#Polished Cairn

[wickedzeevyln]

Beautiful City

Beautiful city, beautiful city dressed in stone and glass,where people sleep on cardboard boxes showered with spit from a dirty look of a man in suit, Beautiful city, beautiful city dressed in stone and glass,where people line up for scraps we know as jobs and promised a morsel of bread and the rest to for taxes, Beautiful city, beautiful city dressed in stone and glass,where potholes are like…

[peregrine-coast]

Milk Bar: my sci-fi RPG set in a post-Soviet Poland is now live on Kickstarter!

Hey folks!!

Milk Bar is a sci-fi tabletop roleplaying game set in an alternate-timeline, post-Soviet Poland. After the Soviets grew in power, their ultimate clash with Capital left your city in ruin. All you can do now is gather your fellow Communards, salvage whatever you can, and build your Milk Bar.

Based on RPGs like Cairn, Mausritter, and Mothership, and video games like Disco Elysium and Control, Milk Bar is a game about the post-collapse and rebuilding.

A 100-page book featuring:

Quick, simplified rules in the old school tradition

A toolkit for generating a retro-futuristic, alternate-timeline post-Soviet Communist Poland

Funnel Rules which have your group of upstart Communards find and take back a Milk Bar from the grasp of Capital. Start at level 0 and Cut Your Milk Teeth. 

Unique progression system tied to basebuilding. Want to stitch up those wounds? You better build an Infirmary and find a Doctor

Abandoned Soviet Superstructures containing reality-bending Future Tech deep within

A Bestiary melding Polish and Slavic mythology with classic science fiction

Solo Rules. Become the Biggest Communism Builder of the year '24!

Gorgeous production values: high-quality, uncoated paper and an exposed, yellow thread binding. Full of graphic design work from Eryk Sawicki (me!) and art from SADGHOBLIN

Pierogi

[clouseplayssims]

Breeds For All Needs Update

If the GoS theme this month wasn't a sign that I needed to get back to my Breeds For All Needs project I don't know what is!

Now for those of you who DON'T know what this is - essentially I wanted to remake all of the breeds from TS1-TS4. I also linked existing pet breeds by other creators when I found ones I liked. And then I got distracted and forgot about it.

As a refresher, here's a complete list with links to those I have already completed - please note some of these breeds I -have- done but part of the project is including links to other creators so I haven't made the official post yet:

Large Dogs

Afghan Hound (TS1; TS3; TS4) Airedale Terrier (TS2; TS3; TS4) Akita (TS2; TS3; TS4) Alaskan Malamute (TS3; TS4) American Eskimo Dog (includes small version) (TS3; TS4) American Foxhound (TS2; TS3) American Staffordshire Terrier (TS2 - as AmStaff; TS3) Anatolian Shepherd Dog Australian Cattle Dog (TS2; TS3; TS4) Australian Shepherd (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Bernese Mountain Dog (TS3; TS4) Black & Tan Coonhound (TS2 - as Black & Tan; TS3; TS4) Black Mouth Cur (TS4) Black Russian Terrier (TS4) Bloodhound (TS3; TS4) Bluetick Coonhound (TS3; TS4) Border Collie (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Borzoi (TS2; TS3; TS4) Boxer (TS2; TS3; TS4) Brittany (TS2; TS3; TS4) Bull Terrier (TS2; TS4) Bull Mastiff (TS2 - as Bullmastiff; TS3; TS4 - as Bullmastiff) Canaan Dog (TS2; TS3 - as Canaan; TS4 - as Canaan) Chesapeake Bay Retriever (TS2 - as Chessie; TS3; TS4) Chow Chow (TS2 - as Chowchow; TS3; TS4) Chow-Lab Mix (TS2; TS3; TS4) Collie (TS2 - rough collie version; TS3 - rough collie version; TS4 - rough collie version) Curly Coated Retriever (TS2; TS3; TS4) Dalmatian (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Doberman Pinscher (TS2; TS3; TS4) English Foxhound (TS2; TS3; TS4) (see American Foxhound) English Setter (TS3; TS4) Foxhound (TS4) (see American Foxhound) German Shepherd (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) German Shorthaired Pointer (TS2; TS3; TS4 - as German Pointer) German Spitz* (TS4) Giant Schnauzer (TS2; TS3; TS4) Golden Retriever (TS2; TS3; TS4) Golden Doodle (TS2 - as Goldendoodle; TS3; TS4 - as Goldendoodle) Great Dane (TS2; TS3; TS4) Great Pyrenees (TS3; TS4) Greyhound (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Ibizan Hound (TS3; TS4) Icelandic Sheepdog (TS4) Irish Red and White Setter (TS3; TS4) Irish Setter (TS1 - as Setter; TS3; TS4) Irish Terrier (TS3; TS4) Irish Wolfhound (TS2; TS3; TS4) Keeshond (TS2; TS3; TS4) Kerry Blue Terrier (TS2; TS3; TS4) Labradinger (TS2; TS3) Labradoodle (TS2; TS3; TS4) Labrador Retriever (TS1; TS2 - as Black Lab, Chocolate Lab, Yellow Lab; TS4) Mastiff (TS2; TS3) Newfoundland (TS2; TS3; TS4) Norsk Elk Shepherd (TS2; TS3; TS4) Norwegian Buhund (TS4) Old English Sheepdog (TS3; TS4) Otterhound (TS3; TS4) Pharaoh Hound (TS3; TS4) Pit Bull Terrier (TS2; TS3; TS4 - as Pit Bull) Pointer (TS2; TS3; TS4) Polish Lowland Sheepdog (TS3; TS4) Poodle (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Portuguese Water Dog (TS4) Redbone Coonhound (TS2; TS3; TS4) Rhodesian Ridgeback (TS3; TS4) Rottweiler (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Saint Bernard (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Saluki (TS2) Samoyed (TS2; TS3; TS4) Shar Pei (TS1 - as Sharpei; TS4) Siberian Husky (TS1 - as Husky; TS2 - as Husky; TS3; TS4) Standard Schnauzer (TS4) Tibetan Mastiff (TS3; TS4) Vizsla (TS3; TS4) Weimaraner (TS2; TS3; TS4) Welsh Springer Spaniel (TS3; TS4) Wheaten Terrier (TS3; TS4) Whippet (TS2; TS3; TS4)

* elected to make a small breed

Small Dogs

American Cocker Spaniel (TS2 - as Spaniel; TS3 - as Cocker Spaniel; TS4 - as Cocker Spaniel) American Eskimo Dog Basenji (TS2; TS3; TS4) Beagle (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Bedlington Terrier (TS3; TS4) Bichon Frise (TS3; TS4) Black Russian Terrier (TS2; TS3) Bocker (TS2; TS3; TS4) Boston Terrier (TS2; TS3; TS4) Bull Terrier (TS1; TS3 - twice, once as Pitbull) Cairn Terrier (TS1; TS3 - as Highland Terrier) Cardigan Welsh Corgi (TS3; TS4) Cavalier King Charles Spaniel (TS3; TS4 - as King Charles Spaniel) Chihuahua (Long) (TS2) Chihuahua (Smooth) (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Cockapoo (TS4) Dachshund (TS3; TS4) English Bulldog (TS1 - as Bulldog; TS2; TS3 - as Bull Dog; TS4 - as Bulldog) English Cocker Spaniel (TS3; TS4) English Springer Spaniel (TS1; TS3 - as a large dog; TS4) English Toy Spaniel (TS3; TS4) Field Spaniel (TS3 - as a large dog; TS4) French Bulldog (TS2; TS3; TS4) Havanese (TS3; TS4) Italian Greyhound (TS2; TS3; TS4) Jack Russell Terrier (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Lhasa Apso (TS4) Maltese (TS4) Miniature Bull Terrier (TS2) Miniature Pinscher (TS3; TS4) Miniature Poodle (TS1; TS2; TS3 - as Poodle; TS4) Miniature Schnauzer (TS2; TS3; TS4) Papillon (TS3; TS4) Parson Russell Terrier (TS3 - as large dog; TS4) Pekingese (TS3; TS4) Pembroke Welsh Corgi (TS3; TS4) Pomeranian (TS3; TS4) Pug (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Puggle (TS2; TS3; TS4) Schipperke (TS2; TS3; TS4) Schnoodle (TS2; TS3; TS4) Scottish Terrier (TS1; TS3; TS4) Shetland Sheepdog (TS3; TS4) Shiba Inu (TS2; TS3; TS4) Shih Tzu (TS3; TS4) Silky Terrier (TS3; TS4) Smooth Fox Terrier (TS2; TS3; TS4) Staffordshire Bull Terrier (TS2; TS3 - as large dog; TS4) Toy Fox Terrier (TS3; TS4) Welsh Corgi (TS1) West Highland White Terrier (TS3 - as West Highland Terrier; TS4) Wire Fox Terrier (TS3; TS4) Yorkshire Terrier (TS3; TS4)

Cats

Abyssinian (TS2; TS3; TS4) American Bobtail (TS3; TS4) American Longhair (TS3; TS4) American Shorthair (TS1 - as Brown Tabby, Orange Tabby, Tortoiseshell; TS2 - as Shorthair Tabby, Tuxedo Cat; TS3 - also as Black Cat, Shorthair Tabby, Tuxedo; TS4 - also as Black Cat, Tabby, Tuxedo) American Wirehair (TS4) Balinese (TS2; TS3; TS4) Bengal (TS3; TS4) Birman (TS2; TS3; TS4) Bombay (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) British Shorthair (TS1 - as Silver Tabby British Shorthair; TS2; TS3; TS4) British Longhair (TS3; TS4) Burmese (TS2; TS3; TS4) Calico (TS1 - as Calico, Calico - Black, Calico - Red; TS2; TS3; TS4) Chatreux (TS2; TS3; TS4) Colorpoint Shorthair (TS3; TS4) Cornish Rex (TS3; TS4) Devon Rex (TS3; TS4) Egyptian Mau (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Exotic Shorthair (TS2) German Rex (TS3; TS4) Havana Brown (TS2; TS3; TS4) Himalayan (TS2; TS3; TS4) Japanese Bobtail (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Javanese (TS3; TS4) Korat (TS3; TS4) Kurilian Bobtail (TS3; TS4) La Perm (TS3; TS4) Lykoi (TS4) Maine Coon (TS1 - as Maine Coone; TS2; TS3; TS4) Manx (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Norwegian Forest (TS2; TS3; TS4) Ocicat (TS2; TS3; TS4) Oriental Shorthair (TS2; TS3; TS4) Oriental Longhair (TS4) Persian (TS1 - as Perisan, Bi-Color Persian; TS2; TS3; TS4) Ragdoll (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Russian Blue (TS2; TS3; TS4) Savannah (TS3; TS4) Scottish Fold (TS2; TS3; TS4) Siamese (TS1; TS2; TS3; TS4) Siberian (TS2; TS3; TS4) Singapura (TS2; TS3; TS4) Somali (TS3; TS4) Sphynx (TS1; TS4) Tonkinese (TS2; TS3; TS4) Turkish Angora (TS2 - as Turkish Agora; TS3; TS4) Turkish Van (TS1)

