#sable shore

[sableshorecomic]

Once again demanding you all appreciate how fucking good my artist is:

[animebw]

In case you need more convincing to read my webcomic, I made a video about why you should read my webcomic.

[sableshorecomic]

Ooh, what an honor to be included! If you're just discovering Sable Shore through this poll- and it looks like a lot of you are- feel free to check us out on Webtoon. New chapters every two Saturdays at 10 AM EST!

Obscure Webcomics - Round 1-A

Digger - Finished

digger, by ursula vernon, is a moving piece. cute character designs and effective emotional pacing make the reader wonder what's going to happen next.

Beyond the Sable Shore - Ongoing

When sixteen-year-old Haru Akatsuki finds a mysterious girl bleeding to death in his house, he soon embarks on a journey through a beautiful and unforgiving world to avenge a personal tragedy... and save existence as we know it.

[itsabouttimex2]

Eclipse Kings

Part Four: Sweet Little Star

(Part One: Mountain Monkeys) (Part Two: Barbed Dusk) (Part Three: Wild Dawn) (Part Four: You Are Here)

(Extra One) (Art! Thank you to @lemon-ti)

(The “servants” around this lovely ecliptic pagoda are well-tailored to the needs of their lords, no matter the scenario- including hot meals and tension breakers.

You are the only sanctuary that MK has ever known. Through blistering summers spent as the shores of a rippling blue lake, through winters spent huddled together under a stack of blankets, hidden in a hole of straw-lined mud to try and avoid withering chills.

You are all the “home” that MK knows.

But the two demons who call him are certainly trying their damnedest to make up for lost time… to very little avail.

“Since we found you so late yesterday, we never got a chance to celebrate your birthday, Xiaotian... we can-

“Yesterday wasn’t my birthday,” the boy huffs, fingers deeply kneading the thick cotton trim of his new cape. “That’s not until winter.”

“…Xiaotian,” Macaque says, almost astonished at how confidently incorrect his son was, “you were born in the middle of autumn - who told you that it was winter?”

“Y/N.”

“…ah. No, that- okay,” he huffs, pinching the growing knot on his scarifying forehead- without the crown, his usual gouges were quickly healing - as he quickly pieced things together. “They didn’t know your birthday, so… so they just made that up. You were too little to remember the day, so Y/N lied-“

“Nuh uh! They wouldn’t lie to me !”

“…my bad, kid. Of course not. No, you were too little to remember, so Y/N just… pretended to know so you could celebrate. But your real birthday is in the middle of fall- it was yesterday.”

“No, cause it’s in the winter!”

Wukong laughs as his sable mate sits beside him, nestling into the plush cushions and groaning.

“Easy, moonbeam. Don’t push yourself- he’s still a toddler. We’ll get through to him.”

“I’d rather him just remember us and everything we did together,” Macaque snaps back throwing his head into Wukong’s lap- who, for his part, begins to smooth out the inky tresses of fur laid out before him. They stay there for a minute, quietly enjoying each other’s company, and then-

All of Macaque’s ears stiffen, six sharp points flaring up under his fur, which Wukong fluffs to hide them from sight. As much as he loves them, his mate’s feelings are very dissimilar.

He looks over with both hands over Macaque’s ears, looking to the marble doorway-

And it’s just you , wearing “your” lovely sky-blue hanfu, sash shoddily tied and silk pouch held close.

The umbrakinetic demon stands up without a noise, slowly walking over to you for a closer examination- he had heard about your little fit, and didn’t want a repeat for himself.

“It suits you,” Macaque says, giving an approving look to your new outfit- he reaches for the sash, maybe to correct or tighten it, but pulls away when you flinch, simply saying: “You can keep it. If you want.”

Be polite. You want this outfit. And you want the pouch. Be polite.

“…thank you. And.. were you… talking about his birthday?”

The king rolls his shoulders to stretch them, causing the thick spikes of fur on his head to swish and temporarily dip over his many, many forehead scars- they’re a lot more obvious now that he’s smashed the barbed circlet and scrubbed the dried blood from his forehead. “We were. Xiaotian didn’t know that it was in the middle of autumn. I hear the two of you celebrated it in winter.”

“Well, most of the time- it was just whenever snow fell for the first time in the year- I… I really didn’t have… I didn’t have too much to work with. So it was… usually in winter, or really late fall, one time we got really unlucky and it was mid-spring.”

“…what do you mean, ‘unlucky’?” Asks the Monkey King, standing up from his lavish recliner to replace all his accessories, each string of citrine beads and looping gold chains clinking against each other as he threaded them back into place. “I don’t remember ever hearing the mortals talk about a bad snow during spring- not anytime this century, at least.”

“It wasn’t bad- not for anyone else. We- MK and I,” you start, trying to ignore their little twitches at you using his nickname, “we lived in a little sunken hut. It was always falling apart in place, and- and I had to patch it up all the time- so snow was always really hard, cause it would make the mud I used all wet, and it’d drip from the holes-“

“You were using mud to keep your house together?”

Both of them share the same look, worriedly gazing upon little MK with a sort of regretful hindsight, thinking on how hard it must’ve been for him to reside in that squalid, rotted hovel- though Wukong is the one who speaks up. “So you- you and Xiaotian were living in a little muddy wreck?”

Macaque- you can’t read his expression, not quite, stares on with a deeply set frown- if you had to wager a guess, he seems to be some form of vaguely disappointed . Maybe that’s standard for kings when they hear about things like this. You don’t really care what he thinks- not when MK was fed, warm, and happy.

That was enough for you.

If they wanted to pull back and say it wasn’t enough for them, then- oh well.

But that’s not what happens. There is no remand or reproach, nor any discouraging words as to your care of their darling boy.

They just frown, thinking of what you- and more importantly, MK - might have gone through.

And you frown too, caught in a tense silence louder than any storm, more charged than a bolt of lightning forming in graying skies.

It’s simply… too much. There’s been too much everything across too little a timeline to accommodate for proper adjustment, so now everything has wound to a point of near shattering, fractures displayed so prominently across the terse “bond” shared that they were nearly visible to the naked eye.

And it isn’t for a solitary second that the quiet stretches on, heavy and suffocating- it’s pervasive, leaving you all standing there quietly.

You can feel their eyes on you, assessing, judging—not just your words but the years you spent with MK, the choices you made when you had nothing to work with but scraps and hope. They’ve swooped in now, claiming- reclaiming, as the nagging voice in your head reminds - him as theirs, and though you know he’s safer here, better provided for, the thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

He had been fine without them.

He had been fine with you.

Why couldn’t it have just kept being you and- not your “temporary charge” Qi Xiaotian, Golden Star of Flower Fruit Mountain- but your little brother, MK?

