#Traders mantra courses

[fearitha]

Okay, what I usually mean when I say that Warhammer characters (and Warhammer fans) can't handle the truth and understand the bigger picture. They, who wrap themselves in a dramatic cloak with a bloody lining, explaining that they cannot do otherwise because the galaxy is full of horrors and all that, and people who stand on the position of "you seem to be some kind of cannibal" simply don’t understand the bigger picture and "can't handle the truth"'... this fans and characters just don’t get the bigger picture.

Take the CRPG Rogue Trader, the final of the first act, everything is crashing and exploding, the star is stolen, on the planet below there are mass chaotic sacrifices and preparations to turn the planet into a daemon world. Heinrix demands to blow up the planet to hell because a daemon world is far worse than all these deaths; "you cannot apply false humanism here!"

Now, from the perspective of the bigger picture, here’s what’s happening. There’s a damned cult. A cult that, apparently, has spread throughout the sector, taking root everywhere, supported by Chaos Space Marines; the Inquisition isn’t catching the rats, there are no Arbites, so it will fall to us to deal with the cult. What (as we are shown!) is nearly the main weapon of this cult? Its ability to honestly say, “Guys, you're screwed, and the Imperium doesn’t care; when the planet is dying, the nobility will evacuate, you won’t. You’ll stay here to rot, with your children and loved ones. Think about it, is blind loyalty worth it?” And, because there are still humans in the Imperium, this will naturally work, and it will continue to work because it is the pure truth. And you can raise your hands in indignation about human ingratitude, and explain how much more important the noble from a trading house is to the Imperium than they or their daughter, but they will aggressively not understand you.

And from the perspective of the bigger picture, yes, right now, a daemon world may emerge here; yes, Heinrix, you personally already messed up and allowed it to happen. Thank you, Interrogator, for the wonderful job done. We can blow up this one daemon world; POSSIBLY, we can. But if we lose the fight against this cult on the scale of the Expanse, all the worlds of the Expanse will become daemon worlds. We need to show the population of the Expanse that the Imperium cares about their lives. We need them to believe that "Emperor Protects" is not just a dumb mantra, but something meaningful; this is a problem in the Imperium that people rarely have meaningful things behind it. Therefore, I will evacuate as many people as I can, primarily commoners, and then resettle them on other planets (under supervision, of course), and let them tell how they stood against the cultists, and the shuttle from the Rogue Trader's ship descended from the heavens and saved them and their children, raising them higher and higher, above the heavens. Your effectiveness in dealing with this cult using your usual methods, Interrogator, has been assessed and found wanting.

Some my question my right to let these few thousand live. Those who understand know that I have no right to let them die.

[starseedfxofficial]

Mastering GBPCHF Triple Top: Insider Secrets to Outsmart the Market The Triple Top: More Than a Pretty Pattern Ever heard the phrase, "History repeats itself"? Well, in the Forex world, that’s more than just a philosophical musing; it’s a money-making mantra. Enter the Triple Top pattern—a setup that’s as common as coffee orders but as misunderstood as cryptocurrency in 2011. Especially when trading the GBPCHF currency pair, the triple top pattern can either make your account soar or leave it flatter than a pancake on a Sunday morning. Here’s where most traders miss the mark: they assume spotting three peaks and calling it a day is enough. But this isn’t child’s play; it’s advanced pattern recognition with a touch of Sherlock Holmes-like investigation. Let’s uncover the layers of this pattern and why GBPCHF holds a treasure trove of opportunities for the astute trader. GBPCHF: The Currency Pair That Plays Hard to Get GBPCHF isn’t just another currency pair; it’s the Forex world’s equivalent of a moody artist. It’s unpredictable, dramatic, and oh-so-rewarding when you understand its quirks. Why focus on GBPCHF for triple top patterns? Here are the nuggets of wisdom: - Volatility With Purpose: Unlike more predictable pairs, GBPCHF tends to move in distinct, measurable waves, making triple tops more identifiable. - Trend-Sensitive: This pair often respects technical levels—a boon for traders relying on patterns like triple tops. - News-Driven Gems: Both GBP and CHF are highly sensitive to geopolitical events and economic data, providing a wealth of trading opportunities if you’re plugged into the right news sources. Triple Top Trading 101: A Crash Course Before we dive into advanced tactics, let’s ensure the basics are nailed down. A triple top forms when a currency pair hits the same resistance level three times, failing to break higher. Think of it like your cat trying to jump on the counter: ambitious but unsuccessful. Key Components of a Triple Top: - Three Peaks: Equidistant and approximately the same height. - Neckline: The support level connecting the lowest points between peaks. - Breakout: When the price crashes below the neckline, signaling a bearish reversal. Why Most Traders Get GBPCHF Triple Tops All Wrong It’s easy to slap a triple top label on any three-peaked formation and call it a day. But this is where conventional wisdom leads you astray. Here’s what separates the pros from the amateurs: 1. Ignoring Volume Confirmation - What Amateurs Do: Focus solely on price action. - What Pros Know: A real triple top is accompanied by declining volume at each peak. If the volume doesn’t diminish, you might be staring at a fakeout. 2. Misjudging Timeframes - What Amateurs Do: Trade triple tops on a single timeframe. - What Pros Know: Multi-timeframe analysis can confirm the validity of the pattern. For GBPCHF, align the 1-hour chart with the 4-hour chart to identify a robust setup. 3. Neglecting Economic Data - What Amateurs Do: Trade in a vacuum. - What Pros Know: Economic indicators like UK CPI or Swiss unemployment rates can strengthen or invalidate the pattern. Keep your Forex calendar handy. Elite Tactics for GBPCHF Triple Top Mastery Here’s where the real magic happens—advanced strategies to turn this classic pattern into a cash cow. 1. Measure Twice, Trade Once Use the measured move technique to calculate your target profit. Measure the distance between the neckline and the highest peak of the triple top, then project this distance downward from the neckline’s breakout point. Simple, effective, and precise. 2. Hunt for Divergence Triple tops are more convincing when confirmed by divergence on momentum indicators like RSI or MACD. For instance: - Peaks getting smaller? Check. - RSI trending downward? Double check. 3. Enter Like a Ninja Most traders jump the gun and enter as soon as the price touches the neckline. Instead, wait for a breakout—preferably with a retest of the neckline to confirm it’s not a false move. Think of this as waiting for the right moment to jump into a double-dutch rope. Precision is key. The GBPCHF Triple Top Cheat Sheet When in doubt, refer to this step-by-step guide: - Identify the Pattern: - Three distinct peaks near the same resistance level. - A clear neckline connecting the troughs. - Confirm with Volume: - Declining volume on each peak. - Surge in volume at the neckline breakout. - Use Indicators: - RSI or MACD divergence for confirmation. - Moving averages to check overall trend direction. - Set Your Entry: - Wait for a confirmed breakout and retest of the neckline. - Define Stop-Loss and Take-Profit: - Stop-loss above the highest peak. - Take-profit based on the measured move technique. Why Most Traders Miss Hidden Opportunities The GBPCHF triple top isn’t just about spotting a pattern; it’s about understanding the underlying psychology. Each failed attempt at breaking resistance reflects waning bullish momentum and growing bearish strength. Combine this insight with geopolitical trends, and you’ll uncover opportunities most traders never see. For instance, if the UK’s GDP growth disappoints while Swiss inflation data surpasses expectations, a triple top on GBPCHF is more likely to play out to its full potential. Keep your ear to the ground and your chart indicators sharp. Trading with Humor, Strategy, and Precision Trading the GBPCHF triple top is like mastering the art of baking croissants: it’s technical, requires patience, and a single misstep can ruin the whole thing. But with the right strategies, tools, and mindset, you’ll be able to spot the pattern, avoid common pitfalls, and capitalize on its breakout potential. Ready to step up your Forex game? Check out these resources to level up: - Latest Forex News - Free Forex Courses - Community Membership - Free Trading Plan - Smart Trading Tool —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated Read the full article

[nickgerlich]

Too Much Bread

At the risk of sounding really old—I know, that may be a foregone conclusion already—it’s fun to slip into storytelling mode. And believe me, now that I’m into my 36th year at WT, I have plenty of them. Your job is to nudge me if I start to tell you the same story again down the road.

I remember my very first semester here in the Fall of 1989. I was teaching a Principles of Marketing class among others, and since we didn’t have the internet on campus, and certainly not online courses, this was a twice-weekly face-fo-face encounter.

And there was a young woman in that class who brought plenty of her own stories to each session. As much as my Midwest accent betrayed my origins, her thick eastern European accent suggested strongly she wasn’t at all even remotely from around here.

Turns out she and her family had recently immigrated to Amarillo from Poland, or as it was known when they were escaping it, the Polish People’s Republic. It was anything but a republic, because it was under the control of the USSR. Think rationing, shortages, and the usual ineptness associated with that regime.

In one particular class session we were discussing consumer choice. I had thrown out such lofty topics as product attributes, price, manufacturers, and the like, things we kind of take for granted. We know we can just go to any supermarket and enter a world bazaar of products. We are pretty accustomed to having choices.

But she wasn’t.

She related how people relied on the grapevine and scattered news alerts that bread was available at the local supermarket, which, based on her recollections, wasn’t all that super. Think empty shelves. And when they did have bread, there was one kind. Take it or leave it. One size fits all. If they ran out, oh well.

It was thus no surprise when she and her family froze in our supermarkets, because not only did we have bread all the time—well, aside from when they put the word “snow” in the weather forecast—we have 30 or more varieties. Cheap bread. Whole wheat bread. Rye bread. Fancy breads. You name it, we have bread. You might think we grow some wheat around here.

My student went on, one tale after another, of how their transition to the US, albeit one they wanted, was difficult if only because we have it so good here. I wisely put down my lecture notes and let her do the talking, because I couldn’t begin to teach as well as she was doing.

In contrast, we have grown numb to so much choice, and once we have determined “our brand,” we can boldly walk down the bread aisle and quickly cut through all the clutter, grabbing the one we always do.

Well, that is until they are out of it, or life throws you a curveball, like my wife and a recent diagnosis of being pre-diabetic. Another family member was just declared Type 1 diabetic. Both are having to make massive dietary changes, which essentially means reading every damn label and trying to cut out carbs. That’s no easy task in a country that grows so much wheat and corn. Most of our food is little carbohydrate bombs.

The same holds true when you are trying something new, like following a recipe for a new dish, and you are starting with a clean slate, no accumulated memory, little or no product knowledge. A person could spend an hour in the store trying to figure out which curry or pho noodles to buy.

It’s an interesting conundrum we have here, living in the land of abundance with more choices than we can begin to tally. Amazon alone has more than 12 million products. Enter a search query and wait to be overwhelmed. And yet we somehow manage to survive.

Sometimes, though, too much choice can be crippling, as I was trying to convey a few days ago when I said that “less is more.” At least sometimes it is, and only to a point. Grocery chains like Aldi and Trader Joe’s abide by this mantra, with only about 4000 items, compared to the 45,000 you will find at major chains.

There’s actually a line of academic inquiry of this phenomenon called the Paradox of Choice. As you can imagine, the conclusion is that having too many options can lead to decision fatigue, and even post-purchase regret. It’s a topic we will discuss again later in the course. It is also a topic that can be applied into other arenas, like the Mating Game. Think about all of the prospects for the partner of your dreams. Yikes! It is no wonder that dating can be exhausting. It’s kind of like shopping in the world’s largest supermarket.

Thankfully, when it comes to less complicated acquisitions—bread versus a life partner—we have developed a defense system, as I noted earlier. We can blur the background like on a Zoom call, and focus on the one thing we want. It’s just that it doesn’t always work like that.

I wonder whatever happened to that young woman. She’s got to be in her late-50s now, and no doubt long acclimated to the land of plenty. In her extreme state, though, as a newbie here, it was the perfect illustration for how too much choice can lead to headaches.

I am sure, though, that it was a hell of a lot better than standing in a queue in Krakow hoping there’s still a loaf of bread left when it’s my turn to get in.

Dr “I’ll Take Paradoxes For $1000, Alex” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[alejandrotrader]

Mastering the Trader’s Mindset: Psychological Strategies from Orion Trading Academy

In the vibrant markets of Spain, where the spirit of the trader is as passionate as the flamenco, mastering the art of trading goes beyond the numbers and charts. It delves deep into the psychological fabric that weaves the successful from the hopeful. Here, at the heart of this financial dance, Orion Trading Academy stands as a beacon of knowledge and strategy, guiding traders towards a mindset that breeds success.

Orion Trading Academy: Your Compass in the Trading World

Orion Trading Academy isn’t just an institution; it’s a journey towards excellence in trading. With a mission that mirrors the meticulous craftsmanship of a Spanish guitarrero, Orion provides a one-stop online academy experience. It’s where beginners and seasoned traders alike come to refine their skills, learn innovative strategies, and invest with confidence. The academy prides itself on offering courses for all levels, alongside a strategy renowned for its 80% high win-rate, previously harnessed in the elite world of fund management.

The essence of Orion’s philosophy is simple yet profound: “Reflect, Learn, Trade, Succeed.” This mantra is the backbone of the Trader Programme, designed to ignite a transformation in how individuals approach the market. But what sets Orion apart is not just the technical prowess traders gain but the psychological fortitude they develop.

The Psychological Strategies

Embrace the Matador’s Courage: Trading, much like the historic corrida, requires not just skill but unparalleled courage. Orion teaches traders to face the markets with a matador’s bravery, turning risks into calculated maneuvers that dance elegantly with the bulls and bears of the financial arena.

The Flamenco’s Passion: Passion fuels the relentless pursuit of excellence. At Orion, traders learn to channel their fervor for trading into disciplined practice, allowing them to execute strategies with the precision and artistry of a flamenco dancer’s footwork.

The Siesta’s Reflection: In the hustle of trading, Orion emphasizes the importance of reflection — a moment of siesta to reassess and recalibrate. This pause is where traders gather strength, learn from the past, and strategize anew, embodying the calm amidst the storm.

A Navigator’s Strategy: The academy’s high win-rate strategy is likened to the compass used by Spanish navigators who discovered new worlds. It’s easy to learn and execute, providing traders with a clear direction in the tumultuous seas of the forex market.

The Fiesta of Success: Success in trading, much like in life, is a fiesta — a celebration of achievements hard-earned through dedication and learning. Orion’s community celebrates each milestone, encouraging a collective growth that resonates with the warmth of Spanish camaraderie.