Bonus

Albino (TS1) Cheetah (TS1) Dingo (TS3; TS4) Fox (TS4) Pink Poodle (TS1) Raccoon (TS4) Robot Cat (TS1) Robot Dog (TS1) Star Dalmatian (TS2) Tiger (TS1) Turkish Blue (TS1)

[notbecauseofvictories]

a brief list of people I talked to during my vacation, incomplete:

the woman who kindly escorted us to her favorite pubs in Dublin. I'd guess she was in her late fifties/early sixties, and she was very kind about squiring several jetlagged/semi-drunk tourists to her favorite bars. She talked about her daughter and her holidays and kindly left us to soak in the beer, atmosphere, and local music, before floating back to the hotel on a cushion of sleep deprivation and alcohol.

the tour guide who took us through Cork to Killarney, who was extremely chatty---but it was invaluable local color, in my opinion, since I think it's rare to find someone so willing to talk about their childhood with complete strangers. She told us about how her mother would send them out to pick blackberries for jam, the weekly washings, the annual Medicine Taking in the spring (it was horrible and completely useless, according to her), and how her father would load up their milk to head to the processing shed and collect town gossip there. Apparently, there was a Traveler family that used to park their wagons in her family's yard, and the family would share leftovers, help the Traveler's daughter to school in exchange; she remembers when the daughter died, and then there were no more visits.

the other tour guide, who was very polished and professional---he had lots to say about the extant education and healthcare systems, as much as history, and only teased me a little bit for mispronouncing "cairns." He ruefully admitted he hadn't understood Banshees of Inisherin, even when I mentioned it had inspired my trip to Inis Mor. (I was quietly in love with him.)

the staff at [redacted] in Galway, which is where I and my family hung out after our long days ended. I loved their bartenders specifically, the cheerful woman who kept (not so subtly, but amusingly) needling us to buy more, and joking with us; the uni student who wanted to know what "Notre Dame" was and told us she was studying education; the man with the thick Russian accent who went into detail about the Prigo/zhin crash and why it had occurred; the young man who talked about the bars in Dublin, and how he'd just returned from because he'd forgotten his ID at one of its best ones.

the fellow traveler, who I also sat with at that bar---he was only there to pick up his wife for a mini-vacation, but he was charming and I loved listening to him talk about Dublin, about what he remembered as the best spots, comparing notes with the bartender to see whether certain bars were still "cool" or if that was 10 years in the past.

the owner---as I later found out---of The Bar on Inish Mor, who is competent and capable as any manager I've ever had. When I first saw her she was pulling pints behind the bar; only after an hour or two of observation did one of the underlings mention that, oh no, she wasn't just a manager, she was the owner. But of course anyone quietly instructing staff to clear tables or wash dishes, making sure that food arrived on time, and exchanging charming banter with customers, has to be the owner. I don't know her name, but I admire her intensely.

(sidenote, the guy who wiped out on the biking path, who rose up laughing at himself, and his friends who gathered around him taking the absolute piss out of their mate even as they catalogued his injuries---I love all of them.)

the staff at the Little Museum of Dublin, one of whom asked if I was a history student (I'm not, but was charmed) and then talked about the creeping horror of bog bodies and the museum's planned expansion until they had other duties to attend to.

the curators at St. Auoden's, who talked to me about the function of the church, its graves, and also discovering headless bodies beside the churchyard.

that curator at Marsh's Library, who gamely entertained all my questions about Latinate titles and preserved skulls. I still need to know more about the Irish book of prophecy prohibited by the Vatican but benignly ignored by the Dublin clergy; I guess I'll email them directly.

the woman I helped across the street in Dublin. She had vertigo, and was not confident she could make it by herself. A lovely woman, with sere white hair and blue eyes, and she thanked me so profusely afterwards. I hope she's having a good day.

the kindly night manager of the hotel, who asked whether I was okay when I showed up at 3am in the hotel lobby. (My bus to the airport left at 4am.) He told me about his family and the rhythms of the job; I told him about Chicago/what I'd seen in Ireland so far.

Obviously there was a lot of notable history and peerless attractions, but there's something about the people you meet on vacation that's just....well, it's like lightning, in that it doesn't strike twice and it fills you with awe every time.

[themiserymarquis]

Jyeong-hyo, Wishing Cairn EGO.

This took me a while to finish! And I wasn't exactly confident in recreating the abnormality, so the mock BG i came up with has it noticeably absent. I'll likely polish that one up sometime later.

[pvrkacciosan]

The Heart of the Lioness: ☽⋆34⋆☾

Dances with Death

The Heart of the Lioness Masterlist

Previous Part

Cairn's death tole of 'innocent' fae warriors had increased to five when Brielle circled her way back into the camp a week after the first male died at the hand of Maeve's new blood sworn. It had been an effort, a tiresome one to stay up late into the nights spying on the encampment. Weeding out the warriors worthy of her wrath. Those who hurt and took pleasure in abusing the power and titles they were offered with their military training, Brielle felt little pity when she wavered Cairn's attention in their directions.

Those of a similar nature to the male who would kill them. Riling Cairn up was simple enough. The male was insecure, insignificant and for years he had known this. Only being offered the honour of being sworn into the Cadre once the original of the group had been dishonoured or betrayed the Queen.

Brielle had put salt on that wound, wielding his every niggling insecure thought to her advantage. Poking a rabid animal with a stick. She would be ignoring her senses if she believed it didn't bring her a little bit of enjoyment. Tormenting the male into playing her hand. Get his hands bloody.

A long waited dance of wills which balanced precariously in time. Time which the Lioness now feared may be running out. Even with her tormenting, Cairn hadn't retaliated against her in any way, not even dangling her mate or friend before her like a piece of bait. Unable to know if they were okay was the source of her running herself ragged with training. 

Throwing every ounce of her strength into pushing that bit further. Muscles burning in protest with each stride taken, each punch thrown.

Her group of warriors weren't far behind as they ran now, she had pushed herself faster, further then them. The morning's deluge had left her skin polished with rain that mixed her sweat into a shinning coat, slick like blood but not as heavy. Not even shaking her head could remove the hair that clung to her face like seaweed.

The cold rain had pelted their faces red raw, but her whole group had shown this morning, Emmie leading behind Brielle proudly, many other warriors watched from under the cover of the camp tents or from their patrolling posts around great harth which had been erected throughout the camp which had doubled in size in the last week. 

Some watched on in awe at Brielle's willingness to run with her warriors in the downpouring rain. Not shying away from the task that was required of them. Her group kept pace despite her running for her own benefit. None of them truly knew the Commander had personal reasons to run that morning.

Yes the image of caring leader was what she aspire for, but the gnawing feeling in her gut was what spurred her from the comfort of her bed that morning. Brielle had been content to lay under the covers letting the world pass off around her.

She did not often sleep, simply laying in the bed. The silence in the cold room being her only companion now that Connall was gone. It was difficult to even rise to light the hearth in her room. It was guilt that hounded her every action. The feeling of inherit wrongness when she sought comforts in her room. Felt wrong to offer herself the pleasantness of warmth or hearty meals when she felt at fault for his death. Maeve had ordered it, but Brielle may has well held the knife. Murdered him for display, a show of dominance, a reminder of who was the apex predator.

The same knife she now kept strapped to her thigh at all times, the weight a reminder of its previous owner and the debt she now owed to him.

There was no time for her to be moral anymore. Not that morality was something that often frequented her mind since the beach almost three months ago, But one should have still considered it in their decision making. The part of her that might have once listened to such reasoning died at Maeve's hand the moment she decided to kill off the one person who had become her anchor amongst the suffering.

Brielle should have cared about the warriors Cairn was killing. But she didn't. Brielle did not care beyond how their deaths benefits her and her cause, how it might advance her position on the playing board. If she wanted to win this game she would have to actually start playing by the rules Maeve had set.

The rain continued to pelt down, ice stabbing into the areas of their exposed arms and faces. Many of the group collapsed to the grass, panting to level their breathing. Brielle slowed, still standing above them.

Emmie was smiling up from where she laid down, head rested against the thigh of a male in the group. Her hand was against her chest, which rose and fell quickly as she tried to even out the pants of air leaving her lungs. Despite the wince on her expression she beamed up at the Commander.

"Can't imagine there will be many in the pits for us to fight today Commander." her voice was soft beneath the sound of the rain as it pattered against the tent walls around them. The rest of the group agreed with her. Soft grunts and sounds of acknowledgement.

"It's only a little rain." Brielle reasoned, "Surely they know battles aren't all fought in sunlight."

A male rose, attempting to dry his dripping hands off on the sides of his leathers, he frowned as though realising the pointlessness of his action, "It isn't the rain that hesitates them Commander."

Brielle frowned, brow pinching together in question, Emmie sat upright shrugging her shoulders. "No one wants to be caught outside his tent Commander." It wasn't required of Emmie to voice who she meant. Cairn had been spending more time around the camp surrounding the city and Brielle had seen the affect it was having on the warriors.

Many stayed to where they wouldn't be alone, in their units using the safety of numbers in hopes it may leave them outwith his hand. Brielle hadn't realised many now refused to go anywhere near his tent. A shield of absence surrounding it, glancing up now Brielle could clearly see the perimeter that the warriors had subtly formed.

"What about you lot?" Brille scanned her gaze across her group, many of them looked unbothered by her question. 

"We are not afraid." Emmie said, flicking back some of her wet hair. "We know who watches over us." The group had all agreed in a second, calmy nodding to one another as they watched Brielle. Knowing full well she had been the only one to stand for her group against Cairn when no other Captain or commander had.

It was easy to pretend like she wasn't the reason for that. Her threat to the Captains had held well enough, Brielle had made herself seen talking to some of the captain's wives or daughters around the camp yesterday for good measure. ensuring they didn't intervene.

"Well then," She rested her hands, clasping them before her, "I expect you all in the ring in five minutes." With no more then a smile, she turned to move towards the fighting pits. There was the sound of footfall in the soft ground as some of them followed instantly. She could pardon the others as they probably went off to find water, or relieve themselves before coming to join them.

