#Sand and Dust Test Chamber

[indiantradebirddigital]

Top Sand And Dust Test Chamber Manufacturer | Indian Trade Bird

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For more details clicks here - https://www.indiantradebird.com/product/sand-and-dust-test-chamber

[envisystechnologies]

Sand & Dust Test Chambers by Envisys Technologies

Envisys Technologies is a leading manufacturer and supplier of Sand & Dust Test Chambers, designed to simulate harsh environmental conditions in sectors like automotive, aerospace, electronics, and defense. Our chambers are engineered with precision to ensure accurate and reliable testing results. We offer precise environmental control, customizable design options, uniform particle dispersion, robust construction, compliance with international standards, and integrated safety features. Envisys' chambers are engineered to achieve consistent exposure across all test specimens, minimizing variability and enhancing the repeatability of tests. Our Chambers are built using high-quality materials to withstand prolonged exposure to abrasive particles and harsh testing conditions. Envisys Technologies' commitment to innovation, quality, and customer satisfaction has made them a preferred partner for companies seeking reliable Sand & Dust Test Chambers. Our comprehensive range of chambers, customizable solutions, and adherence to international standards empower industries worldwide to conduct accurate and insightful sand and dust testing, contributing to the development of safer, more reliable products for diverse applications.

[analabtron]

Sand and Dust Test Chamber

Temperature range=ambient-to-50; Relative Humidity=lt-30-rh; Normal wire diameter=50-um; Normal width of a gap between wire=75-um; The Talcum powder amount=2-kg-4-kg-m3. Shop Online at Labtron.us

[cherri-ying]

Sing for me, little Nightingale (Yan! Scaramouche x Reader)

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56024689

Felines are deserving of their accolades. Merit embodies their nimble spines and ductile limbs; bodies like pliable sand, threading their way through knots, twists, cavities and labyrinths. The prince of the hunt flexes and swipes his talons and his victims are swift to falter, their necks wringed and their spines contorted in ways that are unnatural to their physicality.

“I’ve got you now.”

At times, though, even a cat doesn't remain undefeated.

“How stupid are you to think that a cheap disguise would work against me?” He almost sounds amused, his words an arctic hiss against your ear. Reaching up, Scaramouche claws at the thick cloak that veils your face and tears it to your shoulders. Your hair is quick to mime the departed elements, hanging in disarray across your face. A mantilla of unkempt tresses, veiling whatever thoughts sketch your visage.

The Balladeer regards the sight of your person with a sort of contemptuous delight. Forcefully knelt at his feet with your wrists bound behind you and your head drooped in defeat—or in pensiveness. It's a shame Zapolyarny is so devoid of windows. What light finds it's way into these all-too familiar stone chambers is too sparse to see what expression you're making.

“Well? Say something. Or have I rendered you incapable of speech?”

Tentatively—begrudgingly—you tip your head back, back, back until your irises lock with the hypnotic indigo tinctures belonging to the puppet who leers dauntingly above you. Locks of such a hue that only you could wear part like the red sea, revealing a thin, perhaps solemn, ambiguous smile—the last expression the harbinger could anticipate. Or desire.

“Thwarted again, hm?” You chuckle and it sounds like frost, “and I even took extensive measures to conceal my tracks. No good?”

“Failures are bound to repeat themselves.” Scaramouche doesn't nuisance himself with that syrupy facade he wears to rope his targets right between his molars. Malice is a noisome stench in the air as he adds, “This is the seventh time I’ve had to retrieve you. I'd figure you’d have learned your lesson by now, but time after time you insist on making yourself a burden to fetch.”

“There's no harm in trying, is there?” You maintain that strange curve on your plush lips. It’s difficult to tell what you're thinking, or feeling.

“‘No harm’, yet you delude yourself into believing that a time would come when you could successfully evade me. I wonder how long it’ll take until those dreams of yours crumble and die.”

“You know, there’s a word for what you are,” you state after a thoughtful pause. “I think it’s called: overbearing.”

What a strange person, with a strange smile. Normally, Scaramouche would meet such defiance by smiting his poor victim to dust within the blink of an eye. In your displays of resolve, though, the invincible harbinger finds himself crouching to your level, trailing a slender hand against your windpipe. How easily he could squeeze the life from your throat until you begs for reprieve; choke you of your indignation. Instead, he allows it to linger there without purpose, applying no pressure, grasping nothing.

“And there’s a word for what you are.” He nearly whispers. Difficult. Stubborn. Irrevocably his. “Irrational, when I only want what’s best for you. And what’s best for you, is to offer me your complete submission.”

“Even though I’d sooner offer my life than yield to you?” A new tone makes itself heard in your cadence. Such words, such simple, few words, reveal what lingers beneath your otherwise indifferent facade.

Sagacious. Provocative. Challenging.

Of course, you're testing the boundaries of Scaramouche's resolve, as he does with yours. Suddenly, the atmosphere is taut and palpable with tension for what may become of the future.

Sly, sly little songbird.

Something most unanticipated happens, and you reveal your hands, which you freed from their binds. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise Scaramouche, what with your prowess in the art of escape, but regardless your smile stretches in the presence of the astonishment that lifts his eyebrows and makes his eyes flash white, if only briefly. You take your time observing such a paltry display of rare, raw, emotion, how it shapes the contours of his features at the command of your actions. And gently, you take his hand that graces your throat and tenderly place it on your cheek.

"Ah... You've always been this way, haven't you, Kunikuzushi? Since the very day fate first connected your eyes to mine? " You slant your head into his cold hand with all the fragility of a shedding lotus petal descending into a reservoir, resting your cheek against his cold, liquid touch. Although, the action is far from affectionate. Rather, it's reminiscent of a sort of obstinacy, wearing the facade of love.