Conclusion: A Journey of Transformation with Orion Trading Academy

Orion Trading Academy offers more than just a trading education; it offers a transformation. It crafts traders who are not only proficient in strategies but are masters of their mindset, equipped with the psychological resilience to navigate the markets. In the essence of the Spanish trader vibe, where passion, courage, reflection, and strategy converge, Orion stands as a guiding star. Embark on this journey with Orion, and let the vibrant spirit of trading unfold. Reflect, Learn, Trade, Succeed — this is the path laid out for you at Orion Trading Academy, where every trade is a step towards mastery.

[tradersmantra2]

Traders Mantra Institute on Google Business profile

Now you can call or reach Traders Mantra by visiting his Google Business Profile. You can learn by Stock Market courses regarding technical analysis and market psychology from the best Stock market Institute in Chandigarh. 

[bored-storyteller]

Okay, I can't find where this request went anymore, but I'm sure it existed (or I wouldn't have written this). I'm going to try to look again in the mail. Anyway, our boys (Vil, Azul, Leona) a little sad and the reader comforting them with hugs.

54- Twisted Wonderland, Vil, Azul, Leona x Reader

His life isn't that easy. Back straight, head up, be elegant, be polite, never show the weight that falls on your shoulders. This is Vil's life, nothing more, nothing less.

As beautiful as a marble statue, a precious object that can only be admired, not touched. Sometimes he himself forgets that he is human.

It's hard to never break down, it's hard to keep up appearances, and you make it more difficult. You, the most precious thing he has.

He should feel free with you, right? Isn't that the cliché of every love story? But he can't really know, he's always the bad guy in stories.

So even with you it is the appearance that counts him, because you love him for that, right? It's not like there's much more to him than just his appearance - and apparently not even that is enough to give him any real value.

He is tired, that's why he has such negative thoughts. A restful sleep and the next day it will be a fragrant flower again, but it is still early to go to sleep.

"Vil?" Your angelic voice rouses him. You are there, stuck a few steps behind him, you look at him doubtfully and his heart trembles. Oh, did you notice too much wrinkle in his expression?

"Vil." You call his name again, and he is already preparing to tell you how tiring his day has been to clear the doubts that are likely creeping into you.

Vil is not someone used to being touched, he is a precious work of art after all, yet he is convinced that even a caress from you could at that moment bring him relief. But he has to keep up appearances.

"My dear?" His questioning smile tries not to be too guilty under your worried eyes that scrutinize him.

After a few seconds of silence, you are moving. You are slow, yet fast. Your arms slide gently under his, and your body tightens to his chest. Your warmth invades him as your face seeks refuge under his chin, lovingly rubbing your nose against his neck.

"It's cold ..." You murmur, and this is the justification you use, but he knows that you have only read inside him, and you have simply taken some of his weight for you.

"You smell good." You continue, while his arms hold you slowly, in a silent request for affection.

“Oh yeah… it's a new perfume you know? I thought…"

"Yes, that perfume is good too, but you also smell of something else."

He just walks away, so that his purple eyes can look for the answer in yours for that doubt you have posed to him. There is no need for him to ask, he knows that you will give him the answer.

"The scent of Vil." Your cheerful and affectionate smile erases all poison from his heart, and he smiles at you as he does not smile at anyone else as he silently welcomes you back against him.

Who knows, maybe with you appearances are completely useless.

 

A faint sigh comes from the dorm leader's lips to confide only in the air the pressure he is feeling inside him.

He is an excellent trader, a businessman, an excellent speaker and a perfect gentleman. Is not enough. He is never enough, and he probably never will be.

Sometimes the slander and contempt of many also burn him. Not everyone looks favorably on him, Azul knows, it's the price he himself chose to pay - at least he got something in return, right?

He isn't sure. Days like this, flat and heavy, occasionally bring back the most latent insecurities of him. Not that he shows it, only his eyes barely reflect the weight in his heart if you look at them carefully.

You are a relief, usually. Like every day he waits for you to come and greet him, but more than every day he would like to drop everything else, take you in his arms and hold you there. Yet despite his appearances he is still so shy. Sometimes even your gaze makes him blush, you know it, and you also know how much he cares about his figure and his representation in front of others, so you never take a step too far towards him, and he never has the courage to ask.

"Azul?"

Your voice finally reaches his ears, your bright eyes peeking through the crack of the half-open door before you allow yourself to enter.

"Oh, here you are ... give me a second, I'm almost done." His voice is as firm and calm as ever. He doesn't look at you, it's not strange, but the way he bows his head to avoid you sends you strange meanings.

He doesn't have the courage to look at you, the need he has for you makes him feel ashamed. A child who needs pampering, that's what he is at that moment. A nullity in front of you.

He feels you close, you are next to his chair, standing, looking at him. You don't move away, and he understands that you want his attention, he won't be able to ignore you for long.

"Do you need something?" He finally asks you, and his eyes force them to lift to your face, and he is surprised when he sees you smiling.

You just stare at him for a few moments, without giving him an answer, and then suddenly your arms are around his shoulders, his cheek gently resting on your shoulder.

"I missed you, Azul!" Your light but cheerful voice caresses his ear, while you hug him protectively, full of affection.

"We only met last night ..." he murmurs, in a tone that wanders between wonder and relief.

“I know, but I don't care. I missed you." You confirm again, as you make your way into his lap and let him hold you.

Your weight on him is reassuring, your touch and your presence welcoming.

"I can't hide anything from you, right?" He whispers in your ear, as if he is afraid of being heard by others, even if only the two of you exist in the room.

"No, I would say no." You mutter satisfied, snuggling up to him.

 

Usually he is so good at silencing that part of him, but when that black feeling arises it feels like a living being inside him struggling to get out and leave him weak, empty, mocked. He always swallows it, never allows it to peek out. Sometimes it curls up in the stomach, other times in the lungs, or gets stuck in his ribcage making his heart heavy, almost blocking his breath.

Leona is good at silencing those wounds to his pride, but sometimes it happens that a gesture, a laugh, a word at the wrong time weaken his defenses, taking him away from the already heavy looks of others.

In the greenhouse he is alone with himself. No, he's not there to sleep, he just needs to calm down. For some reason today it is difficult, more than usual. The weight in his chest causes him to hunch over, head bowed, ears down. His hands are left in his lap as he sits hidden among the plants, he almost seems to be meditating. Calm down, calm down, calm your anger. It is what he repeats to himself like a mantra as he listens to his own breath. Nobody can beat you, nobody can hurt you.

No, no one is going to hurt him - no one thinks he's worth hurting, do they? All that he is, all that he knows he is worth, is always trampled on, torn to pieces, thrown away by others, as if it were of no use.

"Caught!"

Your weight is never too violent against his sturdy back, but his surprise causes him to lean forward slightly.

You laugh as your hands gently tighten around his neck, and he growls.

"Idiot! Are you crazy ?! " His words are acidic, but by now you've got used to it. You are the only one who can ever afford to do such a thing with him, you are the only one he can forgive.

He doesn't realize it right away, but that little leap to his heart you gave him has suddenly lightened his mind. He only knows when your arms go away from him.

Wait, stay still.

That thought unexpectedly reaches his mind, but he is quickly kicked out. He won't beg for mercy, not even from you, especially with you.

Still, even if he doesn't speak, your weight doesn't stray too far. Your arms now slowly encircle his stomach as you drop relaxed on his back, like a lion cub on his father's back.

With your head resting behind his ribcage, Leona knows you're listening to his heartbeat. He knows this because he is listening to you too, he listens to your breath which naturally coordinates with the muscle moving slow and powerful in his chest. And then he understands that you understand his need that he pretends not to have.

"You are so strong, Leona."

And that's enough.

A light sigh caresses his lips: "Of course I'm strong, otherwise you-"

"I'd be fine!" You defend yourself, knowing full well where he wants to hit.

You don't see him, but a proud smile is painted on his face as he continues on his way: "Otherwise you would have already been eaten by now."

[mckinlily]

.match made

Summary: Shiro and his master need to make a dangerous bet to get off of an Outer Rim planet. This would not be the ideal time to scout out new Jedi potentials.

Shiro disagrees.

(thanks @void-tiger​ for the beta and making sure my Star Wars isn’t complete nonsense!)

“I can do it, Master.”

Kolivan hummed with an almost growl in the back of his throat, no expression crossing his stern face. “It’s risky.”

“It’s podracing,” said Shiro, both confirming and refuting the point. “And it’s not like we have better options.”

Kolivan’s scowl deepened. Shiro was certain he was miserable with his thick fur in the Tatooine heat, but Force forbid the Jedi admit it, let alone take off a few layers. 

“Podracing is dangerous.”

“Dangerous is part of being a Jedi.”

“Padawan.”

“Master.”

Kolivan huffed.

“We’re not getting off this planet until we get the part for the hyperdrive,” Shiro pointed out, continually astonished by how the same master who had raised him on the mantra of patience yields focus could be so needlessly stubborn when things didn’t go his way. 

“Master, I can do this,” he repeated. 

Kolivan exhaled heavily, finally relenting to the fact that the universe wasn’t going to magically whisk them away just because he wished it. His expression didn’t change any, but Shiro had become attuned to his master’s ways and could tell by the slight roll of his shoulders that he was giving in. 

“I’ll go place our bets,” he conceded. 

Shiro grinned. 

***

The thing about podracing was it was entirely unregulated, despite perfunctory rules, and the only real requirement was that it be entertaining. Entertainment fueled the bets after all. 

Shiro knew this as he walked around the podracer they’d “borrowed” from a local junk trader as part of the bet (Shiro had never thought that being Jedi included so much sketchy betting with sketchier characters, but needs must). The podracer was in standard barely functional condition, and if Shiro didn’t end up needing to hold some part or other together with the Force by the end of this, he would be very much surprised. 

As it was, he was excited.

Jedi probably weren’t supposed to be excited at the prospect of entering a dangerous and by some definitions illegal pod race, but Shiro still struggled to wrestle himself into the part of a proper Jedi at times. Most times, it seemed according to Kolivan and certain members of the Council. But he could at least affect the appearance of a calm, collected Jedi while he looked over his competition. Shiro took note of their craft, the likely strengths and drawbacks, possible weaknesses to take advantage of—and who among them was angry or bitter and willing to play dirty.

A sudden, bright flare in the Force caught his attention, and Shiro looked around, distracted. He hadn’t thought any of his competitors were particularly Force-sensitive, but—

There. For a moment, Shiro thought it was the Toydarian dealer, but then his focus narrowed in on the small boy nearby. The kid was maybe eight or nine—or possibly a very scrawny ten. His dark hair was overlong and fell into his face while he scowled and steadfastly ignored who Shiro strongly suspected was his master. (A child. A child slave, and slavery in general was appalling but there was something particularly despicable about enslaving children.) 

No one else seemed remotely sensitive, but the Force had gathered in tangled, turbulent knots around this one child. A child who on the outside appeared to be nothing but sullen and underfed, but in the Force he glowed—

A sharp tug on his training bond told Shiro that Kolivan had noticed his distraction and was not impressed. Kolivan never did appreciate deviations from the mission. An unplanned pit stop in the Outer Rim had only made him grumpier. Shiro sent back a pulse of reassurance and climbed into the cockpit. Focusing, Master. I’ll get us those hyperdrive parts.

***

There was another human in the line up. Keith frowned while he wormed into a more comfortable position in the pod racer. Humans couldn’t compete in podraces: their reflexes were too slow.

Well. Humans who weren’t Keith.

So why did he have the staticky, tingling feeling this one was going to win?

***

The pod race started off with a bang, two pods almost immediately crashing and catching fire, and Shiro was having fun. His podracer was stiff and shaky, but he pushed it to the limit anyway, quickly getting a feel for its hang ups and how to push through them. The challenge of it was thrilling, as was the prickle of wind in his hair, and he quickly pulled to the front of the pack. Most the contestants seemed more concerned with sabotaging their competitors than actually flying, unfortunately. 

For them. 

Shiro rarely felt as one with the Force as he did when he was flying, and this time was no exception. By the second lap, he had a feel for both the pod and the course and with an extra burst of speed pulled into the lead. With space between him and the sabotaging competitors, he felt free to open the throttle and push the pod to its max, less concerned with beating everyone and more with the delight of going fast.

Except. Shiro had left most his competitors behind. There was one stubborn racer who was pulsing a warning of pride-bitterness-malice into the Force that Shiro kept an eye on. But even closer, nearly on his tail, was the kid from earlier, his presence in the Force more of a wordless fire. And he was keeping up, matching Shiro almost move for move, which was impressive seeing as Shiro was definitely using the Force as a counterbalance to offset his sharp cornering. But the kid refused to fall behind, fueled by either exceptional determination, exceptional stupidity, or possibly both. In other circumstances, Shiro would try slowing down just to see what the kid could do (and make sure the same kid didn’t get himself killed), but he and his master still needed that hyperdrive part and he couldn’t afford to let the rest catch up. 

There was a sharp bang! and out of the corner of his eye, Shiro caught sight of sparks flying out of the pod behind him, but he didn’t have time to worry about the kid because the Dug racer was on him and—

“A blaster? Seriously?” 

Of all the uncivilized things. Shiro growled under his breath as he dodged the shots. He could block them, but he was pretty sure the bet would be voided if he pulled out his lightsaber and besides he was affronted by the very idea of bringing a blaster to a podrace. This was a sport, not a war zone. Someone could get killed.

Shiro ground the gears, using the slope of a boulder to launch himself up and crash next the Dug, motors nearly tangling and energy arcs spitting angrily. The Dug snarled, likely something uncomplimentary about Shiro’s parentage, and pointed the blaster at Shiro’s face, but Shiro ignored it and instead leaned in more, grabbing hold of the other pod’s main fuel line, and yanked. 

The pod and the Dug screamed in equal fury. Shiro threw his sticks forward, pushing the pod into the redline, willing it to get him out of the spiraling hellfire that was quickly consuming the other podracer. Smoke, debris, and heat haze clouded his vision, but Shiro grit his teeth and pushed forward. 

The kid was ahead of him now. He’d gotten control of his podracer and used Shiro’s confrontation with the Dug to pull ahead. Which was a smart move, and another day, Shiro would let him have it, but…

“Sorry, kid,” said Shiro, yanking his pod sideways to draw even through a narrow passageway and plucking wires on his consol with one hand. Flying with the other, he bypassed the safeties, pouring unfiltered power into the engines. He pushed the Force down the lines as well, willing the pieces to stay cool while the rotors screamed and the air wavered with white-hot exhaust. 