The onslaught of precipitation didn't ease up as the group began moving through each steadying exercise. A warm up of sorts, stretching their muscles in preparation for sparring.

They followed their usual routine, Brielle standing watching as the unit paired up. Moving off to different rings. It was calming to know she had given them the independence to freely know what was expected of them. As a whole they helped one another and had fun whilst they trained.

She offered praise and encouragement as she circled them. Taking the time to be seen individually aiding them all. Brielle knew her every action was watched, it was a difficult feeling to ignore. From the shelter of the surrounding tents, she knew warriors watched on as she continued moving. Demonstrating new ways to kill or down an opponent.

She had taken a moment to step back and observe when she was approached. The sound of the squelching mud underfoot was what made her interest peak. Turning over her shoulder Brielle met the attention of the unit leader who walked in her direction.

"Commander" He bowed at the waist slightly, head tilted in respect of her title. His unit behind him following suit. Their clothes were becoming sodden with the rain but their presence stilled her own unit into silence as they all watched on.

"Something the matter?" Brielle question gently, waving a hand at Emmie for them to continue without her as she stepped back to converse with the unit leader now beside her.

"We were wondering whether we might join under your command. To train in safety" 

The sensation of being watched returned, not just by her unit but others as well. Brielle narrowed her eyes just enough for the male to shift nervously. Gaze drifting over the unit behind him, it was small no more then ten of them in total.

Brielle smiled, nodding she gesture with one arm to the space beside her unit. Without her saying so they made extra space as the new group joined them. Brielle stayed where she was, watching as Emmie moved first. Traveling across she began chatting to the new warriors offering aid in their warm up movements.

Easing the new group in the pair Brielle accepted them into her circle, stopping to watch and offer advice just as she would with her unit. They seemed happy to accept the help, taking in everything Brielle was offering to them.

They continued training in the rain whilst Brielle oversaw. A third unit had join some five minutes after the second. It was difficult to ignore the nervous glances the groups sent in the direction of Cairn's tent, worried he might make an appearance any second. 

The sun had begun to clear its warm beams through the clouds by the time they finally finished training for the day. The rain reducing itself to a drizzle, like mist against her damp skin.

Bidding all three units farewell for the day, Brielle tried to shrug the discomfort of the damp clothes clinging to her body as she walked through the city streets towards the heart. To the castle.

The rain water dripped from her as she entered into the first foyer inside the castle. The squelsh of the soaking leather on her boots sounded across the room, echoed back to her as she walked. The fae guards, scattered few and far in the hallways, their numbers half of what they had once been in the times leading to the start of the war.

Those well dressed gaurds that Brielle must of walked past a thosuand times before, her skin prickled as they watched her now. Their eyes tracking her through the castles many passageways leading to the sleeping quarters. They knew something, she had enough gaurds as spies to know that gaurds and servents heard everything. 

Whatever it was they knew, gave them good cause to watch her now. Predators awaiting a killing blow.

Ignroing their stares and throwing both of her shoulders back Brielle turned down a new hall. Dimmed by the lack of light coming in through the windows. It must be coming up to mid day, the overcast sky was blocking all view of the sun. The slow growing ache in her stomach for food was as good an indicator as any. One she had become reliant upon since Cairn's revelations of lacing her meals almost a week ago.

It had been almost a week since Connall had been killed. She slowed, hand gripping a curtain to balance herself at the realisation. It had become easier to ignore each day as it passed. Easier to let the pain and guilt consume her, where were her actions getting her beside aiding in the suffering of others.

Aelin was still chains with Fenrys and Vera down beneath the castle and Connall was dead, Enola still chained to Maeve's side. It was mearly a hope there was someone coming to help. A call for aid so silent she doubted anyone would answer it.  

She knew Rowan wouldn't so easily give up the hunt for Aelin, But Maeves words had left a seed of doubt. Even if Rowan fought every instinct would he go agains his loyalty to what Aelin had planned? 

Even if the words of Maeve made her uneasy part of her knew. They were coming for them. It is just whether they would get here in time.

Perhaps it was time for Brielle to wield another tactic. Seek to get more of a word out, incase they didn't.

Finally reaching the door to her room, she pushed it open with both hands, still cold from the water dripping off her sleeves. Moving quickly with the plan formiing in her head with neat precision she firstly peeled the sodden clothess off her body, pulling some warmer light shirt on. One of the ones she had stolen from Fenrys' room.

Knotting her golden hair back quickly Brielle knelt to the floor at the foot of her bed, crawling beneath the framework. All of Connall's research he had left for her in his room, the night she found it Brielle hadn't wasted even a second getting it hidden from sight. The inescapable fear that Cairn or Isaiah may find it, take away the last physical thing she had left of Connall.

Gathering up the bulk of it Brielle began shimmying her way out from under the bed. Using her knees to drag her body out with the box clasped tightly in her hands.

Sitting in the room now with the box tucked against her lap, her spine straightened against the bed. Brielle stared down, thinking, allowing the silence to comfornt her every thought. How they might work in reality, 

A tapping at the large glass balcony doors drew away her focus. It must of been the patter on consisten rain, closing her eyes over she slipped back to her thoughts.

Connall had given her this knowledge, ignited the ideas that now flowed, but could she get it out of Doranelle?

A more persistent tapping continued against the glass, peeling her eyes open and shifting to glance across the room Brielle moved quickly spying the familiar owl hovering outside. Body struggling against the weather beyond the safety of the castle walls. 

Removing the box from her lap, Brielle got up rushing to unlatch and swing the doors wide, allowing Enola the space to fly in and shift mid air.

Landing quickly and shaking the water from her hair Enola stared at Brielle.

"It's the middle of the day." Brielle squinted at her, "What if Maeve notices?"

Enola waved her off quickly, shuffling to pace before her commander, It was in that singular moment Brielle caught the expression of the females face. Her youthful features were pinched and eyes darting. 

"What is it?"

Enola stopped her pacing, stilling before her Commander with a wary glance, wringing her hands together.

"Maeve knows you are still in correspondence with a spy. Isaiah told her. He and Cairn are on their way to escort you to her" Brielle inhaled slowly, she didn't need further explanation to know when Isaiah told Maeve,  he would be referring to Enola. He had known how they operated long enough to know they would have met behind the Queen's back. Brielle should have known this, had known him for too long to not acknowledge his intelligence. Perhaps it was the denial of his betrayal that had blindsided her.

Brielle glanced at the box sidelong on the bed beside her, picking it up slowly from off the mattress. She turned to face Enola, plan finally having that last final piece. "You have to leave."

Her spy jerked her head back, "Wha- No. Brielle I'm not leaving you here."

Brielle stepped forward, taking Enola's hands in her own gently, "We might not have any other choice."

"I can't just abandon" The hurt transferred and gave way to anger on Enola's expression, "You were the one who always told us our strength was in our numbers. I  am  not  leaving." 

Brielle moved a hand to the side of Enola's face, clasping it and using the pad of her thumb to wipe away the single tear that slide down her face, "If you have to. I'm ordering you to take this box and go. Fly as fast as you can and find Bronwyn, she can hide you when you get within her range."

Pulling Enola to her, Brielle closed her eyes over and pressed her forehead to her. They held the contact until a knock resounded off the door to Brielle's room.

Enola pulls away suddenly overwhelmed with panic, her breathing turning laboured even as Brielle held her still.

"It will be okay. Go." Gesturing to the balcony. Enola looks ready to yield to protest when a fist pounded into the door once again.

Go, Breille mouthed this time moving rather loudly towards the door, in order to cover up the sound of Enola's footsteps. Brielle turns away from her spy, trying to hold her nerve long enough to keep herself alive. As the fist banged the door for the third time, she got the gut feeling the male wouldn't be up for a fourth.

There was the sound of Enola shifting behind her and Brielle waited a second, giving her spy just enough time to clear the balcony and be out of sight before she opened the door. Brielle had expected to find Cairn standing there, no amount of holding to her nerve would have saved her from seeing Isaiah stood in his place.

Cairn was behind him, an amused expression etched into the lines of his face. His eyes darting between them excitedly. He seemed to heavily relish in the enjoyment it brought him seeing the display of agony on her, wearing it like a mask as she watched the male that was or had once been her longest friend.

Brielle wasn't entirely sure what to make of Isaiah being the one who knocked on her door. To look at him now, and still remember the good memories they shared. To see his face and only being able to notice how the world had changed him. She couldn't imagine the contrast in herself, to see what he does now. Does he too look at her and remember the friend they both lost, just as she does. His eldest child being the bearer of the same name. A friend who would've wept to see the distance between them now. To see what they had become after her death.

"The Queen requires your presence." Brielle blinked her stare away from Isaiah, to look at Cairn behind him, still smirking like he had won a great triumph at war. 

"I'm busy right now. So her majesty will have to wait I'm afraid." Isaiah dipped his head, averting all of his attention from her. As Cairn forwarded a step, clasping him on the shoulder as old friend might have. Brielle couldn't help bet let her stare linger on the contact and then watch Isaiah's face for a reaction. There was no shift in his expression, as though he too had become a shell of himself in order to protect what little might be left inside.

"Come now kitty, Doesn't one remember what happened last time she disobeyed." How could she forget. It was the reason her body involuntarily moved as he spoke. Isaiah shifted himself sideways to allow her passage through the doorway and shaking off his touch as he reached for her in order to lead to the Queen.

Brielle moved beyond both males, elongated strides carrying her down the halls towards the throne room, the one place where Maeve spent most of her time. The two males followed silently, filtering into the room behind her. Isaiah slotted himself into a space at the edge of the space, just beyond Brielle's field of vision. She would be required to move if she was to look his way. An action Maeve was no doubt bound to take note of if she was to glance at him.

Queen Maeve was a dark creature of habit, perched into the stone throne, her right leg hooked up over her other knee. Enola rested on the stone above her, Maeve's usual smile plagued her lips. To anyone without a shred of genuine knowledge, the Queen's expression would not appear so out of place. Simply a Monarch offering one of their subjects with a warm greeting to court. But not Maeve. Those with the right knowings of the female would get the sense to cower as Brielle does in that moment of blood chilling silence. It was through years of practice that she refused to bow out of respect as Cairn did. A motion Maeve watched with a narrowed gaze.

Staying straight she observes Maeve, being cautious enough to not let her attention drift to where Enola sat more still than usual. Maeve shifts in her position, manouvering her arm to rest an elbow on the side of the throne. 

"That tratious spy of yours must not have been very good when he served you." The Queen's smirk only inclined its way to spread further across her expression. She waved a pale hand that rested beside her face, gesturing Isaiah forwards.

