I was looking at some old emails the other day, and noted my first use of Bitcoin was to buy 2 t-shirts worth about $40.
And it was 0.207 BTC which is worth around $14381 today.
OK not quite as bad as the famous pizza, but I thought it was pretty funny. It was back in 2015 and I'd been paid in Bitcoin (at my request) for some programming work.
I wanted to actually check I could use BTC to buy real world things.

Hello. I am a 50M and a father of 4. And it's summer road trip time. This always reminds me of road trips as a child. I am the oldest of 4 as well. I grew up in a middle class family, in the mid-west, and we always took a summer vacation in a car. It was a different time then, I realize that. Parenting styles have changed, times have changed, etc. I always wondered if my parents were just really strict, or if they had some misguided sense of what was correct? Or what was expected of them as parents, maybe? I will highlight some of the things that stick out in my memories to this day. Any thoughts or input are welcome.
1) We packed our food in a metal cooler and stopped at roadside rest stops for lunch. Fast food was never offered. This same cooler also had the following mornings breakfast sausage, eggs, and bread, which would be prepared on an electric griddle in our room. We only ever had breakfast at the motel restaurant a few times in my life. Dinner, however, could be eaten out. 2) We did not have an air conditioned car until I turned 9. So it was hot. No radio was ever played. It was AM only, anyway. A lot of silence. Playing I Spy, or the license plate game. Maybe a book or magazine you brought along. 3) As mentioned above, it was hot. We always had to wear socks and shoes. No sandals. I didn't have sandals until I bought them myself at 18. No bare feet either. Bare feet were only acceptable if you were in your pajamas and ready for bed in our house. 4) Seldom could you have a drink. 70's cars didn't have cup holders, is this why? Lol. Bottled water wasn't invented yet. So they didn't want glass bottles floating around nor cans in the back seat? 5) Probably related to 4. If you had to go to the bathroom, it had to fall within the travel schedule. This one is not a fond memory. I look back at it as traumatic. All of us under 10, naturally had different control levels. I'm the oldest, my sister is 3 years younger, my brother is 4 years younger, and at the time, my youngest brother hadn't been born yet. Inevitably, my little brother would always have to pee. He would usually sit next to me, and would start bouncing or jiggling. In this situation, you could announce your need, but the answer was always the same. We will be there soon, you can wait. We would wait anxiously to see those blue rest stop signs to plan our relief, because that was our only option. Peeing on the side of the road, or in a container, was out of the question. Hell, we didn't even know that was a thing you could do at this time in our lives. My two younger siblings would beg me to plead their emergency to our parents as our needs increased. I then became responsible for their bladders as well as my own I felt. My sister was usually cool and had good control. My little brother didn't. I was borderline on my control. Both my brother and I were bedwetters. So we were both prone to having an accident if pushed too far. No matter how much I begged, and warned them that he was going to pee his pants, the answer remained the same. This of course exacerbated my need exponentially through the anxiety of having a little brother next to you that is asking you what he should do because he's ready to pee any minute, and bouncing. My brother and I were never allowed to hold ourselves even in times like this, which meant you had to cross legs, bounce or whatever else. If you did pee, a spanking would be in order. I would try to tell him stories, put my arm around him, play an I Spy game, anything to take his mind off of his pain. We were not allowed to cry and carry on either. I figured out that my little brother was capable of making it about 30 minutes usually before he peed. So on those highways when the rest stops were 60 miles apart, he is in trouble. He would stop bouncing and lean in close to me, my arm still around him, when he was getting ready to pee. Tears would be running down his cheeks, and he would look at me so pitifully. I always told him it's OK, I have to go bad too. Heartbreaking. 🥺 There is nothing worse than having a pee emergency and your little brother starts peeing his pants while you are comforting him. It was unbearable for me at times. I would start crying when I saw him cry because I knew what was about to happen. Especially when you haven't seen a blue sign in 20 minutes. And our parents drove 55 all the time, no matter what. Sometimes I would lose control and start peeing too. During all of this, no one ever turned around or acknowledged it.I don't remember being spanked when this happened, but that was the threat. 6) No seat belts. No car seats or boosters. 7) No souvenirs
I did not repeat the bathroom treatment with my kids. We have pulled over, used bottles, whatever. Being comfortable in the car was also extended to our kids. Bare feet, boys with no shirts, jammies and favorite blankets, whatever. My wife had similar trips with her family too. Hers didn't make her wet herself though. They would pull over. My parents are no longer with us. I would like to believe they were doing what they thought was best. That they, like me, did things differently than their parents. Was anyone else's parents like this on trips.

Hey, folks!
Got halfway through a 5-day shoot of a dream project to find my camera op had the camera in 24fps with 1/24 shutter 🤦🏻
In a desperate attempt to avoid the unaffordable, unfeasible, morale-killing decision to reshoot half the principal photography, I've been researching and experimenting with fixes of excess motion blur in post.
(The goal being to achieve the cinema-specific look/feel, choppiness and motion blur, of 24fps - 1/48 shutter.)
If helpful: shot on Sony FX9 in 5K FF (which downsamples to 4K FF) Slog3 XAVC 10-bit 422, imported to Premiere Pro.
I've discovered some ideas, which I will share below, but I am interested in your ideas and opinions on the effectiveness of them.
From other Redditors:
Changing clips under "speed/duration" from frame sampling to optical flow - - This reduces motion blur but makes cinema look like 60i TV.
Fixing morion blur frame by frame in AE (somehow)- - I haven't tried this yet; I found it suggested once in, I think, filmmakers, but I haven't been able to relocate the discussion on my own device since, so I forget the exact method suggested. Any insight?
From me:
Putting the 24fps - 1/24 clips onto sequences with slower timebase settings such as 12fps. - This does seem to reduce the blur, but obviously the footage is very choppy for cinema. I'm not really sure why this even works since I thought the blur was baked in? - Would this be using the same Premiere process as modifying the clip, going to "interpret footage," and changing it to 12fps before dragging it to a 24fps sequence? - For that matter, are either of these options affecting the clip differently than if I export the clip from a 24fps sequence to a 12fps file?
With what function is Premiere using its AI to invent fill-in frames vs simply doubling existing frames? Anything other than optical flow?
Could one, in theory, use whichever method results in the sharpest footage of a 12fps exported file, re-import that file, ultimately put it on a 24fps timeline (whether best to modify clip to 24fps first or not), then add motion blur effects using post software of choice? - I just tried exporting a 24fps - 1/24 clip from a 12fps sequence into a 12fps ProRes file, then re-importing it and dragging it to a 24fps sequence, and it still looks choppy.
I will continue to post my results as I progress. Please feel welcome to chime in. Thanks!

The relationship between Jon and Catelyn is one of the most fraught in ASOIAF. By contrast, Jon and Arya's bond is probably the most trusting and faithful. Finally, Catelyn and Arya have difficulties but they undoubtedly love each other. The triangular relationship of these characters could well be a source of looming conflict in TWOW.
A few weeks ago I posted "The Real Queen in the North" outlining how Lady Stoneheart is hunting for Arya and plans to crown her daughter Queen in the North. It got a good reception but some comments raised an interesting point regarding the unresolved tension between Jon Snow and Catelyn Stark.
We can say with a fair amount of certainty from the show (his ADWD plot was heading that way too) that Jon Snow will be crowned King in the North at some future point. Jon's affection for Arya, Catelyn's loathing for Jon, and Arya's loyalty to Jon could be pitted against each other in this storyline.

Grudged Him Every Bite

Catelyn's hostility towards her husband's bastard son is established very early in AGOT, most acutely with the infamous confrontation in Bran's sickroom. Jon's resentment at how Catelyn treated him regularly resurfaces and in ADWD Jon's bitterness is still kicking:

We could, thought Jon, if we had the gold, and someone willing to sell us food. Both of those were lacking. Our best hope may be the Eyrie. The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. Jon wondered how Lady Catelyn's sister would feel about feeding Ned Stark's bastard. As a boy, he often felt as if the lady grudged him every bite. -ADWD Jon IV

Evidently, Jon's grievance with Catelyn remains raw and unresolved.

Mother-Daughter Strains

In ASOS, the relationship between Arya and Catelyn assumes a much bigger role than before. Arya spends the entire book seeking her mother:

She wanted Riverrun, not Acorn Hall; she wanted her mother and her brother Robb, not Lady Smallwood or some uncle she never knew. -ASOS, Arya VIII

Arya comes harrowingly close to reuniting with Catelyn at the Red Wedding:

Arya had mud in her teeth and her face was wet. Rain. It's only rain. That's all it is. "We're here," she shouted. Her voice sounded thin and scared, a little girl's voice. "Robb's just in the castle, and my mother. The gate's even open." There were no more Freys riding out. I came so far. "We have to go get my mother." -ASOS, Arya XI

Even after the Red Wedding Arya still yearns for her mother:

“We should go back,” she suddenly decided. “We should go back to the Twins and get my mother. She can’t be dead. We have to help her." -Arya XII, ASoS

Arya wargs into her direwolf Nymeria and retrieves her mother's corpse from the river:

That night she went to sleep thinking of her mother, and wondering if she should kill the Hound in his sleep and rescue Lady Catelyn herself. When she closed her eyes she saw her mother’s face against the back of her eyelids. She’s so close I could almost smell her… Arya XII, ASoS

From the end of ASOS the Brotherhood Without Banners under Lady Stoneheart/Catelyn are searching for Arya and she hopes to crown her daughter Queen in the North.

The Drama Triangle

In Arya's first chapter something of a Catelyn/Jon dichotomy is established:

"A shade more fun than needlework," Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father's face, as she did. They were the only ones.
...
It was worse than Jon had thought. It wasn't Septa Mordane waiting in her room. It was Septa Mordane and her mother. Arya I, AGOT

In Jon's second chapter the duality is in evidence. First half is the tense encounter between him and Catelyn:

Jon did not know what to say. "It wasn't your fault," he managed after an awkward silence.
Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. "I need none of your absolution, bastard." -Jon II, AGOT

But after a brief goodbye to Robb the second half is Jon's final scene with Arya; a bedroom farewell in every way different to the other:

Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. "I wish you were coming with us."
The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north. -Jon II, AGOT

Arya wonders if Robb and her mother would even want to ransom her:

"Well," Arya said, "my hair's messy and my nails are dirty and my feet are all hard." Robb wouldn't care about that, probably, but her mother would. Lady Catelyn always wanted her to be like Sansa, to sing and dance and sew and mind her courtesies. Just thinking of it made Arya try to comb her hair with her fingers, but it was all tangles and mats, and all she did was tear some out. -ASOS Arya VII

Arya later makes a comparison to Jon, who she believes unlike her mother would accept her no matter what:

"He's with the Night's Watch on the Wall." Maybe I should go to the Wall instead of Riverrun. Jon wouldn't care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair . . . "Jon looks like me, even though he's bastard-born. He used to muss my hair and call me 'little sister.'" Arya missed Jon most of all. Just saying his name made her sad. -ASOS Arya VIII

Harwin pleads with Arya not to bring up the topic of Jon's parentage when she's reunited with her mother:

He shook his head. "Let it lie, my lady. They're dead, all of them. Let it lie . . . and please, when we come to Riverrun, say naught of this to your mother."-ASOS Arya VIII

Catelyn and Robb row over the question of Jon Snow (Stark) versus Arya as heir to the North's throne:

"So you pray. Have you considered your sisters? What of their rights? I agree that the north must not be permitted to pass to the Imp, but what of Arya? By law, she comes after Sansa ... your own sister, trueborn ..."
"...and dead. No one has seen or heard of Arya since they cut Father's head off. Why do you lie to yourself? Arya's gone, the same as Bran and Rickon, and they'll kill Sansa too once the dwarf gets a child from her. Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. I had hoped you would support my choice."
"I cannot," she said. "In all else, Robb. In everything. But not in this . . . this folly. Do not ask it." -ASOS, Catelyn V

Jon thinks Catelyn would have rejoiced to hear him renouncing Arya, in the context of being unable to help "her" for the sake of his vows:

By now she'd be eleven, Jon thought. Still a child. "I have no sister. Only brothers. Only you." Lady Catelyn would have rejoiced to hear those words, he knew. That did not make them easier to say. His fingers closed around the parchment. Would that they could crush Ramsay Bolton's throat as easily. -ADWD Jon VI

The Road Not Taken... Yet?

Interestingly, GRRM in the 1990s while writing AGOT very much intended for Jon and Catelyn's relationship to lead to an emotive character moment:

When Winterfell burns, Catelyn Stark will be forced to flee north with her son Bran and her daughter Arya. Wounded by Lannister riders, they will seek refuge at the Wall, but the men of the Night's Watch give up their families when they take the black, and Jon and Benjen will not be able to help, to Jon's anguish. It will lead to a bitter estrangement between Jon and Bran. Arya will be more forgiving

Most of these plot points have emerged in some way in the published books; Bran travelled beyond the wall and Jon later anguished over his Night's Watch vows preventing him from helping "Arya". But Jon vs. Catelyn has never really reached the dramatic conclusion GRRM was seeding in AGOT (and right into ADWD) and Jon's thoughts more often dwell on how he was treated by his not-stepmother rather than the identity of his birth mother.