Shiro was flirting with disaster. The last leg of the race was rocky and littered with less successful podracers, and he was brushing supersonic speeds. But there was no one else out here besides him and the kid. Shiro opened up his senses to the world around him and the Force. 

Times like this, Shiro almost understood what the masters meant when they said all was one with the Force. Time seemed to slow. He was the desert, the rock and grains of sand, the screaming motors, one small pilot, billions of particles in the air. He existed at the mouth of a canyon. Two miles down, launching over a crevasse. In the middle, calculating multiple trajectories.

The moment is vast. All time is now.

The Force sang in his ears. Shiro streaked over the finish line, the edges of his turbines just starting to turn red and deform and little sparks of electricity flashing dangerously along the leylines. He has his work cut out for him, bringing the pod to a stop without the entire thing turning into a fireball, but on the very edge of his awareness, he noticed the kid also pull across barely a handful of seconds after he did. Damn, but that was impressive. Though Shiro did notice his pod was in even worse shape than Shiro’s was. 

Shiro quickly gave the podracer a once over, ensuring it wasn’t in danger of exploding in the near future. As he did, he kept part of his attention on the crowd, making note of Kolivan making his way to collect their bets. Figuring his master had that in hand, Shiro jumped over his cockpit and approached the other podracer.

The kid was covered in dust and soot but overall didn’t seem too worse for wear. He looked up when Shiro approached, and the Force flared up in a defensive wall before settling down into something more cautiously hesitant.

“How did you fly like that?” he demanded, surprising Shiro by speaking first.

“The Force,” said Shiro honestly.

The kid scowled and glared at him like he was being intentionally patronizing—which, yeah, okay, Shiro could see that.

He crouched down so that he was closer to eye level and offered what he hoped was a soothing smile.

“I’m a Jedi,” he explained, voice low because it wasn’t something he wanted the entire arena to know. “We’re trained to use the Force to enhance our reflexes and our connection to the world. Flying is just one part of it.” A pretty frivolous part, really, but Shiro loved it too much to give it up. “I’m more impressed by what you managed, though. That was some pretty impressive flying you pulled off.”

For a moment, the kid almost preened. “I’m the best podracer there is,” he said confidently. “I’m the only human who can do it.” Then, he seemed to remember who he was talking to and his shoulders slumped, “Well, except for…”

“Jedi, remember?” Shiro gently reminded him. “I don’t exactly count as normal.”

The kid peaked up at him through his bangs and almost, almost seemed to smile. But he held back, seemingly uncertain and wary of what that could mean.

Shiro’s heart ached.

“Do you have any family?” he asked, but the kid shook his head.

“No. My dad—” He broke off, shook his head. “He was freeborn. He was. And so was I!” He looked up again, fire in his eyes, daring Shiro to challenge him.

Shiro didn’t blink or break eye contact. “I’m guessing the slavers didn’t care,” he said simply, disgust darkening his voice. 

“Yeah,” agreed the kid, too much bitterness and disillusionment in his voice for a kid his age. For anyone, but this was a child, and a brilliant, strong-willed, talented one too, if Shiro’s brief interaction with him was anything to go by.

(It occurred to Shiro that those traits probably were not missed by the boy’s master, and it made his blood burn.)

“Do you know where your master keeps the detonator?”

“What?” 

“The detonator for your implant. Does your master keep it on him or somewhere else?”

The kid’s eyes narrowed, sizing Shiro up in a way that should not make Shiro feel as much like a nervous youngling as he did now. 

“Yeah, I do,” said the kid. “But it’s in a safe only he can open. It’s keyed to his bio code.”

Shiro smiled in a way that was neither Jedi-worthy nor nice. “I have a lightsaber,” he pointed out, and the kid’s eyes went wide.

And then lit up.

***

“Takashi.”

“Yes, Master?” said Shiro as pleasantly as he could while running full tilt through the crowded market.

“I thought you said you could, and I quote, ‘do this.’”

“In fairness, I did win the podrace,” said Shiro, grabbing Kolivan’s arm and dragging them both behind a stall to avoid blaster fire. “It’s everything else that went sideways.”

“By which you mean breaking into a well known house, destroying every inch of their security, and then stealing valuable hyperdrive parts and a slave.”

“First of all, you can’t steal a person,” snapped Shiro. “And his name is Keith.”

Keith, for his part, was hiding silently in Shiro’s shadow, but the glare he was sending Kolivan spoke volumes.

Kolivan titled his head back and grumbled something in Galra that Shiro had never gotten him to give a translation for, but from context, he figured it meant something like, This padawan will be the death of me.

Which was unfair, really. Drawing the attention of every bounty hunter and mercenary on Tatooine was hardly the most dangerous thing either of them had done by a long shot.

Keith tugged hard on Shiro’s robe and pointed.

“Security droids at nine o’clock,” said Shiro, dumping the hyperdrive parts into Keith’s arms so that he could pull out his lightsaber. Kolivan, whose large frame clearly did not appreciate crouching in the small space, had already leapt into action, his silver-white blade flashing against the backdrop of sand and brown and dust.

“Take these to that ship,” Shiro told Keith, pointing. “We’ll cover you.”

Keith looked ready to be suspicious and stubborn, but then he caught sight of where Shiro was pointing and his eyes went wide. “Is that your ship?”

“Yep,” said Shiro proudly. “Once we get out of here, I can show you how to fly it.”

“Takashi!”

“Yes?” replied Shiro with sing-song pleasantry. “Go on, get out of here,” he added, giving Keith a little push with the Force. “We’ll be right behind you.”

“We will talk,” said Kolivan as Shiro jumped in beside him, expertly deflecting blaster fire back at the perpetrators.

“Yes, Master,” said Shiro, foreseeing a lot of forced meditation in his future but refusing to regret it. He and his master moved like one in battle. Kolivan grabbed a transport with the Force, and Shiro deflected a blast into its cargo, causing an explosion of feathers and shrieking chaos as the livestock escaped. 

On an unspoken cue, both he and Kolivan turned tail and bolted for the ship, guarding each other in turn.

“Get us in the air!” ordered Kolivan, as they leaped over the loading ramp into the ship. “And take the youngling with you.”

“On it,” said Shiro, blocking blaster fire and drawing up the ramp. He nudged Keith towards the cockpit, squeezing his shoulder. “Want to see how we get this thing in the air?”

“Focus on the task at hand, padawan!” Kolivan snapped from the engine room.

Shiro rolled his eyes. “I can do both,” he muttered, knowing Kolivan wouldn’t care. They needed to get off planet before the entire population of Tatooine started firing on them.

“Here,” said Shiro, quickly plopping Keith into the copilot seat. “Strap in,” he added, throwing himself into the other seat and beginning to flip switches and override warnings (yeah yeah, broken hyperdrive, they knew that) to get ship live and ready for take off. Engines spluttered, coughed—then purred, and the dashboard lit up. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro saw Keith hadn’t strapped in at all, instead staring open-mouthed at the controls and standing on tip-toe to see more out of the view port.

Eh. He’d learn.

Shiro flipped on the intercom. “Ready, Master?” he asked, already setting the launch trajectory.

“Get us out of here, Takashi.”

“You might want to sit down for this,” Shiro added to Keith, intentionally not looking at the kid and pretending he hadn’t noticed the moment of awestruck curiosity. He gripped the sticks and launched them into the air, no less than three ships on his tail, and Keith let out a gasp that a moment later was followed by a flood of sheer delight in the Force.

Shiro grinned, easily maneuvering two of his tails into each other and quickly outstripping the third, before launching into open space.

Over all, he thought things were going very well.

And Kolivan’s grumbled swearing could just deal with it. 

[zarcake-writes]

The Witch King- Part 3

Hey! Here it is! Part 3! Thank you all for being patient, this took a little longer than expected to finish. Last time, everyone voted for reader to tell the hooded figure their name. 

Catch up: Part 1 Part 2

Vote for part 3! This link is also at the end of the story. You’ll have until 10pm on Friday the 25th to vote. 

Warnings: mention of slavery, kidnapping, hints at abuse

You struggle to speak for a moment because who are you? You can barely recall the person you were before the raid and kidnapping. Do you tell him the name Lady Argent gave you? Pretty Girl. You didn’t like it, but you didn’t dare tell her that. Before Lady Argent, you were only called Girl and other unpleasant names. You don’t want to think of those names or the cruel men who gave them to you.

The tattooed man who bought you from Lady Argent never gave you a name. He didn’t call you anything. Should you tell the hooded figure your real name? The one that you whisper every night before you go to sleep as a way to feel some connection to your past and to make sure you never forgot it. Do you dare? It’s been so long since you’ve said it out loud.

Taking a deep breath, you peak up at the hooded figure and whisper your name. It feels wrong saying it in front of someone. You almost expect this to be a trick and you’ll be punished.

The hooded figure simply nods. “That is a good name. Where are you from?”

You debate what to say again. “Lady Argent’s estate in Cresa.”

“Cresa? That’s a long way from here. Who is Lady Argent?”

You want to tell him the truth. You want to tell him that Lady Argent is a cruel woman who hides her true nature beneath the guise of a gentle and caring woman. You want to tell him of her pit and the punishments. Of the dungeons, the chains, and whips. Of the scars on her slave’s backs and the fear in their eyes when she walked by.

Instead, you say, “Lady Argent is the last good person in Cresa. She is a good and kind woman. She loves us all and takes care of us like family. We are her family.”

Repeating that mantra leaves a sour taste in your mouth. But all her slaves were forced to memorize it, those who did not were punished.

The figure lets out a noise and squats down to your level. “I see. Are you from Cresa?”

“N-no.”

“Where are you from?”

You think for a moment.

Your home was a fishing village right on the coast that was located between two large cities. Despite its small size, the village was on the main road, so it was always busy and filled with people coming and going. Traders, adventurers, travelers, and students would spend the night in the local inn before moving on. Sometimes they would stay if they were looking for work or had business in the area. There was even a small farm owned by a family of Minotaur’s that were beginning to sell their crops.

The village had no official name, but everyone in the region knew the small fishing village between Maport, a massive coastal city, and Olista, the city that was mostly inhabited by magic users. The fishermen of the village were skilled and the main road provided constant opportunities for trade. 

And you called the small village home once. But you don’t even know if the village is there still. It was probably burned down in the raid.

“A fishing village,” you say.

“Where was this village?”

“Between Maport and Olista.”

“I know those cities. If you’re from that area, how did you end up in Cresa?”

You clench your jaw at the memory. The dark night the pirates attacked your home was filled with screams of pain and terror. The heat of the fire as the pirates burned down homes and shops. The smoke made you cough and burned your eyes. The pirate’s dark laughs as they separated families and cornered people trying to flee. Getting separated from your family and being carried away by one of the pirates. Your mother shouting your name, watching helplessly as you were dragged away with dozens of others. The horror etched onto her face will never leave your mind.

After that, you remember the ships. The constant rocking and sickness. On the ship, surrounded by people you knew, you felt safe. You could cling to neighbors and friends, hoping that you all would see home again. But once the ships docked, everyone was separated. You don’t remember much after that. Somehow, you ended up with Lady Argent.

You clench your eyes and shake your head. It hurts to remember that night and every night after. There’s a pounding in your ears and your entire body feels hot. There’s a tightness in your chest, and for a moment, you think you’re dying.

“Hey,” the man’s voice is soft and low. It penetrates the haze that is filling your mind. “It’s ok. Breathe.”

“Can’t,” you gasp.

“Yes, you can, take your time. In and out, nice and easy.”

You nod and try to do as he said.

“Keep listening to me. Focus on where you are now.”

Again, you nod. You can feel the rough stone floor beneath your bare feet. The stone pillar you’re still hiding behind is cool to the touch and solid. You can hear the man’s voice, so soft and calming. The air is cold and causes goosebumps to bloom across your skin. And you can hear your own breathing slow down.

The pounding in your body lessens and breathing becomes so much easier. When you open your eyes, the figure is still crouched in front of you.

“There you go. You’re doing wonderful. Just slow, easy breaths,” he says.

You nod and wipe your face. A mixture of sweat and tears is smeared onto the back of your hand.

“Are you ok?” he asks.

You shrug.

“Can I ask you another question?”

You look up at him. The hood still hides his face, but his voice is so soft and gentle that you imagine he has a kind face.

You want to say no, but you can’t. “Yes.”

“How did you meet my former apprentice?”

“The man with the tattoos?”

“Yes.”

You glance in the direction where his body was thrown. The pillar hides the spot where he landed from your view, but you can still hear the crunch from when his body hit the ground.

“He’s… he’s dead,” you say.

The figure nods. “Yes, he is.”

“He attacked you.”

The figure nods again. “He attacked me and I defended myself.”

“And that armor came to life and…” you trail off.

“They disposed of his body. The suits guard my home, they will not hurt you.”

You nod.

“How did you meet him?” he asks again.

You hesitate. Lady Argent told her slaves to never say they were bought or sold by her. It was the city’s worst kept secret that Lady Argent was at the center of the slave trade. Some claimed she decided what villages and towns would be raided, but you weren’t sure about that. It wouldn’t surprise you if she was the sole person behind the trade of people, she did have her hand in every other terrible thing in the city. But the city officials couldn’t touch her. No one could touch her. Anyone who tried ended up dead or worse.

“Lady Argent… gave me to him.”

“What do you mean gave?”

You look down at the floor and say nothing.

The first time you met the tattooed man was your last day at Lady Argent’s estate. She had you summoned into her meeting room. Lady Argent was seated at her massive desk, flanked by two of her guards. The tattooed man stood on the other side of the desk, his face was blank and cold.

Lady Argent introduced you to the tattooed man as Pretty Girl. Then she said you were no longer a member of her “family” and that you belonged to the tattooed man. He made no comment, simply motioned for you to follow him. And you did, because what were you going to do? Argue and demand to stay? No, you couldn’t.

When you don’t elaborate, the hooded figure lets out a heavy breath. After a moment of heavy silence, he speaks. “Can I ask you one more question?”

“Y-yes.”

“Are you hungry?”

The question catches you off guard. But at the mention of food your stomach growls. You look at the figure in fear, but he only laughs. It’s soft and kind.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Come, let me feed you.”

He holds out a hand for you to take. It’s only then you realize that he’s wearing gloves.

“You… you would feed me?”

“Of course. What kind of person would I be to not feed a hungry guest? If my mother found out I let a guest go hungry, she would bend me over her knee and spank me.”

You let out a soft laugh at the image. His gloved hand is still outstretched towards you. Slowly, you take it.

The glove is cool to the touch. The black leather is worn but clearly made by someone with skill.

