#as you can see he is affected by the mutation and the fog itself even though you can't see it lol

[hauntingmiser]

MERMAY DAY XXVII

hello?

Is it on?

Yep!

Ok.

[ this is however a pre-recorded message / a note by a local animal that knows morse code so enjoy ]

Hello.

my name is fox

I'm a researcher of the fog and the cursed crystals of 'mother nature' and stuff

I however help around the the beach and help others in need

I am not a fish but I'm a diver of some sort

I however get research across many locations in freshwater inaba by swimming

it has gotten worse according to my calculations since then more merpeople got sick or more merpeople gotten mutated or end up dead

I'm however postponing this until the fog is less dense and more explorable

so I can however get more fish food by marine biologists

- your 'underwater' shrine guardian

Fox

( p.s you owe me several kilos of dog kibble so pay up rn )

[ end of note / audio recording ]

But hey!

on the bright side..... at least there's one incident of horrid mutations that probably would distort somebody's body that will not spoil anything!

and-

*beeping intensifies*

what's making all that racket?

*looks at screen*

*RHHHHOOOWWW*

*the lights of the submarine flashes off and on leaving to nothing there until......*

WAHT THE HELL-

*silence......until it gets broken by swimming....and now attacking the of underwater camera*

*and the person who did it is....*

"RAAAAAAAHHHOOOOWWWW"

*the screen ends with broken static*

....oh god

It's getting worse now isn't it?

I need to find a cure fast before I get bitten....by those mutated creatures.......

[riviae]

there are times when the grief of it all—what he has lost, the hand he played in marching his friends into the very maw of death—overwhelms geralt.

he has never found sleep easy, but there are some nights where the memories eat away at him. the guilt has a hunger that threatens to strip him bare, leave nothing but the bones and aches of a life lived on the edge of a bloodied sword. geralt had never been afraid of death until he had people he cared about. perhaps he had been afraid of the pain, the suddenness, or worse, the possible torture of a slow death, but death itself? it was a mercy all witchers sought at one time or another; when you are shown only hate and fear, when your only option is to be shunned or despised, any end to that would be seen as a gift.

geralt cursed to himself. he had been wandering aimlessly through the night, and yet, he found himself in front of a certain graveyard. 

when he had first visited the mère-lachaiselongue cemetery, before he knew that regis was alive, he had found that unlike most places he passed in his travels, mère-lachaiselongue tugged stubbornly at his heart, so much so that a sprig of homesickness seemingly took root overnight. there was something achingly familiar about the ivy-covered mausoleum nestled within the forest of gravestones and oaks, something familiar in the scattered dark feathers of the ravens roosting on the roof that stared back with ancient, coal black eyes.

(it had only been a moment, but as he ushered roach back onto the dirt path, geralt had thought he caught the familiar scent of herbs--of basil, cinnamon, and thyme--in the wind. but then it was gone, just another ghost of a memory he could not put to rest.)

now, as he approached the crypt, he saw that there was a lantern by the door, its flame glowing a soft gold in the dark. it was a new moon, and despite his mutations his sight was limited, the pitch-black of night swallowing what existed in his periphery, leaving him with what amounted to tunnel vision unless he took another potion of cat. instead, he picked up the lantern with a soft smile and found himself opening the door and descending the stairs before he could convince himself that he shouldn’t.  

the vampire’s living quarters did not smell of death or decay--there was but a light musk of the old tomes that lined the wooden shelves and geralt felt some measure of tension leave his body at the calming scent of herbs. once upon a time, the scent had been strong and pungent, but like any scent someone is subjected to long enough, it eventually loses its strength. now, it reminded him of a forest, of six figures huddled around a campfire, of a home that only existed in his memories. 

“geralt,” regis says, tone pleasant and light as he continues to stir the contents within the large black cauldron, his back turned to the witcher. “what a lovely surprise. can i help you with something, my friend?” 

whatever reply rests on the tip of his tongue suddenly does not feel enough. he wants to say regis, i’m sorry. and why don’t you hate me? you died because of me, and everywhere i go in toussaint brings back another memory i’ve tried to bury and it feels like i’m losing my mind. instead, the witcher says,“did you know that the kitchen table in beauclair palace hasn’t been replaced yet?” 

the vampire turns around, leaving the large ladle in the cauldron without a forethought. geralt blinks once and then regis is in front of him, less than an arm’s length away.

in the dim light of the crypt, regis’ eyes glow a haunting silver as he reaches towards geralt. the warmth and weight of the vampire’s hand against his own is not unpleasant and he doesn’t even realize that regis has gently extracted the lantern from his knuckle-white grasp until it is resting alone on a nearby slab of stone. the witcher’s hands are trembling as if he’s stayed out too long in a frigid downpour, but he can’t understand why they are shaking now. he’s not afraid of regis--never has been, really. not even when he had first flashed his too-sharp teeth in a mocking sneer all those years ago. 

there’s a sudden, strange sense of dissociation, as if he’s not really in his body--as if it’s not his body at all. he doesn’t recognize it, the sudden trembling, the quickened heart-beat thudding in his ears, but it reminds him faintly of what he feels at the cusp of terror. the times where he had stared death in the face with nothing but a sword at his side. 

there is nothing to fear here, yet his legs crumble underneath him all the same, the dull ache in his bad knee rising to a painful crescendo. it is only thanks to regis that he doesn’t shatter his kneecap again, the vampire’s strong hold allowing for his knees to only lightly skim the floor. the witcher is barely supporting his own weight now, his heart still galloping at a rate much faster than it should as regis tugs him closer, tucking him gently against him. 

“it’s alright... you’re alright, geralt,” regis says softly, listening to the minute changes within the witcher’s circulatory system. “i’m here, with you. i’m not going anywhere. you’re safe here.” 

the words pierce through the fog within geralt’s mind, bringing him briefly back into the present. even in the worst of times, regis had been an anchor, something to cling to when he felt like his world was crumbling around him. 

(& then, suddenly, he had withered away--became ash, a crumbling pillar, another casualty that geralt somehow survived. a thing he shouldn’t have survived, but did. he outlived so many of his friends, so many of his companions... how much loss could one person take before it drove them mad? geralt wasn’t sure, but he felt himself teetering on the edge of some great precipice, unsure of what rested on the other side.) 

he hasn’t had regis back for long and he was still getting used to having the vampire in his life. in having someone he got to keep, to cherish. someone who knew what he had gone through, who had seen it with his own dark eyes and emerged from the rubble all the same. it was difficult, learning to rely on others, but geralt felt his hands unconsciously dig into the soft fabric of regis’ shirt, felt himself press closer to the vampire, still trembling, still on the edge of breaking, but soothed somewhat by the gentle beat of regis’ heart. 

“i still hear it,” he confesses, sorrow stuck in his throat. “everyone’s screams. your screams.” 

“geralt...” regis breathes, this time running a comforting hand through the witcher’s hair. “you aren’t to blame for any of that. we knew what we signed up for. everyone knew the risks, the likelihood of survival. it was our choice, geralt. don’t ever think that you had some nefarious role in this; you did not force anyone to go to stygga. you did not kill them. their deaths are not your burden to bear.” 

“that may be true... but if we hadn’t all met, if i had just gone on this journey alone... they’d all still be alive. you wouldn’t have suffered the way that you did, regis. that i know for sure.” 

