#like the masters of bazaar intended

[your-lowlife-friend]

I got into sunless sea again, now I'm playing sunless sea on one screen and fallen london on a second screen

[the-avaricious-meddler]

@thedeafprophet your tags on that post inspired me.

Also @waterlogged-detective bc of your wines meme

[dipodiidae]

fallen london extensions/addons

i only log in when there's new content these days but i wanted to make a list of extensions i found helpful for newer players. bolded names are ones i can personally vouch for/have seen a lot of people use. descriptions are mostly taken from the addon descriptions themselves because tumblr ate my original draft and i don't feel like typing everything out again. PS: Switch to Firefox.

Goat Farmer (Firefox/Chrome): Calculates and displays your total wealth each time you visit the Bazaar page in Fallen London. It includes options to exclude certain items from the calculation. (My note: mostly useful for figuring out how many Echoes you get if you liquidate everything you have in order to buy expensive items.)

Conversion Helper (Firefox): Collects each tier of convertible items in your inventory into its own category for convenience. (My note: A "tier" is a term for items that sell at the same price at the Bazaar; for example, Memories of Light and Memories of Distant Shores are "tier 3" items that both sell for 0.5 Echoes each.)

Fallen London Favourites (Firefox)/Playing Favourites (Chrome): Allows you to mark storylets and options inside storylets with green/red marks, moving them to the top or bottom of the page respectively. You can also choose to disable discard and action buttons for certain storylets and cards. (My note: Definitely recommend this one, it saves you so much scrolling.)

One-click Wiki (Firefox): Adds a small "button" near the storylet title. When clicked, this button opens a new tab with a Fallen London Wiki page corresponding to the current storylet.

Small Mercies (Firefox): Just... a lot of small UI changes. Some of them are helpful (like showing the amount of Favours for each faction you have in the sidebar), some of them are silly but mildly beneficial (like sorting the "A Mystery of the _th City" qualities in numerical order).

Quirk Master (Firefox): Telegraphs storylet choices that influence your quirks, if the game doesn't already tell you they do.

Duly Noted (Firefox): Lets you leave small notes on the branches and storylets in the "Fallen London" browser game. (My note: For clarity, the notes appear within the storylet itself.)

Masquerade (Firefox): Lets you switch between alt accounts more easily within the game UI.

Genius Loci (Firefox): Plays background music whenever you're in specific locations. You'll have to supply your own music. Intended for the Fallen London/Sunless Sea OSTs (which can be found online), but I guess you could add your own music?

Chandlery (Chrome): Displays your current number of actions/opportunity cards in the tab title so you can keep an eye on it when you're tabbed out.

[warabola]

desire and ghost for the director 👀

Ohoho, good ones. Doing in reverse order for Reasons ™.

Not So Nice Asks

Ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

The Director is haunted by moonlight.

Years ago, they lived on the surface and had a shared dream with their partner-in-crime to escape to the infamous New World. The two ached for somewhere less judgemental, where less doors would be closed to them based on heritage, family wealth, or a propensity for green carnations.

That was cut short by the starting events of a certain ambition-- said partner was murdered, the clues leading Avci down to the Neath to seek the killer.

Spoilers, but finishing their ambition did not bring their partner back. It didn't bring them peace as much as it changed them in the process, fitting them to the Neath and London's exploitative ways rather than filling the hole left behind by their other half. And the day before they accomplished their mission, they were enlisted-- in the usual way of the Bazaar and its meddling Masters-- to learn a dance called the Totentanz.

In performing it, the Director learned about moonlight and how it could show the Could-Have-Beens. They also learned how cruel it was to see the life they could have had, and how unrecognizable their current self would have been to their partner.

Consequently, those who've known them for a while remember a change around the time they were elected to head the Railway Board, and became the Director-- namely that Avci seemed to double down on the intemperate reputation and making more waves in higher society and the world of power players, losing some of the subtlety in public in lieu of leaning into assumptions people had about them as a menace. They seemed to focus on looking for a good time, infamy, and a startling aggressive attitude towards investments. They also more publicly started emphasizing their relationships with their ward, the Silvered Assistant, and legal counsel, the Stalwart Scholar. They never seem to slow down or stop these days, and those who know them the best know that when the 'Director' takes a break, there's likely trouble being made in the Khanate, or Evenlode, or another corner of the Neath under another name.

And they avoid Balmoral like the plague these days, leaving its affairs to September as Castellan.

So in short, they don't live with them, as much as run from them.

Desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

What they really want, they cannot have.

So these days, they act like all they want is to keep everyone around them guessing, to make waves and keep things unsettled whether its in the status quo or (more commonly) the markets. If asked, The Silvered Assistant and the Efficient Commissioner would likely suggest all the Director wants in life is to make their job harder.

In reality, their machinations lead towards leaving a legacy for their younger companions, making them into unwilling and unwitting successors for all the Director's done. They feel idealism is beyond them now, after all they've done and how stained their hands are, but that it's not too late for the next generation-- even if they must find a way to manipulate younger players around them to bring them into their own, or even force immortality onto their devisee. The world needs more idealists, and they intend to guarantee there will be some. There is little they haven't done in pursuits of their goals before.

The only one who likes recognizes or knows any of this in full would be the Alleged Protege, and only in a recognition of self through the other. This is probably why they act permanently divorced.

[house-of-mirrors]

for the reverse unpopular opinion meme: mask of the rose lol

I liked Milton, I liked Phoebe, and I liked the parliament ending lmao. The parliament ending gave my nemesis character retroactive vindication for some choices during the ambition and in general I'm always seeking crumbs of new masters content

I guess it's good also that they listened to feedback and slowed down the pacing of the game / added more guidance to story crafting. I still haven't played yet since the updates but I do intend to someday when I have the time (not much while in grad school unfortunately) and still avoid spoilers for the game

The game achievements showing up as sigils on the bazaar was cool design too

[finerandbonnier]

Much Nicer than Paperwork

There is a corridor toward the back of the Bazaar where the Tragedy Commission keeps its offices. You would not know it. This hallway is poorly signposted, dimly lit and often mistaken for a broom closet by the more junior staff. This is because the Commission does not get visitors.  Except today.

Aka Betty pesters Griz at work.

Rated: Teen || Words: 2,536 || [AO3]

My fic for @the-masterless-press as part of the secret swap portion of @fallenlondonficswap.

When Grizelda Smith entered her office at the Tragedy Commission, her arms loaded down with a stack of paperwork she could only just see over the top of, she had expected it to be empty. A woman of reason, her grounds for this belief were twofold:

One: The only people who would have a reason to visit her office (or indeed knowledge of its location) were her colleagues in the Commission or perhaps one of the Masters. Both categories were comprised only of exceptionally busy people who would have made sure to schedule an appointment to avoid missing her, or in the event of an emergency requiring her attention they would not have waited around for her but instead have left a note, of which there was none. And,

Two: Her office had been (until she had opened it) very, very thoroughly locked.

Which was why the appearance of Betty Horvat sprawled across the arms of a Gainsborough chair that should have been unoccupied, eating biscuits from a plate that should have been tidied away came as something of a shock to Griz.

“Please tell me you did not walk in through the front door,” Griz said.

“‘Course not,” Betty replied with a grin, “I scaled the building instead, slipped in through the window.”

They were on the eighth floor and the window in question had been locked and barred. There was a pause as Griz’s brain attempted to take in that knowledge and produce an intelligent response. It failed.

"That’s not funny.”

“That was not a joke,” Betty replied, although the mirth in her voice suggested that she was finding this quite amusing.

Choosing not to respond to that beyond a resigned shaking of her head Griz instead walked over to her desk and deposited the paperwork she was still carrying onto it. Ignoring the loud, contented chewing noises coming from the chair opposite she gave an idle flip through some of the documents, dipped her pen into the nearby inkwell and made one brief amendment before giving up and turning to face Betty.

“I’m sorry but you’ll need to leave,” she said in a voice sterner than her face appeared.

“You don’t want to see me?" Betty asked with mock hurt, "And after I came all this way?”

“I don’t mean it like that, but you know you cannot be found here. You’ll have to leave.”

Betty hoisted herself from the chair and began to move across the room in the opposite direction from the door.

”Not out the window!” cried Griz as she realised Betty's intended destination.

“But you said I wasn’t to go through the front door?”

Griz sighed, “No, you’re right.” Betty might be being facetious, but she had touched on a genuine issue. “Damn it, you’ll just have to wait here until the coast is clear. Which I hope you realise may be some time.”

“Brilliant!” Betty replied as she returned to her seat and Griz’s attention drifted back to the documents in front of her, now satisfied her partner was not about to take a running leap out of the building. “So, what do you want to do?”

“I want to finish this paperwork, which will take me most of the evening, while you sit quietly in the corner.”

“Well that’s boring.”

“Perhaps you should have considered that before you broke in here to bother me at work.”

“Oh, it’s not all bad. The view’s quite nice.”

Griz glanced back up to find, perhaps unsurprisingly, that Betty was not looking at the view of the city skyline but staring directly at her, waggling her eyebrows in a manner that should have been ridiculous but instead left Griz’s cheeks flushed pink.