The hooded figure helps you stand and motions for you to follow him.

As he leads you towards the exit of the circular room, the two metal suits come back in. They salute the hooded figure and walk pass him, not even glancing down at you. The figure nods at them and continues out the door. You look back and watch as the two suits take their original positions in front of the pillars. You wonder if any other seemingly inanimate object in this place is really alive.

The figure leads you out of the circular room and down a hall. With him, the halls don’t seem as confusing and unpleasant. They seem almost normal. The green walls don’t seem as unnatural and sickly. Even the glowing green fires don’t look as haunting.

Eventually, you both arrive at a large kitchen. Unlike the rest of the fortress, the walls here are made of dark stone. And it’s clear most of the kitchen has not been used in a very long time. A single stove in the far corner has herbs hanging above it, while the others are piled high with pots and pans and dust. Near the stove is a fire pit with a large orange fire and pot hanging over it. Something bubbles in the pot and smells good.

“Take a seat there.” The hooded figure points at a chair near the fire pit.

He grabs a wooden bowl and scoops some of the pot’s contents into the bowl. He hands it to you and takes a seat on the other side of the fire.

The bowl is filled with some kind of meat and vegetable soup. Just the warmth alone makes you want to cry, but the taste is something else. It’s hearty and reminds you of sitting in the kitchen with your mother, watching her cook, and eating dinner with her. Though much of the soup you ate with her was fish-based.

You eat the entire bowl faster than you expected. The last time you had a warm meal was at Lady Argent’s estate. While the food her cooks made was good, it could not compare to this simple bowl of meat and vegetables.

“Thank you, it was delicious,” you say, slightly embarrassed at how fast you ate the food.

“You’re welcome,” he sounds pleased, “But I must admit, I did not make this.”

“Who did?”

“The chef, Nith. She’s a goblin who has lived here for a very long time. She’s probably in her room sleeping.”

“Other people live here?”

The figure nods. “Not many, but yes, others live here.”

“How many?”

His head tilts like he’s thinking. “It depends. People tend to come and go. The most that have been here in recent years have been about fifteen. But usually, it’s about five, myself included.”

“Where are they?”

“Around. Nith spends most of her time in the kitchen and garden, but she’ll visit the library if she’s looking for a recipe. I have a maid, Yaza, who cleans most of the fortress and does laundry. Just a warning, she’s a drider.”

You nod and do your best to hide the shiver that runs through you. There was a drider at Lady Argent’s estate, but he was massive and scary and lived in her dungeons. Lady Argent often used him as a way to keep her slaves in line. When you first arrived at Lady Argent’s estate, she showed you and a few others the drider. You remember how she hinted that any bad behavior would result in a visit with him.

“Who else?”

“I have another two apprentices. A tiefling, he spends most of his time in the library doing research or out in the courtyard practicing his magic. And a half-orc who lives in the smithy.”

You open your mouth to speak, but instead, you yawn. You didn’t even realize how tired you were, but the warmth from the fire and the warmth in your belly made you comfortable. And with that comfort came drowsiness.

“You’re tired. And it’s been a long day, would you like to sleep? I have many rooms available. We can also get you some new clothes to sleep in.”

You bite your lip and look down at the empty bowl in your hand. “What will it cost?”

“Nothing, I swear.”

You nod, unsure if you should believe him or not.

The hooded figure leads you to the kitchen and towards the entrance of the palace. It feels like minutes have passed since you were first here with the tattooed man. It’s probably only been about an hour or so.

The figure leads you up those massive stairs and down the right hall. How he doesn’t get lost, you don’t know. Eventually, he stops at a wooden door. He opens it and motions for you to step inside.

The room is huge with a massive bed in the center. The sheets and blankets look so soft and warm, you’ve never seen anything like it before. Even Lady Argent’s own bed wasn’t as plush looking. There’s a set of glass doors that lead to a large balcony outside, where there’s a small table with chairs. A lit fireplace is on the wall across from the bed.

The hooded figure opens a nearby dresser and pulls out a nightgown. It’s simple and long, but it looks clean.

“This may be too big,” he holds the nightgown out for you to take, “but hopefully it will be fine for the night.”

You take it and nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome. Get some rest, if you need anything, you can pull that string near your bed. The maid, Yaza, or I will come to check on you.”

You nod again.

“Goodnight.” He turns to leave.

“Wait.”

He stops and looks back.

“What do I call you?”

“Voxir. You can call me Voxir.”

You nod and say his name softly. It’s strange, not a name you’ve ever heard before. “Goodnight, Voxir.”

He bows and leaves you alone in the room.

You put on the nightgown. It’s several sizes too big, but it’s clean and new. You crawl into the bed, savoring the warmth and soft sheets. As soon as your head hits the pillow, you’re asleep.

When you wake, the afternoon sun is shining in the room. At first, you’re confused, but then you remember everything that happened the night before. Arriving at the fabled Witch King’s home, the man with tattoos dying, the hooded figure named Voxir, him giving you food, and him letting you sleep in a room. It almost doesn’t feel real.

But as you sit up and stretch in the bed, you know it’s real. The fire in the fireplace is still burning, just like last night, making you wonder if the fire is magic like everything else here. The sun is bright outside, probably early afternoon.

For the first time in a long time, you don’t know what to do. For so long, you had people telling you what to do. But no one is here this morning to tell you what to do. No one was even here to wake you up.

What do you do? Should you go back to sleep? You are still tired and a few more hours of sleep would be good for you. But would that be rude? It might be. Maybe you should pull the string near the bed as Voxir instructed? He said that would bring him or that drider maid he mentioned to assist you. But do you need assistance? Should you put on your old clothes and go look for Voxir? You might get lost though, so that’s probably not a smart idea. Should you try to leave? But leave to where? Again, you remember you have no idea where this fortress is or how to leave this mountain range.

What should you do?

[shinymoonbird]

05.01.2021 - The Jayanthi of Mahan Sri Seshadri Swamigal.

Sri Seshadri Swamigal, well known as the "Saint with a golden hand", is one of the greatest Indian saints who lived in Thiruvannamalai. He is revered as a religious guru by many people throughout the world. Of the word 'Seshadri' - 'Sesha' means 'remainder', that is the 'sat' which remains after having rejected everything else as 'not existing'; 'Adri' means 'mountain', that is bigger than the biggest - all-pervading. Thus the name Seshadri is equivalent to 'Parabrahman' - the all-pervading and self-illuminating 'sat'. Sri Vidya Cult There is a part in South India called Thondai Mandalam with its capital of Kanchipuram, Tamil Nadu. In ancient times at Kanchipuram Sri Adi Sankara Acharya established the cult of Sri Vidya, for the welfare of the world. In this connection he went to Central India and brought about thirty families of Devi bhaktas to Kanchipuram. These families were called Kamakoti Vamsa and spread the Sri Vidya cult throughout India. Everyone of the Kamakoti family was like a rishi. Kamakoti Sastri In 1790, Kamakoti Sastri was born into one of these families. Even though he had a daughter he also adopted one of his brother's (Chidambaram) daughters, a girl named Maragatham. At the appropriate time, Kamakoti Sastri started to search for a husband for this beautiful, learned girl and selected Varadarajar, one of his own students. Although the couple had good health and abundant wealth they were sad as they were childless. Finally, one day, heeding the prayers of this pious family, the Goddess Sri Kamakshi gave a dream to the daughter's adoptive father, Kamakoti Sastrigal. In due course, on January 22, 1870 a child was born. People around said the radiant child was an ornament of Sri Kamakshi Devi - a pet child of the Goddess and born because of the parents’ tapas. Birth Even from his earliest years the child Seshadri would perform pujas, sing prayers with concentrated devotion, sit in meditation and go off into spontaneous trances. He was neither interested in games nor displayed negative characteristics. Everyone regarded the boy as a Divine child. It was about this time an incident occurred that thereafter gave Seshadri his nickname, ‘Golden Hand'. One day four year old Seshadri and his mother stopped at a shop full of bronze castings of the Gods. While at the shop the young lad picked up a statue of Krishna and asked his mother to buy it so he could perform Krishna puja. The trader, thinking that the radiant child himself resembled the Lord Krishna, gave the idol and refused payment. The next day the trader proclaimed the boy to be most lucky as the whole consignment of 1,000 statues (because of the young boy's touch), had been sold in one day. News of the incident spread quickly through the town and from that moment on the young boy was known as, 'The one with the golden hand'. This gave him the name "Thanga Kai" (golden hand). Upanayanam In his fifth year young Seshadri was initiated at an auspicious ceremony attended by many scholars and on the same day started to attend Patashalas in Kanchi. Quickly he showed an almost superhuman intellect and memory and exhibited extraordinary debating skills. In this way years went by until the time Sri Seshadri reached his fourteenth year and his father Sri Varadarajar died unexpectedly. Kamakoti Sastrigal arrived to pacify the bereaved family and took them to live at Vazhur. It was there that Swamiji completed his education and mastered various texts in Sanskrit and Tamil – the whole Vedanta with three primary texts – Gita, Upanishads and Brahma Sutras, besides Vedas, Nyaya and Vyakarana. He had also mastered music and astrology. Marriage With his education now complete, Seshadri's mother, the pious widow Maragatham tried to arrange a marriage between her 17 year old son and the daughter of a relative, but when it was discovered (by examining Seshadri's horoscope) that he was destined to become a sanyasi and yogi, the marriage plans were swiftly cancelled. His mother, becoming more self-absorbed started to lose interest in worldly affairs and became increasingly weak - ignoring food and medical treatment. One day she called her son to her and predicted her death for the next day, and arranged for him to attend. The following day at her bed, she called her child to her and repeated a sloka [1] from Adi Sankara's Bhaja Govindam then together they sang the song 'Ambasive' after which keeping her hand on his chest she called out, 'Arunachala! [2] Arunachala! Arunachala!' and laid herself on his lap and died. Induction into Devi Worship After both his parents had died, Seshadri's uncle (who was childless) gladly took charge of Seshadri and the younger brother Narasimha Josiar. In his room Seshadri did numerous pujas and continuous japa to pictures of Sri Kamakshi, Lord Ram and to one of his own drawings of Arunachala Hill. He would lock himself up in his room at five in the morning and refuse to come out before noon. He regularly fasted and could often be heard shouting Arunachala Shonadrinatha or reciting Vedic hymns late at night. His uncle and aunt were frightened by his strange worship and begged him to stop. But Seshadri would not listen. Balaji Swamigal and Induction into Sanyashram At the age of 19, he met Sri Balaji Swamigal, a wandering saint from North India, who gave Seshadri sanyas and instructed him in the Mahavakyas. This was the only guru and formal diksha Seshadri is known to have had. Shortly after Seshadri started to travel to various spots in Tamil Nadu eventually ending up at Thiruvannamalai. He arrived at Arunachala at the age of 19 in Thiruvannamalai When he first arrived at Arunachala his uncle and brother Narasimha Josiar came to see him. Both were overwhelmed with grief on seeing him in rags with matted hair and a thin dirty body. They entreated him to return home immediately, but Swamiji refused to leave. Appearance Swamiji was handsome of medium height and fair countenance. His hair hung in short ringlets to the nape of his neck. His voice was soft and his smile was as sweet and sunny as a child. His body would not be at rest for a moment. Even, when sitting he would catch something, put it down, lift it and then repeat it all over again a hundred times. He walked fast and those following had to run to keep up with him. No sound emanated from his walking or running, it was as if his body was light like a ball. He would seldom bathe, but occasionally pour a pint of oil on himself and roam in the streets with oil still glistening on his head. If he allowed himself to be shaved he would often stop it abruptly, with half of his face or head unshaved and appear in public with equanimity and total disregard for public opinion. He discarded rules and observances of caste, sanctity, prudence and decency but always avoided animal food and intoxicants. Conduct Seshadri Swamigal moved about in Tiruvannamalai for forty years, an ascetic with a total disregard for either name or form. He had no home, dependents, property or any fixed habit or system. He would often conduct himself like a mad man and roam around in the heat of the day and stare up at the hot midday sun and, at night, rest in some nook or deserted hall. He would be delighted when it rained and play in the streams on the street, sit in the water and only go indoors when the rain had stopped. His acts were dramatic and deeply impressive. He would avoid rich food from wealthy persons but beg for cold gruel at a poor man's house. Sometimes he would take no food at all and on other occasions consume enough for ten people. He would eat and drink like one swallowing medicine or one being forcibly fed. Although he did not accept money he would sometimes receive expensive clothes but immediately transfer them to a poor person or tear the clothes into pieces and garland the tail and horns of a calf. If he was given plain new clothes, within a couple of hours, they would reach the state of his original clothes. He wore only a dhoti which would cover his toes and another piece of cloth swathed over his back and shoulders. He would squat anywhere regardless whether it was slush, dirt or refuse. When sitting, it was always in his favourite swastika asana. Swamigal utilised a strange manner of speech to ward off crowds building up around him. He would go on speaking very fast, without any respite and with no end or meaning. Sometimes if someone spoke to him, he would reply in Sanskrit, not caring if he was understood or not. He was a tapasvi of a very high order. One result of the mantras and sadhanas he practiced from his earliest years was the development of various siddhis and psychic powers. He could tell about the past and the future and read minds with ease. With this power, he fulfilled the desires of people by showing visions they wanted to see, both in dreams and while being awake. His miraculous touch is said to have cured many of those who came to him with devotion. Often when people saw him in the streets they would prostrate before him and he would get near to enable them to touch his feet. But, he would never allow bad characters to touch his feet. He would run away and if they forced themselves on him, he would abuse them or even pelt them with stones. Seeing this, many people did not go near him. But when he knew about the good qualities of a person, he would himself catch their hands and play. He would joke and run with young children. Swamigal's interaction with the world was very strange. A person couldn't take advantage of previous proximity—every moment was a new moment. People loved him, but some fearing they might be beaten, were frightened to come close. Generally, he would not call people by name, ask them how they were doing and suggest they come or question why a person did not come. He would neither talk sarcastically nor show intimacy on account of a past connection. He loved music, delighting his devotees with songs. If one asked, he would break forth into melodious song often drumming rhythms on nearby surfaces. Sometimes he would place his hands on his hips and dance. He was often taken to be a lunatic and at times purposely simulated madness. It was difficult to explain his general behaviour and impossible to account for the course of his conduct. He was always original and free, an ascetic who maintained a thorough control of his mind and senses up to the end of his life. He was always playing pranks. Suddenly he would laugh without stopping and those who witnessed his fun would be reduced to hilarity. Sri Seshadri blessed his devotees and helped cure their illnesses with his wonderful touch. While roaming the streets of Thiruvannamalai, he would sometimes enter a shop and dump the cash from a cashbox or throw the articles from the shops. The shops he entered used to do good business on that day and so shop keepers would eagerly await his arrival. To this day, the shops in Thiruvannamalai have his photos as a symbol of good luck and prosperity. Teachings Sri Seshadri Swamigal had deep devotion to God especially in the form of the Goddess Kamakshi, Lord Ram and Arunachala. Sri Seshadri was a great worshipper of Shakti. In the practice of concentration (for days in his boyhood at Tindivanam and at Thiruvannamalai), he sat steeped in samadhi, oblivious of his body. Seshadri Swamigal would meditate at Draupadi Amman Koil and Easanyan Mutt and in the corridor surrounding the Inner Sanctorum at the Durgai Amman Temple and he would also do tapas at Kambathu Ilayanar, Pathala Lingam and Arunachala Yogiswarar Mandapam. He did not do tapas on the top of the Mountain and instead would go onto the slopes of Arunachala to pray. Glory of Arunachala He often talked about the unique aspects of the Arunachala kshetra. He would say: 'This is the place where Swamy and Ambal invite all and confer liberation', and 'Lord Krishna leaving aside his sudarshana chakra (wheel) is playing on his flute. On hearing it Lord Siva who is inside the mountain comes out and dances' Throughout his life and teachings Sri Seshadri continuously emphasised the glory of Arunachala: 'This is Siva Lingam. It is enough to worship this. One can become spiritually enlightened and attain liberation'. And illustrating the similarity of the Annamalaiyar-Unnamalai Temple to Arunachala he said to those wasting their time discussing worldly affairs and neglecting God: 'He spreads his shop in the morning. Closes it at night. He does not see Lord Arunachaleswara. What is the use? Visit the temple. Visit the temple. Visit the temple'. He was ever emphasising the inestimable value of giripradakshina instructing: 'One should pray to Lord Arunachaleswara all the time. In particular perambulation of the hills should be done on Tuesdays. Deep devotion will arise'. Social Service He loved service and by his own example showed it as a noble ideal to live up to. He was regarded with great respect and he was thought to be a sage People would say, 'He is a talking God,' 'A divine incarnation, a great yogi, a great siddha'. Seshadri Swamigal and Ramana Maharshi Seshadri Swamigal and Ramana Maharshi (Seshadri actually arrived at Arunachala six years earlier than Ramana) were contemporaries. When Ramana Maharshi came to Tiruvannamalai seven years after Seshadri Swamigal's arrival, Seshadri was immediately aware of the young swami's state of Self-abidance and he felt a motherly love for him. Sri Ramana spent his time then immersed in the bliss of the Self in the thousand-pillared hall in the front portion of the Arunachaleswara Temple. Urchins, not understanding his state, pelted him with stones. Sri Seshadri tried to protect the young swami who seemed quite unaware of his body and surroundings, but the urchins continued their harassment. To avoid this unwanted attention, Sri Ramana moved into the Patalalingam, an underground vault in the temple. He remained there, in deep meditation, for many days, oblivious to the ants, vermin, and mosquitoes who were feasting on him. Sri Seshadri found him there and asked his (Sri Seshadri's) devotee Venkatachala Mudaliar to lift "his child" out. He cleansed Ramana's blood-oozing wounds and revealed Ramana as a [saint] to the world. Locals used to call Sri Seshadri, Mother Parvathi and Sri Ramana, Skanda (Lord Subramanya). Sometimes Sri Seshadri Swamigal, the older by ten years would be called 'elder Seshadri' (anna) and Sri Ramana 'younger Seshadri' (thambi). One time a devotee told Sri Ramana that everyone called Seshadri a mad man. Ramana smilingly replied that there were three mad men in Arunachala. One was Seshadri, the second was Arunachaleswarar and the third was himself. Sri Ramana said of Swamji, 'Sri Seshadri does not allow people to come near him. Here all are coming'. Others would say there were three lingas in Tiruvannamalai: One, Lord Arunachala, another Ramana Maharshi and the third Seshadri Swamigal. Death Having lived at Arunachala continuously for forty years and helping all kinds of people Sri Seshadri decided to finally shed his body. One day in 1928 during the month of Karthigai, he asked a devotee, 'Shall I build a new house and go away?' Meaning, 'I have completed my task, shall I now depart?' At first the devotee thought the question a prank but finally after many days and constant repetition of the question, she answered, that, 'He should construct a new house and practise yoga'. Sri Seshadri accepted Subbalakshmi's words as representative of Parasakthi's approval and satisfied he replied, 'Yes, yes, it shall be done!'. Some days later his devotees, who wanted to photograph him, gave him an oil bath and then bathed, dressed, scented, garlanded and photographed him. Immediately Seshadri caught a fever. For forty days his condition worsened and on the forty-first day he found the strength to visit Arunachaleswara one last time. On returning from the temple he sat down in a puddle of water and refused to change his wet clothes when he got back to the house. Within days, on January 4, 1929, Sri Seshadri Swamigal left his body and Thiruvannamalai was engulfed in sorrow. After preparation his body was brought out in procession which is said to have been so splendid that the entire stock of camphor in the shops of Thiruvannamalai was exhausted and all incoming buses were full and overcrowded. The streets were jammed with devotees and the night seemed like bright day as it was so brilliantly illuminated by the burning camphor. The air was filled with group-singing, devotional songs and the music of instrument players. It was at Agni Theertham that Sri Ramana Maharshi joined the procession. Further on a samadhi was constructed and Sri Swamigal's body interred. That samadhi tomb is now enshrined within the grounds of Sri Seshadri Ashram on Chengam Road, Thiruvannamalai. His body was not cremated but buried, as is the custom in the case of a saint. It is believed that Bhagavan Ramana Maharishi was present at the place silently observing the rituals till it was completed.

