#acid trip fit of the century

[virtualdazecherryblossom]

How To Solve Issues With Testogen Testosterone Booster Review

Introduction

Are you tired of hitting a plateau in your muscle-building trip? Do you battle to keep high power levels throughout the day? If so, Testogen Testosterone Booster might be the option you have actually been searching for. In this short article, we'll check out how Testogen can help increase muscle mass and also power levels, supplying you with the boost you need to reach your health and fitness objectives. With its one-of-a-kind blend of natural ingredients, Testogen is a risk-free as well as reliable means to improve your efficiency in the gym and beyond.

The Scientific research Behind Testogen

Before diving into the benefits of Testogen, allowed's take a better check out the science behind this effective supplement. Testogen is specifically created to boost testosterone levels in the body. As one of the key hormones in charge of muscle mass development as well as energy manufacturing, testosterone plays a crucial duty in taking full advantage of sports performance. By enhancing testosterone levels, Testogen aids maximize muscle protein synthesis, causing enhanced muscle mass development and improved recovery.

How Does Testogen Work?

Now that we comprehend the relevance of testosterone in building muscular tissue mass and also increasing power levels, let's discover exactly how Testogen works to provide these benefits.

Natural Components for Maximum Results

Testogen harnesses the power of nature by making use of a blend of very carefully chosen natural ingredients. These active ingredients function synergistically to boost testosterone manufacturing and assistance total health.

Tribulus Terrestris Extract

Tribulus Terrestris Extract is a key ingredient in Testogen that has actually been used for centuries to improve male fertility and also sex drive. Research studies have actually revealed that Tribulus Terrestris Extract can likewise boost testosterone levels, leading to enhanced muscular tissue growth and strength.

D-Aspartic Acid

D-Aspartic Acid is an amino acid that plays a critical function in regulating testosterone synthesis in the body. By supplementing with D-Aspartic Acid, Testogen supplies your body with the foundation it needs to produce more testosterone naturally.

Fenugreek Extract

Fenugreek Essence is a powerful herb that has actually been used in conventional medication for its many health and wellness benefits. In the context of Testogen, Fenugreek Essence assists raise testosterone levels, leading to improved muscular tissue mass and also power levels.

Zinc

Zinc is an important mineral that plays a crucial role in testosterone manufacturing. By including Zinc in its formula, Testogen makes certain that your body has an ample supply of this important nutrient for optimum testosterone synthesis.

Boosting Muscle mass Mass with Testogen

Now that we recognize exactly how Testogen works on a molecular level, allow's explore how it can assist boost muscle mass mass.

Enhanced Healthy protein Synthesis

Protein synthesis is the procedure through which your body constructs brand-new muscle mass tissue. Testogen stimulates healthy protein synthesis, enabling your muscular tissues to recover as well as expand more successfully after extreme workouts. This causes boosted muscle mass over time.

Increased Nitrogen Retention

Nitrogen is an essential part of amino acids, which are the building blocks of protein. By raising nitrogen retention in the muscular tissues, Testogen makes certain that your body has an enough supply of amino acids for muscle mass development and also repair.

Improved Power Levels

In addition to promoting muscle growth, Testogen likewise enhances energy levels. By increasing testosterone manufacturing, Testogen helps improve endurance and also stamina, enabling you to press tougher throughout your workouts.

Frequently Asked Concerns (FAQs)

How long does it consider Testogen to work?

It varies from person to person, but several individuals report really feeling the effects within the initial couple of weeks of taking Testogen. Constant use with time will generate the best results.

Are there any type of negative effects of utilizing Testogen?

Testogen is made from natural active ingredients as well as is normally risk-free for usage. Nevertheless, it's constantly recommended to speak with a healthcare specialist prior to starting any type of brand-new supplement.

Can ladies take Testogen?

Testogen is especially formulated for guys and might not provide the exact same advantages for women. It's ideal to explore various other choices customized to women's specific needs.

How ought to I take Testogen?

The suggested dosage of Testogen is four capsules per day, taken with a meal. Be sure to adhere to the guidelines on the product packaging for finest results.

Is Testogen legal?

Yes, Testogen is a legal nutritional supplement that can be bought without a prescription.

Can I stack Testogen with other supplements?

While Testogen is effective on its own, it can be safely piled with various other supplements to even more enhance your outcomes. However, it is necessary to research and also talk to a health care expert prior to incorporating various products.

Conclusion

If you're seeking to boost muscle mass and also energy levels, Testogen Testosterone Booster is a superb option. With its scientifically backed formula and natural components, Testogen supplies a secure and also reliable method to maximize your testosterone levels. By promoting muscle mass healthy protein synthesis as well as increasing nitrogen retention, Testogen helps promote muscle growth and boost general athletic performance. Don't allow reduced testosterone hold you back from reaching your health and fitness objectives-- give Testogen a try today!

[patrick-jimenez]

The Ultimate Guide to Choosing the Best Portable Battery Powered Generator for You",

As the world is shifting towards clean energy, the demand for portable battery powered generators has been rising all over the globe. In today's world, we need energy that can be easily transported, stored, and used in emergency situations. And that’s what battery power stations offer. These devices store energy in batteries and can charge multiple devices at once, including phones, laptops, and even small household appliances. In this article, we’ll guide you on how to choose the best portable battery powered generator for your needs.

Understanding Portable Battery Powered Generators

Portable battery powered generators are devices that store energy in battery packs and can be used to power various electronic devices. They are useful in camping, RVing, and even in emergency situations like power outages. They come in different sizes, power capacities, and battery types, which we’ll discuss in detail later on.

Types of Battery Powered Generators

When it comes to battery powered generators, there are three main types: lead-acid, lithium-ion, and solid-state. Each has its own pros and cons, which you should consider before purchasing one.

Lead-acid Generators

Lead-acid generators are the most affordable type of portable battery powered generators, but they are also the heaviest. They are the technology behind car batteries and have been around for more than a century. They come in different sizes and capacities, so you can find one that suits your needs. However, they are not very efficient and require periodic maintenance, such as topping up with distilled water.

Lithium-ion Generators

Lithium-ion generators are more expensive than lead-acid generators, but they are much more efficient and lightweight. They are the same batteries used in smartphones, laptops, and electric cars, so they have a proven track record. They require less maintenance and can hold their charge for a longer period of time than lead-acid batteries. They are also more environmentally friendly because they don’t contain lead or other hazardous metals. However, their initial cost can be high.

Solid-state Generators

Solid-state generators are the newest type of battery powered generators and use cutting-edge technology. They are more expensive than lithium-ion generators but have several advantages. They are much lighter, have a longer lifespan, and can be charged much faster. They don’t contain any hazardous materials, making them safer for the environment. They are also maintenance-free. However, they are not widely available yet.

Choosing the Right Size and Capacity

The size and capacity of your battery powered generator should depend on your needs. If you’re going camping, you may not need a big generator, but if you’re expecting a long power outage, a large one might be necessary.

Power Capacity

The power capacity of a battery powered generator is measured in watts. You should figure out how much power your devices consume and choose a generator with a capacity that can handle your needs. For example, a laptop usually consumes around 60 watts, while a refrigerator can consume up to 2000 watts. Make sure to check the wattage of your devices before buying a generator.

Size and Weight

The size and weight of a battery powered generator can also vary. If you’re planning to take it on a camping trip, you might want a smaller and lighter one that can fit into your backpack. However, if you want a generator for your home, you might want a larger one that can handle multiple devices.

Conclusion

In conclusion, choosing the best portable battery powered generator depends on your needs. You should consider the type of battery, power capacity, size, and weight before making the final decision. By choosing the right generator, you’ll be able to power your devices in case of an emergency or just enjoy a camping trip without worrying about electricity. Invest in a reliable generator, and you won’t regret it in the long run. Article written by None

[madmensideblog]

Costume designer Janie Bryant on Jane

“I love [the white jumpsuit in the bottom left gif] ... It’s ivory silk crepe that is so divine and delicious, you can’t even believe the way that fabric feels...it’s just so Jane Sterling--very dramatic. I love that she’s the character who has nothing to do all day except work to plan her outfits, her outings, her hair and her makeup. I always imagine her sitting around eating bon bons.”

[c-is-for-circinate]

Wait, isn't "anti" stuff more like "anti-pedophilia" and stuff? Like, you have a point about anti-porn attitudes, but from what I've heard just "anti" on its own means against stuff like kid porn and incest porn and legitimately f*cked up sh*t like that.

Okay!  So this, I think, is actually a great example of what I was talking about, and a really useful thing to understand.  (CW rape, child abuse, etc)

Smarter people than me have written much better essays about why policing thoughtcrimes is a bad road to go down, and I will probably reblog some of them next time they cross my dash for more context.  What I want to talk about is the trigger mechanism, the ‘oh, this looks like danger!!!’ immune response in how we look at different kinds of porn, and how that applies to anti culture.

Here’s the thing: I am anti-pedophilia.  I think that, for most people, that’s a stance that largely goes without saying!  Adults who prey on children are bad.  I’m also against incest; relatives who prey on their family members are bad.  Above all I oppose rape.  Sexual predation of any kind is bad.  In fact, I’d say that’s the most important item on the list.  There is plenty of room to argue about where the lines are between ‘adult’ and ‘child’ and how teenagers fit in the middle, and there’s plenty of room to get historical about the lines between ethically terrible incest, distasteful-but-bearable “aristocratic inbreeding” between distant cousins, and the kind of consanguinity that tends to develop in a small town where everyone’s vaguely related to everyone else by now anyway.  The core of the issue is consent, and it has always been consent.  Pedophilia and incest are horrific because they are rape scenarios where the abuser has far more power and their victim far fewer resources to cope, both practically and emotionally; because harm to children is, to us as a culture, worse than harm to adults, for a lot of very valid reasons; and because they constitute betrayal of trust the victim should have been able to put in their abuser as well as rape--but they are all rape scenarios, and that’s why they’re awful. 

These things are bad.  It is good for us to have a social immune response system that recognizes these things when they’re happening and insists we step in.  That is a good thing to develop!  It helps us, as a society.  It can help the people being victimized.  It’s the same reason educators and childcare workers in the US are all mandated reporters, why we do background checks on people working near kids.  These things happen, and they’re terrible, and it’s good that we try to be aware and prepared for them.  (Though obviously studies show we’re a lot less good at protecting the vulnerable than we’d like to pretend we are.)

The question is: why does that same social immune response trigger, and trigger so angrily, in response to fiction?

Anti culture is fundamentally an expression of that social immune response.  Specifically, it’s that social immune response when it is set off by a situation that, while it has some similarities to the very bad real-life crime of sexual predation including pedophilia and incest, is in and of itself harmless.

If you’re instinct is to flare up in anger or dismissiveness because I’m calling these things harmless, I want to ask you to just take a deep breath and bear with me for a bit longer.  What you’re feeling right now is an allergic reaction.

Humans tell and read and listen to stories about “legitimately fucked up shit” all the time.  It’s part of the human condition.  It’s part of how we process those things happening, not just to use, but to other people in the world around us.  It’s part of how we process completely unrelated fucked-up shit, playing with fears and furies and insecurities that we all have, through so may layers of fiction that we don’t even recognize them any more, playing with power dynamics in metaphor and making characters suffer for fun.  Aside from the fact that literally all stories do this to some extent or another; aside from the fact that drawing lines between ‘ok that’s good storytelling’ and ‘that’s too fucked-up to write about’ is arbitrary, subjective, and dangerous in its own right; aside from all of that, these stories are stories.  All of them. 

Even the ones about rape, about incest, about pedophilia.  They’re words on a page.  No real children were harmed, touched, or even glanced at in the making of this work of fiction.  This story, pornographic though it may be, is part of a conversation between consenting adults.  (And if a teenager lies about their age to consent, that is a different problem altogether.)

Stories in and of themselves, no matter what they’re about, are no more dangerous than a crate full of oranges.  Which is to say: utterly harmless, unless all you have to eat is oranges, all day every day, and you find yourself dying slowly of nutrient deficiency--which is why representation matters.  Or unless someone wields one deliberately, violently, as a tool to cause harm, and someone gets acid in their eye--which is the fault of the person holding the orange. And unless you happen to be allergic to citrus.

The key here is this twofold understanding:  First, the thing that hurts you can also have value to others.  Real, legitimate value.  Whether you’ve undergone trauma and certain story elements are straight-up PTSD triggers or you just don’t like orange juice, that story, those tropes, that crate of oranges may be somewhere between icky and fundamentally abhorrent--but we understand that that is still your reaction.  Even if you don’t understand how anybody could ever enjoy it; even if every single person you surround yourself with is as sensitive and disgusted and itchy about this thing that makes your eyes hurt and your throat stop working as you; that doesn’t make it true for everyone.  That doesn’t make oranges poisonous.  No real children were involved in the writing of this story.  It is words on a page.

But, secondly: the thing that has value to others can also hurt you.  Just because a story isn’t inherently poison doesn’t mean it can’t cause you, personally, pain.  That’s what a PTSD trigger is: an allergic reaction, psychological anaphylaxis, a brain that’s trying so hard to protect its own from a threat that isn’t actually present (but was once, and the brain is trained to respond) that it causes far more harm and misery than the trigger itself possibly could.  And no, it’s not just people with PTSD who sometimes get hurt by stories.  There are many, many ways a story can poke the part of your brain that says, this is Bad, I don’t like this, I don’t want to be here.  The story is still, always, every time, pixels on a screen and ink on paper.  The story causes no physical harm.  But it can poke your brain into misery, it can stir up your emotions, it can make you want to cringe and run away.  It can make you want to scream and fight and go after the author who brought this thing into existence.  It can make you hurt.

This is an allergic reaction.  This is your brain and body, your reflexes and instincts, trying to protect you from something that isn’t really happening.  And just like a literal allergic reaction, it can do actual harm to you if it gets set off.  This is real.  The fact that stories can upset you to the point of pain and mental/emotional injury is real, even though it’s coming from your own brain and not the story itself.  There are stories you shouldn’t read.  There are stories I shouldn’t read, regret reading, will never read, because they hurt me.  That doesn’t mean they’re the same stories that would hurt you.  That doesn’t mean they don’t have value.

And, finally:

If getting upset about stories is fundamentally an individual person’s allergic reaction, their brain freaking out and firing off painful survival instincts in the face of a thing that isn’t, in and of itself, a threat?  Then the anti movement is a cultural allergic reaction.

Fandom as a whole has a pretty active immune system, which doesn’t mean we have a good immune system.  We try very hard to be aware of all the viruses and -isms and abuse and manipulation and cruelty, both systematic and individual, that exists around and within our community.  We’re primed and ready to shout about things at all times.  The anti movement is that system, that culture, screaming and shouting and fighting at a harmless thing on a grand scale.  It wants to stop that thing, that scary awful thing that trips all of its well-primed danger sensors, at all costs.  It’ll swell up and block off our airways (our archives) if it has to.  It’ll turn on the body it came from.  It’s scared and protective and trying to fight, and it’s ready to fight and destroy itself.

Luckily, fans and fanfic and fandom and fan culture are a lot bigger and older than they often get credit for, and it’s not like these cultural allergies are anything new.  We could talk about shippers and slashers in the X-Files fandom in the 90s.  We could talk about the birth of fandom in the days of Star Trek.  We could talk about censorship and book burning going back centuries.  We survived that and we’ll survive this, too.

But god, does the anti movement my throat and eyes itch.  Man is it irritating, and sometimes a little suffocating, to realize how many stories just aren’t getting told out of fear of what the antis will say.  And that’s the real danger, I think.  What are we losing that would have so much value to someone?  What are we missing out?

[grahamstoney]

Musique Concrète and Other Experimental And Electronic Music

New Post has been published on https://grahamstoney.com/music/musique-concrete-and-other-experimental-and-electronic-music

Musique Concrète and Other Experimental And Electronic Music

In the subject Creative Music Technology at university last semester, I was asked to listen to a collection of experimental and electronic music to stimulate my creative imagination, and to write what I liked and didn’t like about it. Here’s my rather cynical take on the genre.