Life had been miserably hard. It had been cold and drudging and dreary, and more than once you had come to one of the many peering peaks across the mountain, and sat on the idea of a quick end to the struggling.

And you had met your little “Monkie Kid”, just as cold and alone as you had been.

He had not just been your little brother-

He had been your entire reason for living.

And what did you have to live for now, with two people who could grant him ever luxury and possession a child could desire?

What did you have to live for?

Was there anything you-

“Excuse me,” calls a curt voice from behind, slicing the tension with practiced, professional ease. “We’ve prepared dinner for you, my lords.”

Like a metal door long unopened, there’s a hesitant, straining moment before the inevitable give , and then you all turn to look- at a very lovely woman. Her hair has been trimmed chin-short and styled into thick black waves, pulled to each side of her face to prominently display a golden ferronnière.

“My husband and I have finished cooking, and we wished to call you in before the meal grew cold,” she says, utterly unabated by the gone-cold atmosphere. “So we insist that you come and eat soon- preferably, right now. ”

There is no rolling of heads or smashing of bones arisen from the terse almost-command, and instead the Monkey King nods along with a chuckle and a laugh half-forced. “Of course, of course. Sorry for forgetting-“

“If you were truly sorry, you’d be in the kitchen eating all of our hard work.”

“Ahahaha! Fair enough! Moonbeam, let’s go have dinner. We can talk about celebrations tonight, together- when it’s quieter.”

Without you around to interject, of course.

Because why would anyone care about how long you spent in a crumbling shack held half-together with scraps of scrounged fabric and dried mud when you offered inconvenient things like “makeshift birthdays” and “learned attachments”?

Before your thoughts get too seething, the woman lightly claps her hands, snapping you and MK to attention.

“Since the two of you have… “lived a life of little substance”, let’s say, we’ve prepared a list of softer meals to help you both adjust to proper eating as quickly as possible- in about the course of a week. Sudden indulgence to richer foods could sicken you both- especially Lord Xiaotian. Today we’ve made a honeyed rice porridge with ripe tropical fruit, but I imagine you’ll also see fortified broth with bouillon powder, and… well, we’d be here all day if I laid them all out.

As the woman sends you and your brother down a hall together, before turning back to her eployers.

“And,” she whispers to the two kings, voice nearly low enough for you miss it, “ we’ve set aside some fruit purée and steamed milk with honey, if nothing else will work.”

“You are such a gem,” Macaque breathes, expressly pleased with her loyal diligence. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-“

“Your children are waiting,” she confirms, nudging him along. “Hurry and eat with them-“

And though he starts to correct her, to clarify that you are in fact not his child- the woman is gone in a swish of her long green dress.

You keep your head down, one hand gripping all of MK’s tiny fingers during your unflinching trek down the ornate hall. There’s hand-drawn pictures of many different demons, all portrayed with respect and pride. In one a purple minotaur holds an axe over his shoulder, horns and blade polished to a shine, in the next he’s standing beside a red-robed woman, tears brimming through his amber eyes as they focus on a small bundle in her arms. In another there’s a pachyderm demon, portrayed with thick glasses and a gargantuan stack of books- including one he must’ve been working on when the picture was drawn. The next is a bird with golden wings held aloft, spear dug into a training dummy made of stone. Then a lion, holding as many mortals possible aloft while trudging in waist-deep waters. One after another, demon after demon- though only those same four, aside from the woman.

Whoever they are, the kings clearly cherish them.

And said demons walk in unison just backwind of you, though their steps lack the carefree rhythm of easygoing camaraderie. They are just in steady lockstep, too close behind for comfort. You can hear the faint clinking of Wukong’s gold chains and the occasional rustle of Macaque’s red and black robe as they exchange glances, silent communication passing between them.

And then MK squeezes your fingers at tightly as his little fingers allow- a familiar gesture you’ve known through harsh nights and sluggish days, through famine and sickness and chill.

An anchor of reassurance in the overwhelming storm of unfamiliarity.

The shift you underwent was violent and painful. You had woken up half-paralyzed and nude, being scrubbed down by the two beings you feared most, incapable of speaking or moving- it had left a not-insignificant mark.

But MK?

MK had made a choice. He had chosen to come back, you were sure of it, sure that he had made a deal for your safety and retrieval alongside his own- of course he was going to adjust better than you.

But he was still a little boy.

A little boy who had spent his life in the hollow embrace of mud walls and patchwork blankets, in the firm grip of your scarred arms. This was a kingdom of excess, a world so vast and strange that it overwhelmed just as much as it comforted. He looks up to you, his tiny thumb fiddling with your knuckles, and you know what is being asked.

Are you staying?

You squeeze his hand back.

Always.

Neither of you is exactly cozy , but the air between you feels warmer for that little exchange, the newfound fuzziness lasting until the tall and gilded arc of a lavish dining room stands before the two of you, beckoning in.

Inside, the dining room gleams with you might bitterly call opulence . The long table stretches nearly half the length of the room, carved from a dark wood polished to a mirror’s finish. Gold filigree edges the surface, intertwining in swirling patterns that catch the warm glow of the lanterns overhead. The chairs are high-backed and cushioned, draped in fine fabrics with purple and gold-threaded embroidery. The centerpiece is a grand arrangement of flowers- peach blossoms and chrysanthemums interspersed with glowing lotuses.

The sheer decadence is suffocating .

MK gasps loudly at the sight, his wide eyes reflecting the glittering splendor. You squeeze his hand again, grounding him, grounding yourself. The boy looks up at you, half in wonder, half in unease. You feel it too- the crushing weight of not belonging. This isn’t your world. Not really. Not ever.

Not yet.

A man; dressed as elegantly as the woman that you presume to be his wife, is stocking the table with loaded plates. Not a drop spills onto his gold-lined white tangzhuang, no matter how much he moves.

“It’s an honor to be serving you again, Lord Xiaotian. And an honor to serve his savior, dear child.

He pushes up the bridge of his circular glasses, causing a sharp gleam to roll over them before coming over to usher you both in.

“Now, please- take your seats.”

There’s two chairs set aside specifically, both piled with stiff cushions to help someone of the height-disadvantaged reach the table- MK’s is especially egregious, containing no less than four.

Speaking of the boy, he tugs at your hand again, his curious eyes shifting between you and the chair meant for him. “Can we really sit here?” he whispers, voice laced with awe and a hint of anxiety.

Before you can answer, Macaque’s low voice cuts through the air as he and Wukong stride into the room after you, affably clapping their servant on his shoulders. “Of course you can,” he says, his tone soft but firm as both golden eyes land on you both. “This is your home now, Xiaotian. You can be wherever you want.”

Home. The word burns.

Maybe it sears even worse than the branding iron that haunts your dreams.