There is the sound of shuffling footsteps against the tiles as Isaiah moves himself into the corner of Brielle's eyeline. Brielle fights the urge to glance sidelone at him even as Maeve points to him.

"He finally offered up a little more imofration worthy of my time." Maeve leans back, circling a hand to rest at the nape of her own throat. " Despite my efforts to cut off all your access to your previous resoruces. He spoke of a spy still loyal to you here."

It's a fight to not look at Enola, she couldn't give herself away now. Not after all these years. Maeve can never know just how close the Pride had gotten to her and everything she thought she could keep hidden.

The Queen rises off her throne, pushing her palms into the stone arms to lift herself. Taking one step down the dias and then another, "I have suspected a rat in this court for some time. It was nice for someone to confirm that for me." Maeve takes long stride away from the throne.

Brielle can't help but look to Isaiah now, his chin dipped as Maeve circles him a hand curling his shoulder, 

"Despite his efforts he is pleading ignorant to knowing who this person is." Isaiah winces as Maeve digs her nails into his shoulder, The familiar metallic scent filled the air. Maeve smirked digging her nail in flesh until Isaiah yielded falling to his knees in submission to the pain.

A lump is solidifying itself in Brielle's throat, at the sight. Isaiah's breathing was laboured and spit left them when Maeve finally released his shoulder and he slumped still kneeling beside the Queen.

"Not coming back to you boy?" 

Brielle couldn't stop her hands from their shaking, watching as the Queen slowly circled Isaiah, Cairn watching from the foot of the dias. It was a struggle to watch as Isaiah fought with the courage to finally look up at the female towering before him.

The air in the room stills as he spoke his head once. 

Brielle should have known better then letting her emotion showcase on her face, brow creasing into a frown. Maeve had been watching her, noted the confusion on the microexpession that Brielle relaxed a second too late.

"Very well." She turned away, heels clicking against the tiles in slow steps. "Cairn."

The male on the other side moved, and leather slapped to the ground. Brielle's eyes darted to the whip he uncurled, she hadn't even realised he had been holding it. He moved for Isaiah now and Maeve backed a few paces allowing the space.

Isaiah stayed kneeling on the tiles as Cairn alined and raised his arm high. The memory of that whip against her own bone and flesh, Brielle could recall each strike she had recieved in the past, each brutal hit that split flesh and drew blood. 

Her own heart was hammering hard at the memory of the pain, the blinding pain that crippled her every sense. As Cairn brought down his hand and the sound cracked through the room, Brielle found herself forardding a step.

Maeve watched slowly, 

"Stop." Brielle moved closer as Cairn reeled his arm back again and Brielle stepped into its trajectory. Sheilding Isaiah with her own body, the scent of his blood was strogner on this side of the room "He doesn't know who it is."

The level of Cairn's restraint was thoroughly impressive even for him when he lowered his arm, glancing sidelong to the Queen, awaiting a command. Brielle watched Maeve now, one of the female dark eyebrows lifts in interest.

"He doesn't know."  Except for the part where he did. Brielle couldn't describe what had made her want to lie on his behalf, even after everything. But seeing him endure the suffering she had spent years trying to shield him and her other spies from. To sit and watch it happen, if her past self from a  couple months ago saw her standing watching. She couldn't stomach the idea. The disgust she might feel for herself.

Perhaps she had intervened for the friendship they had once shared with the Female that had made them a trio. Had intervened for the time they had all learned to become individual and learn to trust someone other than themselves. He had trusted her once, Brielle knew what it had taken for him to trust her. She couldn't leave him to the fate she had endured at the hands of Maeve's torment. Despite everything.

"You would put yourself in his place?" Cairn snide, hand tightening around the leather bound handle of the whip. She knew what words would fall from her mouth if she spoke. She had to let the silence speak in her stead. Maeve closes in, nodding to Cairn. 

He spreads his shoulder, smirking as he poised his hand high, readying the whip to meet her in a hit that was made to split flesh. There a sound from the throne and all the gazes in the room whirl to watch the owl. Flapping up into the space above her usual stone perch, fighting the protest in the muscles of her wings as she fought the instinct to stay still.

Brielle almost begged aloud at Enola to return to her post, as Maeve turns the realisation dawning on her. There was a loud screech as Enola flew straight for Cairn, talons uncurled. The male curses loudly, dropping the whip as the owl connected with his face. Three streaks of red trickling from the split skin in his cheek, despite his effort to twist away from her attack she had made near perfect contact. 

Her feathered body swaying in the air from the force of her onslaught. Cairn swore again louder, elbow driving his arm to swat her from the space where she danced above his head in a taunting gesture of dominance, wings flapping loudly despite her usual silent nature, There was a feral accuracy to her swift quick jabs, Jabs which only angered Cairn more.

There was a swell of power coiling from the Queen, readying to strike at the traitorous fae who had sat at her shoulder for decades. Brielle's attention swung to Maeve, unable to fight the blur of panic hammering a drum in her ears. Pulse burning across every inch of her body.

"Enola, Go!" Brielle cried, voice turning raw in desperation. A instinctual cry of need. Fear for what the queen might do. "Go! " Brielle screamed again, stepping closer to Cairn as he readied a dagger, feet shifting to balance himself to strike down the owl at last. 

Brielle couldn't think beyond watching the blade as it was arched through the air, Throwing herself forward her body collided with the solid muscle of Cairn's back. Hands flying upwards to clasp his wrist, hoping the blade might just twist away enough to miss her spy.

Enola ducked low, and flew for the window, fast. Even as Brielle fought, grappling her edges of strength to keep Cairn still she could see the wide eyes of the owl when she tracked The Queen's movement.  Wings flapping hard as Maeve moved, arm outstretched. Power coiling at the edges of her finger tips.

She was so close to the open window, so close to the freedom the outside air could grant her. So close to seeing her twin brother once more, close to the family which had surrendered everything for their commander. 

Darkness pools at the end of Maeves' outstrected hand, fingers uncurling.

She couldn't lose another member of her Pride. No more of her friends shall die for her decisions.

Brielle locked her arms around Cairn's frame, trapping his arms, elbows high above his head. The blade had been knocked from his grip when she had jammed a nail into the pressure point near his thumb. Holding him still Brielle started the decent into her power.

Fast and hard she tumblered, faster, forging her sheer will to protect Brielle crashed hard into the solid wall the iron had left inside her, hammered her fists against it until they felt bloody. The warmth of internal power serged as sure as a damn breaking, realeasing the full might of her will.

If she drew it too quickly she could burn out, She didn't care even though she needed to. It was an effort to ease just the necessary amount of power, clawing with it to the surface Brielle unleashed it back into the world around her.

She could have snapped Cairn's neck or stunned Maeve, but she funneled her power for where Enola continued to fly for the window, Knowing she would go for Connall's research and take it far from here. Even if Brielle was to never see the outcome, having that knowledge get to the Pride could be the most valuable thing of all. It was going to change the war. So that everything she and Aelin had done, wouldn't be done in vain.

Wrapping her magic around Enola, Brielle willed it to tangle her wings, her lungs, her muscles. Making the owl's body respond faster, wings beating with little effort, fatigue being eradicated from her muscles. 

And when that lash of darkness shot from Maeve, Brielle held her magic firm, a barrier which the shadow of Maeve's' power fought against, Brielle willed it to patch any pierced holes in its structure, holding firm as Maeve prodded for an opening. There was a warmth and swell of power as they fought in the air. A big enough distraction for Enola to glide over the banister of the balcony and dip up into the clouds, away from view. 

Brielle breathed heavily, as Cairn jerked his body sideways, Her focus wavered and Maeve's darkness finally broke through, and as what little of Brielle's power remained depleted from her. The strength inside her dissipated, legs unforgiving as she crashed to the tiles.

Isaiah cast a sidelong glance in her direction, bodies now level as Cairn turns to stand above them both. Two once powerful and titles fae kneeling at his feet. Cairn was smiling as he lowered hands wrapping the handle of the whip like it was his prayer and savour.

Brielle panted and dipped her head to rest it between her shoulders, Maeve was still watching the window, the buzz of her power electrified the air. Brielle could only hope that Enola had made it far enough to be out of the Queen's reach.

Every muscle in her body shook, rippling over bone as Cairn rose the whip behind him once more, readying the strike which had awaited its time to land against her flesh.

"Wait." Maeve's words were slow, carefully chosen as she turns. All evidence of that dark power long gone, from everywhere but her expression. Cold and as dark as night Maeve smiles.

"Let us make a display. Show the people what happens to those who follow Commander Brielle." The betrayal of yet again one of her longest serving warriors would grate the Queen's skin, ravage her hold on her own crown. This was the payment and punishment she would dish out. Discipline she would call it.

Brielle would have preferred the fist hit of the whip in that moment. The humilation, the word would spread across nations. That Commander Brielle was whipped in a display. It could ruin Aelin's standing, her association with her could ruin everything.

There was a shuffle as Cairn curled and attached the whip to a hoop on his belt. Securing it in place before he turns, forcefully grabbing Brielle by both arms. Hauling her body up with one movement, and half dragged her out the room following the Queen.

There would be no point fighting, in protesting against his hold as Maeve was a step ahead and would simply kill her, damn the display. The muscles in her arms and legs were too weak, even her mind felt too thin to fight back. The dizzyness that nearly consumed her as the light hit her face.

It warmed her bones, scaring away the chill of the mist, The rain that had hammered the city had recessed to a shallow drizzle. Barely strong enough to soak through to her skin, even in the loose thin shirt she stole from her mate. It was a cloak of protection a tether as Cairn dragged her through the city below the castle, flowing through the crowd that parted for Maeve as she walked slowly, allowing all to see Brielle.

She hung her head, even if the muscle at the top of her spine protested at the angle. The refusal to meet anyones stare probably made her look all the more guilty. What could be the point, if Enola had gotten out her work had been done, The Pride were smart, She had trained them well enough to harness that research, use it to aid Aelin's cause.

She was dumped onto a cobblestone walkway, in the middle of an already crowded street, The voices a barrier of sound circling from every direction closed in on her, hudled to the ground. Brielle tried to drown it all out with the heavy pants of her own breathing as Maeve began speaking.

The Queens voice a crescendo that parted the sea of noise. The citizens of Doranelle, small folk and Fae warriors fell silent to Maeve as made herself stand unwavering before her subject, a formidable wall of power that drew ever pair of eyes and caused more to walk in from adjacent streets surrounding the one they currently occupied.

"Today. I shall reveal a traitor in our midst." 