Musique Concrète

Pierre Schaeffer and Pierre Henry – Symphonie pour un Homme Seul

This piece reminded me of Strauss’s Symphonia Domestica; only less musical. I’m a Homme Seul (single man) and my life doesn’t sound anything like this. In his book La musique concrète, Schaeffer described the work as “an opera for blind people…”. Haven’t they suffered enough?

Edgard Varèse – Poème Électronique

The audio equivalent of Luis Bunuel & Salvador Dali’s Un Chien Andalou.

Does to my ears what the asbestos coating on the walls of the Philips Pavilion at the 1958 Brussels World’s Fair for which it was commissioned, would do to my lungs.

György Ligeti – Artikulation

George Lucas must owe Ligeti millions in royalties for R2D2’s sound effects. Initially I thought I was joking when I first wrote that, but I’ve since discovered that he was actually trying to create a sort of phonetic speech in electronic music, which pretty much fits R2D2’s dialogue. Plus, the title is German for “articulation”. That should have been a giveaway.

I thought this piece might make more sense to me if I played it backwards, so I dropped it into Logic Pro X and reversed it. I couldn’t tell the difference. Perhaps I would have enjoyed it more if I listened to it in the original quadraphonic. I’ll just end noting that Ligeti abandoned electronic music after composing this piece.

Iannis Xenakis – Concret PH

2 minutes and 44 seconds of breaking glass to my ears. I think I’d rather listen to Kraftwerk.

Karlheinz Stockhausen – Kontakte

It’s long. It’s too long. I think this is how Jacob Collier learned to play piano in his mother’s womb; but look at him now. The title is German for “Contacts”, which I think Stockhausen interpreted as “Just hit the things.” Maybe it sounds better in the original quadraphonic.

Stockhausen was evidently a pioneer of the extended dance remix, as the work exists in several versions: “Nr. 12”, “Nr. 12½” and “Nr. 12⅔”

Bernard Parmegiani – Accidents / harmoniques

Parmegiani had studied mime before turning his hand to electro-acoustic composition, and in this piece it really shows. From the album De Natura Sonorum (the nature of sound). I felt like there were Martians in my head listening to this. Surely he’s just playing a joke on us.

Pauline Oliveiros – Bye Bye Butterfly

Bids farewell to the institutionalized oppression of the female sex while also providing inspiration for the sound of the Theramin. Gave my new monitor speakers a good workout; I hope the neighbours enjoyed it too.

Tape Loops

Steve Reich – It’s Gonna Rain

I’ve got this pervasive feeling that it’s going to rain. I’m not sure why. I liked the way the meteorological message panned left and right. More like It’s Gonna Have An Acid Trip.

Halleluiah Part II is over. I’m not sure how I lasted the full 18 minutes.

Terry Riley – Mescalin Mix

Parts of this sounded to me like an industrial version of native Australian bush sounds. I felt like I was on a camping trip in the 23rd century.

Brian Eno – 1/1

From his album Music For Airports/Ambient 1, which apparently coined the term Ambient Music. Brian Eno has a lot to answer for. However, this track put me in a relaxing state, ready to fall asleep on the plane; so I liked it.

Sampling

Luc Ferrari – Ronda, Spain, June 2001

After being jolted awake by the sound of a loud sliding door opening to greet the day, I was drawn into this by the sweet sound of a French woman’s voice. I imagined she was Ferrari’s lover, speaking to him in bed after awakening on a warm Spanish summer Sunday morning. I wanted to know what she was saying, but my French isn’t good enough. In my mind’s eye, they head to a busy market together to buy some croissants for breakfast, where we hear a man’s voice repeating “numero quatro”, which I assumed is Spanish for “number 4”. As the voices fade, the sound becomes more musical and we return to the soft sound of Ronda speaking to her beloved back in their villa together. I quite liked it.

My interpretation, however, is not what the composer had in mind. According to him, the point of Les Anecdotiques (The Anecdotals) is to dispense with the story altogether. My busy market was, in fact, the sound of Spanish tourists in a museum. While he describes the woman’s words as “Spontaneous and intimate”, in this context they are simply words in a foreign language with no narrative purpose. Just another one of Pierre Schaeffer and Michel Chion’s sound objects, if you will. My narrative interpretation of what was intended as an explicitly anecdotal work is testament to the human brain’s tendency to make meaning out of nothing. It turns out Rhonda is a village in Spain, not a woman.

Still, I enjoyed my little fantasy, thank you Luc.

John Oswald – Manifold

Wow, this was short. I didn’t even have time to eat breakfast while listening to it. It was only about as long as the Spotify ads, but certainly more fun. I recognised a couple of songs, like U2’s With or Without You and Sinead O’Connor’s Nothing Compares To You. Artists who use samples liberally often sample obscure works, sometimes affording them attention they would otherwise have missed; but in this work Oswald went mainstream. It sounded to me like the soundtrack to a sample-abusing hip-hop artist from the 1990’s being beaten up in a boxing ring by all the artists who reckoned he’d ripped off their work.

Tod Dockstader – Water Music: Part III

I quite liked this piece. The cuteness of the sounds and the stereo effects bouncing between the left and right channels really drew me in. I’ve recently got myself some decent monitor speakers for my home studio and this piece really worked on them. Pretty amazing for something released in 1963.

Dockstader started out in the 1940’s, prior to the invention of magnetic tape, editing his steel wire recordings with a lit cigarette. That makes me realise how much I take the piece-of-crap Logic Pro X File Editor for granted. Listening to this, I found myself wanting to know what was going to happen next, like I was watching a soap opera on TV; only with no actual story.

Synthesis

Karlheinz Stockhausen – Studie I

I found this quite disorienting to listen to. I guess it was revolutionary in 1953 but I reckon now you could whip it up in Ableton in about 5 minutes using the Random MIDI Effect and some automation.

Eliane Radigue – Jetsun Mila (Pt.1) / Birth and Youth (Excerpt)

I liked how the pulsing ambient drone sound in this grew over time; it drew me in and had me wondering what was going to happen next. Unfortunately the answer was: not much. Gradually a rhythmic element with some high pulsing tones which grew over time came in. It was a bit like listening to a very slow EDM dance track from underwater in a diesel-powered submarine going at full throttle for 12 minutes.

Laurie Spiegel – Appalachian Grove: I

I liked the pulsing stereo effects in this piece and the way the tonal characteristics of the sound varied while the pitch changed. It’s much more melodic than the other tracks we’ve listened to and that made it more enjoyable to my ears. It got a bit harsh in the middle though. This piece puts the musique in musique concrète.

Morton Subotnick – Silver Apples of the Moon – Part A

Perhaps the sound designer for Star Wars had this in mind when creating the sound effects for R2D2. I kind of lost the flow of the conversation without the witty English-accented retorts from C3PO though. Morton Sobotnick is described as The Mad Scientist in one interview, and I think if I listen to this too often I’ll end up fitting one of the DSM-5 diagnostic categories I’m learning about over in PSYC1002.

Suzanne Ciani – Concert at Phil Niblock’s Loft

This piece had some funky sounds that I liked. The start reminded me a bit of Kraftwerk but without the rhythm and melody; although it did get more melodic later. I’d probably give it a Distinction for its use of technology given it was made in 1975, but only a Credit for musicality.

Barry Schraeder – Lost Atlantis: Introduction

At first, I thought this sounded a lot like a modern ad for KFC; then I realised I was hearing a Spotify ad.

I liked the ambient sounds in this piece and the way it surged in and out with its “mysterious tone colors”. It slowly builds to a crescendo until we get the drop that EDM lovers crave, and then built more quickly to the ultimate drop at the end. I kept wondering what was going to happen next; I’d still rather listen to Fleetwood Mac, Supertramp or Queen though.

Contemporary Examples

Amon Tobin – Foley Room

DJ & producer. Retain percussive quality through sounds. Horsefish & Esther’s. Create beauty and delicate textures from sounds. Pitched percussive material. Fast loops. New textures. Funky beats. Check out the Foley Room Documentary.

Aphex Twin – 1ST 44

Acid house DJ in rave scene. Intelligent Dance Music. More complex sampling, polyrhythms, rhythmic patterns. From Collapsed album. Polyrhythms sounded funky. Lots of variation.

Holly Herndon – Chorus

Intersection of humanity and technology. Recorded web browsing. Stereo ping-pong effects. Here’s a talk she gave about her creative process.

Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith – Riparian

This was my favourite out of these three, largely because it sounds the most musical to my ears. I liked the pulsing beat in this track. I can hear a bass line for instance, melodies played on the synth and lyrics, although I can’t tell what they are saying. I also like the way the soundscape swirls around when listened to with headphones. It feels ambient, immersive and musical all at the same time. I get the sense that she’s using the electronics at her disposal in service of the music rather than the other way around. There’s even a great video about how she uses modular synthesis.

Graham Stoney – Foster le Concrète

“How hard can it be?”, I asked myself. And since I had an assignment to do, I wrote my own musique concrète track based on the drum rhythm from one of my favourite songs, Coming of Age by Foster The People. I even made a breakdown video showing how I did it; because that’s what the assignment required.

Conclusion

I didn’t take too easily to some of the more experimental musique concrète pieces we studied at the beginning of this semester. The weekly listening tasks felt harsh to my untrained ears and I would think mean things like:

“Didn’t the Geneva Convention ban cruel and unusual punishment?”

Perhaps these tracks will never be my preferred go-to pieces for chilling out on a Friday night, but when I look back at some of my cynicism-laced early comments in these discussion threads, I cringe. I just didn’t appreciate the historical significance of these pieces and how they might have influenced later electronic music that I do enjoy, like Kraftwerk say.

Then in Angharad Davis’s Music Colloquium Series talk on George Antheil’s Ballet Mécanique, when she played a snippet of the work I heard sounds reminiscent of musique concrète. Sure enough, they were roughly contemporaneous, and Antheil had been living in Paris at the time musique concrète was just getting started. You never know when something you study in one arena will pop up elsewhere.

Another thing I’ve learned in this subject is about taking creative risks and learning to follow my gut instincts without worrying whether a concept will work, or other people will like it. This has been an opportunity for me to explore that. My Formative Skills Assignment piece Foster le Concrète was in part a reaction to my frustration at the lack of discernible rhythm in some of the early pieces we studied. However, I really didn’t know whether the concept was going to work, and that was a little anxiety-inducing; especially given that I was doing it for an assignment which would be graded. I was quite touched to hear other students say they liked the end result, and I feel more confident about following my gut instincts in future and seeing what I end up.

Finally, I’ve been really inspired by the creativity of the other students in this subject. It’s been a weird experience studying online this year without ever meeting them in person, but I’ve really enjoyed hearing the creative works everyone came up with. They’re all so distinctive and amazingly different, it’s incredible; yet they were all products of the same brief. I can’t wait to hear everyone’s works on the radio, TV, movies, video games, Spotify, or whatever audio technology is around when we all graduate: live streaming direct to our neurons perhaps?

[ellstersmash]

Not to Keep

Fandom: Mass Effect (Original Trilogy) Pairing: Kaidan x f!Shepard Rating: T for Teen (cw for alcohol use) Words: 2.7k [Read on Ao3]

shep and kaidan go undercover, set early in me1. this was originally a prompt for "fake relationship" from Leather & Lace Romance Week, but then I waited 3.5 years to finish it 🥀

-

It all seemed so simple. Infiltrate a wedding, extract intel on Benezia, use that to find Saren.

Easy-peasy.

Until Shepard shows up in the shuttle bay looking like that. They've only been working together for a couple of months, and Kaidan has seen her covered in blood spatter, dripping sweat post-PT—hell, even bare naked in a hotel room. But it’s safe to say he never thought he'd see her like this. Full makeup, soft curls, a long red dress that shouldn't fit anyone that perfectly, and, dangling from two fingers, a pair of classy black heels.

Kaidan swallows hard and gives her a curt nod. “Ma’am.”

“Alenko.” He shifts on his feet as her eyes travel the length of his body and back up, her cool stare giving nothing away. “You clean up nice.”

“Ah, thanks. And you look—”

“Oh, I'm dressed to kill.” Lips the same shade as her dress curve into a grin. “Figuratively, for once.”

Kaidan chokes and laughs, caught off guard in a mixture of nerves and surprise. “Was that a joke, Commander?”

Her expression narrows into a pinched, self-deprecating smirk. “If you have to ask, then no. And I definitely haven't been thinking about it since Williams zipped this damn thing up.”

The thought of his CO, this formidable woman, giggling to herself over a stupid joke for an hour is... well, it’s uncharacteristically cute. Kaidan rolls it around in his head for an indulgent minute, trying on the fit before letting the image go.

Just one more thing to jam into that Never Gonna Happen file.

“Right,” she says, back to business. “Let’s get this over with.”

They board the shuttle for the short trip to the venue, and go over the mission brief one final time: intel extraction remains their highest priority—one of their hosts, Polona T’Shan, was rumored to have a close business connection with the matriarch; protecting their cover is important, but heavy security is not expected; their false identity profiles should be enough to get them in the door, and from there the two of them will be responsible for avoiding unwanted attention by appearing as a couple.

Kaidan knows his own limits. He’s a soldier, not an actor. This pretending to be someone else, this lie, it isn't part of his training and it sure as hell isn't part of who he is. But if Shepard’s as nervous as he is, she isn't showing it.

She’s looking at him again, in that intense all-in way she sometimes does. Before her, he had never met someone who was aware of—and pursued—what they wanted with such confidence, such dogged determination, and to have that kind of focus set on him even for just a moment is… terrifying. In a good way, he thinks. It makes him feel warm and cold at the same time. It also makes him want to stare right back, but that way lies only trouble, and none of them need another helping. Not right now.

Kaidan leans back and rests his head on the cool, if slightly unsteady, inner shuttle wall as Shepard drums a rhythmless pattern into the space between their seats.

---

Kyra drains her glass.

As it turns out, Asari weddings aren't all that different from the few human ones she’s attended. Though this reception is a far more extravagant affair than she’s used to: four days of mingling and games and dancing and drinking and food. Really not her cup of tea.

And apparently not Alenko’s, either.

He’d made a beeline for the bar as soon as they’d entered, and returned with an easier stride and a glass full of some bubbling neon sugary shit for her. She’d have preferred something stronger, of course, but they do have a mission to complete. If they can manage to get Polona alone for a moment.

She slips her hand into the crook of his elbow and feels him stiffen, then relax. Quick and conscious. He’s nervous, out of place, on edge, and then completely calm and collected.

No doubt in her mind he was the right pick for this one.

The thought settles her stomach, and just in time. Two asari approach, their hands extended in enthusiastic welcome.

“Greetings!” one of them says, with a voice smooth and sweet as wildflower honey. “Oh, what a lovely pair you two make. Right out of the vids, could be. This one’s even better looking up close, don’t you think so, Liria?” The asari takes Alenko’s hand, sensual and deliberate, then turns her attention to Kyra. “And goddess, that dress is stunning; really, sweetie, it fits you like a glove. You”—she drags one finger down Alenko’s lapel—“are a lucky man, I hope you know.”

Eyes wide, he clears his throat and coughs, then regains his composure with a brief glance in Kyra’s direction.

The second asari offers an apologetic look to each of them in turn. “Rialla, darling, slow down or you’ll scare them off.”

“They certainly look sturdy enough.”

“I am so sorry. She’s had quite a bit to drink, I’m afraid. Never could pace herself at a wedding.” She laughs. “My name is Liria, and my companion’s name is Rialla, and ever since we saw you walk in, we have just been itching to get to know you.”

Kyra plasters what she hopes is a warm smile on her face, mentally pulling up her cover identity as reference. “Emily, and I’m delighted to meet you both. This is John, my um—”

“Her very lucky partner.”

The two matriarchs titter and tease him, both in turn, and once again he’s in control. Kyra can’t help but be impressed by how effortlessly he charms them. And she’s far from immune. It’s her mission, yet she is all too prepared to be led around the room by that firm hand at the small of her back.

Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko: respected Alliance Marine, powerful L2 biotic, all-around stand-up guy, and—apparently—a smooth son-of-a-bitch. It’s an unexpected feature for someone so soft-spoken and unpretentious. Like he has a hidden switch somewhere.

