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2011.04.08 06:30 Mutki Sketchdaily: Your daily sketch!


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The place to post and enjoy all sorts of trippy artworks.

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2023.05.30 00:28 Ashleybaby87 Please!!?? Code is 159170169 and must be typed in.

Please!!?? Code is 159170169 and must be typed in.
159170169 is my code. It’s the only way I actually get credit. But look how close I am! I’ve never won anything!
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2023.05.30 00:19 shadowm-ligth-2009 plan Twitter

plan Twitter submitted by shadowm-ligth-2009 to stickman [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 00:15 NoAfternoon560 need one more new user!!

need one more new user!! submitted by NoAfternoon560 to u/NoAfternoon560 [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 00:11 blackmilkpt Blender to Unity losing textures

Hello everyone iam new to blender, iam taking baby steps learning this program so please go easy on me, after I model an object in blender I draw some textures on it, I exported as FBX and set it to Unity, the model is white in unity, no color, no drawings, no textures. I searched far and wide for the answer and for now I have tried:
-Pack the files. File > External data > Pack resources.
-Turning path mode to copy and enabling Embed textures
-Baking with cycles, target set to Image Textures
-Exporting as any kind of supported file
NOTE: if I drag the texture from my pc to Unity everything works fine, I just want to have a single file FBX or. Blend with everything in it
What am I doing wrong?
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2023.05.30 00:08 Jesusathisfinnest A friend of mine (who only knows things I told him about mtg) foolishly asked me to explain the Fable of the Mirror-Breaker ban. Guess how I spend the following 20 minutes

Ok so basically, in hit trading card game (TCG) Magic the Gathering (commonly referred to as MTG), there are multiple formats to play in. One of the most popular ones is standard, which is compiled of the most recent handful of standard legal sets released usually around 2 years ago. A couple of weeks ago they announced that this will change and now standard will keep sets for up to 3 years now which made many people fairly upset since there are a lot of cards that were due to be put out of standard in the near future that were everywhere in the meta. They then announced a week ago that they were going to ban cards in standard again on todays date (may 29th 2023). Consequently, a trio of cards from the set that should’ve been close to rotating out of the format were banned earlier this morning, all of them being 4 of’s (referring to having 4 of one card in a deck, the maximum number legal) in the best deck in the format : Rakdos Midrange (a Red and Black deck comprised of the best cards in the format).
One of such cards is Fable of the Mirror-Breake/Reflection of Kiki-Jiki. It is a double-face enchantment with the subtype saga, as was common and first occurrence in Kamigawa Neon Dynasty, the most ancient set legal in the current standard rotation, that costs 2 and a red and has 3 chapters (when this saga enters the battlefield and after your draw step, put a lore counter on it. When a lore counter is out on this saga, activate the corresponding ability.) Those chapters read as follow : 1. Create a 2/2 red Goblin Shaman creature token with "Whenever this creature attacks, create a treasure token” (a treasure token is an artifact with the subtype treasure that can be tapped and sacrificed for a mana of any color, think of it as a onetime land.) 2. You may discard up to two cards, then draw that many cards. And finally 3. Exile this card and return it to the battlefield face down. The other face of this card is a 2/2 red Enchantment Goblin Shaman Creature that has the ability to, if you were to pay 1 and tap this creature, create a token copy of another non-legendary creature you control, except the copy has haste. Sacrifice it at the end of the next end-step.
This is an ode to a popular card from the original Kamigawa set, Kiki-Jiki, Mirror Breaker, which had a very similar but way more powerful ability. But back to Fable of the Mirror-Breaker. As we can see, for the low and easy cost of 2 and a red, this card gives you a creature that can produce extra mana, filter your hand all the while helping you put specific cards in your graveyard for game ending interaction, and then give you another creature that can make copies of other creatures you control for them to act without repercussions. For example, you could copy the 2/2 red goblin shaman creature made prior to create treasure token without fear of losing the creature to blockers, since it would be destroyed anyways, or you could make use of the several creatures in the format that have powerful enter the battlefield abilities or abilities that require tapping (which can’t be done if the creature has entered this turn, except if it has haste, which the copy gains).
Also, since the copy is only sacrificed at the beginning of the next end step, if you copy a creature during your opponent’s end-step, the next one occurs on your turn. You will therefore be able to have two copies of a creature you control during a single turn if you wish to. Finally, the final nail in the coffin, this card is a combo writhing itself. If you let your opponent have two Reflections of Kiki-Jiki on the board, since they aren’t legendary, they could use one of them to copy the other, then make a copy of the copy with your second Reflection of Kiki-Jiki to then make as much copies of Reflection of Kiki-Jiki as you have mana available. While this may sound useless since they will all but two be tapped and all the copies will die at the end of turn, you can also do this whole maneuver during your opponent’s end step and start your turn with an army of Reflections of Kiki-Jiki ready to attack or make as much copy of a much more powerful, not legendary, creature you control to completely take over the game. Reminder this is all thanks to only 2 copies of a card with a mana value (previously known as Converter Mana Cost) of 3.
Thank you all for coming to my ted talk.
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2023.05.29 23:40 Medical-Tour8251 Need two new users

Need two new users submitted by Medical-Tour8251 to TEMU_Official [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 23:37 CatsInTrenchcoats Peacekeeping Pt.2

(Pt. 1) An additional thanks to u/An_Insufferable_NEWT for letting me borrow one of his characters.
...And now for the conclusion.

= = =

Evelra swore. They had come here to uplift humanity from barbarism, not let the powers that be enable humanity’s worst elements while the selfsame Noble cunts indulged in their own pubescent masturbatory power fantasies. Fuck this. She thought to herself with a growl and flicked her comms channel to all units.

“All forces, this is Captain Evelra. The goddess-damned governess’s private militia have opened fire on the civies. Arrest those brother-fucking [bastards] on sight before they can fuck this mess up any further!” She barked over the comms, a bit of local English slipping into her words. She couldn’t call them stiffs; the latter had more class than this.

“Capt, we’ve got three APCs in militia markings barreling down the road in front of the Governess’s mansion from the west. ETA 30 seconds. This is about to get messy.” Prex’s voice cut in with a false calm lent by years of experience.

Evelra could feel the material of her suit creak as her hands briefly tightened into hardened fists. “All west side Pods converge on Pod 7, support Lieutenant Eleynor. Eastern Pods, evac the civies. And Prex? Keep the late arrivals occupied. Don’t let these fuckers get another shot off.” She growled, her Second giving a brief click of acknowledgement over the comms before switching channels to give orders of her own.

Turning back to face Isaiah, Evelra reached a hand down to grab the elder by his medical exoskeleton and hoisted him to his feet. “Looks like the Governess ran out of patience. Get your people out of here, we’ll deal with this.” She explained brusquely, jabbing one finger towards the eastern side of the boulevard. She could apologize for womanhandling him later, right now every second counted.

The moment she was sure he had his feet under him, the marine captain let go and tried to move on Eleynor’s position with all due haste. “Out of the way! MOVE!” Evelra shouted as she strode forward, the sea of humans doing their best to get out of her path. Already, people were starting to scramble as panic spread like wildfire. She could hear the cries of terror and confusion all around her; shouted orders from the protest organizers and her own marines were almost inaudible against the din as they tried to control the chaos.

As she neared pod 7’s position, a horrifying scene unfolded before her. In the shadow of the buildings, at least a dozen of the protesters were currently on fire. Harsh yellow and orange flames rose from the flailing figures to form hazy gray clouds of smoke that hung heavy in the air. Even more humans were covered in burn marks and charred clothes. One woman just sat there, trembling and numb from shock as she stared her bloody arm; the melted remains of her synthetic shirt peeling away with boiled skin. Amidst the chaos, the other protesters were doing everything from trying to help the wounded and burning to running in panic and terror; the latter creating a solid wave of bodies in front of Evelra as they stumbled over one another to flee the danger.

From out of sight, she saw one of the Governess’ militia-kitted thugs go flying; only to watch them get back up and charge in to fight whom Evelra assumed to be Pod 7. Shil’vati might be stronger, but when equally equipped, outnumbered and against human reflexes she knew that fight wasn’t going to end well for her girls if the rest of the western Pods didn’t reach them soon. Then, one of the militiamen stepped forward towards the crowd.

As he strode boldly through the mayhem, Evelra could only watch while one of the protesters tried to confront him; the tide of humans preventing the marine captain from intervening. Inaudible words were exchanged, the protester shouting something as they gesticulated wildly. The Governess’ thug merely responded with two swift strikes of his rifle butt, first to the gut, then to the back of the head, the other man dropping like an anchor. In the distance, out of the corner of her eye, she numbly noted that the rest of the governess’ thugs had arrived and were using their APCs as cover between them and the Pods under Prexith’s command.

Evelra felt her gut sink as the militiamen shouldered his rifle once more, stepping out of the building’s shadow to take aim at the crowd. “EVERYBODY DOWN!” The marine captain roared as she planted her feet and pulled her sidearm in one smooth, practiced motion. Drawing a bead on the Governess’ thug, the panicked crowd tried to clear out of her way; but there were just too many people. She wasn’t going to make it in time. No, no more. Not-

The militiaman’s head disappeared.

A split second later, the now infamously familiar thunderous crack and echoing roar of a large bore human chemical ballistic rifle rolled over them as the corpse spasmed on its feet; a shockwave visibly rippling through the suit it was wearing. “SNIPER!” Somebody bellowed. It might have been her, but in that moment she honestly couldn’t tell. As the headless body crumpled to the ground in a fountain of red, the same gun roared out again… and again. In the distance she could see two sudden sprays of red splatter up the sides of the Militia APCs, one right after the other.

The echoes of gunfire galvanized the crowd into a further panic, a stampede of human protesters slamming into Evelra in their attempt to get away from the violence. For a moment, the marine captain thought she was going to get dragged under by the wave, but then they rolled past her, leaving her staggering into the clear. With the screaming of the crowd now behind her and her ears still ringing from gunshots it was oddly quiet once more, save for the groans of the wounded.

Not letting herself fall into the lull, Evelra kept moving forward only to nearly gag at the smell as she approached the corner of the building. Like a Blue Grail left in the summer sun for a week, the air was heavy with a putrid smoke, reminiscent of the scent of death itself. Quickly sealing her helmet, she took a shuddering breath of fresh air before looking up just in time to see a pair of the Governess’s thugs get bodily tackled into the pavement by Eleynor. The rest of treasonous Militia were either surrendering or trying to run like the Deep-Minder itself was behind them as more Marine Pods came charging around nearby street corners.

Watching the last treasonous bastards eat pavement, the marine captain strode up to the Militaman’s corpse and picked up his blood-stained rifle. Quickly turning the weapon over in her hands, Evelra took one look at its settings and nearly threw the gun away in disgust. Medium power, maximum dispersal. Against even the most basic of modern armor, such settings would be practically useless; but would make for a decent, if imprecise, fire starter. Which is exactly what they’d done. Of course, leave it to the humans to figure out how to turn the most basic of weapons into a tool of terror. She thought bitterly, adjusting the beam spread back to something more logical before strapping it’s sling to her harness.

Now properly armed for anything else the Deep-Minder might decide to throw at her, Evelra flicked open her wrist-mounted omnipad, the integrated AR display in her helmet seamlessly linking to it. A couple quick taps later and the captain had an outgoing call. As the phone line rang in her ear, she tried not to tap her foot, every second feeling like ten.

“911, what’s your emer-”

Before the woman on the other end could even finish her sentence, Evelra interrupted her. “This is Captain Evelra of the Imperial Marines, 4032nd company. We have at least a dozen, I repeat, at least a dozen critically injured burn victims at the corner of 3rd and Main. I need emergency Medivac for the critically wounded.” She barked into the mic.

There was a momentary pause on the other end accompanied by the sounds of a physical keyboard before shortly being followed by a muffled “Fuck.” Evelra shifted impatiently as one second dragged into the next. “Is something the matter?” The marine growled.

“Ahh… No ma’am.” The other woman’s voice was uncertain for a moment before steadying back out. “Just bypassing some red tape. Consider it done. ETA, ten minutes.” She said with a thermocast firmness. Evelra briefly considered hounding the woman for what exactly she meant by ‘red tape’ but decided against it. She sounded confident in her statement and ultimately there was nothing else Evelra could do about it at the moment.

“I’m going to hold you to that.” The marine captain growled before hanging up. One down. Looking up, she glanced over the growing crowd of Marines. Already, some of her girls were pulling out medkits and burn patches as they moved to help injured protesters; her AR display highlighting their ranks and names.

“Sergeant Quixana!” Evelra barked over the din.
“Ma’am!” The medic shouted back over one shoulder, barely looking up from the burn victim she was currently treating.

“We have civilian medivac for the burn victims inbound, ETA ten minutes. You have command over Triage. Anyone in critical condition they can’t airlift out is your responsibility. Clear?” She commanded, watching the Governess’s thugs like a shark as her girls disarmed and secured them. At this point, Evelra honestly didn’t expect them to try anything else; but as always with humans, one never quite knew what they’d do.

“Affirmative!” Quixana replied. Taking a moment to ensure the woman she was treating wasn’t in immediate danger, the medic ushered another marine over to help and began shouting orders of her own. Two down. Satisfied that the situation was under control, Evelra keyed into her comms again.

“Prex, Sitrep.”

A couple moments later, the other woman’s voice came to life in her earpiece. “After the gunshots went off, the little fuckers started stumbling over each other to try and surrender. What in the Deep just happened?” Despite the horror around her, Evelra gave a short, mirthless chuckle. “Seems a certain… somebody decided to more than just ‘play’ at being security. And seeing as I still have my head, they’re not a complete bloodthirsty idiot.”

“You certain it’s… them?” Prex asked, a hint of dubiousness in her voice.

“Given that there’s one of the Governess’s thugs sans their head while I still have mine? Yeah. About as certain as I can be. Fits what little we know about their M.O.” Evelra shot back.

There were several long moments of silence before her subordinate let out a low whistle. “Make that three. I’ve got two more over here. Definitely explains why the little Turoxes were so fucking panicky. What now Cap?”

“How many of your Pods do you need to secure your prisoners?” Evelra asked.

“Less than half. They’re more terrified of stepping back into the sights of that sniper than anything else, I think.” Prexith snorted, a dry hint of amusement in her voice.

“Take as many as you think you can spare from guard duty and go arrest the Governess. Alive. Though preventing her from causing any more damage takes priority. Clear?” Evelra’s voice was firm, the unspoken message clear. Try not to kill the bitch if at all possible, but ice her tits if she’s going to make this a problem.

“As a laser lens. Prex out.”

When the line clicked dead, the marine captain took a deep breath and tried to center herself. Now came the hard part.


= = =

Evelra stopped outside the governess’ office and took a deep breath to steady herself. Within two hours of getting the fiasco under control, one Agent Lohun had arrived… along with three Pods of Death’s Head Commandos. Upon giving him her report, the petite male had thanked her and politely requested that she remain in her quarters until further notice. The marine captain had known better than to try and test those particular boundaries. It was only now, three days later, that she’d been summoned once more.