“that may be true, but they also wouldn’t have lived. don’t you see, geralt? we loved being in your company. in becoming friends. our lives all collided for a reason--and i think we all became better people because of it. i don’t think anyone--not milva, dandelion, cahir, or dear angouleme--would have chose a different path even if they knew how it was all to end. destiny was not kind, in the end, but i daresay knowing you, geralt, changed us all.” regis paused, voice soft with adoration. “you have no idea how you affect people. how your natural kindness, your desire to do the right thing, no matter how difficult, inspires goodness in others. i know you would sacrifice everything for us... it’s only fair that you let them do the same, without guilt. let them rest, geralt. there is no need to torture yourself over things you had no control over.” 

at his words, geralt felt the rare sting of tears. his mutations had almost made the ability to produce tears impossible--but perhaps it was the years of loneliness, years of wishing things had gone differently, only to hear the kind words of one of his closest friends absolving him of such guilt, that made the tears spring forth. he cried silently, wetting the edge of regis’ collar. 

the vampire said nothing, but held him tighter all the same.

he cried until he could cry no longer, until he was so tired that his eyes began to close against his will. it was a start, he thought, just as he slipped into unconsciousness. it was a start in accepting all that had happened in his long life. but he had regis, he had ciri, he had yen, he had dandelion, and he had the other wolf school witchers--his own family of choice. the family he had made for himself. 

he didn’t need to face his grief alone. never again. 

[metalgearkong]

Darkwood - Review (Switch)

12/8/19

Developed by Acid Wizard Studio, released August 2017

Darkwood looked exactly like the kind of game I love: dark and disturbing. This game advertises itself not only to be unforgiving, but also struts the fact that it contains no jump-scares. Darkwood seemed to be a promising game, and after buying and downloading it, I have a lot of thoughts about it. I want to say right away I didn’t quite finish the game. This game certainly isn’t shy about saying how challenging it is, and I agree, mainly in its opening and final hours. What sold me the most about this game was its top-down perspective, and I saw a quick video online of the light bending through the trees as the character walked through a thick patch of woods. It looked like a unique enough game, and if it could fill me with dread without any jump-scares, I was all in. Darkwood was developed by a Polish company, Acid Wizard Studio, which I believe is their first commercial game to date.

You may be able to see around you due to the game’s perspective, but can only see objects, items, and characters if they fall into you beam of light. This means things can still surprise you, and you need to look around just as you would in a normal 3rd person action game. It also means monsters can still sneak up on you because if there’s something in the way of your flashlight beam, or they approach from the side, you won’t see it until they’re right in front of you. This is the closest the game comes to having jump-scares, but its more of a emergent gaming moment because none of that is necessarily designed, and is a byproduct of the AI. We play as some guy who is stuck in a portion of the woods where all routes have been overgrown, rendering them impassible. The main objective of the game is for the protagonist to find a man who has stolen a key from you, leading to the only way out of the woods.

The gameplay cycle of Darkwood is to scavenge for supplies during the day, and defend yourself in a hideout at night. The environments are mostly open world, and each time you start a new game, the map is somewhat randomized. I found this out with my numerous attempts to start the game over again when I feel like I learned more about the mechanics, and wanted to start off on a better foot. Darkwood is definitely what I’d call a “survival” style game, where the action and adventuring takes a backseat to the meticulous collection of items and crafting. The protagonist can only run briefly as your stamina meter runs out quickly. It also refills quickly, but it means you have to take measured sprints with frequent breaks. This comes into play especially when being chased by a mad dog or monster. It also affects how quickly you can get back to your hideout as the sun sets and night takes over. Nighttime is far more dangerous than the day time, and it reminds me of the difference between the fog world and Otherworld of the Silent Hill games.

The mechanics have a high learning curve, which lead to a lot of frustration at the beginning of the game. Learning through trial and error what items are important and which are junk is just part of the process. You then have to learn how to best make your hideout as safe as possible, as it becomes your safe bunker while the night takes over. In real world time, the sun is up for about 20 minutes, while night is only about 5 minutes. It also reminds me of Dying Light, where the nighttime is the most dangerous, and even though its shorter than the day time, it can feel much longer due to the tension and focus you need to survive. The more days that go on, the more the threats slowly get greater and greater. I recommend buying a watch as soon as possible because being able to tell the exact in-game time is crucial for planning your day (and knowing how much longer nighttime lasts each night).

One of the most important things you can do is collect gasoline and wood. Keeping the lights on means keeping the generator gassed up, and you need wood in order to barricade windows. However, nearly everything is important in some way. For example, scrap metal can be crafted into bear traps and other defenses. Bottles and rags can be combined with gas or alcohol to make Molotov cocktails. There’s a use for almost everything, which makes the day time so important to find as many things as possible. During the day is the time to complete quests as well. One of my favorite parts about the game are the sentient visitors you’ll get to interact with. Eventually a mutated trader visits you in your hideout each morning, and he becomes your best friend quickly. When the trader visits, you get unlimited in-game time to trade and build new items. This is a godsend in a game like this where time is your biggest resource. Once you’re ready, and you leave the hideout, normal time resumes.

The art on these characters is dark and disturbing. Not a single NPC is a normal person, and few of them are any better than ambiguously malicious. I loved encountering new NPCs to talk to just to see the art that brings them to life, and learn about their personality. Occasionally you will find an opportunity to help one character or another, which can affect how things proceed in the future. For example, if you go against the Wolfman he will no longer serve as a vendor, but the Musician may have an advantage worth the sacrifice. None of this is explicitly told to you and I loved inching my way forward, wary of everything I did and how it might affect me. When you survive each night you earn an amount of “reputation.” Reputation is your currency in this post-apocalypse, and it’s what you use to trade with. Selling items to a vendor earns you reputation, while buying things costs reputation. It’s important to be extremely frugal, you gain reputation from surviving a night in your hideout. If you die during the night, no new reputation for you the next day.

Sound design is crucial for any horror game to establish the oppressive atmosphere and dread. Darkwood, while not graphically impressive as a top-down Unity game, knocks it out of the park with its audio. This is doubly true for the nighttime segments. I loved dragging both lamps in the hideout to the room I’ve hunkered down in, and just listening to the noises around me. It also helps in identifying monsters or threats in the environments even if they don’t cross your beam of light. Eventually monsters and savages will outright break into your hideout, and you need to defend yourself with any means possible. Building nail boards and shovels make for decent melee weapons in the beginning, but both tools have a long wind up animation, and don’t deliver much damage. Furthermore every item degrades when used, so nothing lasts forever. Eventually you will gain enough reputation to start purchasing gun parts and ammunition. I can’t tell you how good it feels to finally build something like a pistol, and have one or two extra mags of ammunition. 

This is truly a grim game with an overbearing sense of dread and hopelessness, and if you enjoy that kind of atmosphere, Darkwood will satisfy that curiosity. This is also one of the more difficult games I’ve ever played, mainly in its early hours experimental phase, where I restarted the game at least 5 times until I felt like I got the hang of the mechanics. This front end frustration nearly turned me off from the game altogether, but I kept trying, and eventually made it to nearly the end of the story. I enjoyed Darkwood the most in its middle portions, when you get into a rhythm of scavenging, crafting, defending, and accomplishing missions. I rage-quit when I was maybe a few quests from the end of the game, when the ammo I had saved up for so long, instantly was all gone when I cam across a shed full of monsters and had to use waste every single bullet I had labored so hard for. It can feel like a set back quite a bit if you make one or two mistakes, and that frustration kept me from being inspired to push through till the very end. But, I do see myself coming back to this game in the future, and conquering the dark nightmare armed with the new knowledge I have on how to succeed.

