#stoneyard

[cest-vogue]

Loft-Style Living Room Boston Large craftsman loft-style living room idea with medium-toned wood flooring and brown walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace, and a wall-mounted television.

[immediatebreakfast]

“There!” said Hoseason. “Ye see for yourself. If I had kent of these reefs, if I had had a chart, or if Shuan had been spared, it’s not sixty guineas, no, nor six hundred, would have made me risk my brig in sic a stoneyard! But you, sir, that was to pilot us, have ye never a word?”

Reading captain Hoseason's dialogue it's like reading a string of literary metaphors that are not actually metaphors for the first time, and I love it.

[allthatisleftinthedark]

Makoto smiles as he stares up at Maisie, who can barely look him in the eyes. He's aware of the risk he's taking, sure, they've run off to somewhere secluded enough to where there would be a low chance of them being caught, not to mention the two of them were wallflowers, so it was easy to sneak off. Makoto's whispered words to the gnome while he nursed a drink.

His tolerance for alcohol isn't quite normal, being much higher than a mortal being. Though, the elven absinthe he's had tonight sends a heated, heady pleasure through his body. Being a night of celebration, especially at an Orcish village had been a surprise for them to have such a brew. Though he's also aware that Elves are willing to trade their wares in exchange for something of equal value.

She sits on his shoulders, back pressed against the wall. He has to admit, he rather likes this current position, though he's certain the two of them aren't very likely to try this again.

He gently trails kisses along the inside of her thigh, focusing on the task at hand. He feels Maisie's fingers running through his hair, occasionally gripping it a bit tight, he's careful with his teeth, as much as he would love to leave plenty of marks on Maisie, he doesn't want her to be too uncomfortable. Perhaps he enjoys this a little too much, but why shouldn't he? This is the first time he's ever been able to be this intimate with someone, in such a long time. Perhaps it's because he wishes to treat Maisie right.

"I consider myself quite the lucky man to be able to see you like this, sia itov."

He loves the way her brow wrinkles when he speaks draconic, having no idea of what he was saying. Sometimes he liked how she would scowl at the little smirk upon his face. He hooks clawed digits into the band of her underwear, releasing a pleased hum of surprise as he looks at it. He had never taken the time to really look at Maisie's clothing, but he enjoys just how much it highlights her curves, and he marvels at just how soft, yet firm she feels in his hands.

"You don't have to spend so much time staring, 'Koto."

She scowls once more, tugging at his hair.

"My apologies, sia itov, I just want to memorize everything I'm having the fortune of seeing right now."

He gently slides her underwear to the side, before almost teasingly sliding his tongue across her entrance, and once more feeling her tug at his hair, a sudden movement this time.

unprompted asks | always accepting | @offrozenmemoirs

(context, dream-epiloge to this drabble.)

The elven absinthe works wonders. Makoto Igarashi imbibes in volumes unmatched by mortal capacity yet may teeter into inebriation. Whatever his mind embraces amid this intoxicating haze remains a private experience. Though his body remains upright, weariness permeates his physical form, and his eyes grow heavy. Alone, his mind begins to drift. 

Unsteady and uneasy, Maisie clings to the horns of the firstborn son of winter and dragon, her sole anchor in these unforeseen circumstances. Facing the prince, her back nearly pinned against the cold cobblestone wall, her eyes fluttered and darted while she sat on his shoulders.

Passersby, townsfolk, and visitors blur into silhouettes as they pass the alleyway's entrance, their bodies casting shadows under the flickering lanterns. . No one intrudes to discover the unfolding scene in Stoneyard—the remnants of Maisie's cloak crumpled on the floor, the slit of her black dress riding up to her waist, revealing the black panties that were moments away from being discarded.

No one and nothing approaches or realizes the current situation. Yet every graze of Makoto's cool flesh on Maisie's inner thighs elicits a wince of anticipation from her. It's like ice tracing sunburnt skin on a summer's day, the flesh craving coolness. Wet and hot, his serpent-forked tongue teases across sensitive skin between languid kisses. Though its length could coil under her leg, he prefers its reach for sweeter pursuits. Her fingers knead and squeeze through his hair, seeking to suppress any sudden movement or twitch.