Or a button.

Press For Instant Charisma.

She briefly entertains the idea of hunting for it, then aborts the thought with a twist of her lips and tunes back in to the conversation.

---

The lie is getting easier. Shepard is tucked under Kaidan’s arm, and he’s almost comfortable.

Their new friends are exactly the right sort. Nosy, talkative, well into their cups, and connected. Old friends of their mark, both of them, and Liria has history with Benezia herself. Shepard spins her tale about a chance meeting with the missing matriarch at a charity benefit and their tapering correspondence, followed by a rumor igniting hope for reconnection. And they eat it right up.

All he has to do is act natural and help Shepard keep them talking.

“Well, you know Polona wasn’t only Benezia’s lawyer.” Liria leans in close, her voice not quite as hushed as she probably intended. “They were involved, some centuries back. Quite the scandal at the time, but then Benezia always had... selfish tendencies. Now, I’m not sure why they parted ways, or how serious it was, but—”

Not to be outdone, Rialla’s hands flutter for attention as she pipes in. “It must be more than a passing fling from two hundred years ago, though, because I heard that her Turian lover—or, well, husband now—almost called off this very wedding!”

“Really?” Shepard asks. What’s supposed to be idle curiosity is bordering on serious interest, her voice taking on a firm, interrogative quality to match her narrowed gaze, but a brush of his thumb on her shoulder and she reigns it in. Loosens up with a tilt of her head and a hand to his thigh that has him tensing up instead.

“Oh, yes,” Rialla says. “It was all very tenuous there for a while. And to think, then the four of us would never have met!”

Kaidan raises his glass with a smile as genuine as he can muster. “A tragic loss for us, to be sure.”

With a deep, warm smile, Rialla fans her face and leans in close to Shepard, but speaks for the whole table to hear. “Do let me know when you're finished with him, would you, dear? I think I may be quite in love.”

He's fine until Shepard smirks, then he's far too warm. Suffocating.

He tugs at his collar. “You think their, uh, conflict had something to do with Polona and Benezia’s involvement?”

“I seriously doubt it,” Liria says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “That was ages ago, not yesterday. Beni’s still pining after Aeth—”

Rialla laughs. “Oh, it’s Beni, now? I had no idea you were such intimate friends!”

“I’m 800 years old, my dear.” Liria scoffs. “I have quite a few friends you don’t know about.”

“Is that supposed to make me jealous?”

“Of course not, don’t be silly!”

“Silly? Goddess, must you always be so patronizing?”

“Must you always twist my words?”

“Oh, here we go!”

The situation spirals into chaos before either he or Shepard can recover it, and she stands up from the table, pulling at his elbow.

“I love this song,” she mutters pointedly, and leads him to the dance floor. It’s a slow number, thank god. He’s not nearly drunk enough to dance to something with a beat.

They sway slowly, and she presses close, his neck prickling underneath her palm. His own hands settle on her waist, then more naturally to her hips.

“Damn,” she whispers. “Damn.”

“I know. But hey, we’ve got the rest of the night. And tomorrow night. And the next night. And—”

“The next night, I know.” She groans and drops her head to his shoulder.

Kaidan smiles into her hair.

---

The night is officially over. The band is still playing, but most of the guests are gone, and despite making a number of connections, they’ve learned nothing more about Benezia's whereabouts.

They have, however, made decent use of the open bar.

Kyra downs the last of her champagne and orders a cocktail, dealer's choice. It arrives glowing and smoking and she takes the skyward trajectory of Alenko’s brows as a personal challenge not to hesitate.

A potent combination of peppermint and blueberries and battery acid hits the back of her throat and makes her head swim on contact.

Next to her, Alenko is nursing his third.

“How’s your drink?” he asks.

“Surprising.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“Um… Yes.” She clinks her fingernail against his glass. “How’s your whiskey?”

He frowns and takes a sip. “This is not whiskey.”

“Didn’t realize you were such a connoisseur.”

“No, I mean it is literally not whiskey. Didn’t have it, I guess.” He drinks again. “It’s weird, right? Walk into any bar on Earth and they’ll have a dozen to pick from, but soon as you take off…”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “No burgers. No guac. No ice cream.”

The low chuckle he gives is a sound she’d like to hear again. And again, and again, and—

“When you put it like that, this spacer life is a real sorry existence.”

Kyra nods and wonders what he misses most from home. Or who. But that is none of her business, so she empties her glass and tips the bartender in preparation to leave.

“Sorry tonight was a bust, Shepard.”

“It wasn’t a total loss. Decent food, free booze.” She rests her chin on one closed fist. “Good company.”

“By that, I assume you mean our new asari friends.”

“Sure.”

Holding his gaze is harder than it should be. He cradles his nearly-empty glass and taps his fingers in sequence. Up and down, like a zipper.

At last, he looks away. “I was going to say ‘beautiful,’ by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“Earlier, before we left. I was going to tell you how incredible you looked, but then you interrupted me, and I never really got the chance to say it so I figured I might as well say it now.”

Warmth rises in her belly and she rides it like a wave, unscathed and unchanged on the other side. She turns to face him, wriggling in the seat in preparation like he’s about to try and upend her. “All right, Alenko. Hit me. I’m ready.”

He gives a huff of nervous laughter, one hand going straight to the back of his neck. “Well, uh... that was pretty much it.”

“That’s it? You waited all night to tell me that you were going to tell me I looked beautiful, but didn’t?”

His lips roll together, and he cedes the point with a tilt of his head, then meets her eyes again before his take a slow, uncertain wander around the rest of her features.

“Shepard,” he says when he makes it back, and it’s a name so overused it may as well be a title—but not spoken like that. Low and drawn out and a little bit reverent, it becomes almost intimate for the first time in years and she can't help but wonder how her first might sound.

“You look really beautiful tonight.”

Oh. Oh no. Kyra knows she should say thank you, and tell him to finish his drink so they can get out of here, but this next wave won’t subside and the air won’t reach her lungs and all she can do is stare at him.

“I mean, not just tonight, but especially—” he continues, visibly flustered by her silence. “You know, the dress and the lips—ah, make-up! And, and the hair and everything, it’s just very, um, tasteful, and… Um.” He clears his throat and pushes his drink away by inches, folding his hands tight together. "Feel free to stop me anytime.”

Ah. There. That’s the Alenko she knows and can handle.

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” she says, sending a silent prayer of thanks to whichever god kept her voice from breaking.

The smile they exchange is soft and charged and it smooths him over. His eyes are brown. Kyra knew that already, but clinically. On paper. Hair: black. Eyes: brown. Year of birth: 2151.

She didn’t know it like this, tangibly, all wrapped up and swept away in a simple fact.

This time she’s the one to give in. “You know, you should really keep that button pressed, Alenko.”

“What?”

“The charisma button.” She jerks her head toward the door, grabs his hand for the sake of anyone who might still be awake and sober enough to notice, and leads him out. “Push it. More.”

“I— what?”

Kyra chuckles to herself and steps into the elevator. “Forget it.”

The doors close once she chooses a floor and she regrets taking his hand because now she has to let go.

Kiss me. Come on, Alenko. Quick, before we go back. She can’t think it any louder, can’t make it any clearer without crossing a line. Be better if he does it, but he won’t. She knows he wants to just like she knows he never will, because he’s a good soldier and a good soldier doesn’t fuck with the chain of command. Not without a compelling reason, at least, and she can’t give him one.

Their floor lights up and reality pours in. He follows her across the dock, at a distance now that no one who would care might be watching.

Kyra takes a sharp, deep breath. Three more nights of this—unless they can get their intel sooner. Three more nights of flirting and dancing and soft touches all for show and not to keep. Maybe she should have brought Williams after all. Or Garrus. Or anyone else.

Distracted, she nearly trips getting into the shuttle, and somehow he’s right there, a broad hand on her waist to steady her.

A nod and he detaches. Steps back. “Ma’am.”

Ma’am. But he is a terrible liar, and she’s never been good at a long con.

[thecreaturecodex]

Crawling Head

Image by Thomas Baxa, © Wizards of the Coast. Accessed at the Fiend Folio Art Gallery here

[It may just be nostalgia goggles talking, but D&D 3rd Edition was a glory age for monsters. Not in terms of mechanics, which were often wildly unbalanced, but for sheer volume and conceptual chutzpah. Five Monster Manuals, one Fiend Folio, multiple books devoted to exploring a single category more in depth, and a few miscellaneous critters scattered around in pretty much every source book. Many of these monsters made it to 4e, and a few are now considered classics (shadar-kai are big winners here), but a lot of them never made it out of the edition. Some never made a second appearance out of their original book! So here is a tribute to Third Edition Exclusives, taken from both 3.0 and 3.5, from a wide variety of sources. I have done a lot of monsters that fit into this category already, so I’m hoping to also delve into some of the odder corners. Monsters from player books, campaign setting supplements, that sort of thing.

The crawling head, on the other hand, comes to us from the Fiend Folio. @bogleech​ called them out as one of their favorite undead in this article way back when, and suggested using them as a Jabba the Hutt styled crime boss. That’s certainly one way to do it, but my favored interpretation is to make them mad scientists. The original flavor text talks about them making traps, so I leaned into that with some of their spell-like abilities, and gave them item creation feats so they can make constructs and kit out their best minions with special items.]

Crawling Head CR 19 CE Undead This grotesque thing is a rotten, swollen head as big as a wagon. It has multiple layers of sharp teeth in its wide maw, and it drags itself along on a seething nest of giant blood vessels, nerves and organs. Its underside is swollen and glistening, the faint outlines of faces pressed against boil-like sacs.

The crawling heads are rare and awful undead, the remnant of an empire of giants inclined to necromancy. They attempted to imbue their leaders with eternal life to create an undying council, but the process caused the elder’s heads to swell to monstrous size. Each created their own council by devouring the heads of their underlings, then crawled off on their own, having no real interest in statecraft or society.

Each crawling head is a mastermind and dungeon keeper, and they dwell in labyrinths and ruins. These they fill with traps and guardians, many of which are undead or constructs. All crawling heads are masters of magic and most are craftsmen of great skill, and they spend centuries perfecting strange new magic items and constructs. These are released onto the world for the sheer joy of mayhem and killing. Many crawling heads make sure to slip clues as to their location along with these poison pills—the better to attract adventurers to devour and use their gear as raw material for the next batch of horrors.

In combat, a crawling head is slow but powerful. A crawling head is surrounded by an aura of wailing, screaming and mad laughter from the severed heads it has stored in its body in fluid-filled cysts. It can absorb these heads to fuel its powers, healing itself or releasing multiple spells in a round in a nova of destruction. Their teeth act as a vorpal weapon, scissoring off the heads of their enemies in a single strike. Perhaps their greatest weakness is simple water—a flask of it burns like acid. As such, crawling heads are usually found in salt flats, desert mountains and other arid environments.

A crawling head is roughly 10 feet in diameter and weighs about a ton.

Crawling Head         CR 19 XP 204,800 CE Huge undead Init +2; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +25, true seeing Aura cacophony (60 ft., Will DC 31) Defense AC 34, touch 13, flat-footed 34 (-2 size, -2 Dex, +4 shield, +17 natural, +7 deflection) hp 322 (28d8+196) Fort +16, Ref +9, Will +20 DR 15/adamantine; Immune electricity, magic missile, sonic, undead traits; SR 30 Defensive Abilities terror shield; Weakness vulnerable to water Offense Speed 20 ft., climb 20 ft. Melee bite +29 (2d8+15 plus vorpal bite), 4 tentacles +27 (1d8+5 plus grab) Space 15 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Special Attacks constrict (tentacle, 1d8+15), powerful blows (bite) Spell-like Abilities CL 19th, concentration +26 Constant—shield, true seeing At will— animate dead, control undead (DC 24), dimension door, fear (DC 21), inflict critical wounds (DC 21), speak with dead 3/day—create undead, finger of death (DC 24), greater dispel magic, greater glyph of warding (DC 23), greater shout (DC 25) 1/day— create greater undead, symbol of pain (DC 22), symbol of stunning (DC 24), symbol of weakness (DC 24), wail of the banshee (DC 26) Statistics Str 30, Dex 7, Con -, Int 20, Wis 19, Cha 25 Base Atk +21; CMB +33 (+35 vs. disarm or trip, +37 grapple); CMD 48 (50 vs. disarm, 62 vs. trip) Feats Cleave, Combat Expertise, Craft Construct, Craft Magic Arms and Armor, Craft Wondrous Item, Great Cleave, Improved Disarm, Improved Initiative, Improved Trip, Lightning Reflexes, Magical Aptitude, Multiattack, Power Attack, Step Up Skills Bluff +25, Climb +47, Craft (traps) +23, Intimidate +28, Knowledge (arcana, religion) +26, Knowledge (dungeoneering, history) +23, Linguistics +23, Perception +25, Sense Motive +25, Spellcraft +30, Stealth +11, Use Magic Device +29; Racial Modifiers +16 Climb Languages Common, Giant, Necril, 18 others SQ absorb head, expert climber Ecology Environment any deserts and underground Organization solitary Treasure double standard Special Abilities Absorb Head (Su) As a free action, a crawling head may swallow the severed head of a creature it has decapitated with its vorpal bite. It may also harvest a head from an intact corpse no less than 24 hours dead as a standard action. A crawling head can store a number of severed heads equal to its Hit Dice, and typically has 1d4+10 severed heads stored at the beginning of an encounter. As a swift action on its turn, the crawling head can digest one of these severed heads in order to gain one of the following abilities

Use any of its at-will or 3/day spell-like abilities as a swift action

Gain the benefits of a harm spell cast on itself (CL 19th)

Gain a +6 enhancement bonus to one of its ability scores for 1 hour. A crawling head cannot have more than one enhancement bonus gained in this fashion at a time

A crawling head with no heads stored cannot use its cacophony aura. Cacophony Aura (Su) All creatures within 60 feet of a crawling head that can hear it must succeed a DC 31 Will save or cower for 1d4+1 rounds. A creature that succeeds this save is immune to the cacophony aura of that crawling head for the next 24 hours. This is a sonic, fear effect, and the save DC is Charisma based. A crawling head can suppress or resume the cacophony aura as a move action. Expert Climber (Ex) A crawling head can climb on any surface. Treat this as a nonmagical spider climb effect, and the creature gains a +16 racial bonus on all Climb checks. Terror Shield (Su) A crawling head gains a deflection bonus to its AC and CMD equal to its Charisma modifier. Vorpal Bite (Su) The supernaturally sharp teeth of a crawling head sever an opponent’s head on a natural 20 and a confirmed critical hit. This kills most creatures that have a head, but not all (such as most undead or constructs), and has no effect on creatures with no heads. Vulnerability to Water (Ex) A flask of water deals 1d6 points of damage to a crawling head, and immersion in water deals 10d6 points of damage a round.

[dragonologist-phd]

For the book recs, 1, 14, 23, 42, 73, 90, 124?

1. a book that is close to your heart

Aaah this is hard because there's a lot I could talk about here! I think I'll go with Ella Enchanted (partly because it's fresh on my brain after ranting about the awful movie to my sister for like half an hour last week...)

But anyway, Ella Enchanted was one of my absolute favorite books as a kid- one of the books I read so many times my paperback copy was literally falling apart. It's very charming, Ella is a delightful character, and the story is probably why I still have a fondness for fairy tale re-tellings. I also loved a lot of the authors other stuff, but Ella Enchanted was the first one I read by her and it was always my favorite!

14. a book that made you trip on literary acid

John Dies At The End. To be honest, I barely remember anything that actually happened in this book, I just remember the whole experience was like 'wtf is happening????' Not in a bad way, I think- it's very intentionally trippy. But definitely not for people who don't like psychological horror stuff

23. a book that is currently on your TBR

Anatomy: A Love Story! I just saw something about this book like 2 days ago and I wanted to read it so badly- the description already has me hooked. I mean, it's a 19th century love story between a female surgeon and a resurrection man- how can that not sound awesome?