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem sitting there quietly while I work,” Griz said, fighting to keep her blush under control as she picked up her pen again.

“For a bit, perhaps. I’ll just try my hardest not to distract you with my beguiling gaze.”

To her credit Betty stayed true to her word, remaining quiet and, for her at least, still while Griz made progress through the overly loquacious text on the forms in front of her. Even so, Griz found her presence distracting. Normally it was easy for Griz to compartmentalise, to leave the parts of herself that would get in the way of her job at the doors of the Bazaar when she strode through them each morning and focus on the task in hand, whatever it may be. It was something she prided herself on. Now her eyes kept drifting up to Betty as the other woman fidgeted just on the edge of her vision and Griz found her mind continually wandering to more interesting things than paperwork.

The peace couldn’t last however and by the time Griz had worked her way through the first few documents Betty, having clearly become bored with what little entertainment Griz provided as she worked, got up out of the chair and strode across the room. Griz braced herself for whatever mischief she was about to be subjected to but to her surprise and slight disappointment Betty only stopped by her to open the top drawer of her desk. The disappointment quickly gave way to annoyance once Griz realised exactly what Betty was rooting around for.

Putting her pen down Griz moved to intercept. “Leave those biscuits alone, they are for guests.”

“I’m a guest,” Betty replied, not pausing her search for even a second.

“No, you are an intruder. Intruders do not get biscuits.”

“This one does,” Betty replied with a wolfish grin as she found her quarry and swiped another biscuit, one of the fancy pink ones, before Griz could remove the packet from her reach. Her fingers had only just cleared the edge of the drawer when Griz it slammed shut.

Betty wasted no time in tucking into her prize before speaking, “You nearly finished?”

“No,” Griz answered with a sigh.

“What’s it all about?” Betty asked, gesturing at the form Griz had been working on with her biscuit bearing hand and scattering crumbs across the paper.

“Something private and extremely boring.”

“Try me.”

“Alright then. If you must know, it’s a document detailing the recommended response procedures should London find itself attacked by a swarm of Burrowing Vesperwasps.”

Betty leaned forward over the desk to peer at the writing. “That’s not boring! That’s positively interesting. Do you think I could take a Burrowing Vesperwasp in a fight?”

“One, certainly. A dozen, perhaps. An entire swarm? No.”

“Ye of little faith. But seriously, if this is the sort of stuff you’re looking at perhaps I could help. I do know a bit about fighting monsters.”

“Oh, by all means.” Griz picked up the top file and began reading from it, “In the eventuality of an oversteppening of the covey of Vespula vesperinfodio most recentally beholden in the vicinihood of Bullbone Isle it is our advisement that the aegisening of London must take a tridential approach—“

“Woah, woah, woah, woah. What in the hells is that?”

“Ah, you’ve noticed the issue. This was drafted by a colleague who until recently worked under Pages, apparently it has rubbed off on the poor man.”

“Poor man? Poor you having to read through that tripe. Couldn’t you just… trip and lose the papers into the fire?”

“Obviously not.”

“I could toss it in the fire for you?”

“No.”

“Could—”

“The document is not going in the fire. The information contained in it will play a vital role in the defence of London one day. Or at least it might once I’ve translated it into English.”

“Are they all like that?” Betty reached out to leaf through the stack of documents before Griz slapped her hand away.

“Not at all. Some are an illegible combination of euphemisms, acronyms and shorthand, some take several thousand words to say nothing at all and the few that are written in clear, concise English will inevitably be completely and utterly wrong.”

“I’m beginning to see why you can be so sour when you leave work.”

“I am never sour!” Griz sputtered, “I’ll concede I might be a little tired sometimes after a long day but I do a very good job of leaving my work, and any mood it may have put me in, at work!”

“If you say so love” — Griz shot Betty a glare that suggested she very much did say so — “but you might want to take a break, you’re doing that furrowed brow thing you do when you’re feeling sou— er, a little tired.”

Griz’s initial instinct was to strenuously deny the accusation and attempt to relax whatever her forehead was apparently doing but on further consideration a break didn’t sound wholly unreasonable; she wasn’t making much progress between Betty’s presence and the headache she could feel forming at the base of her skull. She could shoo Betty away, pick up her pen and attempt once more to extract some form of meaning from the text in front of her. The progress would be slow and painful though, and the task wasn’t really urgent. It could wait until the morning when she was well rested.

Perhaps it should.

If there was anything this job had taught her, it was that sometimes the wisest course of action was to recognise when one had been beaten and capitulate without kicking up a fuss.

With a little nod of her head Griz acquiesced, “Let me get these next few documents in order. Then, perhaps, I could be convinced to take a… comfort break.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Betty interjected, a sly grin on her face.

“No! Absolutely not, not in my office! Anyone could walk in.”

“You know for some people that adds to the experience. But fine. Cuddling’s still an option though? Perhaps kissing? Somewhere over by the fire, under all those books and papers there appears to be a rather sweet little loveseat which would be excellent for cuddling. Or is that off limits too?”

Griz looked equal parts tempted and exasperated and wholly adorable. “I— Fine. Let me lock the door. I really should have done that earlier.”

“Aw, did I distract you?”

“No,” Griz lied.

Griz made her way quickly across the room and locked the door. Then she joined Betty by the fire where the other woman was hastily transferring the mess of books and random parchment from the top of the settee into an even more haphazard pile on the floor. Once the seat was clear (bar a few loose pages stuck between the cushions) Betty spun on a heel and threw herself dramatically backwards onto it, one hand reaching out as she did so to grasp Griz’s wrist and pull her unsuspecting partner down with her. Griz let out a little squeak as she fell. One arm still in Betty’s grip Griz just about managed to catch herself with the other before she fully collapsed onto the chest beneath her.

There wasn’t much distance between the two women but even so Betty seemed dissatisfied by the gap. Her arm slipped around Griz’s back and with a firm tug pulled the other woman flush to her chest as she shuffled backwards, getting herself comfortable on the bare cushions and Griz comfortable on her. Satisfied with the new position her head dipped down to press a kiss just below Griz’s ear, followed by another and another and then a quick nip at the sensitive skin.

Lips still flush against Griz’s neck she mumbled, “There, isn’t this much nicer than paperwork.”

“Hush,” Griz replied in a slightly breathy voice.

Betty hummed as she continued her ministrations, quite happy to comply with Griz’s demand; after all there were much better uses for both of their lips than talking. Had she been feeling more patient she might have considered teasing Griz, she might have trailed her kisses up along Griz’s jaw, might have drawn out the moment. Instead she moved to capture Griz’s lips with the speed and precision of a hunter going in for the kill.

It was a searing kiss and one that was responded to immediately and enthusiastically. With one hand remaining against Griz’s back, pressing the other woman somehow even tighter to her, Betty brought the other up to meet her partner’s neck. There she traced across the pulse point with her thumb before continuing down to release the top two button of Griz’s tightly starched shirt collar. Relief paired with the soft touch of a nail that was closer to a claw trailing down the centre of her throat left Griz gasping for air around the kiss.

Griz reached up to cover Betty’s hand with her own and locked their fingers together as their lips continued to dance. Then she dragged Betty’s hand lower, between her breasts and across her stomach where only the thin material of her shirt separated soft flesh from Betty’s touch. She had almost managed to move it to her waistband when a sudden knock at the door echoed through the small room.

Startled Griz threw herself backwards off Betty and landed sprawled across the carpet with a thud.

“Commissioner? Can you spare a minute?” A voice called out from behind the door.

“Hide!” Griz hissed at Betty, her voice torn between staying quiet enough she couldn’t be heard by the intruder and loud enough to express her displeasure at almost being caught fooling around like a naughty schoolgirl.

“Where?!” Betty replied in her own exaggerated whisper.

“I don’t know! Look, just duck behind the settee and stay still while I get them to leave.”

“Better idea, I’ll answer the door and kill whoever it is for interrupting us.”

“Absolutely not!” Griz struggled to keep her voice low.

Betty, on the other hand, barely seemed to be trying to keep quiet. “It’s not like it would be permanent!”

“Still no!”

“Griz there is nowhere for me to hide in here where I wouldn’t be instantly spotted. Either you let me handle this or…”

“Or?” Griz asked, knowing she would not like the answer.

“Or I leave the way I came in?”

The knocking on the door intensified, followed by the muffled voice from the other side speaking out, “Commissioner? Is there someone in there with you? Please let open the door, this is very urgent.”

Griz swore under her breath as she resigned herself to Betty’s solution out of necessity and nothing else. “Fine. Just don’t hurt yourself. Or let anyone spot you.”

Moving without any particular sense of urgency Betty crossed the room then removed the bars from the window with ease and bypassed the lock. All the while the knocking at the door continued. Hopping up onto the windowsill she paused for a moment, holding herself half in the room, half in the cold night’s air as she spoke, “You know, this was fun, we should do it again sometime. Oh, and you might want to tidy yourself up a bit before answering the door. You’re looking a little… dishevelled.”