Makoto's breath thickens the air with the aroma of wineberry. Midday drinking is uncommon in most celebrations he's participated in Rivera, yet he indulges without hesitation. A drink here and there slowly accumulates throughout the day, especially with rare elven vendors struggling to keep pace with the demand despite their disproportionately priced goods at the bazaar. Fortunately, a privileged and wealthy person traverses the crowd of orcs, humans, tieflings, dwarves, and others; several gold pieces, spent without hesitation, already burden their knees.

By the gods, even he recounts Maisie's encouragement for drinking. Leaning against the fence post overlooking Stoneyard, a tankard remains untouched in her hand, with disinterest. Despite dismissing a flirt, or perhaps not registering it as such, her golden eyes flick to Makoto's. Her cheeks nearly flush from her prior tangent about color composition, explaining how many other colors suit him better than her and how ridiculous she appears in serious wear already because of her hair color alone. As if to divert from the topic, she raises the untouched stein, pushing it into his palm with an offer.

Alcohol impairs judgment, leading to drunken suggestions and very inappropriate outcomes, just like the very situation Maisie and Makoto find themselves in. 

It has been two decades since Makoto laid with someone beyond shallow desires. At his bedside, it remains cold and vacant, with the imprint and smell of his lost lover disappearing with time from his sheets. Time may only remedy the ache, but it is no cure-all. Not even alcohol can mend it all, but it certainly facilitates inhibitions and reservations. 

Bewilderment blemishes her nervous features, her brows knitting at the archaic maternal language he slips here and there. Unlike the other who preoccupies Makoto's dry and heated nights, who understands every degradement and insult that Makoto grunts into his ear while pulling his hair back. Every kindness and sweetness only puzzled her. 

A long black claw hooks her underwear's elastic, drawing it down slowly. Maisie contains herself, pushing back his hair to better watch him. A strong handful of hair is pulled only moments after he properly greets her, lapping at her lips. Her thighs cushion his ears as she draws her lips into her mouth, finally uttering a weak "Koto" while her hands lose their strength. 

In the hazy heat, her breath grows haggard. She leans forward, her grip returning to his horns. "Keep going," she says.

[caregiver-twylas-daycare]

I hab ideas for game funtions!!!!!

U can restor da world's uther culors by harvesting plans an plantin dere seeds! an u can also us the plans to mak tea top help u in heal or get specal efects :D

wen u harves a plan, te amont of stuf t gibes u is limitd by wen u pic it, an u get de mos wen u harves a ful-growm on a nitetime :>

an u hav to solv puzzles to mov to new areas, an som areas are charecter specific (u need to be pruple to get to space an gren to get to te stoneyard an blu to get to the sunken ship)

Oh wow, you have everything all planned out! I like the idea of puzzles for new areas or needing a specific character!

[yorkcalling]

Generous Grant from Benefact Trust Awarded to Apprentice Joiner at York Minster

A grant of £71,726 has been awarded to York Minster to support the costs of Benefact Trust apprentice joiner, William Dixon. York Minster is one of the world’s most magnificent cathedrals, at the centre of Christianity since the 7th century. It has a rich tradition of heritage crafts, with one of the oldest and largest workforces and stoneyards in the country. York Minster was built for the…

[craffbeertimes]

Sager-Stoneyard Pub Review #craftbeer #beer

[millingroundireland]

How did John Mills travel up the Hudson River?

This was originally the fourth chapter in my family history on the Mills family, but it is has broken apart from the original version on WordPress, so as to improve readability.

I added this to my narrative after realizing that rail travel or carriage travel was unlikely. It seems to be the only practical way he would have gotten to Chester. Basically, he would have got to Glens Falls first but when he traveled farther north on the Hudson River (figure 4.1), he would have gone about 2.5 miles to Loon Lake, where Google Maps pegs as the location of Chester. If not there, he undoubtedly settled in that area, possibly by a finger lake.

Figure 4.1. Image courtesy of the NY State Dept of Environmental Conservation

Adding to this and looking at the map of the area, the Mills family may have moved up and down the Hudson River before possibly settling even farther upstream in Pottersville. If the Mills family home was in Chester, and not in Pottersville, then they would have stayed in the same place. As census records indicate, this home was a wooden-frame structure likely indicating it did not stand the test of time. It is also worth noting that for some to say that RBM I was born on Lake George and others saying Bolton Landing, both could be correct. This is because Bolton Landing (part of the town of Bolton at the time) borders, to the east, Lake George. So, the Mills family may have lived in a house that bordered Lake George when RBM I was born (1862).

