It’s that time of year again! Love is in the air along with all the plant jizz, and I am looking for the someone who is willing to venture out into this yellow, dusty mess with me, and then come home and just take a nap before our sinuses close up in anger and we cough ourselves to sleep. I am looking for someone to vent my mundane troubles too, someone that I know would be there to help with whatever may come up, and someone that I can laugh with, someone to cry with, someone that would just run with a crazy idea without hesitation.
Enough about me! Let’s talk about what you may be looking for! Are you looking for that special someone? You know, the one that laugh with on a daily basis. The one that you can have an entire conversation with using nothing but funny pictures? Are you looking for the creepy and the kooky? What about the mysterious and spooky? Would that someone be a person with a mohawk that is forever changing colors? How about a neatly trimmed beard that smells of sandalwood? What about the smell of Old Spice? Would that person also happen to have a few piercings and tattoos? Do you like the twang of a Southern accent? What if that accent was happen to be from a guy who is open minded? Do you enjoy a quick wit? How about being fluent in smartassary? How about a guy that is taking care of way too many fish? How about a guy who is starting to find grey hairs in his beard and is embracing the chance to become a silver fox?
Would you like for that person to be able to build a computer and change your oil all in the same day? How about having your tires rotated, breaks changed? I can even do headlights and air filters! Does the thought of helping turtles cross a busy road and helping tiny tadpoles stay safe with a pool of water during the summer tickle your fancy? Would you like to come home and have a pot roast and chocolate cake waiting for you? How about coming home to that random piece of IKEA furniture fully assembled? What about someone who would help while you built the IKEA? Does the idea of a guy who has reached the level of old that he enjoys puzzles intrigue you? How about if he has a love for cats that like to sit on said unfinished puzzles? Are you looking for a guy who can change your oil, replace your brakes, and cook you dinner in the same day? How about a guy who is good with his hands and knows it? If you answered yes to any of these questions, the nerdy home maker package is for you! Who doesn’t want help around the house, basic maintaince taken care of, and some good dick?
Do you have an endless supply of DIY ideas? Well look no further because I do too! Ever wanted a stylish bat house or raised garden bed? I have made both! Would you want a greenhouse? I have plenty of ideas for that! Do you like watching a guy get dirty restoring canoes or building trailers? Do you have a Mad Max fantasy you want to live out? Do you want a house straight from the shire? I have the skills and the 3d printers to make you swoon with possibilities! If you answered yes to any of these questions, the glistening geek package is for you! What’s not to love about watching someone you like getting sweaty while watching your ideas come to life?
For a limited time, if you pick both packages, I will add in the nerdy outdoorsman package for no extra charge! Want to stay in one weekend and marathon Doctor Who, Star Trek, or Futurama? Do you want to play Don’t Starve Together, DnD, or Civ 6? How about Nerf gun fight, or a game of Mario for bragging rights? Feel like staying up late bundled under a load of blankets watching B movies or playing all manor of video, board, or card games? Feel like getting outdoors instead? I can offer spontaneous adventures that may include wondering aimlessly, hiking, and floating blissfully down a river which singing the PACMAN theme song! Random acts of hilarity that could include striking poses and quoting pop culture references! Are you more of a night owl? I can offer you a view of the stars with my telescope!
How about it? Wanna get itchy eyes and a runny nose with me?

It’s that time of year again! Love is in the air along with all the plant jizz, and I am looking for the someone who is willing to venture out into this yellow, dusty mess with me, and then come home and just take a nap before our sinuses close up in anger and we cough ourselves to sleep. I am looking for someone to vent my mundane troubles too, someone that I know would be there to help with whatever may come up, and someone that I can laugh with, someone to cry with, someone that would just run with a crazy idea without hesitation.
Enough about me! Let’s talk about what you may be looking for! Are you looking for that special someone? You know, the one that laugh with on a daily basis. The one that you can have an entire conversation with using nothing but funny pictures? Are you looking for the creepy and the kooky? What about the mysterious and spooky? Would that someone be a person with a mohawk that is forever changing colors? How about a neatly trimmed beard that smells of sandalwood? What about the smell of Old Spice? Would that person also happen to have a few piercings and tattoos? Do you like the twang of a Southern accent? What if that accent was happen to be from a guy who is open minded? Do you enjoy a quick wit? How about being fluent in smartassary? How about a guy that is taking care of way too many fish? How about a guy who is starting to find grey hairs in his beard and is embracing the chance to become a silver fox?
Would you like for that person to be able to build a computer and change your oil all in the same day? How about having your tires rotated, breaks changed? I can even do headlights and air filters! Does the thought of helping turtles cross a busy road and helping tiny tadpoles stay safe with a pool of water during the summer tickle your fancy? Would you like to come home and have a pot roast and chocolate cake waiting for you? How about coming home to that random piece of IKEA furniture fully assembled? What about someone who would help while you built the IKEA? Does the idea of a guy who has reached the level of old that he enjoys puzzles intrigue you? How about if he has a love for cats that like to sit on said unfinished puzzles? Are you looking for a guy who can change your oil, replace your brakes, and cook you dinner in the same day? How about a guy who is good with his hands and knows it? If you answered yes to any of these questions, the nerdy home maker package is for you! Who doesn’t want help around the house, basic maintaince taken care of, and some good dick?
Do you have an endless supply of DIY ideas? Well look no further because I do too! Ever wanted a stylish bat house or raised garden bed? I have made both! Would you want a greenhouse? I have plenty of ideas for that! Do you like watching a guy get dirty restoring canoes or building trailers? Do you have a Mad Max fantasy you want to live out? Do you want a house straight from the shire? I have the skills and the 3d printers to make you swoon with possibilities! If you answered yes to any of these questions, the glistening geek package is for you! What’s not to love about watching someone you like getting sweaty while watching your ideas come to life?
For a limited time, if you pick both packages, I will add in the nerdy outdoorsman package for no extra charge! Want to stay in one weekend and marathon Doctor Who, Star Trek, or Futurama? Do you want to play Don’t Starve Together, DnD, or Civ 6? How about Nerf gun fight, or a game of Mario for bragging rights? Feel like staying up late bundled under a load of blankets watching B movies or playing all manor of video, board, or card games? Feel like getting outdoors instead? I can offer spontaneous adventures that may include wondering aimlessly, hiking, and floating blissfully down a river which singing the PACMAN theme song! Random acts of hilarity that could include striking poses and quoting pop culture references! Are you more of a night owl? I can offer you a view of the stars with my telescope!
How about it? Wanna get itchy eyes and a runny nose with me?