Then, before Griz could respond with what was sure to be a particularly outraged curse, Betty allowed herself to slip backwards, disappearing into the dark London streets below.

[operation-priority]

Tankiste on Leave

This is an impression of a French tank crewman on leave. One may see this uniform on tankiste who have been granted leave to get some much needed rest. The only military items permitted on leave was the basic light blue wool uniform, cloth headgear, and Étui-Musette Modèle 1892 for their personal belongings (sometimes belts and helmets can be seen as well). Weapons and other combat equipment would be left with the unit Quarter-Master. The sunglasses are based off a 1913 US patent, and while not a widespread item to have among the French populace, sunglasses existed during the time period and were worn by few.

The first display depicts the common tinwork and mess items one can see the Poilu using. We can see the two issued canteens in their wool covers intended to mask the shine of the tin. To the right of the canteens is a Bouthéon, or Camp Stew Pot, intended to carry soup rations for a section of soldiers. Four of these stew pots were issued to a squad and they could provide soup rations for four people. Despite the name, this tin was used for cooking and transporting soup as well as coffee and wine. The lid doubles as a pan with a protruding conical piece that accepts a wooden handle. When not in use it was to be worn at the back of the soldier's pack secured by the large load strap. A designated ration or soup carrier holding two of these tins as well as several bread bags and canteens sent to supply the frontline was a common sight to see.

Immediately below the Bouthéon is a Gamelle Modèle 1852, a mess kit issued to the individual soldier. This would be the main tin used for eating rations. It features a smaller pan that rests inside and a detachable handle that can be fixed to this pan. The lid of the mess kit is secured by a chain. This pan and handle are shown to the left of the gamelle. Inside the pan is a camping spoon and fork which was a common private purchase item at the time. Further to the left of this is an Opinel folding knife and standard issue can opener. The can opener was standard issue while the folding knife would be purchased in the civilian realm. Below these small kit items are canvas bags intended to hold dry rations. The double ration bags are intended to carry roasted coffee in one side and sugar in the other. The larger ration bag could carry bread or canned food. Immediately below the one liter canteen is the regulation cutlery. This included the spoon and fork while the tin plate was a common civilian model requisitioned for use within the Army.

The second display photo shows an example of contents within the Étui-Musette Modèle 1892 for this particular tankiste. These bread bags were intended to carry the soldier's rations and personal items. From the left to right we can see a pouch for glasses, an individual first aid kit, a handkerchief, a Double Toothed Comb, Lip Balm, Pocket Mirror, and assorted canvas bags. The double-sided comb was primarily to issued combat lice which would be a prevalent issue in the trenches. A nice pocket mirror is always good to have, this version protects the mirror in a wooden case. Other examples can be seen such as a simple round or rectangular model with metal backing issued in a canvas envelope.

The bottom left display photo shows more small kit items that could also be seen, with personal effects like a smoking pipe and trench watch, grooming items like the regulation razor and shaving items, toiletries like a toothbrush, and the standard issue sewing kit with scissors. Nothing much to be said here as it is universally understood as to why one would carry these items. Note however that the shaving kit and tooth care items were not standard issue and needed to be purchased separately by the soldier in military bazaars. The soldier's ID booklet and ID tags can also be seen. Every enlisted soldier would receive an identification booklet once they were incorporated into the military. It was to be carried at all times from the day of their incorporation into active service until discharge from the reserves. It would then have to be kept safe as a civilian in order to prove that they had completed their service obligations to the military. The booklet was to be worn on the soldier at all times. As a tankiste, the booklet would be carried within the interior breast pocket of the black leather motorist coat if this was worn. In all other cases it would be worn on the interior breast pocket of the wool tunic. It was often placed inside a wool or leather case in order to protect it from damage. The booklet contained everything to know about the soldier, from their mobilization class year, to their measurements and full name, to civil and military status including campaigns fought, awards, wounds, specializations, vaccinations, visa for military police, and much more.

The identification tags would be issued to all soldiers in order to properly identify their body when they died in battle. By the time of the AS, soldiers would often have two of these ID tags with one worn on the wrist via chain and the other worn around the neck secured by a spare boot lace. Other fashions and methods of wearing these tags would be seen as well. These are Plaque d’Identité Militaire Modèle 1915 variants specifically. The wearer's name and mobilization class year was stamped on one side with the recruitment region and recruitment number on the other side (the unstamped wrist tag is an original unissued example).

The bottom right display showcases various Artillerie Spéciale memorabilia. These are all post-war examples because the AS would get their due recognition in helping end the war in the years after the armistice. This was because after the war General Estienne and Louis Renault were heralded as war heroes who were able to take the military and civilian circles of the French bureaucracy and have them agree on the right path to take in regards to the creation of the French tank force and the doctrine of numerous light tanks swarming the enemy over the predominant idea of large landships. The Renault FT itself would be nicknamed 'Le Char de la Victoire' (The Victory Tank) because of the impact its use had in stopping the German Spring Offensive and their effectiveness in the battles leading to the end of the war. This nickname would make an appearance on medals awarded to factory workers who aided in constructing the Renault FT at the Billancourt factory. At the war’s end, France was in celebration after years of hardship and violence. As Louis Renault was awarded the Grand Cross of the Légion d’Honneur for his company’s contributions to the war effort, his workers were also given medals for their hard work in physically constructing the machines. This medal was commissioned and designed by the famous French sculptor Pierre Félix Masseau. His task was to create a medal that commemorated the successes of the Renault FT during the Great War. His design was 27 mm in diameter and featured a depiction of the Renault factory’s main product during the war: the Renault FT. The front of the medal depicted a Renault FT crushing the German Eagle with the caption “LE CHAR DE LA VICTOIRE. 1918” (The victory tank. 1918) above it. The back of the medal depicts the Renault Billancourt factory in a bird’s eye view. The maker’s mark is on the Renault FT side to the right of the tank. Three versions of the medal exist in gold, silver, and bronze. Silver versions feature the Boar’s Head poinçon denoting pure silver on the reverse along the integral loop. All versions feature the same design on the front and back and have the marking “Argent” on the rim of the medal. These medals would be offered to workers of the Renault Billancourt factory by the management after the armistice in 1918. Six original gold and bronze medals are presented here.

To the left of this is a 1919 Renault advertisement taken from a newspaper. From 1919 to 1923 Renault had changed its logo to the Renault FT as it had become their most famous product. It would appear on commercial tracked tractors and other Renault vehicles. Below this is a 1922 French Army pamphlet which outlines the unit organization and vehicle specifications of the Renault FT. And once again below this pamphlet is a photograph of 507e RAS operated Renault FT on parade in Wiesbaden, Germany, 1919, during the post-war occupation of the Rhine region. All AS units that were collectively awarded the Croix de Guerre after the war had the medal painted on the left front side of the turret on their FT inside the white geometrical shape of their company, sometimes bordered in red. We can faintly see the medal painted inside a white triangle on these tanks. To the right of this is an original May 1921 letter hand written by General Estienne himself. He is writing to a prominent American woman who asked what his opinion was on the American Tank Corps' performance during the Great War. Beside the letter is an original stamp and magazine cover from Le Pays de France depicting the French Father of the Tank. On the right we can see an original armistice handkerchief depicting the famous Canon de 75 modèle 1897. Immediately below this is a stereograph depicting AEF forces and their tanks fighting in the Ardennes in 1918. Placing this photo in a stereoscope would produce a 3D effect for the viewer.

These paper items are wrapped in museum-grade UV protective film. Here's hoping that they will survive in perfect condition status for another 100 years!

[bizarrebazaar13]

🌅 for Dexter

🌑 for Alexandria

🛠 for Vela

📑 for Aria

I don't know much yet about your OCs :)

🌅: artistic school?

Dexter isn’t very artistic in general, but if he had to pick one, it would be the celestials. he never intended to stay down here, and there’s a part of him that misses the surface more than he wants to admit. plus, it gains him favor with society, especially in the empress’s court.

🌑- what are their thoughts on the liberation of the night?

Alexandria supports it in theory, but thinks that killing every single star in the entire universe is impossible in practice. she wants to focus more on freeing the neath from the influence of the bazaar and the masters. a better solution to the problem of judgements, in his mind, would be to find ways to limit their influence. she knows quite a bit about the correspondence, and is interested in the idea of using it against the judgements.

🛠: are they good with their hands?

Vela has very quick and steady hands, thanks to all zir experience picking locks and pockets, and ze’s good at sewing because of this. but as far as repairing things goes, ze is a little out of zir depth. ze’s good at temporary fixes, like filling leaks in pipes with whatever’s on hand, but for actually solving the underlying problem, ze’s definitely paying someone else to do it.

📑- have they published any academic works?

on the surface, Aria had two published papers on her astronomical work, and was working on a third before Elisa was murdered. in the neath, she’s written quite a bit on the correspondence, and even managed to get some of her work into the university’s scientific journal. the correspondence intrigues her, both because of how it’s treated as a forbidden subject, and because of its connection to the stars. studying astronomy is impossible in the neath, so she’s thrown herself into creating a correspondence department in the university. since that whole murder thing, she’s not had many interested students or faculty members, but she prefers it that way. getting to study on her own without having to talk to anyone else? perfect.