What If

A few possible scenarios:
Jon and Catelyn reunion: Resurrected Jon and Lady Stoneheart meet somewhere in the North. She recognises that Jon was willing to lay down his life for her daughter (Pink Letter march against Ramsay). They bond over their shared experiences as freaky fire zombies.
No reunion but resolution: Jon and Lady Stoneheart don't physically reunite but Arya argues his case, explains that Jon Snow laid down his life on her account, and Stoneheart finally departs the world with her grudge against Ned's bastard diluted.
Arya crowns Jon King in the North: Although crowned by her mother, Arya is still very, very loyal to Jon Snow and may feel a debt for his sacrifice for her. In AGOT she refused to tattle to their father about Needle, even when Jon was thousands of leagues away and beyond reproach. Recall this line from their first scene together:

Jon shrugged. "Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister." -AGOT, Jon I

Jon has already given Arya the sword, perhaps Arya will abdicate and gift Jon "the arms".

Archana stepped off from the bus, pulling the shawl even more tightly against herself, taking care to wrap the woollen garment around her ears to protect against the bustling wind. Even with her full saree, socks, a cardigan and the shawl, she had been shivering in the rickety bus, with the broken glasses and wooden window shutters letting more of the cold air in than keeping it out.
Kunidanga was not the most crowded village in the district to begin with, and now at the end of December, with the temperatures hovering in the single digits, the roads wore a deserted look in the fading light of the dusk. Situated on the banks of the Torsa river in North Bengal, it was a tiny little hamlet which was barely a speck on the map. Archana was the only one who got off the bus, which left immediately for the final stop at Dinhata - nearly ten miles due south near the border with Bangladesh.
The bus stop, with its tin roof having long lost its shine, the mandatory stray dog lying in a corner in a ball of old newspapers, the walls completely covered in graffiti and posters of everything from the latest theatrical releases in the one movie theatre of the district in CoochBehar, the latest political agenda for the upcoming elections, ones extolling the virtue of the famous palmist Sri Abhaynanda while others that extolled the brilliance of D K Lodh - the infamous ‘sex doctor’.
Even with the musky odour of too many sweat stained bodies, months of public urination and defecation which hadn’t been washed away since the last rains, Archana sat down on the stone bench - just to balance herself for a moment.
She slowly patted her belly, calming the little one inside.
It was just the first trimester, actually the very beginning of it. Today was her first visit to the doctor in the district hospital. Archana had been experiencing the tell-tale symptoms of pregnancy for the past few days and Nakul was absolutely, joyously certain, that they were going to be parents! They had gone to the doctor together in the first bus from Kunidanga, starting at the break of dawn. Nakul had fidgeted the whole way there, nervous excitement bubbling through at every second while Archana simply tried to control her nausea - made worse by the rolling motion of the rickety old bus on the untarred roads. Waiting for the first consultation with the doctor, going for the blood tests, then another long wait for the reports and then the final confirmation from the doctor had taken them the whole day.
A quick meal at the hospital canteen, they had to rush to catch the last bus departing for Kunidanga. Nakul had gotten down from the bus at the last stop, he needed to visit the government depot there to collect some documents for his job as Kunidanga’s public works superintendent.
Their small government issued bungalow was not too far from the bus stop and Archana was confident that it was a distance she could cover well enough on her own - having taken the same short route countless times in the past. She stood up, clutching her small purse with some spare change and the regulation IDs, a bit tired, but with the additional spring in the step which happiness sometimes brings you!
Archana had only gone a few steps when she stopped, her senses overwhelmed by the unique smell of burning incense, fresh flowers and freshly cut fruit and milk - that typical combination which filled the air around all hindu temples - a smell so common and deeply ingrained among the god fearing Bengalis.
A few more steps along the dusty corporation road, and the source of the smell became clear to Archana. A sadhu - a kapalika to be more precise from the way he was dressed - had set up a small tenement on the empty plot of land just off the road, hardly a hundred feet from the bus stand.
A large man, well toned but not really muscular, the skin tanned with constant exposure to the elements, a thick beard and wrapped in the regulation red dhoti and uttariya sat in prayer.
It was a deep plot of land, opening up into the forested shrubbery at the back, butted on one side by the road and the bus stand, the other end a good two-three hundred feet away - completely empty except for a few shrubs and bushes, till Kanai’s small stationary shop.
In the middle of this huge plot of land, there stood an old Ashwathama tree, perennial, huge, imposing! The sadhu had created a small clearing at the base of this tree, burning away the shrub and the grass, the soil blackened and charred by the fire. He had planted his ornamental trident - the trishul - on the ground, the tips reddened with what seemed by red chandan powder. A small cloth tote bag hung from one of the low hanging branches - evidently containing all his worldly possessions.
The sadhu sat with his back to the tree, his eyes closed in prayer. Even in the dim light of the dusk, he seemed to have extremely sharp features, even though his face was gaunt and he had the emancipated look of someone who seldom has a proper meal. However, there was a sense of strength in him, an unexplainable aura of dark power, which however inspired more fear than fealty.
The normally god-fearing Archana instinctively folded her hands, palms touching, with that well known gesture of respect - in this case - somehow tinged with fear.
She stood rooted to the spot, trying to decide in her mind whether to approach this godman or not. On one hand, with the new pregnancy, she instinctively wanted the blessings and comfort from divine sources - and this one seemed to have quite literally fallen on her lap; on the other hand, there was a small tug of fear, a deep unnatural cold grasp of terror from deep within her which warned her to turn away from this man - and never catch his attention - ever.
Archana was brought out of her indecision by a sudden deepthroated fierce growling. A brown stray - so common on the streets of India, had entered the open land from the bush in the back. Perhaps this is where it slept during the night, finding a comfortable resting spot amidst the shrubbery and hedges. Having found an intruder who had taken over what the dog must have considered to be its own territory, he had reacted the only way he knew how - baring its canines and letting out a low fiery growl to warn the human away.
Archana was shocked by what happened next. She was about to shout out a warning to the meditating godman, when the man opened his eyes and with a cruel and brutal swiftness picked up his trishul from where he had fixed it to the ground and threw it at the crouching canine nearly fifty feet away. It happened so quickly that the poor creature barely had a moment to react, its growl dying away as the trident easily found its mark - cracking his skull open and breaking its jaw. The sadhu approached the fatally injured animal, picking up his formidable weapon once again, ostensibly to finish the job.
Archana didn’t wait around to witness the horrific aftermath. Shocked to her very core by the swift brutality and instinctive boorish behaviour of the sadhu, she gave credence to the tightly coiled fear in her stomach and moved as quickly as she could, past Kanai’s small stationary shop and beyond the bend in the road which lead to the barb wire compound of the government superintendent - Nakul’s official workspace as well as the small living quarters in the back.
She reached the sanctuary of her house, securely fastening the door behind her, breathless not only due to the sudden enforced exercise, but more so because of the sudden brutality which she had just witnessed.
Suddenly exhausted and drained, Archana went into the tiny bedroom, most of the space taken up by the large king-size wooden bed. A wedding gift from her grandparents, the huge bed covered almost three quarters of the room, leaving just enough space to fit in the old fashioned steel almirah and a mirror fixed on a hook on the wall to serve as a makeshift dresser.
Archana lay down on the bed, nauseated and deeply troubled by the sudden violence she had witnessed. She could still hear the crunching noise when the heavy iron trident hit the leaping canine, its yelp of pain. She grabbed the thick woollen blanket from the top of the almirah, wrapped it around herself, and curled up on the bed. Suddenly wracked by deep sobs, Archana wept. Wept in sympathy for the poor stray dog which was just doing what stray canines are supposed to do. Wept perhaps due to the sudden change in hormones in her body. Wept due to exhaustion and all the changes happening and about to happen. But mostly Archana wept in fear. Fear of the Sadhu who had suddenly appeared at the edge of the village, perhaps promising piety and salvation, but also promising a deep, dark violence.
X
Life moved at a breakneck pace for Archana and Nakul. Busy with Nakul’s work as the government administrator of public works, Archana’s work at the nearby primary school as a clerical staff and of course, getting ready to welcome the new addition to their family. Soon, the horrifying encounter with the Sadhu was an almost forgotten memory in Archana’s mind.
The first time they had to go back to the district hospital for a check up, Archana was worried. She hadn’t shared the incident of her first meeting with the Kapalik with Nakul. She didn’t see the point of unnecessarily worrying him and on top of that she wanted to push the memory of that incident as far away from her mind as she could.
However when they walked down the road to the bus stop early in the morning to visit the hospital, Archana was relieved to see that the godmans encampment was empty. The small camp had grown, it had a look of permanence about it now. A makeshift wooden fence created a border around the clearing around the tree. A small but sturdy wooden shed with a thatched roof had been built, a place for the worshipper to shelter in during the cold nights of the north. The large tree at the centre of it all bore various vermillion marks of sindur and sandalwood - the common symbols of hindu worship. However the man himself was nowhere to be seen.
By some strange twist of fate, Archana never ran into the man on her many visits to the clinic, passing by his ever expanding house of worship. There were obvious signs of his presence, and Nakul mentioned having seen him nearly every day, but luckily through some mystical working, Archana never had to face the strange sadhu who had taken up residence in their village.
She heard about him quite often. The young girl who came in twice a day to help with the household chores, the old bearded vegetable seller who came tooting on his van each morning, her few friends and the infrequent neighbour who dropped by, all had news about Kripali Baba.
He was known to be extremely pious, a follower of the goddess Kaali, he was known to keep the most difficult penances for himself as he tried to get closer to his venerated deity.
He was powerful too, quite capable of curing even the most incurable diseases, helping treat cancerous growth in an old coolie, treating the deadly lung infection in another. He was also known to be particularly partial to helping mothers - whom he considered to be an embodiment of his revered deity - Maa Kaali.
He was known to sit on long fasts right before every new moon, on which night he would disappear from his makeshift ashram and be away for days at a time.
Archana listened to all these tales with only half a mind, as she was completely occupied with the process of becoming a mother.
With every passing week, the small foetus growing inside of her grew more into a human and neither Archana nor Nakul could wait to get their newborn out in the world. They spent long hours planning for the baby’s name - Rabi if it was a boy and Nisha for a girl.
Their little island of happiness got a new inhabitant soon enough, when a handsome little boy, healthy and hale, was born to them at the turn of autumn. Rabi had arrived.
A precocious child, he was truly the Sun of his parents’ lives - the angel around whom Archana and Nakul spent doting around forever. Born during the auspicious Durga Puja, Rabi got the first glimpse of the majestic goddess Durga when he was barely a day old, the ecstatic parents taking him to the Durga Temple in the village to get him blessed and anointed.
The first few days of the young Rabi’s life were filled with joy, with the joyous grandparents, various aunts and uncles all coming to visit the newborn and celebrating the auspicious blessings of Maa Durga quickly followed by the Bengali Laxmi Puja - the celebration of the goddess of wealth and good fortune!
However, after a few days, the relatives all left, leaving the newborn and the new parents to their own schedule. Nakul had to rejoin his office, having used up his vacation days, and right the next week, was asked to go to the district office for some new instructions. Even though Kaali Puja was the next day, Nakul had to make the early morning journey leaving the sleeping Rabi and anxious Archana behind.
Promising her that he would come back right after the urgent meeting called by the new superintendent, Nakul left for the bus stop. Even though winter was still a few months away, the days were shorter and the morning Sun wasn’t fully up, the road lit by the reddish glow of dawn filtering through the mist which was still slowly receding.
As he passed by the ever expanding adobe of Kripali Baba, as he had done a hundred times over the past year, he saw the sadhu sitting in the traditional lotus pose - deep in meditation.
Nakul brought his hands together clasping them briefly against his forehead in the traditional show of respect, before hurrying on his way to catch the bus from Dinhata.
Archana and Rabi had a pleasant morning, the mother son duo enjoying the sunshine in the small garden which they had just outside their cottage. Rabi lay on his back on the small plastic crib - a gift from an indulgent uncle, while Archana sat on a blanket next to him, singing him lullabies, laughing at the various expressions the newborn unwittingly made.
After giving him a massage with the baby oil, Archana gave him a quick bath in lukewarm water before feeding him and putting him down for a nap in their bedroom. She sat for a moment staring at her sleeping son, her heart full of joy and satisfaction.
However she had to get moving soon, the time the baby slept being the only window when she could get any of the household chores done. Even though the girl who helped out with the household chores took care of the more manual work, Archana still had to cook for herself and Nakul. She also washed all of baby Rabi’s clothes and knickknacks on her own, unable to trust anyone else with her baby’s things.
Finishing all the household chores took a while - Archana always had an ear cocked for the slightest stirring sound. Rabi was a light sleeper and would cry his eyes out if he woke up and didn’t find his mother next to him.
Finally done with all the chores, taking a quick min long bath, and scarfing down her lunch, Archana went to bed, lying down exhausted next to her baby.
Rain in the autumn months in Kunidanga isn’t unheard of, but it isn’t a common occurrence either. Thundershowers are definitely a more uncommon sight.
Archana woke up disoriented and scared at the clap of thunder which had crashed somewhere close by.
She hadn’t realised when she had dozed off, tired from the constant crushing routine which she had as a new mother. Now, awake, she was scared at the dark cloudy sky outside, the gusting wind, the clapping thunder.
She suddenly turned - where was Rabi? The small infant was nowhere on the bed! Archana let out a wail of despair, probably her precious baby had rolled over and fallen from the bed. But then why was he silent? Why was he not crying? Was he hurt?
She scrambled off the bed, searching for Rabi, but he wasn’t there.
He was hardly old enough to turn on his belly, so it wasn’t likely that he had crawled out of the room.
Desperately, with an anguished cry, Archana searched all around the tiny house, darkened by the storm approaching, with no power. The only source of light was the now near constant flashes of lightning.
The house was empty.
There was no Rabi.
Now completely panic stricken, Archana ran outside, ignoring the large drops of icy rain drenching her, the uneven unpaved road striking her bare feet.
The road was empty, no one had ventured out in this weather. The wind and the rain made it really hard to see anything.
Not knowing which way to go Archana ran towards the bus stop, for no good reason other than knowing that’s the direction Nakul would come back from.
She passed by Kripali Baba but he was nowhere to be seen. The rain was pouring down now and there were small puddles forming on the sodden ground around the thatched hut which Kripal Baba had built for himself.
Somehow drawn in by some irresistible fear and a deep sense of foreboding, Archana turned off the road and into the venerated plot, taking trepidation filled steps towards the drenched hut. The makeshift abode didn’t have a door, just a heavy rug hung from a string like a curtain.
Archana flung the curtain aside and stepped inside - it was empty. No sign of Kripali Baba. No sign of Rabi.
There was a rolled up mattress on one corner of the tiny space, a few change of clothes on a wooden pallet, acting as a cupboard, and a few odds and ends lying here and there.
Archana didn’t know what she was expecting but she ran back out, somehow relieved to have not found her son there in the sadhu’s hut but also more scared wondering where he might be.
Much later that evening Nakul came back to find a comatose Archana wailing while a few neighbouring women tried to console her. Shocked and desolate, Nakul rushed into the house, convinced that their little boy was hiding somewhere. He turned the entire cottage upside down but alas there was no sign of the missing child.
Minutes stretched to hours, hours into days. The hapless parents remained comatose, completely clueless about what might have happened to their child. Neighbours, relatives, well wishers all had some sort of advice or the other, but none which did anything to alleviate the pain and suffering the distraught couple was going through.
Even though Nakul was fraught with an unbearable sense of loss, Archana was comatose wracked by an overwhelming sense of guilt which sat like a suffocating weight on her chest. She had been castigating herself for falling asleep and not even realising that her baby wasn’t next to her anymore.
When she heard someone saying to go to Kaali temple near Salmara, the last village on the banks of the Torsa river before it entered Bangladesh, she made up her mind to go. She had heard that the deity in that temple was particularly powerful and particularly keen to the plight of mothers - apparently the temple had been built and consecrated by a mother in memory of her child who had drowned in the river many years ago.
Nakul didn’t object. Even though he had given up hope and accepted it in his mind that their Rabi was lost, he didn’t want to dissuade Archana. They started off that very afternoon, taking a rickety old van from a kind neighbour, taking the long winding muddy roads along the bank of the river.
The Kaali Temple was old and bore a deserted look. It didn’t live up to its reputation of hosting a powerful deity who never let mothers return empty handed. There was no rush of devotees, no sound of clanging bells, no smell of incense or cut fruits - all the common sensitivities which one found afflicted near a temple.
Archana and Nakul hadn’t given any thought of bringing any offerings, they did not come here for any elaborate ritual, just to pray to a powerful deity to help them find their child.
As they walked towards the temple, they were surprised to see a lone figure sitting on the entrance steps, smoking a beedi.
Kripali Baba seemed to be equally surprised to see the couple, though he didn’t really seem to acknowledge their presence. If he had a flicker of recognition for them, he hid it well; neither did he raise an eyebrow at the couple’s dishevelled, unkempt appearance.
It was getting dark, seemingly the beginnings of another storm. Nakul hurried Archana inside the temple, they had a long way to go back.
Archana sat in front of the deity, elevated on a black stone. The deity was different from the others of the same goddess which she had ever seen. It seemed to be carved out of the same black rock as the base on which sat, the features carved out of stone. Even though the masonry was excellent, the features of the goddess had harsh edges - harsher than normal perhaps. What was most striking was her eyes. They seemed to be glowing, a strange lifelike quality quite astonishing to see in a stone carved idol.
Archana poured her heart out, dry eyed as there were no more tears left in her, she prayed to the goddess as only a mother can. She promised all that she had and all that she hadn’t, promised her own life and an eternal servitude to the goddess to have her child back.
All she wanted was for her Rabi to be back. Back to his mother’s embrace - where he belonged.
The stone deity had no answer. There was no sign, no crash of thunder as a prompt from the almighty that her deepest entreaties were heard.
Dejected, desolate Archana couldn’t control herself as she felt that the last vestiges of hope which she was nurturing in her heart were now broken. Her Rabi was not going to come back to her.
Nakul held Archana up, tears of a deep inconsolable grief flowing down his own face.
They stepped back out of the temple to dark skies. The wind had picked up and the heavy rain laden cumulonimbus clouds were racing in from the horizon shading the scenery with a dark hue.
Nakul suddenly shrank back, pulling Archana back as well. Kripali Baba lay on the ground, face up, eyes open, not breathing.
Quite dead.
There was a gaping wound in his stomach, a bloody, raw puncture.
Inside out.
As if something inside his stomach had tried to crawl out. Crawl out in a hurry. As if, that something, was being summoned. Summoned by a mother.

