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gallusrostromegalus · 1 year ago

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Hi Gallus, I'm doing some worldbuilding and you seem like you could be connected enough for me to find an answer to the problem of dwarven agriculture. Many problems are created by the requirement of no sunlight, as even the common response of mushrooms still need light to break down decomposing matter as a primary energy source. Currently, we're thinking that they use a special type of mushroom that breaks down rocks in an energy-producing reaction, giving them enough energy to absorb nutrients and grow - this would serve a second purpose in explaining why building a massive hollowed-out mountain fortress doesn't produce an equally large amount of gravel.

Any thoughts? We're grasping at straws kinda lol

Well, some thoughts:

There's plenty of cave systems (especially Karst Systems) that are at least partially open to Sunlight- especially the kind that have rivers running through them, which is something else that's really helpful for agriculture.

For Example: This Cool AF Sinkhole cave in china that has an entire Forest in it

Now There's a view to put outside the city Gates!

Karst specifically is a landscape where underground rivers hollow out the limestone underground and then the cave roofs fall in. This kind of landscape answers your gravel question nicely: the hollowed out mountain does produce an equal amount of gravel, but the gravel turns up as the sandy banks of the river system hundreds of miles away.

So, there's your sunlight that can be used directly, or reflected or magically transferred deeper into the cave system.

Or they just put more holes in the roof! Unless your dwarves are also vampires, there's no reason for them to not hollow out a few Skylights into the mountain too.

But let's talk some other cave ecology and agriculture!

For starters, your dwarves could be sitting on top of a literal gold mine that would allow them to trade for a lot of needed materials and crops.

And by gold mine, I mean Salt Mine.

Historically, salt comes out of hollowed-out mountains and is worth more than gold.

Also something the humans have historically fought a bunch of wars over, so there's some free political tensions if you needed that!

I can also mean the possible fucking enormous piles of bat guano that accumulates in Karst caves, which is the world's most insanely good fertilizer, and ALSO something that has been worth more than it's weight in gold.

Speaking of Gold, another thing that often lives in sinkhole caves in abundance is BEES. turns out, limestone stalactites are a terrific place to build a hive that is difficult for predators to reach, stays dry and the stone substrate means the hives can reach many tons in weight before they start having structural issues. That sweet, sweet insect-derived liquid gold is already important to Dwarves in a lot of folklore- it's really hard to have a Traditional Dwarven Mead Hall without the honey to make the mead, you know?

So you got your mushrooms, you got your sunlight-grown sinkhole crops, you got your traded goods and you got your source of alcohol- the only thing really missing from an ancient food pyramid here is a staple carbohydrate. To that end, may I propose our good Peruvian Friend: The Potato.

Grain crops aren't actually all that nutritious and were kept around in ancient societies more as legal tender that kept the peasants busy, because wheat or rice takes months to grow, an enormous amount of labor to harvest, and wheat also needs to be milled before it can be turned into food- all enormously time-consuming processes that keep peasants busy and easy to rule tyranically over.

Potatoes though? Pop one in the ground in spring and you can dig up fingerlings all summer, and if you make potato towers, you can harvest up to 40lbs of delicious, easy-to-prepare-and-store carb out of a single plant- a real space-saver for the limited sinkhole skyspace.

If your dwarves have cheese, the potato makes even more sense, because Potato+dairy is the easiest, most nutritionally complete survival food there is.

Finally, consider: Dwarven Vodka.

This post is open for anyone to comment suggestions on, but that's my take: put your dwarves in a Karst-sinkhole cave system, give them a highly in demand resource like salt or guano, bees, and taters. Boom. Whole agriculture, economy and political scheme starters.