[sunlessea]

for all it has taken a sudden interest in ensuring its spot 'pon the fenrir with increasing frequency, mr spices does not fit in with the crew at all. like a sore, it sticks out among the bejeweled men, women and many in betweens that cross to and fro in the day to day. not even the ship's captain offers it reprieve for being among its own! much as it had been othered in the high wilderness, zees is closer to its own crew than it is the masters. its cloaks are only a matter of respectability, at this point, so far removed is it from how the bazaar's masters present themselves.

a pirate prince may not be so far off, how the zailors regard it. zees weaves between and through them with ease, standing a good foot taller if not more, with jewels hanging off ear, tail, and limb ... spices, then, a proper creature, crawled up from the depths by comparison.

they really have no business in one-another's company, they two.

"if you've intention of zailing with us so frequently, you should truly get comfortable with the rest of the crew, little zee witch." even as old as its crew may be, they are still proper enough to fear both masters aboard, but spices even more-so. zees does not, how it slides into the space behind it, hands deftly wrapped 'round their wrists to lift their arms and stride forward chest-to-back. it pushes spices forward as if it has a mind to dance with it. it doesn't, of course, though many of its drunken crew sing and stumble to firelight. "some of them have been with me since the very first city. do you intend to crawl aboard this ship and convince me any sense of romantic love capable of withstanding greater than the loyalty of friendship?"

it's only half joking, but as it releases their arms and curls 'round it to stand afront, its ears twitch, smug. "i had not expected you to return. dreams of a love story writ between two masters of the bazaar, after all, are meant to remain dreams, so they, and you, have always said."

@londonfallen / mr spices

[resourcebazaar1]

Master WordPress: Top Institutes to Skyrocket Your Skills

WordPress is becoming the preferred platform for building great websites and blogs because it is an intuitive and robust content management system (CMS). But whether you are fresh to WordPress or want to advance your knowledge, realizing its potential may open up a world of artistic possibilities. To assist you in doing that, this article examines a prestigious institution that provides thorough WordPress training intended to accelerate your skills and turn you into a WordPress whiz!

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Given the rising demand for WordPress-based websites, finding "WordPress institutes near me" has become a common query among aspiring developers. Let’s look at the features to consider when looking for the best WordPress Institute.

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The extensive course selection at Resource Bazaar Training Company is designed to satisfy the requirements of both novices and professionals in the industry. WordPress establishments in my area, Resource Bazaar, have everything you need, whether your goals are to obtain credentials that will advance your job chances or to sharpen your technical abilities and web development areas.

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If you are searching for WordPress institutes near me, look no further than Resource Bazaar Training Company. With its top-notch WordPress courses, you can gain the skills needed to create stunning websites and enhance your career prospects.

[aneetasingh]

With The Taj In India: An Exceptional 4-Day Golden Triangle Tour, Experience the Soul of India

With its vibrant palette of historical grandeur, architectural wonders, and cultural diversity, India welcomes visitors to set off on an adventure that promises to be both thrilling and enlightening. The Golden Triangle, a popular tourist route that links Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur, is the ideal way to get a sense of the diverse range of Indian cultural traditions. The business Taj In India, which is well-known for creating customized travel experiences, offers a unique 4-day Golden Triangle Tour that is intended to provide a thorough examination of these recognizable destinations. This well thought-out trip guarantees the ideal balance of excitement, exploration, and comfort.

Day 1: Exploring Delhi's Historical Splendors The trip begins in Delhi, the nation's capital and a thriving metropolis that perfectly captures India's rich cultural legacy. Travelers are taken on an interactive tour of both Old and New Delhi with The Taj In India. Discover the secrets of historic sites like the imposing Red Fort and the tranquil Jama Masjid during the day. This is all complimented by a rickshaw ride through Chandni Chowk's busy streets. The tour includes both colonial and modern aspects of New Delhi, including sites such as the Parliament House, the India Gate, and the Lotus Temple. Every location visited tells a distinct tale that reflects the city's rich cultural and historical heritage.

Day 2: The Ageless Romance Encased in the Monuments of Agra The second day begins with a drive to Agra, the location of the Taj Mahal, a monument to love. An early morning visit guarantees that visitors will take in the breathtaking sight of the Taj Mahal illuminated by the golden rays of dawn—a sight that will live indelibly in their mind. The Taj Expert guides from India enhance the experience by sharing heartwarming stories of love and grief that inspired Emperor Shah Jahan to build the monument in honor of his adored wife, Mumtaz Mahal. The program includes trips to the magnificent Agra Fort and the intricately beautiful Itmad-ud-Daulah's Tomb, which provide a greater understanding of the Mughal era's architectural creativity. The discovery of Agra doesn't end here.

Day 3: Jaipur's Regal Charms The trip winds its way to Jaipur, the energetic capital of Rajasthan on the third day. Jaipur is renowned for its busy bazaars, architectural marvels, and royal heritage. The day is filled with excursions to the City Palace, which serves as a reminder of the royal family's lavish lifestyle, and the Amer Fort, where visitors may enjoy the fort's magnificence while riding an elephant. The journey also takes in the famous Hawa Mahal and the astronomical wonder of Jantar Mantar, providing views of the masterful fusion of Mughal and Rajput architectural forms. Jaipur is an experience that includes Rajasthan's vibrant culture, arts, and crafts in addition to its monuments.

Day 4: The Cultural Immersion Journey Proceeds Not any less thrilling is the last day of the 4-day Golden Triangle Tour with The Taj in India. Guests can choose to discover the lesser-known jewels of the city, have a traditional Rajasthani supper, or delve further into the cultural fabric of Jaipur through visits to local artisan workshops, depending on how their itinerary is customized. Alternatively, you may spend the day to go back to any places you've been to before and take your time exploring the sites you missed or just to take in the lively spirit of the streets and markets. This adaptability guarantees that every visitor has a special, rewarding experience that fits with their interests.

The Taj in India: Creating Memories That Will Last A Lifetime The Taj in India is distinguished by its dedication to offering genuine, superior, and customized travel experiences. The Four-Day Golden Triangle Tour is well-organized to guarantee a smooth and enriching experience. It includes air-conditioned transportation, lodgings that provide the utmost in comfort and hospitality, and guides who are enthusiastic about presenting their culture. The firm is the best option for anyone want to thoroughly discover the Golden Triangle because of its meticulous attention to detail and capacity to customize the trip to each traveler's tastes.

In summary The 4-day Golden Triangle Tour with The Taj In India is an immersive experience that provides a glimpse into the essence of India, not merely a tour of the country's tourist attractions. This tour captures the essence of India’s rich legacy, from the regal beauty of Jaipur to the romantic charm of Agra and the historical depths of Delhi. It is an incredible adventure. Travelers may be guaranteed they will not only see but also fully experience the heart of India when they stay at The Taj In India, making lifelong memories.

4 Days Golden Triangle Tour By Car

Skip The Line

Duration : 4 Days

Free cancellation

Instant confirmation

Private Tour

Overview - 4 Days Golden Triangle Tour

The three most notable Indian urban communities — Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur — can be found as a component of this eminent 4-day Brilliant Triangle Visit bundle. You’ll have heaps of opportunities to find out about their new customs and culture here. You will be captivated by this visit in the most pleasant manner. We have made arrangements to make your excursion paramount.

Tour Highlights

 Duration – 3 Nights and 4 Days

Immediate Confirmation

Live Guide – Spanish, English, Russian

Wheelchair Accessible

Explore 3 Major Cities – Delhi – Agra – Jaipur

Pick-up service – From anywhere in Delhi / Gurugram and Noida as requested.

Tour Itinerary

Day-1: Explore Delhi City Tour And Drive To Agra

Day-2: Explore Agra City And Drive To Jaipur

Day-3: Explore Jaipur City

Day-4: Drive Back To Delhi For Departure

Inclusion / Exclusion

Instant Confirmation post your booking

Private Air-Conditioned Vehicle

Monument Entrance Tickets included

3 Nights Hotel Stay With Breakfast.

Bottles of mineral water

Applicable taxes

Complimentary water bottles & umbrellas

Parking, Tolls, fuel & Road Tax included

Entrance Fees for monuments.

 All taxes.

[gazingvibes]

Trendy Fashion For Women

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[unicornbitchface]

Raat ki Rani

Pairing: Henry x OFC

Summary: The plot moves ahead. 

No warnings yet.

Beta’d by the lovely @madbaddic7ed​ !

.............................................................................................

Chapter 2

That’s it. 

She was so over it. 

How was it even allowed? 

There had to be some decorum, some sanctity to the institution. Someone had to make it right, and it will have to be her. Enough was enough. 

Bursting through the carved door of the zenana mahal, her eyes searched for the culprit. Today she would make it clear what goes where, and she is not to be trifled with. 

She kept her head low in front of her father, but Damini deserved to be hit for how she talked to their father! What was so wrong about what he said? Rajputana women are to serve their janmabhoomi (motherland) and later her husband’s jaagir (feudal estate). 