"You pine for my heart like you're starved for my flesh.” You take his hand and pass it through your cloak, poising it on your chest, right above your pumping heart.

"But... Perhaps I have no heart to offer you. What then? What will you do when you realize, there is no flesh to pick from my bones? No heart beneath my ribs?"

Scaramouche trudges through your words, running them across his mind. No plausible answer makes itself seen. He relinquishes his hand from your chest.

A cat may not have wings, but it is unrelenting.

“If you have no heart…” He murmurs, before smiling a bitter smile, “Then I’ll make you learn how to love.” how to love him. “I’ll create a heart in the shape of my love, and then I’ll take it. By force if I must.”

"You're willing to create something, just to seize and destroy it..." His words taste like blood upon your tongue. Strange. Carrying pleasantry and uncanniness in a sordid congruence. your lips falter from their smile.

"What a rotten soul you have... When will you realize that your avarice will be your demise?"

A wry, perhaps relenting chuckle emerges from your throat. Then you sigh.

"Perhaps we were made for each other." “

Then why do you run from me? Why do you fight, when you’re meant to be mine?” He asks, vehement, pertinacious.

"But that is where you're mistaken, Scaramouche. You see—” You direct your pointer finger to his chest, resting it in the junction between his collarbones.

“—You're tenacious in pursuing me. But I'm," You points at herself, "Tenacious in avoiding you. We are made for each other like the same ends of two magnets. The same, yet destined to be apart."

There it is, another one of your challenging remarks. The chirping nightingale wriggles free and unfurls it's wings, just as the cat thinks the bird is trapped beneath its paws. And oh, how infuriating, how exhilarating you are. Hatred is a simmering tempest that ignites the harbinger's temper. He despises how affixed he is to you, to the thought of trapping you beneath his claws, only for you to fly free and rejoice your liberation in song. It's petty. It's pathetic. It's irresistible. The Balladeer scoffs.

“Is this all just a game of push and pull to you? Just how long are you willing to avoid me?”

 “How long are you willing to pursue me?”

“Until you submit to me.”

“Then, until you set me free.”

Scaramouche can only watch as you put on your hideous, inhuman, anomalistic smile. Fine, then. If nothing else, he’ll build you a gilded cage to lure you into a golden prison disguised as a paradise. He’ll rip your wings from your body, flesh and bone marrow hanging in loose tendrils, so to erase all notions of flying free from your unreadable mind that he tends to make his possession, until you’re bleeding so sweetly beneath his claws. His beautiful songbird, who sings in the shape of his love.

Because you were made for him. He, the heartless one, who wishes for a heart. For your heart, which you are't willing to offer. Which you wish you never had.

You’re the only one who believes he still has a soul; that he ever had one, rotten as it may be.

Scaramouche cannot let that go. Regardless of how many times you flee from his talons, he will find you and chase you to the very ends of this earth.

Fly away, little singing nightingale.

[mousyatlas]

prompt from @dreamlandcreations: what if paul sees what could have been if he was born a girl and he falls in love with feyd who is supposed to be his husband... how would paul try to get feyd in this life?

The dream left him unsettled. Paul Atreides jolted awake, mind still waxy and pliable after too much time spent in the sand and a belly full of spiced liquor. Was it even a dream? It felt like a vision, cleaving away from whimsy and falling squarely into an alternate timeline. Into a life when he had been born as the Bene Gesserit intended: daughterhood, perfected. He blinked blearily at the window. Past the savannah curtain, dunes crested the horizon. Arrakeen slept. Chani Kynes slept too, her chest rising and falling as she breathed beside him.

Paul returned to the vision, fingering through it like a tapestry with many pockets. In it he was young and foolhardy, bare feet smacking slippery moss in an orchard on Caladan, running from pale hands that snatched for his wrists. A mouthful of briny wind was spat from the sea. The person behind him was the echo of someone he’d seen before in this life. Feyd-Rautha grabbed his waist and spun him around, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth, clumsily missing the place he’d intended to land. In the dream Paul was fifteen at first. Time swiveled out of focus and he was seventeen, panting hard against Feyd’s chin as they sparred or fought or fucked in the training chamber. And then he was eighteen and dressed in white. The gown was beautiful. It reminded him of his mother. Feyd-Rautha wore black. He was crisply dressed and standing straightbacked at the end of a long aisle dusted in petals.

In that vision, somewhere on a timeline near enough to this one to make itself known, Paul Atreides had married Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. He gulped. His throat went dry and his palms grew sweaty. Yesterday Feyd-Rautha had been detained by Fedaykin patrolling a slot canyon in the north. He was being kept in a cell in the bowels of the citadel on Arrakeen. It wasn’t the first time Paul had questioned his visions, but it was the first time he’d slipped out of bed in the dead of night to prove one of them wrong. He dressed slowly and silently, paying close attention to Chani’s restful sleep. Once his trousers were tightened, he tied his leather crysknife sheath around his waist and left their bedchamber, sneaking through each hall until he came to stand before Feyd-Rautha’s intimate prison. He shouldn’t go in. He knew that already. But the dream kept doubling behind his eyelids, daring him to push through the door and test destiny. Or entertain the idea of a different one manifesting in this lifetime, altering the course of Lisan al-Gaib.

Paul unlocked the chamber and stepped inside. The darkness didn’t allow for much, but he saw the outline of Feyd-Rautha’s lean form seated on the edge of a plain mattress, elbows propped on his thighs, hands dangling in front of him. He stared at Paul with lazy hatred.