You take the seat beside his, allowing the cushion to sink as best it can under your meager weight, providing a nice abatement to your sore legs- though the cream Macaque had used to clear out grime and dirt had stopped burning not long after it was used, there was a dull ache left from both the concoction and, well… everything , really.

The man with glasses places bowls of warm, sweet-smelling rice porridge before you and MK, forcing your eyes to the bowl. The simple meal is an obvious concession to your past, but the presentation is impeccable, garnished with thin slices of banana and a drizzle of honey. It’s almost too beautiful to eat. Almost .

MK digs in immediately , tiny hands clutching the spoon with the clumsy enthusiasm only a child could muster. His muffled hum of delight sounds out at the first bite, drawing adoring coos from the two kings, and a faint, weary smile from you.

He deserves this, you think. He deserves a hundred lifetimes of warm meals, safe beds, and more love than his little heart could stand to hold.

You, however, hesitate. The porridge is still steaming, the honey forming golden rivulets over the creamy surface, but you can’t bring yourself to taste it just yet. It feels foreign, indulgent in a way that grates against the life you’ve lived- against the life that has shaped you into a scrapes-by survivor accustomed to spare bits of fuel.

You manage to lift the spoon and take a small bite.

The honeyed porridge is warm and sweet, slices of ripe banana on top to add a buttery texture that melts effortlessly on your tongue, imbuing a whisper of richness to each bite.

It’s good. Too good. It makes your chest ache.

Hunger is the world you have known, sprinkled through every aspects of your life in pieces. In the cold of winter on your stick-thin ribs, never enough meat to keep warm. In the gnawing ache that follows you to sleep. In the morning, curling like smoke in your chest as you wake, already weary. Hunger walks beside you, a shadow that stretches long.

A word heartbreakingly uttered from the lips of your darling little brother, spurring you to further and further extremes to keep him fed.

But today you are both full and warm, dressed and clean.

The thought pricks your eyes with tears, and the spoon seizes as a lump grows in your throat.

You could have never given this to MK.

The movement of your unwieldy hand grows faster and faster, shoveling more and more of the sweet porridge into your mouth, smearing it over your lips as tears begin to fall. Your spare hand drifts downwards to cusp the mildly growing curve of your stomach, feeling the meal compound through you. You drop the intricate spoon, and it clatters uselessly to the ground. In favor of scooping the meal bite by bite into your mouth, you do the simplest- and more importantly, fastest- thing possible.

You upend the contents directly into your mouth, the honeyed porridge spilling past your lips and onto your chin and cheeks. You drain it to the last drop and lick the remnants like a starving dog, and then set down the exquisite piece of china to reveal the tears dribbling over the sticky mess across your face.

“I want more,” you beg, voice plain and will broken. “Please, I-“

“ I don’t want to be hungry anymore.”

“…get them another bowl,” says Macaque, looking at you more closely than ever before. “As many as they need.”

”Until they’re full.”

[flightrising]

Video description & dragon information below the cut. Audio: Alexander Nakarada - The Wellerman - Royalty Free Cinematic Version

Alexander Nakarada - The Wellerman - Royalty Free Cinematic Version DOWNLOAD ► http://bit.ly/34TXdyG​ - More than 370 non-copyrighted pieces can be found on my website Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/serpentsoundst... BANDCAMP ► http://bit.ly/2PgL0xi​ - Purchase royalty free music in high quality .wav. SPOTIFY ► https://spoti.fi/35TIFPe​ - A lot of my pieces are on Spotify! VIDEO DESCRIPTION: Video starts with the image of a ship deck at sea. There is the ambient sound of wind and waves in the background as four dragons dressed as pirates slowly gather on the deck from offscreen. Once positioned, the sounds of drums starts and the dragons dance to the beat of the percussion. The lead dragon standing on the lower left of the screen—along with the black cat who is also dressed as a pirate standing on his head—begin singing the opening of 'The Wellerman.' When the chorus starts, in the upper right corner a fae flies in and joins the crew to singing but flies back out when the second verse starts. The fae dragon returns for the second chorus and remains on screen as their shanty ends and the screen fades to black. The Flight Rising logo appears on the screen followed by the words "Happy Pirate Week" below it.

DRAGON INFORMATION:

Ridgeback: Yellow Basic, wearing Black Cat and Cosair's Seaspray Apparel set

Snapper: Midnight Pharaoh/Sable Sarcophagus/Glimmer Sand wearing Privateer Seaspray Apparel set

Skydancer: Grapefruit Iridescent and Shimmer/Leaf Smoke, wearing Sassy Sailor's Apparel set

Wildclaw: Pthalo Wasp/Copper Morph/Goldenrod Stained, wearing Buccaneer's Seaspray Apparel set

Fae: Moon Pinstripe and Trail/Leaf Underbelly, wearing Swashbuckler's Seaspray Apparel set

TRANSCRIPT

1 00:00:00,733 --> 00:00:06,200 cc: sounds of ocean waves and wind

2 00:00:07,366 --> 00:00:11,500 cc: percussion begins with the dragons dancing to the beat

3 00:00:11,766 --> 00:00:14,100 There once was a ship that put to sea

4 00:00:14,100 --> 00:00:17,000 And the name of the ship was the Billy O'Tea

5 00:00:17,000 --> 00:00:19,066 The winds blew hard, her bow dipped down

6 00:00:19,066 --> 00:00:21,266 Oh blow me bully boys blow

7 00:00:21,366 --> 00:00:23,966 Soon may The Wellerman come

8 00:00:24,000 --> 00:00:26,233 To bring us sugar and tea and rum

9 00:00:26,233 --> 00:00:28,300 One day when the tonguing is done

10 00:00:28,300 --> 00:00:30,966 We'll take our leave and go!

11 00:00:30,966 --> 00:00:33,300 She had not been two weeks from shore

12 00:00:33,300 --> 00:00:36,000 When down on her a right whale bore

13 00:00:36,000 --> 00:00:38,133 The captain called all hands and swore

14 00:00:38,133 --> 00:00:40,633 He'd take that whale in tow!

15 00:00:40,700 --> 00:00:43,033 Soon may The Wellerman come

16 00:00:43,033 --> 00:00:45,366 To bring us sugar and tea and rum

17 00:00:45,366 --> 00:00:47,633 One day when the tonguing is done

18 00:00:47,633 --> 00:00:50,333 We'll take our leave and go!

[sitting-on-me-bum]

Rush Hour on Sable

A family band of wild Sable Island horses walks along the shore on Sable Island National Park Reserve.