42. a book that made you want to scream by the time you got to the end

I'm not sure if this is meant to positive or negative, but I think Misery fits. I actually don't much like Steven King's supernatural stuff, but that's why Misery works for me- he didn't add any supernatural stuff, so he can't make a creepypasta that's way too extreme to be scary and he doesn't need to try and explain any supernatural stuff.

It's just a terrifying situation, a twisted "Angel of Mercy", and so many times that the main character *almost* escapes that it drives you nuts.

73. a good book with an awful cover

Hmm I actually can't think of anything specific? In general I hate when they reprint books with movie covers, but that's not really aimed at a specific one.

90. the longest book you’ve read

I honestly have no idea! IT is probably a contender, that book was way longer than it needed to be.

124. the book you’re currently reading

Priory of the Orange Tree, and it is so good! I've had it talked up to me before and so far it does live up to the hype. To be fair, it does have some of my favorite tropes, names "dragons as a big part of the worldbuilding" and "bodyguard/queen romance (but make it gay)"

Books Asks

[jeanjauthor]

(Made up bit heavily inspired by bit with much much better women’s rights) In England late mediveal or early renaissance time, how would I put a bridge on a very large and wide river that large ships like cogs and big carraks can get under? I’d like to keep to that time period as closely as possible (but with different women’s rights) but I realised I need big carraks and cogs to go up a river I need many bridges on. Would swing bridges do? What would those be made of in those times? Stone?Wood?

eGood to know! Presuming a world without magic...if it's late medieval / early renaissance, just use drawbridges.

Understand that your boats will have to be smaller than most seagoing vessels. However,that doesn't mean they cannot be quite useful, and it doesn't mean they cannot be sailboats; they can! They just need to be more slender and shorter--not just to navigate between the central support pillars for said drawbridges, but also simply to navigate the twists and turns of any river.

This particular scene from the BBC's Edwardian Farm series has an example of just such a boat: https://youtu.be/obIWqJlxniY?t=1030 You should watch it, even though they're actually just discussing using quicklime to neutralize the acidity of the local soils, and how they're importing coal for use in burning in the lime kilns.

The most important feature of the scene for our discussion is how it shows the size of cargo ship that would sail up a slow, calm river. The various boats that sailed up and down the Yangtze River, the Nile, Hudson River, the Mississippi, the gazillion waterways of the Amazon and more, all of these had a lot of river-based commerce. Even the canals of Angkor Wat had a great deal of commerce via boat.

In some cases, such as at Angkor Wat, they would have had stevedores (dockworkers) standing by at bridge causeways that boats couldn't cross. These workers would literally offload cargo from one canal boat, carry it a few yards across the street to the next canal's boat, load it there, and send it on its way along a different canal system. (You'd have to see how the roads and canals at Angkor Wat were built to understand this system.) In other locations, they would have boat-pontoons serving as a floating bridge that could be unlashed and moved out of the way so that cargo ships could cross, and there would often be regular times for these switchups to occur.

But if you're dealing with late medieval / renaissance levels of ingenuity, then winches, gears, capistans, etc, would all be a part of their canal system, with broad, stoutly made drawbridges being drawn up and lowered down at regular points in the day.

Some of these pulley systems could be animal-powered (horse, mule, oxen, whatever), or it could be a wheel that a man would walk along, kind of like a hamster wheel, such as the kind found here: https://youtu.be/s46qP1l39V8?t=628 Though it's a long zoom in, you can see toward the end there are actual humans inside thos wheels, walking slowly to raise and lower whatever needs to get up to the building site. A drawbridge system would be no different.

You can also use folding masts. Since you're not dealing with a specific real-world place-and-time, you can borrow from other eras and traditions, including ancient historical methods, such as the bipod mast: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bipod_mast These were used as far back as the 3rd millenium BCE to sail up and down the Nile...which admittedly didn't have bridges to sail under, but the stability of the bipod mast made it easy to lay it down without overbalancing the ship.

With some clever hinges and pulleys and gears, a Renaissance shipmaster could make a system that would allow the sails to be quickly brought down...though to maintain forward motion when going upstream, they'd probably have to pay a lining service a fee to line the ship upstream. Here's an example of how to line a canoe upstream along a river from Far North Bushcraft And Survival: https://youtu.be/ZQ7940-M5mM

This is literally the same system used to maneuver canal barges upstream (and down!), powered by horsepower, literal horses, donkeys, mules, oxen, etc. This particular scene from the Victorian Farm series shows one such canal barge being used to deliver a load of coal, as they would've done in the Victorian era: https://youtu.be/Ccjyt7BQEVU?t=1374 In the scene, they talk about how it's "...a fly boat, going day and night; they change out the horses..." to indicate that these were in constant use. You can see how there's a path built under the bridge for the horse to walk along.

The barge would be manned and steered in most cases, since that's easier than doing it manually by the two-line method, but they'd still probably have two lines on the boat in most instances, in case the helmsman fell asleep, or there was a change in the current, etc. There would also be strict "lanes" for upstream versus downstream traffic, ideally with walkways on each side so as to keep the lines from tangling--this would be in use in areas with really flat slow/sluggish water, not enough room to use galley oars, not enough room to set sails, yet you still want your cargo to head downstream at more than a snail's pace with the natural current (ideal for big cities).

Small barges could also be poled like the gondolae of Venice, but again, that's small barges, since there's only so much effort poling can manage before it becomes nigh impossible not only to get up to speed, but also to slow down to make a turn, to stop, etc. So consider if your river is slow, if it's a series of canals, how many bridges there are, what sort of workforce there might be for loading & unloading, and for portaging.

To portage is to go around an obstacle that a boat (of whatever size) cannot safely manage. The most famous portages were done by the voyageurs of the fur trade in Canada, where they'd come upon a stretch of rapids too dangerous to traverse or have to leave the river they're on to go in the direction they need to get to the next river or lake system, etc. At that point, the fur trappers/canoers would get out, offload their cargo, and carry it and their canoes--sometimes for miles!--to the next navigable stretch of water...and most cases they'd have to set up camp when they got there, then go back for everything that got left behind, and haul all of that to the new spot.

In many cases in the wilderness, they'd leave 1-2 behind to guard said provisions, etc, either at the offloading site or the final destination site. But if you're dealing with a civilized/settled area, they wouldn't necessarily have to do that, but might instead arrange passage with wagoners / caravaners, the people who got paid to transport river-shipped goods between two points overland.

There are also the possibilities for canal locks (the ancient Romans had a precursor to the system we know of today) as well, but it honestly depends on how much that region has decided to put in the effort to dig and construct and manage them. If it's wealthy, has a history of innovation, and/or relies heavily upon river commerce, then it's quite possible. But most likely, drawbridges and folding masts are going to be ideal.

Just remember that those ships and masts are not going to be designed to withstand open-ocean travel or hurricane force winds, nor to carry hundreds of tons. River ships are not going to be the same as ocean or sea going vessels. For example:

"During the time of King Philip II's reign (1556-98), the Spanish galleon increased in size and capacity. For example, while the earlier galleons had capacities for 120 toneladas (Spanish tons), the post-1560 galleons tended to cross thresholds of 330 toneladas." (https://www.realmofhistory.com/2019/06/07/galleon-spanish-warship-facts/ )

Or: "...a typical American barge measures 195 by 35 feet (59.4 m × 10.7 m), and can carry up to about 1,500 short tons (1,400 t) of cargo." (from the entry on Barges, Wikipedia)

These might seem like good resources, but those galleons are oceanic vessels far too large and/or deeply drafted for river navigation, and those barges are modern ones meant for the lower Mississippi River. The latter are also powered by engines, not by wind, oar, or musclepower (animals or humans lining the boat along the riverbank).

Unless your river is huge--at which point ferries will be your ideal method of crossing, rather than bridges--your river-running ships will be small, sleek, relatively shallow drafted, will most likely have collapsing sails, oars for windless days, ropes for lining (even if their own crew has to do it), so on and so forth.

...You can still have bridges without drawbridges, if your river runs through a canyon deep enough that the bridge will clear the masts naturally, or your engineers invest in long, long, long ramps leading up to and over the central arch spanning the deepest part of the river...and invest in lots of riprap (rocks specifically placed for lining the banks of the river to prevent erosion, etc). Unfortunately, most rivers flowing through canyons flow too fast and hard to make good safe transportation routes...and really tall bridges exhaust humans and animals alike in passing over them, so...it's not very likely.

One last consideration: the river itself. Here is a snippet of a video I took when I had the opportunity to go on a Rhein River Cruise (Viking Cruiseline). The cruisehip is docked. It is not moving.

The Rhein really does flow this fast (up near Switzerland, iirc, but all throughout the trip as well), and it only slowed down somewhat at certain points. The banks in the city zones (and even much of the countryside) are lined with riprap (stones fitted and cemented into place to control the river flow and prevent erosion), and yes, there were a few canal locks along the route. A lot of that riprap was laid in earlier centuries, some of it late renaissance (and much of it repaired since then).

We were warned that if there was a lot of rain during our trip (this trip took place in May) causing a lot of runoff to flow into the river, there was a bridge downstream (near the Netherlands) where we might actually have to disembark from this ship literally cross the street for that bridge, and get onto another cruise ship on the downstream side of the bridge. Why? Because if the river level rose too much, this ship would not be able to cross under that bridge.

Now, the ship's top deck was disassembled to pass under other bridges. It literally had awnings and roofs on hinges that could be lowered to as flat as possible...and yet there was still a bridge they knew they couldn't pass under if the river level rose too high. Even with modern tech, etc, there will be obstacles like this.

So consider that for your rivers and your commerce. In spring and autumn, the water might run too high, perhaps even too wild, for safe & easy river travel. Portaging might be the answer. Or your characters might be crossing over the bridge which has an angry river crew arguing with the city guard about why they can't take their ship under the bridge (because it could damage the bridge, it's the wrong season, etc).

...You can also have droughts (oftentimes in high summer) which could cause the river to become too shallow for boats to pass in certain sections, or they'll have to lighten their cargo to avoid getting mired in the mud, etc.

And if your story is set in a region with cold winters, snow, ice, etc...the river might freeze. This poses a whole host of transportation problems, but then transport wasn't often done in the depths of winter, save maybe for foods brought from the storage barns of local farms. If the rivers don't freeze over, water travel is still possible, though hypothermia is still a danger.

If they freeze only a little bit, still possible...but once the ice gets thick along the edges, it becomes dangerous to try to "cut" through the ice with a boat of any size. This can include ice that is too thick to get the boat close enough to shore to exchange cargo and/or passengers, but also the possibility of ice actually damaging a ship's hull.

And of course merely walking on the ice is sheer danger, unless you know exactly what to look for, how deep it needs to be, etc, to be crossed safely--the idyllic picture of the Dutch ice skating along their canals doesn't cover the fact that many people fell through the ice because they hit a stretch that was too thin to support their weight. Certainly history doesn't tell us exactly how many perished, though logic assures us that many surely did--either idiots who didn't check the ice depth, or who were young and recklessly brave enough to be foolhardy, an unexpected warming of the water coming downstream thinning out the ice in a specific spot in the channel, etc, etc, etc.

River boat crews would be aware of such potential dangers, and would not want to travel in icy conditions if it was at all avoidable. Which brings us to living on a riverboat, and how to keep warm in winter when the hull is literally in constant contact with icy cold water...but that's another discussion entirely. If the canals are in constant use, the water "might not" freeze over because it'd be constantly disturbed by the passage of all those boats...but it also could, especially if a bad winter storm shut down travel for a few days.

Mostly, river boats would be lifted out of the water if at all possible before the river iced over (which the locals would know about). Why? Because ice expands, and it would expand horizontally into those hulls, cracking them. Water and ice are incredibly powerful forces that we often underestimate. This means that winter is the time when boats would be brought ashore, tipped onto their sides, the hulls scraped free of river mussels and barnacles and whatnot, sections would be repaired, the hulls re-tarred, and other maintenance issues tended to.

If river commerce slows or stops in the winter due to ice issues, then you'll have wagons and/or sleighs, etc, bringing in the goods...but again, your horses or other draft animals will have a harder time working in cold weather. Your cities will therefore want most of their goods brought into the city's storehouses before winter falls, if it's an area with harsh winters.

If they're just rainy and wet and miserable for the most part (*cough* the greater Seattle region (*cough*)...then flooding will be your biggest concern. If it's a region with seasonal droughts & monsoons...you could have a whole host of problems, but you'd also probably want retention ponds and lakes to help keep the river flowing--fill them up in the stormy season and let out some of that water in the dry season to keep the river at a hopefully passable depth.

Bridges (and drawbridges), boats, and rivers are all part and parcel with the equation.

One more thing, if your local region is building a bridge in the story (a common occurrence in the renaissance in many towns), it doesn't have to be a part of the story directly, but can be mentioned second-hand, like one of your characters can say, "avoid the Baker's Bridge--remember, they're doing repairwork on it."

If this is a thing you want to toss into the story (it makes your town feel alive, a growing and changing thing, without having to go into exhaustive detail), then remember that the architects will have hopefully taken all the shipping and transportation needs into account...but that section of the river or canal will be blocked by scaffolding, requiring everyone to portage around it. If it is a river split in two by an island, or it's a canal shooting off from or paralleling the main river, you'll still be able to have commerce up and down the river, but it will cause that river travel to be thicker and more prone to clogs, blockages, accidents, arguments, etc.

These are little details you can put into your story to give your world more depth without having to go into exhaustive detail.

Good luck, and I hope at least some of that helped!

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 14 – From This Point and On

D-day: it is a term coined from the landings performed by the Allied at Normandy, which lay in hands of Nazi Germany during the Second World War.

There are several historical debates concerning the accurate representation of “D.” The most commonly supported argument nowadays is that “D-day” is an acronym for “Day-Day,” and the former “day” is believed to be a temporary connotation of the date of the landings, which was unsettled at the time.

Simply put, “D-day” was named for “the day unknown,” in a way. Which is ironic, considering the fact that by the 21st century this term has come to denote a specific date of an event or operation.

On the other hand, had Rael known the origin of “D-day,” he would have thought that it could not be any more perfect for his situation. Because even though it was the D-day for him, he had no idea whether he could depart for Lukedonia.

At the same time, however, now kind of familiar with the human called Yuhyung Jang, he really did not care.

He did not care that the researcher did not show up on time for an hour, as long as he could leave by the end of the day.

And Rael could swear he took care in making himself sound not too irritated with the delay, but the KSA agent leading him to the lab was sweating his glands off trying to appease him.

“P-please don’t worry, sir! I’ll teach him a lesson as soon as we find him!”

Rael already told him a number of times he needed not to fret, to no avail. Then again, the director and the doctor, the most authoritative personnel in KSA, and Yeonsu and Sangin, the most influential agents of KSA, looked more than ready to bark like a dog or jump off the building, if only Rael had said the word.

So Rael was not surprised to see lesser employees, including his guide, acting like a bunch of scaredy-cats.

Hence Rael gave up on relieving his guide of his anxiety by the time they reached Yuhyung’s lab, which was sealed by a wooden door fit into the frame as a provisional boundary, perhaps because Yeonsu made the original door useless with a kick.

“Hey! Yuhyung! You in there?!”

The agent pounded the door, and they were met with a crashing sound within, something to be heard from a demolition site.

“What on earth is keeping you there for an hour?!”

“S-sorry! Sorry! It’s just that...”

“Well, hurry up! You’re late...!!”

“N-no! Don’t open the door! Please, don’t!!”

Yuhyung freaked and yelled, while Rael spied something through the opening of the wooden board.

‘A smoke? Is there fire again?’

He was about to warn the agent, when the latter jerked open the door and screamed at Yuhyung demanding to tell them what kind of trouble he brewed this time. He thereby allowed the misty body flickering inside the lab to spill out to the corridor.

Rael was unfazed by the déjà vu of his previous visit to Yuhyung’s lab. He was only interested in what had happened to the owner of the lab.

‘It doesn’t smell like something burned... But I wouldn’t dub it as an ordinary smoke. What is this smell...?’

The blonde noble was about to step into the room to inspect better, when the agent next to him blocked his mouth with his hand. At the same time his knees gave out, and the man promptly collapsed.