“Muad’Dib,” Feyd-Rautha rasped, laughing deep in his throat. The bandages around his torso were dark in the middle. Blood from the wound he’d sustained from the Fedaykin must’ve leaked through. “I’m honored.”

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Paul said.

“Would’ve preferred a warrior’s death.”

“I came alone.”

“I can see that, cousin.”

Paul searched for something more to say. He came up empty, still fixated on the vision. “Have you ever dreamed of me, Harkonnen?”

Feyd-Rautha lifted his face. His smile was as small as it had been with Paul’s crysknife buried in his chest, another vision come to fruition in another life. There was no lamp in the small inlet where Feyd was being held. Light from a glow globe in the hall cast a glimmer on his face and made the line of his nose and his cupid’s bow sharper. In the dream, Paul had found him extraordinary. Standing there, staring at him, Paul understood why.

“I dreamed my own death once,” Feyd-Rautha said. He shrugged and stood. His torso was bare except for the cloth bandages. Black trousers fell low on his waist. “I didn’t know it was you holding the blade until yesterday when I saw the great Lisan al-Gaib for the first time. But here I am, alive.”

“I asked if you’d dreamed of me,” Paul said sternly. “Have you or not?”

“Maybe.” His wolfish smile grew. Feyd stepped forward, approaching with slow steps. He listed his head and his naked brow furrowed. “Why do you ask, Atreides?”

Paul should’ve expected that question. His mind was still fuzzy from the spice liquor, his movements slow. When Feyd aimed a strike at his arm, Paul narrowly deflected. They jostled for a brief moment. Paul tried to sweep out his legs, Feyd dodged. Feyd-Rautha attempted to catch Paul’s jaw with his fist, Paul grabbed his wrist and spun him, pinning Feyd roughly to the stone wall.

Paul jammed his crysknife underneath Feyd’s chin. “Because in another life, you were given to me.” Paul gritted the confession between his clenched teeth. He pressed the edge of Shai Hulud’s fang to Feyd’s milky throat. “You were mine.”

“Is that right?” Feyd laughed, craning away from the crysknife.

“We were married, Feyd,” Paul snapped.

Feyd-Rautha’s expression turned from coy to curious. “You’re a bit feisty for my tastes, Atreides — ”

Paul inhaled forcefully. “And you’re a bit cocky for mine.”

“And yet here we are.” Feyd’s crooked smile curved. He tipped his face toward Paul’s, allowing the crysknife to dent his flesh, then split it, leaking red onto the sacred weapon. Their lips faintly touched. “Here we are.” 

[upn-the-sky]

Give me God of War!! (Ares OOAK, Part 1)

okay, you know, how craft works.

One day you've just become attached to GOW with ropes and tears. Another day you've decided in your head that you can't breath without any figure from this game.

You probably buy Kratos action figure (as I did) and probably feel yourself satisfied because your money are safe now (as I thought too! I can't have armored Kratos on his olympic throne, cause I don't have a third kidney, sadly, so I was very pleased with a little god Kratos figure (Neca). After fixing up paint on his face, I look at him and think ohw, you are gorgeous :зззззз).

So, you are moving forward, replay or rewatch god of war games, especially the first games... you are fine.

UNTIL you decide that you are an adept, who stans GOW Ares. You fire up this dump and can't live your life without Ares doll. Idol. I-doll.

If you are me, then you can understand. As Ares said, flesh burns, bones breaks, but putting man into making a custom doll is what truly destroys him. So I hugged my family to increase my level of rage and started. Now you can go under the cut

Actually, I wouldn't do it, but there is no GOW Ares figures in this cruel world at all. Sadly! He is beautiful red-haired war baby, isn't he?

And I like his original design more than the one we have in Ascension. (Althought I like his non-armored outfit (red chiton) from Ascension concept arts, which wasn't used). Anyway, if we want to have our own god of war, we have one way to figure it out.

Personally I've seen only one Ares OOAK in the internet. It was at Neca Kratos base and it was kinda fine. There was completely re-sculpted head, but the body was without any changes. Kratos in his slut era (thank you tumblr, you are the best) was really scraggy, so Ares with his thin waist looked funny 😅.

Well, anyway, Ares wasn't a thin reed and loved to hunch over, so we need to be canon.

I would say, I am not an OOAKer at all, I've just customized my own ball-joined dolls a couple of times, and I say it straightly, making Ares bjd would be nice, but it probably turns out to an endless torture for me and my finances. So for the base I decided to chose 1/6 scale action figure. I needed to harvest a head and a body. It is going to be a re-sculpted hybrid anyway, so we can ignore color difference and stuff. Yes, I devoted my heart and aliexpress account to Ares 🥲

Whoever recognized the head donor actor, well done x) A bit of alcohol and nail cutter for the eyes (it's varnish was undestructible, holy shit..) will manually wipe out his personality forever, bye

Beautiful face. But totally needs to be reworked. Ares has unique face features like a round forehead, wide mouth, full upper lip and a bit potato, but still hellenic nose (isn't it precious? 💕). Honestly I think Santa Monica made him really pleasing and beautiful man in his mature ages. He is not old, but you feel that he is not young too already.

So I took out my Ares iconostasis, which allows me to absorb his beauty from all angles, and started a portrait sculpting.

It was a little hell, but after letting all changes dry, I sanded it and tinted head using airbrush so it will be able to match a body color. Quick matching test:

Nice?

As you can see, both body and head has a good tan skintone. And I know, Ares in GOW1 is as pale as Kratos.

Why am I not tinted him in ashy grey color? 1) It is night in a game, colors are faded because of it, 2) I tried and it looked messy, really... 3) I headcanon that both Ares and Kratos have the same reason for that: Ares is covered in ashes too. But Ares is not cursed, he is like.. always in contact with fire.