Taken By: Lauren Hughes

[businesstiramisu]

WEBTOON made @animebw cover the butt in this panel

there's NO WAY they're keeping much of the romantic or sexual content the starting from... Barren Jewel, at the very least? (Even if or maybe *because* it's mostly talk and interior monologue -- exactly the stuff getting cut and streamlined the most.) But we'll see, maybe they'll bowdlerize it in an interesting or entertaining way

My web serial, Worth the Candle, has been adapted into a webcomic. This was thanks to my agent, who I have a great fondness for, since without him I would have to spend time trying to make connections and call people and do a bunch of work that I don't know how to do and am not good at.

I was offered the chance to write the webcomic, but declined, mostly because writing Worth the Candle had taken four years and was pretty draining, and was a story that I feel like I'm done with, minus some editorial stuff, answering fan questions, and the odd bit of promotion. So my level of involvement is that I get the pages as they come in, make some comments on them, and generally just give feedback which they are free to ignore.

So let's talk about some of the adaptational changes! You can read the first three issues on Webtoon here, or the first eight issues if you're willing to pay, and the books start here, but I'll assume that you haven't read either, and there won't be substantial spoilers because I'm talking about stuff from the very beginning. Actually, I guess there will be some spoilers, but later on, and I'll mark them, mostly having to do with some foreshadowing that the webcomic does which I didn't do.

(I licensed the rights to make the webcomic to WebToon and took my money upfront, they didn't ask me to write this post, I have not actually asked the artist/writer why they made these changes, it's just me guessing and commenting, for fun.)

Character Design

Here's how Juniper Smith is described in the books, ch 2:

I won’t belabor my physical description. My friend Greg had once said that I looked like someone had chosen ‘default’ for every option in the character creator, which I’d tried to laugh at but cut kind of deep. I wasn’t handsome, I wasn’t ugly, none of my features were very prominent, my eyes were blue, my hair was brown, average build, average height … After Greg had made his comment at one of our D&D games, my nickname had been ‘default’ for a while, at least until I stopped pretending to find it funny, and even after that my friends would use similar lines to trash talk me, saying that I was “the most generic man alive”, “a white bread with skim milk motherfucker”, or “the human equivalent of vanilla ice cream”. Not that I was any less of an asshole to them.

This is how he looks in the comic:

I would more or less give this full marks.

In terms of other aspects of character design, Juniper is here given a black shirt with a red symbol on it rather than the stock white t-shirt he's wearing in the opening chapters of the first book, probably in the interests of adding in some visual variety. On the page, it's perfectly fine that every person in the first 50k words is wearing basically the same stock outfit. In a visual medium, I do think that you need that pop. I do think it's interesting that Juniper is wearing the same clothes in the classroom as he is on the plane, implying that when he transmigrated his clothes ... came with him? I don't know.

The other major character of the first section is Amaryllis, who is a major character in the entire work. Here's her description in the book:

Standing by a workbench, among various car parts, tools, and cans of unidentified fluids, was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

I’m not really sure what protocol is here, in terms of prose. I mean, I don’t want to sound like a creep, so maybe I should stay as generic as possible and tell you about her dark red hair pulled back in a braid, the glacial blue of her eyes, how starkly alert she looked as she peered over the parts in front of her, or her grease-smeared clothes. Save for her eyes, I wasn’t really focused on any of that. My mind was consumed by tracing her curves, the shape of her chest in her blood-stained t-shirt, the fullness of her lips and the delicate way she had them parted -- and yeah, it was pretty fucked up that the splatter of blood on her shirt wasn’t worth rating much of a mention. I was consumed with staring at her and thinking how gorgeous she was, until I noticed that she was having a powerful effect on me, at which point different parts of my mind were given over to marveling at the sensation of being so attracted to a girl, and others were still focused on her.

Imagine that someone spent a few years studying your likes and dislikes, running through video of your every private moment, somehow surreptitiously hooking up EKGs to measure your physiological responses without you knowing. Then imagine that they sat down with that data and the best photo manipulation artists in the world and made the absolute perfect picture to cause your heart rate to spike, a jolt to run up your spine, butterflies in your stomach, and a cold sweat on your palms. Then imagine that they did this again, over and over in slight variations, until they had a full 4K 60fps 3D movie to show you. That was what it was like watching her.

And here she is (as she's introduced) in the comic:

Aside from the change in clothes, which in the book are the same white t-shirt and blue jeans that everyone else is wearing, Amaryllis has a scar on her face, of unknown provenance. This was probably added for visual variety, but I do find scars to be very fetching, and in one of the early versions of Worth the Candle she did have one (patterned off a woman with an extremely attractive facial scar I had met, the kind of facial scar that looked like it was applied by a Hollywood makeup artist specifically to give a touch of the exotic and mysterious, except she was a just a Midwestern mom).

And of course Amaryllis was always going to be an adaptational challenge, because the books are told through Juniper's eyes, and she's The Most Beautiful Girl in the World to him, and conventionally attractive to everyone else. Juniper tries to be normal about this. But if you're in the visual medium, you have to show both how Juniper feels and how she actually looks, and attractiveness is just so incredibly personal. My wife and I get in these kinds of discussions a lot, where she'll think someone is good-looking and I'll say "him?" or vice versa.

I think the above panel in particular is a good middle ground, a glamour shot that snaps back to the reality of their first meeting:

(The void gun she's holding there is much different from the one described in the book, not something cobbled together from spare parts and void equipment, but this is another very minor change that I would assume is meant for communicating immediately that this is a lethal weapon, and there's probably not a place for explaining how and from what it was cobbled together, which is also under-explained in the book for reasons of pacing.)

Story

I've read the first nine episodes, and overall, it's hewing very closely. There are a few bits in particular that stand out to me in how they're handled.

Spoilers for later in the series follow, I guess.

These are the opening lines of the webcomic. This is much stronger foreshadowing than I used, and I like it. Part of Juniper's backstory is that he's been deeply depressed and self-destructive, and he's slow to open up about this with other characters or the reader. The "it" that he couldn't go through with is, then, suicide. In the books? This comes very very late. Juniper being depressed after Arthur's death is brought up after the first major arc, halfway through what's now Book 1, and gets more explicit as the books go on, eventually getting to Juniper talking about his attempted suicide with people and grappling with it like ... almost halfway through?

I don't know what the plans for the webcomic are, but my guess is that they're setting up for much, much later on in a way that I didn't. This was always a background element, something that informed Juniper's character, not so much the suicide attempt as the feeling that came after, this understanding that yes, he did want to live, a heady, energizing kind of "I guess I don't have the way out that I thought I did" sort of thing.

So I take it as a good sign that this is the opening line. It points toward them understanding where they're going.

One of the other major adaptational changes is that they signpost Arthur's death with a memorial on his desk:

When I was getting pages, this was one of the first moments where I was like "yes, this is a good change, visual storytelling to replace my walls of text, flows and offers indirect information". I am very happy with the adaptation thus far, and stuff like this is what I love about adaptation in general, the need to grapple with the strengths and weaknesses of the medium.