Cairn dug a hand into her shoulder from behind, His presence making the skin covering her spin to tighten, straightening away from him in an unenergetic effort to avoid his touch, he hardens his hold, thumb digging into the pressure nerve on her collar's ridgeline. Brielle has to grit her teeth to keep herself from growling at him. 

Maeve turns in her direction, hand gesturing high for all to see, "Bear witness to Commander Brielle!" Maeve's voice rises as she shouts her name, the dripping of rain water from the buildings gutters growing louder in the silence that followed.

There is a low murmur of voices, Brielle continued to watch the cobble stone beneath her, knees sinking till she can feel the water on their surface, kneeling harder until the moisture seeps through the material of her trousers leg.

Through the dull scent of the rain, the ting of salt as it absorbed into the stone caused her to freeze. A collection of scents she had grown familar with, her brow creased and she glances to the crowd gathering to watch as Maeve continued to berate her.

The Queen's voice dulled to nothing more then background sound in the flurry of the world symphony. Emmie Whitethorn watched, her soft eyes wide as she pushed through the crowd, the rest of her group slowly collecting themselves to meet Brielle's stare. 

She surveys them, the warriors around them, Deathly still and preternaturally quiet amongst the surrounding citizens that chattered under their breaths as Maeve addressed the crowds. Detailing her betrayal to Aelin Galathynius, twisting the events. Brielle should protest her version, but the words halt still in her throat.

Something about the... agony of Emmie's face made Brielle's stomach twist. Quickly lowering her stare to the cobbles again Brielle squeezes both eyes shut. Focusing to the dripping of water around her and not the voice of the Queen at her back. Tried to ignore the slap of the whip as Cairn uncurled it behind her, the strip readying in the air.

The first crack against her spine split the fabric of Fenrys' shirt. The second ensued a flurry of voices and soft gasps, the crowd mostly made up of warriors who had wandered into the city from the camp that circled it, watched with bated breaths as Cairn continued to strike.

He whipped her with the same ferocity he had killed the warriors with, Unwavering in his anger against her, treating her like some low grunt. Like she was one of them, A warrior not worth a second to question his loyalty in order to save. The polar opposite to her.

Maeve stayed standing, watching only the fissures of red that fork across Brielle's back, painting the shirt with her blood. The scent perfuming the air, clinging to the surfaces surrounding them, detaching their attention from all else. Many fae scrunched their faces at the smell, acutely aware of the Commanders blood that mixed with the water, staining into the cobblestone she knelt on. Glancing to one another warily, with hesitation and unspoken question.

Brielle couldn't help but sway, the pain in her back was blinding, and cold. The broken skin laying exposed to the cool air as the shirt now clung from her by a few strands. The shirt that belonged to her mate. To Fenrys, the all amazing male who had shown her exactly what love she was deserving of. Had shown her the way back to the light. Had chosen her, chosen to love her. 

She had failed him. Kneeling here, giving up as she sobbed in front of hundred of eyes, scumming to the agony that cracked through her. Sobbing to the sky, in hopes someone would hear and come rescue her. She had spent years offering the same escape to others, why did she always have to be the one to save them. Did she not deserve to be saved too? Just once.

When the whip connected with her spine, cracking over an already raw line of flesh Brielle curled forward, not even bothering to try and catch herself as the cobbles flew closer to her vision.

A sharp pain burst in her chin as she smacked into stone. Oxygen whooshing from her lungs on the impact, chest spasming painfully to draw breath once more. To fight it was to want to keep going. To keep fighting. A fight she might be too tired to continue she realised as Cairn fisted a handful of her hair, bunching it painfully in a ball. Yanking it back to expose her cacked expression, dripping yet more blood from her nose and chin onto the ground.

The crowd had gone deathly still around as Maeve circled in, a shark drawn to the blood. The queen did not balk, or speak. Only studies the female before her, The shell of the Commander she had once been. 

Ignoring the vacant expressions of the warrior around her, some solemn as if in mourning for the female who had fought for and with them in the previous weeks. Perhaps she simply hadn't noticed them, too focused on Brielle to spy the distrustful look they watched her with.

The rising tension was silenced once more when Maeve said one word. Just one, into the space between them. "Kneel."

It was a simple command. A show of dominance, one final humiliation of someone who had been whipped for their disloyalty. To act Loyal, even if just for show. To submit.

The muscles in her arms shook, the bones vibrating with pain, back burning as the skin stretched. She gritted her teeth, leaning back to glare at Maeve. But she did not kneel.

Brielle glanced out at the faces of those Maeve seemed content to ignore, taking a second to let them see her. See the final fight she was willing to endure.

"Kneel." Maeve gritted out a little more forcefully, as the voices of hundred began to whisper out down the street. A blatant show of disobedience, even after being whipped within an inch of her life. 

Walking on that edge of death, The Lioness still refused to kneel. Perhaps it would be her final stand. Final fight worthy of her life. 

Taking a second to steady herself, the splits on her back growing numb as the cold air hits the open wounds. Brielle refused to kneel, but met Maeve's stare. The two females locking in attention, the crowd warily hesitating to even draw breath around them.

A chorus of gasp hushed the warriors and civilians, heads turning to where there was movement against one of the buildings. A tall stone structure with dark grey slats which towered upwards to where a flag had been descended, uncurling in slow motion.

Brielle watched the crowd turn to observe the flag, heard Cairn swear and stumble backwards behind her, Despite her pain, Brielle smiles, a surge of hope blooming as she stares at the flag. A sign from someone.

Maeve catches the expression on Brielle's face, and turns to inspect what has drawn the attention of the gathering. Even from behind her, struggling through her pain Brielle sought amusement in the way Maeve's shoulder drooped and shifted nervously.

Because hanging from that tall building, high in the street for all to witness. A White stag, its antler harbouring a crown and ring of flame stared down at them all. The green of the background brightens the street way itself. Many of the voices sounded louder now, as the flag of Terrasen blew lightly in the wind, flapping against the building in defiance.

It's a taunt and Maeve would know it. But as the voices of her people grew louder, in shock. The Queen slowly turns, glancing over her shoulder first. 

There on the blood soaked cobblestones, Commander Brielle was finally knelt at last. 

A triumphant smile would have made its way onto the Queen's lips if the words of the crowd didn't move her attention, narrowing to study Brielle's positioning. 

Not kneeling at her, or for her crown.

But kneeling with her body angled and head bowed low to the Flag of Terrasen. To the Lord of the North

For Aelin Galathynius.

. . .

Taglist: @dreamiezpsycho@lunaralaraspace@mis-lil-red@mali22@the-fae-are-taking-over

Next Part

[triflesandparsnips]

hey do you like uhhhh books

'The Book of my Enemy Has Been Remaindered' by Clive James

The book of my enemy has been remaindered And I am pleased. In vast quantities it has been remaindered Like a van-load of counterfeit that has been seized And sits in piles in a police warehouse, My enemy's much-prized effort sits in piles In the kind of bookshop where remaindering occurs. Great, square stacks of rejected books and, between them, aisles One passes down reflecting on life's vanities, Pausing to remember all those thoughtful reviews Lavished to no avail upon one's enemy's book -- For behold, here is that book Among these ranks and banks of duds, These ponderous and seemingly irreducible cairns Of complete stiffs. The book of my enemy has been remaindered And I rejoice. It has gone with bowed head like a defeated legion Beneath the yoke. What avail him now his awards and prizes, The praise expended upon his meticulous technique, His individual new voice? Knocked into the middle of next week His brainchild now consorts with the bad buys The sinker, clinkers, dogs and dregs, The Edsels of the world of moveable type, The bummers that no amount of hype could shift, The unbudgeable turkeys. Yea, his slim volume with its understated wrapper Bathes in the blare of the brightly jacketed Hitler's War Machine, His unmistakably individual new voice Shares the same scrapyard with a forlorn skyscraper Of The Kung-Fu Cookbook, His honesty, proclaimed by himself and believed by others, His renowned abhorrence of all posturing and pretense, Is there with Pertwee's Promenades and Pierrots-- One Hundred Years of Seaside Entertainment, And (oh, this above all) his sensibility, His sensibility and its hair-like filaments, His delicate, quivering sensibility is now as one With Barbara Windsor's Book of Boobs, A volume graced by the descriptive rubric "My boobs will give everyone hours of fun". Soon now a book of mine could be remaindered also, Though not to the monumental extent In which the chastisement of remaindering has been meted out To the book of my enemy, Since in the case of my own book it will be due To a miscalculated print run, a marketing error-- Nothing to do with merit. But just supposing that such an event should hold Some slight element of sadness, it will be offset By the memory of this sweet moment. Chill the champagne and polish the crystal goblets! The book of my enemy has been remaindered And I am glad.

[alhavaradawnstar]

a list of smells (dawnguard edition)

Serana: fried egg. Maybe scrambled they smell similar

Gleamblossom: roses but bitter???

every single altmer vampire for some reason: old polished wood

The soul cairn: deepfried mulch.

dawnguard armour: stale air. Like when you open a vent or something and all the air and dust rushes out at you and it just smells Thick

Arvak: rock candy

gelebor & vyrthur: liquorice. specifically the kind of hard black liquorice that smells very strong and not sweet

castle volkihar: old lady perfume.

[fj-is-a-dumbass]

don't get me wrong, i love cars, i think they're super cool, but holy fuck are we misusing them. sure, having a fully polished, near perfect self-driving car system could help avoid accidents caused by drivers too tired or not in the right frame of mind to drive, etc., but...

trains. all the above and more.

op and the other additions are right, trains already do this. in many cases, they already have existing infrastructure to expand on. and if we had to have self-driving anything, im sure trains would be far easier to program. not that i want self-driving trains, but i would assume they're easier to program. but what would be even better is more long-distance rail networks for both passengers and cargo! consider australia: to my knowledge, we dont have all that many rail lines, i can't speak for commercial ones, but i know for sure that there are no passenger lines at all to many many little rural towns. if we wanna travel a long distance to a not-major city, we dont have many options but to fly, or drive for at least some leg of the journey.

also the line connections suck, i mean look at them-- someone from cairns cant get to say... charleville without going to brisbane first!

https://www.queenslandrailtravel.com.au/Planyourtrip/networkmap

train line rant aside, let's get back to towns. if they cant implement railways to more super specific places, why not use our already existing road networks for more busses!! thousands more busses!!! lots and lots more busses!

and make them safe, coz no one likes to get knifed on the bus home. melbourne did well, they had little mini cop-shops at every single station. those trains feel safe at goddamned midnight and honestly that's what i wanna see.

any of that would be just... so much better than our current best mode of public transport... those fucking neuron electric scooters.

dangerous bastards.

hard to ride (i personally absolutely loathe one 'pedal' controls), and the people riding them are just dangerous, and they seem to forget when they're on the road, they should probably follow the road rules so that they dont get fucking hit. too many close calls man... and too many scooters left in dumb places.

please god above can someone explain to me why we're still working on self driving cars when trains exist

[gobboguy]

Chapter 44: The Death of a King

A little more than a month later, Cairn Doom, the icy mountain fortress of the Orcs, loomed ominously in the windswept mountains of the Frozen Spine. Built of the blackest stone, the fortress exuded an aura of gloom and malevolence. Jagged spires and thick battlements cut a foreboding silhouette against the grey sky. The cold winds howled through the narrow passages, making the walls groan as if alive. This was a place where only Orcs found comfort, their harsh lifestyles reflected in the fortress's unyielding architecture. Despite the desolation, human-like cries pierced the gloom, echoing through the vast halls.