And everyone knows, with that tongue no Kunwar would take that disgrace. 

The only use for her is to make sure Father keeps his gold. How is that so bad? 

Worse than wearing men’s clothes to Meena Bazaar? 

Kite flying with locals like an imbecile? 

Running around like a bloody camel in the palace?

Pranks on the Generals, priests and the guests without a care for her stature?

Surely not.

There she was, giggling with the kids, up to no good as always!

“Damu!” Revati roared. 

The mischief in those almond eyes could not be hidden, not that Damini would ever try to. Their eyes met, and she walked to her elder sister with a poise that would put peacocks to shame. 

“Khamba Ghani bai sa! How can I help you?” 

Smack.

Head to the side, Damini’s insides fumed at the atrocious insult. Fire consumed her when she looked back at her sister. But before she could say anything, Revati had her hands on her ear as she dragged her to the chambers.

“Bai sa! It hurts, ow, stop!”

Revati was silent until they reached her room and spun Damini around making her fall near the bed.

“What is wrong with you, Damu? Why are you so hell-bent on soiling your father's name and reputation all the time? Are you not his ward? Do you not love him? If not any of that, please tell me you at least hold remorse!”

“Remorse for what, Bai sa? Of course, I love him but he clearly doesn’t love me” A lone tear escaped the lioness, her heart squeezing in waste, for a relationship that won’t exist beyond a mention in history books. 

“What was so wrong about what he said? You get to save the maan of our ancestors! You get to maintain your old life while helping Father! You should consider this an honour and-”

Damini stood up and walked to her sister, “I spit on such honour. If it’s so glorious, why don’t you warm his bed? I am sure you don’t miss your husband anyway!”

Revati stood there, speechless. She had no words for the indecency her sister had unfolded without hesitation. 

“Do you know what you are saying? I cannot. I am bound to my husband. I have taken vows, and I shall not bring shame to his name. Never.”

Smirking and raising an eyebrow, Damini shot another crude arrow towards Revati, “Cannot? Shall not? So you mean to say you would if you could?” 

The silence and red cheeks gave her what she needed to know. 

“You haven’t seen him. You are lucky to have a specimen like that in your bed. He has blue eyes, Damu and looks like a foreign God, here to ravish and ravage. He is a Lord you know? That means he is almost in our ranks. He must have lands, and his pockets must be overflowing with gold!” Hands to her chest, Revati’s breaths were close to being shallow and her eyes were dazed/had a faraway look to them.

Damini never understood this weird fawning that women did over certain men. She has seen women literally drool over their choli and panting like parched animals. 

Weird. 

“Brown hair, those curls! When he looks at you, oh those ice cold eyes! Time freezes and you feel a strange fire consume you, pooling in your gut, giving you these ideas that would put apsaras to shame. I haven’t seen him smile yet, but it will be brighter than the sunrise on the highest hills of our kingdom! I’m sure of it! And those muscles Damu! His angrezi trousers barely fit him and oh how the mighty muscles might rip it to shreds. Hmm, and you have to see his shoulders ! Broader than my husband’s best swords, imagine-”

Damini cleared her throat loudly, and said, “Look, I have no interest in that buffoon even if he had 3 eyes, 4 limbs and walked on bloody water! Just leave me alone, and you can continue with your weird fantasy in private, thank you!”

As Damini was leaving,  Revati grabbed her. 

“You will have to bend over for the bright future of Junagarh, little sister. Save the fire and use it in his bed because Father is not going to let this go. You know his penchant for gold Damu. We need that to keep the God at our doorstep satisfied. Think of yourself as a sacrifice! Don’t we sacrifice goats in Dussera? This is not much different. Appease him Damu, and he will shower blessings on our kingdom. You know we need it! 

 Do it by your own will, or you shall be delivered, hands and legs bound. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you know what is the better option, hm?”

Smart girl?

Smarter than you think sister. 

**************************************

Meanwhile, Lord Cavill was ready to rip his hair out. How has this country survived for so long? You call these jokers ministers? Oh, dear God.

After the first meeting, the Maharaja had insisted that the British envoy must meet and greet with the ministers to get a better understanding of their system. The Lord had reluctantly agreed, after all, he was sent here to keep an eye on the state and its keeper.

While a few tried to speak in English, most of the meeting was held via translation services offered by Mount General, Kulwant Singh. Honestly, Cavill would never get the measure of this odd human. He surely was not intimidated, but this man left him uncomfortable.

Cavill was busy analysing this giant’s diet and lifestyle, wondering how he became what he is. It was a result of mere boredom and not due to any frivolous intrigue. Just as Cavill hid a yawn about to escape, a voice grabbed his attention.

“Long live Cavill Saab, I, Bikram Rajawat, minister of the esteemed court, have a few proposals to put forth. May I?”

Cavill waved him to continue.

“As My Lord must be aware, our lands are arid causing water shortages. The lands beyond the capital need wells, sir. It is hard to-”

Cavill, leaned forward on the cushioned chair, eyes darting to the familiar voice of the Maharaja as he spoke.

“Rajawat! That is enough. I am sure Cavill Saab does not need to be bothered with trivial issues. He must focus on the bigger picture, am I right, sir?” Ganga asked meekly.

“And by bigger, do you mean the palace you want the money for, Mr Singh?”

Chuckling awkwardly, the Maharaja replied, “I am a representative of the subjects my lord! My standard of living reflects on their prosperity. The palace would function as an object of pride for every citizen of my raj.”

“Not your raj, The British Raj.”

Everyone stood up faster than the lightning, swords drawn, ready to get bloody.

“EXCUSE ME?”

Cavill looked around the room and took a breath. These ignorant fools have no idea what they signed up for.

He chuckled at the thought of their possible reactions to his heavy-handed revelations.

“Have you read the treaty, Maharaja Ganga Singh? Have you truly read it?”

Furious by his tone, Bikram yelled, “You are talking to a King, Lord Cavill. I suggest you watch your tone. An insult to him is an insult to the entire court!”

“Respectfully minister, he might be your king and you are allowed to feel so, but I am not talking to a King. When I stand here as an officer from the company, I talk to the WARD of Britain. Not a King, not a Maharaja.”

There was pin-drop silence as Cavill rose from his seat. It was time to show them how things are going to work from now on.

“I suggest you take your seats, honourable ministers and you too Mr Singh. I must clarify that I do not intend to hurl any sort of an insult at anybody. I am merely stating the facts.” Looking at Kulwant, he could only hope for a fair translation. The language was another thing he had to master if he was going to stay here.

His face contorted in distaste as he thought of learning this primitive language, an utter waste of his time.

He pushed those thoughts aside and continued once the ministers had sat back down.

“The British are paying for all of this to be maintained as it were. We are supportive of your lifestyle and would like to see you flourish. However, this is not a charity. The use of our resources need to be monitored, and we are here to provide advice and guidance you all will only benefit further from.” 

The Maharaja nodded and agreed with the envoy. However, he still felt discomfort at his earlier tone. He somehow needed this buffoon under his control, and his only ticket seemed to be Damini. 

That wretched fool. He had a lot of work to do. 

Ganga looked at the Lord and wondered if stoking lust would fetch him anything. There was certainly no harm in trying. 

“Ahem, I would like to extend an invitation to you, good sir. I would like to hold a feast in your honour in the evening. It would be an honour to have you present! This way you get to meet my family and my successor Maan Singh as well.”

A native party? Really? Lord Cavill groaned internally at the thought of fake pleasantries yet responded, “I don’t engage in a lot of social commitments Mr Singh, but I suppose I cannot say no to a feast organised in my honour. I shall be there.”

“So, now that we know what our roles are, I would like to see your proposal for the wells Bikram Singh. I think it will benefit the people and help our taxes in return. There are a few other proposals I would like to work on, so I am requesting you to be prepared with your plans. Include expenditure, time, labour and other needs in detail. Take notes from your Maharaja, as his notes were flawless for the palace plan.”

The court missed his cheekiness and was genuinely impressed by the king’s efforts.

Ganga Singh puffed his chest in pride and got lost in the praise.

Interesting. The king was not hard to read, and Cavill knew what had to be done now.

Ha! A piece of cake.

Previous chapter

.......................................................................................

Hindi terms:

Khamba Ghani: Rajasthani salutation and a way to say hello. 

Apsara: celestial nymphs 

Angrezi: English, used commonly to describe any kind of foreign objects, beliefs etc, but mostly rooted in British connotation. 

Maharaja: King 

Dussera: A festival celebrated in India, to honor the various forms of Hindu goddesses. It goes on for 10 days, each day for a particular goddess, and on the 8th day, Goddess Kali is worshiped. Some followers believe in sacrificing animals as a tribute to please her. 

Tags:

@madbaddic7ed @henrythickcavill @toomanyfandomsshreya @inana999 @maximumninjavoid @mistress-of-ward

[nutty1005]

Xiao Zhan: Prepared, the Next Crossroads will be Clearer

Translator’s Note: This article comes from Harper’s Bazaar 2020 Feb Issue.