In spite of the not quite lockdown state that was currently in effect, word still traveled. Her orders to arrest the governess had been upheld and the bitch had been transferred out to some Interior facility goddess knows where. A minimal local press release had happened; condemning the governess’ actions and requesting cooperation with the authorities as they investigated the incident. Things were still tense, but the daily gathering of thousands of protesters had dwindled to a hundred or so of the most stubborn.

With a little shake to clear her head, Evelra opened the office door and stepped through. Behind the governess’ massive polished wooden desk sat Lohun. The petite male was almost comically out of place; his simple take on the Interior uniform clashing with the room’s ostentatious opulence. Rumor had it that since he was investigating the room’s previous owner, he’d simply co-opted the office rather than bother to set up another workspace elsewhere. Looking up from his omnipad and what she assumed was a proverbial mountain of reports, the Agent gave her a tired nod of acknowledgement.

“Good. You’re here. Please, take a seat Captain D’saari.” He said, gesturing to a much simpler chair in front of the desk. Wincing internally at his usage of her long-abandoned family name, Evelra complied and settled into the offered seat in silence as she tried not to look at the silent woman in the corner with the three-eyed skull mask. Lohun gave his omnipad one last glance before setting it down and letting his carefully focused gaze settle onto her.

“Six deaths.” He stated simply, letting the fact hang there in the air for a moment. “Only half of which were not the aggressors in this situation. That could have gone much, much worse. A job well done Captain.”

Evelra gave an awkward shrug. “Without the… unsolicited fire support it would have been. My girls just did the mop up.”

Lohun hummed, double-checking something on his omni-pad. “About that. The audio logs between you and your second indicated a certain familiarity with this assumed insurgent sniper, yet I can’t find any combat reports that you two share featuring any opposition with this kind of firepower. Care to explain what I’m missing here?” He asked calmly, a polite smile on his face; the Commando in the corner shifting her weight slightly.

Right. That.

A bundle of nerves did somersaults in her gut as she felt her throat go dry. “Ah, yeah. About… one local year ago we had a human male turn up dead. Clear signs of abuse. Autopsy report indicated he had both Nightfel and Viagra in him at the time of death. I had my suspicions, but the ensuing investigation never turned up any evidence.” The marine captain grimaced, scratching at one tusk with her thumbnail. “A few months later, A pod on a routine patrol got ambushed. All three of their heads were blown clean off. Big gun. I think you can guess what we found when we cleared out their belongings.”

“Nightfel and Viagra.” Lohun said cooly, his face grim.

Evelra nodded. “Yeah. The Governess covered the whole thing up in the name of keeping the peace. Released a statement that the young man’s murderers had been found and executed while redacting my report.”

Briefly adding a few notes on his omnipad, the Interior agent gave her a careful look. “Why didn’t you report this breach of protocol to the Interior?”

“Because it worked.” Evelra sighed. “Approval ratings ticked up, minor incidents went down. Didn’t hurt that I also publicly doubled down on mandatory etiquette training for my girls. I’ve seen enough of the Empire’s bureaucracy over the years to know better than to stir up the seabed over something like this. Justice was served, even if it was in a less than ideal manner.”

“And what about the young man’s family?” Lohun pressed, his gaze tightening.

Coughing slightly to clear her throat, Evelra looked away as she felt her cheeks heat up. “Officially, they were given the same story as everyone else. However, I… I may have taken one Shel to visit their home and correct that mistake. They deserved to know.” She finished quietly, leaning forward in her chair to look down at the ground. Anywhere but at the male in front of her.

After several agonizingly long moments of silence, the marine captain glanced up to catch sight of Lohun slowly starting to nod. “Good. That’s good. We can work with that.”

At his words, Evelra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. In response, a ghost of a smile pulled at the edges of Lohun’s face. “Yes, you can relax now. You’re here to help me fix this mess, not to have your tits burned off.”

Evelra bobbed her head, eager for the change of topic. “Gladly. What can I do?”

The ghost of a smile on Lohun’s face broadened slightly, hovering on the edge of a smirk. “Simple. You will be taking over as the Local Governess.” The marine captain felt her jaw go slack as the Interior Agent calmly continued along as if he was discussing something as simple as dinner reservations.

“Of course, there’s a plethora of steps to take along the way. In recognition of your service to the citizens of the empire, you will be promoted two ranks to Lieutenant Colonel and discharged with full honors. We’ll then need somebody to fill your current position. One Sergeant… Prexith Van’sar, your current second, should do nicely. With her service record she's certainly earned herself a commission, I think.” He scoffed in amusement, shaking his head at some distant thought. “Deep, her accolades are almost as impressive as her penchant for avoiding promotions. It’s my hope though that continuing to work with you should be enough to dissuade her of that particular tendency.”

Lohun finally took a proper pause, as if he was only now taking in her shock. “Is something the matter Captain D’saari?”

As Evelra heard him refer to her by her family name again something inside her broke. The sheer absurdity of it all was just too much, and a noise of amusement escaped her mouth. It started as a snort, before growing into a full-on barks of laughter as Evelra shook her head in disbelief. “I- I’m sorry, but you want me, the legally disowned, stiff-sprung cunt to be a local governess? Goddess, you all must be getting desperate if you’re willing to dredge up the cast-off chaff of the noble houses.”

Lohun merely quirked an eyebrow at her before briefly consulting his omnipad again. “So that explains the three separate attempts to change your last name… aannd probably why all three of them never went anywhere.” He let out a small humph as a flicker of distaste crossed his face. “An easy enough fix.”

“Goddess. You’re serious.” Evelra muttered as she slumped back in her chair, trying to process the implications. “Ok. Why me?” She asked, throwing a hand wide.

The Interior agent’s gaze focused in on her as he leaned forward onto the table, steepling his fingers. “Because Captain, over the past three days I have spent an exhaustive amount of time interviewing and interrogating people to get a better handle on what happened and why. Your name came up just as, if not, more frequently than the governess’s; and rarely in a negative light. From both Shil’vati and humans. Deep, even some of the ones that looked like they wanted to spit in my face refused to speak ill of you. Do you understand how goddess-damned rare that is?” Lohun finished, his voice raised and projected, not quite reaching an actual shout.

Evelra was sorely tempted to argue. She’d spent most of her adult life trying to get as far away from the nobility and politics as she could, as nothing good in her life had ever come from them. Then her conversation with Isaiah flashed through her mind. Fuck. The marine captain let out a disgusted groan of frustration as she rubbed her face with one hand. “Alright… but how?” She asked, her brain fervently grasping at straws. “I mean no offense, but… isn’t that a little outside your authority as an Interior Agent?..”

Once more, a slight grin pulled at the agent’s face. “Ah yes. Perhaps some reintroductions are in order. Independent Investigator Lohun Vey’elquiese of the Empress’s own and an Agent of her Interior. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Evelra?..” He said smoothly, letting the end of his sentence hang as he leaned across the massive table to offer a petite fist.


For one long moment, Evelra’s brain short-circuited. The petite little male sitting across from her answered to only perhaps a dozen people in the entire Empire, and had the authority to make individuals such as system governesses simply disappear. Of course, abuse of said power carried the death penalty, not that one of the Empress’s own handpicked agents were likely to make that kind of mistake. Suddenly, the three pods of Death’s Head Commandos accompanying him made much, much more sense.

After a couple seconds of slight panic, her brain caught back up and she processed the question he’d carefully interwoven into his reintroduction. Taking a moment to think, she settled on her answer. With a slight smile of her own, she reached out her hand to tap her knuckles to his.

“Van’sar. Evelra Van’sar. And the pleasure is all mine Investigator.”
submitted by CatsInTrenchcoats to Sexyspacebabes [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 23:36 NamelessNanashi [The Gods of Dragons: Beginning] Ch 10 - Hurry Up and Wait