“Agent Jung!”

Just then Yuhyung, with his nasal area protected with a thick piece of cloth, bolted out of the lab and examined the fallen agent. As soon as he recognized Rael, who was also wearing alarmed eyes, he literally groveled before him.

“P-please! I need your help!!! W-we must not let this gas spread through the building!”

Rael’s composure kicked in upon the man’s plea, and he lunged towards the chamber. He shut the door and surveyed his surroundings to find out where the smoke was coming from – under Yuhyung’s desk.

Or rather, from the center of a mass of shattered glasses scattered about the leg of his desk.

When he had to take advantage of Frankenstein’s lab in the past, Rael collected enough scientific knowledge and experimental tips to realize exactly what he would need in this situation. The noble fervently rolled his eyes, which soon landed on a round-bottom flask labeled “neutralizer.” Sparing no second, he snatched the utensil and catapulted it.

He swiftly maneuvered his body so he would be safely away from the smoke even before the chemical would hit the glasses, and instantly even thicker smoke blasted through air, with a sound of an acid scorching the surface of a metal.

However, the phenomenon was short-lived, as the first smoke blended with the new smoke and grew faint in color and stench. Rael waited for the original smell to dissipate completely until he unfastened the door.

“T-thank you so much! That’s right... The neutralizer. How could I forget? I was so stupid. I was...”

“So startled you missed it. Which is natural. Totally understandable. By the way, what was that gas?”

Yuhyung’s face turned melancholy, distressed, while Rael took the agent to a nearby cot, still unconscious.

“This gas was one of the secret weapons we were developing against the Union. Or rather, it was one of the weapons we were developing against modified humans. What we had in mind was a weapon that can subjugate modified humans.”

“You mean only modified humans?”

“That’s right. When humans go through body modification, their genes naturally go through man-made genetic mutations, which create unnatural biochemical molecules to last permanently in their genetic make-up. So we figured if we come up with a weapon that reacts exclusively to such molecules, we will be able to arm ourselves with a weapon that works solely on our enemies AND prove devastating against the Union. I was in the lead of the project concerning this gas.”

A weapon that makes a lethal chemical reaction with physical traits unique to the modified humans – it sounded more than efficient to Rael. Which in turn made him question how come KSA has been keeping it secret even now. And how come the researcher seemed so disappointed when he should be practically stabbing the air with his nose in pride for such a breakthrough of weaponry.

Yuhyung opened his mouth in reply, which punctually rid Rael of his questions.

“But we were met with a problem. With our current technology and resources, it was impossible for us to adjust the effectiveness of the gas while keeping the Union’s radar quiet. In the end, this gas became a blackout tranquilizer that takes effect on modified humans and ordinary humans – a huge waste of our time and money and effort.”

Yuhyung turned his head towards the spot where the gas used to rise, his pupils dense with dejection and mixture of affection and hatred.

“So I decided to destroy it, after saving a sample of it in case we would need it in the future as a reference. And I was trying to make the bottle more airtight just before you arrived, so... Yeah. Uh, but I’m not blaming you! Not at all! This is all because I was clumsy.”

“...Does our upcoming trip have anything to do with your nervousness...?”

“Uhm... It’s true that I got less sleep than usual last night, but... Uh, but that doesn’t mean I blame you for this! I will never do that!!!”

Rael waved his head ever-so-slightly before he clogged his voice box. After all, his priority was not shaping his conversation with Yuhyung into an actual conversation. They were supposed to drop by the director’s office one last time before they moved on their way.

Still, Rael could not help peeking at the man as they walked towards their destination.

‘Frantic but certainly gifted in research. In other words, a puzzle of a human being.’

Now that he learned about this so-called supposed special weapon against the Union, he had even come to admire Yuhyung.

He was aware that “keeping the Union’s radar quiet” did not simply mean keeping the Union in the dark regarding this gas.

‘In addition to keeping this gas secret, these people would have had to downgrade their technology on the surface, to make KSA technology appear like a firefly in the face of a sun in comparison to Union technology. So that even if Union gets to take a look at their technology, those monsters wouldn’t notice that KSA has been trying their hands on studies and experiments on body modification behind their backs.’

Even with limited resources and technology aside, the fact that this man managed to develop such a pioneering weapon to near completion under the invisible eyes proves how talented he is as a developer.

‘Not to mention KSA’s technology on body modification would be at least a century behind that of the Union. Not that KSA must have been slacking off with their lab progress, but its technology in the essence would be no more than imitation of Union technology, thus obviously lacking in precision and quality. But this guy designed what could have been a masterpiece with inadequate resources, mimicry of technology, and progress that would not draw Union’s attention.’

What could have happened if this human received his salary not from KSA but from Union? What if this researcher decided to antagonize nobles or werewolves?

‘I’d hate to even imagine what could have happened.’

Joyful for the very first time that he was not an opponent to an ordinary human, instead of a supernatural fighter or a modified human, Rael glanced at Yuhyung with veneration.

In other words, noblekind and wolfkind have earned a superbly deft ally.

Which is why Rael’s footsteps had grown much more steadfast on his way out of the director’s office.

‘Now it’s all up to me. As long as I do my job correctly, this project will be a success. And Lukedonia and werewolves would get to boast tighter alliance and security and accelerate their recoveries. And the Kertia advisory patriarchs would hopefully acknowledge me. So I will do a good job. I must.’

Feeling his anxiety stirring, Rael calmed himself.

‘A lot of things will change from this point and on.’

*****

Meanwhile, Frankenstein’s Lab

“...Beg your pardon?”

Frankenstein retorted at his visitor, apparently unhappy that she must repeat herself, as suggested by her pursed lips.

“Where is the 3rd Elder?”

Frankenstein could tell that this was not a social or friendly visit, for Lunark was donning a face of a child whose mother verbally offered some broccolis.

“Mind if I ask you why you need to see him?”

As soon as he asked, Lunark’s grimace thickened. Now she looked like a child whose mother shoved broccolis into her face.

“Mind if I ask you why you need to know?”

Lunark replied, somehow making herself sound like she had her teeth clenched tight despite her wide-open mouth.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you before you.”

“You sound like there’s a reason you can’t tell me.”

“You sound like there’s a reason you can’t show him to me.”

“Can’t you just let me know why?”

“Can’t you just let me see him?”

The banter between two gorgeous man and woman was interrupted by a third person who was not altogether unrelated to their conversation.

“No need to tire yourselves with a potential argument. I’m right here.”

The 3rd Elder joined the lab, separating a towel from his half-dry hair.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Lady Lunark?”

Lunark turned her hesitant eyes to Frankenstein. He met her straight in the eyes, questioning if she were staring at the right person.

“There’s nothing that Frankenstein cannot listen among the things that are meant for me. There shouldn’t be anything that he can’t listen.”

The 3rd Elder so very kindly explained, and Lunark signaled her acquiescence with a sigh.

“Recently, I have been in lead of my kind’s search squad, made up of warriors in order to track down Union facilities. And we picked up a couple locations. But there is a problem – or problems.”

“And what would they be...?”

“First, the facilities we found were already shut down. Second, those facilities belonged to Crombell.”

“Crombell? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. And don’t ask me how we figured that out; that’s the least of your concerns. Those facilities were wiped out so clean we couldn’t fathom anything about the ones that preceded us – whether they are male or female, or single or multiple. But curiously, they left the security camera footages intact, albeit tampered and therefore unhelpful.”

“Perhaps the ones who did the shutdown felt no need to delete them, with the footages already tampered beyond repair.”

“Probably. Frankenstein, has your gang ever taken a field trip overseas for their shutdown operation...?”

“No. For now they’re working in joint with KSA only in Korea, within its shoreline. They haven’t even been to Jeju Island.”

Lunark nodded, having expected such an answer. She focused her eyes at 3rd Elder, devoid of contempt for once.

“Well? Does this ring a bell for you?”

“...It’s hard for me to say exactly who this could be. But I think I can come up with a list of candidates behind this, if you want me to.”

“You think you can finish it in two days?”

“I’ll do that. Which is why I’d like to be excused. There’s not even a second to waste.”

The 3rd Elder turned his feet, his loose hair generating a faint whistle of a wind. Frankenstein started talking only after his sounds vanished impeccably, Lunark not even looking at him.

“Did Ignes’s data include locations of Crombell’s facilities?”

“...Yeah. Guess she undertook espionage on Crombell while devising defense against him.”

Soon afterwards Lunark sighed, still not looking at him.

“Sorry for being so biting back there. I wanted to speak to him in private if possible.”

“And why is that?”

“I figured you’d sprint outside as soon as I tell you about this. You know, so you can look into it yourself. I didn’t want to add more to your shoulders when you’re already carrying a weight worth a continent.”

“...I can’t deny that it’s most convenient for me to handle everything myself. But for now, I’m anchored to this place. So I have no intention to do that. Or rather, I’ve no time to spare for that. I’m starting to wonder how much of a busybody you take me for.”

“Busybody? I’ve never considered you a...”

Lunark rapidly rotated her head, as if complaining to him that is the most preposterous accusation she has ever heard. However, she realized how sharp her voice had become and took a deep breath.

“Anyways, sorry for barging in. I’ll be back in two days.”

Lunark turned towards the door without haste, only to glance back after a few steps.

“You do realize you’re the one who’s making me a busybody these days, don’t you? You’d better not keep me concerned about you.”

Frankenstein could not budge even after she was gone.

‘She’s concerned about me?’

In response, Frankenstein’s heart started to twist and turn, like a pair of socks in a dryer set to high.

When she did not tell him the purpose of her visit at first, he was oddly disappointed. Because with their entire history with Union taken into account, and simply with their relations taken into account, he anticipated her to glare at 3rd Elder, not him.

And when she later apologized on the matter, he was reassured. Reassured to find out that she was being considerate in her own way. Seemingly she is still being considerate for him.

Frankenstein then noted he was much more reassured than he is supposed to be and bit his lips.

‘Snap out of it, Frankenstein. This is no time for you to let that woman sway your feelings.’

Frankenstein scattered his hair, reprimanding his heart for not being itself whenever it is concerned with Lunark.

‘I need to get a grip on myself. Though I’m not sure why she keeps getting on my nerves after all this time... I really need to get a grip.’

The QuadraNet project will come to life, starting with Lukedonia, with help from nobles, werewolves, KSA, and his family in Korea. On the other hand, more than a handful of people are working their heads off to cleanse the world of the Union, especially Crombell. Therefore, it is best for him to focus on nothing but finding a solution to his new secret that not even Raizel is knowledgeable of.

‘A hoard of things will change from this point and on. I need to focus.’

*****

As for 3rd Elder, he was composing in his bedroom a rough draft of the list he promised to Lunark. Nevertheless, he knew this list would be meaningless. He was certain he knew the one Lunark was looking for, by 80% accuracy.

The fact that footages from security cameras, albeit tampered, were lingering at the scenes was more than enough to teach him who did it.

‘This is definitely her style with the job. But why? Why would she do that? I thought she was also one of Crombell’s assassins.’

Soon his brain yielded two most likely options.

‘Either she chose the extremity of eradicating everything about her commander so that no one would acquire a thing about him... Or she chose anti-Crombell propaganda now that he is gone. Though that leaves a question of whether there is someone she is serving if the latter is the case.’

He had input Helga’s name on the list, as he was typing the names in the alphabetical order. After deliberation, he began to move his hand.

‘Maybe... Just maybe...’

The cursor began to delete letters with a series of clicks, starting with “a” and ending with “h.”

Saving the list excluding Helga’s name before closing it, 3rd Elder let the air rustle through his windpipe in low vibration.

‘Maybe things will change from this point and on.’

(next chapter)

You have reached the 25% of this fanfic series! I’m not talking about the number of chapters (which keeps changing as I am typing up this message). I’m saying this was the last chapter of the introduction part of this fanfic, which is why the preceding chapters did not contain what could be considered a crisis or a battle (minus the skirmish Takio had gone through during his past, which was what chapter 13 featured). And of course, things will change beginning from next chapter. Hope you’d stay tuned for those!

[architectureandfilmblog]

HORROR FILMS FOR ARCHITECTURE/URBAN DESIGN ENTHUSIASTS

It’s that time of year again! Happy Halloween, folks :-). I’ve made a few additions to the list, as per usual.

1. THE SHINING (1980) Stanley Kubrick deliberately created an impossible floor plan for the Overlook Hotel, so that architectural discontinuity would subtly unnerve the audience. He also added a maze to the resort (and to Stephen King’s story). The interior style of the Overlook was based on the 1927 Ahwahnee Hotel, while exterior shots featured the 1939 Timberline lodge. The hotel features again in King’s sequel, DR SLEEP (2019), which opens tomorrow.

2. HEREDITARY (2018) This grisly and disturbing film features meticulous architectural miniatures as both a storytelling and conceptual tool. Often the actual family home and its woodland setting are also deliberately shot and lit to appear as part of an scale model themselves, emphasising the fact that the inhabitants are manipulated by forces outside their control.

3. DON’T LOOK NOW (1973) One of the most unsettling of all ‘city’ films. After their daughter drowns, Laura and John Baxter travel to a wintry Venice to work on an architectural restoration. The city becomes a spatial manifestation of their grief and confusion, as the water which embodies that initial tragedy winds insidiously around them.

4. ANNIHILATION (2018) Visually innovative sci-fi/horror - a sort of STALKER meets THE DESCENT on an acid trip - from Alex Garland, starring Natalie Portman. Strangely, though, the source books (Jeff VanderMeer’s Southern Reach trilogy) are actually much more architecturally-inspiring than the film: atmospheric stories which made me wish I was a student again, just so I could try to abstract their weird beauty into a studio project.

5. THE GIFT (2015) and THE INVITATION (2015) Ideal for a double-feature on the theme of Creepy Social Thrillers Set in Modernist Houses. Both of these critically-acclaimed indies confine their characters (and audience) to a covetable piece of Mid Century Modernism, and exploit the way that style of architecture juxtaposes domestic cosiness with a sense of exposure (and incumbent vulnerability.) .

6. DARK WATER (2002) Few movie settings have been as sinister as Yoshimi and Ikuko’s haunted, waterlogged, concrete apartment. The film was later remade in the US, but the original Japanese version, and the Brutalist building in which it is set, are far more atmospheric and chilling.

7. DAWN OF THE DEAD (1978) George Romero critiques and satirises consumeristic mall culture in this influential zombie flick, which is set in an out-of-town shopping centre. “Why do (the zombies) come here?” “Instinct… this was an important place in their lives”…

8. 28 DAYS LATER (2001) There are few cinematic entities more compelling and unsettling than a familiar city stripped of its residents. For the sequence in this clip (in which Cillian Murphy wanders through a deserted London to the strains of Godspeed You! Black Emperor) Danny Boyle took advantage of the fact the the sun rises at about 4.30am in British Midsummer.

9. CUBE (1997) This cult Canadian film was inventively shot on a low budget within a single small cube. Lighting was changed to simulate the myriad booby-trapped spaces through which the characters move as they attempt to escape their mysterious imprisonment. A simple and effective bit of 90′s indie minimalism.

10. POLTERGEIST (1982) The theme of greed and insensitivity within suburban property development is addressed directly (and none too subtly :-)) in this Spielberg classic. A tract of housing is laid right over a cemetery, and the unwitting residents of one property find themselves besieged by its restive spirits.

11. ALIEN (1979) The film may be first and foremost a sci fi rather than a horror, but H R Giger’s spectacular extra terrestrial remains one of the greatest monsters in movie history.

12. ROSEMARY’S BABY (1968) This film stars the 19th Century Dakota Building, on Central Park West. Obviously, legendary resident Adrain Marcato was never actually attacked out front, because he was fictional, but in a tragic coincidence, a real-life occupant of the building was: John Lennon.

13. THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL (1959) Frank Lloyd Wright’s oft-filmed Ennis House replaces the more genre-traditional gothic mansion in this classic horror film. Unfortunately the interior sets bear little resemblance to the rooms found in Wright’s actual building.