There is more than just this from looking at a map and extrapolating from established facts. Already, in states such as New York, “Americans created a vast system of inland waterways that significantly reduced transportation costs,,” which undoubtedly included the Hudson River since a stagecoach at the time might have gone 8 or 9 miles an hour while small locomotives at the time, “pulling a handful of cars over uneven track, could travel at fifteen to twenty miles an hour.” Consider the lack of railroad track, it is unlikely that he traveled on a train.

Such water travel was the idea behind the Erie Canal, making access from the Hudson River to the Lake of Erie possible for immigrants and others. He wouldn’t have gone up the Hudson in a regular ship but it would have been a steamboat. After 1807, when Robert Livingston and Robert Fulton’s North River Steamboat (also called the North River and Clermont) operated on the Hudson from 1807 to 1814, “steamboats were soon introduced on most navigable rivers” since they allowed “commerce and travel both upstream and down,” which encouraged trade “by lowering costs and saving time.” As a result, by 1830, steamboats dominated transportation up and down American rivers. It is clear that Cornelius Vanderbilt and Daniel Drew had their own steamboat lines going up the Hudson by 1835. These boats could, as noted by the US Army Corps of Engineers, only travel up to 5 miles an hour. They were likely what one could call paddleboats since they didn’t really run on a steam engine.

In 1824 there was a seven-mile-long “feeder canal,” that supplied “Hudson River water to the inland portions of the Champlain Canal,” from a dam Glens Falls, which produced “an adequate water supply for navigation and lockage.” By the 1830s, this canal was navigable and by 1839, “twelve locks of dressed local Kingsbury bluestone replaced the earlier wooden structures.” This canal expanded the “industrial site potential of Glens Falls and Hudson Falls beyond the falls of the Hudson’ since mills and warehouses “sprung up along the feeder canal, including stoneyards, lime kilns, sawmills, lumberyards and coal yards” for goods shipped in and out. The Mills family undoubtedly contributed to this, as the “natural resources of the region” were processed “into merchantable goods for New York, Montreal and other distant markets.” As a result, this family was the “Highlands” area of the Hudson, from what it seems from the description of the five different areas of the Hudson.

The Mills family would stay in a county with soul which is “sand and sandy loam,” while “thin on upper slopes due to erosion from lumbering and forest fires” at the present, some qualities which likely existed then as well. This is the same place where temperatures vary “from –40 degrees F. in winter to +80 degrees F. in summer” while farming and lumbering were chief occupations of many settlers (like the Millses). In short, is clear how John Mills traveled up the Hudson: on a steamboat.

© 2018-2023 Burkely Hermann. All rights reserved.

[blackkaatlynagency]

Witch Wheat harvest

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Pittsburg alright

[unitytheband]

"Reggae Party " This Friday Night Nov 18th, Unity The Band will be performing at StoneYard Appleton - W3010 Edgewood Trail, Appleton, WI. Music@9pm. Come Join Us for some great times #livemusic #Unitytheband #rootsmusic #jammin #onelove

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"CONVICTS TRIED FOR ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE FROM PEN." Winnipeg Tribune. June 27, 1913. Page 13. ---- Missing for Six Hours They Were Found Concealed Below Chapel Floor ---- The story of a frustrated escape of two convicts, Joseph Copeland, sentenced to 14 years for an attempt to shoot two years ago the late Constable Patrick J. Traynor, and Joseph Foster, 3 years, from Stony Mountain penitentiary April 25 last, was told Chief Justice Mathers and a jury at the assizes this morning when another 14-year term convict, John Newton, was put on trial for having аssisted them in their effort to secure liberty. Copeland and Foster pleaded guilty. Newton, who according to Foster was the prime mover and brains of the affair, however, decided to undergo the ordeal of a hearing by "twelve good men and true," and his decision was responsible for the full details of the attempted escape being made public as well as in securing verdict of not guilty from the jury. Convicted of a hold-up at Brandon there is still ten years of his term to run.

Copeland was sentenced to six months imprisonment to follow the completion of his present term. Foster, as he has shown a disposition to assist the authorities, got suspended sentence.

Convicts Examined. Foster and Copeland were called to testify against him, but the latter persisted in declining to be sworn, although the court warned him that this would be taken into consideration in passing sentence.