--- Table of Contents ---
Summer 4984, 13 Doumoth
“Ugh! I hate this!” Daisy whined loudly, letting her head fall back to stare at the ceiling.
“Almost done…” Rerves said to reassure her, though he lacked his usual smile.
Ania picked up the last piece of armor, a steel vambrace, and began polishing with a groan to match Daisy’s, “When we aren’t cleaning, we're polishing, when we aren’t polishing, we're cleaning. How is this Paladin training?”
“If I wanted to be a servant, I would've joined their guild…” Thom’s small voice chimed in.
Shon said nothing. The five Squires, Shon, Daisy, Thom, Rerves, and Ania, sat under a shade in the Temple courtyard, polishing the knights' spare armor for the hundredth time. The sun beat down mere feet away, reflecting off the finished pieces as the shadow of their shade crept closer and closer, the sun climbing towards noon. The yard was mostly clear, the Paladins not on duty retreating into the cool stone fortress while those on duty only occasionally coming to check on the Squires' progress.
Ania had the right of it. Ever since they'd moved into the Temple proper and became official Squires, the five of them had done nothing but clean, polish, and memorize armor and weapon vocabulary. And complain… the others always complained. Shon just sighed as the four others continued to gripe. There was no point in it, the work needed to be done, and they were the ones assigned to do it. It didn’t matter how annoying or monotonous it might be.
Sometimes the younger Paladins would join them in polishing, caring for their own armor while the Squires worked on the spare pieces. The spares were used mainly by the enlisted, and only if they hadn’t finished buying their own sets yet. Occasionally a Paladin would check out a set to practice with. Although most of them had a preferred style, they needed to stay proficient with all types. At least that meant only half of the pieces the Squires had to clean were still polished from the day before. If the armor was never used, it really would be a useless task, instead of half useless as it seemed now.
The Paladins never complained…
The Squires hadn’t started out tired and annoyed. Daisy and Shon had been joined after their first week by Thom and Rerves, who both came from the capital city. They'd been friends growing up, Rerves was a noble, and Thom's family worked as their personal stewards, one step up from servants. A week after that, Ania arrived from a small village in the south. Only having known one Paladin and having never seen a proper Temple before, she'd been in awe of the fortress Temple of the city for at least a month. But then the excitement had given way to frustration, and -for Shon at least- boredom. And so the others had started complaining.
Their relationship with each other had started out warm enough. They stayed up late into the night, sharing their histories and dreams of their future as full Paladins. Shon joined them when prompted but mostly preferred to listen. He didn’t think he had any stories worth sharing, though they had bombarded him with questions after Veon-Zih’s first training visit. Just like everyone else, they didn’t seem to know how to deal with Shon’s quiet nature. But unlike everyone else, they hadn’t pulled away and stopped talking to him altogether. Except when they complained. Shon never complained. He didn’t see the point. When asked, he would say that they needed to follow orders. So they'd stopped asking him.
Shon held his last piece of steel plate carefully by the leather straps, wiping the last bit of polish off with a clean rag. He could see his reflection distorted by the curves and dings, and wondered if he could manage to draw the changes accurately when given a chance. The tinking of metal on metal sounded in the distance, and the Squires' heads shot up, followed by their bodies as they scrambled to their feet to salute the woman approaching.
General Rasnah was resplendent as always in her uniform, the chains of office clinking on her shoulders. She walked towards the Squires with her head held high and her hands clasped behind her back. With her was Master Veon-Zih and Shon felt his spirits rise just a little higher.
“At ease, Squires.” Sir Rasnah said as she drew to a stop just outside their shade. She waited until they'd taken the formal 'at ease' position, legs shoulder-width apart and hands clasped behind their back, “Report.”
Rerves took charge, as usual, “Sir, we're nearly done, Sir.”
“Just one piece left, Sir,” Ania added, then blushed furiously as she usually did whenever addressing a high-ranking officer.
Sir Rasnah nodded, then glanced to the sky. She then looked to Veon-Zih, who smiled and shrugged. Her lips turned up on half her face in what could almost be called a grin before she cleared it, serious again as she addressed the Squires, “You may have the afternoon off. Report to the kitchens and evening duties before sixth bell.”
“Sir, yes, Sir!” the Squires spoke in unison, Shon’s four fellows grinning broadly and sneaking happy glances at one another.
They held their positions until Sir Rasnah turned away, walking back to the Temple proper and leaving them to their freedom. Veon-Zih remained behind, smiling warmly at them and addressing Shon, “Lunch? I found a fine eatery a few blocks away.”
Shon nodded, finally smiling with the rest, “And practice?” he asked.
“After food,” Veon-Zih answered, stepping aside and gesturing towards the gates. Shon rushed to help the others put the clean and polished armor away, then jogged to Veon-Zih before falling into step with him as they left the Temple.
Veon-Zih waited until they were well clear of the gates before asking, “So what do you think of your fellow Squires?”
Shon sighed in answer, which made Veon-Zih chuckle for some reason. But the sigh hadn’t really answered the question, so Shon said, “They complain a lot.” he probably could have, and should have, come up with something nicer to say. But after hours of hearing them gripe while they worked, it was the only thing on Shon’s mind.
“There's nothing wrong with complaining, you know.” Veon-Zih mused. Shon merely shook his head. The knights never complained; he'd been watching them. If there was a job that needed to be done, they would do it. His fellow Squires seemed to complain before, during, and after every unpleasant assignment. Though never in front of the Paladin giving it.
“Do you honestly think the knights like polishing armor? Do you like polishing that much? Maybe you should've come to the Monastery after all. We don’t wear armor, but we have many fine statues that all need to be polished every day. Every little nook and cranny scrubbed clean and shining.”
He glanced at Shon with a grin, then leaned over to whisper, “They hate it too, but just like your fellows won’t complain in front of them, they won’t complain in front of you.”
“It needs to be done…” Shon tried to argue, though it sounded hollow considering his own, though silent, annoyance.
“A perfect excuse,” Veon-Zih stated, turning sharply down a side road, so Shon had to jog to keep up, “There are many reasons spare armor needs to be polished. The most obvious is that it's needed to stay in good repair. The task is assigned to Squires because it gets you intimately familiar with armor beyond just naming the parts. And because no one else wants to do it.
“That doesn’t mean we should be complaining about it…”
“Not in front of the officers, no. But amongst each other? Why not?”
Shon furrowed his brow but didn’t have an answer. Veon-Zih gave him one, “Joint misery creates companionship. Even if you have nothing else in common, everyone knows you all hate polishing already clean armor. Right now, I bet your fellow Squires are scratching their heads, wondering if you do actually enjoy the task. Some might even be wondering if they're worthy of being Squires. Since they complain, and you don’t.”
Shon’s steps faltered. Would they really think he was more worthy than them? For something so trivial as chores? He had to rush to catch up and argued, “But there's no point in complaining. We have to do it anyway.”
Veon-Zih sighed and stopped walking. He waited for Shon to turn to him then said, “But my statement still stands. Joint misery creates companionship. Your fellows take a risk in voicing their complaints to you, hoping that they're not alone in their opinions. What if they're the only ones who hate it? What if that really does mean they aren’t meant for the Temple? Just because they can channel divine magic doesn’t mean Hengist will choose them.”
Shon let himself ponder that for a while. The other Squires always seemed so sure of themselves, so excited to begin real training. Did they really have doubts and fears the same as he did? And what did that say about his assumptions? That they would complain and the knights didn’t? Was he actually judging his fellows as unworthy without realizing it?
“The Paladins really complained when they were Squires too?” he asked.
“I guarantee it.” Veon-Zih answered and started walking again, “I know I did, and all the other Monks in my class too.” he chuckled, “Sometimes routines like cleaning and polishing can be meditative. You can let your mind wander while your hands work through the familiar motions. But before you get to that point, or if you would rather be doing something of your choosing, then it's nothing but monotonous work. Necessary work, but still work.”
Following Veon-Zih around another corner, Shon pondered his Master’s words. They got all the way to the little eatery the Monk had been looking for, even took their seats, and gave their orders before Shon spoke again.
“I hate platemail the most…” he said. Veon-Zih arched an eyebrow at him, and he continued, “It’s bulky, and there's just so much of it. Then as soon as you're done, someone moves it aside and gets fingerprints on it again. Chainmail isn’t much better. You can’t see the fingerprints, but it’s hard to get the oil between the links. And yet water obviously has no problem with it because that’s where all the rust is.”
Veon-Zih laughed boisterously, throwing his head back and startling those at the closest table, “I hated the creases in the palms of the statues the most,” Veon-Zih held up his hand, his forefinger and thumb forming a circle, the other fingers extended, “how can so much dust cake itself in such a small space in only a day?” he complained, dropping his hand and shaking his head.
The waitress brought them their stew and drinks, and Shon started eating while Veon-Zih thanked her. Picking up his spoon, the Monk paused as he dipped it into his bowl, musing, “I wonder which parts your fellow Squires dislike the most?” Shon didn’t know, but he wanted to. Would they agree with him that the plate was the most frustrating? Daisy seemed to groan loudest at the leather, but their complaining always seemed to be general moans at the work as a whole…
“Maybe I’ll ask,” Shon mumbled, embarrassed for some reason.
“Or,” Veon-Zih took his first bite, then pointed at Shon with his spoon, “you could just tell them your least favorite, and they will open up and share their own.”
That’s what they expected of him, wasn’t it? They expected him to join in the conversation, not just answer questions… Shon could only nod.
Shon had grown so much. It was difficult for Veon-Zih to watch him without smiling. Only a head shorter than his Master, Veon-Zih could still see the ten-year-old oddity he'd spied upon almost four years ago in the church courtyard. And yet, he had grown so much. Veon-Zih wondered if anyone else could see it.
They practiced in one of the parks in the noble’s district. Veon-Zih thought it was important that Shon get out of Temple whenever possible, that he see the city and its people, to remember what he was training for, and why he wanted to fight. Shon was more like Veon-Zih, and his order of Monks than the boy would ever know. Or admit. He strove for perfection. Every punch, kick, and kata they worked through needed to go exactly right, or he would do it again. Like many Monks, Shon found true enjoyment in the process of working and growing better than his past self. But he was also different in a critical way. Shon wanted to use his strength. Wanted to protect people, fight evil. Many Monks never left the Monastery. A single Grandmaster could easily fell a small raiding force alone. Yet, so many chose not to fight outside their sparring rings and training.
Even Veon-Zih hadn’t left the Monastery because he wanted to help those locked outside its walls. He'd left because he believed he couldn't attain the perfection he strove for inside them. He'd wanted to be tested by the world, to rise to the challenges life presented and overcome them with his discipline and practice. Along the way, he'd learned to be more like Shon was naturally. He'd made friends from other orders, and saved countless non-combatants. Only after seeing the results of his fights, the grateful families reunited, had he realized the moral folly in his fellows and in himself.
They practiced and even sparred until well after fifth bell. The display at first earned them a few disapproving glares from the nobles and servants passing the park. Then they'd actually attracted a few spectators, who clapped as though watching a show. Shon blushed furiously at this, his pale cheeks growing pink as he tilted his head down, trying to let what was left of his now short hair slip down to hide his face. Yet, he never lost step or stopped the training. Veon-Zih had barely resisted laughing, though if more at the foolish watchers or his embarrassed student, he wasn’t sure.
Veon-Zih finally called their training to a halt, and Shon glowered at him. The boy had nearly gotten in his first solid hit in their sparring and was obviously reluctant to stop after making such progress. “It’s nearly time for you to get back, and Sir Rasnah will not accept me as an excuse for tardiness.” Shon’s eyes went wide, and fear replaced the look of frustration on his face. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking up at the sky to try and gauge the hour.
Veon-Zih chuckled, “I’ll race you back.” he said, a hint of mischief seeping through his voice. Shon arched an eyebrow and Veon-Zih could practically hear his thoughts. Run? Through town? You must be joking. “There's no law against running,” Veon-Zih argued with the boy’s expression, “Every moment offers us an opportunity to train. We're late, so this is the perfect opportunity to test our speed against time and run.”
Shon alternated his arched brow to the other side, looking down the road then back to Veon-Zih before confirming, “A race?”
In answer, Veon-Zih ran. He sprinted past Shon -though not at his full speed- before slowing down just enough to keep things fair. Shon bolted after him. Nobles, servants, and even a few guards gasped and called out in indignation as Veon-Zih and Shon swerved around them on the wide roads of the nobles' quarter. They were forced to slow when they reached the more densely packed streets in the city center. Shon was careful to run around the people doing their shopping but kept his eyes set ahead, planning his route and scaring those who noticed him out of the way with his intense blue stare. Veon-Zih was much more confident in his ability not to hit people and so brushed much closer, never quite knocking into them but often brushing their clothes as he passed.
Ahead a cart laden with crates and barrels ambled across the thoroughfare, and Shon slowed to a jog, trying to run around it. Veon-Zih lept, landing on his hands on the cart and propelling himself up and over before hitting the ground again and continuing the race. He heard the merchant curse and the bystanders gasp in surprise but was more amused at the growl of frustration that came from his student, who put on an extra burst of speed to try and catch up. Veon-Zih was half tempted to let him and half tempted to sprint all out and leave the boy in his dust. He chose to do neither and just laughed, continuing at the pace he'd set and soon coming into view of the Temple gates.
The Paladins on watch saw him coming and exchanged confused and nervous glances, drawing their swords but not barring his path. Veon-Zih didn’t slow his run until he reached the knights. Turning to the side and planting his feet, he slid past them on the cobblestones. Turning back as he slid to a stop, he found one of the Paladins facing him as though ready to fight and the other facing out as though looking for whatever force had sent Veon-Zih sprinting for the Temple.
Shon slowed to a jog and stopped before the knight facing him, breathing hard. “What’s going on? Squire report.” the Paladin demanded, still holding his sword at the ready.
Shon had to take a moment to catch his breath but eventually managed to gasp out, “Race…” before looking absolutely horrified at what he'd just done and said. “Sir…” he added quietly as if that might somehow make his unconventional arrival more acceptable.
“And you managed to keep up with him?” Sir Rasnah appeared from beyond the gate, arching a steely eyebrow and drawing sharp salutes from the Paladin guards who finally sheathed their swords.
“I went easy on him,” Veon-Zih assured her, earning a glare from Shon, who passed through the gates, still breathing deeply but no longer gasping for air. Veon-Zih hadn’t even broken a sweat.
Rasnah looked between the Master and student, finally settling on Shon, “Oh, don’t look at him like that, Squire. Master Veon-Zih could beat a riderless horse in a foot race.” which drew a befuddled look from Shon and a laugh from Veon-Zih.
“General Rasnah, Sir,” another man ran towards the gates wearing the uniform of an enlisted. A messenger from the city gates.
“It seems today is a good day for running,” Veon-Zih quipped as the guards allowed the man to pass and give his report.
“A wyvern has been spotted over the woods near Lakeland,”
Sir Rasnah didn’t respond right away. She narrowed her eyes at the messenger and spoke to Shon, “You have duties, Squire, hop to it.”
Shon saluted, though Rasnah still wasn’t looking at him. He glanced at Veon-Zih curiously, then turned to follow the orders.
Veon-Zih hesitated but decided to follow Shon. If he was needed, Rasnah would let him know.
“A wyvern?” Shon asked in a whisper.
“An abomination,” Veon-Zih explained, “Monstrous beasts with a body as large as a wagon, not including the tail. They fly like birds and will hunt anything that strays into their territory, including humans.”
Shon’s brow furrowed, and Veon-Zih patted him on the shoulder, “It'll be alright. They rarely attack settlements unless they're starving.” Which was good because a single wyvern could destroy a small town.
“What will the Temple do?” Shon asked as they reached the back door to the kitchens.
“That depends… most likely, they'll send a group to the village and watch the skies.”
“They won’t hunt it?”
“Maybe, and maybe not. Wyverns are dangerous enough that it’s a real risk to hunt one, but they also can’t be allowed to harm nearby towns. The Temple of Saint Giorgos will want it destroyed, but Sir Rasnah won’t needlessly risk her men if it isn’t necessary.” Veon-Zih explained.
Shon thought for a moment, then asked, “Have you ever fought a wyvern?”
Veon-Zih tried to make his smile reassuring, "Twice. Though I would rather not try a third time if it can be avoided.”
“Red, what're you doing?” Ran asked.
She rolled Her eyes, focusing again on what She was doing and not bothering to answer him. Her fingers ached, but She worked them into the cracks between the stones of the tower wall, shifting Her weight from one hand to the other and searching out the next handhold.
Brom laughed, and She heard the slap and woosh of breath as he pat Ran on the back hard enough to knock the air from the thinner man’s lungs, “Can’t you tell? She’s climbing!”
“Sort of…” Ran mumbled.
She wasn’t climbing up the wall, as much as She wanted to. Instead, She was up only about a foot off the ground and working Her way sideways around the tower. “Afraid of falling, Red?” Ran asked instead. That question was even more stupid than the last, and She arched Her neck back, holding tight to the wall and looking at him upside down.
“Really?” She asked in response to his denseness. He should know She wouldn’t be afraid of falling. She had fallen many times when She'd braved climbing the trees around the perimeter. Even broke Her arm once, and that hadn’t stopped Her from trying again with the splint still on. But that was when they used to let Her out more often, about once every other week. No, the thing that kept Her from climbing up the wall was the same thing that had stopped Her climbing trees. The same thing that stopped Her running around the tower at top speed while Brom or Ran kept time and She tried to beat Her record. And the same thing that kept Her from even crossing the tree line to play pretend in the woods.
Ran had the decency to look embarrassed, realizing his mistake eventually. There was only one thing that ever stopped Her from doing what She wanted, and even that often took multiple ‘lessons’ each time. Morndancer had grown increasingly erratic and more often violent of late. He would mutter to himself in draconic then give opposite orders to the journeymen and apprentices in common. Though everyone in the tower spoke both languages. He would lock himself in his room for days and hadn’t been back to visit his family or the Mages Guild in weeks. Shaloon would cover for him, but she wasn’t much better, cutting holes in reality and staring into the outer plains for hours on end, whispering. Half her words in draconic and the other half in common, mixing the languages in the same sentence.
Brom and Ran had refused to talk to Her about it, but She had listened at Her door when they thought She was sleeping. The Archmages were going mad. The eventual cost of power, they said. Though neither seemed upset that the same would happen to them eventually. Perhaps their lack of concern was the first sign they'd already started.
She continued Her climb, putting Her worries about Brom and Ran’s sanity out of Her mind for the time being. She would have plenty of time to stew about it when She was locked in Her room. For now, She wanted to enjoy being outside in the brief summer warmth.
A burst of sudden wind from above set Her hair whipping about Her face and nearly cost Her grip on the stones. Squeezing Her eyes shut, She tried to shake Her hair back, blowing at the strands against another huge gust before something heavy shook the ground behind her. She let Her head fall back again, so Her hair fell away from Her face, and She could see what had come upside down. The sight caused Her to fall off the wall.
Landing hard on Her backside, She scrambled to Her feet in a mix of awe and horror. A monster large enough to fill Her entire room and then some, stood in the clearing around the tower. It had a long sinuous neck and dull brown scales. It walked on great taloned legs in the back and the joints of its leathery wings in the front. It snapped at Archmage Shaloon as she jumped from its neck to the ground, its teeth as long as daggers and looking just as sharp. It didn’t bite the Archmage, who ignored it as she approached the journeymen.
“What are you three doing out here?” she demanded, mixing draconic with common and glaring at the two men who, for some reason, looked ashamed despite the permission they'd gotten to be out today.
The Firewyrm ignored the question, asking one of Her own, “What is that?” She pointed at the monster, not sure if She felt sad or disgusted at the sight of it. Both seemed odd emotions to have at the sight of a beast that could eat Her in two bites.
Fingers snapped, and She flinched, reaching for Her collar. The monster let out a strangled roar, thrashing its head wildly, its own copper collar shimmering with light and magic. “Another failure of our predecessors, thousands of years ago.” Morndancer exited the tower, his robes billowing around him.
Another snap, and the Firewyrm flinched again. But Shaloon just snorted, sneering at the other Archmage after stopping his torment of her mount, “The north-western Talon was gracious enough to lend us this sample after years of training. It should come in handy with the local draken who worship its kind as gods.” the beast snarled at the humans just out of reach but didn’t step any closer, digging its talons deeper into the ground and hissing, “It was a great success after the slaying. We’ve only had one greater.” she glanced at the Firewyrm who tilted Her head at the two of them, curious for more but sure they wouldn’t give it to Her.
Archmage Morndancer dismissed the defense of the monster’s existence with a snort, “And yet we are still facing the same problems as those before us. What information do you have?
“A storm hit out at sea, and there are signs of another possibly brewing in Halakon.”
Ran swallowed nervously, and Brom stuttered, “Should we…?”
“No.” Morndancer answered the unfinished question, “There is only one thing that can stop these storms, and we are the only ones willing to make the sacrifices to do it.” he turned away from them, returning to the tower door before glancing over his shoulder, “Get back inside, we need more samples if we are to make up for our own successful failure.”
“Saint Giorgos says the wyverns are the last vestiges of the dragon’s evil in the skies…” Sir Rasnah sipped her tea thoughtfully.
Father Branston snorted, “Yes yes, and drakes are their evil on land, and leviathans their evil at sea. They are beasts, Rasnah, as old as memory.”
“Branston's right,” Veon-Zih shrugged, rolling his teacup between his hands, “They're terrible beasts with some magic to them, but they're no more intelligent than a drakwalf or horse.”
They sat together in Father Branston’s office to enjoy warm tea and a colorful sunset through his massive windows. But none of them could really relax with the news of a wyvern flying around the woods to the north. Just to the west of Hamerfoss.
“They've been known to hunt for sport,” Rasnah reminded them, her face pained at the memory.
“So do house cats.”
“House cats don’t pick off entire barbarian tribes over the course of a week.”
"I'm sure they would if they could,"
Branston sighed, reaching for his teapot and pouring himself another cup, “What will you do? If you need healers, I have a few skilled enough to go.”
Rasnah sighed, rubbing her forehead and resting her cup in her lap, “Perhaps one. I’ll send a group to watch. If it's sighted again, we'll have to do something.”
Veon-Zih cleared his throat to get her attention and arched a questioning eyebrow her way. The Paladin returned the look with a smile and said, “I will make sure they have a sending stone. If you're needed, I’m sure they'll wait for you to arrive before seeking it out.” her smile faded, and she stared into her cup, “If they really are vestiges of dragons then I suppose Saint Giorgos is right and all of them were evil.”
“Having a crisis of faith, Rasnah?” Branston asked softly, but with a smile, “Legends say Hengist was allied with goodly dragons.”
“Dragons of Gold and Silver and all the precious metals,” Veon-Zih finished for him, then added, “None of that matters anymore. All we can do is face the challenges life presents us with in the here and now.”
“Of course,” Rasnah agreed, looking up at her old friends and managing a lopsided grin, “And now we have a wyvern possibly claiming territory in our forests. Do you think Daunas will want to join the hunt? If necessary,” she added at the end.
“Mung's boy? He’s still stationed at Hamerfoss then?” Branston asked.
Veon-Zih chuckled, “I don’t believe he would forgive you if you didn’t let him.” his chuckle died, and the three gazed mournfully out the window. Remembering their last wyvern fight, and their friend lost in bringing it down. It had been their last adventure together.
-End of Part 1-
--- Table of Contents ---
All comments and are welcome and wanted.
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2023.05.29 23:19 ferocious_puppy Eulogy to my Father