Book One: Edge of Madness - Chapter One Previous Next
I could pretend to be a whore. That's what Masutap thought as she stood before the gate leading to the fortress of the Highlord of the Eastlocal. Pretense was a thing she indulged in back when she'd been an ordinary woman, with ordinary ambitions. But as of now, things had changed. Things had changed drastically, for she was now a champion of the Goddess of Order. A champion who would do anything in her power to mock the very being that fed her power.
Power, yes. It was what she felt. Every time her eyes turned upon the world, she saw Order. Like bees in a hive, working towards a similar objective. Survival. Yes, they all wanted to survive. And that's where the power lay, in her ability to deny a thing's chance at survival, for when her eyes flashed red, things died.
"Pardon me sir." A man dragging a cart of coal said. She was standing in his way, she knew this of course, she'd known it since the time he'd decided to deliver the coal. She saw the strings of prophesy in the smallest of things, and oh what power lied in discernment, to see the past and the future in absolute clarity, the secret lay in following strands of Order. The Highlord of the Eastlocal always received a cart of coal at around this time every fifth day. He would serve as her witness. Coal. She smiled, remembering how Orgeeg had managed to penetrate into the Palace of Binoria, on a stack of coal. She recalled how Orgeeg thwarted her plans, then she remembered how small her plans had been.
"Pardon me... Uh lady?" She removed her cowl as the Coal merchant spoke. Her hair was longer now, she'd let it grow, it dangled askew of her ears. Dark and rich as her mother's once was. Masutap smiled at the man whose face was caked in coal dust.
"Today Shama dies! Tonight the Highlord of the EastLocal is no more!" Masutap said.
Twin daggers she had strapped to her waist were suddenly in her hands. The coal merchant stumbled back several steps, dragging the cart with him. The sun was dipping into the horizon, becoming a smeared red smudge upon the canvas of her perception. Her eyes flashed red, and the smeared smudge's light brightened, blanketing everything, making her see.
She spun and threw the dagger in her left hand. The knife whirled in the air and met the throat of a guard who was just cresting the upper walkway of the gate, he wore red leather that marked him as one of the royal guards of the Highlord. A shout sounded. The guards at the gate turned their attention to her. They were six of them, each of them dazed with the slow reception of understanding. The bubble they lived in, understanding it enabled her to see how blind humanity is. Like sheep, no wonder the Vigons ruled them so easily.
She was in their midst before they drew their swords from their scabbards. She drove the dagger into the throat of the first one, danced in a pirouette, thrust free the dagger and hurled it into the throat of another guard. Her hands were free, she curled her fingers into fists.
The Goddess Meena, Goddess of Order, spoke to her. **What is the purpose of this?*
"Oh, you'll see." Masutap said and drove a fist into the chest of one guard, her hand caved through the chest cavity, snapping the spine in half and emerging free of the Guards back. She paused for effect, the three remaining guards gawked at her. She pried her arm free of the corpse and met their panicked gazes. "Sound the alarm, you're too few to make me sweat. I need all of you. Gods! Come on you fucking cowards!"
Two of the three guards charged her, one took a swing at her head with a flat blade, the sharp edge missed her by a hair's breadth as she ducked. She brought up her knee and connected with the man's groin, raising him off the ground, legs held apart, face contorted in pain. He collapsed on the ground with a squeal akin to that of a dying rabbit. The other guard put on a stance of Grind, legs parted, right foot before the left. Knees bent. He brandished his sword before him, and the guard behind him ran off to sound the alarm. Masutap smiled.
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He slept on a bed filled with whores. Talisi women with their dark skin and white hair, Remu women with their sandy peppered hair and copper skin, Binorian women with their blonde hair and pale milky skin. He was their God and they flocked to him in worship. He owned all of them, from the frailest to the most able bodied. From the smartest to the daftest. They were all his.
The Highlord of the Eastlocal observed the head of the Talisi woman resting on his thigh, her breathing was deep, her dark naked breasts rising and falling with every inhale and exhale. Five other women slept around him, each as beautiful as the last.
Of all the men in the realm, I alone am the honored one. Shama thought. He caressed his bulging belly with his pudgy fingers the size of sausages. His appearance did pass as grotesque. Bloated, balding with a cleanly shaven head, wide of girth and bow legged. Yet, no man has conquered the bodies of women as he had done. Women who lusted after tall handsome men. Women who sought capable men with astounding intelligence. They all gave in to him, none could deny him and when they did, well, there were ways to make them yield.
An orgy at noon. That was the gist of it, and another orgy before the midnight bell. Life was good, life was beautiful. Shama had thought that after the death of King Vayin Vigon in the hands of the infamous Kolotian, Ishar, that his wealth will dwindle, that his status will come down a step. That the might of Binoria will be a fickle thing after their first loss at war. But of course, this wasn't to be. The Queen, Dahli Vigon, had received the blessing of Meena, passed down from her father. As long as one with the Jojoh Meena, the blessing of Meena, still ruled, then things will stay as they've always been. Dahli had taken over, ensuring that Binoria didn't fall into anarchy, ensuring the Vigon name remained revered. The beautiful blonde haired girl was now the most potent soul upon the realm. How he longed to have her in his bed, parting those pale thighs sinuated with muscle. She'd become quite the fair lady. And her presence oozed power.
Shama wanted her but a thought kept his desires at bay. She'd frowned at him at the recent Highlords meeting with the throne. Apparently, his tastes and businesses didn't bode well with her. The selling of flesh, that is what he partook in with the zeal of a drowning man reaching for a floating oar. Importing women from all over the realm, some came willingly, others reluctantly. But in the end they all came. Their dignity thrown away for the promise of gold vigons. They filled the whore houses and men flocked to them in throngs, lining his pocket with gold vigons
It was his inventiveness that brought him to the top, the Highlord of the Eastlocal was once a position few envied. But his eye, trained in the art of commerce, enabled him to transform the east of Binoria. Creating a network that not only benefited him, but also the crown. And in so doing, despite her frowns and her reluctance to treat with him, she still couldn't voice her displeasure. Dahli needed him, she needed him for the coin necessary to maintain her position upon the crown. To line the pockets of her Legions. She needed him, and one day he will have her. No woman can deny him, and if they did, there were ways to make them give in.
Suddenly, the twin oak doors leading to his bed chambers flew open. The Captain of the Red Guard, in charge of his safety, Shang, walked in. "Highlord." He said with a bow, the women around him stirred. Outside, a bell started ringing, slowly at first then with extreme vigor. Something is wrong. Shang's obvious panic was clear to see. The opened door allowed him to see several Red guards crowded at the door.
"What is the meaning of this?" Shama asked, his beady eyes on Shang. An inhuman scream sounded somewhere within the fortress. Shama's blood chilled in his veins.
"There's an intruder." Shang said while ravaging through the clothes on the floor. He lifted a red jerkin, two sizes too large, the right size for the Highlord. He threw it at Shama and the Highlord hastened to put it on. He ignored the bewildered looks of the naked whores.
"Intruders or intruder?" Shama asked as Shang led him out of his bed chambers. Another scream sounded, closer. The guards at the door, seven of them, crested around him as Shang led the way.
"A woman, she's alone." Shang said.
Shama gripped Shang's arm, halting him. "What do you mean by this? A singular woman causing... causing... this?"
"She's..." Shang hesitated.
"Speak! You fool!"
"She seems to be inhumanly strong and fast. I only saw her fight through a blockade of my brothers, without a sword. She tore my brothers— the Red Guards, to pieces." Shang's eyes became glazed, as if his mind was replaying the mayhem he'd bore witness to. Shama let go of his arm. The trembling was taking him again, starting at the soles of his feet, up his spine around his neck to his hands. It had been so long since he felt this, the animalistic fear confounded on the existence of an unknown, an unknown that sought to see him dead.
"Captain, what is your course of action?" Shama asked.
Shang seemed to shake himself free of his trance. "We're going to take you to the stables, get you on the fastest steed and—" A scream echoed through the halls of the fortress of the Highlord of the Eastlocal. Checking everyone in place.
"What of provisions?"
"There's no time." Shang said. He drew a flat blade from the scabbard at his side. The Guards all around mimicked him, the rustling of steel could be heard, and there, at the Western end of the fortress, screams sounded.
Shang started a brisk walk towards the East end of the Fortress. His boots, soles lined with metal, clancked upon the ground. Shama shuffled close behind Shang, panting like a mare in heat. The Red Guards around him stole glances to their rear, sweat woven with fear formed a sleek mask upon their startled faces. And in those eyes Shama was able to weigh how dire matters were.
A shout sounded from ahead, bringing Shang to an abrupt stop. "How—" His words caught in his throat as a woman caked in blood and gore emerged from the bend linking the hallway they were in to another hallway that led to the stables.
She stood before them and spread out her bloody fingers at Shama. "Highlord, nice to meet you." She waved. "Say, I hear you can show a woman a good time and I'm in quite the mood for a good time tonight."
Shama trembled, the woman seemed vaguely familiar. The angles of her cheekbones , that nose, those eyes. She resembled Dahli.
"Moran and Jesul to me!" Shang commanded. Two of the guards behind Shama moved forward to flank Shang on either side. "Employ any forms, ensure I get close to her so I may employ the form of Awe."
Awe— the grappling technique that ensured the limbs were pinned. Shama saw Shang's ploy. He needed to contain the woman so Shama could move past them and head for the stables. Shama cursed himself for the design of his fortress that allowed for only one route to the stables.
Shang, Moran and Jesul raised their broad swords. One raising it above the head in a form of Rage, the other bringing the blade level with his face in the form of Pride. Shang lowered his blade and the guards flanking him charged, he followed close behind. The woman let out a cry that could only be translated as one of glee. She charged them.
Moran brought his sword down on the woman but she slid on her knees, allowing momentum to push her beyond the reach of his blade. Jesul thrust at her, raising his right leg and angling the sword downwards at her face. But the woman dodged, spun upon the ground on the small of her back and kicked Jesul's leg from under him. Jesul fell and as he raised his head he met with the woman's fist, there was a loud crunch as his face caved in. His hand let go of the sword as his body became limp.
Shang saw the opening and dived at the woman before she could stand. The woman spread her arms wide, welcoming. Shang pounced but instead landed on the woman's upraised knees, she grabbed his leather armor by the collar and flung him behind her and onto Moran. Both of them collapsed on the ground.
She stood up and smiled at Shama.
"Who are you?" Shama asked.
"I'm Masutap, the sister of Queen Dahli." The woman answered.
"Men! Turtle formation! Swords out, save the Highlord! Move you fools!" Shang said as he picked himself up from the ground behind Masutap.
The men around Shama compacted closer. Their swords pointing at Masutap who regarded them with a smirk upon her face. They inched forward, hesitantly at first, then with confidence as they saw their Captain pick up his sword. They all came to a stand still when the eyes of the woman glowed a fierce red, as if she held the Jojoh Meena. And Shama, the Highlord of the Eastlocal, trembled before her gaze.
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Intuition, the immediate cognition without the use of conscious rational processes. It was simple for her, she dodged the sword thrusts and swipes easily. She turned either way, always beyond reach of the blades, always within striking distance. Her strength was a thing of beauty, somehow her frail wrists held the power necessary to crush a throat and crush a throat she did. She didn't tire, she didn't require forms of combat. The power of the Goddess of Order coursed through her veins and with it came rejuvenation.
The Red Guards pounced on her, seeking to put in place the form of Awe. But their efforts were in vain, she side stepped them easily, always on her feet. She saw an opening and like a river emptying into the Rankf sea she took it, delivering a punch to the side of a Guard's chest, feeling as ribs broke and punctured the lung.
**What is the purpose of this?* The Goddess Meena spoke within her mind. An ever present being whose words sought to throw her off, to calm the tempest raging within her. Masutap didn't want calm, she wanted fire and brimstone, she wanted Binoria to burn so their precious Queen will rule nothing but ash. She decreed this with a war cry, plunging into the midst of the Red Guards. She kicked two, flinging them across the hallway. One thrust with his blade but she caught it between her arm and side, she twisted the blade free of his grasp, gripped the hilt and decapitated the man in one swift motion.
She parried a strike to her left, danced free of two thrust then brought the blade down onto a Guard's head. She felt as the blade bit bone and she wasted no time in pulling it free. **What is the purpose of this?* Meena asked once more.
Masutap took three steps back to widen her periphery. "An inferno." She said as she flexed her sword hand. Suddenly, the Guard who was definitely their Captain, reached into the mass of clustered Guards pressed to the wall, away from her. And pulled the Highlord free of the men surrounding him.