14. A CLOCKWORK ORANGE (1972) This genre-busting opus may be many additional things, but if doesn’t qualify as  a horror movie, I don’t know what does. Visually spectacular, it was filmed mostly around London, and featured examples of Brutalism at both it’s best and worst. The stylish dystopia  capitalised on the more negative connotations of a monolithic concrete environment-namely its potential to feel bleak, authoritarian, and indifferent to human suffering.

15. CLOVERFIELD (2008) A group of young New Yorkers navigate Manhattan, and its subway tunnels, after a monster attack. The  towers of Skidmore Owings and Merrill’s Time Warner Centre provide a central post - apocalyptic set piece.

16. HIGH RISE (2016) “How’s the high life?” “Prone to fits of narcissism, mania, and power failure”… Tom Hiddleston moves into a luxury 70′s apartment tower, and faces some grim and gory consequences, in this adaptation of J G Ballard’s dystopian novel.

And let’s not forget: SUSPIRIA (2018), SUSPIRIA (1977), MOTHER! (2017), BERLIN SYNDROME (2017), CANDYMAN (1992),  REPULSION (1965), WHEN A STRANGER CALLS (2007), THE OTHERS (2001), CRIMSON PEAK (2016), THE ORPHANAGE (2007), PAN’S LABYRINTH (2006). Image: Brunel University (A Clockwork Orange). Crop of a photo by Simon Phipps via brunel.ac.

[violettesiren]

My most beautiful hiding places, places that best fit my soul’s deepest colors, are made of all that others forgot.

They are solitary sites hollowed out in the grass’s caress, in a shadow of wings, in a passing song; regions whose limits swirl with the ghostly carriages that transport the mist in the dawn, and in whose skies names are sketched, ancient words of love, vows burning like constellations of drunken fireflies.

Sometimes earthly villages pass, hoarse trains make camp, a couple piles marvelous oranges at the edge of the sea, a single relic is spread through all space. My places would look like broken mirages, clippings of photographs torn from an album to orient nostalgia, but they have roots deeper than this sinking ground, these fleeing doors, these vanishing walls.

They are enchanted islands where only I can be the magician.

And who else, if not I, is climbing the stairs towards those attics in the clouds where the light, aflame, used to hum in the siesta’s honey, who else will open again the big chest where the remains of an unhappy story lie, sacrificed a thousand times only to fantasy, only to foam, and try on the rags again like those costumes of invincible heroes, circle of fire that inflamed time’s scorpion?

Who cleans the windowpane with her breath and stirs the fire of the afternoon in those rooms where the table was an altar of idolatry, each chair, a landscape folded up after every trip, and the bed, a stormy short cut to the other shore of dreams, rooms deep as nets hung from the sky, like endless embraces I slid down till I brushed the feathers of death, until I overturned the laws of knowledge and the fall of man?

Who goes into the parks with the golden breath of each Christmas and washes the foliage with a little gray rag that was the handkerchief for waving goodbye, and reweaves the garlands with a thread of tears, repeating a fantastic ritual among smashed wine glasses and guests lost in thought, while she savors the twelve green grapes of redemption— one for each month, one for each year, one for each century of empty indulgence— a taste acid but not as sharp as the bread of forgetfulness?

Because who but I changes the water for all the memories? Who inserts the present like a slash into the dreams of the past? Who switches my ancient lamps for new ones?

My most beautiful hiding places are solitary sites where no one goes, and where there are shadows that only come to life when I am the magician.

Ballad of Forgotten Places by Olga Orozco (Translated by Mary Crow)

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume Five, Number 8

Graham Dunning and his mechanical techno rig

Our occasional survey of records we might have missed continues with a late July edition of Dust. This time around, our hot and hazy listening spanned localities and genres from Norwegian folk to Black Dirt jam to Swedish dream pop to Ohio noise-electronics, Kashmiri war metal and well beyond, with the usual stop-over in Chicago for free-improv jazz. Writers included Bill Meyer, Justin Cober-Lake, Ian Mathers, Jennifer Kelly, Jonathan Shaw, Andrew Forell and Nate Knaebel. Stay cool.

Erlend Apneseth Trio with Frode Haltli — Salika, Molika CD (Hubro)

Salika, Molika by Erlend Apneseth Trio

This project unites two musicians who have set themselves the task of reconciling contemporary means with Norwegian folk music materials in the 21st century. Erlend Apneseth plays Hardanger fiddle, a violin variant with sympathetic strings that give it a striking resonance; his trio includes a drummer with a feel for Norway’s pre-rock popular dance grooves and an acoustic guitarist who doubles on sampler and other electronics. Frode Haltli is an accordionist who has shuttled between the worlds of folk and free improvisation. Their collaboration scrambles lucid memory, which is represented by archival field recordings of folk songs and dances, with a mildly feverish dream of a trip through ambient textures that somehow detours every now and then through beats that’d earn you an extra beer if you played them in a Nordic country dance hall. The field recordings exert a gravity that counteracts the lightness of the spacy passages, and Haltli tucks his virtuoso command of the squeezebox into hiding spots, ripe for discovery.

Bill Meyer

 Hans Chew & Garcia Peoples — NATCH 10: Hans Chew & Garcia Peoples (Black Dirt Studio)

NATCH 10 - Hans Chew & Garcia Peoples by Hans Chew & Garcia Peoples

After a few years off, Jason Meagher's Black Dirt Studio has resumed its NATCH series of releases, with volume nine (ignoring the prefatory release) coming from Wednesday Knudsen and Willie Lane in June, and the latest pairing Hans Chew and Garcia Peoples. The series offers artists the freedom to collaborate however they please to create freely available releases. Chew and Garcia Peoples make for an ideal match on paper, and the actual pairing pays off.  

Garcia Peoples started their cosmic psych just last year, with two albums out in short order. Pianist Chew has been putting in his time for longer, taking his roots-of-rock and Southern rock sound into increasingly spacey places, turning more and more toward a jam sensibility without sacrificing his songwriting. His Open Sea started taking hints from Traffic, so it's no surprise that this release includes a Dave Mason cover, “Shouldn't Have Took More Than You Gave.” Chew fits effortlessly into Garcia Peoples' jams for a couple tracks, and they meet him in his bluesy-ness for “No Time.” In the middle we have the acidic meditation of “All Boredoms Entertained,” the hinge between the two more rocking segments. The partnership works best when everybody takes off, and the 10-minute opener “Hourglass” burns as hot on record as it would at a festival.

Justin Cober-Lake

 Death & Vanilla — Are You a Dreamer? (Fire)

Are You A Dreamer? By Death & Vanilla

On their third album, this trio from Malmö, Sweden show a devotion to making the most gossamer strain of dream pop without ever losing sight of a knack for peppily compelling song structures. Two of those four earlier albums may have been live soundtracks for movies, but none of these eight deceptively sharply-written songs fade into the background for a second. Singer Marleen Nilsson may be swathed in gauzy atmospherics throughout, but whether on the swooning opener “A Flaw in the Iris,” the foreboding thrum of “Mercier” or the orchestral surges of “Nothing Is Real,” she effortlessly commands center stage here. The music deserves the obvious comparisons to Stereolab and early Broadcast, but Death & Vanilla manage to put their own spin on the influences they share with those earlier acts, and the result is a good reminder that there more than enough room on that territory for multiple bands.

Ian Mathers

 Graham Dunning — Tentation LP (White Denim)

Walk Tentation down on the turntable without foreknowledge of who made it or how it was made, and you’re likely to think that you’re hearing a bit of in sync but off-kilter techno. It sounds like some lost Kompakt release got shaken up and dubbed out with a bag half full of Lego pieces. But the truth is stranger than that. Graham Dunning plays a real time mechanical techno with a homemade, eternally changeable set-up that can simultaneously play a stack of records whilst affording him the means to fuck with individual sounds. True to his techno ambitions, this stuff bumps in ways the kids won’t question. But his willingness to get hung up on a sound and play with it, and then play with it a bit more, mark him as an experimenter with a feline sense of play. “Do I put a bit more reverb on this bit of echo,” one can imagine him musing, “or do I just knock it under this bump in the rug?”

Bill Meyer

  Erin Durant — Islands (Keeled Scales)

Islands by Erin Durant

Erin Durant has a lovely, old-fashioned country voice, flute-y with vibrato at the top-end, rich with emotive sustenance in the mid and lower ranges. It’s the kind of voice that careers are built on, yet Ms. Durant, born in New Orleans now living in Brooklyn, refuses to take the easy road of relying on in-born talents. She brings into complication, depth and contradiction into her songs with a sharp, modern writer’s pen and an idiosyncratic cast of supporting musicians. Her crew on Islands is headed by TV on the Radio’s Kyp Malone and includes percussion-centric composer Otto Hauser, the boundary pushing pedal steel artist Jon Catfish DeLorme, at least once on harmonica, the eccentric folk singer Kath Bloom, and a large ensemble of brass and reeds. So when on opener “Rising Sun,” she playfully dabs at the Animals’ blues-rock chestnut (verses begin with the phrase “There is a house in New Orleans”), it’s within a precise lattice of country guitar, of multi-tonal percussion, of flickering bits of flute and woozy surges of trombone and trumpet. It lighter and more delicately structured than the song it references, yet built out elaborately with complex layers of instruments. The title cut, likewise, lifts off in airy weightlessness from the gospel chords of piano, as tied to tradition as it needs to be for resonance, yet fundamentally self-determined. There is nothing lovelier than Durant’s massed, multi-voiced choruses here, but the prettiness isn’t everything, far from it.

Jennifer Kelly

 Four Letter Words — Pinch Point (Amalgam Music)

Pinch Point by Four Letter Words

The Chicago-based trio Four Letter Words comes full circle on its second album. Pianist Matt Piet, tenor saxophonist Jake Wark and drummer Bill Harris first convened to play a night of trios at the venue Constellation, but then pursued an investigation of written material before returning to spontaneous music making for this nicely packaged, short run disc. You can get a lot out of this music by focusing on Harris’ inventiveness and humility, or Wark’s angular impetuousness or Piet’s astonishing capacity to pick the best ideas of a half century of jazz practice and put them in just the right places. But you might get more from listening to how the trio collectively imagines musical environments, realizes them, and then pushes off to the next idea at just the right moment to leave you wishing they’d stayed a little longer.

Bill Meyer

  Jake Xerxes Fussell — Out of Sight (Paradise of Bachelors)

Guitarist Jake Xerxes Fussell has a knack for curating old music, but his first two albums were more than simple collections of reworked folk music. His sharp playing and intelligent production (give William Tyler some credit here) have turned old tunes into something a little more vibrant. For Out of Sight, he adds a proper band to his presentation, and the presence of Nathan Bowles on drums is worth noting, even if that sympatico artist largely keeps in the background. In expanding his lineup, Fussell also expands his sound; he no longer just mines particular folk traditions, but instead he inserts himself into a larger Americana conversation. 

The move, intentionally or not, puts more of Fussell himself into the album, to its benefit. If anything held back his previous releases, it was this sense at the edges of the sound that Fussell had tied his own hands, his traditionalism tending toward that curator impulse. The songs on Out of Sight come from a variety of places (though if you plotted most of them on a Seeger-Lomax axis, it would make sense), but they're put into Fussell's current vision. “Three Ravens” builds a broad frame for a singular meditation, the sort of moment his work has hinted at without maintaining. Fussell sounds like he's deep in tradition, but committed to pushing it forward in his own way know, and it's a wonderful step for a gifted artist.

Justin Cober-Lake

 Halshug — Drøm (Southern Lord)

Drøm by Halshug

“Kæmper Imod,” the first track on Halshug’s new LP Drøm, could easily fit onto the second side of Black Flag’s The First Four Years, which chronicles the singles and EPs the Flag released during Dez Cadena’s tenure as front man. The Danish hardcore band hits all the necessary notes, channeling Greg Ginn’s ugly guitar tone and the vicious, overdriven quality of Southern Cali hardcore, c. 1981. The song might be a love letter, but the first side of Drøm doesn’t move far beyond the established sounds of a style now nearly 40 years old. On second side of the record, Halshug does some more varied stuff. “Tænk På Dig Selv” shifts in and out of competing rhythms and makes a winning ruckus. Most interesting are the industrial racket of “02.47” and the extended instrumental “Illusion,” which moves from hard rocking groove, to thunderously exuberant crusty riffing, to arcing drone, and then back again. It’s a hugely fun, sonically engaging song, which makes you wish Halshug would ditch the Hermosa Beach vibe that dominates much of the record.          

Jonathan Shaw

 DJ HARAM — Grace (Hyperdub)

Grace by dj haram

Philly based producer DJ Haram (Zubeyda Muzeyyen) builds the tracks on her Hyperdub debut Grace on darbuka rhythms in homage to her Middle Eastern roots. The album also reflects her involvement in the experimental scene as a DJ and half of noise/rap duo 700 Bliss (with Moor Mother). Over the delicate percussion she layers flutes, big slabs of synth, heavier beats and disruptive stabs of noise. “Candle Light (700 Bliss Remix)” introduces vocals with an impressionistic poetic rap over a purely percussive backing. There is an urgency here driven by the restless, relentless rhythms which makes Grace is a disquieting and claustrophic listening experience. Fans of Muslimgauze and Badawi will find much to admire. DJ Haram uses a limited palette to full and focused effect building atmosphere and impressively drawing a line between middle eastern and western electronic music.

Andrew Forell

 Tim Hecker — Anoyo (Kranky)

Anoyo by Tim Hecker

Tim Hecker may make music that envelops the listener with beatless, thickly textured sound, but don’t call it ambient. For while ambient music holds at least the possibility that you can get lost in its drift, Hecker likes to short-circuit comfort. Soft sounds turn grainy, plush clouds disappear and if you catch him in concert you’ll feel the music as much as you hear it because it’s that loud. Anoyo is a companion to last year’s Kanoyo, and like its predecessor originated with some collaborative sessions between Hecker and an ensemble of gagaku (Japanese traditional ceremonial) musicians. He mixes their sounds up with warped and reversed strings and squelchy synthetic bass, and shapes the resulting amalgam into aural vignettes that are less extravagantly mobile than the tracks on Kanoyo but equally dislocating as national traditions and diverse equipment collections swirl and meet on uncommon ground.

Bill Meyer

 Kapala — Termination Apex (Dunkelheit Produktionen)

Termination Apex by KAPALA

By its very nature, war metal is retrograde stuff. The fact that the bands most strongly associated with the subgenre (Proclamation and — yes, seriously — Bestial Warlust) hailed from nations that haven’t experienced much by way of war-related trauma for decades doesn’t help. Does it make a difference that Kapala live and record in Kolkata, and that India and Pakistan have effectively been at war in Kashmir since Partition, and have been in a U.N.-mediated ceasefire (sort of) since 1965? And that both nations are nuclear powers? And that India is led by a fiery Hindu nationalist? And that the cover art for Termination Apex features a stylized mushroom cloud? Yikes. Aesthetically, war metal has its appeal. It features simplistic riffing, technical primitivism and hammering percussion, all taken to sonic extremes. But its romanticization of industrially scaled destruction and nihilism is repugnant and culturally corrosive. Kapala will attract some attention just through exoticism — metal from India? Sure, I’ll check it out. But a reactionary artwork is a reactionary artwork, wherever it comes from.

Jonathan Shaw

 Khaki Blazer—Optikk (Hausu Mountain)

Optikk by Khaki Blazer

“Mothafucker ain’t nobody playing grooves in 13. You can’t get paid for playing grooves in 13. Ain’t nobody gonna shake their booty. That’s why you’re fucking broke,” observes an uncredited voice in the spikily difficult “4/4,” a typically intricate rhythmic concoction of electronic squeaks, blurts and rattles for this Kent, Ohio-based outfit. Pat Modugno who heads up Khaki Blazer, as well as Mothcock and Fairchild Tapes, constructs giddy, multilayered rhythms. In “Conga Line” sampled, altered voices do battle with rackety bursts of drumming and urgent, antic whistle of a melody. The parts work every which way, throwing elbows, stepping on toes, in furious conflict that somehow resolves itself into slinky rhythm. Whether in four, in six, in seven or in thirteen, Khaki Blazer cuts never take the easy way, but they are grooves all the same.