My father passed away last month at the age of 60. Although he had a number of illnesses, with one being from a young age, his death was unexpected. This is incredibly hard to come to terms with as I expect anyone on this subreddit would appreciate. Reading posts of some people on here who have lost loved ones at a young age or in terrible circumstances puts my loss in perspective but its still no less raw or devastating. I read a eulogy at my fathers funeral which I'm going to add below. It's long and most people won't read it but I just want to tell as many people as possible how amazing my father was. I have omitted any names from the eulogy and replaced with NAME. I will say though my dads name was Mark and I hope anyone who reads this sees how incredible he was.
Thank you all for coming.
My Dad was the person I looked up to the most, especially the older I got where I grew to appreciate the incredible man he was and how he lived his life. He had things very hard from a young age with multiple conditions, but he never let that define him. He appreciated the good things in his life, and not once did I ever hear him dwell on the bad that happened to him, his attitude was always to enjoy what he could surrounded by the people he loved for as long as he could no matter what was thrown his way. My dad possessed many qualities which include being kind, thoughtful, funny, loving and he is the strongest person mentally I’ve ever met and I’m proud and fortunate that he was my dad. The challenge to show those qualities became harder especially in the last few years but he never stopped living and being the man he always was, laughing, joking, and enjoying himself around his family.
His sense of humour was witty and dark, and he loved to wind people up, especially my mum. Even in his final hours he had his sense of humour. He was lying in bed that morning and he had a remote to move the bed into different positions. My mum heard him call her, so she went in and the remote was on the floor. My dad said sorry NAME can you pick it up, so she did. 10 minutes later she heard my dad call her again, so she went back in, the remote was on the floor again this time my dad had a grin on his face, my mum picked it up and gave it to him and warned him not to drop it again. He did of course drop it again and my mum saw a big smile on his face like he always had as she came back in. She knew he was winding her up and was smiling as well and I’m sure my dad thought about doing it again, but he knew one more time and it would be wrapped around his neck.
Two of my oldest memories I have of my dad are of stories he liked to tell because he found them funny to talk about over the years and I know he would like me to mention them. I don’t know whether it’s a coincidence they both involve alcohol, but he was a SURNAME so of course he enjoyed a drink.
The first is when I was around 5 and my dad and I were watching tv and he was enjoying a glass of whiskey. He went out to go to the bathroom and I seized my opportunity, grabbed the whiskey, and had a swig. My Dad came back into the room with me screaming it burns it burns pointing at the glass. My dad knew what needed to be done and rushed into action grabbing a can of lager and having me drink some to get rid of the whiskey taste. It did work to be fair and when I was older, I hated whiskey and enjoyed lager, which explains a lot.
The second story I want to share is another from when I was young. My dad would always go out drinking with his brothers NAME and NAME on boxing day. It was usually a nice casual drink and a chance for them to spend time together. However, on this occasion my dad got very drunk. So drunk his brothers had to carry him home which was an incredible feat by itself as he was not a small man. What was even more impressive is they managed to get him home but avoid my mum. They achieved this by leaving him sitting by the bins outside and knocking the door and running off. I don’t blame them, and I think it was a very smart move. However, what they didn’t expect was my dad to get up and manage to fall inside the bin. That was the sight that greeted my mum.
My dad was a great father to me and my sister NAME. He was limited physically in some of the things he could do with us but he more than made up for it in other ways and he was always there for us when we needed him. The only thing my father got wrong when NAME and I were growing up in my opinion is he should have been a bit harsher on NAME. She was always terrorizing me, and I was always calm and never did anything to instigate things, but she couldn’t be stopped. I think my father showed a bit of favouritism there.
At Christmas and other occasions, he enjoyed having everyone around and eating, drinking, playing games and having fun. Trivial pursuit was something he always wanted to play, probably because he would often win. He would always play as the blue counter, his favourite colour and if my nan was there which she usually was she would go on his team as she knew he would get everything right and she could sit back and sip her dissarano. I’m sorry nan but I really don’t think your going to win many games in future.
A memory of Christmas that sticks out is when we were playing a golf game on the Nintendo wii and it was my dads go. He was very competitive and put a lot of effort into his swing as he had to make up for the fact, he was playing sitting down. On this occasion he tried a bit too hard and also forgot to tighten the strap causing the wii remote to go flying off his wrist and straight into the tv destroying the screen. I will never forget the look on his face, a combination of shock and disbelief.
My dad also enjoyed playing real golf, many times with me and his son in law NAME but always with his mum. He caught the golf bug later in life but would play almost every week, sometimes twice a week for the part of the year they could use a buggy on the course. His father also used to go with them to drive the buggy and the sight of it all on the course was terrifying for others playing. A typical sight would be his father with his sunglasses on no matter the weather, driving the buggy with my dad in front and my nan sitting at the back trying to hold on as his father drove way to fast hitting every bump he could find and just about staying upright. He would then drop them off next to their drive which had gone maybe 50 yards at most, which considering their limitations wasn’t bad. They would play their shots with his father laughing hysterically and taunting them from the buggy as their balls went another 50 yards. To just be on the golf course playing with the pain my father was in and the limitations he had was an inspiration to me. He didn’t care what anyone else thought as he was doing what he enjoyed.
There are many more memories I could talk about and many more things he enjoyed doing but we’ll be here hours if I go into everything, and nobody wants that including me. NAME will go into more of my dad’s hobbies and life later, but I hope what the memories I’ve talked about show is how my dad loved being around his family and always lived life to the fullest. I wish we had more years with him, but I can say with confidence that he was happy and content that he had an excellent life.
There are a few milestones I want to talk about that I know would be important to my dad.
My Mum and Dad met working in a bakery. The day he got married to my mum I know he would have felt so lucky to have found someone he loved and could spend his life with or as my nan put it when preparing for today, he married the best tart in the bakery. They were always there for each other, and I know my dad would have very much appreciated the emotional support she gave him especially the last few years. It wasn’t easy for her either dealing with my dad’s illness but I’m so proud of my mum and dad for how they dealt with everything. Susan and I could not have wished for better parents.
The day my sister NAME and I were both born but especially me were big moments for my dad and changed his life forever, hopefully for the better but maybe not always. Also, important moments were when his Grandchildren NAME and NAME were born who may not know how lucky they are to have had my dad around for the time they did but they will when they are older as they look back to Grampys example and guidance.
My dad was so happy that NAME and I had both found what he had with my mum. For NAME it was NAME and for me it was NAME. NAME and I have chosen the easier option of having dogs rather than children which my dad, despite saying he never wanted a dog around or had any interest in them ended up loving having both NAME and NAME around. He would play with them despite it being hard for him and enjoyed taunting them with toys and chews and they would taunt him back by leaving things just out of reach for him.
The day my sister NAME and NAME got married was an emotional and wonderful day for my dad. Getting to walk his daughter down the aisle was a happy and proud moment for him. we didn’t know if he’d be able to do it beforehand, but he wasn’t going to miss the chance, so he got through it as he always did. My dad was not known for speaking in large crowds or being confident at it, in fact it was the opposite. However, the speech he gave at NAME wedding was incredible, funny, emotional, and memorable. He spoke from the heart without anything prepared and I am so proud he not only got through it but delivered an unforgettable speech.
There was never any pressure put on me or NAME. The only thing he wanted for us was to be happy and if we were happy that was ok for him.
I want to finish by sharing what some of his closest family wanted me to say on their behalf. This is their words read out by me.
His Wife NAME says, Mark was the love of my life, my soulmate with so many happy years together. Those years were rich with happy memories with our family. No more pain and suffering now my darling, rest now. My everlasting love always.
His daughter NAME says, I could not have asked for a better dad. You were always supportive and patient in everything I did. Your Grandchildren NAME and NAME will remember you as wise and funny, you always took an interest in what they liked. I will miss you incredibly, but you will forever be in my heart.
His Mother NAME says, Words cannot say how much I will miss you. I get comfort that you are not in any pain now. Sleep my darling until we are together again.
His brother NAME says, I will love and miss you always, brother.
His Brother NAME says, Dear Brother I will start by saying at least you are now at peace and pain free. You will be deeply missed by us all, after all you were the diplomatic one of the family. Mark was the most patient and calm member of us all and nothing was any bother for him to do. Love you Mark God bless you and thank you for being my brother, Love NAME.
His Son in law NAME says, thank you for welcoming me into your family with nothing but love and kindness. We shared a love for formula 1 and I’ll think of you whenever I’m watching a race.
His Niece NAME says, Uncle Mark was always kind and caring to me and you could tell how much he loved his family. Whenever I visited and complained about something he always found a way to spin it in a positive light and give me a new perspective. My last memory is of him in his chair putting his jumper on which got stuck after his arms were through. He made me jump because I thought he was headless and gave us all a good laugh. I feel lucky to have had him as an uncle.
Finally, for me he was my hero. I owe him everything. I couldn’t have wished for a better man to look up to and learn from. My respect for how he lived his life despite the challenges he faced is immeasurable. He never complained, never worried, never gave up, he lived his life to the maximum he could, doing the things he enjoyed around the people he loved right until the very end.
Dad I’m going to miss you beyond words and its going to be hard, but I will draw from what you taught me and live my life the best I can. It is said that a person is never truly gone as long as they are still talked about. Well, the impact You had on those around you means stories of you will be passed down for generations. The memories I have of you will stay in my head and the love and respect I have for you will remain in my heart forever.
submitted by ferocious_puppy to GriefSupport [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 22:58 Obvireal The Philosophical Nature of Bitcoin

The human desire for more is deeply ingrained in our evolutionary history. Our ancestors lived in a world of scarcity, where resources were limited and survival was dependent on securing those resources. As a result, humans developed a natural drive to seek out more, whether it was food, water, or shelter.
Today, we live in a vastly different world. Our industrialized societies produce an abundance of goods and services, yet our instinctual drive to acquire more remains strong. This is reflected in our economic systems, which are built on the principles of growth and consumption. Capitalism, for example, incentivizes individuals and businesses to constantly pursue economic expansion, as success and progress are often measured in terms of increased wealth, market share, and material possessions.
The media and advertising industries further fuel our desire for more by creating and perpetuating a culture of consumerism. Through carefully crafted marketing strategies, they present us with an idealized vision of happiness and fulfillment that is closely tied to the acquisition of goods and the pursuit of novelty. We are bombarded with messages that imply that owning the latest products or experiencing the latest trends will bring us joy, status, and a sense of personal satisfaction.
Social comparison plays a significant role in our desire for more. In a world where social media platforms provide a constant stream of carefully curated and often exaggerated portrayals of others' lives, we can easily find ourselves comparing our own circumstances and possessions to those of others. This can lead to a perpetual cycle of wanting more as we strive to keep up with or surpass our perceived competitors.
While our evolutionary past shaped our inclination for accumulation, the modern context amplifies and exploits this drive. However, it is important to recognize that our desire for more is not inherently negative. It has been a driving force behind innovation, progress, and the development of complex societies. It is through our desire for more that we have been able to improve our standard of living, create technological advancements, and explore new frontiers.
Nevertheless, the unchecked pursuit of more can have detrimental consequences. It can lead to overconsumption, environmental degradation, and social inequality. It is crucial that we strike a balance, acknowledging our desires while considering the long-term effects of our actions. This requires cultivating a mindset of mindful consumption, focusing on quality over quantity, and finding fulfillment in experiences and relationships rather than solely in material possessions.
Ultimately, our desire for more is a complex interplay between our evolutionary heritage, societal influences, and personal values. However, the rise of Bitcoin presents an opportunity to rethink our relationship with value and challenge the conventional notion that more is always better. Bitcoin's deflationary nature, where its value increases over time instead of decreasing like traditional fiat currencies, introduces a new paradigm where less can actually be more. This scarcity-driven model of Bitcoin demonstrates that the inherent value of a resource lies not solely in its abundance but also in its limited availability, offering an alternative perspective on our desire for accumulation. By embracing this shift and understanding the potential of alternative systems, we have the chance to navigate a world of abundance with greater mindfulness, sustainability, and well-being.
But in order to fully embrace a new economy, we need to move beyond our primitive instincts and learn to want better rather than more. We need to shift our focus from the accumulation of material possessions to the pursuit of personal growth and development. Instead of constantly seeking out more, we should aim to improve the quality of our lives and the world around us.
This is not to say that the desire for material possessions is inherently bad, but rather that we should strive to find a balance between our primitive instincts and our higher aspirations. By embracing the deflationary nature of Bitcoin and learning to want better rather than more, we can create a more sustainable and fulfilling economy that benefits everyone.
In today's world, we are faced with a multitude of challenges that threaten our planet's health and wellbeing. From food shortages and disease to climate change and tyrannical nations, the world is increasingly dominated by the thirst for power. But what if we could take that power and put it into the hands of the average person everywhere? What would the world look like? Would we even need borders at some point? These are difficult questions, but they are at the heart of what makes Bitcoin more than just a currency.
Bitcoin is unlike anything we have ever seen. It is the first e-currency, the granddaddy crypto, the grandfather to all other cryptocurrencies. Its creation by an anonymous person with the alias Satoshi Nakamoto gave Bitcoin its true power, the power to not be controlled by any single entity. Governments cannot just reach out to Bitcoin's creator and threaten to arrest or bribe them because they are unknown. Furthermore, Bitcoin is open source and requires a supermajority agreement to pass a submitted change to the programing, making it impossible to change its programming against the wishes of the community.
Bitcoin represents a new way of thinking about power and control. It is a decentralized currency that is not subject to the whims of a single entity or government. It is a currency that belongs to the people, and its value is determined not by any central authority but inadvertently by the community that supports it.
In many countries, citizens are subject to restrictions on what they can bring in and out of the country. This can include limits on the amount of currency or precious metals that can be taken out of the country, as well as restrictions on other stores of value. For citizens who want to move their wealth to another country or simply have the option to do so, these restrictions can be frustrating and limiting.
With Bitcoin, all of one's wealth can be stored on the blockchain, which is accessible anywhere in the world. This means that citizens of countries with restrictions on wealth transfer can store their wealth in Bitcoin and access it from anywhere they choose to travel.
This is a significant advantage for people who value the ability to move freely and have control over their wealth. By storing their wealth in Bitcoin, they can bypass the restrictions imposed by their hostile government and have the freedom to travel with their wealth to safer more stable countries. The process of storing wealth in Bitcoin is easy and super accessible. With the advent of user-friendly digital wallets and online exchanges, individuals can securely store and manage their Bitcoin holdings with just a few simple steps.
Unlike traditional financial institutions, which may have barriers to entry or require extensive paperwork, Bitcoin allows for a more inclusive approach to wealth storage. Anyone with an internet connection and a smartphone or computer can participate in the Bitcoin ecosystem, making it accessible to individuals around the globe, regardless of their socioeconomic background. This accessibility not only democratizes the storing of wealth but also empowers individuals to have greater control over their financial future, promoting financial independence and fostering a sense of ownership and empowerment.
This is a powerful example of how Bitcoin can provide true financial freedom to individuals, even in countries where there are restrictions on wealth transfer. By using Bitcoin to store their wealth, people can have the freedom to travel with their wealth, access it from anywhere in the world, and control it independently of their government's restrictions.
Bitcoin can be compared to essential infrastructures such as transportation, phones, and the internet, as it serves as a network for sharing wealth. Much like transportation infrastructure enables physical mobility, phones facilitate social connectivity, and the internet allows global communication through servers, Bitcoin provides a financial network accessible to anyone with internet access.
Transportation infrastructure grants individuals the ability to freely move and travel. Sidewalks, roads, and air travel options are available for anyone to utilize, enabling them to reach their desired destinations. Similarly, phones have evolved to become ubiquitous devices that allow people to connect socially from anywhere. The vast network of phone lines and towers supports this connectivity, enabling individuals to reach out to others across great distances.
The internet revolutionized global communication by connecting people worldwide. It provided a platform for individuals to create websites, share information, and connect with others regardless of geographical boundaries. The internet's expansive network of servers ensures that anyone with internet access can contribute to and benefit from the wealth of information available.
In a similar vein, Bitcoin functions as a financial network. It allows individuals to buy and send bitcoin seamlessly, utilizing the internet as its infrastructure. Just as transportation, phones, and the internet networks have become accessible to a wide range of people, Bitcoin's accessibility extends to anyone with internet access. It offers a decentralized financial system that enables peer-to-peer transactions and wealth sharing on a global scale.
By drawing parallels between Bitcoin and these advancements, we can appreciate the transformative potential of this cryptocurrency. Like transportation, phones, and the internet, Bitcoin represents a significant advancement in our interconnected world, providing a decentralized and accessible network for financial transactions and wealth transfer.
submitted by Obvireal to Bitcoin [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 22:45 Calm-Cockroach-6940 these preds r too easy to draw