"Form a blockade!" He screamed as he tagged and pulled at the distraught Highlord, leading him towards the end of the hallway. The remaining Guards blocked her vision of them. Like a fool she'd been too enthralled by the battle, allowing the Highlord to slowly slip past her, cocooned in the safety of the Guards in their turtle formation. He was making clear his escape and somehow, this aroused her, blowing upon an ember lodged deep within her until it sparked.
**What is the purpose of this?* Like a parrot, the Goddess repeated her question.
"An inferno." Masutap answered and lunged.
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He was sweating profusely, his breath caught in his throat, causing him to choke on air. He followed Shang, feeling the Captain of the Red Guard's displeasure at his inability to keep up. They descended a flight of stairs, taking three at a time. He almost collapsed but the Captain steadied him.
"Not far now my Lord. Just at that bend before us." Shang said. They took the bend and ran clear of the fortress. The horses were just ahead, they rushed to them. Shama took delight in the open air. The stables were void of people, Shama wondered where the stable hands were. They entered the stable and Shang dragged him to the first cubicle on the right where a saddled horse stood.
Shama hastily climbed onto the saddle with the aid of the Captain. Shang placed his Highlord's feet in the stirrups and moved to flank the horse. "Lord." He said, fighting for solid ground that will enable his words to come forth easily. "It has been an honor to serve under you." Shama smiled but his smile proved too little a gesture to carry the weight or their current predicament. "Ride hard for the Capital, ensure the Queen knows of all that's gone down here. I will stay back and hold her for as long as I can." Shang concluded with a crisp salute. The Highlord nodded and with the guidance of his captain upon the horse's reins, they exited the stable "She is a good steed, see the mark of her coat? She can take you far." Shang said once free of the stables. A scream sounded from within the fortress, horrid in its guttural screech. "Go now my Lor—" Shang's words died in his mouth as an explosion erupted at the first floor of the fortress, stone parted, breaking as easily as a clay vase, the window panels and the glass set in place erupted outwards with the stone. Three figures tumbled free of the eruption, tangled in the air, twisting with the fall. They landed, the woman on her feet, knees bent and a fist pressed to the ground, the other two guards lay insensate upon the ground, their bodies a mangled mess. Shang slapped the horse's hide and Shama took of in a gallop.
The Highlord turned back, watched as the woman rose free of the debri and charged Shang. The captain employed a form of Grind but the Highlord's view was hindered by a sharp turn around the cobblestones towards the gate of his fortress. The blood and bodies upon the ground unsettled the horse, forcing its pace to be more hurried and Shama was all the more grateful for it.
She has the Jojoh Meena! Shama thought with awe as the horse broke free of the fortress in a quick gallop that had him bouncing upon the saddle. His thighs felt the brunt force of his escape but he could do nothing but hold on for dear life. This is what I'm reduced to, at the end of the line dependency thrives, in old age your children are those you depend on. I never thought I'd come to rely on anyone throughout my life. Yet here I am, depending on a horse to save my skin. He turned his head back and heaved a sigh of relief. The fortress was dwindling within his periphery, he had made quick his escape. Shama will live to see another day. And when the sun rises and sets, I will bring judgment upon the woman whose very existence rivals my own. Masutap. I will hunt her, she will know no safety within the realm, she will never know peace or a good night's slee— Something unnerved him. There, at the entrance to the fortress, a figure appeared. Following the path charted by his horse. She hopes to outrun my horse? He tilted his head back and laughed. There is faith and delusion and she seems to be enamored by both. To think her capable of outrunning a horse. What a fool what a— His thoughts halted when he turned back, his mouth dropped, his jaw hanging loose. Masutap was catching up, he did not know how but she was gaining on him. She'd been a speck in the distance, barely visible against the backdrop of the fortress. But now her features were getting more defined and her limbs, they were a blur as she pushed forward with inhuman speed.
Panic drove Shama into action, he kicked his heels at the horse's flanks. Willing it to go faster. "Run you fool! Run!" He was frothing at the mouth as the horse went downhill, cutting his view of the one in pursuit. He gripped harder at the reins and screamed, slapping the horse's neck. He looked back to see Masutap emerge upon the hill and start a quick descent after him. He thought about guiding the horse into the wilderness and thought against it seeing that a gallop won't be possible with trees in the way. His only hope was in outpacing her for surely, even one with the Jojoh Meena must tire. He hoped Masutap would relent, he hoped her bloodlust would have proved sated by the guards who'd met their end by her. He hoped that he would live to see the sun climb into the sky one more time. Darkness was setting in and suddenly thoughts of the sun and it's warmth sprouted a yearning within him that made him weep. He turned his head back, she was a hundred paces away. The horse was tiring, it's gallop lazed in vigor. This is the end then, all those afternoons spent indoors hosting orgies. I should have spent them beneath the sun, I should have spent them in the sun He looked back once more, his horse barely keeping pace. The horse threw a shoe and Shama was flung off it. He tumbled onto the ground, his weight rested upon his twisted knee, the sharp pop of the joint led him into an anguished wail. The horse screamed, its fore limbs oddly twisted. The horse thrashed upon the ground and Shama rolled away. He felt weak, he felt defeated and most of all, he felt hopeless.
He lay there, watching the sky, the moon was up, barely half of it adorned the night. He wished it had been full, all those nights when he'd regarded the sky as one would a thing of no consequence. Now he found himself wishing he'd appreciated it more. In the end regrets rule the mind, for in its dying wails no sound of gratitude can be heard.
She came and stood above him, her face blocking the view of the sky. She breathed loudly and for a moment the only sounds around them were from the injured horse and her.
"Dahli will come for you." He opined despite the throbbing pain within his twisted leg.
"Shama, darling," Masutap said as she lowered herself to lie beside him. She chuckled. "Darling, that word. The Goddess Meena loves that word. She uses it a lot. I find it distasteful yet here I am. Calling you darling."
"I have not time for pleasantries." Shama interjected. "Cut my throat and be done with it."
Masutap sighed. "That's not a creative way to kill someone you know. No, how many women have suffered pain beneath you? I have to give answer to that and that means a show. I will drag you to your fortress, there I will strip you naked and castrate you. I will feed you your cock as the women whom you took advantage of watch. Then we'll douse you in Rankf Oil and set you alight."
Shama started weeping. And a new voice joined the fray, he wept, she heaved and the horse screamed.
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Today I have compiled the Top 10 Greatest Moments in Poser History. These are the moments in the history of poserdom that posers are most proud of. Any poser will squeal in excitement when these moments are brought up. These moments are not moments that a non-poser like me would enjoy. This is simply about times that posers will pose hard over. I have taken great care in compiling this list, but if there are any moments that I missed that posers love, please let me know in the comments.
10. Bergtatt being considered a respectable Black Metal album - Somehow in the history of poserdom, they were about to get Bergtatt to be considered a black metal album, and a respectable one at that. The album is barely black metal, containing like 5 minutes of anything resembling black metal, andd they are a weak 5 minutes at that. Getting this album to be considered acceptable was a big moment in poser history.
9. The 17 second scream on Linkin Park's Given Up - Is this the heaviest moment in poser history? If you ask a poser, they would probably think so. I'm not sure why Linkin Park included a 17 second scream on a proto-Imagine Dragons pop rock tune, but they did, and posers consider this to be one of the greatest moments in their history. And they may be right... this may be the heaviest moment in pop rock history.
8. TOOL's Fear Inoculum knocks Taylor Swift off of the Billboard #1 position after only 1 week - Of the Taylor Swift albums to reach #1 (which are all of them except her debut), Taylor Swift's shortest charting album at the #1 spot on the Billboard 200 is 2019's Lover. This album was knocked off the number 1 after only one week by none other than TOOL's Fear Inoculum. Those of you that were alive in 2019 know that this was a huge moment for posers, and swifties were pissed. They didn't even know who TOOL was, and were pissed that a bunch of 40 year old posers got their favorite hard rock band's first drop in over a decade to the number 1 spot at the expense of Taylor Swift. A bonus here is that the song Fear Inoculum also stopped Taylor Swift's 10 minute version of All Too Well from being the longest song to chart on the Billboard 100 (this was later broken by one of the songs on Andre 3000's flute album).
7. Deftones blows up on TikTok - Deftones is arguably the most popular band on TikTok right now, and boy has that brought a bunch of posers into the genre. Deftones being considered metal is a travesty as half of their catalog isn't even rock music, much less metal. Not only has Deftones popularity benefitted themselves, but a lot of poser bands from their era have also blown up including from other adjacent genres including, alt rock, industrial rock, rap rock, shoegaze, etc. This was probably the worst thing to happen to the metal scene since metalcore was invented.
6. The funk drop on Sleep Token's The Summoning - If Deftones isn't the biggest band on TikTok, then Sleep Token definitely is. The funk drop on Sleep Token's The Summoning will make any poser cream right there in their pants. Truthfully one of the most abhorrent moments to ever be associated with metal by the masses, this is one of the proudest moments for posers. It encapsulates everything posers love... cringe and nothing related to metal.
5. Most brutal metal scream 2012 - One of the biggest metal memes is most brutal metal scream 2012. This meme is definitely a product of its time, but make no mistake that this brought a ton of posers into the metal scene. Everything about the meme is sneakily complimentary to the progressive hard rock band featured in the clip, and spawned numerous iterations of the meme using the same song and other tracks. Truly a moment where posers can feel like metal went viral, but unfortunately, no actual metal was found.
4. Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 2 is released in 2000 - One of the defining moments in posing history, Tony Hawk Pro Skater 2 is released. Not only is the a big moment for skateboard posers, but also for metal posers. The soundtrack of this game is full of pose classics that brought a lot of people into the metal scene that really don't belong. There is no actual metal to be found on this soundtrack, but people sure thought there was. One of the earliest examples of posing being brought to the mainstream. Also a mid game.
3. Cannibal Corpse appears in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective - While considered an originator of the brutal death metal sound, Cannibal Corpse is one of the biggest sellout and poser bands of all time. This band has been described many times as gutturals over pop music, and I will echo that description. For those of you that weren't around back then, Jim Carey was one of the biggest actors during this era, so Cannibal Corpse appearing in one of his movies is one of the biggest forms of selling out to ever happen in poser history. There is no doubt that most of the poser fans that Cannibal Corpse has come directly or indirectly from their appearance in this movie as this brought brutal death metal to the mainstream... yes, the mainstream. POSE.
2. Korn drops their self-titled debut, redefining posing if not outright inventing it - Prior to Korn's debut there wasn't really poser music. Sure there was hard rock being described as metal such as Judas Priest and Iron Maiden, but at that time there was not much heavier than those bands. Korn's debut brought in a wave of posing that has not been seen since. Although Korn is only responsible for their brand of posing, so much posing was invented after they dropped. Metalcore, Melodic Death Metal, Melodic Metalcore, Djent, Sludge Metal... these all came out around the same time that Korn dropped. I personally believe that since Korn made posing acceptable, other bands felt empowered to go out and make their own styles of posing music. While poser genres like Alt Metal, Groove Metal, and Industrial Metal were influences of Korn and similar bands, those all became mainstream and popularized after Korn made it ok to pose. I'm not saying Korn is responsible for a genre like blackgaze being considered acceptable to play, but honestly I am saying that. There was a time when metal was protected from outsiders, but now it is considered ok to produce bastardized versions of great music, and Korn is the originator of that.
1. Limp Bizkit performs Break Stuff at Woodstock 99 - The night the posers took over... Limp Bizkit performing Break Stuff at Woodstock 99 empowered posers to unleash their inner rage against the world. The average poser is beaten down, broken, and bruised by the world. They're not accepted in society, but also not accepted in the metal community. I can't imagine not belonging in the real world, but also not being committed enough to listen to real metal. If you take 300k posers and put them on a blacktop in the middle of summer and provide them no water or shade or toilet paper, and then you play them THE poser anthem... Shit will go down. The hundreds of thousands of posers in attendance tore down the entire place as Limp Bizkit proceeded to play Break Stuff. This is an easy choice as the greatest moment in poser history, as this is the closest that posers have ever come to actually being metal.
Let me know if I missed anything in the comments.