Foster corroborated the earlier testimony of Chief Warder Ponsford, that both Copeland and he had, when questioned, individually, admitted Newton helped them. He went further and said that it was he who suggested the possibility of escape, at the same time arranging that they should aid him in getting away as soon as they were at liberty.

Concealed 'Neath Chancel. For some six hours Copeland and Foster remained concealed underneath the floor of the chancel of the Roman Catholic chapel. This was the last place searched under the direction of the chief warden. The basements of the other buildings in the penitentiary environs had previously been visited. When the search party reached the chapel Chief Warden Ponsford, as a last resort, directed a guard to pull out one of the set of drawers back of the altar in which the priest's vestments were kept. He did this and an opening being disclosed, the hiding place of the two was discovered as well as some knives, a file and chisels, as well as toasted bread. Newton, Foster informed the court, had told them to cut their way through the chapel wall and the implements had been concealed with this object.

Escape Supervision. How the pair got away from supervision and how Newton was in a position to aid them, as alleged, was explained by Chief Warden Ponsford and a couple of the guards. The three on the morning of April 28 reported sick, as part of the plan, Foster described. But the doctor did not credit their statements and discovering no serious symptoms sent them back to the stoneyard where they were employed. No guard then accompanied convicts to the surgery and Copeland and Foster taking advantage of this and finding the door of the chapel opened entered and hid themselves in the gallery to await Newton's arrival. Foster was explicit on this point and although Newton cross-examined other witnesses with an astuteness and intelligence that evidently impressed the Jury, he did not waste many moments in trying to trip-up Foster on his tale direct.

Newton, the guards deposed, came back from the hospital but a minute or two later asked liberty to return to get his gloves. This it was urged by the crown was a pretext to enable him to help the other two and Foster said that when they got into the which led underneath the chancel floor Newton shoved back the heavy drawer into its place.

Scapegoat, Says Accused. In addressing the jury Newton, who had already shown himself the possessor of a better education than his class is usually credited with having, asked the jury to hold that Copeland and Foster were scared when they were caught and wanted to throw the blame on some one else. "I had such a good character," said he. "It was very easy to blame me and that's the reason I'm here today."

[lastradaperlemontagne]

sanatorium ‘70/’80 ◇ санаторій ‘70/’80 ◇ courtesy Stone Yard

[designandmanage]

Organic stone surfaces! 💚 #granitesurfaces #granitecountertops @Allbright #naturalstone #surfaces #organic #stoneyard #materials #granite #LA #hospitalitydesign #custom #privatemembersclub #saturday #saturdayvibes (at AllBright) https://www.instagram.com/p/CEMbY5rDnKw/?igshid=lyacijfl3dj7

[allthatisleftinthedark]

❝ you do turn a pretty shade of pink when you blush. ❞ (Makoto @ Mai)

asoiaf: feast for crows starters | accepting

Amid gaiety and rejoicing, Maisie holds her tankard of raspberry-red wineberry mead, its untouched and neglected content sparkling like rubies in the sunlight. Her brows furrow as she scrutinizes the drink, tilting the mug uneasily and watching the mead trace the rim.

A small-scale gathering in northern Argyll was an invitation never to decline. Each event is an opportunity to strengthen and foster relationships and maintain appearances. At this time, it's the seasonal Hides and Gains gathering held in Stoneyard. 

Stoneyard is one of Dewburrow's many neighbors, specifically eastward. It is an orcish settlement that existed for 300 years, which is relatively young considering the area's history. Conflicts have been seen between the northern orcs and vanara from the southern archipelago of Argyll, vying for dominance. After the last battle, the orcs secured their territory, and sightings of simian faces have become rare. 

Nowadays, there is plenty to celebrate without territory threats. In this instance, the Hides and Gains gathering was a bazaar held biannually. Initially, it was a meeting of orc tribes in northern Argyll as a grand contest to compare their proudest and more ruthless kills in hunting. It served more as an over-glorified weekend competition but allowed the young orcs to meet others not too close to home and create informal groups for seasonal hunting. As a result, Argyllian orcs have a tradition of sending their young to other tribes to spend the season trapping and gathering in hopes of bringing the best spoils home. 

The tradition became more public in the age of economics, and the advancement of boats came. The Stoneyard settlement, specifically, was more than content sending dead pheasants as invitations to their neighbors. Though its original roots are hailed and respected, it has become more 'marketable,' a common complaint made by the traditionalists in the tribes. Communing and catching up aside, attendees can secure great deals on rare resources, like furs, not readily available in the region.