Content Rating

Worth the Candle gets grim and dark in places. It at least attempts to grapple with serious things. The webcomic is rated Young Adult, and I'm not sure how they're going to handle the later stuff, but I can talk about how they're handling the stuff now, and what I think it means overall.

First, there's a lot less swearing. Worth the Candle in its entirety uses the word "fuck" ~1200 times. Granted, this is over the course of 1.6 million words, so a fuck density of one every 1.3k words, and some of those are in the verb "soulfuck" rather used descriptively, as exclamations, etc. My personal feeling is that this doesn't matter basically at all. I don't think I notice when someone isn't swearing unless they're using corny substitutions or trying to get cute with it.

Second, the violence is toned down in that YA way, where they're still showing much of the same things, just not with the same level of visceral detail. When a Marvel comic has someone thrown into a wall, they're no blood or snapping of bones or mangling of bodies, at least if it's a comic at a certain rating (I have definitely read some edgy 90s comics that do go hard on the violence). I think, overall, that this isn't my preference, which might be obvious from the way that I try to write fight scenes and such. But I'm also sort of inured to this toning down of violence, since it's omnipresent.

Third, there's the sex stuff, and ... well, it hasn't come up in the webcomic yet. I think I laid out my reasoning for why I think sex scenes should be written/included in Why to Write a Sex Scene, but the brief version is that sometimes you're showing how characters relate to each other, what they think of each other, and the sex scene shouldn't always just be something that's skipped over and left to the reader's imagination, because things happen, there are moments of communication, it can and does develop a relationship in the moment rather than after the fact. Plus a little titillation is, in my opinion, usually good.

The great thing about writing webfic is that no one can stop you from just including three solid chapters of hardcore pornography in the middle of your story. I have never done that, but I could is the point, and I would only get complaints from people who have no power over me. That same freedom doesn't exist here, and ... yeah, it makes my heart sink a little bit.

Fourth, there's some of the more mature content stuff, the topics that might not be broached. I don't know how they're handling that, so I reserve judgment, but I think my opinion is probably going to be "well, you do what you have to do", and if my version of the story is superior because there are no brakes, then I can be smugly superior about that.

Conclusion

This is already a fairly long post, and there are a few other things that I could have remarked on, but I think this is all the most interesting stuff.

Alright, just one real quick: Arthur is adaptationally more attractive, though this is also how Juniper sees Arthur and I think by the standards of webcomics, this is actually sort of necessary. Most of the flashback cast is not described until much later on, and by then you kind of know and understand them from the things they've said, if you can keep track of them. Many of the flashbacks are nearly disembodied. But if you're showing Arthur early, then the first impression he's going to make is in his appearance, and that really anchors people.

So overall, I am happy with the adaptation. There are challenges ahead, and I'm thankful that I'm not the one who needs to tackle those challenges.

[zergula]

Welcome To Sims3City!

They say if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere! Celebrities can be found wandering the shops and giving impromptu performances all over Sims3City. There's live show venues everywhere and it's easy to see why they say this city runs on dreams yet never sleeps!

I found this absolutely gorgeous map: Waterfall Beauty and just had to use it to make my own city world save! This map did come with lots already designated so I filled it up with the best townhouses, apartments, and city life buildings I could find or make to make my own version of a mashup of Starlight Shores and Bridgeport.

INTERESTING CHARACTERS

Every sim comes to Sims3City to make it big! With a performance venue on nearly every corner, you're sure to see:

The Warflowers - These twins started a band and pulled some of their reluctant friends into it. They know once they got here to The City, they would make it!

Chloe and Bob Katt - always on the hustle to make people believe in magic again!

The Myth family is here, of course, living in the spookiest house!

Mirage Sable always seems able to make everyone else's wishes come true, hoping one day her only one will, too!

Candice and Arthur finally made it to The City when Candice got her book deal. Arthur is hoping to make it into the celebrity chef business...with a little help from his friend and now roommate, Derek. This new relationship has a lot of challenges being thrown its way, but this couple is determined to make it here and everywhere!

The Vireowing Fairy Sisters not only have beautiful voices, they love to bestow inner and outer beauty on all of those around them. That's perfect in a city that values beauty!

As with anywhere, crime can be overwhelming in the city but H & H Private detective family, Harmony and Henry, are on the case!

Lots of sims from Starlight Shores and Bridgeport are here: The Drama On TV household, the Crash Pad household, the Atkins Household, the Elson Family, the Sagar Family, the Platt Family, the Hemlock, Schlick and Slayer families, the Belle family, the Art Central household, and the Whitfield family.

AROUND TOWN

38 Community lots

74 Residential lots

This city is ALIVE! Along with all EA rabbitholes, you will find:

CHIPS Casino - a big show venue where you can see the greatest performers and play all games

Across the street, you will find another live show venue - The Locker -

where you can see more live performances. After that, dance the night away at Bubbleworks -

and keep the party going with the late night crew over at The Afterlife Vampire Lounge!

Don't worry about ghosts, though. A recreation of the firestation from the movie, Ghostbusters, is right next door so we ain't afraid of no ghosts! Next to that firestation and hospital emergency center, you will find the Anachronistic Art Gallery and City Hall rabbithole, with some mysterious things to explore in the basement!

In the more affluent area of the city is where you will find the Affluence Golf Club rec park and Tee Off! Sports Bar and Grill -

and some sweet treats at The Big Cheese bakery and shops!

In the center of town, you will find lots of fun for the kids at The Wise Owl Library next to the Aquarium Science Center and the Bright Beginnings Daycare and School center -

Stop by and get some sweet treats at The Plaza Ice Cream Parlor

and then get rid of all of that excess energy at the Big Rock Climbing Centre Gym or The Pac Man Public Pool next to the stadium rabbithole!

Don't forget to visit the Surf's Up Wave Garden at the beach right across the street or the seasonal festival grounds!

Downtown, you can get those extra strings at the DownTown Music Store, play some games at the Laserberry Arcade, and then head over to the Stardust Diner for some drinks and good times!

If you go at certain times of the day to catch a movie at Serena's Community Cinema, you might be able to see some of today's biggest stars working on set! You can pick up whatever you need at the big Sims 3 Market nearby and marvel at all of the old historical residential buildings before you head over to the Double Rainbow Disco Club for more dancing!

For those sims with a more exclusive taste, Club 112 in the historical section is the perfect lounge!

There's The Remaude Coffee Emporium Coffeehouse and Elixir Of Life Coffeehouse and shops for more live venues and fun in Sims3City!

After all of that excitement, the city folks like to visit the Stone Troll Mill Fishing Pond to unwind and maybe catch some dinner if they're lucky!