Archana stepped off from the bus, pulling the shawl even more tightly against herself, taking care to wrap the woollen garment around her ears to protect against the bustling wind. Even with her full saree, socks, a cardigan and the shawl, she had been shivering in the rickety bus, with the broken glasses and wooden window shutters letting more of the cold air in than keeping it out.
Kunidanga was not the most crowded village in the district to begin with, and now at the end of December, with the temperatures hovering in the single digits, the roads wore a deserted look in the fading light of the dusk. Situated on the banks of the Torsa river in North Bengal, it was a tiny little hamlet which was barely a speck on the map. Archana was the only one who got off the bus, which left immediately for the final stop at Dinhata - nearly ten miles due south near the border with Bangladesh.
The bus stop, with its tin roof having long lost its shine, the mandatory stray dog lying in a corner in a ball of old newspapers, the walls completely covered in graffiti and posters of everything from the latest theatrical releases in the one movie theatre of the district in CoochBehar, the latest political agenda for the upcoming elections, ones extolling the virtue of the famous palmist Sri Abhaynanda while others that extolled the brilliance of D K Lodh - the infamous ‘sex doctor’.
Even with the musky odour of too many sweat stained bodies, months of public urination and defecation which hadn’t been washed away since the last rains, Archana sat down on the stone bench - just to balance herself for a moment.
She slowly patted her belly, calming the little one inside.
It was just the first trimester, actually the very beginning of it. Today was her first visit to the doctor in the district hospital. Archana had been experiencing the tell-tale symptoms of pregnancy for the past few days and Nakul was absolutely, joyously certain, that they were going to be parents! They had gone to the doctor together in the first bus from Kunidanga, starting at the break of dawn. Nakul had fidgeted the whole way there, nervous excitement bubbling through at every second while Archana simply tried to control her nausea - made worse by the rolling motion of the rickety old bus on the untarred roads. Waiting for the first consultation with the doctor, going for the blood tests, then another long wait for the reports and then the final confirmation from the doctor had taken them the whole day.
A quick meal at the hospital canteen, they had to rush to catch the last bus departing for Kunidanga. Nakul had gotten down from the bus at the last stop, he needed to visit the government depot there to collect some documents for his job as Kunidanga’s public works superintendent.
Their small government issued bungalow was not too far from the bus stop and Archana was confident that it was a distance she could cover well enough on her own - having taken the same short route countless times in the past. She stood up, clutching her small purse with some spare change and the regulation IDs, a bit tired, but with the additional spring in the step which happiness sometimes brings you!
Archana had only gone a few steps when she stopped, her senses overwhelmed by the unique smell of burning incense, fresh flowers and freshly cut fruit and milk - that typical combination which filled the air around all hindu temples - a smell so common and deeply ingrained among the god fearing Bengalis.
A few more steps along the dusty corporation road, and the source of the smell became clear to Archana. A sadhu - a kapalika to be more precise from the way he was dressed - had set up a small tenement on the empty plot of land just off the road, hardly a hundred feet from the bus stand.
A large man, well toned but not really muscular, the skin tanned with constant exposure to the elements, a thick beard and wrapped in the regulation red dhoti and uttariya sat in prayer.
It was a deep plot of land, opening up into the forested shrubbery at the back, butted on one side by the road and the bus stand, the other end a good two-three hundred feet away - completely empty except for a few shrubs and bushes, till Kanai’s small stationary shop.
In the middle of this huge plot of land, there stood an old Ashwathama tree, perennial, huge, imposing! The sadhu had created a small clearing at the base of this tree, burning away the shrub and the grass, the soil blackened and charred by the fire. He had planted his ornamental trident - the trishul - on the ground, the tips reddened with what seemed by red chandan powder. A small cloth tote bag hung from one of the low hanging branches - evidently containing all his worldly possessions.
The sadhu sat with his back to the tree, his eyes closed in prayer. Even in the dim light of the dusk, he seemed to have extremely sharp features, even though his face was gaunt and he had the emancipated look of someone who seldom has a proper meal. However, there was a sense of strength in him, an unexplainable aura of dark power, which however inspired more fear than fealty.
The normally god-fearing Archana instinctively folded her hands, palms touching, with that well known gesture of respect - in this case - somehow tinged with fear.
She stood rooted to the spot, trying to decide in her mind whether to approach this godman or not. On one hand, with the new pregnancy, she instinctively wanted the blessings and comfort from divine sources - and this one seemed to have quite literally fallen on her lap; on the other hand, there was a small tug of fear, a deep unnatural cold grasp of terror from deep within her which warned her to turn away from this man - and never catch his attention - ever.
Archana was brought out of her indecision by a sudden deepthroated fierce growling. A brown stray - so common on the streets of India, had entered the open land from the bush in the back. Perhaps this is where it slept during the night, finding a comfortable resting spot amidst the shrubbery and hedges. Having found an intruder who had taken over what the dog must have considered to be its own territory, he had reacted the only way he knew how - baring its canines and letting out a low fiery growl to warn the human away.
Archana was shocked by what happened next. She was about to shout out a warning to the meditating godman, when the man opened his eyes and with a cruel and brutal swiftness picked up his trishul from where he had fixed it to the ground and threw it at the crouching canine nearly fifty feet away. It happened so quickly that the poor creature barely had a moment to react, its growl dying away as the trident easily found its mark - cracking his skull open and breaking its jaw. The sadhu approached the fatally injured animal, picking up his formidable weapon once again, ostensibly to finish the job.
Archana didn’t wait around to witness the horrific aftermath. Shocked to her very core by the swift brutality and instinctive boorish behaviour of the sadhu, she gave credence to the tightly coiled fear in her stomach and moved as quickly as she could, past Kanai’s small stationary shop and beyond the bend in the road which lead to the barb wire compound of the government superintendent - Nakul’s official workspace as well as the small living quarters in the back.
She reached the sanctuary of her house, securely fastening the door behind her, breathless not only due to the sudden enforced exercise, but more so because of the sudden brutality which she had just witnessed.
Suddenly exhausted and drained, Archana went into the tiny bedroom, most of the space taken up by the large king-size wooden bed. A wedding gift from her grandparents, the huge bed covered almost three quarters of the room, leaving just enough space to fit in the old fashioned steel almirah and a mirror fixed on a hook on the wall to serve as a makeshift dresser.
Archana lay down on the bed, nauseated and deeply troubled by the sudden violence she had witnessed. She could still hear the crunching noise when the heavy iron trident hit the leaping canine, its yelp of pain. She grabbed the thick woollen blanket from the top of the almirah, wrapped it around herself, and curled up on the bed. Suddenly wracked by deep sobs, Archana wept. Wept in sympathy for the poor stray dog which was just doing what stray canines are supposed to do. Wept perhaps due to the sudden change in hormones in her body. Wept due to exhaustion and all the changes happening and about to happen. But mostly Archana wept in fear. Fear of the Sadhu who had suddenly appeared at the edge of the village, perhaps promising piety and salvation, but also promising a deep, dark violence.
X
Life moved at a breakneck pace for Archana and Nakul. Busy with Nakul’s work as the government administrator of public works, Archana’s work at the nearby primary school as a clerical staff and of course, getting ready to welcome the new addition to their family. Soon, the horrifying encounter with the Sadhu was an almost forgotten memory in Archana’s mind.
The first time they had to go back to the district hospital for a check up, Archana was worried. She hadn’t shared the incident of her first meeting with the Kapalik with Nakul. She didn’t see the point of unnecessarily worrying him and on top of that she wanted to push the memory of that incident as far away from her mind as she could.
However when they walked down the road to the bus stop early in the morning to visit the hospital, Archana was relieved to see that the godmans encampment was empty. The small camp had grown, it had a look of permanence about it now. A makeshift wooden fence created a border around the clearing around the tree. A small but sturdy wooden shed with a thatched roof had been built, a place for the worshipper to shelter in during the cold nights of the north. The large tree at the centre of it all bore various vermillion marks of sindur and sandalwood - the common symbols of hindu worship. However the man himself was nowhere to be seen.
By some strange twist of fate, Archana never ran into the man on her many visits to the clinic, passing by his ever expanding house of worship. There were obvious signs of his presence, and Nakul mentioned having seen him nearly every day, but luckily through some mystical working, Archana never had to face the strange sadhu who had taken up residence in their village.
She heard about him quite often. The young girl who came in twice a day to help with the household chores, the old bearded vegetable seller who came tooting on his van each morning, her few friends and the infrequent neighbour who dropped by, all had news about Kripali Baba.
He was known to be extremely pious, a follower of the goddess Kaali, he was known to keep the most difficult penances for himself as he tried to get closer to his venerated deity.
He was powerful too, quite capable of curing even the most incurable diseases, helping treat cancerous growth in an old coolie, treating the deadly lung infection in another. He was also known to be particularly partial to helping mothers - whom he considered to be an embodiment of his revered deity - Maa Kaali.
He was known to sit on long fasts right before every new moon, on which night he would disappear from his makeshift ashram and be away for days at a time.
Archana listened to all these tales with only half a mind, as she was completely occupied with the process of becoming a mother.
With every passing week, the small foetus growing inside of her grew more into a human and neither Archana nor Nakul could wait to get their newborn out in the world. They spent long hours planning for the baby’s name - Rabi if it was a boy and Nisha for a girl.
Their little island of happiness got a new inhabitant soon enough, when a handsome little boy, healthy and hale, was born to them at the turn of autumn. Rabi had arrived.
A precocious child, he was truly the Sun of his parents’ lives - the angel around whom Archana and Nakul spent doting around forever. Born during the auspicious Durga Puja, Rabi got the first glimpse of the majestic goddess Durga when he was barely a day old, the ecstatic parents taking him to the Durga Temple in the village to get him blessed and anointed.
The first few days of the young Rabi’s life were filled with joy, with the joyous grandparents, various aunts and uncles all coming to visit the newborn and celebrating the auspicious blessings of Maa Durga quickly followed by the Bengali Laxmi Puja - the celebration of the goddess of wealth and good fortune!
However, after a few days, the relatives all left, leaving the newborn and the new parents to their own schedule. Nakul had to rejoin his office, having used up his vacation days, and right the next week, was asked to go to the district office for some new instructions. Even though Kaali Puja was the next day, Nakul had to make the early morning journey leaving the sleeping Rabi and anxious Archana behind.
Promising her that he would come back right after the urgent meeting called by the new superintendent, Nakul left for the bus stop. Even though winter was still a few months away, the days were shorter and the morning Sun wasn’t fully up, the road lit by the reddish glow of dawn filtering through the mist which was still slowly receding.
As he passed by the ever expanding adobe of Kripali Baba, as he had done a hundred times over the past year, he saw the sadhu sitting in the traditional lotus pose - deep in meditation.
Nakul brought his hands together clasping them briefly against his forehead in the traditional show of respect, before hurrying on his way to catch the bus from Dinhata.
Archana and Rabi had a pleasant morning, the mother son duo enjoying the sunshine in the small garden which they had just outside their cottage. Rabi lay on his back on the small plastic crib - a gift from an indulgent uncle, while Archana sat on a blanket next to him, singing him lullabies, laughing at the various expressions the newborn unwittingly made.
After giving him a massage with the baby oil, Archana gave him a quick bath in lukewarm water before feeding him and putting him down for a nap in their bedroom. She sat for a moment staring at her sleeping son, her heart full of joy and satisfaction.
However she had to get moving soon, the time the baby slept being the only window when she could get any of the household chores done. Even though the girl who helped out with the household chores took care of the more manual work, Archana still had to cook for herself and Nakul. She also washed all of baby Rabi’s clothes and knickknacks on her own, unable to trust anyone else with her baby’s things.
Finishing all the household chores took a while - Archana always had an ear cocked for the slightest stirring sound. Rabi was a light sleeper and would cry his eyes out if he woke up and didn’t find his mother next to him.
Finally done with all the chores, taking a quick min long bath, and scarfing down her lunch, Archana went to bed, lying down exhausted next to her baby.
Rain in the autumn months in Kunidanga isn’t unheard of, but it isn’t a common occurrence either. Thundershowers are definitely a more uncommon sight.
Archana woke up disoriented and scared at the clap of thunder which had crashed somewhere close by.
She hadn’t realised when she had dozed off, tired from the constant crushing routine which she had as a new mother. Now, awake, she was scared at the dark cloudy sky outside, the gusting wind, the clapping thunder.
She suddenly turned - where was Rabi? The small infant was nowhere on the bed! Archana let out a wail of despair, probably her precious baby had rolled over and fallen from the bed. But then why was he silent? Why was he not crying? Was he hurt?
She scrambled off the bed, searching for Rabi, but he wasn’t there.
He was hardly old enough to turn on his belly, so it wasn’t likely that he had crawled out of the room.
Desperately, with an anguished cry, Archana searched all around the tiny house, darkened by the storm approaching, with no power. The only source of light was the now near constant flashes of lightning.
The house was empty.
There was no Rabi.
Now completely panic stricken, Archana ran outside, ignoring the large drops of icy rain drenching her, the uneven unpaved road striking her bare feet.
The road was empty, no one had ventured out in this weather. The wind and the rain made it really hard to see anything.
Not knowing which way to go Archana ran towards the bus stop, for no good reason other than knowing that’s the direction Nakul would come back from.
She passed by Kripali Baba but he was nowhere to be seen. The rain was pouring down now and there were small puddles forming on the sodden ground around the thatched hut which Kripal Baba had built for himself.
Somehow drawn in by some irresistible fear and a deep sense of foreboding, Archana turned off the road and into the venerated plot, taking trepidation filled steps towards the drenched hut. The makeshift abode didn’t have a door, just a heavy rug hung from a string like a curtain.
Archana flung the curtain aside and stepped inside - it was empty. No sign of Kripali Baba. No sign of Rabi.
There was a rolled up mattress on one corner of the tiny space, a few change of clothes on a wooden pallet, acting as a cupboard, and a few odds and ends lying here and there.
Archana didn’t know what she was expecting but she ran back out, somehow relieved to have not found her son there in the sadhu’s hut but also more scared wondering where he might be.
Much later that evening Nakul came back to find a comatose Archana wailing while a few neighbouring women tried to console her. Shocked and desolate, Nakul rushed into the house, convinced that their little boy was hiding somewhere. He turned the entire cottage upside down but alas there was no sign of the missing child.
Minutes stretched to hours, hours into days. The hapless parents remained comatose, completely clueless about what might have happened to their child. Neighbours, relatives, well wishers all had some sort of advice or the other, but none which did anything to alleviate the pain and suffering the distraught couple was going through.
Even though Nakul was fraught with an unbearable sense of loss, Archana was comatose wracked by an overwhelming sense of guilt which sat like a suffocating weight on her chest. She had been castigating herself for falling asleep and not even realising that her baby wasn’t next to her anymore.
When she heard someone saying to go to Kaali temple near Salmara, the last village on the banks of the Torsa river before it entered Bangladesh, she made up her mind to go. She had heard that the deity in that temple was particularly powerful and particularly keen to the plight of mothers - apparently the temple had been built and consecrated by a mother in memory of her child who had drowned in the river many years ago.
Nakul didn’t object. Even though he had given up hope and accepted it in his mind that their Rabi was lost, he didn’t want to dissuade Archana. They started off that very afternoon, taking a rickety old van from a kind neighbour, taking the long winding muddy roads along the bank of the river.
The Kaali Temple was old and bore a deserted look. It didn’t live up to its reputation of hosting a powerful deity who never let mothers return empty handed. There was no rush of devotees, no sound of clanging bells, no smell of incense or cut fruits - all the common sensitivities which one found afflicted near a temple.
Archana and Nakul hadn’t given any thought of bringing any offerings, they did not come here for any elaborate ritual, just to pray to a powerful deity to help them find their child.
As they walked towards the temple, they were surprised to see a lone figure sitting on the entrance steps, smoking a beedi.
Kripali Baba seemed to be equally surprised to see the couple, though he didn’t really seem to acknowledge their presence. If he had a flicker of recognition for them, he hid it well; neither did he raise an eyebrow at the couple’s dishevelled, unkempt appearance.
It was getting dark, seemingly the beginnings of another storm. Nakul hurried Archana inside the temple, they had a long way to go back.
Archana sat in front of the deity, elevated on a black stone. The deity was different from the others of the same goddess which she had ever seen. It seemed to be carved out of the same black rock as the base on which sat, the features carved out of stone. Even though the masonry was excellent, the features of the goddess had harsh edges - harsher than normal perhaps. What was most striking was her eyes. They seemed to be glowing, a strange lifelike quality quite astonishing to see in a stone carved idol.
Archana poured her heart out, dry eyed as there were no more tears left in her, she prayed to the goddess as only a mother can. She promised all that she had and all that she hadn’t, promised her own life and an eternal servitude to the goddess to have her child back.
All she wanted was for her Rabi to be back. Back to his mother’s embrace - where he belonged.
The stone deity had no answer. There was no sign, no crash of thunder as a prompt from the almighty that her deepest entreaties were heard.
Dejected, desolate Archana couldn’t control herself as she felt that the last vestiges of hope which she was nurturing in her heart were now broken. Her Rabi was not going to come back to her.
Nakul held Archana up, tears of a deep inconsolable grief flowing down his own face.
They stepped back out of the temple to dark skies. The wind had picked up and the heavy rain laden cumulonimbus clouds were racing in from the horizon shading the scenery with a dark hue.
Nakul suddenly shrank back, pulling Archana back as well. Kripali Baba lay on the ground, face up, eyes open, not breathing.
Quite dead.
There was a gaping wound in his stomach, a bloody, raw puncture.
Inside out.
As if something inside his stomach had tried to crawl out. Crawl out in a hurry. As if, that something, was being summoned. Summoned by a mother.