8/10

[kvnynsphotolibrary]

Olivier Pin-Fat: I’m interested in your concepts behind and use of image repetition in your work. Especially between the 2 series 'FOG' (colour) and 'BACKYARD' (black and white). Why do you do this, what does it mean for you and what are trying to express with it?   Daisuke Yokota: We recollect a single experience from the past again and again. But I don't think these recollected memories are always the same. Memories are always brought out in relation to a present condition, and through this repeatable recollection of memories I believe a memory becomes influenced by - and therefore - a product of what is happening to us now. Although the physical experience of time is singular, I believe time at a conscious level can multiply every time one recollects a memory and the different experiences of times generated by these actions pass in parallel to a physical time. By recreating those multiplying memories via a series of recollecting actions, I use them as important data that tell me about my contemporary self and its surrounding world. My work Back Yard shows a big change in myself. Photographs used in the series Fog were taken around my home. I thought I could show this change through reshaping these same materials and by rewriting my current impressions over them - rather than taking new images of the same place. This change is not a change in appearance, but a change that my impression imposes on surrounding worlds. This change also reflects a altered impression of the visual effect of the photograph itself. Olivier Pin-Fat: It's interesting you talk of memory and the shifts, mutations and changes in how it is manifest in relation to what you call your 'contemporary self'. Would you, broadly speaking, describe your work as 'psychological' then? Daisuke Yokota: This is not something I am aware of before I create my works, but I believe possibly my psychological state naturally comes out in my photographs as a result. I always have a vague fear or anxiety inside me, although that is not the way I’d describe my works themselves. I think ‘recollection of memories’ is the basic drive of my creations and this may be a result of this negative nature, or malaise within myself. Olivier Pin-Fat: 'INTERCEPTION' seems even more striking and extreme in its mode of expression than your other works, ('FOSSIL' for example). Suddenly we are far away from the medium of photography itself, and more in the realms of 3 dimensional graphic animation and non-photographic abstraction. Why? Daisuke Yokota: Most of the things we see in daily life are easily recognizable. This is because people know what exists around them even before they conceive it to be a premise constructed from their experiences or memories. This implies a connection between the inner (memories) of oneself and the outside world. When people are in this state, what is important is to try to direct consciousness not so much to the outside - by looking or observing something - but more towards the internal by recollecting or making assumptions about something. When I was creating Interception, I asked myself: what do I see in those photographs? Of course photographs themselves do not contain any particular interpretations, such as ‘this means that person and that place’. Such interpretations are a product of one’s consciousness, so there will be a connection between the viewers of the photograph and their memories. These are the works that have developed from this thought: how do people see photographs when connections between information and their memories are cut off? (Imagine the outside world from a state of being whereby you’re unable to understand what you are looking at.) I have created these series in the following order in 2009: Fog – Interception – Fossil. In Interception and Fossil, I used photographs that I had been taking when I was taking the photographs for Fog. Around this time, I was working on photographs in order to think about things such as visual effects an image can produce by transforming an element in that image and the structure of the image’s photography. Olivier Pin-Fat: Yes, looking over the 'order' of your works chronologically, there seems to be a logic of its own at play here. Things become more abstract, more dislocated, isolated, and seemingly more lost in an urban alien-esque terrain as time progresses. Figures become just that, almost faceless abstractions lost amidst buildings, landscapes and city-scapes. A kind of visual autism. Do you think 'man's' dislocation to his environment, his surroundings (and himself) is an important theme to your work? Daisuke Yokota: Realistically, the relation between humans and their surrounding environments is not a separable entity. Once things are photographed, they can become dislocated and isolated from this mutual relationship. In the creative process of my works, what is most important is that the photographed object is not only completely dislocated from the surrounding environment but importantly, from myself as well at the exact moment I took the photograph so it once again becomes an object of my interest. This attempt to dislocate an object from me, or to include elements of uncontrollable errors in a process of my creation usually brings out clues for the next idea or project. Olivier Pin-Fat: I'm drawn by the damaged, ruptured, almost sculptural qualities, not to mention the content of the imagery itself in your series 'FOSSIL'. Could you explain a little about this series, as it's also very different to your other works? Daisuke Yokota: The original images are taken from the works of Interception. I think you can tell this if you look at the actual works themselves. Here we have images in which I deleted details from the Interception photographs and left only outlines. At first sight, they seem as if they've lost a photographic function and appear again like graphic images or animations. So, I had the intention to bring them back to photographic products or materials. In order to do that, I decided to transform a sequence of information originally contained in the photographs into a form of ‘noise’ (scars in the images). In terms of the fact that they are information on a piece of paper, they can be understood as the same thing. It is just a matter of whether one understands it or refuses to do so.  At the same time, I thought I could reassert photographic elements by leaving a scar on printed papers and then reprinting it as an image in its own right. This embraces the time I existed in ‘real space’, so for me, it was an act undertaken in order to consider the structure and fabric of photography itself. Olivier Pin-Fat: Are you working on a new series that pushes all of this into even more extreme realms than you already have done that you would like to briefly talk about? Daisuke Yokota: I am currently making a new series but I am not sure how it will go. One of the interests I have now is to see an alteration of materials at the stage of developing film and photographs. The temperature of developing solution I use has been getting warmer and warmer and now I am actually working with a boiling solution. This may cause an extreme appearance in my next works. Olivier Pin-Fat: How much would you say post-war Japanese photography has influenced your work? Especially the 'Provoke' and ‘VIVO’ generation of photographers (Moriyama, Tomatsu, Kawada, etc etc)? Are there any other influences on your work that aren't necessarily 'photographic'? Cinema for example? Literature? Daisuke Yokota: Yes, I am aware that I am influenced by the post-war Japanese photographers’ movements such as Provoke and VIVO as you said. Daido Moriyama is one of the photographers who I am especially influenced by. He said in the 1970s that ‘All objects I see outside have equal realities to me.’ I believe photographers in my generation who grew up seeing his repetitive and changing works and listening to his words have learned optical experiences, which I would say is something more than just an ‘influence’. I was and am also influenced by other media. For example, David Lynch’s ‘Inland Empire’ made me think about senses of perception and time. I also think I was greatly influenced by the music I was listening to when I was around 20, such as Aphex Twin, CLOUDDEAD, and Tony Conrad. Olivier Pin-Fat: How important is the book medium to you and how do you translate all of these aesthetic complexities into an actual 'object'? Daisuke Yokota: Well, it allows creators to engage with viewers in their private spaces while creators are still playing with their own rules. Unlike computer screens, it is the place where people see things as objects in a ‘real’ space. I think it’s really an important part of the process for people who see works to have sensory and physical experiences of them, such as smelling the ink, feeling the texture of paper, and flipping pages etc. As for translating complex ideas into an object, I think an appeal the photography has is different to what a three dimensional work has. Since photography is a two dimensional representation, how they appear is less likely to affect a viewer’s standing position and perception unlike three-dimensional works. Instead, they are largely affected by the viewers’ own individual memories. In this way, I believe photography is a medium that really belongs to the past/history. So with paper, which is a medium that conveys an image, a central element is to provide an impression to influence the viewers’ present perceptions. Choosing a type of paper to use is extremely important I think, and I try to choose the best combination of papers and images using my intuition and creativity. Olivier Pin-Fat: When you exhibit, do you design your installations using a similar 'dream-logic' as you do with your website for example – where there seems to be, as mentioned, a definite 'progression' towards abstraction, inter-play with repetition and the mutations of memory and 'self' over time? Daisuke Yokota: The way I currently exhibit my works is very simple and shows only one series at a time. There is a possibility that I will exhibit my works in the same way on my website in the future, but I still think the number of works I produce is just not large enough to do so. I have an idea now to create a web of images by repeating and metamorphosing many of my images. I believe a photograph does not exist on its own, but can connect with other photographs recalled by the photograph you are looking at now. (I am not only talking about the connections within series of images exhibited in an exhibition or in a book.) You might find an image which may connect to a photograph you saw at another exhibition or possibly a website or a photo-book. I believe in giving a chance for the viewers to imagine various connections by themselves, in order to effectively show more of the changes of memories inside them. Therefore, I think designing special ways to show exhibitions is the only effective way to show my works. Olivier Pin-Fat: Finally, with 'AM projects' – it seems all of us are working in radically different ways, using different photographic mediums and techniques to explore what's necessary for us to explore. Do you have a vision, or ideas, as to how all of our different works can come together effectively and cohesively? Daisuke Yokota: We talked about this before, but I believe we need words and text from someone outside, such as excellent critics, in order to give more comprehensible meanings to our works and projects for the public. I also believe our collaborating sometimes with other artists who aren’t AM members for certain projects could expand our possibilities.