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Kailasha SivaSesha

Arunachala SivaSesha

Om Sathguru Sri Seshadri Swamigal Thiruvadikkae

[ayo-cowbelly]

when the fire goes out, how do we stay warm? part 3/?

previous part ~ next part ~

masterlist

today i’m serving up an entree of zygerrians being assholes, with a side of dark obi wan and angsty inner thoughts- enjoy!

First of all, the canon timeline has been taken out back and shot- so we’re currently just blindly driving through the year 20 BBY. For this universe, it has been about two months since the original zygerria mission (which happened at the same time as canon). Just for reference i guess.

ALSO, QUICK NOTE ABOUT UPDATES: school just started for me, along with other things, so updates are going to be weird for this story. There are just a lot of things going on in my life, including writing, so I can’t promise when I’ll be able to update- BUT IT WILL BE OFTEN! Just not on a set schedule/general time frame.

p.s. lines from the tatooine slave code the discord and i came up with are mentioned- you can find the whole thing at @newswcanonprompts

~

 Obi-Wan has been periodically blacking out for about a week now. Maybe more, maybe less. He’s not actually sure how long it’s been. All he knows is that sometime, the Zygerrians had decided to tuck him away in this...

 What could he call his new accommodations? It looks like an old dungeon- smells like one too. The walls are crumbling, and there’s a leaky crack on the ceiling that has been keeping Obi-Wan a bit entertained. He watches the water drops slide down the wall, making him dream of rain. He wishes to be outside, to be free.

 For the first few weeks, when he was the queen’s attendant, he had been allowed to go wherever in the palace- as long as he followed the queen when she called. She probably allowed this small bit of freedom to show everyone her new Jedi pet. But then it all changed.

 Obi-Wan had been in his “room” (a small closet-like space with a cushion and a little pot to relieve himself) when he heard shouting and running. Peeking outside, one of the queen’s guards caught sight of him and yelled something in Zygerrian; the guard then pressed a button and Obi-Wan’s collar shocked him into unconsciousness.

 When Obi-Wan awoke, he was in this cave, his bare shoulders bleeding from where the guards must have dragged him. Usually, the queen’s attendants were dressed nicely, but Obi-Wan supposed he was a special case.

 They starved him, dressed him in his torn clothes, made him look weak- a showcase of Queen Miraj’s power, her ability to beat even a Jedi into submission.

 And Obi-Wan  has been beaten. He knows it, the queen knows it, everyone on this blasted planet knows it. His muscles are pretty much depleted by now, his bones getting more and more frail every day- and his spirit was just as crushed. After learning (he learned through punishment; teaching was done with whips on this planet) to be quiet, he eventually accepted that this was no place for his well-known banter.

 Obi-Wan Kenobi is not a silent person. But, that is who he has to be, if he is to survive.

 In his silence, he thinks of Anakin and hopes for his safety. He reflects on their only communication in the last few weeks, that one burst of emotion in their Force bond. Obi-Wan wishes he could tug on the bond, at least send Anakin an inkling of feeling, but it was impossible. He has no strength for such things, and if he did, he can’t try- Queen Miraj had put him in Force-dampening cuffs some time ago (they are rusted and old, probably because the queen was never lucky enough to have a Jedi in her grasp).  

 So he is left alone with nothing but a dreary cell and troubled questions for company.

 Is Anakin alright? Does he know Obi-Wan is alive? Does he still have that horrible haunted look that plagues Obi-Wan’s nightmares, the one from the arena?

  Is his brother free? Obi-Wan wonders that most often. He doesn’t know if Anakin is free, or if he’s just briefly escaped; then again, he also doesn’t know what exactly his former apprentice is running from. Chains? Nightmares? Fear? Darkness?

 Or maybe those are all the same. At least, they seem to have become one in this blurry hell Obi-Wan is now living in.

 The Darkness comes for him while he’s unconscious. Whenever the world fades, Obi-Wan is met with a black expanse that threatens to consume him.

 He finds it harder and harder to push it away. In fact, Obi-Wan’s vision is starting to dim, his bleary eyes starting to close…

 But before he goes under, the old metal door creaks open.

 “Hello, Master Jedi,” The Zygerrian guard jeers, the mocking evident in his tone. Obi-Wan feels he has lost any right to that title (what Master would let their Padawan be treated so terribly, what Master would embrace Darkness while he sleeps?).

 Obi-Wan just turns his head to the other man, fresh cuts on his cheek stinging from the movement. He does not reply.

 “Thought you were a talker. ‘Guess not,” The guard remarks as he slides a dish of something gray-looking across the floor. Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize him, this must be the first time they’re meeting (he probably wanted a glimpse at the queen’s new Jedi pet). “No response? Fine.”

 The Zygerrian leans cockily against the cell door, head tilted down to Obi-Wan’s pathetic body. “Can’t say I’m upset you’re quiet. I didn’t expect it- the newbies are always loud at first. It’s always so irritating, listening to their crying and screaming, but they learn soon enough.” The guard smiles wickedly, fingers tracing his whip. Obi-Wan has heard the screams in this place, the cries of children. He's watched as they go still, their tears giving way for the crack of a whip and their torturers’ cruel laughs.

 Obi-Wan has been making himself numb for weeks. But as the guard drones on, his fangs glinting in the darkness, a wave of red-hot fury courses through the Jedi. It feels similar to that day in the arena, when he’d come so close to killing Queen Miraj- until Ahsoka stopped him.

 Obi-Wan wishes he’d murdered her right there. A part of him wants to see the life in her eyes drain, and he wants it to be at his own hand. He wants to see her pay for what she did to Anakin, to Rex, to so many others- he will make her pay. Make her suffer-  

  Yes,something deep in him whispers. It’ll be easy. She will suffer. And when she dies, you will be the one to make her heart stop beating-  

 “Hey,” the guard’s raspy voice interrupts whatever had been filling Obi-Wan’s head. “Were your eyes always yellow-ish? I heard they were blue.”

 Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to make of that.

 ~

 The sunlight burns his delicate skin. Obi-Wan blinks rapidly, as he is no longer used to the brightness of day (honestly, how long was he in that cell? Nobody will tell him- maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t know).  

 He is pushed roughly with a blaster. “Keep moving, scug,” one of his escorts, a particularly nasty-looking guard, says.

 “Where-” Obi-Wan coughs, his voice scratchy. “Where are we going?”

 “You’re going to see the queen.”

 “Then why are we outside?”  

 “Did you really think your disgusting room was in the palace this whole time? If you think we treat our royalty like that, you’re more idiotic than I thought,” another guard sneers, sounding almost offended.

 Obi-Wan sighs defeatedly. “I meant, why not just put me in a speeder and be done with it? Why parade me through the streets?”

 The original guard, the one who pushed him, barks out a laugh. “Why do you think? Now shut up and walk.”

 Obi-Wan realizes what the guard means. It's a show for the Masters. He can’t stop himself from looking around, making eye contact with the slave traders and their grins- they are all too happy at seeing a famous Jedi being led along in chains. Said Jedi wants to wipe the smiles off their faces, for they might think they are in power here, but he will show them what-

  No, he thinks, recoiling from the Dark thoughts. Stop- don’t go there, Obi-Wan.    He doesn’t want to think about his eyes, if they’re yellow or blue- he doesn’t want to, he wants the Dark to leave him alone-

 Or does he?

  Stop, stop, don’t think about it, GO AWAY- he screams in his mind, pushing the Dark away. It backs off for now, but Obi-Wan knows it will come back in his dreams.

~

 They finally reach the palace, and the guards grab him by the arms to lead him inside. Their sharp nails drag across his skin, some even giving him more cuts- but instead of thinking about it, Obi-Wan prefers to be numb, so that is what he does. Sinking into the Force (which he can barely feel, due to the cuffs he still wears), he lets himself be pulled along.

 Queen Miraj’s voice is what snaps him out of it. The blissful respite of the Force slinks away, despite Obi-Wan’s frantic grabs at it.

 “Master Kenobi, it is wonderful to see you again,” she purrs, eyes raking over his battered form. Seeing an exceptionally angry gash on his arm, the queen smirks. “I hope you are enjoying your new room.”

 He does not reply. He will not let her take his words; she has already taken his body, she will not have his voice. It is a lesson he has learned from the other slaves, one Anakin had drunkenly described years ago.

  Though he was drunk, Anakin sounded almost poetic, but devoid of emotion- it was how he always seemed when talking about Tatooine. “Peace in Silence, Defiance in Demureness… They teach us to be quiet. Watch instead of speak. Watching is how we learn. And, if the Masters don’t have your voice, then they cannot truly win.”  

 Obi-Wan didn’t, and still doesn’t, want to know why those teachings sounded like a mantra, a code engraved into Anakin’s very being, even after being freed.