Hey all, it’s me Frank Jones again. I wrote that post a while ago about why you shouldn’t be a paranormal investigator and a lot of you liked it. Since settling into my hideaway in the mountains, life has become quiet and I thought about checking in. The plague hit us like nothing and now that everyone is wanting to travel again, I thought to say hi. I want to say thanks to all of you who commented and gave me those weird pointy thingies this social media does. Some of you even figured out my post office box address and sent me letters. I appreciate it (and don’t do it again).
The common strain among your posts was wanting to know if I had ever encountered other things as an auditor. Of course I have but I have been reluctant to tell you because I don’t want to shine some sort of light on all of it or make it sound like some romantic adventure. It’s “pissing yourself” fear all wrapped up in a waking nightmare with a side of gory terror. I am one of the few who actually made it to retirement…if that’s what you could call this life I’m living now.
But, I have nothing else to do really. Carl only visits once in a while when he’s passing through and I cannot risk any other sort of company knowing I’ve pissed off a lot of people…and things. So, I’m back on this internet board and sharing. So many are curious, I thought maybe another story can scare you all straight. This was the first time complacency almost got me and another killed.
This story takes place somewhere in the 90s in a small New England town. It was one of those places nestled along the banks of a serene river, historic brick buildings line the winding streets, their facades adorned with weathered signs that hint at the town's seafaring heritage. A place where everything smelled like either the ocean or decaying fish. I’m not going to specifically name the town to protect the young lady that may still be living there but in the heart of the town, there’s a renowned drawbridge which stands as a testament to the place’s affinity for water. Its ancient mechanisms creak and groan when allowing vessels to pass through the calm waterway. It also had some of the best outdoor markets I had a chance to stop and check out.
I didn’t pass through this part of the country that often as my boss preferred me to do the long hauls across the country but there was a dead haul nobody wanted.I took it cause I wanted a change of scenery. I was already working as an auditor and part of a loose alliance of others who investigated and dealt with any weird things. I actually had a few monsters under my belt. I honestly had the foolhardy idea that I could handle anything out there. God, I was an idiot.
The supernatural never crossed my mind until that evening, stopping to fuel up my red 1992 Peterbilt 379 and paying for the gas with the attendant and restocking up on those beef jerky sticks and coffee.
That was when I noticed her. She was a young woman about in her mid 30s looking like one of the corporate types with the short hair cut and business suit. I would have not paid her any mind if it wasn’t for the touch of apprehension on her face as she talked on one of those new fangled bright yellow Nokia cellphones. Soft strands of chestnut hair framed her face, their gentle sway moving as she glanced around while talking on the phone. As I observed her, I couldn't help but notice the way her fingers trembled slightly, when trying to get money out of her pocket. I’ve seen that type of fear before. So, like a creep, I eavesdropped on her call.
“Yes, it happened again,” she had said as the nickels finally made it to the counter to pay for her snacks. “I could have sworn there was something outside the window near the edge of the forest….no, of course the security cameras didn’t pick up anything. They’re cheap. Ronald was a skinflint when it came to things like this. Hope he’s rotting in hell wherever he is.”
My mind began to drift away, more annoyed I couldn’t get a move on it. It sounded like a problem for the police and if anything, I was gonna tell her that. It was what she said next that made me stop and brought back the reality of the world.
“Yeah. like nine or ten feet tall. I’m thinking kids are playing around with scarecrows or something. Won’t come from the edge of the forest and when I check, I can see foot impressions and stuff. I already put in a call to the cops. They found nothing.“
“Did it sway a bit and its eyes seem to glint like a cats or owl?” I asked without thinking.
The look I got from both her and the gas attendant made me realize what I had done. Well, too late now.
“I’ll call you back,” she said quickly, eyeing me as she hung up the phone and slipped it back into her purse.
“You need me to walk you to your car, ma’am?” the attendant asked, staring at me.
Of course, I forgot that The Truck Stop Killer had only been arrested a few years before.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said, quickly gathering her stuff and making for the door. I slapped the one hundred and seventy bucks on the counter to pay for my diesel guzzler ignoring the change and followed her out but making sure to not move in a way that caused the teenager in the station to call the cops.
“Ma’am,” I called out to her and she turned to me while hurrying up her pace.
“I’ve got pepper spray. Stay away from me.”
“The thing in the woods. You could have sworn you smelled fresh dirt like mulch and it seemed to sway back and forth like it could not keep its balance.” I threw it out there in desperation.
She froze and turned to look at me. Eying me up and down as I kept my distance and angled to head towards my truck.
“How do you know?”
“I…uh…dealt with something like that before. On a job in Canada.”
“Who are you?” she asked, looking at my faded shirt and company logo. “A trucker?”
“I moonlight as a problem solver. Like an auditor of sorts.”
“Who is it?” she demanded, eyes still affixed to me and hand in her purse.
“Better question is ‘what is it?’,” I answered.
I have learned to pick up on the contempt and disbelief from people who hadn’t seen what I have. I was already being dismissed as a whack job.
“You have tracks on your porch you have written off as animals, especially if you own a dog. If you did own a dog, it’s missing. Cops told you it ran away. You got a garden?”
“Yes,” the certainty had started to leave her voice. “A walled garden.”
“And anytime you’re in there, you feel like you’re being watched.”
At that, her hand came out of her purse empty and she approached me with the fear I had seen in her eyes now on her face.
“How did you know?”
“I’d rather not explain out here,” I said sheepishly running my hand through my sandy brown hair that only started getting flecks of gray. “But you got a…pest problem.”
“And you can do something about it? I’ve had exterminators, cops, nature lovers…even a priest.”
“None of those won’t do you any good and I don’t want to scare ya but it’s more active which is not a good sign.”
For a few moments, I could see the indecision in her eyes. The desperate want to dismiss me as a lunatic but whatever she had heard or seen won over.
“Fine. You can follow me to the house.”
“Mind if I hitch a ride?”
The woman started but then looked at my truck. “Promise. I mean you no harm. I really think you’re in danger.”
That was when I found her name was Isabelle Walker.
We left my truck in long-term parking after she told the attendant that I was a long lost relative and that’s why the change of demeanor. I don’t know if he believed her but at that point, I don’t think he cared. I left my truck with its metallic frame standing tall and proud amidst the rows of other vehicles.
I did not realize how desperate this woman was until we got going on the road. I had loaded myself in the passenger seat after pulling out my military backpack from the war which I also used for my auditing services and tried to look as harmless as a man of my stature could.
For the first fifteen minutes of the drive, her focus was on the lonely road, those beautiful eyes darting to me anytime I shifted my weight. I didn’t want to scare her so it was her that spoke first.
“What is it?”
“I really don’t know but the people in my profession call it a Bone Walker.”
The nose crinkled in disbelief.
“Halloween is not for a few more months, Mister…”
“Jones. Frank Jones.”
The James Bond reference caused her to snort in amusement.
“I don’t know what to tell ya, ma’am, except I’ve dealt with some pretty scary things out there. Normally I’m never this forward as most people try to call the cops on me or dismiss me as a lunatic. I mean, I could be a lunatic but I know what I’ve seen.”
“And that is…?”
“You know. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves. They’re real. They’re not common but real nevertheless.”
“Really?”
There was still the disbelief in Isabelle’s voice but I grew to ignore things like this.
“Sure. I mean, think of all the things you experienced and be open to alternate answers.”
Isabelle was quiet for a few minutes and then sighed. “Either you are telling the truth or you're the biggest liar and I’m a fool that’s not going to live through this night.”
“I promise,” I tried to reassure her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