So I think that under this grey dust Ares has classic olive skin, same as Kratos. That's why I leave my Ares as if he was washed in a bath and get tidy like he is going to visit Aphrodite's chamber 💫. Anyway if I want to, I just can use photo filters to change it.

Okay, things become serious now.

We've finally reached to the face up.. And my working table lies in ruins and not usable anymore because of the fucking mess after previous steps.

God dammit on me and every single hair I drew in his eyebrows, but I have to say, it was really exciting to paint him. Finally give him his own gaze, brighten up his lips and cheeks. I didn't want to make him an angry bitch. Because he is not this person for me, neither in myths, nor in the game. He is a god, who lived through a lot of mortal lives and has seen a different kinds of.. chaos you know. OG Kratos is an infant compared to him I mean if you think of amount of past experience Ares has. Imho, he wasn't even truly angry at Kratos in GOW1. So I painted his expression how I feel and interpret his main emotional tone. Ares can be purely wrathful, but wrath is not cynical. That's what i think of him.

Okay, when the god became able to truly look after me, I couldn't hesistate and started to made the most iconic feature of him. His flaming hair and beard.

And I'll say it if you don't. I absolutely ❤ adore ❤ his red tousled mane ❤ .

(Just imagine Aphrodite tugging it or brushing, or just bury her face in his hair, because she knows that he will never burn her with his flames. I want to draw this now...)

I wanted his hair to be soft, easily combed and glowing without any electric lights. Gladly I've worked with a doll hair for a long time already.

Earlier I didn't cut off all of plastic hair from the head, only changed hairline by moving it a bit upper from his forehead. It was a part of the plan from the beginning. For the dolls I usually use very thin wool, and plastic mold will provide needed volume for his front combed strands. Screenshots before the eyes, two days of straggling (I wanted all hair to be removable without damaging varnish on his face) and we finally done.

And honestly I don't even want to shorten his hair. He is a perfection.

(Sorry for the empty juice bottle, I will set him on a body later)

Thank you for watching.

Skeletor will return soon with Part 2, where we will create his iconic armor. Well, I hope it will be soon. As soon as I have donors for a dog heads 🥲 He really loved Cerberus.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

NASA scientists recreate Mars's spider-shaped geologic formations in lab for the first time

Tests on Earth appear to confirm how the red planet's spider-shaped geologic formations are carved by carbon dioxide.

Since discovering them in 2003 via images from orbiters, scientists have marveled at spider-like shapes sprawled across the southern hemisphere of Mars. No one is entirely sure how these geologic features are created. Each branched formation can stretch more than a half-mile (1 kilometer) from end to end and include hundreds of spindly "legs." Called araneiform terrain, these features are often found in clusters, giving the surface a wrinkled appearance.

The leading theory is that the spiders are created by processes involving carbon dioxide ice, which doesn't occur naturally on Earth. Thanks to experiments detailed in a new paper published in The Planetary Science Journal, scientists have, for the first time, re-created those formation processes in simulated Martian temperatures and air pressure.

"The spiders are strange, beautiful geologic features in their own right," said Lauren Mc Keown of NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Southern California. "These experiments will help tune our models for how they form."

The study confirms several formation processes described by what's called the Kieffer model: Sunlight heats the soil when it shines through transparent slabs of carbon dioxide ice that built up on the Martian surface each winter.

Being darker than the ice above it, the soil absorbs the heat and causes the ice closest to it to turn directly into carbon dioxide gas—without turning to liquid first—in a process called sublimation (the same process that sends clouds of "smoke" billowing up from dry ice). As the gas builds in pressure, the Martian ice cracks, allowing the gas to escape. As it seeps upward, the gas takes with it a stream of dark dust and sand from the soil that lands on the surface of the ice.

When winter turns to spring and the remaining ice sublimates, according to the theory, the spiderlike scars from those small eruptions are what's left behind.

Recreating Mars in the lab

For Mc Keown and her co-authors, the hardest part of conducting these experiments was re-creating conditions found on the Martian polar surface: extremely low air pressure and temperatures as low as minus 301 degrees Fahrenheit (minus 185 degrees Celsius). To do that, Mc Keown used a liquid-nitrogen-cooled test chamber at JPL, the Dirty Under-vacuum Simulation Testbed for Icy Environments, or DUSTIE.

"I love DUSTIE. It's historic," Mc Keown said, noting that the wine barrel-size chamber was used to test a prototype of a rasping tool designed for NASA's Mars Phoenix lander. The tool was used to break water ice, which the spacecraft scooped up and analyzed near the planet's north pole.

For this experiment, the researchers chilled Martian soil simulant in a container submerged within a liquid nitrogen bath. They placed it in the DUSTIE chamber, where the air pressure was reduced to be similar to that of Mars's southern hemisphere. Carbon dioxide gas then flowed into the chamber and condensed from gas to ice over the course of three to five hours. It took many tries before Mc Keown found just the right conditions for the ice to become thick and translucent enough for the experiments to work.

Once they got ice with the right properties, they placed a heater inside the chamber below the simulant to warm it up and crack the ice. Mc Keown was ecstatic when she finally saw a plume of carbon dioxide gas erupting from within the powdery simulant.

"It was late on a Friday evening and the lab manager burst in after hearing me shrieking," said Mc Keown, who had been working to make a plume like this for five years. "She thought there had been an accident."

The dark plumes opened holes in the simulant as they streamed out, spewing simulant for as long as 10 minutes before all the pressurized gas was expelled.