  Can you ever wash away the sands of a slave?  

 How much of the Desert still lives inside Anakin?

 Again, Obi-Wan doesn’t want to know.

 The queen keeps talking. “No response? I thought you had better manners than that, Master Jedi.” They love to call him that, don’t they? The Masters love to remind him of his place. By calling him 'Master', they reaffirm the fact that it is      they    who are really in charge- he is nothing more than their toy.

 He ignores the queen’s taunts. She cocks her head, brows narrowing. “You might be wondering why I summoned you here. I imagine you have many questions regarding your… new arrangements.”

 Obi-Wan doesn’t say anything, instead just keeping his eyes trained on her. He watches as she clenches her jaw. Her voice does not betray her growing irritation- she had been hoping for an outburst. “See, a bit of time ago, your little Republic friends came here. They broke into my dungeon, took that little Togruta you’re so fond of, and then left. They also took away my prize, your little Chosen One…”

 Obi-Wan, who had been studying the wall, whips his head towards her. Forgetting to be quiet, he stutters, “They- they got Anakin-?”

 Queen Miraj leers at him. “Yes, they did; just in time, too, I suppose. He was not going to make it much longer.”

 A pink Twi’lek -probably the queen’s new attendant- is in the corner, staring intently at Obi-Wan. She is pressing her finger to her lips, signaling for him to be quiet. He ignores her. “What did you do to him?!”

 The queen smiles smugly, annoyance forgotten. She motions for her guards to restrain Obi-Wan. Once he is firmly held down, she replies. “It was easy to see that he was once a slave. He was already cracking. But I broke him.”  She sounds prideful, taking joy in the fact that she-

   No. Anakin is strong. He’s alright. He is alright. He has to be alright.  

 “You cannot break Anakin. He is strong, stronger than you will ever be.” The Twi’lek in the corner is frantically shaking her head at him, neck rubbing against her shock collar. But Obi-Wan cannot get himself to quiet. Not now, not anymore.

 “You think he is powerful? He is a slave, Kenobi. It doesn't matter where he is, who he calls Master- he will always be chained,” the queen snaps.  

 “He was freed.”

 She laughs at his protests, eyes glinting. “You do not understand. A slave is never free, Jedi. You can shower him in love, titles, and luxury- but I know what a child of the Desert looks like. Tatooine is a cruel place; it has a certain way of… rooting itself in its children. Some of them end up here, and they are easily recognized. Skywalker is just like them, scarred and broken. They will only be free when Death claims them, Kenobi.”

 Obi-Wan pushes at the guards, trying to get to the queen. He wants to wipe that cruel smirk off her face, drown it in blood- “You’re wrong!”

 “Look at how you refuse the truth- just like a Jedi. You know I am right. You know it, you see it in him, the cracks- and you never help, do you?”

 “Anakin,” Obi-Wan grinds out, “is not a slave. He is a Jedi, he is free-”

 The queen’s lip curls. “A slave,” she repeats, “is never free.”

 The Darkness rises up in him, louder this time. It rushes through his head, pounding against his skull. It wants to be let loose- so he lets go. The cuffs start to snap, and he pushes outwards into the room. The queen is slowly pushed back at her throne, and if these rusty old cuffs will break Obi-Wan will be able to crush her skeleton against it-

 Then, something slams into his head, and the world goes black again.

 ~

 He wakes up to the throne room, but this time, it’s a bit different. For starters, he’s kneeling, held in place by two ropes attached to the walls. More guards fill the room, and now the prime minister is standing diligently by Miraj’s side, scowling at Obi-Wan.

 His head throbs from where he was hit, blood trickling down his forehead. He looks down at his hands, seeing that they are now in cuffs that look brand-new.

 “You dare try to attack me?” The queen snarls at him, slowly walking down her throne’s steps.

 Obi-Wan looks at Miraj’s attendant, the pink Twi’lek. She is looking down, knowing what is coming.

 “Learn your place, Jedi scum,” She says menacingly, nodding at something behind Obi-Wan.  He tries to go numb, but these new cuffs work better; he can’t reach the Force at all. It is terrifying, and he can’t breathe, for now he is truly alone in this hell-

 He dimly registers the crack of a whip being ignited. His stomach sinks as he hears the whip coming down, and then he is  burning  .

[starseedfxofficial]

US Jobs Data Looms as USD Firms Up: Where Are the Hidden Opportunities? No Fresh Catalyst? No Problem: Here's the Insider's Look at Today’s Forex Pulse If you've been in the market long enough, you've seen days like today—where traders around the globe are twiddling their thumbs, refreshing their charts, and waiting for a new clue from the financial gods. With European stocks mixed and US futures trading as flat as a pancake, it seems like everyone’s waiting for that one game-changer: the much-anticipated US Jobs Report. Well, hang in there, because even in these ‘catalyst-less’ market stretches, there's always an edge if you know where to look. Dollar's Diet Plan: Just a Touch Firmer, No Major Feast USD is channeling its inner weight watcher—just a touch firmer against most peers, giving us all an opportunity to take a breather before the NFP (Non-Farm Payroll) drop. It’s as if the dollar has taken a sip of espresso but hasn’t quite downed the whole cup. Meanwhile, the EUR is taking a rest, panting a bit after its recent jog against the USD. Not to be left out, JPY and Antipodeans (AUD and NZD) are all feeling a bit under the weather—like traders who mistimed their caffeine dose before a trading marathon. The Tale of Flattening Yields Let’s chat yields. USTs (US Treasuries) are following yesterday’s game plan: edging lower and keeping that flattening curve intact. For those wondering what that means—imagine your favorite rollercoaster getting less thrilling as each dip gets a little shallower. Traders are staying cautious as the US jobs data looms ahead. You can almost hear them whispering, "Stay flat, stay cool, and let’s see what happens next." Bitcoin: Reaching for the Moon, But Taking a Coffee Break Oh, Bitcoin, our beloved crypto cowboy! After briefly reclaiming the coveted USD 98,000 mark (nope, not a typo), Bitcoin decided to take a quick breather. It’s like that time you finally made it to the top of a hike, only to remember you left your water bottle halfway up. Sure, BTC hit a record north of 103K, but after yesterday's pullback, it’s back to its more leisurely pace. The bulls still look strong, but we’re in a holding pattern for now. What’s Up Next: Jobs Galore and University Insights The real action isn’t too far away. The US Jobs Report is the main course, but let’s not overlook our appetizing side dishes—Canadian employment data and the University of Michigan sentiment survey. Today, we also have appearances from the Fed speakers: Bowman, Goolsbee, Hammack, and Daly. Will they say anything new or just repeat the “higher for longer” mantra that’s become their unofficial slogan? Stay tuned! Hidden Opportunities Even When Catalysts Are Missing While the rest of the market waits around, savvy traders know this is prime time to hunt for hidden gems. So, here are some insider insights to give you the edge: - Hidden Divergence in USD Pairs: With USD inching up, a good trick is to scan for divergence on longer timeframes. The stochastics are like that well-read friend who tells you what the masses aren’t seeing—they’re great for spotting when a currency pair’s move is just for show. - Take Advantage of JPY’s Weakness: Japan's yen is soft today, and traders seem uninterested. A little contrarian mindset goes a long way—this is a great time to consider positioning for a potential yen bounce, especially against major commodities like gold and oil, which might see some profit-taking later. - Range Trading Bitcoin Until the Next Breakout: While Bitcoin cools off after breaching 98K, why not try a bit of range trading? Be that wise trader who sees the crowd reaching for 100K, then quietly buys and sells in the middle—less glamorous but often more lucrative. Expert Insights: When the Market Snoozes, You Strategize Sure, today’s a bit flat, but think of it as an athlete’s rest day—you’re not sitting idle; you’re sharpening your tools. According to Nick Leeson, former rogue trader turned trading mentor (you might recognize his name from the Barings Bank story), "It's the quiet days when you need to be most prepared. When everyone else is losing interest, you gain focus." Wise words, folks. The best market opportunities often arise when it feels like nothing is happening. Another expert, Kathy Lien, managing director at BK Asset Management, puts it succinctly: “Markets don’t just move on catalysts—sentiment builds even when nothing seems apparent. The trick is to watch the undercurrent.” Bingo! The Calm Before the Storm Today might not look like much on the surface, but that’s exactly why it’s important. It’s during these seemingly stagnant stretches that markets tip their hands. Smart traders use these moments to analyze, strategize, and build positions that take advantage of tomorrow’s movements. Whether you’re focusing on USD strength, yen's potential bounce, or positioning for Bitcoin’s next leg up—remember, trading is just as much about being patient as it is about action. If you’re in the StarseedFX community, now’s a great time to exchange ideas, test some strategies, and sharpen your skills. Happy trading, and remember—sometimes the quiet days hold the biggest secrets. PS: Want real-time updates and exclusive insights to level up your trading game? Check out our community and premium services at StarseedFX. Let’s turn today’s quiet into tomorrow’s profit. —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated   Read the full article

[nickgerlich]

Doing More With Less

The American mindset has long been one of manifest destiny. Whether pillaging and plundering the land and people as we expanded westward, or with firms today in the corporate capitalist era, it is a “take no prisoners” philosophy. Bigger is better, and More is always better than Less.

And for better or worse, it has helped propel us into wealthiest nation status. Investors dig it.

But not all companies buy into it, and oddly enough, have even prospered by going against the flow. Call it salmoning or whatever, these companies—albeit few—are swimming upstream when everyone else is heading to the ocean.

There is probably no better example of this than Trader Joe’s, the cult-popular grocery chain headquartered in Monrovia California that has 569 stores in the US. Its smallish stores—by today’s standards—stock only about 4000 SKUs, a far cry from the 45,000 available at larger modern supermarkets.

Trader Joe’s, which is owned by Germany’s Aldi Nord, bullishly proclaims its “Less Is More” tag line whenever it can. It’s also a take-it-or-leave-it statement as well, but thus far, it has paid off handsomely, with sales of US$16.5 billion. With about 50,000 employees, each worker generates US$330,000 in sales.

It was during COVID that TJ’s operating mantra was put to the test. Most of its competitors, including first-cousin Aldi (owned by Germany’s Aldi Sud), boosted their online presence, with many also offering curbside pickup and/or delivery. Trader Joe’s wanted nothing of that.

And that is because the company firmly believes its brand is the experience, and you cannot replicate that experience anywhere outside of its stores. You either shop there, or forget it. Given that its stores are small by design and often in or near shopping centers, the addition of order pickers and delivery vehicles would unnecessarily clutter the whole space. That, of course, would help ruin the experience on which TJ’s hangs its hat.

Their product assortment is also ever-shifting, reflecting a heavy emphasis on seasonal products (pumpkin is king right now, but you better hurry, because once those products are gone, you’re out of luck until next year). The company is also dedicated to innovation, something that keeps people coming back (side note: their plant-based spinach ravioli is to die for). Other items rotate through availability, meaning that every time you go to TJ’s, its equal parts shopping and discovery.

You never know what you’ll find, again, because it is part of the experience.

With 80% of their products being private label—meaning TJ’s contracts with companies to manufacture them and put a TJ’s marque on them—it leads to higher profit margins. Typical nationally-branded grocery items often have a 20-22% margin, which, after overhead is deducted, leaves a slim 1-2% profit margin for most other grocers.

Their laid-back nautical-themed atmospherics, complete with friendly employees who are paid to answer customer questions, give advice, and walk them to the right product, reinforce the experience. And employees will even open an item to let you try before you buy, whenever that is possible.

Their “less is more” strategy also applies to its marketing, which is centered primarily on a podcast, Instagram, and a monthly in-store newsletter called the Fearless Flyer. The store has such loyal customers that fan-based Instagram accounts have popped up that showcase products and recipes. Otherwise, their marketing efforts focus on reinforcing the message, which is to come to the store.

Making matters somewhat complicated is TJ’s resistance to reckless expansion. It routinely receives hundreds of requests each year from people imploring them to build a store near them, but it is just not going to happen. They would rather people like me travel prepared with an ice chest and freezer bag so that when we are near a TJ’s store (which for me would be OKC, Dallas, Albuquerque, or Santa Fe, all four or more hours away), we load up. And I do. Heck, three weeks ago I spent $200 at one of the Dallas stores.

Adding glitter to the scene, TJ’s devotees even collect their city and state reusable shopping bags that are sold in-store for $1. Look on eBay and you’ll see what I mean. Once we figured this out, we started selling off our collection. My wife sold two Oklahoma bags for a total of $98. Not a bad ROI. As a result, we routinely buy several in each TJ’s state we visit. Even if they don’t sell, we use them for shopping, or as gift bags.

All of which illustrates that, for every glowing generalization I or anyone else makes, there are exceptions, and Trader Joe’s has hit pay dirt by doing less. There is always the possibility of finding a pot of gold far out on the tails of the customer distribution.

And that is a destiny that Trader Joe’s has made manifest.

Dr “More Or Less“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

[ssdescendantsau]

Chapter 1

Remus wanders around in silence, his makeshift morningstar slung over his shoulder, the nails digging into his shoulder. The world is too loud today, the clamour around him rising into a crescendo that grates against his ears. Maybe he could find something to steal or someone to fight so that everything would just shut up for one fucking second. Well, at least Remus lost his pursuers from the mindless fight he was just in. That was a good enough distaction. The only thing for Remus to do in the still air was talk to himself.

“You smash your morningstar in one person’s face and now the whole group is after you. Sounds petty in my opinion.” 

Or well, makeshift morningstar and less like an iron mace-like weapon that it normally would be. It was more a block of wood stuck to the end of an iron pipe with a shit ton of nails pounded into the wood. A rustling sound whistled through the air, a flash of gold briefly spotted in the corner of Remus’s eye.

“From my perspective it sounds like you’re being the petty one.”

Turning around, Remus’ eyes land on a figure nestled in the shadows, another teenager by the sound of his voice. The darkness hides everything except for a distinctive glittering golden eye.

“Hi Dee~ How ya doing?”

‘Dee’, or Janus “Deceit” of Agrabah was the trader on the Isle, usually coming along with a trinket or item stolen from someone else’s pockets. A thing for another thing, a favor for Remus to fulfill later down the line in exchange for something shiny, but useless. That’s usually how these trades went.

“Alright, managed to nab a few things that might catch your eye. A favor would be nice, I’m planning on robbing this one guy and might want your help,” Dee pauses, mulling over his next words.“I just came to tell you about Maleficent's goons. Seems they’re looking for you.” He almost sounds worried. Mom huh, well at least let’s just hope it’s not because I did something stupid. Again.