Jennifer Kelly

 Lambchop — This (Is What I Wanted to Tell You) (City Slang/Merge)

Fourteen albums in and Nashville’s increasingly sui generis Lambchop, led as always by Kurt Wagner, is doing something that feels unusual, at least for them. 2016’s digitally-enhanced FLOTUS was a sprawling statement of a record, and given the restlessness that led to the processing Lambchop used there it wouldn’t be a surprise if their new record went off in a totally new direction. Instead the focused, somewhat more straightforward This (Is What I Wanted to Tell You) could almost be a hefty postscript to FLOTUS. It doesn’t boast anything with the majesty of the two ten-plus minute tracks on the previous album, but all the songs here sound even more comfortable in their own hybrid skins, and as always Wagner is in fine lyrical form. It remains to be seen if this constitutes as Lambchop settling down, but if so it’s in a richer and more bracing way than most bands half their age can manage.  

Ian Mathers  

 Régis Renouard Larivière — Contrée (Recollection GRM)

Régis Renouard Larrivière was born in 1959. But if Discogs is a reliable reporter, despite having been involved in music as a student, instructor, and composer of musique concrete, this is only his second album. Presumably his works are intended more for the multi-speaker listening environments available to the Groupe de Recherches Musicales; certainly it’s not hard to imagine this LP’s three pieces caroming from speaker to speaker, elevating the listener into a mind-altered state induced more by unfamiliarity than sensate distortion. The way they leap off the vinyl of this 45-rpm LP is a trip in itself. No substance, prescribed or otherwise scored, will get you where this stuff takes you. Even when a sound seems familiar — there’s some identifiable drumming amidst the synthetic twitter and boom — it behaves in ways that are unconcerned with the laws of music. Despite its unnatural sound content, Larivière’s music moves more like some force of nature. “Esquive,” for example, evokes leaves in an updraft, circling and dispersing. Like those leaves, each sound has tactile identity that invites you to deal with his compositions at the atomic as well as meteorological level. Strap in, enjoy the ride.

Bill Meyer

  Gabriele Mitelli / Rob Mazurek — Star Splitter (Clean Feed)

The recurrent astronomical imagery in Rob Mazurek's music makes this much clear; his horizons are farther off than most. A restless multi-media artist (his work includes sound and light installations, painting, and composed and improvised music performed with various brass and electronic instruments in the company of musicians from at least three continents), he nonetheless has certain modes that he revisits. In Gabriele Mitelli, he has found an astute companion to follow him into the realm of ritual. In 2018, the two men stepped into the Mediterranean and blew their horns in the direction of the African refugees trying to cross the sea in untrustworthy vessels. No one showed up while they played, but the energy they projected took wind and you can still get a taste of it on Youtube. On Star Splitter, which was recorded on dry land in Florence, they add electronics, voices, and unidentified objects to their brass (Mitelli: cornet, soprano sax, alto flugelhorn; Mazurek: piccolo trumpet) to stir up four sonic maelstroms in celebration of planets from our solar system. Direct our ears in their direction and see how far your own horizons recede.

Bill Meyer

  Tony Molina—Songs from San Mateo County (Smoking Room/650 Records)

Songs From San Mateo County by Tony Molina

Tony Molina is a master of concision. No sooner have his songs stated their killer riff or indelible melody than they’re over, and damned if you wouldn’t like to hear them again. His blistery guitar and way with tunefulness evokes Teenaged Fanclub, and here, on a collection of unreleased and unfinished material from 2009 to 2015, it becomes clear that he doesn’t have to work that hard to hit that sweet spot. The odds and sods are as fetching as anything on his last three albums. Sure he plays fast and loose with some baroque guitar licks on “Intro” and “Been Here Before,” and maybe that’s a little bit off center for power pop genre. But he weaves them in, at least in “Been Here Before” in a way that reinforces the doomed romantic vibe. He rocks a little harder than usual, too, on cuts like “Hard to Know,” with a sidewinding guitar break worthy of Brian May in his prime, but as usual, any hint of rock star excess is limited: the cut is less than a minute long. “Separate Ways” layers sublime dream pop hooks over an incendiary racket, like J. Mascis stepped in to a Raspberries session. The whole collection is so catchy and so satisfying that you have to wonder what else Molina has languishing in his hard drive. Let the songs out, man. We can always use more of these.

Jennifer Kelly

 Mark Morgan — Department of Heraldry (Open Mouth)

The rise and fall of the guitar in popular and critical esteem relates directly to the fact that a lot of people play the thing, and a lot of them sound like lesser imitations of someone doing something that you never wanted to hear done with the thing. If this is your problem with the guitar, Mark Morgan is not part of your problem. The former member of Sightings makes a case for the instrument as a vehicle for creative sound manipulation that cannot be refuted by lazy reference to the dozens of records in your collection, or memory, or once-clicked, never closed browser pages. This music sounds like it is being chewed and digested during the passage from his amplifier to your eardrum. Molars indent twangs, incisors gnash chunks of fuzz, and acids strip off the crusty coating and lay bare the jagged bones of sounds that you really, really shouldn’t be swallowing, but that you really need to hear.

Bill Meyer

Private Anarchy — Central Planning (Round Bale)

Central Planning by Private Anarchy

Titular intimations of both anarchy and planning suggest internal tension that is born out by the music on this album, which is the inaugural vinyl release by hitherto cassette-oriented Round Bale Recordings. Private Anarchy has a bit of an identity crisis; shall one emulate the petulant, gotta get this off my chest delivery of David Thomas c. 1979 or the twangy stride that the Fall hit around the same time? Since the combo is really one man who is acquainted enough with the 21st century to put a laptop computer on the LP’s cover, Clay Kolbinger has taken the time to figure out how to do both at once. The admittedly derivative sounds are well executed, with enough apprehension to suggest that he is similarly motivated by a discomfort that cannot be assuaged.

Bill Meyer

  Rodent Kontrol — Live (Fuzzy Warbles Casettes)

Rodent Kontrol Live (FW13) by Fuzzy Warbles Cassettes

Delivering post-Meatmen teenage punk knuckleheadedness at its explosively deranged best, the short-lived Ann Arbor high-school band Rodent Kontrol played this impromptu live set on the University of Michigan's WCBN in 1987 following a performance by the Laughing Hyenas. The latter were one of the toughest acts to follow, but Rodent Kontrol's calamitous, search-and-destroy assault is so gleefully unhinged, and full of the kind of ill-defined yet apoplectic animosity that can only be mustered by the young and the reckless, they truly give Brannon and co. a run for their money. While Live is on the one hand an amusing artifact, it is on the other a true gem of a release in our current era of archival overabundance. Make no mistake, this is rough, sloppy, perhaps offensive stuff, and Rodent Kontrol didn't break any new ground musically or aesthetically. But the nearly sublime agitation exuded by these guys here is truly something to behold, creating a genuinely unnerving sense that something very bad about is about to happen, and when it does it will feel absolutely good. If that's not the point of this kind of thing, I don't know what is. In addition to the 1987 live performance, this cassette release (also available as a download) adds a 2012 reunion show featuring a slightly tighter, slightly more "mature" version of the band, but certainly no less nihilistic. 

Nate Knaebel

 Sail into Night — Distill (self released)

In the three years since this Dubai-based Pakistani duo’s very promising debut, it feels like if anything they’ve pared down their already elementally satisfying, nocturnal variety of post-punk slowcore to its simple, direct, powerful essence. Zara Mahmood’s harmonium, Nabil Qizilbash’s guitar, a drum machine and their vocals continue to be enough to generate surprisingly heavy music; although you’d be hard pressed to fit the music stylistically anywhere in the heavy metal realm, emotionally and tonally it exists somewhere between the “stonegaze” of a band like True Widow and the stark grandeur of early Low. From the chiming “Lighthouse” to the closing grind of “Apart,” Distill packs a lot of dark energy into a compact 30-minute run time.  

Ian Mathers

  The Schramms—Omnidirectional (Bar/None)

You might know Dave Schramm as an original member of Yo La Tengo or for his guitar work for a whole slew of artists ranging from The Replacements to Freedy Johnston. You might even remember a string of clever, understated country-pop albums from the early 1990s through the turn of this century under the nom de guerre The Schramms — though it’s been a long time. But this seventh Schramms album, the first since 2000, will take you right back to all that’s wonderful about Dave Schramm: quiet intelligence, unshowy but impressive skills, an alchemical way of slipping abrasive rock sounds into soft pop melodies, quality over flash, but still a bit of flash. Take, for instance, the way that “Faith is a Dusty Word” opens up from a rambling piano ballad into swoon-y Pet Sounds-worthy vocal counterpoints, or how contemplative “New England” blossoms from wispy indie pop into a bitter sweet rock anthem, a la American Music Club. Schramm plays with long-time drummer Ron Metz (their partnership dates back to the 1970s Ohio cult band The Human Switchboard) and bassist Al Greller, an original Schramm, so it’s all very burned in, with the easy, unstruggled-for precision of people know what will happen next. Subdued, well-thought-out guitar pop is definitely not the flavor of the month these days, but who cares about fashion when it’s this good?

Jennifer Kelly

 Slow Summits — Languid Belles (Hundreds and Thousands Records)

Slow Summits come jangling out of Linköping, Sweden like the keychain on a building supervisor’s belt. Their debut EP Languid Belles presents four tracks of perfectly rendered, chiming and literate indie pop. The foursome of Anders Nyberg (vocals, rhythm guitar), Karl Sunnermalm (lead guitar, harmonica, keyboards, glockenspiel), Mattias Holmqvist Larsson(bass, keyboards, percussion) and Fredrik Svensson (Drums) enlists Amelia Fletcher (Tender Trap, Talulah Gosh, Heavenly) on backing vocals on two tracks. If these guys worship at the altar of Postcard-era Scotland their songs pay more than just homage to Orange Juice, The Pastels and international contemporaries The Go-Betweens, Beat Happening and Felt. Sunny melodies and kindly sarcastic lyrics driven by a tight and swinging rhythm section hit every serotonin and dopamine center of the musical brain. Slow Summits are the latest Scandinavian band to keep on your radar; Languid Belles is irresistible and will leave you “simply thrilled honey”  

Andrew Forell   

 The Way Ahead — Bells, Ghosts and other Saints (Clean Feed)

Peel back one layer of the Scandinavian jazz scene and you’ll find another layer. If you’ve spent much time paying attention to Cortex, Friends & Neighbors or Paal Nilssen-Love’s Large Unit, you’ll recognize most of the members of this horn-heavy, piano-free octet. André Rolighten (tenor saxophone, clarinet) and Tollef Østvang (drums) write the tunes, and as you’d surmise from a band that finds three ways to pay homage to Albert Ayler in the album name, those tunes owe a lot to his ecstatic/anguished sentimentality. But they aren’t locked into Ayler’s modes; there are also passages that have a distinctly European brass band feel, and some brusque, almost boppish moments. The band might seem ironically named if you take the title literally; this music is rooted in the 1960s, a time before most of the band’s members were born But if you recognize that name comes from an Archie Shepp session with a similar line-up, their sincerity comes into focus. These guys are just trying to blow some life into music much like the stuff that first made them want to play the kind of jazz they’re playing, and they’ve got the wind power to do it.

Bill Meyer

[believerindaydreams]

you knew I had to ask K for the trio :3 I love me some post-apocalypse stuf

in which there is a stubborn refusal to settle on which apocalypse this actually is

“Terminat hora diem- what utter nonsense I’m spouting. A pet affectation, at best.” Talking to fill the void has never been my art; but our resident expert has abandoned the attempt. His face turned to the wall, prayer beads slipping through his fingers. Quite dead to the world.

Perhaps Tuco’s only being reasonable, when the world’s gone so mad as this. I defied the laws of society, true; but I never thought to see them so madly cast aside.

“In days of peace, perhaps it was,” Father Paul says, gripping my shoulder with his sun-browned hand. His face has never acquired laugh lines like his brother’s; but that harsh and look seems only fitting now. “But these are not the first bad times the church has seen- we’ve learned how necessary it is, to salvage after disaster. For the sake of mind as well as spirit. Your Latin is a treasure to be shared out, not forgotten.”

“Just the same as your Spanish, in that case.” Tuco will never press the point, so I must perforce.

I don’t expect him to take it well, but the man’s a stoic after the best; not a swallow, not a flicker of self-regard. “You’re right. Though it’s been a long time, since I was Pablo Ramirez.”

“I’ll help you,” Tuco says eagerly, distracted from his empathy; and for that one bright look of eagerness, I think our resident prior would have made a harder sacrifice.

I would have done myself, if the chance was there; but Tuco’s known long since that I’d die readily enough to protect him from my errors.

And considering what we’ve already lost? What else is there to give?

******

“I knew before you told me,” Tuco says that night. Holding fast to me with more strength than wit.

A fragile lovemaking, this, and not properly deserving the name at all- nothing lofty and transformative, neither is it forgetful and cheerfully animal. My pareja has been talking incessantly now he’s found his voice again, proving his humanity every minute; and it is not how this should be but nothing is now.

“You heard it on the radio?” I’d been with Pablo when the news had come through, a lazily meaningless game of backgammon.

(Was this how superstitions began, in past centuries? For I can’t envision touching a backgammon board again with any pleasure.)

“No- no. I woke up from my siesta, and I saw Blondie standing by the window, smoking a cigarillo. He said to me, it’s finished. That’s all, but the way he said it! So much sadness in his voice… I hid beneath the covers. Then he was gone when I looked again.”

“You know he isn’t here, Tuco.” Fancy’s fancy, but fact is fact. Blondie’s not coming back this time. Won’t again walk through that door, covered in mud and exhausted from his camping trip, patiently resigned to Tuco’s lavish coddling and my own amused pleasure at his reappearance.

If I had kept up my old trade, all those contacts and lethal information at my fingertips, would he be alive now? Most likely not- an earlier grave for all us three, if I’m being honest with myself.

I wish to lie. I wish to berate myself with absurd scenarios in which we lived, whatever improbable unmarked path would have kept the three of us together. Now, that’s hardly more sensible-

“If I’d gone to him, maybe he’d be here,” Tuco says hoarsely, a dry sob sticking in his throat. “If I’d taken Blondie by the hand, if I hadn’t turned away-”

Thank a god I don’t believe in, that one of us is rational. “That’s nonsense and you know it.”

“I believe in miracles- Angel, do you know what a hellish thing it is, to believe? To think that if you’d only been holier, your faith might have been enough-”

he struggles with me then, roughly pushing his way out of my grasp, and I don’t dare stop him; it takes all my effort to keep old instincts from rising up. I might hurt him to the quick, if he caught me by surprise; and Tuco knows that well.

(That his native caution has so far deserted him, that’s a worse hurt than all the rest together. The world burning is its own affair; but my pareja is irreplaceable.)

(The more so, because Blondie wasn’t either.)

“I hate- I hate-” he’s crying now, at the foot of the bed; and it wrings my heart with a strange relief. He’ll be far more himself after such an outpouring, those quick sympathies and sudden rages of his.  

“That’s fair. Don’t berate yourself for that.”

“I hate how hungry I am.”

Rather the nonsequitur: but that’s easily remedied. It’s only a moment’s work to step out and pluck out a round, perfect orange. Listening all the time, if he should attempt something unfortunate in my absence.

But he’s not moved at all when I come back. Limp fingers won’t hold the offered sphere; I take it back, contemplating how to peel it. There’s a knife conveniently to hand, in the pocket of my neatly folded trousers.

I don’t think I could bring myself to commit even so small a violence, in Tuco’s presence. Not today. Better to take a cue from my innamorato, and tear it with my teeth- tough and rather bitter work, but doable-

Tuco’s fit looks more like a seizure than giggling; but giggling it nevertheless is. He sprawls across the quilts, close enough to touch again; I refrain until the spasming’s stopped. Then stroke him with slow careful strokes, the oil from my hands transferring to his flesh, staining him wherever I touch.

“Oh, Angel, don’t- don’t try to be him. It wouldn’t ever work.”