[arcanakrp-blog]

LEE YURA – THE MAGICIAN. AGENT 01.

                                                  [   FILE TYPE: CLASSIFIED   ]

//: LOADING PROFILE: LEE YURA ...

international age: 22 birthplace: ansan, south korea arcana: the magician team number: two

//: LOADING MUTATION: CHAOS MAGIC  ...

application one: magical energy manipulation — Above her other facets of power, this the subset that is most largely without definition - albeit all of Yura’s power defies convention explanation - as the manifestation of energy manipulation is so wide and varied, it has no convenient terminology. Through concentrated mental efforts, Yura is able to harness the undectable but ever-present magical energy that exists without detection by the average human, and apply it in ways that are directly correlated to what can be called chaos - making her a black cat, a bad omen, an overturned shaker of salt when her powers are called upon. It has been described by Yura as having a spiritual aspect, often leaving her feeling as though she is sapping from an esoteric power in order to utilize it to her own needs. Manifestations of this are things like doors lucking suddenly, walls deconstructing and toppling, even bones breaking; duly, raw energy can be utilized in offensive, impactful blasts. More recently, Yura has been working on “infecting” the preexisting magical energy surrounding any individual or being with her will, lending to what could be called a layman’s “curse” or “hex” - essentially, casting bad luck on a person, or driving their actions by way of directing the energy flowing through them.

application two: magical energy constructs — A more obvious expression of her magic, given that constructs created from this application are generally physically present and obvious to the naked eye. Yura often forges weapons or objects pertaining to the situation at hand, whose underlying magical property can be a large asset: hammers, arrows, anything physical, is often forged impossibly strong - yet both the tensile strength of the object and tangibility can regress and entirely fade as she runs out of mental and physical steam. Due to a whimsical, creative mind, Yura applies constructs in nontraditional manners on the days her control is secure enough to do so: a net of steel falling from the sky, an anvil tied to a mans ankle, etc. Somewhere between her “manipulation” and “construction” of chaos magic she is able to produce forcefield-like shields, though they are extremely weak to repeated attack.

application three: symbol/rune guided magic — The aspect Yura is most fascinated by, though perhaps the least applicable as an offensive move due to the preparation aspect of this subdivision, and the weakest in actual battle. Requiring study, trial, and error (most usually the latter), Yura is able to summon more concentrated, but specific aspects of magic via written symbols or runes. These designs can be implemented on anything, so long as the image does not fade entirely – paper, walls, ceilings, her own flesh. Any one specific rune can only manifest one power, and it is rare that Yura can anticipate which will be the most helpful in any given mission. The actual symbols tied to different effects are forged by Yura’s own construction, or taken from existing languages.

overall strengths and weaknesses:

— Like a dark rose twining itself around Yura’s lungs, magic and Yura are forced to cohabitate as one entity. Even when not in battle or training, she feels it inside her with every breath she takes. Unlike many of the other Arcana’s powers, this is one that is not exclusively her own, and as such is not as reliable or easily controlled by the user. Her destructive power is nigh unmatchable amongst the other agents, but with that superlative comes the weariness of her inability to make distinctions of good and bad guy in these scenarios – she can overturn a car, but not entirely ensure the kidnapped persons within it remain safe while the criminals perish. Use is more soul-draining than anything else in terms of what magic actually does to Yura, but as it is through her unmitigated emotions that it can most effectively manifest, her mental capacity is usually the first to overload. Contrary to assumption, it is largely easier for Yura to affect things on a larger scale than control details - that is to say, she would potentially have an easier time forcing all the locks of every door in a building to simultaneously fall off than to manifest a perfect key to pick one. This is due to the coexistence and only partial-ownership she has over magic, which is rarely pliable and never consolatory. She has taken to always carrying charcoal and a small notebook with her to best practice her runes, and prepare for incoming “visions” that may bring with them new symbols.

//: LOADING HISTORY ..

PRE-MUTATION

i. you are born

everything is red. the walls, the low-hanging canvas sky, the place she is leaving. lee yura carved her mother’s womb into a bloody and torn place, and it is here that she first learned bitterness. she is born unlucky. the fourth day of the fourth month, and she is marked. this is how it was always meant to be. her mother doesn’t care about it, but her father does. her father doesn’t care about her, but her mother does. she is their circus rite, a performance ritual: conceived as if by magic, the result of a one-night-only two-for-one ticket to a beautiful dance. she has her mother’s name because her father will not give her his, but what a greedy, greedy thing she is even now – and she steals his eyes and the slant of his jaw anyway.

she does not even ask permission. she just takes.

ii. you are three weeks old

they will tell her that she was a noisy child, always wailing, greedy and loud, a pale bundle of noise and need. be not ashamed of this, child. it is your right to demand the world upright. 

iii. you are stretching into the shape of your father’s shadow

she is his child and they all know it, and she knows it, but the bastard of a star is worse still than the bastard of no one: a stain on his honour, night sky across his shine. he walks by her with nothing in his eyes and nothing on his face and she feels everything. and the rest of them are silent.

the rest of them are not so cruel when there is no audience: they pet her hair and palm over honey cakes, watching how she climbs the silks like she was born in their chrysalis, then telling her where to better place your feet so as to climb farther. she holds their words like precious stones, placing the collection in a satchel and tying it around her neck. there are other children, but she is the most of them. she is the circus’s magic as well as its dregs; the shine of spotlight and the bloody knuckles. watching from in the rafters, somewhere between angel and rat, sleeping under the theatre seats because mother cannot afford a babysitter. this tent, these people, they raise her. she twirls plates on sticks when she is bored and stretches with the acrobats. this is the first kind of love she learns how to accumulate, handing out the correct slices of herself to each of them, becoming a daughter twelve times over. she is the daughter of this madness, and oh it becomes her.

but he still does not look at her. he is her father, but she is not his.

iv. you are eight, and it is time

but she is his, and to see her is to know it. precocious and stubborn and demanding, taking his silhouette now, ignoring the warnings and chastising to climb defiantly higher and move quicker. she learns his tricks, studying with the many aunts and uncles that have adopted her – still slower than him yet, but she is young, and even the elders stop to watch when you start moving.

when she climbs on his stage, it is with feet placed apart and elbows out. she is taking up space. ready to be held, ready to be hit.

he does hit her, later. but it is in the privacy of his own room, and she has won.

she is going to be a great, too.