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inkdrinkerworld · 2 years ago

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Sunshine!reader, who gets told that she talks too much and remus tells the person to stfu and tell her to continue her small fact.

this is so real and so very remus!!!

you and remus are at a party that's been pretty shitty so far. sirius had decided to throw a spring party, but he grossly overestimated the probability of the english weather actually being good.

now, everyone was in his living room snacking on cucumber sandwiches, bowls of strawberries and cream and the biscuits he'd set out, while the rain beats down on his roof.

you on the other hand, were snuggled up to remus, legs over his thighs as his fingers fiddle with your frill trimmed socks.

"rem," you start softly, head resting on his chest as you remember something you'd wanted to tell him weeks ago.

he turns to you, a chocolate digestive in hand. "you wan'a bite?" you take a nibble and then say,

"wanna tell you about something."

he nods, sandy hair falling in his eyes before he pushes them back.

"did you know that in 2006 NASA got their first clear picture of pluto?" you'd been sitting on the fact for far too long.

"really?" remus watches your eyes brighten at his surprise.

"mhm," you hum, twisting to face him a little better before continuing, "that's when they noticed it had a heart on it too! a scientist, tombagh regio discovered it and that's the heart's name now."

before you can carry on, someone cuts you off with a sharp, "shut up."

remus watches you deflate into him and bends just far enough for his palm to make contact with the back of the man's head. "mind your business, she wasn't talking to you, was she?"

he turns back to you and offers you the last of his digestive, "carry on dove, what else do you know about pluto's heart?"

"well," you start shyly, but remus' genuine intrigue fights the bashfulness away fast and you spend the rest of the evening educating him and james who's now leant over about everything you know about pluto.

#remuslupin #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin x black!reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x yn #remus lupin x y/n

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trelkez · 13 days ago

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Here are some of my current favorite visualizations for five minutes of chill out relax escapism time, borrow at will:

You're sitting in a cozy chair on a covered porch in late spring, a steaming cup of tea in your hands. A sudden, brief downpour has cloaked the porch from the outside world, rain drumming on the roof and dripping down the trees. It's been a pleasantly warm day, but the heat of the teacup feels good against the slight chill of the rain. You can smell damp earth and black tea and sweet spring flowers. There's a book sitting on the table next to you, but no phones or screens anywhere; no one can reach you here.

You're on a flat, sandy beach, stretched out in a beach chair under an umbrella. Ahead of you is an uninterrupted view of the open ocean, the sun sparkling off the water. Beside you in the shade is a cooler full of cold drinks and a tote bag of beach reads you might or might not get around to reading. There's a line of grassy dunes at your back, curving gently toward the ocean to create a hidden cove; it's just you and the ocean and the birds at the shoreline. The ocean is at low tide, rolled back to reveal shells and stones and sea glass. The salty ocean breeze cuts through the heat of the day. The rise and fall of distant waves is a soft white noise, broken here and there by birdsong.

You've stopped at a scenic mountain overlook just before dawn. The sky is a deep deep blue, birds singing all around you in the trees. At the end of the overlook path, you find a small clearing with a single wood bench, only a sturdy wood railing separating you from a mountain vista still mostly hidden in darkness. The bench is a little damp with morning dew, but you sit, glad for your cozy sweater against the early morning chill. The forest air is fresh, fragrant with pine and moss. Slowly the sun rises over the mountains: lightening shades of blue shot through with gold, then all at once, a glowing pink-orange sky over purple peaks as far as the eye can see. You stay there until the sun has fully risen, daylight shining through the trees as you head back.

#chill out relax escapism time #if you aren't good at visualization but find yourself in dire need of a few minutes of unplugging lately #I find it helps to focus on the smell of the petrichor or salt breeze or forest air #a candle you can light to match is great for this if you have one #or to focus on things like the warmth of the teacup or the heat of the sand beneath your feet or the early morning chill #not just what you see but how does it feel #I was discussing this just now with friends who say they aren't good at constructing visualizations and thought I would toss mine out there #in case anyone finds them helpful

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voidsentprinces · 5 months ago

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Had a couple of people come in my work yesterday and they were in a middle of a conversation, dressed up for Halloween parties. And a girl of the group was like: Too bad October is over so soon. I'd love to wear the black eye shadow and lip stick year round.