these preds r too easy to draw submitted by Calm-Cockroach-6940 to FansHansenvsPredator [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 22:44 KyleKKent Out of Cruel Space, Part 697

Capes and Conundrums
“So why are you talking with me? I thought you were going after my family?” Albin asks Doctor Malaise and she offers a smile.
“I’ve spoken to your family while you were helping test out the evaluations exams for The Undaunted. You’ve also had a couple of hours brainstorming with them on improving the tests after that. I’ve had plenty of time to get the basic story out.”
“Oh? And what excuses do they have hunh? What possible reason could they have to kill Beaky like they did!?” Albin asks with bitterness coming back into his voice.
“First off, there are a few things you need to be aware of.” Doctor Malaise says. “I’ve gotten this confirmed by your medical records. But I need to understand what you yourself remember. So please, tell me about your childhood.”
“So I can see if the stories match up? So I can understand things better? There are many different reasons. Now please, what do you remember of your childhood?”
“I’m not that old.”
“Then this should be easy.” Doctor Malaise says and he sighs...
“There’s not much to say. I was a child so most of my energy went into growing. So that’s what I did. I went to classes. Napped a lot and read a few good books.” Albin says with a shrug.
“Didn’t you think it was strange that your sisters had a great deal more energy than you growing up?”
“Well, no they’re girls. Girls are different, so why should I be the same as a child?” Albin asks and Doctor Malaise raises an eyebrow. “... is there something I don’t know?”
She says nothing.
“There’s something I don’t know...” Albin says before thinking. “What is it that I don’t know?”
“Have your heard about Gurana’s Syndrome before?” She asks him and he shakes his head. “Well, according to your family, and backed up by a bit of research I did on the way over. The best way to explain this is actually to use the humans as an example. You’ve seen one eat right?”
“Yes. Robin, he outright inhaled enough food for three people and called it a snack.”
“Right, do you know why humans eat so much more compared to other races?”
“They... they didn’t evolve with Axiom access and they don’t naturally draw in the energies to sustain themselves.” Albin says and Doctor Malaise nods.
“That’s right. It also caused them to develop more organs to compensate for the lack of a supporting energy field, but that’s beside the point. Most of the extra organs are used for digestion anyways.”
“While I suppose kind of interesting, what does this have to do with me or Gurana’s Syndrome?” Albin asks and Doctor Malaise sighs.
“It’s because as a species humans are the only race immune to Gurana’s Syndrome. Their massive caloric intake is more than compensation for the issue.”
“So it’s some kind of eating disorder? No... it’s some kind of eating disorder related to Axiom...” Albin says as he considers.
“According to both your parents and the medical records I accessed, you were diagnosed with Gurana’s Syndrome. Thankfully it clears up after a short while. But it temporarily reduced your ability to intake Axiom as nourishment. This is actually why you were so low energy and never had much of an appetite as a child.”
“What? But... it was normal wasn’t it? No one acted like it was strange and it lines up and everything. Why my father is mostly concerned with taking care of the house and rarely hunts himself. Men just... don’t...” Albin trails off as he sees the expression on Doctor Malaise’s face. “I... so... it’s not just another way the humans are weird is it?”
“Humans are quite odd. But beyond their physical redundancies which make them Null-Immune there’s no real difference in capability between humans and other races. They’ve even found a few ways to cause other races to develop similar redundant organs.” Doctor Malaise says and Albin looks very, very lost for a few moments.
“But... why?” Albin asks.
“You’ll have to ask them that. But you also have to understand that it shaped how they look at you. You remember your childhood as a sleepy and tired time. They remember it as a time where you were terribly ill and needing help.”
“But... why wouldn’t they... Hold on! Where did you get my medical record!?”
“An information request that your parents approved of. Until you reach the age of majority you won’t be allowed to look up your own records.” Doctor Malaise says handing over the data-slate she has near her and Albin starts looking through it. “Just stay out of the locked files please.”
He looks over his own medical history and doesn’t like what he’s seeing. “I... what? Special nutrient dense food? Daily scans to ensure my blood sugar levels where high enough? A recommendation to keep me out of public education? I... I just thought sons were kept out of that because well... I...” He looks up and away as if re-evaluating his entire life. He likely is.
A few minutes pass between them and Doctor Malaise clears her throat after a bit. “Now, I understand that this is all rather surprising, but I need you to consider how this would colour your family’s perception of you. It can be hard to see what we are to the rest of the world when we only look out from our own eyes.”
“So... all they see is someone so weak and frail that they need special food in order to survive.” Albin says somewhat bitterly as he tosses down the data-slate. It’s a little more rough than he needed to do. But at the same time, his frustration is understandable.
He crosses his arms and hunkers down into his seat and seems to be stuck in a place between brooding and thinking. Doctor Malaise then demonstrates one of her most valuable skills as a Psychologist. She allows the silence to continue and doesn’t push Albin to speak.
“This...” Albin tries before burying his face in his knees. “I...”
“Everything’s confusing. Nothing makes sense. Everything you learn just makes it worse. It’s not fair.” Doctor Malaise offers and Albin lets out a sound from deep in his throat.
“No, it’s not.” Albin says. “Everything changed and it never stopped changing and... I just... I just wanted something to make sense and Beaky did... but...”
“I know... I know.” Doctor Malaise says and Albin takes in a few deep breaths to try and steady himself. He wipes his eyes from the tears that were steadily growing and considers things a bit more.
“That... thing the Undaunted do...”
“You’re underage. You can’t be recruited for an army.” Doctor Malaise says.
“But I’m working for them now!”
“In a civilian manner, like how I am. Neither you nor I are expected to so much as pick up an actual weapon. It would be something they would consider grossly irresponsible.”
“Because I’m a child?”
“Because you’re untrained. A weapon is a tool for violence. A child facing violence is considered a failure on the part of the adult.”
“But why!? I just... they could have told me I’d get better and left it like that! They could have... I mean!” Albin tries to explain before letting out a shout of frustration.
“They wanted you to think you were a normal person. To let you grow up, not thinking yourself lesser than other people.” Doctor Malaise says and Albin starts pacing. Suddenly a lot more aware of just how much energy he has and the feel of the Axiom coming in. It wasn’t really something he ever paid attention to before, but when he thinks about being younger, there was a distinct lack of it. One that lets him feel out his Axiom intake now.
“I know this is...” Doctor Malaise begins before Albin suddenly PULLS on the local Axiom and then stops before starting to outright twitch. “That was the equivalent of a month’s energy in two seconds.”
Albin breathes in and out at a rapid pace and Doctor Malaise sighs. “I can see you’re not going to be able to be part of this conversation for a while. So let’s just table this for now and...”
Albin is already out the door and opening the distance. Doctor Malaise’s response is to set up so that every hour he’s sent a reminder to schedule their next appointment. She then picks up her things and vaguely listens to the sounds of chaos in the distance.
So long as he’s not jumping off the blimp this should be fine.
Albin promptly jumps off the blimp in pursuit of the man he just saw hurl himself into the air. About two seconds later he realizes that this was a mistake and begins flailing and starts to scream. Pavel looks back over his shoulder and sees Albin flailing through the air and he shifts to a roll in the air and then gathers Axiom around his boots.
He then bounces clean off a non-existent surface and leaps back at Albin. “Go still!”
Albin’s not really in the right mind to listen to that so Pavel takes a knee right to the gut as he snatches the boy out of the air and chokes a bit even as he pulls out a grapple launcher from his belt and launches it at a nearby building.
The swing down to ground level is quick but smooth and Pavel lets Albin down after a moment and rubs his gut.
“What the hell made you think that was a good idea?” Pavel asks.
“Well... you can jump off without an issue.”
“I am a highly trained soldier who practised this in a holo-chamber and I have several safeties just in case. You... are a young teenager with no training and no safeties. There’s a bit of a difference there kiddo.” Pavel says and Albin just glares at him for a moment. “Where the hell did this attitude come from?”
You going to lie to me too?”
“What?” Pavel asks in confusion.
“My whole family lied to me, so why not you too! You said things would get better, that the tests would be challenging, you lied too!” Albin accuses him and Pavel just looks confused.
“You were asked to test the tests. Things are getting better as you have professional help to sort things out between you and your family and... I can’t control your family at all.” Pavel says.
“Yeah right!” Albin spits and Pavel groans.
“Kid, the hell is going on?”
“Everyone lied to me!” Albin shouts.
“About what!? Also, why the hell are you holding in that much Axiom energy without directing it? What’s that even doing to you?” Pavel demands and Albin glares at him before pushing out all the excess Axiom and then swaying a little as he went from massively over-energized to fairly balanced.
“I... oh... uhm...” Albin says.
“Like a kid on a sugar rush.” Pavel says. “Do you want to go back up? I can call a ride but I have places to be on my break.”
“I... it... yes please.” Albin says looking outright embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have pulled in that much Axiom.”
“If you’re going to use it it should be fine. But if you’re just going to hold it then it’s too much energy in your system.” Pavel says quickly tapping in a few commands on his communicator. “Alright, I’m going to give you an app on communicators. Use it to initiate a recall to the blimp.”
He holds out his communicator and Albin taps his own against it. The app transfers.
“Thank you.” Albin says before tapping at the program and requesting a recall. It asks for him to face the camera on the communicator and he does. Then things shift and he’s suddenly elsewhere.
“I expected that to take a little longer. What happened?” Doctor Malaise asks.
“I jumped off the blimp after one of The Undaunted.”
“You what?!”
“I jumped off the landing deck of the blimp in pursuit of one of the men here.”
“Okay, for future reference, NEVER do what you see these maniacs do without first asking how they do it first. They’re good people but they’re crazy.” Doctor Malaise says.
“Right. Right...” Albin says.
“So... hopefully the howling winds and energy gave you a little clarity.” Doctor Malaise says.
“Clarity on what?” Albin asks.
“This entire situation. Your family isn’t blameless, they have indeed done wrong by you. But it was never with the intent to hurt you.”
“So kidnapping Beaky wasn’t to try and hurt me?”
“Apparently it was to make you stronger. To make it so that when you’re fully grown your strong enough to do what you want to do in life and get what you want out of life. Could they have done it better? Without a doubt? Could they have done it worse? Most definetly. But the intent was good, and while not the best way to go about it, it wasn’t the worst way.”
“Then what would the worst way be?”
“You could have been beaten until you fought back. You could have been forced into the wilds to survive with nothing but a knife. You could have had everything you love deliberately taken from you and destroyed in a twisted attempt to teach you resilience. Your family did indeed screw up. They made many mistakes, and they’re going to have to work through them. But they could have done far, far worse.”
“Are those... did you see those kinds of things happening.”
“I did. I can’t tell you more than that. But I’ve seen far worse. Your family made mistakes. They did not intentionally hurt you. That already makes them better than a lot of families out there. Which is a true tragedy. If your family really was the worst of the worst, then the galaxy would be a much brighter place than it actually is. Now do you want to keep up this session? Or would you like some time to think?”
“I.. I think I need to think for a bit.”
“All right. We’ll come back to this later.” Doctor Malaise says gently.