Maisie, who is rarely home, endeavors to engage in local affairs when she can. This year, she is back in Dewburrow just in time to participate. However, it was her first time venturing to Stoneyard with companions beyond her village and family. Given how little their schedules coincide and how limited his threshold is with mortals, it would only be a day. 

While her companion explores the market and inspects the wares, hilariously dwarfed by the orc majority in the market stalls, Maisie reconnects with familiar and acquainted faces. At one instance, there was an axe-throwing contest, and then there was a log-chucking contest and plenty more sports events the gnome couldn't decline. Friendly conversation continued, some even better known asking about her mother. Though eyes occasionally drifted towards her left arm's scars, playfully inquiring about the creature who didn't survive her. 

All this time apart from another was anticipated; Maisie would not press expectations on him or anyone else. She only shared an open hand for an opportunity. A moment of reprieve, she was allowed.

The same untasted stein in one hand while the other is free, but her thoughts drift. Maisie's cheeks flush faintly without alcohol. Leaning against a too-tall wooden fence, she catches her breath. Associates' motives and covert schemes dissipate from her concerns, replaced by the dread of alcohol's stench and slight swelling in her feet.

It was nearing mid-afternoon, and the two of them had not met up again. At least, Maisie was unsure of his location as he seemed to slip away. A low groan leaves as she rubs her palm against the side of her forehead. 

When would she have such an opportunity again to share what home is like with anyone else? It isn't like she has friends, to begin with—a truth that once troubled her but had now become a quiet reality. She handled it with discretion, playing along and holding her tongue. 

Nevertheless, that hidden, tender side of her heart stings at every reminder.

Adjusting from one foot to another, the gnome looks over the horizon line and watches the festivities. The forecast for today is still sunny without a cloud in the sky; no sudden changes of snowfall or blizzard are to be found. In her headcount, there are no signs of any horns of the draconic kind; a tiefling here and there had their horns, but many paled to the crown on that man's head. 

A rustle of branches catches her attention, and as she turns her head, she notices him in the corner of her eye. The frostbite of Rivera, the prince of the court of Winter, Makoto Igarashi, is leaning slightly over and standing close behind her, almost like an adopted shadow. A comparison like that may peeve Silas, who tends to be quite protective of her and literally occupies her shadow, too. 

The sight of Makoto startles her, causing the mead to ripple in her trembling hand. But Maisie composed her demeanor and greeted him, " Koto, are you enjoying yourself at the festival?" 

Glacial-blue irises flit from the busybodies of the market and return to her. His fixation is evident enough. Makoto's interests rarely lay outside those he considers close, so few can be named off one hand. The draconian man crosses his arms, resting them above the fence posts, a subtle sway in his tail. 

Something occupies his eyes, and it's clearly on her, Maisie assumes. For a moment, she brushes her hand against her face, trying to find the source of his curiosity. 

He leaves no room for wondering as he hooks a brow, complimenting the blush over her cheeks. 

"I'm all flushed from the dancing and competing," a happy sigh leaves Maisie. "Thank the gods pink looks good with my complexion, or else my father's genes have cursed me," she can't help but laugh as she gestures to her carnation pink highlights. 

"The purple, pink, and yellow combination is a challenge when I need to coordinate an outfit for it. My siblings have it easier since they usually have one color from ma' and the other from pa'," her finger brushed the bottom of her short hair. She squints, unable to twirl a lock around her finger completely. "Unlike you, many of those dark colors wouldn't be a part of my regular attire if I wasn't always on the clock already. Meanwhile, you wear that extensive range since you have black hair and bright blue eyes. It looks well on you and ridiculous on me."

"But, hey, it's professional." She shrugs. "Can't go being dressed in all purple and expect someone to take me seriously." 

Maisie blinks, glancing at Makoto. "I went quite a tangent there," she can feel slightly warm in the face but holds eye contact. "Sorry for that."

"Hey," she raises the mug and pushes it against his hand. "Take this. You can appreciate this more than I can." 

As the gnome adjusts her back to the fence, she nods towards the marketplace. "Say, you want to see if they have anything you'd want to bring back for your parents?" 

[stronglyobsessed]

Gonna have one of these tonight.