To Xiao Zhan, his encounters in the past few years are “Dreams come true” – or perhaps he can consider as “Lucky”, but what can only match it is his all-out effort and hard work. He believes that opportunity needs to come with luck and effort, he prepares himself so that the next crossroads will always be clearer. 

In the past 1 year, there are many things that Xiao Zhan could only describe as “surreal”.

“So nervous!” his doe-like eyes shining with light. “Miss Man created her own style in photography. There’s a familiarity looking at the layout when working with someone I know of since designer days, but the subject matter is actually me.” After saying this, he heaved a long sigh. Looking at a random point in front of him, he cannot help but smile – “It’s like a dream come true.”

“1 minute onstage equates to 10 years of effort offstage” 

During the recording of the recent variety show “Our Song”, Xiao Zhan had the same surreal experience. When singing with mentor singers such as Na Ying and Wakin Chau, he was slightly trance-like, because he grew up listening to these singers, being on the same stage with these God-tiered singers, he was naturally anxious and fearful, and he was on high alert every moment of the way.

“Singing with Na Ying on the first three episodes, I was so nervous that I can’t even, and more nervous during the rehearsals than the actual recording – worried that I would be off tune, my ears were working hard to pick up the harmonization.” He would not allow himself to make any mistake, worried that the mentors felt that he did not prepare himself seriously – singing perfectly is one thing, intentionally putting in effort is another.

Although the performances in the show were mostly old songs, he needed to put aside the deeply rooted impressions and re-learn the songs as well as the harmonizing sections. “I must make sure that I will not go off tune, as well as ensure that there are no conflicts when we harmonize… It is really very difficult.” His current schedule was being programmed down to the minutes, there was no time for proper practice, hence he used every scrap of available time to do so. After every new composition, he would listen to it repeatedly until he could memorize it, “I listened to the songs repeatedly using earphones while in the car, even if I’m asleep I’m still listening, somewhat like brainwashing style of learning.”

Xiao Zhan quietly observed every detail of his mentors – they not only chose songs that suited their vocal range, they would also decide based on the partner’s situation and the harmonizing effect; they would continuously communicate with the onsite music director and stage director during rehearsals, and make adjustments on their techniques on the spot. The flexibility in the mentors’ performances amazed him – a successful performance can only be based on the accumulation of stage experiences, and not rely on fluke.

He can still remember his nervousness when he first joined the talent show – his legs were heavy as lead, he almost could not move, and his hands were shaking nonstop. “The stage required self-confidence, but no matter whether there were fireworks onstage, or the performance could set the stage afire, the endless practices offstage must continue. When one has full confidence on what to do onstage, only then there will be a possibility to create a better stage sensation.

The mentors gave him a lot of tips on how to practice his vocals, including how to relax the vocal cords. “They have very professional experience, and what they have imparted to me are shortcuts that they have discovered and summarized.” Xiao Zhan was frequently caught pouting before his performances. “That is not ‘trying to act cute’, pouting and bloating the mouth to the maximum, and then suddenly relaxing, is one of the ways to quickly relax your mouth muscles, it is very helpful to reading lines or singing.”

If there were an important recording session or a stage performance, he would skip all meals after that day’s breakfast, in accordance to the principle 饱吹饿唱 (TN: A full stomach is good for playing wind instruments, an empty stomach is good for singing), “My condition is actually better when I am hungry, and hunger gives me more clarity.” Promoting his strengths and avoiding his weaknesses is another of his principle, “My vocals are more suited to ballads or fresh soothing songs, if it is a ballad, I have 70% confidence onstage, whereas some songs requires some explosive strength, which might not be suitable for me.”

The charm of the stage comes from the “moment”, he likes the fleeting sensation, no matter whether it is his own condition or the audiences’ reaction, these could not be replicated or repeated. “I will not watch my own performances repeatedly, whether it is good or not I know it in my heart, what is past I will let it past.”

“Hard work may not guarantee success, but if you don’t work hard, you definitely will not succeed”

Between singer and actor, Xiao Zhan does not feel that they are mutually exclusive. “Why must it be divided so clearly instead of having both at the same time? I remember that the idols we used to love in our youth were multi-talented, such as Chen Kun and Zhou Xun were commonly recognized as outstanding actors, but they could also sing nice songs like Half Moon Crescent 半月湾 and The Sea 看海. Why now it must be idol is idol, actor is actor, singer is singer? I don’t quite understand this, everyone is just doing what they are passionate about, isn’t it great if it’s done well?”

However, to be able to do everything “well”, it is not just dependent on talent or opportunity. There was once a trending topic on Weibo, exclaiming that even with Xiao Zhan’s qualities, he still considered his looks as “average”, his vocals as “natural”, and he felt that he was lucky to have had the opportunities, and to complement this luck, he could only reply on down-to-earth hard work.

His recent drama shoot “The Oath of Love” had finally come to an end. This was his first “real” contemporary drama, and felt nervous because he had already been accustomed to the shooting style, the wigs, the costumes and the lines of period drama, and now he had to perform as a modern person realistically and naturally. “After shooting a lot of period dramas, you will naturally come with a ‘style’, that is you can exaggerate a bit, emphasize on some parts of the lines or emotions.” He suddenly focused his attention and recited in the period drama style, “Master, shalt t beest liketh this the present day?” It definitely felt out of place in the makeup room piled with clothes. (TN: He said “Master, shall it be like this today?”, but to emphasize on the contrast, I used Shakespearean English.)

“No one will speak like this in our daily lives, I am working hard to remove this ‘style’, but it turns out to be quite difficult.” This type of natural flow is also quite different from being his real self. “When I am singing onstage, I am Xiao Zhan himself, the person who has lived for 20 plus years, but when I am acting, I have to become another person, and I will hesitate on many details – should I be holding the chopsticks like this? Is it suitable to take a sip of water after saying this line?”

When shooting “The Wolf”, he would write long essays on his acting thoughts after the end of the day’s shooting everyday. Although he did not maintain this troublesome step till now, he still maintained the habit to summarize his day. “At that time, it really felt like you are writing year end summaries everyday, multiple sections, and you still needed outlines. I will record down what I learnt today, what I did and didn’t do today, and what I want to accomplish next time round… very detailed.” Initially, this was based on the performance teacher’s requirements, but Xiao Zhan started to feel that these tiresome work were very helpful. “It is possible that some of the points will be forgotten by the end of the class, but if you record them down, if you don’t remember the details later on, by looking at them, you can recall the details.”

After learning from the performance teacher, he was able to truly understand that the expressiveness from both lines and body movement are just as powerful. “There was once during class, the teacher told me to read the lines with my eyes closed, and use different emotions to convey rage, happiness, sadness and unspeakable feelings. His final goal was to help me forget the baggage from lines, and to be unrestricted by technicalities.” The teacher tossed him the dictionary 新华字典, and said, “You will win if you finish reading this dictionary.”

Xiao Zhan believed that opportunity needs to come with luck and effort. When shooting “The Untamed”, he once felt that his condition the previous day was not good enough, and requested the director to reshoot the scene, but after the 4th or 5th take, the director said that the 1st take was still the best. “Human emotions are very mysterious – you would think that the more you give the better it becomes, but instead you could not repeat the initial most natural performance. The first take is always full of unknown, my partners and I do not know how much emotions we intend to inject into the scene; instead we stimulate each other, invoke the most real emotions; the latter takes already have the information from the previous takes, instead there are more predefined boundaries.”

Usually, before an important scene, the whole atmosphere of the scene would become very serious. “Sometimes I would think that I don’t want to think about other additional things, and put in all of my 100% effort in the scene, but instead be unable to perform. I still don’t have much acting experience, but I feel that you need to be relaxed performing, enjoy the performance, if you are on a tight rope, you won’t be able to act well.”

The director also told him that he needs to forgive himself, that art itself is something that is filled with the beauty of regrets. “If I can’t do better I would definitely feel depressed, but I always accept the existence of regret. There are limits to my abilities, but I will do my best, the existence of regrets is not an excuse, I still have to put in all of my efforts.”

Xiao Zhan understood this principle since his childhood days when he was learning how to draw. Some people are just better than any average person at drawing, and you just cannot surpass them. “The most important homework that everyone must do is to accept themselves, don’t have to feel depressed or hopeless when you see another person’s talents. The path everyone takes is different, we do not need to compare with others and feel hopeless, we just need to find what is suitable for us, and you also need to believe that hard work will compensate what you lack in talent. Yes, hard work may not guarantee success, but if you don’t work hard, you definitely will not succeed.”

“Commoner’s wish”

If the start of acting was just going with the flow, he now views it as the true goal to work towards, and something that he loves from the bottom of his heart. “The life of Xiao Zhan may not be able to experience all the wild and crazy things, now as a public character, I cannot let loose and live presumptuously,  vent my emotions as I like, but I can experience different lives in acting.”

It has only been just a month since the end of his previous drama shoot, but he already found himself restless and wanting to participate in the next piece of work. “It is this kind of desire, I just want to get into the next phase of life, I like the feeling of detachment from myself.”