MORE INFO

This is a world save file. You will need to have the world installed in order to play the save file. In this download, you will find 3 save files and the world file:

Sims3CityCommunityLots - this version of the save is only the community lots

Sims3CityUnpopulated - this is the final version of the save without households

Sims3CityPopulated - this is the final version on the save with all households

I have all expansions, stuff packs, and store content so most of it is probably used in this save. If you do not have the item, the game should generate a similar item. The only expansion not used is PETS so I do not know how this save will run with pets, my apologies. THERE IS ZERO CUSTOM CONTENT IN THIS SAVE. All lots are set as regular lots (not apartments) so if you want to change them for roommates, etc feel free! I hope you enjoy this save as much as I am! Please tag me @zergula or #Sims3City if you share any photos, I would love to see them!

Please check out my other world saves here:

River Falls

Simarellen

Kaodina

Lunestia

Happy simming and green plumbobs for all <3

SIMSFILESHAREDOWNLOAD

[queenlucythevaliant]

The remnant there who survived the exile is in great trouble and shame. The wall of Jerusalem is broken down.

After the door in the air was shut, King Caspian brought together an assembly of his friends and advisors. There, he called the dwarf Trumpkin to speak concerning what he had seen of Cair Paravel.

“Well,” said Trumpkin, “I can’t say that there was much left of the place when I was there. The walls are in pieces and it’s all overgrown. You’d scarcely know it was ever a castle, if you weren’t expecting to find one.”

“But could it be restored?” asked the king. “In your opinion: as a craftsman and a Narnian?”

Trumpkin seemed to ponder this for a moment, but his answer came readily enough. “We’d have to rebuild it from the foundations. Quarry stone, cut timber, and tear out all the plants that have grown there by the root— and that’s all before we so much as lay the new cornerstone. But if we go about it the right way (I mean, with the good guidance of Aslan and all)—yes, I think we can manage it.”

“But is it the thing that we ought to do first?” asked Doctor Cornelius. “After all, the Telmarine castle stands, and it will serve. There’s much else that needs doing at present.”

“It is a worthy undertaking,” piped Reepicheep, who was now standing atop his seat almost at attention, one small paw on the hilt of his rapier. “One more urgent and noble than any other work before us now. Cair Paravel is the ancient seat of justice in Narnia, and the graves of Old Narnian kings are on its grounds.”

A silence fell, and when it became clear that no one particularly felt like disputing the Mouse’s words, Caspian nodded his head solemnly. “Very well then. We rebuild.”

.

It was a little after noon and the sun was high on the day that Old Narnian exiles first returned to the shores of Cair Paravel. They arrived in row-boats and dinghies and on ferries from the mainland, for no ships had yet been built. Trumpkin and the King were in the lead boat together, and by Trumpkin’s direction the boats made landfall along the stretch of beach that ran alongside the ruins of Cair Paravel. Behind them came a host of Red Dwarves and Black Dwarves with their tools. There were Centuars, led by Glenstorm and his sons, and Beasts of all kinds: Clodsley Shovel and his Moles, the Hardbiters and the Hares, nimble-footed Harts, mighty Bears, Sables, Hedgehogs, Dogs, Horses, and the Mice with Reepicheep their Captain. Then came the fauns, with Mentius and Obentinus. Last of all were the Birds, soaring over the ships and calling to one another in high voices as they went.

When the first boat alighted on the shore, a great cheer went up, starting at the king’s boat and fanning out to all the rest. Caspian stepped onto the soft sand with a crunch and surveyed the place where the ruins of Cair Paravel sat. He could not think of anything suitably momentous to say, so he sank wordlessly to his knees and looked up, giving thanks to Aslan.

That night the whole rebuilding party camped on the beach. The dwarves built bonfires and the fauns played their flutes and there was song and dance. A few of the centuars were old enough to remember living in the lands around the Cair before the Telmarines had driven them off, and those that did wept. A few of the younger creatures wept too, though they could not express why. Yet Dumnus led the singing of loud choruses and some of the others whooped and hollered for joy. The sound of their voices, both the weeping and the singing, mingled together and fled into the night.

The next day, the dryads and naiads of the land around Cair Paravel came down to the beach. The giants, who had come from the mainland on foot, arrived not long after. Their number complete, the Narnians set to work.

.

“One thing we have in our favor,” Doctor Cornelius said, scroll still half open before him. “The historical records on the construction of the castle are exhaustive. There are plans and specifications for every inch of the place.”

Caspian straightened, wincing a little. He’d been helping one of the naiads clean debris from the courtyard well, and his back ached from bending over. “You might try telling that to the black dwarves,” he said. “They still haven’t figured out where to dig.”

Once the dwarves had assessed the ruins of the castle, they used a kind of scrying magic which Caspian did not understand in order to find a quarry of new stone to match the old. The trouble came when the time came for the stones to speak: they would only sing, in voices too deep for words.

“They’re too busy celebrating to tell us where they came from,” said Winnibrik gruffly when Caspian inquired about the progress of the quarry. “And I can’t blame them for that, really. It’s good that there are Narnian feet in this place again.”

Dryads guided parties into the forest to show which trees could be used for timber, and then Horses and centuars dragged the beams back to the Cair. In general, such work would have been beneath them, suitable only for dumb beasts of burden; but they did it without complaint. They knew, as everyone did, that they were in the midst of a great work.

Yet it was the cleaning and removal of debris that occupied most of the workers. Trufflehunter knelt in the dirt, patiently pulling broken bits of twisted metal from the ruin of the small armory. He hummed as he went, something lilting and wordless. A little way behind him, in the courtyard, a group of fauns hoisted a fallen apple tree and carried it away.

.

It was shortly after the foundation had been laid that a band of efreets appeared from the north. They arrived late in the evening while Caspian was dredging one of the cellars and asked to be brought before the king. “If it please you, sire, let us build with you,” said their leader, a broad creature with a toothy smile. “After all, we are Old Narnians too.”

Caspian, who was knee deep in water and soaked to the skin, called for a halt and went to confer with his councilors.

“You ought to have nothing to do with them,” said Trumpkin firmly, “not by my advice.”

“I should think not!” echoed Trufflehunter. “We’ve no need of any congress with creatures of that sort. Cair Paravel must be rebuilt by those who follow Aslan.”

The efreets, however, were less than accepting of this verdict. A few nights later, a Dog reported that he’d smelled men in the woods and a few scouts confirmed that Telmarines were camped a few miles upriver. “It seems that our ghoulish friends are angry with us,” said Caspian, “though I can’t for the life of me imagine what an efreet could have said to make a Telmarine come with him this close to the sea. At any rate, we ought to be alert. Send someone down to the treasure chamber and distribute whatever weapons you can find to anyone who can use them.”