“Ugh can’t Mother do her own dirty work for once?” Remus grumbles, turning around to find Dee gone. “Fine, I'll just get the stuff later then. Sneaky noodle always fades into the shadows thinking he’s cool and edgy.”

A faint hiss of air draws Remus’s attention to a small alleyway to his right, a perfect alleyway for hiding a body. He does remember a similar alleyway that one time that he hid a corpse, he doesn’t really like or want to think about that stuff. 

Turning the corner he finds Virgil de Vil, the resident “artist” and the only one on the Island to wear all black, spraying something on the wall. The jacket was new though, the purple sleeves being a lovely addition along with the skull design on Virgil’s mask.

“Huh, well if it isn’t Virgie,” Remus drawls, moving forward to sling his arm around Virgie’s shoulders.

“First of all, it’s Virgil, not Virgie.” 

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”

“Second of all” Virgil turns to look at Remus “I'm currently working on something. What do you think, some purple or red?”

Remus glances at the spray paint on the wall, moving away from his previous position. The artwork forming a purple stormcloud on a green background. “Lilac-blue, makes the green pop out more.” 

“Hm.” A quick nod of reassurance from Virgil and Remus moves next to him, plopping onto the dingy ground of the space. A thin silence hangs in the air only interrupted by the sound of Virgil’s spray cans.

“Have you ever thought about getting off this dump?” Remus doesn’t know why he said it in the first place, the question already forming before he can stop himself.

“Out of this cage? Sorry, but we’re always gonna be locked away with the “villians” in this fucked up world.”

“Of course,” Remus sighs, because this place was a death sentence in and of itself. “Forget it.” Nobody was coming to save the rejects of the world. That feeling was back, buzzing underneath his skin. So Remus did the only thing he could think of, he acted on impulse, quickly grabbing Virgil’s hand and running off with him in tow.

“Remus, no!” It was too late for Virgil to protest though.

“Remus yes.”

Whatever chaos that Remus wanted to create was quickly stopped as both of their bodies collided into an unmoving wall,black suits and sunglasses filling the frame of his vision. The only ones who dressed like here were his mom’s goons because they needed to be “presentable”. Her words not his.

“Maleficent wants to see you,” Goon #1 rumbles.

He hates these stupid lackeys. Mom sends them because she couldn’t care enough about her own kid to meet in person. Instead, it made him feel like he was twelve again, like a kid who was always getting in trouble for being too ‘much’. He can’t really protest though as Goon #1 grabs both him and Virgil.

He passes by beggars and kids with ratty clothes, crammed like sardines on this floating rock. Briefly, he passes by a mom pulling her kid with a makeshift cart and a scrawny teenager his age skimming through the crowd, most likely a pickpocket. After all, there’s no guarantee that your business will get food on the table. Remus remembers the first time that he got pickpocketed, broke the kid’s fingers for even trying. The regret came later, when the drone of bitterness and apathy left his system.

Remus watches as his “home” comes into view. It was supposed to be a fortress but it resembled a cardboard castle more than anything, ready to topple over at the slightest breeze. A building to play pretend in, Remus thinks bitterly so that everything would be ‘just like it was before’. He’s heard enough about “the glory days” from his mom to get an idea. Pushed through the entrance, Remus stares at his mom standing at the front of the room.

Looking around, Dee and the island's resident “heartbreaker” Remy, were also there with their own personal “goons” hovering over their shoulders. Remy’s sunglasses and plain leather jacket were kept clean enough as if he actually cared about his appearance. He is the kid on the Island most known from the stories gathered from his various flings. Nobody said anything at first, instead dissolving into a tense silence broken by his mom.

“Janus, Remy, Virgil and you will be going to Auradon.” Maleficent announced to the room, her gaze lingering on Remus as if to say Don’t mess this up.

“I’m sorry but, what?” Virgil splutters. 

Remus looks around the room to the rest of the three kids as if to ask she’s not joking right? briefly locking eyes with a panicking Virgil. 

Janus spoke up, his panicked eyes looking everywhere except for the people in the room.“I’m gonna have to agree with Virgil on this one, why the hell are we going over to those stuck-up pricks?” 

“Well the Prince has made a new decree, the soft-hearted fool. You four will be attending Auridon Prep,” Her tone was detached, leaving no room for negotiations or arguement. It was Remy to first act on his impulses, blurting out the first thing that came to his mind.

“Oh, fuck no. I’m not going to be surrounded by assholes more than I need to be, ” Remy said, arms crossed and glancing off to the side.

“This is an opportunity for you. You will sneak straight into those royal’s hearts and steal Fairy Godmother’s wand in the process using, of course, the generous gifts bestowed upon you by your parents that will hopefully not go to waste. Then you’ll release the barrier and evil will spread along the land, a perfect place for us to rule.”

Remus ignores that hopeful twist in his stomach that maybe, this will prove something to her. That maybe he can be a good enough son for her.

“You don’t have much of a choice. Especially considering that your ride is going to be here soon,” the Evil Queen snapped at Remy. Quickly rifling through her pockets, she quickly took out a small mirror “Now, here is my magic mirror.” Remy stares at the small glass hand mirror in her hand, “It’s not what it used to be sadly, but it should be useful,” Remy takes the small mirror in his hands and tucks it into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“And please, get some sleep while you’re at it. Those eyebags of yours are making you uglier than you already are.”

“Yes Mother,” Remy muttered.

“Now let me see,” Mom mutters to herself, rifling through what appears to be an old cupboard as she fishes out a tattered old book, worn down from use. Turning over to Remus, she holds out the book.

“Here. This is my spellbook.” Remus gingerly picks up the spellbook from her hand.

As Remus is leaving he hears snippets of conversation from the other kid’s parents and their farewells.

“Remember Janus, lying is always the best solution” Jafar quickly tells Janus 

“And always look out for yourself” Janus echoes back tonelessly, as if it were a mantra he’s heard a dozen times before.

“I’ll miss you Virgil.” Cruella puts a hand to her heart with a pout

“Really?” Virgil looks almost hopeful in those small minutes, a shine of maybe a little bit of softness in his expression

“Who else will take care of my beautiful coats.” Cruella doesn’t notice how Virgil deflates at her last sentence

“Right” Virgil scoffs to himself, his expression closing off like a set of iron gates slammed shut in front of his eyes.

Mom sharply turns to the rest of the VK’s in front of her.

“Now move along, there’s a wand to steal.”

The rest of the teenagers were shuffled out of the room to their “ride” sitting outside the fortress. A sleek black vehicle sits outside, gleaming under the sun and unbelievingly long. Maleficent clutches Remus’s arm as he’s leaving, her fingernails leaving indents in his skin.

”You better not mess this up.” Mom says through gritted teeth.

Looking at the limousine, Remus steps forward. I can make mom proud of me Remus thinks, an opportunity of a lifetime. It doesn’t stop the dread forming in his stomach.

Ao3 link

[skyechaser]

Silence in Atlas 23/30

Once more, this is a dark take on Volume 7 from a Bumbleby standpoint. It has scenes of graphic violence. If there are any specific trigger warnings I will specify it. 

So I took some time to plan the following chapters and so it happens that SIA will have 30 chapters. I would have never imagined writing something so long and the only reason I was able to was because of you guys reading and commenting. It means a lot. I know I always say it but it is like FUEL to me and I just love y’all. NOW ONTO THE CHAPTER!

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

Seeing Blake unconscious in a hospital bed brought back so many memories. Yang could remember with cruel clarity how bruised and broken her girlfriend had looked after leaving Staub. It wasn’t a sight she would ever forget. But this wasn’t the same situation. She had to tell herself that. Blake was doing better and this surgery was to save her life. The fact that the faunus could have choked to death made Yang burn with rage.

Aleph.

The name rang in her head with every breath she took. The Traders had cut Blake’s vocal cords and stolen her voice. What more did they want to take? Doctor Yu had warned them that after this procedure the chances of her talking again were even slimmer. All of this was their fault. She wanted to make them pay. If they hadn’t gone to the hospital right away or if Ren hadn’t been there the night before… Yang didn’t want to think about those scenarios. She was sincerely scared of the person she would become if Blake died. There’d be no mantras or breathing exercises to keep her from going in a killing spree.

Blake looked peaceful. Yang couldn’t help but stare. She sat next to the bed as she held her girlfriend’s hand in hers. It had been a couple of hours since the surgery finished so the fanus should wake up any time soon. Yang had sent a message to Ruby explaining the whole situation shortly after arriving at the hospital. She wasn’t really expecting her sister to reply since she and the team were attempting to get the relic. Their hands were more than likely pretty full at the moment.

One of Blake’s ears twitched before she slowly opened her eyes. She blinked a couple of times before her eyes shot open in terror and her body started shaking. She was probably disoriented and scared. Yang pressed her hand lightly and the faunus looked to the side abruptly. Amber met lilac and the shivers disappeared.

“It’s okay, baby Yang said. “You had surgery, remember?” Blake nodded slowly in response. “How are you feeling?” she asked and Blake nodded again. “I’m going to go tell the doctor you woke up. I’ll be right back” the blonde added as she stood up. When she tried to take a step towards the door, the faunus pulled on her sleeve. Yang turned around to see a severely blushing Blake pointing at her own lips. Her eyes were glossy and it was evident she was still coming out of the anesthesia. “What is it?” she asked. Blake puckered her lips and Yang finally understood. She felt a tug at her heart. The sight was just too cute. She bent down and kissed her girlfriend on the lips gently. When she pulled away she could see a smile on the faunus’ lips. “Can I go now, love?”

“Yes” Blake mouthed with a dreamy look in her eyes.

Fifteen minutes later Doctor Yu was in the room giving Blake a quick examination. Everything looked very good. The procedure had been quite simple and it wouldn’t take much time to finish healing. Blake shouldn’t try to make any sort of sound for a couple of days. They wanted her to stay overnight to keep an eye on her and send them home the next day. Neither of them was happy about spending a night in the hospital after having left so recently but there was no other choice. They couldn’t risk anything happening if they insisted on leaving that same day.

Once the doctor left, Yang sat at the edge of the bed, her back turned to Blake. She was tired. Her body was a painful knot after so many nights sleeping on a chair or the hard as fuck couch. She wasn’t going to complain though. She’d sleep on a chair forever if it would help Blake get better. The blonde turned around to look at her girlfriend. Blake tilted her head to the side, one of her ears twitching slightly.

“I’m really tired” Yang said. Blake smiled as she extended both index fingers to point at her girlfriend. Then she moved them inwards towards her chest. “You mean like, get into the bed with you?” the blonde blushed at the statement. Blake nodded and she blushed even more. “We’re in the hospital” the faunus shrugged as she pointed at Yang and proceeded to moved her right fist twice against her chin. Then she touched both her index fingers against each other twice as well. Finally she pointed at herself. Yang smiled.

“Yeah, you are right. I’m your girlfriend” she replied. Blake smiled and moved to a side, making room for Yang next to her. The bed was not really meant for two people but neither of them cared. After having slept together back at the house it was clear to both of them that they wouldn’t sleep any other way. The blonde took off her boots and got in the bed. Blake was quick to snuggle against her, resting her head on the other one’s chest. “Good night, baby” she whispered into one her girlfriend’s cat ears. Blake kissed her on the cheek in response.

It didn’t take long for the faunus to fall asleep. Yang, on the other side, was having a hard time doing so. She was worried about her sister. She hadn’t replied the message she had sent which meant the team was still out there trying to complete their mission. A part of her felt guilty that her stupidity had caused both her and Blake to be unable to help. It had been a while since she had felt so guilty about what had happened. Her thoughts were about to take her on a very unpleasant trip when she heard a strange noise. It was pretty low at first but it was becoming increasingly loud. It was coming from Blake. Was she choking? Had something gone wrong in the surgery? Many questions appeared in her mind before she finally realized what was happening.

“You can purr?” Yang asked a sleeping Blake who, of course, didn’t reply. It was the single most beautiful sound she had ever heard. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on it. Blake was happy. Blake felt safe sleeping at her side. That was all that mattered.

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

The sound of her own scroll woke her up. Yang opened her eyes and quickly extracted it from her pocket, not wanting the sound to wake up Blake. When she finally found it and answered it was too late, the faunus was staring at her with questioning eyes. It was Ruby. She picked up, feeling a knot on her throat. Was it good news? Was it bad news?

“Hi” Yang said. “Are you okay?”

“We are all fine” Ruby replied and the blonde could feel her own soul coming back to her body.

“That is really good to hear” she replied.

“We got the relic” the team leader added but before her sister could celebrate or feel happy she went on. “We’re leaving for Vacuo tonight”

“What?” she asked, hoping she had heard wrong.

“We’re leaving” Ruby repeated. “Salem isn’t coming here. She’s going to Vacuo”

“Vacuo? How do you…”

“There’s reports of serious grimm activity and Ozpin sounds pretty sure. They can withstand an attack here in Atlas but in Vacuo…”

“I get it” the blonde interrupted. “I’m staying”

“I know” Ruby replied quickly. “I’m not expecting you to go with me. We’ll go say our goodbyes to both of you before leaving. How did the surgery go?”

“All good” Yang answered. “She’s breathing normally now”

“That’s good to hear. We’ll see you in a bit”

“Okay, sis” the blonde said as they both ended the call. She turned around to see Blake with a puzzled look on her eyes. Yang explained the situation and her girlfriend got increasingly worried at every statement. She took her scroll tablet and started writing.

“We have to tell Sun and his team” she wrote.

“Ruby and the others are coming here, we’ll tell them to get in contact with them”. It amazed Yang that in spite of everything Blake had gone through she was still thinking like a huntress. It made her feel proud and fall in love with her more every day. 

“By the way, baby. Are you aware that you purred all night?” Blake blushed intensely. She was usually able to control herself. She hadn’t really done it since she was a child. “It was the cutest thing ever” the blonde added as she pecked her girlfriend on the lips. They smiled at each other and touched their foreheads together. Everything was okay as long as they were there for each other and no one was going to tear them apart again.

[kitty-colors]

Deciding to Leave: A Hiereus Story

A Final Unity: A Hiereus Story 

“Aye, son, it's time to get up,” Hiereus awoke to his father, Pelos' voice. Opening his eyes he surveyed their small one-roomed home. Seeing first his family's empty beds, he realized he was the last to wake. He found his parents and siblings dressed and gathered by the cook stove as his mother tended the Flame. 

Growling, he sat up and started putting on trousers.