Deep within the fortress, the Orcs gathered in the grand dining hall, a cavernous room lit by flickering torches casting long, eerie shadows. The air was thick with the smell of bloodgrog and the sounds of feasting. Orcs grunted and oinked as they conversed in hushed tones, their eyes occasionally glancing towards the direction of the cries that echoed through the stone corridors. Ionia, the human queen of the Orcs and wife of Gelbeg, was giving birth.

Around a massive wooden table, several Orcs engaged in conversation as they devoured slabs of roasted meat and drank deeply from tankards of bloodgrog.

"Never thought a human would be strong enough to bear an Orc's child," one Orc grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"She is not just any human," another Orc replied, slamming his tankard down. "Ionia has proven herself in battle. She fights like one of us, eats like one of us."

A third Orc nodded, tearing into a piece of meat. "Still, her cries… It's unsettling. Human cries in Cairn Doom. Makes my skin crawl."

"She'll make it through," a female Orc said confidently, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "The queen is strong. She has MOG's blessing and Gelbeg's fire. The child will be something fierce."

"Hope it's a whelp that can lead," another Orc said, raising his tankard. "We need strength now more than ever, with Farfield on our tail."

As the Orcs continued to eat and drink, their conversations mingling with the sound of Ionia's cries, the atmosphere in the grand dining hall was tense yet hopeful. The echoes of her labor reverberated through the fortress, a stark reminder of the precarious future they were all fighting for. The Orcs, hardened by years of warfare and survival, listened with bated breath, their spirits buoyed by the anticipation of a new leader being born amidst the gloom of Cairn Doom.

Many Orcs crowded around the holy temple deep within the halls of Cairn Doom, their faces etched with anticipation and reverence. The grand temple was a place of malevolent power, where sacrifices were made to appease their brutal deity. The priestesses, fierce and uncompromising, chased the onlookers away, their guttural curses and sharp glares sending the Orcs scurrying back before the doors to the grand temple slammed shut with a resounding thud.

Inside, the temple was a sinister marvel. The air was thick with the heady scent of burning incense, creating a stupefying haze of psychedelic smoke that hung like a veil. The crowning feature of the room was a blood-soaked altar of polished obsidian, dark and gleaming under the torchlight. Beyond the altar stood an imposing statue of the Orc God MOG, his eyes glowing with an eerie, malevolent light, and his muscular form cast in a perpetual stance of aggression and dominion.

The temple walls were adorned with grim carvings depicting ancient Orcish battles and sacrifices. Heavy drapes of dark red fabric hung from the ceiling, adding to the oppressive and mystical atmosphere. The chants of the priestesses echoed through the cavernous space, their voices a mix of fervent devotion and raw, primal power.

Many of the priestesses were skyclad, their naked forms writhing in religious ecstasy as they danced and chanted around the altar. Their eyes rolled in the back of their head and they shook and gyrated wildly to unheard music. Their bodies, adorned with red tribal paint, moved in a frenetic yet ritualistic manner, embodying the chaotic and fierce spirit of their god.

Split-Nose, the High Priestess, stood at the forefront. Her nude form was covered in intricate patterns of red paint, symbolizing her high rank and deep connection to MOG. Her chants were powerful, each word resonating with divine fervor as she led the ceremony. Her eyes were closed, her face a mask of transcendent ecstasy as she invoked the blessings of their god.

At her feet, in a large tub of sacred water, lay Ionia. Her body was submerged up to her chest, the water sloshing with her every movement as she strained with the effort of childbirth. The tub was placed directly before the altar, aligning her with the statue of MOG, as if to ensure the god's gaze was upon her in this critical moment.

Ionia’s face was a mix of pain and determination, her hands gripping the sides of the tub. Her pregnant belly was swollen, her skin glistening with sweat and the remnants of the ritualistic paint. The priestesses surrounding her chanted in unison, their voices rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm that seemed to merge with the very stone of the temple.

Split-Nose leaned over Ionia, her voice a soothing contrast to the powerful chants. "MOG watches over you, sister. Through your pain, we find our future. Bear this child, and bring forth the next leader of our people."

Ionia's eyes, glazed with effort and the effects of the incense, locked onto the High Priestess’s. She nodded weakly, her grip tightening as another wave of labor overcame her. The temple vibrated with the intensity of the ritual, the smoke and chants weaving together in a symphony of devotion and raw power. The Orcs outside could only wait, their hopes pinned on the success of this momentous birth within the sacred, malevolent walls of Cairn Doom.

Split-Nose raised her arms high, her voice echoing through the chamber with a force that seemed to vibrate the very walls of the temple. The torchlight flickered, then dimmed, replaced by an eerie, sinister red glow that bathed the room in a malevolent light. The air was thick with anticipation as the High Priestess began her speech.

"Behold!" Split-Nose's voice rang out, clear and powerful. "This child, born under the watchful gaze of MOG, is the harbinger of the doom of man and the rise of our great god and his people! In their veins runs the blood of kings and warriors, and through theme, the will of MOG shall be fulfilled. They are the bringer of our ascension, the herald of our dominion over all of Sidhedark! Rejoice, for their birth marks the beginning of a new era, where Orcs shall reign supreme, and humanity shall tremble in fear!"

As Split-Nose's proclamation filled the temple, Ionia, submerged in the tub, cried out in pain, her voice a raw, primal wail that mingled with the chants of the priestesses. Her eyes, wide and desperate, searched the room. "MOG, grant me strength!" she prayed, her voice trembling. "Guide me through this pain and deliver this child into your world! Gelbeg, where are you? Where is my king?"

The ritual reached its ominous crescendo, the chanting growing louder, more frenetic. Ionia's cries intensified, and with a final, excruciating effort, she reached beneath her swollen belly. Her fingers closed around the newborn, and she brought forth the child, still attached to the umbilical cord.

The baby girl, an Orc child, let out a piercing cry. Her skin was a dusky green, her tiny fists clenched in defiance of the world she had just entered. Her features were more Orcish than human, with a small, but pronounced brow ridge and tusks peeking from her gums. She differed from other Orcs though in the unusual shape of her nose, more human-like than the traditional pig snout of the Orcs. Also, unlike the usual Orc litters of four to five whelps, she was alone, unique in her singularity.

Split-Nose's eyes widened in ecstasy as she beheld the newborn and heard her sharp yowl. "The spawn of Gelbeg screams a death chant for the world!" she shouted, her voice filled with triumph. "This child is our future, the embodiment of our strength and our vengeance!"

The other priestesses joined in, their voices a chorus of reverence and adulation. "Praise MOG! Praise the child of destiny! The world shall tremble before her!"

As the temple resounded with their cries, Ionia brought the baby to her heaving, milk-leaking breast. The child cried for a bit and then latched on, sucking deeply of the living giving nourishment. Ionia whispered softly to her daughter, her voice filled with promise and determination. "One day, my child, you will rule a great kingdom, the greatest Sidhedark has ever seen. You are the future, and through you, the Orcish people shall find their destiny."

The baby's cries echoed through the temple, mingling with the chants and prayers, a fitting herald for the dawn of a new era in the dark, foreboding halls of Cairn Doom.

The pounding at the heavy temple doors reverberated through the chamber, breaking the rapturous spell of the ritual. Ionia stood up abruptly, heedless of her nudity, her instincts screaming that something was wrong. A priestess quickly wrapped her in a black cloak, but the urgency in the air made the gesture almost meaningless.

The doors burst open with a thunderous crash, revealing a frantic Orc, his eyes wide with fear and urgency. "Gelbeg and Arrowcatcher have returned!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the sacred space. "But something is wrong! The King is injured!"

Ionia paled, her heart seizing in her chest. Without a second thought, she reached for the umbilical cord between her legs and severed it with her teeth, her mind solely focused on getting to her husband. Blood trailed behind her as she ran, the newborn child firmly attached to her breasts, her cries mingling with Ionia's panicked breaths.

Bursting through the temple doors, Ionia pushed past the gathered Orcs, her eyes scanning the scene frantically. There, in an atrium where many halls met, surrounded by his warriors, was Gelbeg. His once-mighty form now slumped and weakened, supported by Arrowcatcher. Blood seeped from a grievous wound in his side, staining his black robes.

"GELBEG!" Ionia screamed, her voice breaking as she reached him. She fell to her knees beside him, her free hand grasping his, the other cradling their newborn. "What happened? Please, stay with me!"

Gelbeg's eyes fluttered open, his face pale and strained. He managed a weak smile as he saw his wife and child. "Ionia… my queen," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the din of worried Orcs. "We were ambushed… our people...they...they..." His smile crumpled and tears began to flow from his eyes. The pain inside was clearly more powerful than the wound in his side.

Tears streamed down Ionia's face as she clutched Gelbeg's hand tighter. "You can't leave us," she choked out. "Our child needs you. I need you."

Gelbeg's eyes, filled with a mixture of pain and pride, fixed on Ionia's. "Our child..." He smiled weakly and continued, "You… are strong," he said haltingly. "Stronger… than any. You will… lead them. Promise me… you will lead them."

Ionia nodded fiercely, her resolve hardening even as her heart shattered. "I promise," she swore. "We will lead them, together. You will recover, Gelbeg. You must."

The Orcs around them murmured in concern, their fierce loyalty and respect for their king evident in their worried faces. Arrowcatcher knelt beside Ionia, his own expression grim. "We will do everything we can," he vowed, his voice filled with determination. "Gelbeg will not fall this day."

As the Orcs worked to tend to Gelbeg's wound, Ionia stayed by his side, her cloak wrapped protectively around herself and her child. She held Gelbeg's hand, whispering words of encouragement and love, willing him to hold on. The future of their people depended on it, and she would not let him go without a fight.