I was hearing the famous "Turbo.sfx" and I thought i was going nuts until I saw the gauge.
I got downvoted on a previous post, some people were saying "stock turbo is just natural aspiration, doesn't mean the car is turbocharged by default" well guess what.
I thought that maybe devs mixed up turbocharged and supercharged, since many 55 AMGs are supercharged. But the 5.5 V8 in the SLK is indeed naturally aspirated.
Also noticed that my character is going for the lever to change gears despite the car being an automatic with paddles. You can't actually use the lever to change gears in the SLK, it's just for N/D/M, M stands for manual and only activate the paddles.
So much for attention to details and "experience" huh.

So I have been working on a massive backyard project for the past 3 weeks, and am quite literally 98% done. I’m more than happy to be done with it, but I made a grave mistake. The bug spray I used wasn’t meant to be on skin but for the actual bugs-like wasps and whatnot…and now I’m feeling the effects… So. For context, my area has a lot of mosquitoes this time of year. It doesn’t matter what time of day or how hot it is, there’s going to be at least 1 mosquito making a nest out there. So, to prevent the inevitable onslaught of mosquito bites, I sought out a bug spray we had. I couldn’t find the famous “off!” red can that I had seen a day or two prior, so I opted for the garage and what it may have had. Fortunately for me at the time, I found 2 cans of some sort of bug spray and I internally cheered. I made sure to read the instructions, and whatnot, and it said it did the job. “Hot shot flying insect killer”, it should be the blue one. To say it kept the bugs away was and is an understatement. When I tell you that I was overjoyed when it didn’t come out after 4 hours of straight digging and shoveling and mud going everywhere, I was over here crying with joy at how good it worked. It smelled like the usual bug spray too, so I wasn’t thinking about anything that could go wrong, although they have started to rebel, but for the most part, they literally can not even touch my skin it’s that good of a spray. I basically used this thing everyday, for the past 3 weeks, with 1 week off, and then resumed last week and had no issues, or anything. So basically, I used it everyday for around 5-6 hours straight and applied when I felt it was necessary, then I would get a shower and be done for the day. But today I messed up. This morning, me and my dad were in the yard, he was picking weeds and I was going to Starbucks. Thinking it would help him, I sprayed his arm and leg with what I could before he started rejecting it. Hours later, i suddenly felt like I just got out of surgery, or like I was about to pass out. I didn’t think too much of it, cause I thought, “hey what if I’m just dehydrated?” When I got some water I felt 10x better, but a minute after I’d go back to the former. I also thought, that maybe since I spent so much time outside these past 3 weeks it was catching up to me, so I just ignored it. Besides, it was my bedtime anyway, but I had trouble eating when I got so fatigued that I couldn’t even chew. I felt it was weeird but I assumed it would just be slept off (it did). I woke up hours later, and couldn’t go back to bed. So from 11PM to 2:30AM I was having literal dreams about my pond I made (can’t remember the details, unfortunately). Before I went to Starbucks, I also had to visit somewhere that had a forested area and I picked some plants to bring back home (it’s an area where basically for every 5 pine trees there was like 40 or more growing in the most ridiculous places. One was even growing on a stick. A STICK I TELL YOU. I wound up taking 6 of them home, cause why not) I told my dad about my day and he told me that that bug spray was only for the wasp nests and that the directions say to not get it on skin. I thought I read it, but maybe I didn’t and just made n error or just did read it and just assumed it was normal. Apparently, it possibly damaged me, because according to my dad, “it’s liver poison”. He also told me “when you sprayed that on me this morning my arm went numb.” So I am pretty sure I messed up badly. I thought it was literally just but spray and now I could be experiencing liver damage, or worse-idk yet. My dog was also around me a lot too so idk if she was affected.
TL;DR I mistakenly used "Hot Shot Flying Insect Killer," a spray meant for wasps, on my skin for 3 weeks to fend off mosquitoes while working on a backyard project. Recently, I felt extremely fatigued and realized the spray isn't meant for skin, which my dad pointed out is toxic. Now I worry about potential health issues and that my dog might also be affected.