The experiments included a surprise that wasn't reflected in the Kieffer model: Ice formed between the grains of the simulant, then cracked it open. This alternative process might explain why spiders have a more "cracked" appearance. Whether this happens or not seems dependent on the size of soil grains and how embedded water ice is underground.

"It's one of those details that show that nature is a little messier than the textbook image," said Serina Diniega of JPL, a co-author of the paper.

What's next for plume testing

Now that the conditions have been found for plumes to form, the next step is to try the same experiments with simulated sunlight from above, rather than using a heater below. That could help scientists narrow down the range of conditions under which the plumes and ejection of soil might occur.

There are still many questions about the spiders that can't be answered in a lab. Why have they formed in some places on Mars but not others? Since they appear to result from seasonal changes that are still occurring, why don't they seem to be growing in number or size over time? It's possible that they're left over from long ago, when the climate was different on Mars—and could therefore provide a unique window into the planet's past.

For the time being, lab experiments will be as close to the spiders as scientists can get. Both the Curiosity and Perseverance rovers are exploring the red planet far from the southern hemisphere, which is where these formations appear (and where no spacecraft has ever landed). The Phoenix mission, which landed in the northern hemisphere, lasted only a few months before succumbing to the intense polar cold and limited sunlight.

TOP IMAGE: Spider-shaped features called araneiform terrain are found in the southern hemisphere of Mars, carved into the landscape by carbon dioxide gas. This 2009 image taken by NASA’s Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter shows several of these distinctive formations within an area three-quarters of a mile (1.2 kilometers) wide. Credit: NASA / JPL-Caltech / University of Arizona

CENTRE IMAGE: These formations similar to the Red Planet’s “spiders” appeared within Martian soil simulant during experiments in JPL’s DUSTIE chamber. Carbon dioxide ice frozen within the simulant was warmed by a heater below, turning it back into gas that eventually cracked through the frozen top layer and formed a plume. Credit: NASA / JPL-Caltech

LOWER IMAGE: Dark splotches seen in this example of araneiform terrain captured by NASA’s Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter in 2018 are believed to be soil ejected from the surface by carbon dioxide gas plumes. A set of experiments at JPL has sought to re-create these spider-like formations in a lab. Credit: NASA / JPL-Caltech / University of Arizona

BOTTOM IMAGE: Here’s a look inside of JPL’s DUSTIE, a wine barrel-size chamber used to simulate the temperatures and air pressure of other planets – in this case, the carbon dioxide ice found on Mars’ south pole. Experiments conducted in the chamber confirmed how Martian formations known as “spiders” are created. Credit: NASA / JPL-Caltech

[bardnuts]

NEW CHAPTER

Be Gay, Do Drugs, Hail Satan - Chapter 4 - katabatic - Baldur's Gate (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

Ch 4 of a fic in which Durge fails to find anyone except Astarion on the day after the crash and they have to rough it in the wilderness alone together for a while

It’s the hardest lock you’ve had to pick in years, and you really don’t want to turn your back on him long enough to do it. Every time this mad bard leaves your line of sight, you, Astarion, are transfixed by the horrible certainty of imminent murder. 

Not even Cazador’s demented skeleton jailor Godey has you this on edge all the time, but there is something wrong with this man. He’s standing behind you now, rocking back and forth on his heels in the sand and singing to himself (very quietly, but only because you already told him to shut up twice). You’ve broken two lockpicks already and the third snaps off in your hand as Twill lets out a bark and doubles over coughing.

You jump a foot in the air and spin around, unable to conceal your rage and unease even though it’s vital, absolutely vital, that you do nothing to alienate this human, even though your very survival depends on his protection. “What was that?” 

Tears are streaming from Twill’s eyes. He thumps his chest. “Sorry,” he wheezes. “Fly—went into my mouth—” 

“Never mind. Just keep it down, will you?” You’re smoothing yourself over, pulling your voice back down to a more acceptable register. “A master is at work here.” 

You bend to the lock again. His eyes burn like sunlight on the back of your neck. You can sense, through your shared parasite, something black and unspeakable thrashing just beneath the surface of Twill’s thoughts. Your instincts are tested, true, rarely flat-out wrong: you’re afraid of him for a reason. 

You’re afraid of a man who chokes on flies, and you’re furious about it. 

The fourth lockpick does it. The doors in the cliff face crack and expel a puff of dust as you push them inward. Sunlight penetrates a gray interior, thick with cobwebs and silence, and flows over the lid of an ornate casket at the center of a long chamber. 

Home sweet home, almost.

You step back and beckon the bard. “After you. Assuming you’ve finished sampling the local wildlife.” 

“Oh, this will be fun,” says Twill, breezing past you. “I’ve never done a good old-fashioned grave-robbing before.” 

His lute jangles as he walks. His outfit has been embroidered—with frustrating skill—in colors that should make your eyes bleed. He moves with a sense of incaution and ineptitude better suited to a toddler with nothing to lose. You’re so entranced by your own profound dislike for this man that you don’t notice the vents in the floor until it’s too late. 

“Wait—ah!” You abort your frantic lunge towards Twill as he steps on the raised plate surrounding the vent and the resulting click sends a jolt of terror up your spine. 

“What?” asks Twill.

“Traps.” 

Twill looks at his feet, where a puddle of greasy slime is oozing steadily from the vent in the floor. “Not really effective, though, are they?” 

You can’t kill him, you need him. You can’t kill him, you need him.

“Ehm,” you say. “I have a feeling that the horrible goo is only part one of our demise, and I’m not keen on initiating part two. So shall we watch our step?” 

“You have experience in tomb raiding?” 

“Let’s say I have experience in tombs.” 