Like...girl. Consider: Goth.

Its not just October and Halloween. Its year around. Think of all the possibilities. Being the Goth through the seasons.

A Goth in Spring? Life rebirthed! Bees buzzing, flowers blooming, allergies killing everyone, birds are singing, the sun is high, the wind is breezy and there you are...the singular patch of darkness in and otherwise glowing pastel world. The decrepit and abandoned farm that sits at the edge of the forest. No ones been there in years. Planets, insect, and animal now have taken it over. No one knew what happen to the family. Their equipment still out in the now overgrown grassy fields. A wooden front porch...rocking chairs now fallen apart. Dust settling on the roof tops. No more lights inside. No one goes inside. They all just up and vanished one night. Neighbor swore they heard gunfire at 3 in the morning. Went over to check on them. Neither hide nor hair remained. No clothing or personal effects. Car still in the drive way. Now just gone. A haunting memory in an otherwise luscious grove. Sometimes the neighbor swears, he still sees one of the kids watching them at the edge of the forest...but no one ever goes there anymore. Not since the birds stopped nesting there.

Anyway, a Goth in Summer! BRIGHT HEATED DAYS! The sandy beach and there you are...a inked blotch on the tanned ground. The cave at the cove. Dark and cool in the face of the unyielding heat of the season. Children run by and dare each other to walk up to you. But none have the courage.

Goth in Autumn! I mean COME ON! TIS THE SEASON! Yellow and orange cling on but the purple, green, blacks, and whites are now in fashion. You can be the year round Goth. YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO BE THE FASHION OF THE SEASON! EVERY SEASON but PARTICULARLY AUTUMN!

Winter. The nights grow long. The snow raises up. And you are now the darkness that engulfs everything. The world is your oyster. You rule these lands.

So yeah, girl you're missing out. Be goth year around. Wear dat black lipstick and...black eye--wait isn't all eye shadow basically always black?

#{ Void what the hell? }#{ I know right? Why didnt it hit me sooner that eye shadow is nearly always black!? }

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potatoobsessed999 · 4 months ago

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Trick or treat!

Happy Halloween! Have a complete draft of an appropriately ghostly fic that I didn't realize was a complete draft till I went looking for something to answer this with!

The tarn is mirror-smooth and starless. Andreth gathers her skirts up in one hand and lowers herself gingerly to sit on the bank. She falls the last few inches with a thump that takes the breath out of her. The tarn listens to her gasping; her heart pounds in her chest. Everything else is silent.

It occurs to her that she may not be able to stand up again. She decides not to let it trouble her.

Slowly her harsh breaths gentle. She takes steady draughts of air, tasting the night on her tongue. Always now the world has the flavor of smoke, but by Aeluin’s waters it is not so bad as it is elsewhere. She could almost make herself believe she can taste some remnant of the spring breeze from that long-ago evening – the sweetness, the life on the air.

The grasses beneath her are dry; they prick her ankles through their thin, worn stockings. She decides not to let it trouble her.

No loons call across the waters tonight; no crickets sing in the reeds by the shore. Are they dead, she wonders, or only frightened into hiding? The birds may have fled away southward, where perhaps the flames have not yet reached. The insects can have made no such escape. They belong to this place; its life and its death are binding on them.

Her breath, her heartbeat, are all that stir in the night.

The tarn’s roof of sky sags low upon the pillars of the trees. If this were that night, that night of sweet breeze and sweeter singing, then the stars would glimmer beneath the surface of the water like lost jewels. She would see her own face in the water, her black hair a shadow against the night, and beside it she would see another. He had said there was a star caught in her hair.

The sky hangs low, weighed down by smoke.