First Last
submitted by KyleKKent to HFY [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 22:36 Salvator1453 Six Ghost Ideas

Here are some ghost ideas that I thought of for Phasmophobia!
I will be putting ideas I like more on the top (the top three are the ideas I personally like the most), but I thought all of these would be pretty fun and/or interesting ideas. (the names can change, as I'm not great with names)
Parts that have stars/are italicized are ideas that I don't think are necessary as part of the overall concept for that particular ghost or might be too difficult for the devs to implement, but would still be a cool addition if it could be done.
Stalker -
When taking a photo, if the ghost is anywhere in the frame of the photo, the ghost will appear in the photo (even if it is not actually visible like in a hunt or ghost event). This will count as a ghost photo for the purpose of objectives. Capturing a photo of the stalker like this will consume 7 sanity every time this happens (the ghost will continue to appear in photos even when you already have the ghost photo).
The Stalker will constantly follow the closest player to it around. The Stalker's favorite room is based on player location - it will always be within 10 meters of the player it is following (the stalker can still change favorite rooms even if that setting is turned off, although it will only do it if every player moves too far away from it's favorite room). The Stalker will always start its hunt outside of the vision of the player it is following.
The Stalker, when hunting, will be extremely slow if not being looked at by a player, but will be quieter than a myling, not being able to be heard while hunting unless you are within 5 meters of it. If any player looks at it while in line of sight of the ghost, it will travel at 2.5m/s towards that player, but will be extremely loud, being able to be heard while hunting up to 30 meters away. If multiple players are looking at it, it will travel to the closest one.
Evidence -
Fingerprints, D.O.T.S, Ghost Writing

When the Strigoi kills a player, the hunt is extended much longer than normal, and the Strigoi gains a +0.5m/s speed boost, a +10% hunt threshold, and a 25% increase in activity for the duration of the game. The Strigoi can stack these bonuses if multiple people have died. A player being revived does not remove these bonuses. A strigoi will gain a bonus even if a player is killed via hanged man or the monkey paw.
The Strigoi will become more enraged and bloodthirsty if players keep escaping it during hunts. It will gain a -1 second to smudge blindness, a -10 second to smudge hunt cooldown, and a -2 seconds for general hunt cooldown every time it sees a player during a hunt but that player lives to see the end of the hunt.
The Strigoi are invisible if they don't see a player or aren't chasing a player. They also have a similar chance to an obake to transform into an animal when they are visible.
Ghost Writing, Freezing Temps, Ghost Orbs

The Ayakashi is more powerful in the presence of water.
The Ayakashi is more likely to turn on sinks and showers. If there are no showers or sinks that are not on in its ghost room, it will roam to the nearest shower or sink and turn it on.
The more sinks and showers that are on in a 30 meter radius (this should cover the whole house of a small house, but should make it so it's not extremely fast on a map like sunny meadows), the faster and more aggressive the Ayakashi is. Every sink or shower that is on in this radius adds +0.1m/s to the Ayakashi's speed and +4% hunt threshold.
The Ayakashi does not gain LoS speed.
The Ayakashi has a rare ability to create a fake "obstruction". A door that used to be there will disappear, or a hiding spot will seemingly be blocked. But if a player intentionally walks into this fake obstruction, it will disappear and it will be revealed the door or hiding spot was there all along.
Base speed (clear, sunset, windy) 1.0m/s
Foggy/any type of snow - Normal ghost speed
Light rain - 2.0m/s
Heavy rain - 2.5m/s
Ghost Orb, Freezing Temps, D.O.T.S

The Fool
The Fool is my idea for another "tricky" ghost like the mimic, but more focused on evidence.
The Fool's main gimmick is that it can fake evidence, unlike the mimic. The Fool has three "true" pieces of evidence that never change, and one changing piece of evidence. However, due to the Fool just pretending to have that evidence, there is a 25% chance it gives evidence in a messed up form. For example, a fool that is faking fingerprints might give a dog print instead of a human print. Or a handprint with only 4 fingers. More examples of "messed up" evidence: Spirit Box - Chance to speak gibberish or just giggle. D.O.T.S - Chance to appear as the big head ghost model. Ghost Writing - chance to draw a unique drawing, maybe the fool model from the tarot card.
The fool has a higher chance to do that giggle thing ghosts can do.
*The fool's hunt threshold is usually 50%, but if someone draws a fool card from the tarot card deck, that sanity threshold is temporarily raised like a yokai to 80%, and the fool goes straight to where the player drew the fool the next time it hunts. *
*If someone draws a card during a hunt (making it a fool), the ghost will know where the player was at the moment they drew the card. *
The fool does not consume sanity when you joke with it on the oujia board.
Possible idea I had was to make the fool act sort of like a mimic but in excess. So if it pretends to be a mare, for example, every action it does is excessively mare like - it constantly breaks lights, turns off lights, or uses its mare lightswitch ability - it rarely does anything else. Basically, "overdoing" it’s act as another ghost. This idea doesn't fit for all ghost types, makes the fool a bit too much like the mimic, and also makes it too easy to identify, so that's why I'm not putting it in the main idea, though I do think it would be a fun addition.
The fool is more reluctant to give its actual true evidence. It will take longer to get freezing, EMF 5 is more rare, and ghost orbs are harder to find.
True evidence:
Ghost Orb, Freezing Temps, EMF 5

The Spider
The spider is a patient ghost that prefers to ambush players.
The spider, when it wants to hunt, will instead wait to initiate the hunt until a player walks into its ghost room. The second someone walks into its ghost room, it will immediately begin hunting. The Spider will never hunt if no one ever walks into its ghost room.
The spider does not hunt like a normal ghost. It will instead crawl on the roof from room to room. Every time the spider enters a different room during a hunt, it waits 10 seconds to see if a player enters this room or is in this room (most hiding spots will not work on the spider). If a player walks into the room OR is in this room and not in something like a locker, the spider will travel at normal speed towards the player and drop on their head and kill them (unless they are holding a smudge stick).
If there is no consistent roof like on camp woodwind, the spider hunts on the ground instead, but will still always crawl. The spider will still lie in wait to pounce a player if they try to enter a room, but all hiding spots will still work.
*The spider has a ghost ability it can activate that creates an invisible "web" where ever it walks for a 10 second period (not during a hunt). If a player walks into the web during a hunt, they will be slowed by 50%. The spider will know if someone is caught in their web. *
Freezing Temps, Fingerprints, D.O.T.S

The Memory
The memory is consumed by regrets and visions from its pasts.
I thought it would be cool if the lore questions from the ouija board had some actual use, so the Memory's behavior is affected by its cause of death, reason for being here, and how it's feeling.
A memory that was choked is more likely to interact with fans. If a fan is on in its ghost room, its hunt threshold is decreased to 40%. If there is no fan or if it's off, it will hunt at 60%.
A memory that was drowned is more likely to interact with sinks and showers. If a sink or shower is on in its ghost room (or the sink is full of water) or if it's raining, its hunt threshold is increased to 60%. If there is no sink or shower or if they are turned off and it is not raining, it will hunt at 40%. A drowned ghost is able to drain the sink.
A memory that was shot or murdered will have a base 75% hunt threshold.
A memory that was killed by an accident/slipped/fell will have a 25% hunt threshold.
Ghost speed, interaction rate, preferences, the noises it makes during a hunt, and certain hunt behaviors are affected by its mood. An angry ghost is fast, an empty ghost is inactive, a hurt ghost is slow, etc.
Ghost event rate, hunt threshold, and certain hunt behaviors are affected by what a ghost wants. A ghost that wants revenge has a 5% higher sanity threshold, for example.
A memory will always remember where players last were and will always check.
Spirit Box, Ghost Orb, EMF 5
submitted by Salvator1453 to PhasmophobiaGame [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 22:20 Cold_Yogurtcloset_91 need one more new user!!

need one more new user!!
help me out i’ll help you too! upvote once done send ur code
code: 155258492
submitted by Cold_Yogurtcloset_91 to TEMU_Official [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 22:13 mk_nord Anyone know about CAD software for Refrigeration?

Hi i am going to have my final exam in my 2 year apprenticeship. I was just wondering if there is program to draw flow charts for free ir cheap that is meant for refrigeration or a program that is easy to work with so that one can easily draw new symbols.
submitted by mk_nord to refrigeration [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 22:12 Bonkface Final Forgotten Circle scenario with Diviner and Music Note? How?

I don't think we have enough dps even without the abilities of the boss taken into account. Lvl 9 and 8, with amazing gear on the diviner and good gear on note.
I have never before complained about the pure difficulty of a board game online. Especially a board game where judging by our results in the previous 100+ scenarios of Gloomhaven I've played often walzed through hard difficulty. With a different and optimized team setup then it is surely possible, but we feel that our party is doomed from the start in this scenario. 2 small characters in a scenario where a lot of the abilitites are weighted towards 4 players. (such as "the boss takes no damage from the next 3 sources of damage" - 3 sources of damage is relatively speaking a lot worse for 2 players than 4)
It's like looking at a logical elimination before even drawing the first cards. What are we supposed to do? Lower difficulty from hard to easy, run a couple of random missoons for more loot to get that final item or enhancement? Hard to see how it would matter. The structure of the scenario is such that one of the two characters need to be preoccupied with "scenario goals" some of the turns and this hits 2 player parties much harder than 4 player parties and not in a balanced way. Nah. Too frustrating, this one. Are we missing something ro should we just come back with a different party or something?
submitted by Bonkface to Gloomhaven [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 21:51 Creative_Meat7 I'm in a pit

21M here. I'm at a really low point in my life and i don't know what to do about it.
In school i got bullied for being the easy target as well as being the most weak and short kid in class. I ended school 5 years ago and It messed me up big time in various parts of life. In short, i'm terrified of this kind of thing happening again, so i didn't even tried to go to college, still afraid. I'm afraid of getting into a bad team of coworkers, so i don't work either. Also don't like the idea of working some bad, stressful and unfulfilling job that i can get with the bare minimum education i have.
And i have lots of communication problems. As the years has drawn on, the trust issues, abandonment, shame, guilt and loneliness has gone only worse. At this point i still have 0 friends i can trust and wishing for a girlfriend feels so dumb and pathetic. No person is gonna be interested in me with this list of problems i can't resolve. So i'm also afraid of trying to talk to any girl because she's most likely going to reject me.
Lately everything has gotten even worse bc i got no patience for people anymore. I get angry way more easily now at people and at any little inequitable situation i'm in. I push people away so easily by acting on constant negative emotions. People don't like me being honest and blunt with them, but when i don't do that, i don't enjoy that kind of relationships. If i'm not openly sharing these problems with the person, i don't trust them, therefore don't care about them.
My only real hope in life is that i can teach myself how to draw well and maybe i could work that way. But having all of this negative thoughts, learning has become extremely slow and unproductive, so this is a pretty unreliable path too. So i don't know what to do about any of this, and i'm afraid of trying anything in life, or making any kind of mistakes along the way.
Thank you for reading this and i'm hoping to see some suggestions in the replies.
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2023.05.29 21:29 AlienNationSSB #Alien-Nation Chapter 168: Now or Never