So, as the walls of Cair Paravel rose up, the Narnians carried swords as they worked. At night everyone camped together inside the great footprint of the castle, with guards stationed on the half-built watchtower under the stars.

Reepicheep took more watches than anyone, for he said that he liked to be alone in the stillness of such a sacred place. “We needn’t be afraid,” he told Caspian softly one night. “Cair Paravel is ours, and we are Aslan’s. What can hurt us here?”

.

The Brothers of Shuddering Wood built the entrance to the main foyer, armed with heavy dwarven hammers that seemed to split the air when they fell. The hung the gate one glittering morning when the sun was on the sea. They left it wide open for the rest of the day.

Clodsley Shovel took the Moles to set the king’s garden to rights, and one day the Mice joined them in repairing the Tombs of the Kings. When they were through, they brought trimmings from the garden to decorate the monuments. The Dogs dug holes for posts, and a greenhouse soon followed. Then came the armory, the buttresses, the tower of guard.

“Was all of this really here before?” Caspian asked in astonishment. The water-gate had just been completed and his old tutor was beside him, looking up at the intricate device of bolts and bars that kept it securely lowered.

“Yes, my boy, it was,” said the old man. “It’s all in the books, you see?” Caspian felt a lump build in his throat: something like pride and another something like hope. He tried to swallow around it.

Hogglestock and Trufflehunter split the middle-sized Beasts into pairs for the construction of the broad wall. They told stories as they worked, in loud voices so as to carry down the length of it: stories that usually started with “Remember…” and occasionally, “In the days when Peter reigned at Cair Paravel…”

The great feasting hall came together little by little. The eastern windows were cast by dwarven artisans from enormous panes of glass while Glenstorm and his sons built the dais and drew sketches for the skylight. Wimbleweather carried great stone pillars in his arms and set them down where Ravenscaur instructed from his perch in the rafters. The Oak and the Beech made carvings on the seven heavy doors that led into the hall, and when they were through dwarven smiths fitted them with handles of silver and gold.

They ate in the hall together when it was built, though the walls were still bare and their voices echoed. The Bulgy Bears carried in the first piles of food from the kitchens, which were at last in working order. They heaped it on makeshift tables with little concern for appearance: grilled fish, pheasant, and apples prepared in every imaginable way.

.

When the last stone was laid in the castle, Caspian decreed a day of general celebration. But when he turned the corner down the hallway to the grand staircase, Caspian saw Trumpkin standing at a window looking morose, with tears in his eyes.

“Come now, Trumpkin, what’s the matter?” said Caspian as he came to a stop beside his friend. “Today is a happy day, and there’s no room in it for tears.”

Trumpkin made a sound between a snort and a sigh as he turned to face his king. “Certainly, your majesty. No tears today. But—” he smiled beneath his beard, “—Turnips and thunderbolts, Caspian! If you’d asked me a year ago, I’d have laughed myself silly rather than imagine that any of this was possible.” He swept his hand towards the window and Caspian looked out.

It was a crisp, cloudless morning, the sky bright and clear, and the sounds of singing and of instruments being played filtered all the way up to the tallest tower. Caspian watched the Dogs running to and fro as they prepared for a hunt. Dryads danced in the courtyard and fauns played their flutes. Beyond the wall, a group of dwarves were coming up from the beach, where they’d just arrived with several boats full of gold and jewels from the mainland with which they meant to beautify the castle.

“Why Trumpkin!” laughed the king, “I’m surprised at you. Wasn’t it on your recommendation that all of this was done?”

Trumpkin shook his head ruefully. “My foolish optimism, perhaps. Aslan’s Mane, but times have changed.”

He cleared his throat and nodded towards the beach. “King Edmund said he’d have built a bridge if Cair Paravel had been an island in his day. What say you, King Caspian?”

The castle still needed furnishing, but there were finally tables in the feasting hall and the armory was stocked with swords. Doctor Cornelius was well on his way to reestablishing the library, and soon Cair Paravel would be adorned with the finest dwarven jewels.

“Next year,” Caspian replied. “I’ll put you in charge of its construction.”

Remember me, my God, for good.

[ms-scarletwings]

Every Dredge Aberration (2024), Part 23

Deep Form ₊˚.༄

Encyclopedia t̴h̴e̴ ̵f̵i̸n̴a̷l̸ ̸s̵t̷e̵p̵

As̶̜͗c̶̲̄e̸͖͑n̷̜̂d̸͓̈́e̴̜̚d̷̼̒ form of ØɄⱤ ł₦ɆVł₮₳฿ⱠɆ-

Description:

In the sable depths, elder blood seeps through the void; each conquest of corruption weakening the veil.

From host to host, it withers and wanders, climbing towards the clouding Sky.

Such transient flesh has no hope of enduring the true Deep.

Comment: We did this, witless, predictable fools to our last. Stones and silt which sat undisturbed for millennia, we pierced knowingly. Stygian shores, we sailed on blasphemous winds. A nameless hunger beyond compare we elected to feed. A cycle otherworldly we pretended natural and beyond our touch, when damnable we alone turned its wheel once more.

Deliver the vessel

Fulfill the hunger

Feed the mouth

An answer…

The ice… takes form

How audacious are we to be surprised at the betokened outcome? From the first innocent horror we ever laid eyes on in the Marrows, this was exactly what these ancients warned- no, promised us from the start.

Bring down the sky

More still… hungry

Sustain the mind

Another, a sacrifice

The stars… leave the sky

Salvation, blessings, never were we offered, never were we deserved from our guests. For see, it was us, mere flotsam, who reached to touch what cared not beyond the flesh and what the flesh offered. We advertised ourselves when we called to The Deep in invitation, with every time we grabbed and pulled it up thrashing and gnashing at us, so we could bare it before the light.

Raise the deep

Almost. Fulfilled.

Consume the sky

Sense… an opening

Fall… to the deep

Our reward, the Deep’s will, the disciples’ prophetic ramblings were all obvious from the very beginning.

So fear not the response you so beckoned for. Behold it… aberrance, naked, and pelagic, born from that space where the firmament between a hell and the heavens is sundered through. Finally find what the dozens before us have given everything in blind searching for.

Become witness before our humanity’s imago, as it unmasks the paths before you to choose... Oblige the hunger, or starve it. Shield your eyes, or gaze long into that abyss. Hold your tongue, or beg for the answers- remain lost, or be found. Break the chain, or begin the cycle anew. Raise them up to stay,

or throw.

them.

back.