However, he will always bid farewell to a role, and once again rejoin his life. In 2019, the name Xiao Zhan became one of the names that attracted the most attention. Although he rejects all kinds of characterization, and hoped that he can present his most natural and real self, he still received all kinds of projected imagery. The over-attention extended into his personal life and gave him some sense of insecurity, but he hoped that he could still have space to live as any common person – able to head out for a meal or watch a movie, keeping his common sense.

“Of course I will be more careful when it comes to conveying myself. I am actually very careful, now I represent not just Xiao Zhan as a person, but also my team, even if not for myself, there is no need to create any unnecessary trouble.” When he encounters any problems, he will usually digest it himself. “Frankly speaking, I also haven’t met much problems that I cannot resolve myself. But a lot of problems, what others can do is to give me some opinions, some direction, cheer you on, but they can’t really solve it for you. How to persist, how to overcome, it all depends on myself, because only I know what actually happened.”

He had not stopped flying this whole year, always hurrying, but he felt that, in principle, there were not much difference from his days as a designer. “Designers also had to always work overtime, now I could also relax on the weekends.” He had slight insomnia the night before the shoot, hence he dozed off during the make up, and only ate a few mouthfuls for breakfast and lunch – this is already his standard daily life. “This is just a phase, very difficult, but I have to tide over. And I don’t feel that this is something tough to do, I enjoy my work, and also enjoy the sense of security and fulfillment from a busy work schedule.”

He still has unlimited dreams, for example, having another hobby besides drawing, learning more about design, recently he is also thinking about learning a new instrument. “But sometimes what I want most is to go home or to the hotel and relax on the bed. What comes next, I’ll think about it when I get up.”

[wewererogue]

Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser: Review by Justin Alexander

[by Justin Alexander / The Alexandrian, March 21st, 2006]

I’ve been on a pulp fantasy kick for the past month or so: I started with Robert E. Howard, having finally secured (by way of the Science Fiction Book Club) a hardcover copy of what promises to be the first true edition of his Conan stories to be issued in the States. From that familiar territory I spun off for a quick foray through Henry Kuttner’s imaginative Prince Raynor stories before returning to Howard for the outstanding – if unfortunately few – Cormac Mac Art stories. I then took a voyage of peril and pleasure across Clark Ashton Smith’s forgotten continent of Zothique before turning my attention to Fritz Leiber’s legendary duo: Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser.

From there I had intended to set sail for the lands of either Moorcock’s Elric or Wagner’s Kane, but – in truth – I find myself so disheartened that I am instead turning my attention to wholly different pastures for awhile.

But I fear that I set my premise before my scene. Let me back up for a moment.

For those who don’t know, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser are famed heroes of the sword and sorcery genre. First unleashed in the pages of the pulps, their literary career spanned almost five decades, coming to an end only with Leiber’s death in the early ‘90s. Their tales are most commonly available in seven authoritative collections: Swords and Deviltry, Swords Against Death, Swords in the Mist, Swords Against Wizardry, Swords of Lankhmar, Swords and Ice Magic, and The Knight and Knave of Swords.

I first read their adventures in junior high, savoring the two omnibuses which collected the first six of these volumes: The Three Swords and Swords’ Masters. Coming back to them now, nearly fifteen years later, I had only dim and disjointed memories of the two dashing swashbucklers, their gritty city of Lankhmar, and the mystic-laden land of Nehwon.

On this return trip, I found myself harboring a great deal of uneven disappointment. In short, I found that the stories of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser could be roughly divided into two camps – the outstanding and the painfully mediocre – with the latter far outnumbering the former.

Nor can one simply say, as one can in so many cases, that the earlier tales are superior to the hack work of the later. “Ill Met in Lankhmar”, The Swords of Lankhmar, and even the somewhat mixed “Rime Isle”, although among the later works, would make the list of those stories I would recommend. Although, that being said, I think it is clear that, as the series continued, a certain dreary repetition and self-conscious cleverness began to consistently diminish the stories.

Perhaps the best way to approach this inconsistent and self-crippling series is through a volume-by-volume summary of impressions.

SWORDS AND DEVILTRY: Fortunately, the most consistent volume in the series is also the first, although it contains only three tales. “The Snow Women” and “The Unholy Grail” each tell a tale of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser before their fateful and legendary meeting in Lankhmar. The former is a top-notch tale of youth and magic in the frozen north, keenly demonstrating the fantastic and unique vision which Leiber is capable of delivering. The latter, although strongly crafted, is a somewhat weaker tale – its plot more commonplace in its conception. The volume is rounded out by “Ill Met in Lankhmar”, which is the tale of the first true meeting of our destined heroes. It is also a powerfully tragic story, and its strength is best described by the fact that it represented my strongest memory of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser before returning to the series.

SWORDS AGAINST DEATH: The second volume in the series begins to show the inconsistency I’m talking about, particularly in the short bridging stories which I believe Leiber wrote specifically for these collections. “The Jewels in the Forest ” and “Thieves’ House”, two of the oldest stories, are the highlights here, and come highly recommended. Running close behind are “The Howling Tower” and “Claws of the Night” – the former being slight, but imaginative; while the latter comes as close to being a prototypical tale of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser as you are likely to find (mixing thievery, gods, and sly humor across the backdrop of Lankhmar).

Much of this volume, however, is thoroughly pedestrian. To this category belong “The Bleak Shore”, “The Sunken Land”, “The Seven Black Priests”, and “Bazaar of the Bizarre”. (Although, in their favor, I will note that these all have their moments of fantastic vision. The last, however, is a very thin pastiche.) Finally, it would be charitable to describe the last two tales offered here – “The Circle Curse” and “The Price of Pain-Ease” – as thoroughly mediocre. It would be more accurate to simply describe them as bad.

SWORDS IN THE MIST: The third volume is even more uneven than the second. On the one hand, it arguably contains the two best stories in the series: The first of these, “Lean Times in Lankhmar”, is a masterfully crafted tale. Its characters keep you enthralled while its fanciful premise is cleverly worked into an utterly hilarious conclusion. It reminds me strongly of Terry Pratchett at his finest. (Pratchett’s Small Gods, in particular, owes an obvious debt to this story.) The second gem to be found here is “Adept’s Gambit”, which is also the first tale of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser written by Leiber. Set in a mythically tinged epoch of ancient history, the tale is faintly resonant with the finest creations of Lovecraft, Howard, and Clark Ashton Smith, but possesses a flair and unique sense of character which makes it all Leiber’s own.

Unfortunately the rest of this volume can’t compare with these two classics: “The Cloud of Hate” and “When the Sea-King’s Away” are forgettable clichés, while “Their Mistress, the Sea” and “The Wrong Branch” are ham-fisted, half-baked afterthoughts attempting to create an unnecessary bridge between one tale and the next.

SWORDS AGAINST WIZARDRY: The bulk of this volume is taken up by two lengthy tales, “Stardock” and “The Lords of Quarmall”. Both stories play out across a fantastic and vividly imagined landscape populated with strange cultures and larger-than-life characters. These two tales give Swords Against Wizardry perhaps the strongest base of any volume in the series. Unfortunately, the collection is also padded out with a couple of bridging stories – “The Witch’s Tent” and “The Two Best Thieves of Lankhmar” – which have a bit more substance to them than the other bridging stories, but are still mediocre offerings at best.

THE SWORDS OF LANKHMAR: This is, in fact, the only stand-alone novel in the series. It tells the sprawling saga of an attempted invasion (of a most unusual size and character) aimed against the great city of Lankhmar . Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, of course, almost single-handedly turn back this invasion – although the path they take is anything but simple or straight-forward.

The Swords of Lankhmar is not the best story told of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, but it is perhaps the greatest. The expanded format allows Leiber a chance to stretch his muscles, and he accepts the challenge admirably by weaving a tapestry not only expansive in its imaginings but detailed in its fancies.

Perhaps the most intriguing thing to me about this novel is the clear inheritance its narrative receives from fairy tales. Whereas most writers of sword-and-sorcery trace their antecedents back to classical myth and legend, Leiber’s heroes clearly inhabit a world inspired as much as by Hans Christian Anderson as it is by Beowulf. And it is perhaps this, more than anything else, which gives these stories a unique distinction in the field.

SWORDS AND ICE MAGIC: Unfortunately, after The Swords of Lankhmar the series appears to have spent its creativity. Swords and Ice Magic, the sixth volume, is largely an unimaginative regurgitation of the themes, plots, and characters found earlier in the series. The first five stories in this collection (“The Bait”, “Beauty and the Beasts”, “Trapped in Shadowland”, “The Bait”, and “Under the Thumbs of the Gods”) are simply dreadful wastes of time. In fact, they are all essentially the same story: Distant powers or gods attempt to kill Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, who – for their part – accept the improbable with stoic complacency while thoroughly and effortlessly thwarting the attempts each time. Unfortunately, this is also a story which was told twice before in these collections.

Fortunately, things then take a slight turn for the better. The sixth story, “Trapped in the Sea of Stars ”, is badly contrived and nearly plotless, but makes up for it through the vivid description of its sense-of-wonder sea voyage. There is, in fact, no particular story here at all – but the visions conjured forth by Leiber’s prose are worth the price of admission.