After a few more minutes and off the main highway, we approached her home. The large house stood resolute amidst the dense, ancient forest, its weathered exterior a testament to the passing of time. It was a grand structure, its imposing presence commanding attention. The sprawling estate exuded an air of mystery and faded grandeur, as if it held stories whispered through generations.
As we pulled in, the main house loomed before me, its facade adorned with intricate woodwork and worn stone. Ivy crept along the walls, weaving an emerald tapestry that hinted at the passage of years. The windows, framed by elegant yet slightly cracked panes, stared out into the world with a mixture of curiosity and melancholy.
To the side, a large shed stood detached from the main house, its weathered boards echoing tales of forgotten tools and lost endeavors. The wooden structure sagged under the weight of time, its roof covered in a patchwork quilt of moss. Inside, shadows danced amidst remnants of a bygone era, rusty equipment and dusty shelves attesting to the once-bustling activity that had long since ceased.
Not far from the shed, a family cemetery nestled amongst the ancient trees. Tombstones, adorned with intricate carvings and weathered inscriptions, dotted the landscape. The hallowed ground exuded a solemn tranquility, as if time stood still in reverence for those who rested eternally in its embrace. Wisps of fog clung to the grassy knolls, lending an ethereal quality to the sacred space.
At the far end of the property, an old walled garden stood as a testament to the house's former splendor. Once vibrant and lush, the garden now appeared overgrown and untamed. Stone paths meandered through a sea of tangled foliage, leading to hidden nooks and forgotten corners. Dilapidated stone benches, adorned with intricate carvings, sat scattered throughout the garden, silent witnesses to a time when laughter and conversation filled the air.
As I stood amidst the silence of the forest, the house, shed, cemetery, and walled garden formed a tapestry of history and mystery. They were a testament to the ebb and flow of life, the remnants of a bygone era that clung to the present. Within their weathered walls, secrets whispered and memories danced, waiting to be discovered by those who dared to venture into their enigmatic embrace.
“Great place to be haunted, huh?” she said with sarcasm. “My ex left it to me in the divorce. Was only going to be here long enough to sell it but no one wants it and my job wants me to move to this state anyway.”
“Where are you originally from?”
“California.”
“So, this is definitely a change of scenery for you,”
Isabelle only hummed back at me as she fumbled for her keys in the dying light of evening. I pulled my backpack closer to me as my eyes scanned the treeline where the shadows had begun to deepen. Nothing stood out against the silhouettes of ancient trees which was a good sign. I wasn’t too late.
Stepping through the weathered front door, I entered the interior of the old house, greeted by a mix of nostalgia and faded elegance. The air carried a hint of mustiness, a reminder of the countless years the house had to have witnessed. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the stained-glass windows, I could make out the clash between old decor and the modern furniture Isabelle had bought.
The foyer, adorned with a worn, threadbare rug. The walls, once adorned with portraits and intricate wallpaper, now bore the markings of time's passage. The wooden banister of the grand staircase, polished with use, creaked softly under my touch as we made our way towards the living room.
Moving further into the house, I found myself in a spacious living room. Large, ornate windows which would have allowed slivers of daylight to filter through the heavy velvet curtains. The walls were adorned with faded wallpaper. An aged fireplace, its stone mantle adorned with trinkets and old photographs, served as the heart of the room.
“You want some coffee?” Isabelle asked, throwing her keys on to the coffee table. I sat down on her couch and dropped my backpack on it with a clunk.
“Sure.”
“Sugar?”
“A lot.”
The kitchen light clicked on and I heard her moving about setting up the coffee pot. The adrenalin was now pumping through me as my mind raced. I’m not going to go into a lot of detail on what a Bone Walker is but it’s a creature that usually haunts the western coast. It being so far out east was strange. I pulled out my old gun bag and unrolled it. My Stevens Model 520-30 “Trench” shotgun was the first thing I reached for as I popped open the internal pouch holding he high flash shells I was glad I packed. It was the startled sound from Isabelle that made me quickly look up.
She stood there with my coffee, eyes locked on the shotgun in my hand. I slowly held up one of the cartridges I was planning to load.
“Flash powder shotgun shells. No load. Just makes a loud noise and a bright white light. What we’re facing lives in the shadows and hates light…normally,” I had heard stories that they could strike in the day but it was extremely rare. She didn’t need to know that.
“Oh,” was her quiet response. “Do…do I need a gun?”
“You know how to use one?”
“No.”
“Then it’ll do more harm than good. You got any flashlights?”
Isabelle nodded mutely, the gravity of the situation sinking in at the array of weapons and items in my pack laid out in front of her.
“Go get them.”
While she was gone, I quickly unloaded the silver bullets out of my Makarov pistol (a gift from a Viet Cong officer and a story for another time) and placed normal 9mm rounds in the clip. I had it holstered under my jacket with the two back up clips when she returned with three cheap flashlights.
“One in your hand and one in your pocket.”
“Why?”
“In case you drop the one you are holding.”
The woman obeyed silently.
As night fell quickly around us, I slung my shotgun over my shoulder and with Isabelle close, we made our way upstairs. There were tell tale signs I needed to check as the only advantage I had over this thing was the fact it stuck to a pattern. If it was at the stage I thought it was, there would be signs.
“Which room is yours?” I asked.
Isabelle pointed to a door down the hallway across from a large window. Approaching it, I quickly shined my flashlight at the mahogany door frame. It was the glint that caught my eye. Deep gouges in the wood.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Claw marks,” I responded. There was no use sugar coating anything now.
“This thing was in my house?” Isabelle said horrified.
“For the last few weeks now,” I said, my nose picking up the faint odor of dirt and mud.
“Why didn’t it attack me then?”
“It wasn’t time.”
“What?”
Talking was going to be the only thing to keep her focused. I had felt the world shift a bit as night fell and I needed her not to panic.
“Bone Walkers are ritualistic creatures. They are very choosy over their prey. It can take a month or two before they move in. That’s why they are so hard to catch.”
“Criteria? Like what?”
“We don’t know.”
That was the honest truth. The only reason we knew their existence and patterns was thanks to blind luck and people surviving their encounters. I showed my light around looking for other signs. Discolored stains in the corners where shadows would naturally form, healthy moss and mold that shouldn’t be there. I found a patch around her bed. She did not notice and I did not want to tell her that it probably stood over her through the night watching her sleep. The sooner I buried this thing, the better.
“Frank!”
There was a trill of terror in Isabelle’s voice and I immediately looked to where she was. The woman was standing by her bedroom window staring out at something. I quickly moved and spotted what she saw. In the forest, at the edge of the shadow cast by the moonlight was an almost, imperceptible form. It stood nine feet, hunched over like a broken scarecrow, its owl like eyes staring back at us.
“Shit,” I muttered. Thank god we had turned on the lights as we went.
It was the flash of light and the crack of thunder that heralded the arrival of the storm. The lights of this old houses flickered which caused my belly to flop a few times. My brain was on fire as I glanced back from the lightbulb to where the creature was and found it had vanished.
“Where did it go?”
I did not have time to explain as another crack of lightning caused the lights to dim. I grabbed Isabelle roughly by the arm and yanked her back down the hallway towards the living room where I had left my stuff. We barely made it to the living room when the lights dimmed low. I grasped the glow sticks out of the bag, cracked a handful and scattered them about, their bright yellow light beginning to glow. The power then went out bathing us only in the eerie glow of the emergency lighting.
As we waited in breathless anticipation, the storm struck, its wrath manifesting in torrential rain. The mansion seemed to respond, succumbing to a power outage that plunged us into an abyss of blackness only moments before.
A trill of terror coursed through me. I knew this Bone Walker thrived in darkness, using it as a cloak to conceal its malevolence. We auditors were not sure if it actually teleported or it preferred to move in pitch darkness. I just knew that the black was our biggest threat.
For a few moments, we could only hear the ragged breathing of the two of us being drowned out by the pounding rain against shingle and glass. Isabelle had wound her hand into my jacket pocket and was gripping it tightly, I could feel her shaking with terror. I kept my shotgun gripped tightly in my hand listening for the tell tale sound of its arrival.