Ionia's breath caught in her throat as she processed Arrowcatcher's words. "What happened?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination.

Arrowcatcher lifted his right arm, revealing the severed stump where his hand once was. It was a bloody mess wrapped in dirty stained rags, a trophy of his fight with the humans of Farfield. "An ambush at Fort Berton," he began, his voice grim. "It caught us completely by surprise. It was a massacre—every Orc in Farfield, every man, woman, and child… gone."

Cries of anguish and outrage erupted from the gathered Orcs, their grief and fury palpable in the cold air.

Arrowcatcher continued, his voice steady despite the pain. "Alden the Forest Protector and his soldiers snuck up the hill behind our front lines, using his strange nature magic. He fought Gelbeg, and during the chaos, the cowardly soldiers following him used a poison dart on Gelbeg. I managed to save Gelbeg and escape, but we've been hiding and riding for weeks to make it back here."

Ionia gasped, her eyes widening with horror. She gently lifted the bandage on Gelbeg's chest, revealing the black veins tracing out from the wound, the poison pumping deep into his body. "Thornsap," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Had he been treated right away, he could have been saved… but it must've been days."

Despair washed over her as she looked into Gelbeg's eyes, seeing the pain and weariness there. "You're dying," she choked out, tears streaming down her face.

Gelbeg reached up, his hand trembling, and caressed Ionia's cheek. "Ionia," he whispered, his voice faint. "You must be strong. Our people need you. Our child needs you."

Ionia clutched his hand tightly, her resolve hardening even as her heart shattered. "I won't let you go without a fight," she vowed. "There must be something we can do."

Arrowcatcher knelt beside them, his own expression grim. "We've seen the power of the priestesses and the sacred rituals," he said. "Perhaps there is a way… a final plea to MOG for his intervention."

The Orcs around them murmured in agreement, their fierce loyalty and respect for their king evident in their faces. They would not let Gelbeg go without trying everything in their power to save him.

Ionia nodded, her eyes blazing with determination. "We will go to the High Priestess," she declared. "We will do whatever it takes to save him."

With the Orcs' support, Ionia and Arrowcatcher carried Gelbeg into the depths of Cairn Doom, to the sacred temple where Split-Nose and the other priestesses awaited. As they entered the malevolent chamber, the air thick with incense and the ominous presence of MOG, Ionia's heart pounded with a desperate hope. They would not give up. Not now. Not ever.

Together, they would fight for their king, for their future, and for the survival of their people.

Split-Nose sniffed the foul wound on Gelbeg’s chest, her face contorting in disgust. "The scent is foul," she snarled, her voice heavy with doubt.

Ionia, clutching her infant daughter, stepped forward, her eyes filled with desperation. "Can he be saved? Once before, MOG performed a miracle and revived Gelbeg from the dead. Surely, he can again?"

Split-Nose's expression remained grim. "MOG may grant this miracle again, but we cannot demand it from him. We can only pray."

They gently laid Gelbeg down on the blood-soaked altar. The gathered priestesses began to chant, their voices rising in a plea to MOG. As many Orcs as the temple could hold crammed into the sacred space, waiting with bated breath.

Whispers filled the room as the Orcs reflected on the life of their king. How could this be? How could the leader who united the ten tribes, led them across the sea, survived the holocaust of the Gorkin mountains, and escaped a life of slavery as a gladiator, die? He who returned from the dead once before, who saved the Orcs of Farfield, and became the first Orc King. How could he pass?

Tears streamed down Ionia's face as she cradled her young daughter to her breast.

Gelbeg's weak voice broke through the murmurs. "Ionia," he rasped, "let me see our child."

Ionia stepped closer, presenting their daughter. "This is your daughter, Gelbeg. Our future. Our hope."

Gelbeg reached out a trembling hand and placed it on the baby’s head. "Ulf," he whispered, his voice filled with pride and love. "She shall be named Ulf."

The Orcs murmured in approval. Ulf was a strong name of ancient tradition.

Gelbeg's eyes scanned the room, filled with his people. "When I was born, I hated being an Orc," he began, his voice faint but steady as he addressed his people. "I hated what it meant, the struggles and the scorn. But now, I have never been more glad of the fate destiny gave me. Being an Orc has given me strength, a purpose, and a family."

He turned his gaze to Ionia, his eyes softening. "Ionia, my love, you gave me everything. You made me a king, and now you have given me a daughter. I love you."

For some time Gelbeg laid down in the presence of Ionia, the Orcs and before the statue of MOG, breathing heavily and slipping in and out of consciousnesses. The Orcs cried openly, wailing and gnashing their teeth. Oh, for their King to come to such a ignominious end! He was a grand warrior, a king among Orcs! His reign should've lasted decades! But to die like this, at the hand of human cowardice via poison? Impossible!

As his time grew close, Gelbeg began to speak in increasingly hushed tones. He started giving out orders on what to do with his belongings, naming Orcs to several important posts and he left instructions designating Ionia and Ulf as his successors. When all was said and done, Gelbeg was left in his final moments, surrounded by those he loved.

"It was a g-good life..." He said as Ionia held his hand. The end was coming fast now, the poison working within him to shut his down his organs. He lifted his hand up, fingers scratching the air as he stared at the cavern ceiling as if it were the morning sky. His eyes, blind now, searched with wonder up above, heedless of his wife, child and people around them.

"It was a good life..." He said with final conviction. "For a time I ruled...for a time...I...was...King..."

With those final words, Gelbeg's eyes closed, and he fell into a deep slumber. Minutes later, with one shuddering gasp, the first Orc King passed.

The room fell silent, the weight of their loss hanging heavily in the air. The Orcs bowed their heads in grief, the legacy of their king forever etched in their hearts. Ionia stood strong, her daughter Ulf clutched to her breast, determined to honor Gelbeg's memory and lead their people to the future he had envisioned.

[angeliqueshelleyartist]

Further Development Project 1

Of Myth And Notoriety/Lycanmancer

Post #2

My own Game Concept blurb that I will be developing artwork for:

Of Myth and Notoriety  The gods, ever at odds, but sharing a sadistic enjoyment of entertainment, decided to settle their matters through human ends by resurrecting and raising champions. The only criteria was to choose people that had no current renown. The gods chose would-be champions based on affinity, personality and latent talent.   A tragic, lonely death of an absurdly unremarkable character catches the attention of one such god, who resurrects them as an undead; a second, albeit cursed, chance to create a new myth, and attract a notoriety that would rival even the gods'. 

Fitting with the theme of playing as an undead character, respawning has more of a focus. Your character's burial plot can be upgraded over time and increase in complexity and change in appearance as your character makes choices across the alignment chart in-game. For example, a humble tombstone may upgrade into a marble Gothic headstone if lawful good choices are made, or a cursed mausoleum if chaotic evil choices are made and myth and notoriety develop.

An alignment Chart often used as part of D&D game play

I have broken up the above alignment chart to create a style guide for how the grave markers could changed based on game play.

Cultural Influences: Lawful: Gothic Neutral: druidic/nordic/celtic Chaotic: cambodian/indian inspirations for good, aztec but sharp for evil

Shape Language: Evil: Triangle Neutral: Circle Good: Square

Details:

Lawful Good

Headstone Inspiration: Gothic inspired, polished white Marble, gold engraved text, symmetrical, square. Clean, orderly, clinical.

UK Cheshire Aldford St John the Baptist Church churchyard. travelib prime, 2008

Monument inspiration: Tour St Jaques, Paris

Saint-Jacques Tower at sunrise. Benh, 2015

Neutral Good

Headstone: Cairns which can increase in size & detail levels of single standing stone, evolving into a small henge monument with  celtic carvings.

Wistman’s Wood, Sidgreaves, 2018

Monument Inspiration:

Pictish standing stone (number 1) at Aberlemno. Scarf, n/d

Chaotic Good

Headstone: Repaired Kintsugi-style white granite Hindu style goddess with many arms.

Kintsukuroi: A perspective on COVID-19. Hayee, 2020

Lawful Neutral

Headstone: No religious iconography.

Illegible German Monument, South Side Cemetery. 3Dscanstore, 2020

Monument Inspiration: Sir Walter Scott Monument, Edinburgh

Edinburgh’s Gothic Missile. Traveling Savage, (Aelyth Savage), n/d

The National Wallace Monument. Ritebook, 2021

True Neutral

Headstone: All myth is reciprocated by nature, with little to no human elements, epic natural formations with growing wild flowers and stones. E.g. A flowering tree spiraling around standing stones.

The standing stone of Tir Artair. Megalithix, 2013

Chaotic Neutral

Headstone: I would describe the tombstone design to be an irregularly shaped monolith, seemingly suspended at an odd angle with symbols of unpredictability, like swirling patterns or abstract designs. The inscription is cryptic, hinting at the complexity and unpredictability of the person whom the memorial is for..

Lawful Evil

Headstone: Corrupted "Lawful Good".

The Haserot Angel. DocBrownX, 2014

Monument Inspiration:

Gothic Fountains. Ferrebeekeper, 2017

Neutral Evil

Headstone: Circular stone formation, hanging bones, bird wings, moss, lichen, poison puffy mushrooms, thorny vines.

Mystery artist creates elaborate stone artworks. Barrowdale Institute, 2021

Chaotic Evil

Headstone: Grotesque and malformed/monster-human hybrid sculptures/cthulhu

Telmessos. Fethiye, (n/d)

Image References:

3Dscanstore. (2020). Illegible German Monument, South Side Cemetery. [Photograph]. https://pittsburghcemeteries.wordpress.com/2020/12/16/illegible-german-monument-south-side-cemetery/: Pittsburghcemeteries.

Benh, L. (2015). More details Saint-Jacques Tower at sunrise. [Photograph]. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tour_Saint-Jacques#/media/File:Tour_Saint-Jacques_BLS.jpg: Wikipedia.

DocBrownX. (2014). The Haserot Angel. [Photograph]. https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/the-haserot-angel-cleveland-ohio: AtlasObscura.

dungeonsdragons.fandom. (n/d). Alignment. [Online]. dungeonsdragons.fandom.com. Available at: https://dungeonsdragons.fandom.com/wiki/Alignment [Accessed 9 January 2024].

Ferrebeekeper. (2017). Gothic Fountains. [Photograph]. https://ferrebeekeeper.wordpress.com/2017/10/18/gothic-fountains/: Ferrebeekeper.

Fethiye. (n/d). Telmessos. [Photograph]. https://fethiye.goturkiye.com/telmessos: GoTurkiye.