Andreth digs her fingers violently into the soft earth beneath her, blunting her nails against pebbles in the sandy soil. She jerks up her chin, more suddenly than her old bones make it wise to move, and stares wide-eyed and desperate over the empty tarn. Her breath is in her ears, hoarse and thickened with smoke. She strains her eyes in searching; she strains them at nothing, nothing. No echo, no memory.

“Aegnor!” she cries out, once only, as sharp and forlorn as the calls of the vanished loons.

Her voice rings out over the tarn; she fancies that it leaves the night-black water troubled in its wake. But the ripples smooth in a moment – if they were ever there. No one calls out to her in answer, neither bird nor beast nor orc nor Man nor Elf. The world is as still as the mirror of the water, and the mirror is clouded over with the smoke of the sky.

Andreth sinks back slowly against the slope of the bank. She rests her head among the dried and broken grasses. She shuts her eyes.

She wakes in the gray-lit hour before sunrise, and he is there.

She does not know him at first. He is a shadow, a wavering gleam at the edge of the water, faint as a half-remembered flame. She watches him idly, eyes half-open, not yet awake enough to wonder what it is that she is observing. Then – slowly, it seems, and yet all at once, with no warning – she sees his face.

She screams. It is a terrible thing in that moment, seeing him, when she knows he is gone and she will not meet him again in any world. He flickers in the sound of her voice as in a gust of wind; then, his red glow strengthening, he turns to look at her. For a moment, only a moment, he grows still as a painted flame; then with a roar like wildfire he rushes toward her.

“Andreth,” he crackles, and she is in his arms. He lifts her from the bank of the tarn. His closeness sears her skin; she hears her hair catch with the fire of him, smells it scorching as it curls and blackens in his heat. She hisses with the pain and holds him harder, tighter. He burns all around her. She buries her face in his shoulder and sobs. Here is she, ash-pale, wrinkled and weary, and here is he, a naked flame –

“Andreth,” he murmurs into her blackening hair. “Andreth.”

“Aegnor,” she whispers. “Why hast thou returned?”

“How could I leave thee?” he says. “Ai, Andreth!”

“Thy brother said –”

“My brother.” He scoffs. “What is my brother to me? Thou, Andreth –”

She frowns into his shoulder.

He seems to feel it. “I love him,” he amends. “But as I love thee? Andreth, he is chaff before thy flame.”

“Nay!” She shakes her head against him. “Thou art the flame. But, Aegnor –” she lifts her head to look into his searing face – “thou didst not used to speak so.”

“I am dead,” he answers her, and she shivers. “There is nothing left in me that may dissemble. I am thine, Andreth; I returned for thee and no other. Know that, and do not wonder.”

She feels the certainty settle into her bones as he says it. Once more she buries her face in his shoulder, and for a time she allows herself to feel that she is a young woman, dark-haired and strong, held by a living Elf whose fire is in his eyes. But his touch still burns her.

“Andreth,” he says after a while. “Andreth, why art thou here alone? What has become of thy people?”

“My people are well,” she answers at once, and then laughs bitterly at herself. “As well as anyone may be in these days! They have not perished, and I must content myself with that.”

“Then why art thou not with them?” he asks. “When I sought thee here I did not think to find thee alone.”

She laughs again. “Ai, Aegnor! Once I told thy brother I would not run after thee when I was old, to weary thee. And now behold me.” She steps back, fighting the clinging fire of his grasp. A moment passes, two moments, three – then he unwinds his arms from about her shoulders. She stumbles, hardly catches herself. A third time she laughs, breathless, and she gestures at herself, her shriveled face, her tottering legs. “What am I that I should run after my people, when they must run fast and far? What would I be to them but a burden, and perhaps death? I have been of great use to them in my time, but a wisewoman now is not what they need. They will be safer without me.”

“Nevertheless,” he says, “I know they would keep thee.”

Again she laughs. She has not laughed so much in a long time as she has done tonight, but it is no relief to her. “This I know!” she says. “And I withdraw, and I do not take what lies to my hand – adaneth I am!”