It was the movement out of the corner of my eye and the fact her grip got tighter on my jacket. I swiftly turned on my high-powered flashlight as I spun around and the brilliant beam pierced the obscure corner of the room. No matter what I had read or seen before did not prepare me for what I saw.
It stood there in the corner, its eight foot height engulfing that section of the house. My eyes strained as it appeared the thing was struggling to stay in focus. Its arms were too long for its body, spindly and almost to the floor while the legs appeared backwards giving it a strange forward leaning look. It wore a hunter’s long coat and trousers but through the rips and tears I could make out something squirming and moving underneath. The air filled with the stench of decaying plants and diseased vegetation. Its face was covered with what looked like the remnants of a cheap bandanna but its owl-like eyes gleaned back with malevolence.
Isabelle whimpered, her fear palpable in the room and the Bone Walker lunged toward us. Even though my fear was ripping through me like an unstoppable train, I had the sense to pull the trigger of my shotgun aimed in its direction. The flash and resounding roar painted the entire room in a brilliant black and white shadow causing every corner and edge to appear thick and vivid. The creature screamed and fell to the side into the shadow not illuminated by the weapon’s fire.
Isabelle had thrown herself on the couch and was huddled there, trembling with terror, while I moved quickly to crack a few more glow sticks and toss them into the dark corners of the room. In one, I saw its foot recoil back into the kitchen where it was darker than night itself. This was quicker than I had anticipated. The plans I had been formulating on the drive were no longer viable. I wanted to lure it to where I controlled the battlefield but that was not an option anymore. This had become a cat and mouse game and I knew this was with a predator I could not even hope to understand and had years to hone.
Out of the kitchen again this thing charged forward, relentless in its pursuit, it was trying to find a way around my light barrier which only appeared to slow it down. With shaking hands, I fired several more rounds, each blast forcing the creature to retreat and the girl to scream in terror. As soon as it retreated to a dark part of the house, I turned to where the woman of the house had been. To my horror, Isabelle's fear had gotten the best of her. In that moment of panic, she darted from the safety of the light, towards the hallway and the door outside.
“Isabelle! Stop!” I yelled trying to command her back with my voice but I doubted she heard me. Between the abject horror and the relentless rain, she was going to take her chance. A chance I knew she did not have.
I only took a step when I sensed it. The musty smell of an organic landfill overwhelmed me as the form silently darted past me, its long arm clobbering me up the side of the head. The world spun as pain burst through my brain. I felt the world tilt and fall heavily to the ground, flashlight and shotgun falling away.
As I slipped in and out of consciousness, I knew I was a sitting duck for this thing. There was no way for me to stop it from ripping me to shreds like some of the corpses I had seen. As I blinked, I came to my senses and realized I was alone. How long I had actually been on the ground, I did not know.
I sat up, my head pounding and I could see the door hanging open, the wind slamming the door on its hinges and the rain soaking the hallway floor. Struggling, I found my flashlight and gun and pulled myself together.
There was a slim chance that Isabelle was still alive. I had to think. Where would it go? I ran all the stories I could think of and then it hit me. The garden. The walled garden.
I charged into the rain-soaked night. I sprinted toward the enclosed garden at the edge of the property. As I grew closer, I saw that the rusted door was open and hope flickered in my soul. As I came to a stop, I brought my flashlight up again with my shotgun and saw it.
This creature stood there in the middle of the overgrown garden, its massive clawed hand wrapped around Isabelle’s chest and holding her up. Out from under its bandanna mask, putrid vines had appeared and led up to Isabelle’s face where they were forcing their way down her throat and up her nose. I could see the wide terror in her eyes as vines were snaking their way around her waist and I did not want to think about what they were planning to do.
I brought up the shotgun again and fired. Knowing that I had distance, the flash of light caught the creature by surprise. It shrieked as it fell back. Trying desperately not to release its prey. I did not hesitate to grab the machete at my side and hack at its arm until Isabelle fell down free of it.
It’s claw swiped at me striking me on the leg and easily tearing through my pants leaving bloody lacerations but I put the weapon point blank and fired another round. I do not know if it was the flash, the combination of the creature, or that the almighty above was looking out for me, but the creature caught ablaze from the spark.
It fell back swinging wildly as the fire spread unnaturally fast catching the plants around it on fire. Within a matter of seconds, the walled garden had become ablaze with the bone walker in the center. As I ripped the vines out of Isabelle’s mouth and dragged her towards the door, I looked up to see those owl-like eyes looking at me with such abject hatred that the look stick with me today.
I honestly don’t know how we survived. I had helped Isabelle to her porch and we both passed out against our will from the sheer terror and exhaustion. We were awoken by the sound of a siren. The lights had come back on sometime in our sleep and the rain had drifted off to a comforting drizzle. The fire was still raging in the garden but contained by the ancient walls. At least two fire trucks, an ambulance and cops were flying up the private road towards us.
This entire hunt had been ill-planned and stupid. I knew it. As the cops approached with their hand on their pistols, I knew that I had allowed my own ego to get in the way. I should have taken Isabelle somewhere else until I had done a proper reconnaissance. I shouldn’t have taken her home where it was waiting. And now, the cops were looking at two thoroughly soaked humans, one a trucker with a wound and a gun and a young lady in distress. I was pretty sure I was going to go to jail.
“Isabelle?” One of the cops and his voice caused her to sit up, relief washing over her.
“Derek!” she wailed. “We were attacked! In the garden!”
Another two cops that had arrived had taken off in that direction while Derek helped the girl up and took her towards the ambulance. The other cop with a comically large mustache looked at me with keen eyes, his hand still on his pistol, sergeant stripes glowing in the light.
“Attacked?”
“Yeah,” I said, sitting up slowly and keeping my hand away from the shotgun and trying not to show the one under my jacket. “Someone came after Mrs. Walker. They were in the garden.”
The cop watched me closely but there seemed to be a recognition in his eyes.
“You by any chance Frank Jones?”
My heart jumped and I must have looked startled as the cop’s face broke into a smile. To my relief, his hand fell away from his holstered sidearm.
“I’ll take that for a yes. My guess is you don’t remember me. Clay Wilson. Santa Fe PD, about six years ago. You helped my partner with a...problem. Nellie Nelson?”
I knew the name but the face escaped me.
“She told me you helped her audit a police union building.”
“Ah, yes,” I said, remembering dealing with the wraith and the twinge in my right arm from it’s bite.
The cop looked towards the fire that was slowly being put out by the fire fighters.
“Any chance this will be one of your audits?”
“Yeah.”
He seemed to think for a few minutes and then nodded.
“Then I think you need to grab that shotgun of yours and hitch a ride with me before too many people ask questions. Whatcha think?”
I nodded. I was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I collected my stuff quickly from the living room and made my way back out where he was waiting. As I limped with the cop to his car, I looked towards Isabelle who was being held by the other. She gave me a look of thankfulness as the cop looked at his partner with confusion.
“Her brother’s got her,” Clay said, opening the back door for me. I was not gonna argue or fight. If he took me to jail or not.
And that was it. My leg was not as bad off as I thought and wrapped it in the back of the police car. Clay only asked where I wanted to go and he took me back to my truck. With that time, I was back on the road with that small town in the rear view mirror.
I never did find out what happened to Isabelle after that, if another creature came looking for her or if she had a chance to live in peace. I just knew that we both barely made it out alive and that was due to my own stupidity. I was furious with myself for weeks after that and told myself I wouldn’t put another person in jeopardy like that again. At least, despite my idiocy, another life was saved and another monster was put in the ground...I hoped. I never did find out if they found a body.