“That’s not what I-”

“It was a little.”

He hands me the knife; I finish quickly, putting aside the ravaged peel. Orange segments neat and unbroken, the way that Tuco prefers them. They sit on the bed, untouched.

“It occurs to me. That fruit bowl might hold the last oranges either of us will ever see.”

“Yeah, I thought of that too.”

For all his claim of appetite, his look at the fruit is uninterested at best. There’s more light in his eye when it falls on my body, still naked as his own- it’s very cold, this late. I draw the bedclothes over us, grasping for his warmth. We should have Blondie for this; and that small loss is a banality of almost unimaginable pettiness, but that does nothing to stop the odd tear dropping into Tuco’s curls.

“I mean I want to eat something, my belly’s empty. You’re here and I want to fuck you, and I want- I should be in mourning, shouldn’t I? Shouldn’t my heart be broken?”

My only comparable experience would be with my mentor; and she’d left such clear and precise instructions, a rigorous schedule to maintain, that I was left with no blank time for grieving. Blondie would never be so organised, as to provide a forthright message-

“If you have a joke, Angel, I think I could stand to hear it.”

“…it certainly would be ironic, if he’d won his wings for the sole purpose of consoling you.” There will be better times to point out the probability of his dreaming. Not tonight.

Tuco doesn’t laugh. He snorts.

“Like my partner was a saint- ha. No, he was human like me, and I’m glad of that too! You should have some of this orange, Angel, I think you’re getting light headed.”

“All right.” I sit up against the headboard, pull him upright with me. Carefully detach a single delicate segment with my bare hands, pop one end of it into my mouth. Palpitate it delicately to squeeze out the juice.

“You make that look pretty sexy…”

“Come and get it, then.”

The following could be described only as a mess.

Orange over the quilt, on my thigh, crushed against my teeth. A chunk of peel lodged jauntily behind Tuco’s ear, while juice drips down his mustache; he licks at it contentedly.

There’s waste to this, an extravagance that would seem rather contemptible to my mentor- and if she’d ever thought to mention what to do in case of apocalypse, I might have better notions, but the thought really hadn’t occurred. This time is already more grace than I’d know what to do with.

But I have not lain with my lovers for so many years, without letting their appreciation of softness bind to my sharp awareness of every moment. If he’s all I have left, I’ll have him and kiss him again-

(why, there won’t be any need to translate Spanish in bed, now-)

“God above, I’m glad to see this. Been scared to hell about you two.”

“…that’s Blondie, isn’t it?” Tuco remarks. Not turning his head.

“It is.”

“So he’s definitely there, it’s not just me.”

“Right.”

“But he wasn’t here this afternoon.”

“No?” Blondie says, looking quizzical. “I was still with Penny- it’s a lucky thing she had the plane all fueled up, we made it here on fumes. Or not even that, we kinda…crashed, actually. Not too badly. She’s clever that way.”

“Is all well?” If I allowed a bagatelle like being caught in flagrante with orange rind in my hair, by a man who has no business being anything but a ghost, to put me off my poise…it’d be a rather poor show.

“Sure! Sure. She’s waiting for me to come back with the van, so we can get all the cargo back here. I’ll have to talk to Father Paul about that, but I needed to see you two safe first-”

“I think I must be a terrible person,” Tuco says musingly, while I’m preoccupied with rediscovering every angle of my innamorato’s anatomy. Each familiar, and yet new as sunrise-

“Why?” we both chorus.

“That cargo- I guess we get to keep it, yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” Blondie agrees, between breathless kisses. (His rasping stubble is paining me, where the citric acid stings, and I would not trade the sensation for anything.) “What about it? I thought you’d be happy.”

“Oh, I don’t know. If I have you two…what kind of catastrophe is that, huh?”

“A bad one,” Blondie says mock-solemnly, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“A very bad one,” I agree, taking his hand.

“…it’s all the other people I feel bad for,” Tuco says gloomily, huddling between us. “Who aren’t lucky like me, you know? I mean, I’m the kind of person who- who gets killed in the first five minutes, that’s what, and then everybody else dies too, and it’s just- two blonds walk off to Eden in the sunset-”

“We’re not gonna let that happen,” Blondie insists. “You’re gonna make it through the same as us- aren’t we, Angel?”

It’s strange, really, that everything’s changed and yet nothing has at all.

“Of course.”

I drag the knife along my tongue, carefully cleaning it of acid. I may need it in future. Quite soon even, if there’s trouble on the road. 

But not, I think, just yet. 

Unfortunate Penny and her plane full of orange marmalade will simply have to wait.

[thecreaturecodex]

Whowie

“Youi” © G.River as Miho Midorikawa, accessed at their website here

[Commissioned by @listmaker-lastcity​. The yowie, whowie or wowie is a monster with a split personality. Several, actually. The original is a Swallower from Southern Australia, to use @a-book-of-creatures​ category, which resembles a giant lizard with a frog’s head. It is used to explain the terrain of the Murray River--the creature shaped the dunes with its movements, and weird sounds heard in the night are its ghostly wails. In the 19th century, the name yowie was appropriated by European colonists to refer to a wild-man. Modern crypto sources consider the yowie to be the “Australian Bigfoot” and lump a few dozen other Australian Aboriginal monsters into the same category, regardless of how well it fits (see the puttikan).

The more insect-like whowie was invented for The Encyclopedia of Things That Never Were, presumably riffing off of the six legs in the original description. The commissioner requested I use this version, but the stats would suit the original frog-lizard just as easily. The art I’m using is circulated widely around the internet, without a source attributed to it. I guessed the artist due to the style and was happy to find myself correct.]

Whowie CR 11 N Magical Beast This massive creature appears to be a cross between insect and reptile. Its head has bulging eyes and an oversized maw, and it has a long, lashing tail. Its six legs are thin and plated like those of a beetle.

Whowies are enormous predators that live in gallery forests along riverbanks. Such areas are excellent hunting and fishing grounds, which is good because the whowie requires vast amounts of food. They are not evil or actively malicious, but consider humanoids to be food and often hunt in settlements or farms. A whowie is slow and stupid, but does not need to be fast or cunning. They are surrounded by a perpetual aura of silence, masking their movements, and can swallow an entire village worth of people, one or two at a time.

Whowies lair in burrows dug near the riverbank. They can alter the consistency and shape of earth and stone as if by instinct, and whowies seem to entertain themselves through sculpting berms, dunes and moats. Over time a whowie’s territory will gain increasingly dramatic earthforms. They are solitary creatures that come together only to mate. During mating season, whowies call to each other over great distances—both creatures need to lower their auras of silence to make such communication possible. A male whowie is finished after fertilizing a female, but the female creates an elaborate nest out of earth and rotting vegetation and monitors it carefully while the eggs develop. Once babies are hatched, the whowie is finished with her parental care and leaves. Juvenile whowies are more aquatic than they are as adults, but all ages use water to cool off and occasionally ambush prey.

Whowie CR 11 XP 12,800 N Huge magical beast (earth) Init +1; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +9, tremorsense 60 ft. Aura silence (30 ft.) Defense AC 24, touch 9, flat-footed 23 (-2 size, +1 Dex, +15 natural) hp 147 (14d10+70) Fort +14, Ref +10, Will +7 Immune acid, electricity; SR 22 Offense Speed 30 ft., swim 30 ft. Melee bite +21 (2d12+8 plus grab), tail slap +15 (2d8+4) Space 15 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Special Attacks endless gullet, fast swallow, swallow whole (AC 17, 14 hp, 1d8+12 bludgeoning plus 2d6 acid) Statistics Str 26, Dex 13, Con 20, Int 2, Wis 12, Cha 12 Base Atk +14; CMB +24 (+28 grapple); CMD 35 (43 vs. trip) Feats Blind-fight, Cleave, Great Cleave, Iron Will, Power Attack, Skill Focus (Stealth), Weapon Focus (bite) Skills Climb +13, Perception +9, Stealth +12, Swim +21; Racial Modifiers +8 Stealth SQ earthwarp, hold breath Ecology Environment warm forests and aquatic Organization solitary or pair Treasure incidental Special Abilities Aura of Silence (Su) A whowie is surrounded by silence, as per the spell, in a 30 foot radius. It can activate or deactivate this aura as a standard action. Earthwarp (Su) As a standard action, a whowie can use soften earth and stone in a 20 foot radius within 60 feet. By concentrating for a minute, it can use stone shape or move earth in a 20 foot radius within 60 feet. Endless Gullet (Su) A whowie’s guts are an extradimensional space. It may have any number of creatures swallowed at a time, and creatures that cut their way out of a whowie do not prevent it from swallowing additional creatures. If it swallows an object that contains an extradimensional space such as a bag of holding or portable hole, it is sucked into the Astral Plane (as are all creatures it has swallowed) and the object is destroyed.

[black-white-10]

Angel of Wrath

After the Sword of Light was cast into space to wander for eons, the ancient forge was kept active to produce more divine weapons. From the smoldering heat and the dark-red sentient flames emerged gold glistening gauntlets, the Creator of All blessed these weapons with his Essence of Wrath. The gauntlets were crafted with a molten star core and a shard of corrosion; the weapons exuded a dark gold aura with a sense of pure rage. The Creator snapped the weapons away to an unknown location, there they lied undisturbed and dormant until someone came to wield them. Centuries later fauna and overgrowth had spread all around the weapon, which hid it well from any ordinary explorer or adventurer. A mysterious ship arrived at the remote planet, once it landed a squadron of Scavs exited the ship. Tattered rags and mismatched outfits were the norm for these folk, they survived on the acquisition and selling of rare minerals and metals from remote planets such as these. Their leader walked out shortly after them, took a quick look at the planet they stood and then assigned groups to the them. "Sir, as we suspected I cross-referenced recent star charts with older ones from a few hundred years ago. This planet was believed to be destroyed, as such most of its statistical data has been deleted." The scav leader took a look at the logs, and requested two standby operatives to begin scans of the region. They both scouted the area, after a few hours reported back that the planet had large deposits of uranium. One of the operatives proceeded to head back to the ship, with a misplaced step, slipped off a steep mountain side. The operative fell into the greenery below, near the ancient relic, afterward checked for any damage and saw that his comms unit was destroyed. Though his attention was quickly taken by the relic that floated nearby, entranced, the scav shambled to the weapon. Meanwhile, the leader of the scav crew recalled all the other members he had sent away earlier. "Alright everyone, for the past four solar quadrants there's been another ship tracking us. Now I landed us here to get some extra resources but also to corner this pursuer. Man your stations and cloak yourself from orbital scans!" A few seconds later they received updated scans of a ship in orbit soon to be on its way to their location, quickly they activated their city-wide comms-jammer, then mobilized and hid themselves in strategic areas. The unknown ship exited orbit, entered the planet's atmosphere, quickly it flew down then hovered near the area where the scavs hid. "Alright keep her steady in auto-pilot for now, once I give you the signal circle the area then land near that Scav ship." The scav leader, leaned outward from his hiding spot then observed the marks on the mysterious ship. "A bounty hunter, huh? Hopefully they're better than the last three we killed." "Don't worry 'bout it, just another bounty hunter, still be ready for anything," said the Leader to the rest of his crew. Meanwhile, the lone scav finally stood in front of the relic, his eyes were filled with a lustful greed and slowly he was consumed with madness and corruption. The weapons sensed that this man, was unfit to wield them, suddenly it shifted from our plain of reality, the pirate tried to grasp the weapons but his hands kept going right through it. The clearly already driven mad by the weapon,  set off in a frenzy back to the rest of the scavs. Afterward, the bounty hunter emerged from the ship, "Alright, all systems are green-lit, I'm heading out." She landed silently, her attention drawn by the scav that walked out of a dark cave. Without hesitation, she sneaked up on the scav and prepared to incapacitate him before being lured into the cave by subtle whispers. The other operative tensed up briefly, before calming down at seeing his crew-mate return unexpectedly. "There you are, I was worried something had happened. Anyways, why didn't you answer the recall that happened earlier?" The crazed scav stared at his friend, a malicious grin crept on his face, "Sorry my comms unit got busted when I fell earlier." Without hesitation, took out his weapon then aimed his friend. "Hey, calm down. Don't fucking joke around like this." The other operative, unnerved by his partner's action, held his hand near his pistol. "It's mine! You won't take it from me!" said the mad scav then shot at his friend, and was amazed that it hit a vital weak-point. Berserk beyond salvation, the scav rushed onward and ambushed the rest of them. With precise shots, ruptured the air supply on the suits of the other scavs. A few explosions went off as the deranged scav laughed endlessly, the Scav leader and some injured survivors retreated to the safety of the ship. The bounty hunter went into the cave, driven slowly by the murmurs that echoed louder from the depth of the darkness. With a minor fall she tripped further into the cave, and subconsciously moved to where a mysterious light emanated from. Once in the chamber she laid eyes on the relic, with a quick glance noticed that it wasn't any recognizable technology. There was a reverberation that stirred the air around the relic, the bounty hunter stood there amazed at the aura that exuded from it. The gauntlets shifted back into our reality and floated to her, "You who has not fallen into darkness or despair, unnamed huntress, wield me and show the universe our wrath." She reached out to the gauntlets, in an odd movement the weapons reassembled themselves onto her. To her surprise the gauntlets were light as a feather and fit like a glove, while her soul began to tremble with awe. The strength of the weapons flowed into her, then radiated back out as a gold aura, which strengthened her spirit and rage. Though in that passive feeling, she was still curious as to why the gauntlets had accepted her. The aura that now enveloped her formed into bright gold ribbons, that wrapped swiftly around her arms and the gauntlets. A burst of speed guided her back out the cave, it was then she noticed that most of the scavs had died. The frenzied scav turned around, his movements were now contorted and abnormal, though froze in shock, not before long he returned to the madness and shot at her. "My weapons! My possession! Give them back!" He said frantically, shook in place as if possessed with a dark aura around him, and followed up with a succession of more shots. The gauntlets resonated with her focus, and heightened it immensely as she dodged every shot. The gauntlets passively shifted her from reality, the constant shifts allowed her to slip behind him and deliver blows to the scav's back. He screamed in agony, the environmental suit corroded while chunks of his skin melted off and burst into flames. The scav ship powered up then darted away, her fists clenched followed with the glimmer of a revolver. Next, she took a short breath, and shot the scav in the head, "Fucker, made me lose my target. Alright come by and pick me up!" "Angel of Wrath is my name..." the gauntlets whispered to her, after she boarded. Soon after, the ship left the planet in pursuit of her bounty. Angel of Wrath is a legendary weapon that is regarded in mysticism and skewed opinions; because of it's ability to drive people with evil intents mad and sporadic, beings who are well-versed with it is see it as evil or unholy. This weapon can strengthen a wielders spirit and soul to a greater level than that of normal beings, while also mildly enhancing their rage and anger during combat. It also allows itself and the user to slip between our realm and that of the Realm of Spirits. Because of it's peculiar way of how it was crafted, using wrath by the Creator himself and a molten star core it has immense corrosive and mild combustible properties. Ascended Soul of Wrath : This passive ability allows the gauntlets to strengthen every aspect of its wielder's spirit and soul. Since it was blessed with the Creator's wrath it allows the weapon to heighten the users rage and anger during combat; sometimes making them be more rash and hasty in thoughts and judgment. Corruption Beckons : This passive allows the weapons and its aura to drive malicious beings to madness, causing them to lose rationality and slowly go feral. Though to be noted, that any being that is strong enough can resist or otherwise be immune this effect. Spiritual Shift/Dash : Passive ability that let's the weapons shift to and from the Realm of Spirits. In the case of the gauntlets used by the user, it allows them to shift as well or dash and vanish from the vision of an enemy. Gold Corrosion : Active ability that adds a high potent acidic effect to the weapons attacks. It will eat through any conventional armor and some weakened divine armor. Soul Spark : Active ability that adds a mild explosive/ignite effect to the weapons attacks. These attacks will burn any target with white holy flames sometimes exploding with a bright flash similar to a flash grenade. From the Ancient Archives of Truths of the Unseen, Angel of Wrath - Gold Crimsoned Justice.