“Wouldst turn my words back upon me?” he says, dangerously soft.

Andreth raises her brows. “Were those words thine? Thy brother did not say so.”

“Did he not?” He shakes his head. “Nonetheless they were mine. Do not use them against me! I tell thee thy people grieve thee, and they would have thee back. Let me bring thee to them – let me see thee safe.”

“It is too late,” Andreth says, and feels something heavy burn in her chest. It is not altogether an unhappy pain. “Emeldir said she would tarry for none. I know her, and I know she spoke the truth. They have gone. They are safe.”

He is silent for a moment. The ember-glow pulses in his face. Andreth watches him. He is more beautiful now than he was the day she met him, she thinks, and that – that is a thorn in her heart. She sags where she stands, feeling the soft sand shift underfoot. She is weary; soon she will stumble and fall. He may catch her, or he may not. She makes no move to steady herself.

“Then,” he says at last, softly. “If thou art abandoned. If none now seeks thee. If none waits for thee – none but me –”

He reaches for her, but not because he sees her tottering. It is a possessive hand that grasps hers, raises it to fiery lips. She closes her eyes and tries to be glad of the burn.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs.

She knows what he is asking. She wishes she did not. Or no – she wishes he were not asking it, that they were not here, now, with her white hair and shaking legs and hammering heart. She wishes she were young again, and he alive, and the stars scattered among the waters. But she can have none of that, so there is no use in wishing.

“Stay,” he says again, his lips like hot embers against the back of her hand.

“If I were elleth and not adaneth,” she answers, “perhaps I could look at you and know whether or no you were Aegnor that I loved.”

He lifts his mouth from her hand, raises his gaze to hers. His eyes burn with some fierce emotion, but what it is she cannot say.

“I hope,” she tells him, “that you are not he.”

“Andreth,” he says. “Andreth, I –”

“Nay!” she cries. “Do not speak. For if thou art my love then thou art held in thralldom, and I cannot aid thee. And if you are not he –” now she draws back, heedless of the uncertain footing – “if you are not he, then you would use his face against me, my love for him, his love for me! You would use it to snare me in a lie, to cause me to bind myself willingly in the fetters of the Enemy and serve him beyond death, beyond all passage of time, until perhaps my spirit is burned so low that nothing can rekindle it, nay, not the remaking of Arda – ai, Aegnor! Moths should indeed pity candles – if you are he!”

She is gasping for breath by the time she finishes speaking. He regards her in open-mouthed silence for a few moments; then, just as she sways and begins to collapse, he catches her hands and drags her upright again. “Andreth!” he cries, as her fingers begin to blister. “Andreth, I beg thee, stay with me! Do not leave me to suffer here alone!”

“Thou art not he!” she screams back. “He would not ask me to suffer for his sake! He did not ask! I begged, and he turned away! Thou art not Aegnor!”

#trick or treat

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marjoriecliss · 4 months ago

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mosaicroofingcompany · 1 month ago

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waltwhitmansbeard · 2 years ago

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y'all had to have seen this coming after the most recent 4sd

Vax can't keep up with Keyleth's schedule these days, but honestly, he doesn't even try. Ever since he and Vex left Syngorn, he's had so little time to stop moving, stop running, stop thinking, and he's more than content to spend these day being the Voice of the Tempest's trophy boyfriend, the new guy in town who helps out when he can and tries his best to stay out of everyone's way. Zephrah thrives under Keyleth's leadership, though she'd like nothing more than to give her father all the credit, and Vax isn't going to insert himself into a well-oiled machine when he isn't needed.

So most of his days are spent walking around, talking to their neighbors, joining the Blades on their exercises, using his god-given wings to help patch roofs and harvest fruit from the tallest branches in the orchard. It doesn't take long for him to learn everyone's names, calling out to familiar faces as he passes them by. This, he comes to realize, is community, family, home, and he knows that there is nowhere on Exandria he'd want to spend the rest of his days.

