandering. That being said, there are subcultures devoted to martial arts and the like, rather than just the hunting-inspired sports of their past.

Traditionally, the jelly-folk are organized into various tribes, which adopt young members of the species that have wandered out of the sea for the first time and teach them their ways, becoming essentially their family by bond rather than birth, which is unsurprising given how scyphozoan reproduction mirrors Earth jellies, what with deposited polyps on the ocean floor which live out an anemone-like life until they mature and metamorphose into a proper jelly. As such, bonds of blood aren’t really a thing in scyphozoan culture. However, there still exists a tendency to judge an adolescent by the brightness and color patterns, leading to a meritocracy where auspicious patterns are given more resources to better themselves, creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.

In terms of art, scyphozoans delight in music with deep bass tones, particularly percussion, which they can literally feel rather than merely hear as their whole bodies ripple. They also favor poetry that is grow, rather than etched or engraved, into the surface of cultivated fungus, which can be read with a touch.

Overally, the scyphozoans are a curious people that constantly grow and change despite also putting value on what was good about the past. Moreover, they are eager to share their biotech, which rivals that of barathu and raxilites, with others and gain similar boons from their neighbors.

Despite their soft bodies and outwardly simplistic anatomy, scyphozoans are actually surprisingly hearty and intelligent, though their alien physiology makes it difficult to relate to many other species.

They can activate the nematocysts on a grasping tentacle to inject acid into foes they strike, guaranteeing they are always armed, but also meaning they can’t use that grasper for anything else lest they risk damaging their possessions.

Despite their form, they are fully amphibious, able to survive in both environments.

Their bodies also are sensitive to vibrations, helping them pick up on nearby creatures.

They are also surprisingly mobile on both land and water, their mobility limbs and bell able to propel them easily.

Having a soft, translucent body has it’s advantages as well, as they can dim their illumination and use that translucence to better hide their presence.

With their generally high intelligence, biohacker and mechanic (potentially with biomechanical drone/exocortex/armor/weapon/vehicle/what have you) are natural choices. However, their decent con also makes them good for tanky roles, their soft bodies taking impacts that would shatter bone. As such, evolutionists, nanocytes, and vanguards, as well as melee builds for solarian and soldier are nice choices. Their translucency also makes them good operatives that rely on stealth to get the job done. While they don’t get special advantages, mystic also plays into their sense of tradition and community, while precog fits their forward-thinking mindset. The only real weakness they have is charisma-based classes like envoy and witchwarper, but they can still make it work.

That does it for today, but tomorrow we’ll be looking at something of a Paizo staple!

#starfinder #race #scyphozoan #The Thirteenth Gate #Interstellar Species

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