“So you thought you could sleep in and avoid doing some real work today,” his older brother Rai'Tu'Sai chuckled. “Well we're not going to let you miss on coming to the pit this time,” he added, rubbing in that Hiereus had been sick the last time it was their family's turn to harvest clay.

“Give it a rest, Rai.” Hiereus grumbled, his tail thrashing from annoyance. Soon enough though he was pulling on his robe and threading his horn through the eye in the hood, and he was ready.

“It's cold out,” his mother, Phose said as he came to the door. “Let me look at your clothes.”

“Its always cold in Eluthane,” he protested, as his mother inspected him.

“There was a late snow in the night,” she said checking for holes in his raiment. 

He nodded and sighed; he wasn't ready for this today. It wasn't that he didn't do work along with his priestly duties, Eluthanai shared their labor after all, but if it had snowed this late into the summer the clay deposits were going to be a muddy pit of misery, and in his groggy state he already didn't feel up to it.

“Come on,” his sister Moira said, “The sooner we get going the sooner we'll be done. Besides we'll have the harvest festival to look forward to when we get back.”

That at least was true. There would be a feast and the potters would have contests. And of course bonfire songs, Hiereus's favorite part. 

“Yeah, lets go,” he said, offering his sister a smile.

***

Together they pushed and pulled the cart up the stone path. Beasts of burden were uncommon in Eluthane; the climate made growing crops for them difficult, and buying feed for a draft animal was expensive. Hiereus knew of only three work animals in the town they called home, and they were mainly used by their traders whose job it was to take wares into the lands south and bring back supplies  that their people couldn't make themselves.

When they arrived at the clay pit, it was as Hiereus feared: melting snow had pooled in the bottom, and the odor of summer mud filled his nostrils.

Pa had seemed to notice his sour expression as he spoke. “Come on son, it's not that bad. Into the pit.”

He slid in with his brother, and after bailing the water from the bottom they began to shovel clay onto the roadside where the others gathered it up into the cart. 

After a few shovels of clay, Rai'Tu'Sai broke into song, a familiar tune about a minstrel who lost his life for his people's independence. It wasn't an Eluthanai song, but was still beloved and oft sung.

By the second verse everyone had joined in, and the work went fast as Hiereus's brother continued to lead the family in song.

Before they knew it they were climbing out of the pit, laughing.

Clay harvest complete, they carefully led the cart to the shed where new clay was dried, crushed, and then refined. 

“How's the clay this year?” called, Tekton, the tiefling waiting for them.

“A bit wet, I'm afraid,” Pelos said jumping down from the cart. 

“To be expected, I suppose, with the snow,” Tekton said. “Still a good looking haul, plenty of reason to celebrate.”

Moira huffed, “You don't need much reason to have a celebration,” she said. Tekton was often holding as many 'celebrations' as he could convince friends to come to for drink and song.

“Aye, but tonight is a tradition, so you all have to come,” Tekton said.

Moira rolled her eyes, and laughed in spite of herself, “Yes, of course.”

“May the light of the Flame preserve our labors, as its power guides our path to liberation,” Hiereus frowned as he repeated the prayer, and added split pine logs to the fire of the step kiln in Eluthane.

It was now early morning, tending the Flame of the kiln always meant working and praying through the night, and this year the lot had fallen on Hiereus and his mother Phose.

“May our works carry the light of the Flame so that the darkness cannot overtake them.” his mother responded in turn with the repeated mantra.

“The firing is almost finished,” Phose added after her part in the ritual, “Its going to be a good year, can you feel it, the power in the kiln?” she asked.

Hiereus brought his hand near the kiln wall and let its radiating warmth reflect in his soul, then opened the window for observing the contents of the kiln and a smile touched his lips briefly as he watched the scarlet flames of an Eluthanai fire. But his frown returned as he closed the window.

“May the light of the Flame provide you with strength, wherever you go.” he said offering the required blessing then sank to sit on the ground near his mother.

“Do you wonder where our wares go when we sell them, do you think anyone feels the power given by the Flame?”

“I wonder that all the time,” Phose said, “I like to believe the faith we invest in a piece of work is has some benefit to the people who use them even if they don't know we made it.”

Hiereus sighed, what was on his mind had become near taboo to mention, “I...” he said and looked up at his mom and hesitated not wanting to spoil the peace of the ritual.

“What is it Hiereus?” Phose asked, “I know something's bothering you.”

“Do you...” he his eyes became wet, and his words caught in his through, “Do you think any of our pottery has made it to wherever  Moira is?”

Phose's hand grasped the sleeve of her son's robe, and she pulled him against her and wiped his tears as he cried into her shoulder.   

“Oh my son,” she said gently, “You think about her often, we all do.”

“It was during a guarding ritual like tonight when she gave me the Drow book,” he said, “it weighs on me every year that my translation of that book gave her reason to leave, the hint that our creation wasn't  as we believed.”

“It's not your fault she left, Hiereus,” his mother said as he sat up to look at her. “We all read your translation, and their lore hasn't been completely unknown to us either. Moira left for her own curiosity,  which isn't a sin either.”

“I, know,” Hiereus said quietly, “It's just, if the demon who held our ancestors bound was our creator, I fear not just for her life, but also her freedom, I find it hard not knowing.”

“I've spent many sleepless nights over it,”

“I...” he hesitated looking at his mother, “I have to know. Know what she found, where she went, why she won't respond to my sendings. I've decided to leave, and find her.”

There it was, his mother's pained look, he knew would come when he told her. 

“I...” Her frame shook, “I won't stop, you, of course I won't, I just don't want to lose another child,” she sobbed.

Hiereus stood and pulled his mother to her feet, and embraced her,  “Trust and benevolence is the path to freedom,” he whispered in her ear. 

“May the light of the Flame provide you with strength, wherever you go.” His mother repeated the mantra.

“May we again share in our labors in the light of the Flame.” he said and held his mother tighter as they both wept. 

[airoasis]

Why I Choose Bitcoin Cash

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Why I Choose Bitcoin Cash

I prefer a Peer to see digital money over the whole lot. Correct now the first-class form of this comes in the form of Bitcoin cash, which holds the ticker BCH on virtually all exchanges. My title is Collin Enstad, i’ve lived in the USA my entire lifestyles. I am a freelance director / cinematographer / steadicam operator. I first heard about Bitcoin in 2013 in the course of its bubble, the place it peaked at $1200. I consider my first purchase was once around $one hundred fifty however I only bought a bit bit, as much as I might find the money for being a broke school pupil. I made some cash and purchased matters with it, like this bizarre digicam rig. Of course part of the adoption of bitcoin is brought about via men and women speculating trying to generate income off of it. But i noticed I had actual utility, I could use it as money. An investment that’s liquid as hell. Excellent. I requested an harmless query in late 2015 on the uncensored bitcoin subreddit, /r/btc: ELI5: Why achieve this many individuals insist on a small block size?. I got first-rate answers, similar to Blockstreams function in taking up the progress, how Peter Todd remains to be seeking to these days to kill 0-affirmation transactions, and how the Core devs have been proscribing the bottom layer to push a 2nd one that they claimed would be even higher than the actual blockchain.All of these aspects nonetheless maintain proper to nowadays. I even respect a number of the names within the thread from again then with persons I still speak to in these days. I even had some put up calling out theymos, the king of censorship, round this time. How things have no longer transformed. The extra I dig up the more obvious the manipulation of public opinion. Once more, this was once in 2015 this was all being called out, 4 years ago. Thats close to 1/2 of bitcoins lifetime. Crypto is really just politics, but on a time scale which appears hundreds and hundreds of times faster.I was once continuously a huge blocker. 1MB is tiny. Its less knowledge than a 2d of this video. It gave the impression a majority of the community back in 2015 was once for bigger blocks too. How a small crew of Core developers took over and sabotaged the bitcoin experiment with never-ending small blocks will be rather the exciting case be taught in historical past class. Im nonetheless seeking to utterly wrap my head around how Gavin, the character Satoshi entrusted with the keys to the bitcoin code, used to be pushed out and ostracized for looking the logical answer, higher blocks.Its a narrative that takes a long time to tell, and entails a false Satoshi. Im currently engaged on a feature size documentary about the shitshow that’s bitcoins history. The real down and dirty bitcoin politics, no longer some loud mouth troll showing up on tv spouting nonsense. So the fork happened in August 2017 and the large block version, Bitcoin cash, didn’t win over the hearts and minds of traders. Instantaneous ridicule from the Core persons ensued, as used to be par for the path. Bcash is trash was once their mantra, in an try to rip the word bitcoin out of its name. Now take into account, theymos fairly ramped up his censorship on /r/bitcoin in 2015. Reddit used to be THE spot to talk bitcoin, and theymos actions make him, individually, the only greatest affect on this whole Scaling warfare. Go to any publish from again then about theymos increasing moderation and appear at how many individuals vehemently adverse it.One of bitcoins most important residences is censorship-resistance, however apparently whenever you go away the protocol layer you additionally abandon all of its ethos. When your methods hotel to silencing the opposition you understand your arguments aren’t on stable floor. If they were, they might let all of the dissent come their approach and evaporate before them in the face of truth. However no. The block and ban buttons are used as a type of religious piety. This itself was once a tremendous red flag that some thing used to be wrong with Bitcoin. As a latest concrete instance of manipulation, My ultra-modern video criticizing the lightning community was once the top put up on /r/btc, except every week historic news story broke in regards to the Twitter CEO, Jack, purchasing a hardware pockets all of a sudden unseated it. This Jack story was once in a antagonistic sub and it won the highest spot in an hour. Mods deleted the submit shortly after. The account had a history of vote botting. Proof Of Social Media. Par for the course for those against peer to peer money. And this this is the place I just get angry.BTC does no longer work as a trustworthy form of money, but its still pushed on unsuspecting noobs, many who now go to the bcash sunday service. These social media influencers have 10s of hundreds of thousands of followers that they preach the nice word to absolutely this many folks wouldnt listen to any person who was just basically unsuitable! This market is immature and albeit, just dumb. I really awoke to all of this when instantly I was paying $1 for a transaction rate in early 2017. This isn’t what I signed up for. My money will have to not disappear every time I need to move it. When Bitcoin cash forked, I was all in, actually with my nonetheless tiny stash and figuratively from an ideological standpoint. Does this provide me investment bias? Almost always, however again, Im now not talking tremendous cash right here.Irregardless, I do my research and its the one coin i can confidently put my cash in. I do know what it is trying to do is the reason bitcoin was created in the first place, which is what once more? Oh yeah, to offer each person in the world an possibility to be their own bank. To give humans the potential to transact with anyone in the world with out the necessity of a 3rd celebration, even if they make not up to $2 a day. That is bitcoin. I kept diving deeper into the rabbit hole. Undoubtedly each person couldnt be this deluded however they were. Advocating for the shrewd factor of raising the blocksize and how BCH is a reliable variation of Bitcoin on social media has been tiring. I dont know the way a few of these trolls are so lively and simply hostile.I grew up with the web, part of the primary iteration that had social media for his or her whole middle and excessive institution experience. However these bitcoin guys man, the most poisonous i have ever seen. You have to have thick epidermis when you even believe about having impartial idea in crypto. Its sad. I haven’t any doubt there are individuals whose full-time job it is to sow up disagreement and strife within people who want to see Bitcoin be the arena money. Theres even proof of In November of 2017 I made a industrial for BCH with the support of the Bitcoin money association. It used to be a excessive high-quality industrial in a barber store which showed bitcoin getting used as cash. Response from the group was once nice, and i located myself in Tokyo a pair months later shooting the Satoshis vision convention, where a few of the Bitcoin cash group attended.I interviewed lots of the prime leaders in BCH for the period of that point interval for my documentary together with Craig Wright. This man appeared to come out of nowhere and was once a large suggest of Bitcoin cash. He had charisma, unquestionably, even when his Satoshi claims have been iffy. I consider the BCH neighborhood sided with him on account that he was once so anti-core. An enemy of an enemy is your buddy. And on the grounds that this buddy was very aggressive and outspoken in the direction of the purpose, many were inclined to let his shadiness slide.However very quickly after this convention actual bitcoin devs, who in reality work on and comprehend the bitcoin protocol, began calling him out on his lies. It was once rough to confess youd been duped, but right here we all are. Then, of direction he forked off into his possess coin months later, and his fraud lives on. Then comes the altcoin arguments. For those who dont like BTC so much simply use nano? Dash is the real peer to see cash! Lol noob do you even cardano? Well, considering BCH has the identical transaction historical past relationship again to the genesis block in 2009, one could argue the distribution of the coin is more decentralized than any of the altcoins, due to the fact that it has been around the longest.Im a strong believer in Proof of work as well. Even though BCH has a lot less hashpower than BTC, it has been shown how a gigantic portion of hash would transfer to BCH in safeguard of a malicious actor, like we noticed within the hashwar. The miners like Bitcoin money, however they generally follow gains, and this means mining BTC and BCH on the same price as the fee ratio between them. Now that BCH is free from its former crippled blocksize, most things the altcoins can do, BCH would enforce itself. Even things just like the lightning community would work muchhhh higher on Bitcoin cash as a result of the small charges to open and shut channels. Bitcoin was once intended to be the one crypto that ruled all of them, absorbing the quality altcoin facets. Vitalik Buterin found out this was no longer the case to any extent further, and he ran off to make Ethereum in 2015 after a lot combating with the Core devs. So right here I to find myself, in March 2019, nonetheless a supporter of Bitcoin cash. That you may believe the creative and grassroots power of individuals who just wish to construct. I hear the Bitcoin OGs say its the same spirit that bitcoin had it in its early days.Persons that CARE about making bitcoin exceptional again. And of path, the small blocks made building apps problematic for devs, because the excessive charges and sluggish confirmations might disable some functions who relied on inexpensive and speedy transactions. Full blocks rationale unreliability. And if youre a dev and need to construct an app, why within the hell would you use a base protocol that can instantly price $50 for a single use. If BCH stops being the excellent type of P2P money, make no mistake, i’d drop aid. Im no longer a blind follower and am at all times watching to mission my beliefs. Tokens, Decentralized handles, Badger wallet, suggestions.Cash, CashShuffle, Satoshidice the record goes on. So many of those projects are simply now hitting the Bitcoin cash market, and wallets are looking to catch up and implement these elements as speedy as they may be able to.Its nonetheless early in Bitcoin Cashs development existence, and the power within the community is the equal one I felt once I first received into it, vibrant, filled with hope for a greater future, and now with an added tenacity to make certain that no dangerous actors can once once more spoil the imaginative and prescient of Peer to look cash for the complete world. .