How to catch: Follow the spidering fault trails back to their regrettable source. He waits for you there. Truthfully, he may be anywhere in the open sea, but you are most likely to encounter him beneath that ruined platform where it all began. Grotesque appetites favor grotesque meals, and use of aberrated bait is not optional in pursuit of him. Make sure an oceanic line is equipped and only that rod. Be persistent, very, very, very persistent, and above all, lucky. (I cannot emphasize how wildly the roughly 5% catching chance will play into this. It took me dozens of tries before I completed this collection with him, so I will share what was most helpful to me- stock up on many aberrant baits, about 10 or so, and save once before burning through this inventory trying. Upon failure just reload the save and try again, rinsing and repeating until you have conquered him for your own.)

[thepaleys]

The year previous, shortly after our return to St. Petersburg for the winter, Dmitri and I had noticed on father’s desk a new photograph in a small, gold frame. It was of a boy, four or five years old—a beautiful little boy with long curls and a dress that came down to his ankles. At our first chance, we asked father who it was. He turned the talk to other matters, avoiding response.

Later that year, we once went downstairs at tea-time and opened his study door, as we always did, without knocking. He was seated in his arm-chair, and in front of him, with her back to us, stood a woman. At our entrance she turned, and we recognized her. We did not know her name but had seen her. One day, at Tsarskoie-Selo, we were in a boat on the lake when she had passed near us along the shore, dressed in a white skirt and a red jacket with golden buttons. She was very pretty and had sent us smiles and amicable signs which we did not return.

I do not know what instinct now drove us to it, but we closed that door at once and fled in haste, despite my father's appeals. In the anteroom, a footman was holding a sable pelisse; in the air floated an unfamiliar perfume.

A vague jealousy gripped our hearts; we did not like this stranger penetrating into our personal sanctuary, our father's study. But he treated us always with the same tenderness; he seemed, indeed, now to wish to hold us more closely than ever to him.

"Education of a Princess" - Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna Jr.

[sableshorecomic]

Just wanted to shout out my artist Mac's Ink for his incredible work on Trekal's gruesome regeneration powers in the latest chapter. This is exactly as twisted as I pictured it in my head when I was writing this part and I love it.

[animebw]

(Different anon here) Well, there’s another yuri isekai coming out later this year (I’m in Love with the Villainess) so hopefully that list of good ones will grow.

Then of course, depending on how broadly you define the genre, you could add things like Digimon, Flip Flappers, Owl House, Chronicles of Narnia, and many more to the genre since all “isekai” means is “other world.” I know that’s not what most people mean when they say the term, but it is an option if you want to pretend the genre’s actually good, lol.

Yeah, I kept my list solely to the modern popular conception of isekai, cause that's the particular brand of isekai that I consider a blight on the medium. There are plenty of good transported-to-another-world stories that fall outside that framework (including my webcomic Beyond the Sable Shore which you should totally check out on Webtoon wink wink nudge nudge).

[sableshorecomic]

Noooo, lost already! How dare other comics be more obscure than mine!

Well, congrats to everyone moving on, and good luck to the eventual winners! If you’re interested in checking out Beyond the Sable Shore before it vanishes into the ether once more, swing by Webtoon and give us a gander! It’s anime-inspired, it’s portal fantasy, it’s got fantastic artwork from my wonderful artist Mac’s Ink, and it’s got more than a few surprises in store down the line. Maybe we’ll get famous someday and you can say you knew us when we were an option on an obscure webcomics tournament bracket. Wouldn’t that be fun? Enjoy!

https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/beyond-the-sable-shore/list?title_no=702581

Bracket Update - 2-A

Congratulations and / or Sympathy to our 8 victors!

Sugar Bits was the most recognized at 114 (18.7%) followed closely by Plume with 111 (18.1%)

Snapshot was the least recognized at 6 (1%) - fewer people than recognized it round 1

Actually every single comic was lower than round 1 except for patches (77 -> 100) the Crawling City (84 -> 88)

This is probably due to the fact that while for round 1 the lowest number of votes was 898, only Patches vs Starward Lovers broke >650 votes

[musabvisuals]

Calm Before the Storm

Poem - A maid of fire, with hair of ruddy hue, Stands 'midst a field where weeping heavens pour. In sable armor, silver-chased and new, She gleams like moonbeam on a watery shore. Her eyes, twin sapphires, pierce the misty veil, Reflecting storms that rage within her soul. Behind her stands a host, a ghostly trail, Whose shadowed forms the thickening vapors stole. A silent army, masked in mist's embrace, Awaits the hour when battle's clarion calls. Yet, in her posture, grace and fortitude place; A queenly calm before the tempest falls. So stands she, poised upon the brink of fate, A solitary figure, stern and great.

Story - A lone warrior with fiery red hair stands resolute in a rain-soaked field, her black and silver armor gleaming under the stormy sky. The rain drips from her ornate armor, but her bright blue eyes remain fixed ahead, reflecting both the storm and the unwavering determination within her. Behind her, an army of knights waits, their figures blurred by the mist, yet their presence is undeniable, a silent testament to the battle that looms. The air is thick with tension, the kind that precedes the inevitable clash, but in her stance, there is a quiet strength, a calm before the storm that speaks of battles fought and victories hard-won. The scene is a moment of profound stillness, where the chaos of war meets the inner peace of a warrior who knows her purpose.

[chip-and-ironicus]

Have You Ever Seen Anything So Blue?

[Reposted from Grant's Cohost page]

This August, as I walked a gravel trail toward Au Sable point, I thought about the change in the people of northern Michigan. We drove to the trailhead along a county road that dips in and out of the jagged border of Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. The inhabited parts outside show the pivot of an economy based on mining and fishing to one based on selling lunches and renting kayaks to people curious about historic mining and fishing. And for a second, I fell into the romantic thought that no matter how life changes, it's the same rocks and the same trees.

This is false. As I discovered on last year's trip, the vital thing to remember is how everything is constantly changing. The composition of the now-protected forest is permanently changed by the logging industry. And without that logging industry, the dune at Log Slide Overlook continues to grow taller and forever cover the spot where logs were slid to the lake. The people, the rocks, and the trees are all changing, all the time. The hope is that they change together, and can support one another. The National Park service is something I believe in.

But the lake, god willing, is forever. I remember last year, sitting in the cabin my aunt rented, watching the sky dim out the window, as the lake grew darker and darker. The waves seemed to spread in every direction. The biggest thing I've ever seen and it was growing, pushing beyond the boundary of the shore. I was a few dozen feet away, up a small hill, behind a window, and there are moments I thought I might fall in from my seat on the couch. I've lived on the Great Lakes and the waterways that connect them most of my life, but Superior is somehow different.

There is no center and no end. None you can perceive. There is only breadth and depth and expanse and blue. It's commerce and wilderness and ecosystem and postcards. Storms and harbors. Constant sound in variable volume. To see, every day, an accident of glacial geology that bore a wonder of creation, to know it supported centuries of history, and eat its fish fried in the back of a truck. Have you ever seen anything so blue?