This is a weekly reminder post of this sub's stance on potential copyright infringement. This is a serious issue that needs to be kept in mind when creating and listing NFTs.
Original post by u/HurleyBird1
Quick disclaimer: I AM NOT A LAWYER. THIS IS NOT LEGAL ADVICE - THIS IS SIMPLY INFORMATION WITH WHICH TO EDUCATE YOURSELVES AND PREPARE YOURSELF FOR LEGAL ADVICE FROM A LICENSED SOURCE.
Now that that's out of the way. My credentials are: MBA, with a bit of business law classes under my belt.
I want to give a quick explanation of how copyright works - and I'll do so through quick blurbs n some myth/reality bullets.
Source: copyright.gov (US)

1. Subject matter of copyright: In general28(a) Copyright protection subsists, in accordance with this title, in original works of authorship fixed in any tangible medium of expression, now known or later developed, from which they can be perceived, reproduced, or otherwise communicated, either directly or with the aid of a machine or device. Works of authorship include the following categories:(1) literary works;(2) musical works, including any accompanying words;(3) dramatic works, including any accompanying music;(4) pantomimes and choreographic works;(5) pictorial, graphic, and sculptural works;(6) motion pictures and other audiovisual works;(7) sound recordings; and(8) architectural works.(b) In no case does copyright protection for an original work of authorship extend to any idea, procedure, process, system, method of operation, concept, principle, or discovery, regardless of the form in which it is described, explained, illustrated, or embodied in such work.