v. you are nine, and it is not love

it will never be love, but he watches her now. younger than her are performers made here, and this art is as much hereditary as it is practice. his talent and ferocity is in her. they play noughts and crosses at night, and he does not let her win. three strikes, you’re out. he gives no second chances, no turned blind eye for age or temperance. she wins, she loses, but most often it is a loss. she will think this is because he wants to remind her that he will always win, but she’s wrong. he is teaching how to bruise and stand.

vi. you are ten, and the curtain drops

the world gets smaller as she cross it on the magic carpet of that towering red tent. she sees it all. weaned on the wonders of her own traditions, they are no longer special. then, somewhere along a cold coast with too much fog, you see a man make things out of thin air, and you know what real magic is.

vii. you are thirteen, and you do what they ask of you

and they ask everything. she becomes the embellishments, the minor roles, the gaps and the sick spaces. and in the dark, she makes her own courses and studies. 

viii. you are sixteen, and with your body you do wonders but with your mind you work miracles. 

she is a star now, full and bright and brimming with magick. she takes the shapes no one else can, willing her body into art. no longer the filler, she is the marbled meat.

before the shows, after the shows, it does not matter: she lives on stages across the world in her mind’s eye, craving new angles and newer ideas. she wants the world in a way that is not quite hungry but all the way starving; desperate, longing, hoping. she thinks there is something waiting for her just beyond the horizon, hidden under the tongue of the sky like a melting candy. 

but every time, the answer is no. you belong here.

viiii. you are seventeen, and you petition for your right to glory

i will be the first, she says, and that should appeal to him – the first of anything is always something. she knows she is good enough; better than that, even. she has the world’s best secrets inside you, collected over the years from every place imaginable, and they are wriggling like bees at the ends of her fingers.

silence, he tells her. ‘daughter’ leaves his teeth for the first time, so in shock she tries to be one. duty. honour. respect.

she swallows the blood from biting her tongue and waits.

x. you are eighteen. 

it doesn’t last long.

father hits her and calls her daughter. disobedient daughter.

you swallow your blood again and wait. 

wait. 

the audience is hushed.

xi. you are eighteen, and leave in fire

the real kind. no more goddamn poetry. mother catches her playing with matchsticks and weep tears that turn to gasoline on the floor. she smokes out their tents and leaves.

riotous applause.

xii. you are nineteen, and you do what you are made for

she works in the spaces too delicate for anyone else, making new names and taking new stories with each passing month. becoming their wives (lives) for a day, dream for a weekend, a month. they love her, and she loves them.

no one with correct knowledge would dare call it thievery. it’s not even a lie. it’s something far more grand. the only criminality about this is the way she pockets their watches when they aren’t looking, but that’s only for the thrill, not the shine. the warmth she bestows, the joy - it’s sleight of hand, grand plans and escapades. it’s making use of the only truth she’s ever known: gilt lies. magic.

she is no longer a girl, and you never took the shape of a woman. she is something else, and she is beautiful.

xiii. you are nineteen, and you meet a man who knows how to cheat death.

maybe that is an exaggeration, but he cheated her, so maybe not. he is tall and handsome and has fast hands and a slow smile. when you try to take his wallet, he catches your hand. fox-girl, he calls her. and then she’s kissed.

xiv. you are in love. fuck.

he says he’s good with cards, but that’s not all of it. what he means is: he’s good with his fingers, his instincts, and his lies, but he’s even better with everyone else’s – including hers. two ends of the same snake, they chase one another in circles, waiting to make the other lose while forgetting what winning feels like.

so she sleeps in his bed a little and wear his gifts and tries to make him lose, but mostly they just kiss. and it’s not so bad. you are a beautiful team. a two-person empire.

he gives her a ring and says she’s the most beautiful stranger he’s ever met.

xv. you are twenty, and you love him. you do. but.

but there is a wedding in two months, and the games are slowing down because he wants to take care of her, and her fingers ache from lack of use, and she are not made for this. she is too young; has no desire for a throne, she wants to melt it down and barter with its bars. so when the dream calls, with a message she doesn’t remember and a proposition she could refuse, she doesn’t. like all circus girls, she takes it as a sign.

and she waits.

POST-MUTATION

xvi. you are twenty, and they come for you.

it doesn’t take much to die in this town, especially not in her and her lover’s court. yura and yeo take the wrong game, put their hand in the wrong pot, and suddenly it’s all plata o plomo without the choice. because it can only be lead, will only ever be lead. and she may want to leave him, but she still loves him. so as he leaps cover her body from bullets, she brings the house down around them.  they’ll say it’s a miracle you both survived. but maybe it’s something else entirely. like a dark cloud, like rain water, like a promise, they come. marya morevna’s ravens falling outside the window, and one day she opens the door looking for a familiar face and finding someone else entirely. they talk, she opens the door wider. when she invites them in for tea they stutter in surprise but come anyway. (your kindness in the face of danger is surprising, girl).

she does not take much convincing, but that’s because a girl that knows herself as intimately as she knows herself does not look to others for validation. they are only telling her what’s she’s long been expecting - been hoping for.

this is a reckoning.

a coming home.

xvii. you leave

with a note, but no explanation. she loves him, but that is not enough.

xviii. you arrive

among the first in these hallowed halls, she decides to bleed colour, sing warmth into the white spaces: mark everything with her fingerprints, give it humanity. it’s not what they expect, this angular approach to acceptance, to bringing other people in, but it works. the more people that arrive the stronger she grows, fed by genuine emotion and the relationships meant to build.

she’s never been happier. this is not the circus, not the city, not the man. this is adventures waiting to happen and something unexpected at every corner.

xxix. you live

welcome to the story of the girl who lived.

this is going to be her greatest act yet.

[skeletonwoman]

AU #1: Hear Me (13)

my baseball knowledge is mediocre at best (even though i think the game is very interesting and would like to see more) and what i have written is with the minutest googling and things ive learned from books. So there. 

Hear Me Masterlist

Also, thanks guys, for reading this far and maybe even enjoying it (i understand if you’ve read this far and haven’t but know you’re going to keep reading cause you want to know what happens in the end (i get like that sometimes))

Obviously sharing isn’t my middle name. I’m rich. And what kind of stupid middle name is Sharing anyway? 

“Wanna play baseball?” Ororo shouts through the door and you frown at your covers. Warren is nearby, likely with her, but you can’t bring yourself to move. You never realized how much sound affected your daily life. The ticking of your clock, the scuffling of feet outside the door, the ringing of the school bells.

“Babe.” Warren says, his head ducking in and your gaze jerks to his, blinking at him. “Come play baseball.”

You hum hesitantly, about to wave him off, when he steps through the door and says something soft to Ororo before closing it behind himself.

“Y/N.” He sighs softly, crossing the room and settling beside you on the bed. His hand catches yours and interlaces your fingers and you shrug weakly.

“I just… I’m not useful, I’m barely special.”

“You’re plenty special.” He scoffs and you glare at him, your expression sad.

“I know that, because my mutation is ruining my life. And my boyfriend has wings.”

“Hey now… Who said anything about boyfriend?” Warren baits and you can’t help yourself from grabbing onto the words with both hands.

“Dick.” You growl and he snickers, shuffling closer.

“What? I know we’re soulmates and all that but… Uh, I hate to break this to you but I can’t be tied down… Prime of my youth, and whatnot.” He teases and you shove him, rolling your eyes even as you smile. Just a little.

“And look, your mutation sucks-”

“Screw you.”

“But it’s just baseball. You know the rules.” He pauses, glancing out your window into the sunshine. “Well, we’ll explain the rules that need explaining. And I can’t keep you to myself much longer. Since I’m expected to rejoin the world, you have to as well.”