Alien-Nation Chapter 168: Now or Never

All Chapters First Chapter of Alien-Nation Previous Chapter
Chapter summary: Elias wanders the grounds inspecting everything he can, has a fatheson moment with Larry then sends Vaughn to go try and spring people from jail.
It had been easy for me to see during the speech I'd given roughly how many had already arrived up the narrow pass, and as I stood from inspecting a firing port in a trench, testing whether the old cast iron cannon would roll back far enough on its rails after firing.
I gave it a pass after measuring against a rod. Certainly it was far from the highest of technologies at our disposal, but certainly it would be either lethal, injurious, or at the very least, extremely loud. The gathered mishmashed array of weaponry pointing outward was impressive enough, but the real piece de resistance was the sheer number of railguns we'd had returned to us, frequently carried by a two man team. I signed off on it for final inspection, noting the plug in place over the end, and went to the railgun positioned further down the trench near the intersection.
This was one I recognized. This shared at least something in common to the cannon, insofar as it was far from the latest model at our disposal. I spotted some of my own extremely crude handiwork, a far more rough set of welds performed along the plate's protective, unsanded metal edges. Mister Singer, if he were ever presented with it, may have recognized the shoddy, unstable hand that welded together some of the protective casing. The service flap told me the model without needing to even open it, the household door frame hinges pulled from Verns' stock of spare parts bin, before we implemented something even so basic as refined latches with catch points.
That had to make this a Mk. II. Sentimentality had no place on the front lines. I sucked in a breath at the sight of another old muzzle-loader being carried into the workshop for upgrades, already laid out on the timber worktable and ready for use and sucked in a breath.
I just hoped the earliest design of managing power flow wouldn't give out from the faster firing. Complex but beautifully arrayed piping had given way to simpler, more streamlined designs as we incorporated a greater number of readily available alien parts. Some of which we were supplied an initial batch of in the bag with the blueprints, and then we were told how to work free those same parts from various broken pieces of technology we'd reclaimed off the Shil'vati, or even the freely given away omni-pads. With every iteration we demonstrated a degree of adaptation to using the parts we had available, and each generation marked a leap forward in our own understanding of Shil'vati technology, courtesy of G-Man and his father's handiwork.
The final barrels of the extremely limited run of the second batch we'd paid handsomely for were marked 'present,' too. They had gone the least far afield, with one already slagging itself during the attack on the data center. I frowned at the spreadsheet, as if my impression of it might cause their fate to improve.
The latest blueprints could maintain a decent rate of fire without burning out its power management system located in the welded together case. Or, rather, the barrel gave out first. For the first time, perhaps as a result of being coupled with the magazines and a relatively rapid-fire exchange meant the neosteel barrels we received had finally become the weak point in the design.
It was only after we'd returned to Camp Death that I'd noticed the difference.
The new batch we'd paid dearly for seemed somewhat altered from the first batch we'd been building all the others out of, made from an alloyed material that shone somewhat dimmer under the sun as George and I worked in the shed elbow-to-elbow, though the contrast was not immediately obvious until one held the two against each other. It was slightly thicker, too, all of which to me indicated a change in supply in some manner, but our supplier had hardly announced themselves to Sam.
This was a troubling puzzle to me. I still couldn't be sure it was the new microbatch of barrels alloys being far from equal to the originals we'd finally finished building out? Or was it the expanded magazines and power couplings' ability to fire faster creating an overall volume of fire that overheated the barrel from overuse? Or was the power management design faulty, generating more heat per shot? Were we misusing them?
I measured the barrel of the Mk. II, just to be sure the shelf life of the barrel hadn't come due. So far, inspections of the original batch of barrels had mercifully indicated they'd all been brought back here were in comparatively great shape, with this one being no exception. That lent me some comfort that these new barrels were just not up to the task of heavy, sustained fire. I couldn't know that for certain, and an unreliable weapon was cause for anxiety.
Indeed, there was almost no wear on this version at all, disproving the worst case scenario that these were only good for a certain number of rounds before they'd be worn down to uselessness. Certainly, they'd eventually give out, but it seemed we were still far off from that point.
"Sir?" Asked the gunner, staring at me.
I stared at him, then down at the spreadsheet. "This thing fires three rounds a minute. Do you think that rate of fire is sufficient?"
I could tell he wasn't sure whether a 'no' would have him replaced with someone professing to be more accurate.
"Get it upgraded." I took the white gel pen and scribbled on it- make ready for an upgrade as soon as the final repaired railgun clears the shed. Assigned to casemate #4, Operator... "Call sign?"
"Brut," he answered.
"Brut...with the Umlaut?" He gave a thumbs up and I added them. Costing nothing but a drop of gel ink for a little personalization if it made for a happy gunner was a good investment. "Use it well. Get it upgraded if there's time, keep an eye on the work shed. Once the repairs stop, you can take this to the front of the line, Brüt."
There was no point dismantling all our old ones and creating a backlog while some still needed repairs. I wrote on the hatch Upgrade from Mk. II to Mk. IV. That would give it a magazine and more than triple its firing rate. Anything more than that, I quietly held my doubts for the feasibility of upgrading in a timely manner. The Mark V's took too much time and effort to build their complex power management systems for not enough gain, stuffed too tightly into the protective case to be completed quickly. The Mark VI's tended to overheat their crude fire control circuitry, the consequence of an overcorrection back to simplicity; they could maintain a high fire rate, but were too delicate. The VII's were the ones with the new barrel. Promising, but those barrel faults...I still worried it might have been the power management system.
We'd started considering adding water tanks to help maintain them, but it brought the weight higher than that of a Mk. I, and successfully swapping a boiling hot tank off a delicate, electronically-loaded railgun in combat seemed like a very questionable use of the time. We'd just have to ask the crews manning the railguns to be a bit judicious in our fire, and hope that the flaw was limited to the new little batch of barrels.
How many rounds, exactly, and exactly how fast was yet to be determined; we hadn't conducted the amount of testing a proper military might carry out, but while we had no shortage to man, we also did not have so many as to test dozens until their point of failure, weighing and comparing all their possible conditions.
All this uncertainty kept bouncing around my head. How many troops did we have here? How many rounds for every type of rifle, including the more exotic variants? How reliant on them were we to deal damage, and was it all stored somewhat safely? On the less direct side of things, how many tons of food did we have stored, and was it distributed well? How many thousands of gallons of water could we draw? How many pounds of soap to wash utensils, cups, wounds, and shower with? How many pounds of food over how many men, to last how many days? If it rained, some of these might be alleviated, and yet might kick off a whole host of other issues. There was no way of knowing, no way of taking a perfect stock. But I could estimate.
We had a lot of people. And a lot of guns. And a lot of defenses, and literally countless tons of high explosives, triggered by various means and methods. And we were mad as hell. While exactly how mad was less concrete a figure, I knew this many men away from home could end poorly.
Ultimately, whether it was the fault of the new barrel or the design had finally reached the limitations of its potential rate of fire without causing other issues, I couldn't say for certain. So I had to do my best.
I gave the railgun a clean bill of health to operate if needed, 'priority upgrade,' and noted the rate of fire for the defensive position at 'three a minute.' This one being one of our oldest models, I left it to the operator with my blessings, and made a mental note to add the next railgun we had to be stationed nearby, just so that we weren't under strength from that angle.
I craned my neck from the trench to behold even more insurgents trickling into the old clearing. The arrivals always came in ones-and-twos, their body language telling me the story of the journey it had taken to get here. They'd had to have abandoned their vehicles to the traffic-snarled roads almost certainly some miles away unless they knew the path George and I would occasionally take;.
Those who brought their own heavy weapons lay them down at their feet before collapsing. Water and food was distributed, though I couldn't speak to the quality, and a trash run would have to be made, tossing the empty tins into ammunition containers.
Of all the newcomers who had yet to be organized into place, I counted two mortars, several more volunteers grouping up to retrieve ammo after taking down descriptions of the vehicles from their exhausted owners and sprinting back out into the night to fetch whatever had been left behind.
The resourcefulness lifted my spirits. No one entertained the notion that these men were taking their leave to flee a certain doom. All present felt some degree of faith, understood who they were, why they were here, and what we were setting out to accomplish. Cells worked to find one another in the darkness, congealing themselves into a more coherent, practiced fighting force by virtue of familiarity with one another. Discipline was sharp and needed little enforcement past an initial reminder. No flashlights switched on inside the premises or campfires were lit despite the encroaching edges of the cold front. Insurgents were guided to whatever defensive positions, pillboxes, trenches, battlements, or bunkers still sat empty, depending somewhat on their expected role after detailing their skills to sentries or those otherwise familiar with the camp carefully explaining sight lines and our overall defensive strategy.
Whispered word overheard from those arrivals seemed to indicate a mixture of panic and outrage was fast spreading through the state's populace, carrying them on frightened wings as they took flight in the night, from here to the southernmost beaches and bays. It seemed word had gotten out successfully, then. That knocked down one more obstacle to our success, or at least set the pieces in place. Soon, all that would remain would be the ugly business of following through, and hoping, no praying that I hadn't massively miscalculated in my hubris.
I took the ramp out of the trench so they could pour some loose gravel into it, helping ensure that if those threatening looking storm clouds opened and if the drains clogged, we still would have some footing, and retired to the command cabin, eyeing how empty it felt with all the finished products being set into defensive arrangements; only the workshop still retained all its rather explosive concoctions.
The manpower situation was such that those familiar in reliably manufacturing complex bombs were spending their time setting up defenses in the fields beyond and settling in our new arrivals.
And then I had the couple hostages, weakened by months of captivity, restrained and kept under guard, but still sitting right on top of the half-done armaments.
I told myself that we had taken precautions- the most reactive sets separated by a thin membranous bag of water to prevent chain reactions from taking root and a few emergency containment systems, but they relied on someone present. I'd need all hands on deck- and what if a direct lance of energy landed from some heavy weapon hit the shed, perhaps to try and make a point? No mere bag of water would make a difference then.
Then again, if they brought that king of weaponry to bear, then the outcome would be certain. The Shil'vati would still lose their hostages, and have tacitly admitted I'd forced their hand, and that they'd declared we were enough of a threat to sacrifice noblewomen just to put a stop to.
I hunched over a smaller map in the command cabin, pinning down the garrisons and jails Verns might be held in. Perhaps I'd been premature in my assessment in lacking a future need of a good map when I'd jumped atop the table for my little motivational speech. I'd gotten caught up in the moment; I hadn't foreseen the need for an offensive element.
I was sorely missing my Lieutenants. Vendetta wasn't here, which was one of the greater anxieties weighing on my shoulders.
The one word I'd whispered in his ear all that time ago to bring him around to believing I did, in fact, have a plan: Victory. He should be here already.
He'd sprinted off across the field in glee back when I told him of this plan's possibility, that "Plan C" might come about due to a few cells going dark and my suspicion that it wasn't moles. The null hypothesis, that there were in fact moles, had put him in direct danger by sending him to double-check.
I cursed my blindness. My eagerness to take a night off, to get him out of the way so he wouldn't clash with the others, so I could be a 'normal boy' for a night and attend a party- one I wouldn't be kicked out of, To find social acceptance.
All part of a 'coming of age,' even after I'd already spilt blood, led a war campaign effort, kissed, earned more money than most would see in a lifetime, and mentally cut ties with my family. By almost any account, I already was a man, yet I'd gotten obsessive in imitating the modern trappings of defining such things. I should have seen the cells reporting members' absences and even going dark as a whole for what it was. I could have called off Town Hall, started assembling even more people here.
Then again, if I had, then perhaps...the shil'vati might not have started grabbing everyone. I hated to think of Verns as 'sacrificial.' They likely didn't have much on him, just a neighbor's report. Then again, we'd had that meeting right after the bar fight at Lucky's, right? How thoroughly had George cleared out his house, if they went back to rummage around and investigate? How well could George cover his tracks? We'd left that ammo crate in the hallway, for starters- clumsy of us, yet we were in a panic. Like children. I tensed as I remembered so vividly the sudden sharp report of the gun, watched Patrick's empty eyes stare up. But not children.
There was nothing I could do for Vendetta. We'd sent the Bat Signal out. Either he'd be here, or he'd miss it.
I weighed the value of sending George away once he got here. The order would certainly annoy him after he'd just arrived, something of an arduous task given how far backed up the traffic had become. I also knew it meant I'd have one fewer lieutenant here, where I desperately needed him. I could hardly ask him to burn down the childhood home, and it would certainly reek of hiding evidence.
"Sir," A sentry stood in the door frame, and I stretched from where my muscles had tensed up, pulling my shoulders back and yawning silently beneath my mask, lumbering toward him.
I didn't realize how tall I'd gotten until I realized he was staring up at me and had taken a half-step backwards- not to make way so I could lead from the door, either, but almost defensively.
"Yes, what is it?" I asked, stopping in place.
"We've received a message for you, sir. Radio is reporting that a 'Hex' has checked in from her position. She and Binary report 'Green as Grass,' sir."
I wasn't used to being called 'sir,' and it caught me off guard. I realized he was standing there, waiting for a response from me of some sort, too.
What should I say for him to send back to Hex? I momentarily remembered the sensation of the kiss, the warm, slightly wet softness, the tenderness, and felt a bit of a blush under my mask. While every instinct screamed at me to not air even a hint of my romances or inner turmoil about a kiss over the unencrypted connection, there was a level of 'not talking about it' that I was unfamiliar with and hadn't planned for. Could my message back be coded into something subtle? Nothing came to mind.
"G-good," I finally stuttered a little awkwardly. "That's very good."
"What does it mean, sir?"
I pushed the distractions out of my head. This was no time to be thinking about girls- and my mind stubbornly disobeyed, wandering right back to Natalie. At first to the hug she'd offered me, when I was scared. Frightened of the mind-wiper device. That tenderness she'd offered- I pushed the memory from my mind, too. This wasn't the time to fantasize, either. I had to live in the world that was before me, here in the present. People were relying on me. I could figure out all that other stuff- girls, hope, my future- sometime later.
"It means the operation can proceed as planned."
If the Twins stopped reporting or got caught with the hostages, then we'd have a lot less leverage stopping Azraea from blowing us all sky high. A couple noblewomen- who I wasn't terribly familiar with and seemed to be somewhat less important, provided they were truthful to me of their station. This unfortunate pair had relied on connections to already-stationed family members to arrive, rather than on their raw political power to muscle their way to Earth's then-closely guarded secret coordinates, and were present only for evidence of said hostages' presence.
"Sir, beg your pardon," I could sense something bubbling under his words, against his better judgment, but some sense of desperation demanded he ask me this anyways. "But what is the operation? I've been manning the airwaves with Radio, helping spread word, but everyone I make contact with seems to want to know."
"I don't see the wisdom in broadcasting the finer details of our plan, I'm sure you understand."
I sensed the inner conflict by the way he froze up. He wanted to object, probably, to swear he wouldn't leak more than the minimum. The problem was, anyone listening for long might take a morsel here, a morsel there, and bring it all together and undo us.
"You have all you're meant to have at this point, frustrating though that must be to try and inform others of the going-ons. Our objective is right before us. When the time comes and the enemy appears, blast them." I didn't want to say there isn't much else to plan. At least, not for them to consider.
"And you, sir?"
"I'll be right here, alongside you," I promised. That seemed to ease some of his pressing curiosity, at least. "We'll be here together, to watch the birth of a miracle." That, or we'd die together. Those words didn't quite have the same catchy ring, though.
I looked over my shoulder back at the map. What more good could be wrought over pondering what jail he might be in, without more details?
"Another matter. Hex said G-Man should arrive in a few minutes."
"Thank you. Anything else to report?"
"No sir, the shortwave beckons." They gave a hand-on-heart and stepped out, leaving the doorframe empty.
I told myself I may as well follow. There was no good to come of disappearing into a tent, secluded for long periods, not when anxiety might run through the gathered troops. I had to make myself seen at least periodically. Besides, it was easier to get a more complete picture from out here than in there.
Radio looked like a one-man-band by the way he was surrounded by boxy electronics of varying sizes, their glows dimmed slightly by thin pieces of fabric taped over the tiny glowing screens, and the trap stretched over his head. Wires snaked their way along the ground, a trooper trying to lay the cable into a thin channel of dirt with a spade to reduce the tripping hazard.
Pierce crouched next to him with a laptop plugged into something wired together, the final outlet of which looked vaguely like an international travel inverter, her fingers flying across the trackpad.
"Radio, how are we?"
"We've made lots of contact, I think. So much traffic on the airwaves it's actually hard to find a clear channel to broadcast on."
"Do they have our encryption keys?" I asked, the question almost automatic.
"No, having one kind of defeats the purpose of being heard and getting the signal out. Besides, encrypting's probably easy for the Shil'vati to crack. Less easy for human intelligence agencies, but impossible for the people who we want to hear us."
I already knew most of this, but humoured him. Little entertained radio quite like his namesake.
"What's our chance of discovery, then? Rough time to them figuring out it's us here, and finding the signal's origin."
"At least with a somewhat uncountable number of HAM signals being thrown across the airwaves, we are a really big needle in a gigantic haystack. Besides, how many times have we actually been where we're broadcasting from?"
That was a point I hadn't considered.
The Shil'vati would likely regard our signal as just a relay point, rather than the source, let alone the destination.
Would they strike it just to silence the orders, once they figured out how many of them were originating from the same point?
I comforted myself by staring upstream of the creek that wandered to the south of Camp Death, following its course with my eyes to where it flowed under the concrete tunnels under the highway, under the train tracks, to where it ultimately ran back to where Radio and I had visited Saint Michael's. Then I turned my head back across the field, toward where the foundation of Mojo and Mister Pasta's had been, where Vaughn had called in the kill team on the Fed's sting operation,
We'd certainly set up plenty of remote broadcast towers before, to entice them into launching strikes on collaborationists. That Saint Michael's was still standing after we'd broadcast all kinds of propaganda from there meant they'd almost certainly learned to be a bit more cautious about lashing out blindly.
In the darkness I saw a familiar figure materialize, and with a bit of relief, I ran up to greet Larry. I wanted to give the old mechanic a hug, but knew that expressions of intimacy while standing near the middle of the camp's defensive perimeter in front of everyone was more than a bit inappropriate, and settled for a nod of acknowledgment.
"I cleaned up the mess at Jules place," he said, going back to referring to his friend by their code name, glancing at Pierce.
I felt a moment of shame. We'd panicked and grabbed everything. Perhaps we were like children after all, leaving our toys out and in the hall. "Thank you."
"Saw Patrick."
"Patrick saw," I said back. "Patrick- called."
Whatever Larry was about to say, that brought him up short. "Oh. Oh." The words seemed to leave him pained. He'd known Patrick, too, and I felt the weight of guilt. It seemed he moved on faster than I could, because he changed the topic quickly.
"What's up?" He gestured at the radio setup.
Pierce seemed to be quite engrossed in her work, trying to connect the laptop to a radio via a USB cable, fumbling with the port in the dark. The laptop's screen was showing a shaky handheld video of a mass arrest- and I thought I could hear my own voice echoing the words I'd spoken just a short while ago.
"Just uploading the speech. I've spliced it up to some footage that one of the newcomers brought. We'll also be exporting raw versions of both- just the audio, the video, make sure people have the record and can decide for themselves."
Sometimes the truth was the best propaganda.
"How are you getting video out? I thought the internet was down."
Radio held a hand up, and then put it down, as if I'd been a teacher asking a question and he'd been chasing extra credit. The next few sentences were practically a foreign language to me, uttering a series of numbers in rapid succession, followed by what sounded like a name. That may've been a model, an edition of a model, a make, a special form of broadcasting- all of it may well have been bounced off the ionosphere for how far it went over my head. I wasn't used to being so completely out of my depth, but everyone seems to have specialized in some skill or another. I'd preferred getting involved in all aspects of the revolution, but at a certain point delegation was a necessity, and I was watching not just the task's needs, but also the capabilities of my lieutenants grow well past my ability to offer useful insight and guidance.
"I...see." I didn't, but I wasn't sure what else to say. I wanted to express curiosity, but I felt like this new capability was something we'd discuss later, if there was a later. "And people can receive high definition video over shortwave? It just takes a long time?"
It seemed to me to be an apparently somewhat technical process to perform over shortwave, and only when finally pressed for details, Radio at last admitted something I did understand: "I am not sure most people know how to collect the signal, or have the right equipment to, but I'm sure someone will, Maybe that person will redistribute the videos."
There. Actionable, useful information.
"Then continue," I said. "At least unless anything more pressing jumps up to do."
"Let's hope it's good for more than the history books," Pierce commented mildly.
"The world has to know, and I am certain the shil'vati have no interest in putting such footage out there. That's reason enough for us, isn't it?" I watched Radio nod and then scurry about the camp, tracing one of the wires toward the antenna array nearest the highway. I turned to Larry, breaking off from the amusing spectacle. "Do you remember my promise?" My question was genuine, but he seemed to waver slightly, now that the possibility of actually delivering on it was here and present. Perhaps the aura of our inner circle's invincibility had been shattered with the loss of his neighbors, and it would be best to set his mind to something productive. "If you want it to come true, see to it that the mortar teams are trained. Get the cannons in position, and make sure we're good for more than just one wave."
Larry snapped a salute, fingers on brow, and I clumsily approximated one in return, though I had never done a salute before in my life. I could sense the slight smile from behind his mask, and with a quick check over his shoulder that no one was watching, he reached out, straightened my palm out slightly, then brought the edge of my palm higher until it was a bit more level. "That's better," he judged, then leaving me alone once I dropped the hand a few seconds later.
George showed up a few minutes earlier than Hex had predicted, out of breath and escorted by a sentry. "Ditched the truck," he wheezed. "The huge bags of claymores and equipment were really heavy. Had to haul it under the interstate." His shoes shone with creekwater; He'd almost certainly taken the path Larry had forbade us from trying, and I couldn't imagine doing it in the pitch black darkness at any speed.
I motioned to the sentry. "Help him get that bag into the workshop." He was the best bomb maker, but he also had helped build this place. I wanted to pick his brain, but I would give him time to rest, first.
"Hey, Radio. Radio!" I heard the shortwave radio he'd set at the top squawk to life with a familiar grumble on the other end, distorted somewhat by the tinny speaker. I scooped it up. Someone with a vocoder- Radio gave those out sparingly.
"'E' here," I answered for him, but didn't want to announce myself. Not right away.
A moment's pause.
"What are your orders?"
"Vendetta?" I wanted to confirm.
"I'm here with over fifty people waiting at Warehouse Base for something to do," I knew the transmission would likely be monitored, but the time for subtlety was over. "You're on speakerphone, by the way."
The line was likely tapped, or at least would be intercepted, its contents determining priority for being passed upward or presented to someone with authority, possibly even Azraea herself.
Whatever orders I gave, they'd have to be in code, or at least sound like something unimportant, low-priority so that we might give him as much opportunity to get the drop on the enemy as he could be afforded.
"Don't bother trying to come here yet," I quickly supplied. "By now, if you're not on your way here, you have your own party to go to." I took a moment to survey the grounds. "We've practically got a full house. See about getting a house party of your own, though you'll have to pull the guests out of their own company. Or something to flank."
"Any idea where to start?"
The map fresh in my mind, I found the answer sprang to me.
"There's a rest stop along Route One. If you've got any party poppers, you can get them to open up to you like a can opener. You know, it's all about introducing yourself well."
I heard him laugh mirthlessly, the sound coming through like a cheese grater run over the asphalt.
"That one's a big bite, maybe more than we can chew without choking. Why don't we start with something smaller?"
I wanted to protest, to direct him to the biggest ones first. Then again, how much did they have on Verns? How likely was he to be somewhere heavily defended?
"What do you have in mind?"
"Well, right across the river from where the naughty girls all get sent. Why don't we start there? Every party needs a few ladies, right?" I could hear a roar of assent from the background.
I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that- was he going to try and attack the Shil'vati base? Surely not those women? He wasn't that insane. Then it clicked- the Women's Correctional Facility in Wilmington, just upstream of the Christina River from where he was broadcasting from at the old Warehouse Base. Easy to get to, certainly, and right near the interstate with pedestrian bridges and neighborhoods to scatter in after the strike made it an excellent candidate. Almost certain to succeed.
The strike wouldn't yield us Verns, though forcing the Shil'vati to admit that they couldn't both take and hold their prisoners at the same time might force them to at least pause rounding up ever more people.
If I gave it my blessing, I would be sacrificing any chance of rescuing Verns for...for what? The tradeoff strained my soul to even consider.
"If you feel that's best, you know your crowd. That said, they got Jules- we want him back." He'd helped build Camp Death. He knew its ins and outs, though my real reasons were somewhat sentimental. "Keep an eye out for Morningstar and a few other cells. I've little doubt they can party with the best of them." They were one of my heaviest hitters, routinely bragging they could go clay pigeon hunting with an unguided RPG, yet I was pretty sure I'd never rallied them to Camp Death- if they were to rally, Warehouse Base was where they'd be.
There was a moment of silence, until Vaughn reported back- "Yeah, they're here. They were going to move up to you once they got everyone together. Should we leave instructions for where to find us, or to find you?"
"Do it- supplies are overall good here. Lots of...uh, balloons, confetti..." I felt like I was stretching the analogy too far, so I gave up trying to equate weaponry to party paraphranelia. " know, the works. Take Morningstar and use 'em as you see best fit. What've you got for your party? Any good party supplies?" We certainly could make a trash run and see if we could also deliver them some RPGs at the same time.
"Got some Bump-n-Grinds, and you know those are always good for an up-close-and-personal encounter."
I laughed. "From what I read about bumping and grinding? The closer, the better." Their accuracy left a fair bit to be desired. Still, it would be a good, even vital carry just in case those dreaded Security Forces Technicals made an appearance, and would probably be 'good enough' against a stationary target like a wall, especially in the hands of a capable squadron like Talonstar.
"What time are you thinking?"
"I'd say as soon as we're all ready. You really overestimated how many people know where Camp Death is. A fair number showed up here, and are still trickling in."
"Enough to throw several parties at once?" I asked, suddenly hopeful.
"Well, I suppose, maybe, but I'd be wary of partygoers without someone in charge to, uh..." the metaphor seemed to be breaking down, but I got what he was going for.
"Yeah, I see."
"Are you thinking if there are too many noise complaints at once, it'll keep the party going longer?"
"That's part of it, but I'm hoping we might find a particular person we're missing, lost him when we were playing unexpected host. Someone of G-Man's, you'd know him as Jules. A divide and conquer might maximize our odds of finding him."
"Plus, maximize the number of partygoers we pick up as we move. I like it. A few small house parties for every big house. Any special orders?"
"None. K.I.S.S. principle applies. Good, bad, I want it all out on the streets. 'KISS' 'em until they can't see straight." Keep It Simple, Stupid.
"You're certain?" I could hear the hesitancy in his voice. "This is going to be the greatest thing we've ever done, and I want to be by your side for it 'til the end. I don't want any last-minute cancellations, and I sure as hell don't wanna miss it. How long should I party?"
We'd be letting absolute chaos loose. Fire. Looting. The worst of humanity, turned loose, with Vaughn potentially at its head if he decided to recruit for some reason. Could I still claim to be the good guy if I turned those kinds of people free to wreak havoc on the state I claimed whose denizens I was protecting?
Blackstone's Ratio holds that it is better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer. It would still hold me no less accountable for whatever followed from this mass prison break, though.
I looked over to the recently arrived George, and hung my head.
So be it.
"Confirmed, Vendetta. I'll next talk to you when you're here in person- call it when you start either getting tired or if the hosts hire a doorman, a bouncer, or something you can't handle. Bring any good partygoers and favors you find, guide them here, O Pied Piper. Over and out." The signal went quiet again, and I turned off our radio, standing and yawning. The hour was late, and it would be my last opportunity for some shuteye.
I pulled aside a few sentries to my first order. I felt it was a strange one, and likely futile: I asked everyone to 'try and get some rest.'
The sentries were going to be exhausted, and I needed them to start working in shifts if we were to maintain our vigil and perimeter. Doubtless, more would be coming, and giving them at least some rest might be a difference-maker. G-Man helped lead the newcomers to the subterranean bunkers and tunnels, trying to make sure everyone had a place to stay the night and resources got split, even if it was throwing tarps and blankets on hard-packed dirt. I eyed the tunnels, knowing which one of them would spit me out near the stream, itself running so low I might as well refer to it as a ravine. Digging that had been cramped, paranoia-inducing, but we'd dug out so much of the hill and filled it with enough weapons to wage a full-scale war. What had begun as almost make-work and a place to store things when we'd started out
I couldn't sleep well on the cot that night, tossing and turning- I even tried resting with the mask off, held in my hands, but the risk to my identity if anyone barged in caused me enough stress. Eventually, I stood and donned it, making my rounds around the camp, trying to calm myself. Instead, I felt eyes following me, and I had to force myself to stand tall. For the thousandth time, I thought of this as my Valley Forge.
The sentry at the door to the command cabin gave me a hand-on-heart, and I returned it.
As I patrolled, I could hear whispered prayers, muttered plans of action, and mercifully, snores. At least some were getting some sleep. I could see orange lights reflecting off the clouds, near where I knew Wilmington lay.
I almost jumped a foot in the air when I felt the tap on my shoulder, only to find G-Man's mask staring into mine. How strange that such a haunting visage was a comfort to me.
"Hey. Can't sleep?"
"I can't," I confessed. "G-Man, I'm sorry what happened with your father. Hell of a birthday." I hadn't even had a chance to give him the present I'd bought him- a couple new filters, and vintage craftsman toolkit, "from before they sold out," Verns had told me. The memory of his voice already felt distant somehow- no. I'll see him again.
"Wasn't your fault. Even if Town Hall wasn't your big idea to get them to retaliate, you know? Then they'd still have done something. But, uh, thanks for saying that. And thanks for trying to get dad out. I'll remember that." George said quietly, then the conversation ended when he turned away and went to the edge of the embankment. Just like that.
I could never quite get a read on him.
I went inside, and tried to force myself to get at least some shut-eye.
Thanks to Terran-Armored-Core and DeltaNu for helping with some decisions and spellcheck.
Thanks to Inmutabilis-Ratio for helping with the site, it was very helpful in importing the text.
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2023.05.29 20:59 the-green-dog Link to Apple note from notion