To his credit, and your chagrin, he takes your advice literally and begins moving across the chamber with exaggerated care, frowning at his own boots. Then something pulls his attention to the western wall. “What’s that? Looks valuable.” 

“Watch where you’re stepping, you—augh!” Your feet betray you and you slip in the grease puddle, landing flat on your back and cracking your skull against the flagstone floor. For a moment all you hear is a high ringing noise. Then animal terror grips you once again and you struggle upright, looking around frantically because you have allowed your attention to lapse and he might already be lunging toward you with a stake to bury in your heart—

His head pops over the top of the sarcophagus in the center of the chamber. “That sounded nasty. You all right?” 

“Fine!” you snap. “All is well and good here, no thanks to you. Just don’t touch anything else.” Most of the floor is now covered in what you suspect to be a highly flammable slime. You get to your feet with upmost care, glaring daggers at the back of Twill’s head as he returns to his rummaging. 

It isn’t entirely his fault. You’ve been in an abominable mood all day. Because you’re hungry. You’re trying not to think about how you can hear the blood pounding in Twill’s veins, or how tempted you are to lunge at him while he has his back turned, to sink your fangs into that supple-looking neck. 

You can’t kill him, you need him.

You need blood, too. 

You’re a slave to your hunger, even if Cazador is far away. The very thought makes you want to retch. But you’ve never fed on a sapient creature before, never a humanoid, just … rats. And corpses. And this freak of a human has his back turned to you. Maybe you don’t need him. You could drain him dry and leave him here, and no one would ever be the wiser. 

Move quick. Move quiet.

You slip in the grease again and hit your head. 

“Careful over there,” calls Twill. “Say, what do you think the going price is for butt oil in rural villages?”

Your hunger has been overridden by a splitting headache. “…What?” 

Across the room, Twill holds up a small glass vial shaped like a phallus. “There’s a whole crate full of these. Say, you don’t think … no …” His voice trails away as he gazes down at the quarter-inch of slime coating the flagstones. 

“Oh, good gods,” you say. “Whose tomb is this?” 

“Don’t know, but we can find out—shit!” Twill’s jovial tone cuts into a hiss of pain and he jerks his hand from the crate. A ribbon of blood slides down the back of his hand and up his sleeve. “Well, the whole bottom layer is in pieces, so we’ll just have to take what we can carry, I suppose.” 

You can’t reply. Your brain is full of static. You can feel it rising, the feral hunger that will turn you into an animal, a gasping, twitching thing with no thoughts in its head, only blood, only thirst. There’s a voice in your head, an old and familiar one. Look how easy it is to make you forget yourself, boy. Can’t handle a little thirst? A little deprivation? You think you’ll ever be worthy of true power?

“Here, catch.” 

Instinctively, you do. It is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, a vial of butt oil. 

With a sharp gasp, you come back to yourself and smash the vial against the sarcophagus for good measure. “We’re not taking this. Are you insane?” 

“Well—”

“Don’t, don’t answer that.” In a panic, you paper over your hunger with mania and dart around the sarcophagus, scanning the shadows of the tomb for anything that might be worth taking. “There has to be something in here we can sell. Come on. Come on!” 

“I say we start with the obvious,” says Twill. “If I were dead, I’d want to keep my valuables close.” He makes his way carefully across the grease and reaches for the lid of the sarcophagus.

You seize his wrist. He stiffens.

“I said, don’t touch anything,” you whisper. 

His blood is warm and wet under your fingers, his pulse a siren song. You’re as startled by the contact as he is. He’s watching you sharply, not with fear but something more akin to a predator’s caution glinting deep in those honey-brown eyes. One wrong move, and you’re both dead. 

Drink. Feed. Consume.

You release him. It almost leaves you giddy with relief—you can control yourself, after all. You’re not an animal. You’re not an animal. 

Not anymore.

“Let me take care of it,” you say. “I can see a mechanism here, just under this lip. Do you see?” 

He bends down and cranes his neck. “What, that?” 

“It might be a trap. So, stand back, and watch the master at work.” You kneel as you fish your tools from your pocket and twist to reach the spring-loaded trigger set under the lid of the sarcophagus. Your fingers are spotted with blood. Your hands are shaking. Your thumb slips. 

Click. 

“Oh.” Your voice seems to come from a long way away. “Shit.” 

[the-nerd-up-north]

An old sled, rusted, and worn from the dust and use it's seen over the years, just something Tersa had found her first few weeks here. It didn't have any holes-- but the dust storms and acidic fog would soak into everything it could and corrode. She had to move quickly, the carbon tarp strapped to the top. These Blonde locks whipped in the wind after falling from inside the hood, green eyes staring at the grey swirling clouds above for a moment as she rose from Sandy Hill. Sand and dust for miles— all but a single risen structure, having been already buried by the storm that ever-presently roared in this figure’s ears. A gasp as the pressured chamber would seal, a white room as this woman brought the sled in, and a respirator pulled off as this dust is blown and sucked into the system.

~ decontamination and Filtering complete, welcome back; Technician Azerse.~

“Yeah thanks E-2, Any messages from my mother?” She looked up to the walls as she took the poncho off, and respirator, to reveal these bright orange overalls and a Violet vest that she had zipped mid-way up. Almost, a pilot’s uniform

“Ah, it does appear she had put a few more tasks on your docket, including an Engine test of your recent project.”

“Engine test? There’s not anything wrong with that thing, I double and triple-checked.”

“She thinks otherwise.” A sigh as a locker opened, a hand shoved in as hair was grabbed and woven back into a braid before leaving this white space, the distant feet of fellow soldiers pacing through as this thin-lanky figure began the arduous Journey to the port.