I [F] matched with a guy on Hinge and as we got to know each other I found that he matched all that I would want in a man. Before we exchanged numbers, he let me know he had POTS and that he could understand If I didnt want to talk to him anymore. That was far from what I wanted. I saw him beyond his ailment and still do. We talked about our first date- and beyond and what it would have to be like and I was more than happy with staying in because I said it gave me a chance to be inventive and we didnt have to be traditional. I was excited so that he could see what mattered to me was my connection with him which was so strong. He had a family trip and when he got back we were supposed to have a video chat and he ended up having bad flare ups. I was very understanding. He made me aware that it had been bad and dating had been difficult and again said if i wanted to go then he'd understand. He told me almost 4 weeks ago hed be starting back working from home and he was going to be working avidly to find a regimen to get his situation under control again so that we could go out but wouldnt be as available. I totally understood that. I had been doing tons of research, reaching out to friends who could help his healing to allow him some normalcy to the life hes lost, finding different therapies and even offered to fly him to treatment wherever was needed as I'm a flight attendant with benefits. He seemed interested but hasn't acted on those offers. Not only that the communication has dwindled and he will post things on Instagram but the only way I hear anything from him in about a month is if i reach out to him. I brought it to his attention that I dont require to hear from him every day. That if he can post on social media that I can get a text or a voicenote of some sort- anything really. He will send a risque pic in less than 5 minutes if inspired by me but the minimal thing I need is hard. I understand not wanting to talk around family as I'm a stranger and he says he wants me around but what i ask and want is so little. I give the benefit of the doubt of depression associated with this as when your life is flipped upside down in a year that it can be emasculating and other things, I consistently stress I'm here for it all. We've been talking since a little before A little before April. I haven't achieved a phone call or vidchat. Im starting to think I'm just a pen pal or that i was an extreme crush/infatuation- which happens often. I'm kind and understanding. I told him if he wanted me to go then to say so but I also dont want to be used. I wouldnt hate him for setting me up for false expectations, Id just be disappointed and I'd let him go. He's not obligated to do anything and I hate asking for anything. I only expressed things because he said I should and he said he'd tried to be better but its not hard. I dont want to force myself where I'm not wanted. He's beautiful inside and out. I want to be there every step of the way because i empathize with his position from a different past circumstance, but I've no incentive. I'm patient and I dont have pots and am on the outside looking in. Pretty conflicted and/or maybe I'm just in my head.

I'm a Marxist and recently saw this quote criticizing anarchism/ the anarchist societal form of autonomous communes, curious of what you guys think about it and if you have any criticism of it. I'm not going to put it in the quote version text thingy because it's long.
From: https://www.international-communist-party.org/BasicTexts/English/57Fundam.htm
Quote:
It is a very strange fact that the libertarians, who around 1870 or so engaged in their polemics against Marx in the First International, and whose short-sightedness we have already referred to, are still widely considered to be "to the Left" of Marx. Actually, in spite of their verbal opposition to militarism and patriotism, they never grasped the importance of going beyond the purely national level when criticising bourgeois economy and studying how it spreads onto the global scale.
Marx described the formation of the international market as the ultimate and crowning historical task of the modern bourgeoisie; after that it only remained to fight to establish the proletarian dictatorship in the countries which were most advanced, and, after the destruction of the national states which arose alongside capitalism, an expansion onto an ever vaster scale of the power of the international proletarian class. The anarchist proposal, when not actually advocating unlimited autonomy for all individuals, whatever their class, was to destroy the capitalist State so as to replace it with small social units, the famous communities of producers, which after the collapse of the central government would supposedly be totally autonomous, even with respect to each other.
The rather abstract form of future society based on local "communes" doesn’t seem that different from today’s bourgeois society, and its economic procedures don’t seem that different either. Those who set out to describe this future society, such as Bakunin and Kropotkin, thought it enough merely to link it to a set of philosophical ideologisms, rather than to an analysis of historically verified laws of social production. When they did take up Marx’s critique, it was only in the most minimal and selective way since they were unable to infer the conclusions implied by the theory: they were impressed by the concept of surplus value (which is an economic theorem) but used it merely to support their moral condemnation of exploitation, which they saw as arising from human beings exerting "power" over each other. Unable to attain the theoretical level of dialectics, they were debarred from understanding, for instance, that in the transition from the appropriation of the physical product of the serf’s labour by the landowning lord to the production of surplus value in the capitalist system, an actual "liberation" from more crushing forms of servitude and oppression has taken place; for even if the division into classes, and the existence of a State power, still remained a historical necessity, and benefited the bourgeois class, in that period it also benefited the whole of the rest of society as well.
One of the principal causes of the greater output of labour as a whole, and of the higher average remuneration for the same amount of labour, was the creation of the nationwide market and the division of productive labour into different branches of industry, with the latter enabled to exchange their fully and semi‑worked products within a zone of free circulation of commodities, and increasingly impelled to extend this zone beyond the State boundaries.
This increase (fully condoning the Marxist view) in the wealth of the bourgeoisie and in the power of each of each of its states, and along with this the production of surplus-value, does not immediately mean that an absolute increase in the gross revenue extracted is at the expense of the lower classes. To a certain extent, it is still compatible with a lessening of the hours of labour and with a general improvement in the satisfaction of needs. Therefore, the idea of dismantling capitalism by breaking up the national State into little islands of power, characteristic of the pre‑bourgeois Middle Ages, makes no sense at all. It would clearly be a retrograde step to force the economy back into these limited confines, even if the sole aim were to prevent a few lazy, non‑workers from appropriating any of the resources from each of the little communes.
In this system of egalitarian communes, it is certain that the cost of the daily food supply, calculated in terms of the hours of labour of all the adult members of the community (leaving aside the niggling question of those who didn’t want to work, and who would compel them to do so!) would be more than if production was organised at the level of the nation, take modern France for instance, where there is a continuous and regular economic traffic between the different communes, and a given manufactured article is obtained from the places where it is produced with least difficulty; even if the "hundred families" still gobble everything up for free.
In fact, these various communes would have no option but to trade amongst each other on the basis of free exchange. And even if we admitted that a "universal consciousness" would suffice to peacefully regulate these relations between the different locally based economic nuclei, there would still be nothing to prevent one commune extracting surplus value from another due to a fluctuating equivalence between one commodity and another.
This imaginary system of little economic communes is nothing more than a philosophical caricature of that age‑old petty-bourgeois dream self-government. It can easily be seen that this system is just as mercantile as the one which existed in Stalin’s Russia or in the increasingly anti‑proletarian post‑Stalinist Russia, and it is equally clear that it involves a totally bourgeois system of monetary equivalents (without a State mint?!) which is bound to weigh down the average productive labourer far more than a system of national or imperialist, large‑scale industries.

From the fold-out posters in the commander decks--
OMO, QUEEN OF VESUVA
Queen Omo of Vesuva is actually the shared name of identical twin sisters who together rule the island of Vesuva on Dominaria. One of the sisters oversees Vesuva's future, envisioning what it could become; the other surveys Vesuva's past, ensuring that whatever path the island takes is rooted in wisdom and history. As Queen Omo, they also have command of Vesuva's repository of flowstone, a mineral that they can reshape and use as a power source at will.
The sisters' collaborative rule is enabled by a magical rite they voluntarily underwent when they assumed queenship. By surrendering their individual names and assuming a single one, they were bound together and capable of acting virtually as a single entity. They oversaw the reconstruction of Vesuva after its devastation during the Rift Era and have ever since been vigilant of maintaining its wards to protect the island from outsiders.
SATYA, AETHERFLUX GENIUS
As the inventor of aetherflux reservoirs, the eccentric Satya is one of the two figures primarily responsible for ushering in the era of the Great Aether Boom, when aether was refined and made accessible to all. Though historians tend to overemphasize the role of Avaati Vya, who discovered how to harness aether in the first place, in reality theirs was an equal collaboration in which both partners encouraged and inspired each other. Even during his own time, Satya was indifferent toward fame or recognition, happy to let Avaati step into the limelight so he could focus on what he really cared about: new creations.
As an architect and inventor, Satya was known for his frequent wild tangents and half-finishing works-in-progress whenever a new idea caught his fancy. Although he's best known for designing the aetherflux reservoir, he's also credited with countless other inventions, including highly efficient aethership engine designs as well as a variety of unsolvable puzzleknots. He devoted much of his time trying to perfect a foolproof gremlin-repelling device, and it remained as one of his biggest frustrations that he was never able to find a permanent solution for those pests.
ULALEK, FUSED ATROCITY
The planeswalker Ugin once compared the appearance of Eldrazi on a plane to the appearance of hands being dipped into a pool of water. That said, Ulalek is what happens when two Eldrazi titans dip into a plane at the same location from the Blind Eternities. An amalgamation of Ulamog and Kozilek lineages, Ulalek's presence amplifies both the innate tendencies of Ulamog spawn to warp physical properties and Kozilek spawn to warp reality. Its own influence on a plane is constantly shifting, as if the substance of its being is constantly in flux.
Ulalek has only ever appeared once, on a plane that has long since been reduced to a drained husk and whose name has faded from memory. Since then, it is unknown if Ulalek as a being still exists, or if it came apart once the aspects of Ulamog and Kozilek that made it up withdrew back into the Blind Eternities...
DISA THE RESTLESS
Disa the Restless was a Kjeldoran explorer during the Ice Age on Dominaria. She was married to the Elder Druid Kolbjörn and was the adoptive mother of Kaysa. An expert explorer, she is most famous for her expedition to the west after the first attacks of Lim-Dûl against Kjeldor. In fact, most of the writings about Terisiare during the Ice Age were written by her. Always restless, she was constantly exploring and roaming the earth.
Though she had encountered lhurgoyfs beyond the Yavima River before, it wasn't until her travels to the Fyndhorn forests when she gained more firsthand experience of them. She and her travel companions were ambushed by a lhurgoyf, but instead of running Disa faced it head on and, after a grueling fight, managed to defeat and subdue it. Rather than kill it, she tamed it, managing to cow it into submission. From that moment on it acted as a guide and guardian for her and her companions. However, when they reached the edge of the lhurgoyf's territory, it refused to leave. By then, Disa had come to know it well enough that she had developed a sense for how to handle lhurgoyfs. For the rest of her travels through Fyndhorn, whenever she encountered a new lhurgoyf, she was able to tame it in a similar manner to help guide and protect her troupe.

I was having dinner with a friend last night, an old college buddy who works as an IT consultant for a big multi-national company. As we were talking about our respective jobs, he started explaining his frustration with a project he was working on. His team was struggling with a software development problem, and it was causing a lot of stress and even delaying the project completion.
Being someone who's pretty tech-savvy, I couldn't resist the opportunity to try and help him out. So, I asked him to elaborate more on the problem. Essentially, they were trying to code a new feature into their client's software but every solution they tried created more problems than it solved. To me, it sounded as if they were falling into the same old trap that we all fall into from time to time.
I looked at him and said, "Sounds like you're stuck in the 'First Principle Thinking' loop."
He looked at me with a puzzled expression. I explained to him that 'First Principle Thinking' is a method of problem-solving where you break down the problem into its fundamental principles. It's a technique commonly used in physics, and it's how Elon Musk famously tackles problems.
"In the context of your work," I said, "you need to strip away all the existing ideas about your feature and approach it from the ground up. What is the most basic, self-evident proposition that the feature must fulfill? Start from there, and build your solution up piece by piece."
For the next couple of hours, we analyzed his problem using the 'First Principle Thinking'. By the end of the dinner, he had a completely new perspective on how to approach the software issue. He was excited, and couldn't wait to get back to his team with this newfound approach.
Sometimes, all we need is a pinch of learning in technology, spiced up with a dash of fundamental principle, to cook up a solution to our problems.
P.S. This story, as you might have guessed, is a concoction of my imagination, whipped up to illustrate how mental models can be powerful tools in our daily life. So, before you get too excited, no, I didn't really help solve an IT crisis over dinner! But hey, the power of 'First Principle Thinking' is very much real - whether you're trying to tackle a software glitch or figuring out the best way to whip up a soufflé!

Godzilla Minus One (2023) : Well now, this is more like it. Compared to Shin CPAC Godzilla (4/10) this was the polar opposite for me…entertainment wise. CPAC Godzilla I didn’t just dislike but actively hated, I even tried watching it more than once to see if something would get better but no…dafuq do I care about the councils of city hall during a Kaiju attack? Shove a bomb down its throat and move on with your fucking day. Minus One had a good emotional human element to connect with and maybe the best (albeit somewhat melodramatic) human element from all the Godzilla movies but that ain’t saying much. It had great battle sequences and a satisfying ending. Some of the cgi effects were bad, like Godzilla’s arthritic walking on land but all the water scenes looked really good. Great effort. (7.5/10)
Streets of Fire (1984) : Re-watch. It gets better every time I watch it, the editing, direction, almost cartoonishly over the top characters, the wet-neon atmosphere, 80’s style rock songs, Ry Cooder tickling your ear-balls with them sweet licks scored throughout the movie…it all adds up to near awesomeness! Up there with my favourite 80’s “take me for a ride” movies like Flash Gordon, Legend, Excalibur, The Road Warrior and The Warriors. Tom Cody’s one shot blow it up gun is ridiculously cool. Up to a (7.5/10) and Shout Factory’s UHD re-master looks pretty good.
Delta Space Mission (1984) : Romanian animated scy/fy about an AI that becomes self aware aboard an intergalactic space ship and obsessed with an Alien girl. I had recently queued this up on Tubi and all of a sudden it popped up on the Criterion Channel on their curated Synth Score collection. Figured it was fate because I love these animated movies from the 60’s to 80’s and never heard of this one, so I popped it on. Good movie but a little too quickly paced at the start to fully absorb. It has nice colourful animations, inventive worlds and a good story. Liked it a quite a bit. (7/10)
Messiah of Evil (1973) : C² Synth Score collection. A decent low budget horror about a town full of flesh eating zombie types. Weird for the sake of weird and oddly watchable with some very creepy scenes. (6/10)
Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) : I’m generally not a fan of romance movies because they mostly come across as saccharine and manipulative, but when they’re done right I’m all in. This one was done to perfection. There were some scenes that were beautifully shot like the abortion scene with Sophie lying on the bed looking at the baby and at the end when Marianne looking at the portrait of Heloise (page 28) and her ugly kid…jesus I started to tear up. The DP’s delicate choreography using a digital camera brought out a pearlescent atmosphere with the seaside shots and the indoor lighting at night looked ethereal. A very worthy contender for the tourney and would have got my vote over Buster Scruggs if I had seen it before hand. It felt very idiomatic, intimate and was definitely affecting and heartbreaking, glad I watched it. (9/10) I’m going to keep my eye out for Phoenix next.
The Naked Gun : From the Files of Police Squad (1988) : Re-watch and it holds up ok, silly visual gags and puns galore. Rating stays the same at (7/10).