- Myth: I can use any image/song/video/writing I want.
- Reality: No. Not true at all.
- Myth: Well they never said it's copyrighted.
- Reality: Upon publication (and even while a work in progress) a work is automatically protected via copyright under US Law.
- Myth: Well they never sold it.
- Reality: It doesn't have to be commercialized to be protected.
- Myth: Well it was a long time ago
- Reality: Possibly true...as long as the creator is deceased (or if multiple creators, the last living one is deceased) and the required time has passed...although this gets tricky with "estates."
(d) Duration of Rights.—(1) With respect to works of visual art created on or after the effective date set forth in section 610(a) of the Visual Artists Rights Act of 1990, the rights conferred by subsection (a) shall endure for a term consisting of the life of the author.
So what's this thing I hear called "Fair Use?"
Straight from the source:

1. Limitations on exclusive rights: Fair use41Notwithstanding the provisions of sections 106 and 106A, the fair use of a copyrighted work, including such use by reproduction in copies or phonorecords or by any other means specified by that section, for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching (including multiple copies for classroom use), scholarship, or research, is not an infringement of copyright. In determining whether the use made of a work in any particular case is a fair use the factors to be considered shall include—(1) the purpose and character of the use, including whether such use is of a commercial nature or is for nonprofit educational purposes;(2) the nature of the copyrighted work;(3) the amount and substantiality of the portion used in relation to the copyrighted work as a whole; and(4) the effect of the use upon the potential market for or value of the copyrighted work.The fact that a work is unpublished shall not itself bar a finding of fair use if such finding is made upon consideration of all the above factors.

Uhh...help me translate that please... (here's a decent official translation: https://www.copyright.gov/fair-use/more-info.html)

1. above...if it's non-profit educational use, you're usually good to go...if it's for money or trade (commercial nature) then you're usually NOT...unless YOUR piece is "transformative"

Transformative uses are those that add something new, with a further purpose or different character, and do not substitute for the original use of the work.
- Myth: Well this is paid for in Algos, not USD so it's not "commercial"
- Reality: IT IS commercial. You could even barter for bacon and it'd be commercial. It's an exchange of one good/service for another good/service.
- Myth: My piece with Batman inside a card is "transformative"
- Reality: No, unfortunately, more-than-likely the courts would say it's not. A good litmus test is..."If Warner Bros Entertainment (owner of Batman) wanted to make an NFT/ASA "Batman card" would yours compete with it or be possibly mistaken (by a reasonable person - so in America think 8th grade education) for real merchandise? Probably...thus it's not transformative enough.
"nature" gets a little tougher. This looks at protecting the "creative process." Thus, using other works of art is less-likely to be protected than using factual sources - like historical photographs since it's easier to "create art" and thus "transform" factual pieces than other art pieces. This is also talking to things like "parody." Satire is NOT protected. "Parody" is. What's the difference? LegalZoomputs it well: While a parody targets and mimics the original work to make a point, a satire uses the original work to criticize something else entirely. Another way to look at it is that satire uses another work as a way to comment on something happening in the world that has nothing to do with the original work.
- Myth: I added a different border, extra planets, and some blur effect to MTZ's World of Light - it's a new piece of art.
- Reality: Not likely the courts will see it that way.
- Myth: This guy added a filter, some burn effects, and collaged a bunch of newspaper headlines together - isn't that a violation!
- Reality: Probably not...the courts would probably see this as a creation of art out of factual sources.
amount/substantiality in relation to the whole...this is where using clips of songs that are only like 5 seconds long works! But using more than that...runs into problems. This is tough to decipher too...as some songs are EASILY identifiable from just 5 seconds (Ice, ice, baby) - and thus NOT fair use. But some aren't. Usually you're safe using a very small clip of a song or video - especially if you're adding more to it. But this is a dangerous game to play - and there's places to get free audio (some sources below)
effect of the use - this is probably the biggest one. Courts will look at simply...does YOUR work affect the sales or potential for sales of the copyright owner. Of note...this is looked at at the time of the issue being brought to the court, not at the time of sale. For example, let's say my batman card sells for 10 Algos today, but Algorand BLOWS UP and soon every NFT is on Algorand. And now my OG Batman NFT is seen as one of the first Batman ones and official. Warner Bros gonna sue the shit outta whoever owns it at the time they sue to get the rights to all sales of that NFT. So that person is left holding an empty bag when Warner Bros wins in court.
- Myth: Well they're not commercializing it NOW so I'm safe.
- Reality: Technically, yea Warner Bros probably won't spend the money to go after the OG artist and the hands the asset passed through...HOWEVER, they may. That's their right. Who knows - the Napster days showed us the lengths companies will go to. EVEN BIGGER HOWEVER, the last person holding it when Warner Bros DOES decide to go after that Batman NFT...uh oh for them - they just lost their asset.
- Myth: Well it's been like a year, and no one has brought up copyright. So I'm good.
- Reality: If this was in a normal market...maybe this argument would work. If McDonald's let you sell a Ronald McDonald poster for like a year on Amazon with no issues, some court may say "bro, you took too long to bring this to us." HOWEVER, with cryptocurrency being so new (and Algorand being so little known/discussed), most courts would see it as "reasonable" that a copyright owner failed to exercise their rights within a year - possibly even a decade. (Updated because I realized last example dealt with trademark not copyright :o)
So what am I safe to use?
US Government works (mostly)...any deemed free to use by creator...and any a copyright lawyer says they have your backs on (cuz now they're liable).
Here's some great sources for free use items (please add to this list below if you know of some!!!):
Pictures: https://buffer.com/library/free-images/ (Unsplash is one of my faves)
Music: https://www.wix.com/blog/photography/2019/11/27/free-music-for-videos/
Video: https://blog.hootsuite.com/free-stock-videos-sites/
You'll notice there's a lot of "shoulds" "coulds" "probably" etc. This is because copyright cases are all unique and go to the courts. The best bet is to go with stuff you KNOW is free and fair-use. If not, I'd look up copyright law, consult supreme court cases concerning copyright, and ultimately, talk to a lawyer.
AGAIN: I AM NOT A LAWYER. I AM NOT PROVIDING LEGAL ADVICE. I AM SIMPLY PROVIDING INFORMATION. THERE MAY BE ERRORS ABOVE THAT COULD CAUSE SUBSTANTIAL DAMAGES - CONSULT A COPYRIGHT ATTORNEY IF YOU WISH TO RECEIVE LEGAL ADVICE.