“The world’s mean to me.” You mutter sourly and he chuckles, shuffling off the bed and holding out both hands for you.

“If it comes to it, you can sit out and play referee. Put those vocal cords to the test, hey?” He offers cheerily and you reluctantly set your hands in his. He beams as he pulls you to your feet, pulling slightly to hard and you go crashing into his chest, or perhaps that was the plan. His fingers find your chin and you tilt your face up to him, smiling as his lips press to yours.

Are you two coming or what?

The voice makes you jump and your nails dig into Warrens arm where you’d been holding it.

“That’s Jean. She’s freaking awful sometimes.” He mutters bitterly, forehead bumping yours. “She’s right though, c’mon.”

You stare at the group around you and try not to swallow hard. You know everyones names, had heard Warren speak of them during and after the battle, but you hadn’t really met any of them.

“Everyone knows who everyone is, but to make it official, Y/N, this is half of the X-Men.” Ororo smiles and you frown, tilting your head. “Yeah, I know. You just wait, in five years, we’re going to be saving the world.”

“Some of us have already done that.” Scott mutters and you watch Ororos back straighten.

“When?” You blink dumbly, and Scott flushes but meets your eyes steadily.

“When these two tried to end it.” He mutters, jerking his head at Ororo and Warren. Ororo’s lips press together and her fists clench at her side, but Warren stands relaxed, trying not to grin.

“I’m sorry, I’m going deaf.” You wince, your cheeks flushing and Scott’s tight expression melts into one of concern. “Did you say you tried to end the world?”

The concern washes away, replaced by a furious scowl. “No, I said they did.”

“You did?”

“No, they did.”

“I keep hearing “I did”, I’m sorry, is there something to do with those two that I’m missing here?” You mumble confusedly, glancing between the three of them, a snicker flitting to your ears.

“Scott.” Jean says with a small smile and he turns on her, expression furious, only to melt into resignation.

“Whatever.” He mutters, before shaking off the sourness and waving his hand in a circle. “Let’s circle up and pick captains. Warren can explain the rules to Y/N.”

“Powers are allowed and you have to run at least half of the distance between bases. So Kurt can teleport halfway and run the other distance.” Warren quickly whispers, his eyes glued to the same conversation you’re watching.

“Got it.” You nod, grinning as Ororo claims a captaincy, Jean taking the other.

“Peter.” Ororo says instantly and Jean hisses, shooting the dark skinned girl a playful scowl.

“Fine, Kurt.” She sighs loudly, grinning wickedly at Scotts offended expression.

“Warren.” Ororo orders and he barely makes it to Ororos side before Jean is calling out Scotts name.

“This seems pretty clear cut.” You shrug, smiling at Jubilee who grins and nods, only for your head to whip back around in surprise.

“C’mon, Y/N.” Jean orders and you nod slowly, trotting to her side and smiling at Kurt, who grins at you.

“I forgot to add that the captain who picks second gets their pick of the last two.” Warren mouths to you and you wrinkle your nose at him, poking out your tongue.

“Prepare for your doom.” You shrug, smiling sweetly as Jean points to centerfield, Ororo taking her team toward home plate.

“Kurt, you’re good with short stop?” Jean asks instantly and the blue boy nods, his expression serious and you can’t help but blush.

“Hey!” Warren shouts across the field and you roll your eyes at him.

“Idiot.” You mouth and he laughs.

“What position do you normally play, Y/N?” Jean asks politely, drawing you back to the conversation and you hum, glancing around the field.

“Ah, I usually just go wherever.” You shrug, a sudden shyness filling you under the three sets of eyes. Or four eyes if you count four eyes across from you.

“You’re a pitcher, aren’t you?” She asks, and you shoot her a half-hearted look.

“Yeah.” You mumble and she grins happily. Scott’s forehead wrinkles, but Jean grins at him, shaking her head and he stays silent.

“Scott can take his usual position and I will… Right field, I suppose.” She says, glancing around the grassy space. “Okay, break.”

The ball weight of the ball in your palm makes your stomach flip, the familiarity of it bringing back memories as sun drenched as today.

Reeling back your arm, you throw the ball, releasing it half a second too late to ensure Peter doesn’t accidentally hit it. The ball thumps into the dirt at his feet and he shoots you a droll look.

“We playing?” He smirks and you scoff.

“I can’t remember how to throw right.” You bluff, bouncing from foot to foot. Peter smiles at you indulgently, and you beam at him. Idiot. Inhaling a soft breath, you feel your mutation roll through you as you speak. “You’ll probably want to stop and watch where the ball flies, it’s bound to be somewhere interesting with my throwing.”

Peter shakes his head hard, before shaking his whole body and blinking at you.

“Sure, whatever. Just throw the ball.” He orders, his voice strange and you can see Ororo staring at him hard, a questioning worry in her eyes. Warren pushes against your mind, his delighted offense brushing up against your smugness. Rolling your shoulder, you wind back your arm and let fly, watching the bat swing and connect, hearing the dull thud, and watching Peter gaze at the ball as it soars across the field. The ball lands but slips from Scotts mitt, only for it to fly toward Peter without touching the ground. Kurt appears beside the shirt they’d set down as first base, who’s eyes clear of the fog, only for the ball to land solidly in Kurts hand.

“Out!” Jean shouts, clapping happily and Ororo waves her acceptance. Glancing over at the red head, she shoots you a thumbs up, Scott even offering you a begrudging smile.

“Go team.” You snicker, Kurt suddenly laughing loudly and you jump. Right. Your words carry.

“You’re a cheat.” Warren scoffs, glaring at the flames as they lick against the walls of the fireplace. You lie against him, his back pressed into the corner of the loveseat the two of you are currently sharing.

“You’re a sore loser.” You shrug, smiling at Jean who won’t stop glancing over at you to smile happily. You take it they hadn’t won the past few games.

“You’re a sore player.” Ororo mutters and you laugh, stretching out and settling back against Warren. His eyes fall closed for a moment as you curl yourself against him, his face momentarily burying itself in your hair before he leans back and wraps his arms around your waist.

“You’ve got a sore attitude.” Kurt pipes up, smiling happily and you can’t help gazing at him. What about him is so entrancing, you can’t decide, but he’s just amazing to look at. Warren bumps your hip with his knee and you scoff softly.

“My ass is sore.” Jubilee adds, pouting and you can’t help snorting loudly. The moment had been perfect, she’d hit the ball beautifully, her path was filled with blasting fireworks so no one could tell where first was, or where she was, until suddenly she’d yelped and the fireworks had dissipated. There she lay, covered in mud and scowling at the sky.

“No one help me.” She’d snapped, grumbling as she clambered to her feet and limped back into the house to clean off. You’d ended up refereeing after that, to make the teams even, but it was good fun all the same.

You yawned, smiling at nothing in particular.

“We’re going to bed.” Warren pipes up behind you and you make a soft noise of questioning that has him rolling his eyes. “Night guys.”

“Night.” The group choruses, and you bump fists with Scott and Peter before you’ve made it to the door, much to Warrens amusement.

“I love you.” He whispers against your lips, the darkness a quiet blanket over the room and you hum softly, trying to wiggle closer to him than you already are.

“I love you too.” You answer, your palm finding his jaw as you pull him in for a slow kiss.