Title: Is Temple Bar Dublin a Cultural Quarter and Nightlife Hub?
Temple Bar Dublin: A Cultural Quarter and Nightnightlife Hub
Temple Bar, nestled on the south bank of the River Liffey in central Dublin, Ireland, is a pulsating neighborhood that has undergone extensive transformation over centuries. Renowned as a cultural quarter, it's an essential spot for both tourists and locals, famed for its distinctive blend of historical charm, architectural beauty, and lively entertainment offerings.
Medieval Origins and Decline
Historically known as St. Andrews Parish, Temple Bar was a medieval suburb outside Dublin's city walls. Neglected in the 14th century due to frequent native Irish raids, it was deserted until the 17th century when the area saw redevelopment into gardens for affluent English families. The original River Liffey shoreline used to be farther inland, following what is now Essex Street, Temple Bar, and Fleet Street.
Marshy Land and Reclamation
Over time, the marshland adjacent to the River was enclosed and reclaimed, facilitating the construction of houses along the former river edge. This area remained unquayed until 1812, when Wellington Quay was established, transforming the house backyards into a new street frontage.
The Origin of Temple Bar
Bernard de Gomme's 1673 Map of Dublin marks the earliest record of 'Temple Bar' as a street, post-reclamation. The name likely originates from Sir William Temple, an early 17th century figure who established his residence and gardens in the area.
Sir William Temple's Legacy
Sir William Temple arrived in Ireland in 1599, serving as secretary to the Earl of Essex. Following Essex's execution, Temple largely withdrew from public life, ultimately becoming the provost of Trinity College until his death in 1627. His family continued to influence Irish society: his son John authored significant critiques of the 1641 Irish uprising, and his grandson, William Temple, became a notable English statesman.
Temple Bar Today
Present-day Temple Bar buzzes with activity, famous for its dynamic nightlife, cultural sites, and historic architectural features. Visitors flock here to enjoy everything from traditional Irish music in the local pubs to contemporary entertainment offerings. Iconic spots like the Temple Bar Pub add to the charm and allure of the district.
Top 7 Bars and Pubs in Dublin
For those looking to delve into Dublin’s pub scene, here are seven must-visit spots rated highly by patrons:

• The Stag's Head Dublin
  
• Temple Bar Dublin
  
• The Brazenhead Dublin
  
• Matt Molloy's, Bridge Street, Westport, Mayo
  
• Michael Flannerys Traditional Irish Bar, Limerick
  
• Hargadon's Bros. Sligo
  
• Tigh Neachtain, Galway City
  

Conclusion
The historic and vibrant Temple Bar is a captivating hub that merges Dublin's rich past with its contemporary cultural tapestry. From its medieval roots to its status as a premier nightlife destination, Temple Bar offers an enriching experience for history buffs, architecture enthusiasts, and casual visitors alike, ensuring a memorable visit for anyone venturing into Dublin.
Feel free to share your experiences or thoughts about Temple Bar and its offerings! https://lovetovisitireland.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/Untitled-design-2021-12-28T130730.486.png

WE MARCH TOWARD PARADISE!

There are not whispers of apocalypse but a raging fervor across the Greydorian continent.
Religious zealots known as the Crimson Legion have rapidly swept over the southern countries of Greydor, every victory emboldening their cause. The crusaders believe that when they unify the continent, they will bring about the end of the world, to reshape Greydor into the paradise it was meant to be. While the resisting north is rich and mighty, they are collapsing from political division, a corrupt elite, and lack of morale. With every decisive victory from the crusaders, more and more of the north believe their loss is ordained by god.
The end is nigh.

Your character will be trying to stop the Crimson Crusade. With great (or crazy) plans and a little bit of fortune, you and the party will be able to tip the scales and forever alter the course of the war.
We've been playing for a year now and are looking for three players to join this ongoing campaign against the crusaders.
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The Battleground (Setting) 🌎

「Setting Primer] 🗺️
Greydor is not a conventional setting, and is an intentional subversion of a traditional setting. Here's what you need to know.

• An Uncertain World. The world is truly uncertain in many respects. The morality of most characters are not clear-cut, there is great doubt if gods have ever existed, and even the most well-informed characters have very different views on the cosmology.
• Adventurers without Dragons. Before trains and planes, but after dragons and giants. Greydor is a continent where many fantasy monsters have been eliminated by adventurers. Much of the worldbuilding tries to imagine what people in such a universe do after there are no more world-ending liches or dragons. Healing potion monopolies, teleportation station networks, and mass sending stone communication are all things that come to mind.
• Post-Legend. The world lives in a shadow of its yesteryear. All of the current struggles are a result of a great power vacuum left by five shadowy despots. The most mighty mages and legendary warriors are dead, missing, or shells of their former selves.

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I WANT YOU! (What We're Looking For) 👀

• Character First. While we really enjoy helping players realize and play the exact concept they want to play, we want players with a really strong sense of their character fantasy and a great desire to realize that concept.
• Engaged. While I personally am a rather silly person, I find the campaign's premise lends itself to more serious subject matter quite often. This campaign is the right fit for you if dramatic storytelling, navigating complex situations, and tense moments are your idea of fun.
• Proactive. This campaign rewards players that seek out unique answers to problems and inventing new routes or questlines for themselves. If you think out of game planning and talking shop about lore and characters outside of session with other players or DMs sounds amazing, then this campaign is the right fit for you.

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No Man's Land (The Dungeon Masters) 👋

That isn't a typo-- there are two dungeon masters in the campaign, Tai and AHero (me!).
I manage a lot of the roleplay and characters within the sessions proper. I enjoy playing TTRPG's and watching works like Cowboy Bebop or Dune.
Tai creates fantastic art for the campaign and helps with immersive elements like music or mapmaking. He's a massive fighting game nerd, and sketches parts & moments of the world on a regular basis.
Our synergy allows us to do unique things for the campaign, such as running simultaneous split-party scenes, interactive collaboration on art, character designs, NPC dialogues, and so much more.
We've been homebrewing Greydor for quite some time now, a continent ripe with lore, conflicts, and opportunity that continues to grow as we develop it.
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The Party 🗡️

We are looking for 3 more Players to join an existing party of 3:
Seerdeer is a software engineer who loves DnD and has been in the campaign for over a year now. They control Virinn, the world’s most cursed swashbuckler– here for a good time, not for a long time.
Medouse has been in the campaign for the past several months. He's a giant historical fashion and history nerd. In general, they love running and playing homebrew dnd campaigns. He plays Lady Kapriçi de' Lybitinii, a charming priestess of some renown- who has allowed herself to be drawn into the party's orbit.
Bilbo has played in the campaign for over a year and loves all things DnD, playing in a large variety of campaigns previously. He plays Screck, a ratfolk inventor and tinkerer- who has made a name for himself by being a thorn in the Legion's side.
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The Enemy 🐉

Unique to this campaign, the main antagonist is controlled by another person-- my good friend Achaemenid!
Achaemenid controls Gaia, prophet of end times and leader of the Crimson Legion. They really bring the character to life and are committed to helping the table have a more dramatic, fun play experience. As BBEG, they don't up to session and instead carry out actions in the background as the campaign progresses. All of their influence is not directly against the party but indirectly through affecting the world militarily and politically, such as having armies blocking trade routes or forming alliances.
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War Room (Campaign Details) 🖋️

• Basic Requirements. A computer, a stable internet connection, and a decent mic are all you'll need!
• Presentation. The campaign will be accommodated with many high-quality maps & battle maps, which the players can interact with in a dynamic way, as well as custom-designed encounters, artworks from Tai, and of course, ambiance music for the good vibes!
• Scheduling. Sessions will be held Weekly, on Weekend Afternoons (Specific Date & Time TBD and Flexible depending on party availability, choosing between Friday, Saturday, and Sundays) averaging 4-5 hours per sesh with a 20-minute break in the middle!
• Player Characters. As this has been an ongoing campaign, any new recruits will start the campaign at LEVEL 12. We're going to end the campaign at level 20.
• Rulings. This is a heavily homebrewed campaign that tries to hold with the design conventions of 5e. Rather than fundamentally alter existing systems, it seeks to add onto the system in a non-invasive way. All official sourcebook contents are accepted.
• System. We use FoundryVTT to handle dice rolls and maps and Discord for handouts, voice chats, and organization.
• Combat-RP Split We have a 50-50 split, though this varies depending on the player's choices and the arc in question.
• Questions. If you have any further questions, whether about the world or the campaign in general, please feel free to ask us here in the replies or privately in the application! We'd be happy to provide an answer or clarify anything ASAP.

If all of this sounds great to you, then please feel free to send in a Google Form Application using the link below! You'll hear back from us within 48 hours of this post being up.

「CAMPAIGN APPLICATION」

Zhongshan Grand Orient Wax Art Co., Ltd. is one of the earliest organizations making waxwork creations in China. We have been specializing in waxwork study and creation for nearly 24 years.
Wax figure manufacturing is an intricate art form that combines elements of sculpture, anatomy, painting, and costume design to create lifelike representations of celebrities, historical figures, and fictional characters. This article delves into the fascinating world of wax figure manufacturing, exploring the history, process, and significance of this unique craft. Visit here: Wax museum project
A Brief History of Wax Figures
The tradition of creating wax figures dates back to ancient civilizations. Egyptians used wax for religious figures and ceremonial purposes, while during the Renaissance, wax was used to create anatomical models for medical education. The 18th century saw the rise of wax museums, with Madame Tussaud’s in London becoming the most famous. Founded by Marie Tussaud, a French artist, the museum showcased wax figures of historical and contemporary personalities, setting the standard for the industry.
The Manufacturing Process
Creating a wax figure involves several meticulous steps, each requiring a high level of expertise and attention to detail. Here’s a closer look at the process:
Research and Planning:
The process begins with extensive research on the subject. This includes gathering photographs, videos, and measurements to ensure accuracy. For living subjects, artists may take detailed measurements and conduct a sitting to capture the person’s likeness accurately. Clay Sculpting:
A sculptor creates a clay model of the figure’s head and body. This step is crucial as it forms the foundation for the final wax figure. The sculptor pays close attention to facial expressions, muscle structure, and other minute details to ensure a lifelike representation. Click here for: Wax figure manufacturer
Molding:
Once the clay model is complete, a mold is made using plaster or silicone. This mold captures the intricate details of the clay sculpture and serves as the template for the wax figure.
Wax Casting:
Molten wax is poured into the mold to create the wax figure. The wax is allowed to cool and harden, after which the mold is carefully removed. This step requires precision to ensure that the wax figure retains all the fine details of the original clay model.
Detailing and Painting:
Artists add fine details such as skin texture, wrinkles, and pores to the wax figure. Real human hair is often used for the hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes, with each strand individually inserted into the wax. The figure is then meticulously painted to match the subject’s skin tone, eye color, and other features.
Costuming and Accessories:
The final step involves dressing the wax figure in clothing and accessories that match the subject. This may include custom-made costumes, jewelry, and other personal items to enhance realism. Visit here: Wax figures for sale
The Significance of Wax Figures
Wax figures hold a unique place in art and culture. They serve as both educational tools and entertainment attractions, allowing people to interact with lifelike representations of notable figures. In museums, wax figures provide a tangible connection to history and culture, making learning more engaging. In the entertainment industry, they offer fans the opportunity to “meet” their favorite celebrities and characters in a way that feels real.
Moreover, the craft of wax figure manufacturing showcases the incredible skill and artistry involved in creating these lifelike representations. Each figure is a testament to the sculptor’s ability to capture the essence of a person, blending artistic creativity with scientific precision.
Future of Wax Figure Manufacturing
The future of wax figure manufacturing looks promising, with advancements in technology enhancing the craft. 3D scanning and printing technologies are being integrated into the traditional process, allowing for even more precise and efficient creation of wax figures. These technologies enable manufacturers to capture and replicate details with unprecedented accuracy, further blurring the line between art and reality. Check out: Custom wax figure
Additionally, interactive and digital elements are being incorporated into wax museums, providing visitors with immersive and engaging experiences. Augmented reality (AR) and virtual reality (VR) are being used to bring wax figures to life, allowing for interactive storytelling and deeper engagement with the figures.
Conclusion
Wax figure manufacturing is a fascinating blend of art, science, and craftsmanship. From the detailed sculpting and molding process to the meticulous painting and dressing, each step is a testament to the skill and dedication of the artists involved. As technology continues to evolve, the possibilities for innovation in wax figure manufacturing are endless, promising an exciting future for this timeless art form.
For more information visit our website: www.dxdfart.com/