The last two stories in the collection – “The Frost Monstreme” and “Rime Isle” – are, in fact, two halves of a single story. Although still flawed by an increasingly rambling style, self-conscious commentary, and regurgitation of plot and imagery, this story still has a lot to offer: Clever interactions of character, epic sensibility, charming wit, and wondrous feats are offered up with a melancholic flair.

THE KNIGHT AND KNAVE OF SWORDS: Sadly, however, that is the end of it. This last collection of stories offers nothing but an imagination apparently spent.  “Sea Magic”, “The Mer She”, and “The Curse of the Smalls and the Stars” each offer us regurgitated plots while doing nothing more than shuffling around the characters and magic items presented in “Rime Isle” to little sense of purpose or accomplishment.

Finally, in “The Mouser Goes Below”, Leiber pulls the same trick: Shuffling around characters and devices already well-worn beyond any effective use. The only difference to be found is that Leiber pulls his reused material from a larger portion of the series, rather than a single story.

I also found another trend in this last volume particularly disconcerting: A pointless coarseness which was previously absent from the series. I’m not sure what Leiber was attempting to accomplish by suddenly inundating the narrative with “long poniards” piercing “cunts and arse holes”, but the effect was merely distasteful.

In the end, I think this was a series which long-outlived its creator’s interest. Or, at the very least, his ability. The later offerings become increasingly repetitive and unimaginative, as if Leiber had simply run out of new ideas to share. Unfortunately, in collected form, these lackluster efforts seem to out-mass and actively detract from those stories which legitimately earn Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser a place of high honor in the pantheon of fantasy heroes.

Indeed, I found myself unable to finish the series. Swords and Ice Magic had seriously fatigued my interest, and I pushed on with The Knight and Knave of Swords only because (a) I had never read that final volume and (b) I wanted to finish what I had started.

But, in the end, I could manage no further than the mid-point of “The Mouser Goes Below”. Leiber pinioned the Mouser – immobile, invisible, and speechless – in order to have him bear witness to a gratuitously graphic description of one of his former loves having her maid stripped bare, fondled in the cunt and arse hole, and then given instruction on “naked serving”. After several pages of this pointlessly turgid prose I finally gave up and closed the book.

If I ever return to the adventures of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, it shall be a markedly proscribed path I take through their tales. Such a journey would look something like this:

“The Snow Woman”

“The Unholy Grail”

“Ill Met in Lankhmar”

“The Jewels in the Forest”

“Thieves’ House”

“The Bleak Shore”

“The Howling Tower”

“The Sunken Land”

“The Seven Black Priests”

“Claws of the Night”

“Lean Times in Lankhmar”

“When the Sea-King’s Away”

Adept’s Gambit

“Stardock”

“The Lords of Quarmall”

The Swords of Lankhmar

“The Frost Monstreme”

“Rime Isle”

I suspect this is less than half of the words written by Leiber of the two greatest swordsmen to ever live in this or any other universe, but it is decidedly the better half. And it, unlike the balance of the series, comes with my highest recommendation.

GRADES:

SWORDS AND DEVILTRY: A-

SWORDS AGAINST DEATH: B+

SWORDS IN THE MIST: A-

SWORDS AGAINST WIZARDRY: A-

SWORDS IN LANKHMAR: A-

SWORDS AND ICE MAGIC: B

KNIGHT AND KNAVE OF SWORDS: D

[source]

[retvenkos]

stones // mal volari

Choices: Blades of Light and Shadow - A Mal Volari Story

the broken temple is made of broken stones, i fall on my feet - broken wills and broken bones

those i know are shadows in a picture frame all fallen from grace without so much a name

i sleep in the ruins of broken stones, i cling to the chill of ghosts, i wander the shadows in the silence of night, i break all of my oaths

--

The room was dark without the sun.

It still had yet to rise all the way, and it wouldn’t fill the room until it was high enough in the sky to make the edges of buildings hazy, and the Temples glitter like jewels. In the dark alleyways he called home, things were never as bright as they were for others.

He inched toward his mother’s bed silently, slipping in and out of the shadows as though he were one. He could see the warm beige of her hands, folded over one another and lying on her stomach. The slowness with which they rose and fell startled him, but he didn’t let it show.

“Mama.”

She smiled at his words, used to his sneaking about. It gave her a fraction of hope; those who can hide can learn to survive. She hadn’t lived long, but wisdom borne from fear is strong.

She did not turn to him but when she spoke, he listened. “Promise me…”

Her words were laboured and slow, but he was there to fill the interim. “Anything,” he said in earnest.

She tried to smile again, but a bout of pain twisted it into a grimace. The boy drew closer and the mother weeped that she would never see him beyond this age - this tender hour of boyhood where life seemed infinite and mortality was not conceptualized. She was taking away his innocence as she lay dying.

Her daughter beside her shifted in the sheets, still at that adolescent stage where the veil between worlds was thin enough to sense in quiet moments.

The mother stilled, for a moment. He came close enough to feel her final breaths. She whispered a message for his ears only; a prayer, a wish, a final request.

“I promise.” (The daughter opened her eyes. A cry rattled the stones.)

--

“Hurry up! We’re almost there!”

“Slow down, Mal!” Her voice called out to him in a whine that made his teeth grind against each other. Even after all this time, he couldn’t stop his mind from being alarmed at the shrill, upset sound.

Slowing his pace, he turned around to find his sister chasing after him, too far behind. If he hadn’t shaken the guard earlier, she would have been caught.

Then where would they be?

They stopped in an alleyway, the shadows sheltering him from the sun that beat down on the city. He pushed himself on top of a discarded crate, and the girl sat on the ground, taking off her shoes and rubbing her toes.

“I can’t do it,” she said dejectedly, a frown pulling her full cheeks downward. There was a moment where he saw her as the girl she was. The child with dirtied hands and torn clothes, fallen on the stones.

He heard the click of boots, those of well-to-do ladies, and the moment passed. He looked at her face again and saw only a frowning child, not the story underneath. If only she could make that face at one of the targets, then they could get a hold of coin purses if their fingers were fast enough…

He fidgeted, restless. “You just need more practice. We survived the Nooks and Crannies, didn’t we?”

“Mama didn’t.”

Her words stung with more venom than she meant. Mal looked down at the ground, scuffing it with the toe of his worn shoes.  The sun moved overhead, and he could feel its heat on the back of his neck. His hair was getting long again. Like it had been in dark alleyways where promises had been made by a boy too young to realize what they had meant.. Maybe he could steal the thief master's knife and cut it. Get rid of the memories before they became a plague.

“I can’t stay with the Guild.” He thought her voice wavered - like a mirage, there, but not real.

“They can teach you. You’ll learn.” (You have to, the shadows echoed.)

“I can run.” She wasn’t looking at him anymore, her gaze focused on her shoes instead, as if they were the answer to all his problems. Mal could see the determination set in her brow and the resolve blossom in her dark eyes.

He wanted to object. To knock some sense into her head. To beg her to stay because she was all he had left of warm beige hands that folded over one another, lying on a stomach that used to be home. He wanted to tell her of the two promises he had made in days that were lifetimes ago, those two promises made behind closed doors, and how he would not fail the other.

Nothing came.

“You’re no good at running - especially not on your own.” His words were more harsh than he intended. They had more bite. He wanted to apologize, but the words died in his throat and piled there. He closed his eyes in a moment of shame, and when he opened them, she was gone.

He screamed and he shouted. (The echoes of the stones told him he was alone.)

--

City after city. Town after town. Street after street. Tavern after tavern. Home after home.

Mal searched them all, working odd and low paying jobs just to find her. He had left Whitetower and found brighter worlds; he had abandoned the guild and traveled the world; he found lost treasures and uncovered hidden artifacts; he searched for signs of her etched in stone, but could not find her.

There were times he met her in his dreams - a little girl with aching feet, a dying mother with rasping lungs. He would call out to them and watch as they would walk away, his body immobile as he was forced to watch them go.

He would wake and tear out his hair by the roots, unable to cut it. Unable to let go.

--

Voices called out to him in strange tongues; whispers like dying embers of a fire, some distinguishable, others fading into the background, the sounds of a bazaar.

The summer sun beat down on him as he walked through the city. He could feel the heat of it on the back if his neck and it brought back memories. Painful ones. (Aren’t they all?)

He shrugged them off, fearful of how they might accost his mind if welcomed in. They sounded like magic - the dark kind. The shadows that hunted wounded men like him, the magic that would lash out once your free will slipped.

Mal entered a tavern and let the music drive the whispers away.

He was experienced enough to beware the evils of man; he was smart enough to fear the evils of beyond.

When the night was up, Mal found someone with which to wander streets of stone. He held them, that night, but never too close. Just close enough to where there was laughter that filled his room - full enough to collect in every tight corner. (Full enough to keep out the whispers.)

--

Adventure came to him and the whispers that followed were stronger than he could ever know. (He heard them, and let them pass by.)

Shadows battered him against stones and left him bruised.