Hi Everyone I am getting issue for running the s3 bucket cross region replication. As you can see in bucket.tf file i have enabled the versioning

Below is the Error

Error: creating S3 replication configuration for bucket (test-source-vsovot4o): Invalid Request: Destination bucket must have versioning enabled.
status code: 400, request id: N4AF0JDX1MC02AVW, host id: phrnM5ikif1xSd58SAYowV38T7nnlnhXXXV/BaLKGIOnO4chy9ZUZiloX57r848vj7Wy3XMcNVZ3TX/cgB/WiKvyBM0XXQ/DkhX4rByj8=
with aws_s3_bucket_replication_configuration.replication, on bucket.tf line 57, in resource "aws_s3_bucket_replication_configuration" "replication": 57: resource "aws_s3_bucket_replication_configuration" "replication" {

Here is the bucket.tf file.

provider "aws" { profile = "default" region = local.source_region }
provider "aws" { region = local.destination_region alias = "replica" }
locals { source_bucket_name = "test-source-${random_string.this.id}" destination_bucket_name = "test-destination-${random_string.this.id}" source_region = "us-east-1" destination_region = "us-west-2" }
data "aws_caller_identity" "current" {}
resource "random_string" "this" { length = 8 lower = true upper = false special = false numeric = true }
module "replica_s3_bucket" { source = "./modules/" providers = { aws = aws.replica } bucket = local.destination_bucket_name versioning = { enabled = "true" } tags = { Name = "Dev_Testing_Bucket" Environment = "Dev" } }
module "source_s3_bucket" { source = "./modules/" bucket = local.source_bucket_name versioning = { enabled = "true" } tags = { Name = "Dev_Testing_Bucket" Environment = "Dev" } }
resource "aws_s3_bucket_replication_configuration" "replication" { bucket = local.source_bucket_name role = aws_iam_role.replication.arn rule { id = "replication-rule" filter { prefix = "" } status = "Enabled" destination { bucket = "arn:aws:s3:::test-destination-${random_string.this.id}" storage_class = "STANDARD" } } }

Here is the module file.

terraform { required_version = ">= 0.13.1"
required_providers { aws = { source = "hashicorp/aws" version = ">= 4.9" } random = { source = "hashicorp/random" version = ">= 2.0" } } }
data "aws_caller_identity" "current" {}
locals { create_bucket = var.create_bucket }
resource "aws_s3_bucket" "s3" { count = local.create_bucket ? 1 : 0 bucket = var.bucket bucket_prefix = var.bucket_prefix tags = var.tags }
resource "aws_s3_bucket_ownership_controls" "s3" { bucket = aws_s3_bucket.s3[0].id rule { object_ownership = "BucketOwnerPreferred" } }
resource "aws_s3_bucket_acl" "s3" { depends_on = [aws_s3_bucket_ownership_controls.s3] bucket = aws_s3_bucket.s3[0].id acl = "private" }
resource "aws_s3_bucket_versioning" "versioning" { count = local.create_bucket && length(keys(var.versioning)) > 0 ? 1 : 0 bucket = aws_s3_bucket.s3[0].id expected_bucket_owner = var.expected_bucket_owner versioning_configuration { status = "Enabled" } }