@themortallife (thanks for liking it so much you wanted to be tagged)

sorry this is late, i had uni that day (like my third day) and so i was all tuckered out 

[therevaliir-blog]

Event: The Malicious Vices

Dalanesca, the goddess known as the Reaper of Souls, or the Siren, has become fed up with the disrespect the people of Revaliir seem to be showing her. Once seen as a terrifying and powerful goddess, she all but feels that the sphere of Desire has overshadowed that of Death after the loss of Darkness from her power. Gifts of decadence and pleasure are given to her in abundance, while the deadlier aspects of her existence seem to be forgotten at the wayside. Xunatar, the King of Nightfall - or as some call him, the Walking Paradox - has become convinced that Revaliir has been far too complacent, coddled by those with good alignments and intentions. With this in mind, he paid a visit to Dalanesca, and the two spoke on the complacency of the world as well as the disrespectful nature of mortals. With a mere suggestion from Xunatar, it had been decided - the two were going to show Revaliir who the trulypowerful Gods were… and what better way to do that than to bring literal Hell to Revaliir? Xunatar has erected a rather large and foreboding spiral tower in the Plains of Bohar. The tower takes the shape of a nonagon - nine sides, each with a point towards a different part of Canelux. The way the tower has been set up, Dalanesca and Xunatar can see their handiwork as it unfolds. Strange and terrifying unknown entities guard the tower, creating a rather deadly barrier from anyone who would seek audience with the two gods while the devilish events unfold. It started slow… reports of folks running mad in the streets, begging not to die… but then, it escalated… It seems that the two malevolent deities had designated one of the Circulos Inferos to nine different areas throughout Canelux, causing them to undergo the trials that the souls of the damned are forced to endure on an endless basis… Many try to pray for the others for assistance while others had hoped to reason with the duo only to be met with deadly silence as these plights continue onward. Only one singular phase have reached out to the people, a voice that seemingly combines both the Infernal Queen’s and the Demon King’s. “You have brought this upon yourselves…” Excavation plans for those trapped in the continuous nightmares have all but failed and heroes have slowly thrown down their swords and gave up their righteous quests to thwart what can seemingly not be stopped

EVENT INFORMATION The following areas of Canelux have been warped into a Circle of Hell! I.  Horae Island - Purgatory Even the most innocent of creatures aren’t safe from these troubling times. As if lured by some sort of lullaby by a siren, children around Horae have notedly disappeared by the drones, many last seen trekking towards the now completely frozen island as the Glaciem portion has overtaken the other three with its endless blizzard state. Parents journey in vain to seek out their little ones, hearing the faint cries of them but are never seen. The unfortunate end up freezing in place in their last motions alive. II.  Sularia - Lust In Sularia, romance and physical affection have never been taboo… but now, they have become deadly. Incubi and succubi have disguised themselves as common folk in the city, and they are using their wiles to charm the citizens of Sularia (and those unfortunate enough to be visiting) into an insatiable lustful craze. Unable to slake their lust, those affected have been reported to engage in lustful acts and are finding themselves unable to stop even long enough to eat or take a drink. Some of them are dying as a result of this self-neglect, but others survive… though those who have survived seem different - their eyes are black, and they no longer seem to have a conscience… perhaps their souls have been drawn out and sent to the Second Circle…? III.  Adeluna - Gluttony For the past several days, the citizens of Adeluna have been much more interested in the taverns throughout the town than usual. The establishments have been absolutely brimming with patrons, spending every last bit of silver they have on whatever liquor they can get their hands on… though it seems there is something rather sinister at work. The city is devolving into chaos, the behavior of the townsfolk reminiscent of the time when a mad apothecary had poisoned the town with Sanguine Tenebris made from the blood of the Reaper. The nobles of the city have been rumored to be mutating, turning into grotesque versions of cerberus, ravaging the city and destroying anything in their path.

IV.  Egjora - Greed The waters of Egjora’s harbor have turned to bubbling, molten lava - and those of the higher class seem to be uncontrollably tossing their valuables into the sea of fire where they are melted down, obliterated from existence. It is clear that the Egjorans do not want to do such a thing, but they seem compelled and unable to stop their actions. The ground throughout the city, while appearing normal, seems to have raised in temperature so high that it scorches the feet of those who walk across is, regardless of if they have foot coverings or not, and many people are suffering from boils appearing all over the bodies, along with other afflictions that have appeared with absolutely no explanation. V. Eyota Etu - Anger Something wicked has taken over the native tribes of the canyon in Eyota. They have erected steel cages hanging from the sides of the canyon, with basins of hot coals burning beneath them. Spikes jut in from the sides of the cages in no pattern of any sort, and the floor is constructed of thin metal sheets. The natives have been possessed by an unknown rage, forcing both willing and unwilling competitors into the cages, where they are expected to fight for sport and the enjoyment of the spectators. The metal floor burns from the heat of the coals, scorching the feet of the ‘participants.’ When the fight is over, some unseen force is causing the losers to spontaneously combust. Supposedly, anyone who speaks of the fighting cages other than when they are taking place will also spontaneously combust, causing those spreading reports about the atrocity to find different means to describe it. Travelers beware - it’s not just locals that they are forcing to fight… VI.  Umbral Depths - Heresy Those that inhabit the depths are known for their lack of trust towards outsiders and even more so being less than trusting themselves. Such a sin is punished by the transformation of the overall structure of the underground, with its numerous tunnels being twisted to a higher degree. Even the most experience spelunkers and those that have lived in the depths for all of their lives are able to get lost easily. Many surprises lurk around every corner, and the temperature of each tunnel differs in extremities. The biggest problem that most face here is that there seems to be no exit nor an entrance to head back to once the victims begin their quest… VII.  Mo’Mey Steppes - Violence Rivers of lava flow freely about the city, making travel inside and out difficult. Though the true plague of the region is in the form of the gas coming from the mines, creating a fog like cloud over it that is slowly poisoning anyone that dares to breath it. It causes its victims to lose their grip with reality band become crazy and extremely violent towards anyone that crosses their path. The Orcs especially have become even more aggressive and numerous broken corpses lay upon the land as a result of their newfound fury. But while there’s the immediate danger up above the earth, below it resides the giant worms that are usually used to harvest minerals for their masters. In the midst of the chaos, they had broken from their pens and are on the loose, attacking anything they can consider to be food. VIII.  Endapano - Fraud The elves within Endapano find themselves frantically awaking in their beds, from the dreadful nightmares that captures their worst fears and drives them into fates more terrifying than death itself. Minds are broken and bodies are scarred with injuries, yet like certain dreams, they have no recollection of what occurred. As their day continues, they are slowly flung back into such punishments. Their sanity is questioned by others as if they can not see the evil deeds being conducted and the victims are forced to endure a vicious, endless cycle of repeating their day and losing memory of it by the next day. IX.  Mamlak - Ruin A city that boasts its pride is a perfect victim for ruin. The great waterfalls of Mamlak have been turned to that of blood and the golden lions statues throughout the city have been granted life, if not only to come and take it from others as they hunt ruthlessly. You can also visit the Warped Spire, where Dalanesca and Xunatar are watching the madness unfold. Perhaps you want to attempt to reason with them or offer them your services - or maybe you would even like to try to defeat them. Be wary: while you may defeat the guardians of the tower, remember that you will be facing not one, but two very angry and very sadistic gods… and any other surprises the pair have set up along the way.

EVENT ITEMS & DROPS The drops for this event are: Duskwood

Corrupt Poppy

Tainted Heartstring

The items that you can craft in Namita's Relics with the drops are:

Warhorn of Nightmares

A warhorn that conjure’s the user’s most terrifying nightmares - it is advised to use this on someone other than yourself. 

Postula Tenebris

A spell which allows the caster to conjure the object of their darkest desire. Be warned: this spell can come with some rather startling side effects… Amulet of Warped Reality

An amulet that can charm and double as a small dagger; a favorite tool of assassins who want to blend in with a crowd, rather than to stalk their target from the shadows.