@waysxftheforce

[austerulous]

◈   @tlacehualli said:  

❛ She speaks up the moment Dez enters, voice half-distracted. "Oy, cangura, viete aqui." The hacker's seated at a desk and there's a veritable pile of assorted parts in front of her which she didn't even bother to look up from. It's mostly circuitry - old school motherboards, one very shiny very new chip off to the side in a little plastic container, and a lot of what looks like old portable gaming systems; Vitas, Gameboys of all kinds, 3DS's, Switches. Directly in front of her and what she's currently working on is a 3DS in near perfect condition, surrounded by the most choice parts she's pilfered from the rest. The shell's banged up but the innards are in surprisingly not completely fucked, so the modifications she's attempting are going smoothly.

"Think you can hold one of these things without breaking them apart?" She swivels halfway in the chair to consider Odessa and then snorts a little bit. The other woman was nearly as tall as Akande and talking to him for too long gave her neck problems. "Shit. Huh. Maybe I should have picked something with bigger buttons. Here - " Sombra picks over different parts in front of he and picks out a GBA with a completely shattered screen (but functional buttons) and passes it to her. "See how the buttons feel. Different model but the buttons are a similar enough size..."

The next part is relatively easy compared to all the soldering - she's just transposing game codes into the new chip, along with some of her own custom software tweaks. Old tech like this was super familiar to her so the process was pretty seamless - twin, razor straight hardlight beams in magenta beaming data directly from one to another. "Hijo de la puta madre. Please tell me those buttons are fine or this little project is gonna take all fucking day into tomorrow." ❜

Sepia light and sand leaked through the ventilation shafts. Dust-coated fan blades creaked, casting columns of shadow. Even in the vaults of Junkertown, in the echoing chambers of its decaying heart, Odessa seemed to fill the room, always eating up too much space. Just as Sombra always dipped into her native tongue. Sharp, resonant, soulful. Like music. It didn’t matter how ugly the words might be in their meaning, not when they sounded so beautiful, not when they were being spat in her direction.

A smirk died on the queen’s lips before it could draw its first breath. Stalking nearer – but not too close – Odessa surveyed the small scrapyard of gadgets, their cracked screens black-eyed and blind. Communication devices, she supposed. Like those the outsiders brought, clutching them like pearls, their entire lives consolidated and compressed into one fragile, soulless box.

One device was selected and thrust unceremoniously into her grasp, her expression spasming into one of confusion – and curiosity. Its screen was shattered, devastated in a way Odessa could understand. Any Junker knew the value of broken things. Humming softly, she turned it over in her broad, long-fingered hands, and obediently tested the buttons.

Such a simple thing, and yet it caused a thread inside her to snag, pull, dredging up a memory long buried. One of her sitting front and centre on her mother’s lap, a similar device held aloft, hovering. Her sisters walled her in on both sides, huddling close, watching in awe, spellbound by adult dexterity and focus. Their mother had been the slayer of boss monsters, puzzle cracker extraordinaire. When they got stuck, she would blaze the way into the next level.

In that splintered screen, Odessa’s own reflection suddenly came into sharp focus. Familiar features appeared detonated, split into pieces, fractured and distorted almost beyond recognition.

Yes, she had to believe in the value of broken things.

Magenta beams of hardlight pierced the gloom, proving a welcome distraction. Sombra dealt in the intangible, her abilities almost akin to witchcraft. What else could it be, when she was able to reach beyond veils to pluck information unseen, files falling into her hands like ripe fruit, her fingers unburned by even the most ferocious of firewalls? Odessa was getting old. It was beyond her to understand. Her language was of the physical, of sputtering engines and diesel fumes, of bullets and blood.

“I mean, yeah, they seem fine.”

The device was returned to the table, nestling among its equally defunct siblings. Junker Queen leaned in, looming on the periphery of Sombra’s personal space. Experience told her that to trespass was to invite that delightfully melodious language to become jagged, pointed, sharpened into a knife on the tip of Sombra’s tongue.

“Goin’ to all this effort for me, when ya ain’t even one of my subjects? I’m flattered.”

[indiantradebirddigital]

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[envisystechnologies]

Advanced Sand and Dust Testing Solutions | Envisys Technologies

Envisys Technologies offers advanced sand and dust testing solutions to meet the rigorous testing requirements of various industries. Our customized testing chambers simulate harsh environmental conditions, including exposure to sand and dust particles, and are available in different sizes and configurations. Our chambers are built with high-quality materials and components, ensuring durability and reliability. Our Chambers yield with international standards such as IEC, DIN, SAE, MIL, JSS, and JIS, ensuring meet the required specifications and performance criteria.

Blower speed regulation systems ensure uniform distribution of dust particles within the test space, creating realistic testing conditions for accurate evaluation of product performance. Envisys' sand and dust testing chambers feature programmable capability, allowing users to set and control testing parameters according to specific requirements. User-friendly operation is provided with touch control panels and multi-function programmable timers.

Real-time monitoring of test parameters, including temperature, humidity, and dust concentration, allows users to track test progress and make adjustments as needed. Envisys' sand and dust testing chambers are suitable for various industries, including automotive, aerospace, defense, and electronics. We offer customization options to tailor the chambers according to specific needs.

[doaho]

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[best-testing-lab-uae]

The Impact of Abu Dhabi’s Climate on Concrete Testing: What Labs Focus On

Introduction

Abu Dhabi’s impressive skyline, characterized by its towering skyscrapers and modern architectural marvels, is a testament to the city’s rapid growth and development. However, constructing such high-rise buildings in an arid climate presents unique challenges. One crucial aspect of ensuring the structural integrity and longevity of concrete used in these projects is concrete testing. Concrete testing labs in Abu Dhabi must account for the city’s extreme climate conditions to ensure that the concrete used meets the highest standards of durability and performance. This blog explores how Abu Dhabi’s climate impacts concrete testing and what labs focus on to ensure the quality of construction materials.