Hayee, F. (2020). Kintsukuroi: A perspective on COVID-19. [Photograph]. https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/kintsukuroi-perspective-covid-19-fawad-hayee-ca: Linkedin.

Megalithix. (2013). The standing stone of Tir Artair. [Photograph]. https://megalithix.wordpress.com/2013/02/17/tir-artair/: Megalithix.

Ritebook. (2021). The National Wallace Monument. [Photograph]. https://www.ritebook.in/2021/06/wallace-monument-scotland.html: Ritebook.

Scarf. (n/d). Pictish standing stone (number 1) at Aberlemno. [Photograph]. https://scarf.scot/national/medieval/5-empowerment/5-2-standing-stones/: Scarf.

Sidgreaves, M. (2018). Wistman’s Wood. [Photograph]. https://dartmoorwalker.co.uk/2018/11/wistmans-wood/: DartmoorWalker.

travelib prime. (2008). UK Cheshire Aldford St John the Baptist Church churchyard.

Traveling Savage. (Aelyth Savage). Edinburgh’s Gothic Missile. [Photograph]. https://www.traveling-savage.com/2011/03/18/picture-this-edinburghs-gothic-missile/: Traveling Savage.

[thehutpoint]

Aaah, for me it was not "The Terror" though it did play an important part. It was "The Last Place On Earth", Titus, crawling on all fours out of the tent and it might be some time, and the lonely cairn slowly drowning in the snow out there in the white vastness of Antarctic. It premiered in Polish TV in 1986 I think, so I was what, eight at the time? But yeah, that's how it started. These pictures stuck in my mind like a shhip stucks in the pack ice.

And then, two years later I found these under the Christmas tree.

Four brochures with stories from the Arctic. Yeah, these were still the (not so) merry times of the Iron Curtain, so there were some stories about so brave and so plucky Soviet polar explorers, triumphing over Mother Nature. But the rest? The rest was pure delight. Barents, wintering in the Arctic with his crew, Dr. Kane's expedition, Hudson, De Long and his Jeannette crushed by the merciless Ice, Fritdjof Nansen and Hjalmar Johansen attempting to get to the Northern Pole, captain Cagni of Italian 1899 Stela Polaris, doing DIY amputation of his thumb, Engineer Andre and his balloon, Amundsen and Nobile flying over the Pole in the airship Norge... aaaahhh. Not appropriate for ten years old, though still heavily sanitised, for example the eye inflammation that rendered lieutenant Danenhower of Jeannette (DeLong expedition) unfit for duty was said to be caused by the snow blindness, while in reality it was a sad complication of syphilis. Sanitized or not, appropriate or not, I loved these stories and my favourite play in winter was always The Polar Explorer, that means me, trodding on my crappy plastic skis on the fields around home, dragging my kiddie sledges and pretending I am Amundsen conquering the South Pole, or Nansen trying to reach the North one.

After that I've read voraciusly everything about polar exploration I could find. I went through the school library and other resources, learning about Franklin, Nansen, Amundsen, Exploration of Antarctic and two expeditions of Scott. Somehow, though, Titus did not catch my attention, he stayed somewhere on the margin (isn't that typical of him?) . To be honest he is a tad neglected by the polar autors, who do not know what exactly to do with him, so usually render him to this guy, you know, this silent dude who was taking care of the horses, then said, you know, This Badass Sentence and then went to die This Badass Death. Still, the frosty tales carried me through the chamber of hell called My Teenage Years.

For some time the polar stuff was at the fringe of my attention, because, you know, life happened, adulting was harder than I expected and so on. But then "The Terror" revived my love for brave, starving boys, freezing their lovely arses on both unhospitable ends of the Earth and I started sniffing again for the polar lit. And so I bought "Widows of the Ice" by Anne Fletcher which made me, by one quote in the chapter, I think, about Oriana Wilson, to go back to the man, who started it all. Titus Oates. Quiet, humble Captain Oates, who helped me to survive quite shitty period of my life and became my personal Comfort Polar Man. You might say I made a full circle.

there’s a certain descent into madness one takes after watching the terror. one minute you’re watching the show with mild interest and the next minute you’re hand painting Robert Scott’s sledging flag to put on your wall

[tulievephotographys]

Cairns Wedding Venues: Where Dreams Blossom

Are you planning your dream wedding in the tropical paradise of Cairns, Australia? Look no further! Cairns offers some of the most enchanting garden wedding venues that will make your special day truly magical. In this blog, we'll explore the top garden wedding venues in Cairns and the importance of capturing these precious moments with a professional wedding videographer in Cairns.

Garden Wedding Venues in Cairns

Tropical Bliss Gardens: Imagine exchanging vows surrounded by lush tropical plants, colorful flowers, and serene water features. Tropical Bliss Gardens is a picturesque venue that offers a perfect backdrop for your garden wedding in Cairns. With its natural beauty and intimate setting, it's a place where your love story can truly bloom.

Flecker Botanic Gardens: For couples seeking a wedding venue that combines elegance and nature, Flecker Botanic Gardens is an excellent choice. The gardens feature a variety of exotic plants and scenic spots for your ceremony and photographs. It's a unique and captivating location that will leave your guests in awe.

Rainforest Estate: Nestled in the heart of the rainforest, Rainforest Estate offers a tranquil and secluded setting for your wedding. The lush greenery and the soothing sounds of nature create a romantic atmosphere that is truly unforgettable. It's a paradise for couples looking for an intimate garden wedding in Cairns.

Why Choose a Cairns Wedding Videographer?

Your wedding day is one of the most significant moments in your life, and capturing those memories is essential. A Cairns wedding videographer can preserve the magic of your garden wedding for years to come. Here's why hiring a professional is a wise choice:

Emotional Moments: A skilled videographer can capture the genuine emotions and reactions of you and your guests, providing a more complete and emotional story of your special day.

Quality Production: Professional videographers use high-quality equipment and editing techniques to create a polished and cinematic wedding video that you'll cherish forever.

Relive the Memories: Your wedding video allows you to relive the moments, speeches, and heartfelt vows that may have otherwise faded from memory over time.

Share with Loved Ones: A wedding video allows you to share your special day with loved ones who couldn't attend, ensuring that they can experience the joy and love you felt on your wedding day.

To make your garden wedding in Cairns a memorable and cherished experience, consider hiring a Cairns wedding videographer like Tulieve Photography. Their expertise and passion for capturing love stories will ensure that your wedding video is a work of art.

In conclusion, Cairns offers a range of enchanting garden wedding venues that can turn your dream wedding into a reality. Don't forget to capture these precious moments with the help of a professional wedding videographer in Cairns. Your love story deserves to be told and preserved for generations to come.

Make your wedding day in Cairns a fairy tale come true by choosing one of these beautiful garden venues and entrusting the memories to a skilled videographer. Your love story deserves nothing but the best!

Know more about our affordable and quality services stay social with us on: Facebook , Instagram & Pinterest

[skydinzeal]

🌝WINTER FINDING (today called 'MABON') is the beginning of fall! (12 hours ago) Traditionally it is a time to joyously celebrate, put out our individual fires and create a communal Bonfire!🌠🔥⚡👽🌟🦋👑🌷 Give food offerings, raise them up, there are names to call, Gods are always thanked. Leave the offerings near a tree or boulder. A fairy cairn is also a good location. I don't think animals should eat what you give... Eastern Scandinavians burned offerings to send it to spirit. ASK your Oracle of choice and POST HERE, let's discover what SPIRIT desires! 🔥⚡👽🌟🦋👑🌷 It's a good time to clean house for winter. For there will be days were the spirit... 🔥⚡👽🌟🦋👑🌷 On the right is my silver box of keeping that you wear at your belt. This one's cut polished yet. In real life it looks incredible and had 100s if powerful symbols etched 😇°`•Play ▶️🎵SOUND in this post•`° 🔥⚡👽🌟🦋👑🌷 I hand-make talismans, paintings/sculptures for you or your loved ones!🌷All of my creations are made of 100s of ancient, powerful symbols! I've tested and taught Spiritual practices via my classes at NYCs Edgar Cayce Center for 10 years. . . . . . . . #Mabon #winterfinding #autumnequinox #ascendedmaster #ascension #Sorcery #Magick #runes #lightworker #spells #autumn #harvestseason #wicca #Metaphysics #Celtic #Crystalhealing #pagantradition #paganholiday #Magicalsymbols #psychicprotection #pagansymbols #pagan #psychicart #celticart #Newage #Occult #spiritualart #Rituals #heathen #beginningoffall http://dlvr.it/SwWTBH

[kalibrate]

#1 Squirrel Watcher

[sufficientlylargen]

Oh yeah, I've heard of that happening. My Cryptotransitology professor in undergrad thought they might perceive time perpendicularly to us, so from their point of view they're only going around the roundabout once no matter how much time passes in our view between when they enter and exit the roundabout. She wrote a paper about it but vanished while researching the M25, and now the paper is really hard to get ahold of - the only way to get a copy of the journal it was published in is stupidly bureaucratic:

First you have to travel to Ardudwy in Wales, to the ancient cairn of Bryn Cader Faner.

Fall asleep in the center of the cairn at midnight on a moonless night. You will dream of an infinite city of dripping stone and polished black glass, full of ancient buildings looming at odd angles as far as the eye can see.

You will be greeted by an owl and a fox; you must, at all costs, ignore the fox. Do not listen to what it says. Do not react to its gestures. Do not laugh at its jokes.

Follow the owl down into the tunnels beneath the city, roaming far into the inky depths, past half-remembered shades of people who left your life so thoroughly that you cannot even recall the simplest of facts about them.

When you come to a long-dried fountain in a vast hall of stone, the owl will give you a golden key; you must throw it into the fountain. Do not listen to the fox, who will try to persuade you otherwise.

When the key has melted away, the owl will give you a brass key. Take this and do not lose it.

Take the stairway in the fountain, being careful not to touch the walls.

Insert the brass key, which by now will be gold, into the monolith, and turn it four times clockwise and twice widdershins.

The journal will appear before you, but it is fake. DO NOT OPEN IT. Instead, hurl it at the fox while chanting, in a monotone, the arcane spell "ite et fac amare te, bestia".

At last, the owl will reveal to you a glimmering crystal, beautiful to behold, containing within it the swirling light of all creation. You will see within it the past, the present, and all that may yet come to be. Reach out into the light, and claim your prize.

Within 6-8 business days, you'll receive an email from Elsevier with a link to create your account; journal access is $599/year or a four-year subscription for two (2) firstborn children.

Anyway it's interesting reading if you're into that sort of thing.