This is a passive event - you do not need to directly participate in the event in order to get the drops/claim the items… but it’s so much more fun if you do. Perhaps your character is affected by the madness, or maybe they are trying to help soothe and save those who are… or maybe, they’re brave enough to try to take on Xunatar and Dalanesca! Participate in any way you like. The event drops will occur in the nine affected areas of Canelux, as well as the Warped Spire. This event will run for two weeks.

[lulew1988]

An interview with Sheryl from A Chronic Voice!

I am so chuffed that I got to do this! I have been a follower of Sheryl @Achronicvoice for a long time now and am really excited she agreed to let me interview her! Something I haven't done before!.

So here it is the full interview:

 Interview with A Chronic Voice

   LUCY

 Hello, Sheryl.

Thanks so much for agreeing to do this!

Right then...

Maybe we could start with a bit of a bio about you. So could you tell me about you and your conditions?

 (SHERYL)

Hello, My pleasure, and sure!

It started when I had a mini stroke at 14, caused by blood clots from the antiphospholipid syndrome. I developed multiple DVTs and a pulmonary embolism (clot in the lung) at 17 which was nearly fatal. It mutated into Lupus (SLE) when I was about 20, and then I developed Sjögren's Syndrome, epilepsy, PSVT (a heart rhythm disorder), a mitral valve prolapse which I had to repair via heart surgery in the U.S., clinical depression and anxiety, and more things here and there that required surgery.

 (LUCY)

Oh my gosh that sounds awful!

Do you have to take many medications for those conditions? And how do your conditions affect your day to day life now?

 (SHERYL)

 Yep. My current cocktail comprises of:

1. Warfarin (blood thinner) for antiphospholipid syndrome

2. Prednisone (steroids) - Lupus, Sjögren's

3. Cyclosporin - Lupus, Sjögren's

4. Sodium Valproate (Epilim) - epilepsy, depression/anxiety

5. Hydroxychloroquine - Lupus

6. Vortioxetine - Depression/anxiety

7. Escitalopram - Mood stabilizer

8. Calcitriol - Osteoporosis

9. Calcium carbonate - Osteoporosis

10. Maltofer (liquid iron) - Lupus

11. Verapamil - (as and when needed for PSVT heart palpitations)

12. Omeprazole - Because I'm on certain meds

13. Assorted other pills such as painkillers as and when necessary

 It affects every day to day aspect of my life - from cooking, exercise, working, social interactions and more. Basically, if you're in chronic pain or are easily fatigued or brain fogged, you can see how that will affect every aspect of your life.

  (LUCY)

Wow, that's a huge list of medications. Have you ever tried any natural remedies? Or homeopathic / diet changes? If so has it made a difference at all?

  (SHERYL)

The problem with antiphospholipid syndrome is that it makes trying alternative treatments or diet changes tricky. I have to constantly worry about blood thinning and clotting, and many super foods mess this ratio up. Even eating one too many salads as compared to normal can be tricky. And stuff like massages - I still go for them because I love it, but I only good when my blood thickness is not too low or high, and I don't do anything too strong.

 I am trying out essential oils and a cheap TENS machine I bought. Not sure if the machine does much. The oils do help relax me a bit.

 I also recently tried flotation therapy. Bit early to say if it does anything...but it definitely helps quite a bit with stress relief...which is a big trigger for flares.

 I've also attempted Ayurveda. While I couldn't follow the food and supplement regime, I did make some changes to foods I should avoid or eat more of. It also took into account of suitable exercises for your body type and an oil massage which should be removed from chickpea flour. Sounds weird maybe, but quite normal in Asia. I actually think this form of support helped, but you do need to put in a bit of effort. I haven't gone back to check in a while, so I'm not sure how my pulse has changed (we have 2 types of pulses - one from birth and one imbalanced if any).

 Oh, I also tried yoga. It helps some people a lot...they tell me a bit of movement every day helps control their flares. But for me, it was actually triggering them (even the yin classes!) so I stopped.

(LUCY)

You will have to keep us updated on the flotation therapy! That sounds really intriguing! I'm a big believer in tens machines as well. I'm doing a review soon on some tens pens.

So as I've mentioned I've been a follower of a chronic voice for a while now. It was the blog that inspired me to start the thyroid damsel. What was your inspiration to start your blog?

 (SHERYL)

I will...there's a review on flotation on my blog, and part 2 when I've done it a few more times!

 As for the TENS machine...can't wait to hear what you have to say about it! I'm not sure it helps me or if I'm not using it right. I just used it actually...it's 4:30 am here and having painsomnia ;) didn't help though ;)

 And wow...I never knew that I'm happy that my blog inspired someone out there! :)

 I mainly just wanted to get back to my first passion i.e. writing, and chronic illness is something close to my heart, literally ;) I also wanted to raise more awareness...every little bit counts!

 (LUCY)

Yes, your blog was one of the first I saw. So, with all the health issues you have. Is there anything that your illness has really prevented you from doing? Or are there any positives that have come from your illness?

 (SHERYL)

It's prevented me from just about everything I had originally wanted to do as a young person. I would love to be a travel literature writer, the sort that lives in a far out place for a couple years, to immerse myself in their culture, and write about it. I think different cultures are very important to preserve and learn from, perhaps even more so than healthcare, but that's a whole new topic! ;) This is obviously impossible with chronic illnesses with the frequent doctor appointments, increased risks and costs.

 Apart from that, I can't really invest my energy into my career either. I have to take it easy and need more sick leave than the maximum allowed in a company. I have freelanced for the past 10 years or so, and it's a good thing I enjoy that sort of lifestyle. But the field of work I'm in (advertising and web development) is highly stressful no matter where I work from, so I'm looking for alternatives as well.

 The positive side to my illness, which I could never have imagined, is that I'm forced to examine myself as a person more closely and to try and understand my self-worth. I also saw a psychologist for a while due to everything that has happened, something I would probably never have done if I were well. My illness taught and is teaching me about acceptance and life in itself.

 (LUCY)

My last question would be then. What would your advice be to other sufferers with chronic illnesses? What would you like to have known when you were first diagnosed that you didn't know, that you do now? Is there anything you would do differently?

  (SHERYL)

I wish that I had taken my medicines more regularly. My parents are highly religious and believed that I could be healed if I had enough faith...so I constantly asked, does having enough faith meant I had to completely stop taking my medicines? Taking a little bit showed a lack of faith, right? My mom didn't exactly encourage me to stop my medications, but she didn't stop me from not doing so either. I was 14. Perhaps the pulmonary embolism and multiple DVTs I suffered at 17, which changed my entire life, could have been prevented. But who knows, right? At the end of the day, who knows what's right and wrong, and who knows what will be. We all just want the best for ourselves and our loved ones.

 One piece of advice I have is to always seek for a 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 100th opinion if that's possible if you don't agree with what your doctor has planned for you, or even because you don't like him/her or feel uncomfortable. Chronic illnesses are for life, like it or not, and it's best to find someone you can work with. A partner who will help you navigate life, and not dictate it. After numerous bad surgeries as well, it's best to find surgeons who actually like their work, and who cares. These are all consequences you can avoid, by working with the right people.

 As for what I would have liked to have known when I was first diagnosed...I'm not sure really. The knowledge I have now is all based on trial and error and we all experience symptoms differently. Read up as much as you can, but also be wary of your sources. Not everything that is written online is true and can be detrimental to your health. Listen to your inner voice, usually, he/she knows best.

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