Abu Dhabi’s Climate and Its Challenges

Abu Dhabi is known for its harsh climatic conditions, which include:

High Temperatures: Summers in Abu Dhabi can see temperatures soar above 45°C (113°F), with extreme heat persisting for extended periods.

Low Humidity: The city experiences low humidity levels, which can contribute to rapid evaporation of moisture from fresh concrete.

Dust and Sand: Frequent dust storms and sand can affect the quality of concrete if not properly managed.

Salt Exposure: Being a coastal city, Abu Dhabi’s air contains salt particles that can affect concrete durability over time.

These climatic factors can significantly influence the performance of concrete, making it essential for concrete testing lab to implement specialized testing protocols and procedures to address these challenges.

Key Areas of Focus for Concrete Testing Labs in Abu Dhabi

Concrete testing labs in Abu Dhabi focus on several critical aspects to ensure that concrete can withstand the city’s climatic conditions. Here’s a deep dive into the key areas of focus:

Temperature Control and Its Impact

Overview: High temperatures can accelerate the curing process of concrete, potentially leading to issues such as insufficient hydration and increased risk of cracking.

Testing Focus: Labs monitor the temperature of both the ambient environment and the concrete mix. They often use temperature-controlled curing chambers to simulate and control curing conditions. Tests such as the setting time of concrete (ASTM C403) are crucial to ensure proper hydration and strength development.

Moisture Loss and Evaporation

Overview: Rapid evaporation of moisture from fresh concrete in hot and dry conditions can lead to surface defects and reduced strength.

Testing Focus: Labs evaluate moisture loss through tests that measure evaporation rates and assess the effects of different curing methods. They also advise on the use of curing compounds and techniques to minimize moisture loss and ensure proper curing.

Durability Against Environmental Exposure

Overview: Concrete exposed to harsh environmental conditions, such as high temperatures and salt exposure, must be durable to resist degradation.

Testing Focus: Labs conduct durability tests to evaluate concrete’s resistance to factors such as chloride ion penetration (ASTM C1202) and sulfate attack (ASTM C1012). They also assess concrete’s ability to withstand freeze-thaw cycles if applicable.

Quality of Aggregates and Mix Design

Overview: The quality of aggregates and the mix design can influence the concrete’s performance under extreme conditions.

Testing Focus: Labs test the properties of aggregates, such as their size, shape, and moisture content, to ensure they are suitable for use in concrete. They also evaluate the mix design to optimize the ratio of cement, water, and aggregates, taking into account the local climate.

Crack Assessment and Prevention

Overview: High temperatures and rapid drying can increase the risk of surface cracking in concrete.

Testing Focus: Labs conduct tests to assess the potential for cracking and implement measures to prevent it, such as using additives or adjusting the mix design. They also evaluate concrete samples for surface and internal cracking after curing.

Chemical Resistance

Overview: Concrete exposed to salty air or other aggressive chemicals requires enhanced chemical resistance to avoid deterioration.

Testing Focus: Labs perform chemical analysis to determine the concrete’s resistance to chemical attacks. Tests such as sulfate resistance (ASTM C1012) and chloride ion content (ASTM C1152) are essential to ensure long-term durability.

Best Practices for Concrete Testing in Abu Dhabi

To address the challenges posed by Abu Dhabi’s climate effectively, concrete testing labs and construction teams should follow these best practices:

Implementing Effective Curing Methods

Overview: Proper curing is essential to achieving the desired strength and durability of concrete.

Best Practices: Use curing compounds, wet coverings, or curing blankets to retain moisture and control temperature. Labs should provide guidelines on the most effective curing methods for specific conditions.

Monitoring and Controlling Temperature

Overview: Controlling the temperature of the concrete mix and environment is crucial for preventing premature setting and ensuring proper curing.

Best Practices: Use temperature-controlled mixers and curing chambers to maintain optimal conditions. Regularly monitor temperatures and adjust as needed to prevent issues.

Selecting Appropriate Mix Designs

Overview: The mix design must be optimized for the local climate to ensure that concrete performs well under extreme conditions.

Best Practices: Work with the lab to develop a mix design that accounts for high temperatures and low humidity. Consider using additives or alternative materials to improve performance and durability.

Conducting Comprehensive Durability Testing

Overview: Durability testing is crucial for ensuring that concrete can withstand environmental challenges over time.

Best Practices: Perform a range of durability tests, including chloride ion penetration, sulfate resistance, and resistance to chemical attacks. Use the results to make informed decisions about mix design and construction practices.

Regular Quality Control and Monitoring

Overview: Ongoing quality control ensures that concrete remains within the specified standards throughout the construction process.

Best Practices: Implement regular testing and monitoring of concrete properties, including strength, workability, and durability. Address any issues promptly to maintain the quality of the concrete.

Conclusion

Concrete testing labs in Abu Dhabi play a critical role in ensuring that concrete used in high-rise construction projects meets the highest standards of quality and durability. By focusing on the impact of the city’s extreme climate—such as high temperatures, low humidity, and salt exposure—labs can provide valuable insights and testing services that address these challenges effectively. Adhering to best practices and implementing robust testing protocols helps ensure that concrete structures are resilient, safe, and long-lasting, contributing to the continued success of Abu Dhabi’s impressive architectural landscape. Investing in comprehensive concrete testing not only enhances the performance of your construction projects but also supports the city’s reputation for excellence in building and engineering.

[unitedtesting]

Sand and dust test chamber