On a spring morning, when the cherry trees are in full bloom and the whistling winds have just lost that winter bite, he strides happily through the center of Zephrah, hands in his pockets, having just seen Keyleth off through a tree to a meeting with the Tal'dorei Council in Emon. He nods his hellos to the Zephrans starting their days, stopping to help an elderly air genasi man wrangle his three ornery goats, and turns down a little path he hasn't visited in a while. Within a few seconds, he's greeted by a half-strangled "NO—" and then a mischievous giggling. He turns toward the source, and there, in the front garden of a garden so small and picturesque it looks like it belongs on a postage stamp, is a frazzled-looking halfling woman, her sandy blonde hair falling out of a bun on the crown of her head and her apron askew. Her hands are on her hips as she glares up at the dogwood in front of her.

Vax follows her eyeline and spies a cherubic face peeking out between the green leaves and white blooms of the dogwood. "Is everything okay?"

She sighs. "My son, he's—he'll climb anything taller than he is, which, at four, is basically everything." She sucks in a deep breath, then hollers, "ORYM, DO NOT CLIMB DOWN ON YOUR OWN, DO YOU HEAR ME?"

The giggling continues. "I'm tall!"

The woman pinches the bridge of her nose with a long sigh, and Vax bites back a laugh. "Here, why don't you let me." It's nothing to whip out the Deathwalker's Ward's wings—he's glad he thought to wear it today, usually he doesn't unless he knows he'll be using it—and flies up the side of the tree. He pulls back the branches to spy a tiny halfing boy, who might come up to Vax's knee on his tiptoes, and meets the boy's grin with his own. "You made it pretty far up here, little man."

Orym nods, then sticks a thumb toward his own chest. "Good climber."

"Yeah you are." The branches are hell on the wings, but Vax manages to poke inside, just enough to reach a hand out toward the little boy. "How'd you like to go really high?"

Orym's eyes widen, and oh, Vax could get used to this, the wild wonder of children. It seems that Orym has only now noticed the feathery black wings protruding from Vax's back, and he nods eagerly, putting both of his hands into Vax's. Vax slowly extracts him from the branches of the tree, and then murmurs, "Can you hang on really tight?"

The little boy obediently wraps his arms around Vax's neck, and hell, he might be little, but the kid's got one hell of a grip. Vax calls down, "We'll be down in a minute!" And then he shoots up, climbing ten, twenty, fifty feet above the ground. Orym's delight is a breathless cackle in his ear, and Vax wants this, the joy and the discovery and the little hands clutching tight.

He only lingers up for a few moments, just long enough for Orym to see his hometown from an impossible angle, before gently swooping back down toward his mother. He lands and takes Orym by the ankle, delivering him giggling and upside-down to the woman. "I believe this is yours?"

She takes her son by the waist and sets him on her shoulders. "Thank you."

Orym tugs on the point of his mother's ear. "Did ya see, Mama? We went up!"

"I did." She pats his leg. "But no more up without permission, alright dear?"

"Yes, Mama," he replies obediently, but Vax knows that look of mischief in Orym's face, has seen it in his sister's far too many times to believe he won't be getting himself into all manner of predicaments for years to come.

Vax reaches up to ruffle the boy's hair, and then says, "Feet on the ground, little man." To the mother, he smiles and says, "Let me know if you need him extracted again. I'm happy to be on kid-retrieval duty."

"Thank you," she repeats, and then Vax watches her return to her cottage, Orym happily chattering in her ear about how thrilling it was to really fly. When the door is closed behind them and Vax is alone on this little path, he knows more clearly than ever before what he wants from this one wild, precious life—and he'll wait as long as it takes for Keyleth to be ready for it, too.

#critical role #critical role fic #cr fic #vaxleth #vaxleth fic #orym of the air ashari #my fic

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