I use Apple notes as a lot of my notes need a drawing sketch that is easy to edit.
I am looking into Notion for more structure, it looks great except that I can’t draw with Apple Pencil.
Is there a way to link Notion to an Apple note so I can click on the link to view and edit the drawing?
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2023.05.29 20:44 buddhakitties HELP??!

Im legit one fckn point away but I reached the MAX so how tf do I get my gift. )):
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2023.05.29 20:35 VincentDMNGS Going from classical band music to electronic producing

Been playing guitar as a kid and bass as a teenager, I now want to start creating computer-based music and wonder where to start.
Now early 30, I plugged the bass back and quickly found out that with a iRig I got lend and GarageBand than I already have in my Mac I can loop like crazy. Then I started playing with the Smart Drums in GarageBand to easily create drums beats to play along with. I then grabbed my partner midi keyboard and from there I slept. I started by manually laying drums on the pads to play with beats I created and it felt so empowering. I also started filling much more with drums, venturing further away from the sounds I was used to. I also started understanding how the computer can do crazy things FX wise and gone further away from my pedals. On some pads-drums + bass guitar jams I had feelings of leads so I been thinkering around, played with plug-in and instruments. When I ended up recently creating beats without a physical bass guitar for the bass line and concluded « shit I gone away from what I been doing all that time and I quite love it
So now I’m thinking that there HAVE to be better tools for the new job at hand so I started digging.. what I have in mind so far is that: The most powerful tool to use would be a DAW, you add controllers to input notes and tweak effects and once all that is mastered you can make full grown tracks. I also spotted the Maschine combo that seems to be a less overwhelming approach that might be limited down the line compared to a full grown DAW. The other approach I have in mind would be to go to tools with actual real limitations but also lot less to think about, like a Novation Circuit Track or other groovebox (that I could maybe later if needed pair with say a synth)
In one hand the DAW way look like the proper way to involve myself seriously but I’m scared it would be a big step to climb. In the other hand I feel that learning from a groovebox is like a growing approach; easy to access but then not the full start to finish tool. I think the groovebox might be better to lay down ideas, at least as a beginner. And from here I don’t see how big the assle of pulling things from a groovebox can be.. Like in drawing; you sketch then you ink; that’s a workflow efficient enough to not assle trying to get around.
So; stand-alone groovebox to start then DAW (in a box like MASCHINE / MPC or proper DAW in a computer), or straight up to a DAW ?
(Also happy to think about other ways that might be in my blind side)
Cheers !
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2023.05.29 20:11 Xn1pe_ AI Art is Ruining So Many Lives and Changing The World!

I'm a young teen who's been passionate about art and drawing for a little while now. I had been practicing and studying happily... until I came across AI art. There are a large number of huge problems that rise from AI art, which sometimes makes me want to rip out my own heart and stuff it inside the people who thought creating this was a good idea!
To start with, art has been something used for a very long time, for hundreds of years. It is something that many enjoy, and something people have devoted their life to. Art takes long to get good at or master, you can't run out of things to learn. But a lot of this is starting to be taken by AI. AI users can create complex art very easily using non-artistic methods, and without even understanding the concepts. It is the easy way out.
The easy way out is good sometimes, but not always. In this case, it deprives people of both joy and a career option. This is good for the non-artists, life should be that you get what you work for, at least to some extent. AI completely throws that concept out the window and does whatever gets them profit.
AI is using us as tools. Artworks are simply taken and used from artists without their consent to develop the AI or produce an artwork. You don't even get alerted when your art is getting taken to develop something that will take away the thing that makes you money. The makers think they can do this because the artists aren't taking much action.
AI is destroying art, but it won't be too long before it starts to take over other territories The world will be like a Sci-Fi movie, where the world is taken over by AI, though in a more discreet way. Don't let the world become the terminator! CHANGE THE WORLD!
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