Hey there! Want to worship the Daedra, but don't know where to start?
This is my personal interpretation of what each Prince represents and some tips for the Oblivion novitiate. Your milleage may vary.
​
And with the help of Oblivion, may each day be sacred.
AZURA – The Prince of Introspection and Liminality
Azura has many spheres of influence, but most of them – prophecy, Moonsugar, Twilight and Dawn, vanity and egotism, beauty, magic, mystery, being the “Rim of all Holes” and “She who sits at the precipice”, giving the Khajiit their changing forms - have two things in common : a turn towards oneself and one's internal contents (as opposed to being turned towards the outward world), and a constant presence in the transitory, the uncertain, the unknown, the changing.
In every state where the mind is far away from the concerns of the everyday – prophecy, meditation, casting of magic, transcendence through the contemplation of beauty – the Moonshadow presides and facilitates visions, reflection, contemplation, introspection, ecstasy and hightened emotions (which Azura seems to require of her followers).
Azura is the figure at every threshold or gate to the other side, standing there, arms outstretched, beconing to cross and to find knowledge, beauty, a different state of mind, or an even deeper mystery. Azura knows that it's mystery all the way down, and yet, the infinite search has its own beauty.
It is no wonder that the Khajiit, the people whose entire culture is based on Moonsugar and who embrace their changing forms and inherent instability, are closely linked to Azura, who is their creator and psychopomp. On the other hand, the Dunmer need Azura to counterbalance their more rigid structures and hierarchies with a little bit of magic, even if their relationship to the Prince is complicated.
Azura's link to the Moons is a part of her subtlety. Like the moon, she's always changing and revealing new facets of herself, and in her reflection, we can find new facets of ourselves as well.
The rose, a symbol of many things, is also a symbol of mystery and secret, and Azura, the Mother of the Rose, smiles on the adventurers of the inner worlds.
Suggestion of a worship practice : get high with the psychedelic drug of your choice and write a prophecy for yourself. Don't be shy. Write everything you wish and hope for yourself, everything you see like happening, maybe even everything you fear. Go wild with illustrations, poetry, eternal doom, heavenly bliss, or a simple list, whatever you prefer. Hide the prophecy. One year later, read it again and ponder what made you wish for whatever you wished for. Do you still wish for it? Are there new wishes? Maybe new fears? You can make a new, complementary prophecy, or rewrite the old one.
Thank Azura for the treasures within.
BOETHIAH – The Prince of Conflict and Self-Determination
Boethiah is often described as cruel and deceitful, a master of schemes and plots, and those things are a part of them, but not the whole story, nor the core concept. To understand the nature of Boethiah, it is useful to compare and contrast them to some other Princes. Boethiah overthrows authority whenever they can, but don't necessarily seek total revolution, an up-is-down state of being, a complete overturn of the status quo for its own sake, like Mehrunes Dagoth would. They can be cruel if necessary, but again, don't enjoy the cruelty in itself like Vaermina would. They can scheme to their own ends like Molag Bal is known to do, but arriving at the domination of others isn't necessarily their goal either, even if it can be a byproduct of it.
What is this goal, then? The answer is simple : the need to become the fittest in every way (body, mind, spirit) and through every means (training, battle, deceit, cheating, treachery) possible. Nothing is too low or immoral for that goal.
Boethiah drives the pure will to survive and best others to take the top place and to have every power to carve one's own destiny. They helped the Chimer trace theirs. Boethiah enjoys conflict and competitions for the pure pleasure to see people fight, die, and eventually survive to reap the rewards. They aren't afraid to play dirty and can dabble in scheming and politics if it helps becoming the top dog. For what is a more beautiful spectacle than two wills at conflict with one another?
They're the ultimate incarnation of “the end justifies the means” and are only close to several other Princes in sphere just so they can better deceive them, devour them, steal from their influence and emerge as the synthesis of all of them, a glorious fount of blood and everflowing life.
Take the arms, carve your own destiny, survive, thrive, be pure ego, and Boethiah may smile on you.
Suggestion of a worship practice : once in a while, engage in a competition of any sort (rhetorical debate, board or video game, sports, academic exam, anything) and throw everything in there to win and best everyone else. Feel the thrill of playing dirty or cheating (barring anything illegal or anything that could get you into serious trouble), or taking shortcuts to victory, anything you can get away with. You don't have to play “fair”, life's too short for that. Be relentless and without pity. Once the victor, take the time to bask in it and recognize that contrary to the popular wisdom, reaching the end nobly isn't always its own reward. Sometimes, winning and being the best is its own reward.
Thank Boethiah for your arms, your legs and your brain.
CLAVICUS VILE – The Prince of Choices and Sacrifice
Coloquially known as the “Prince of bargains”, every story about Clavicus Vile - inevitably ending with the protagonist getting unexpected results in their bargain with the Prince - reveals one fundamental truth about his nature, which is the eternal reminder of the consequences of our choices.
In the abstract, every choice in life is a more or less hidden bargain, which always has undiclosed and unforseen consequences, be they good or bad. But who are we bargaining with? Clavicus Vile can be seen as the man behind the curtain, the charlatan, the merchant of fate and chance, who sometimes deals an awful hand, and sometimes showers us with unexpected fortune.
It is equally important to remember that in every choice, no matter how big or how small, there is something we have to give up and put aside, a price to pay, a sacrifice. Chose x job or career? It means you abandoned the pursuit of the other ones. Chose to spend the evening with x in the y place? You payed the price of not knowing what would have happened to you, good or bad or neutral, with z in r place in the same evening.
Clavicus Vile (and his Fields of Regrets) might be seen as the crossroads of choice. One can only imagine that the Fields are strewn about with portals and glimpses into alternate realities showing what happened there, what other bargains where made, and what we had to sacrifice. One can cry, observe, touch the portal, but one cannot go through it into this other reality. It is forever out of our reach.
A visit to the Fields of Regrets can be sorrowful, but also sobering. It reminds us that nothing can be obtained without sacrifice – that's the deal with life, made eons ago before our species were even born, by some unknown and unknowable force.
Suggestion of a worship practice : instead of looking at the positive outcomes of a choice as we're often encouraged to do, reflect on an important choice you made lately and make your peace with what you had to give up (or what you think you had to give up), and mourn it as passionately and as dramatically as you wish. Anything from a symbolic funeral ceremony to a road trip might be applicable as a mourning process. Let yourself fully say goodbye to those things, and embrace the consequences of your choices.
Thank Clavicus Vile for the road not travelled.
HERMAEUS MORA – The Prince of Observation and Recording
Reputed as a hoarder of both Knowledge and Memory, Mora doesn't discriminate : he is as interested in objective facts (or as objective as facts can be, anyway) – the domain of academia, science, knowledge and information recorded in one way or another – as he is in subjective realities – he avidly catalogs and processes as many thoughts, memories, subjective worldviews and beliefs from every living being as he possibly can put his tentacles on -.
Mora, “the Riddle Unsolveable”, is the answer to the two age-old questions that form the basis of every epistemology, science and religion endeavor since man first lifted the eyes to the stars and attempted to make sense of it all - “ what can we know?” (as a collective, establishing consensus truths amongst ourselves that we can all agree on) and “what can I know?” (subjectively, interacting with the world as an individual). The answers are found in his paradoxical forest of Academia under the waves – a Utopia, a place that is nowhere -, usually filtered through a mortal visitor's eyes as the library of Apocrypha … and once given as a blind vision to a writer under the guise of the library of Babel.
Hermaeus Mora encompasses every interpretation of the truth : pre-modern, modern, post-modern, he is an endless debate with himself, refuting and defeating his own ideas and presuppositions. In the end, no truth is found and all truth is found, and one negates the other in the Grey Maybe.
Suggestion of a worship practice : use the Wikipedia “random page” function seven times (a magical number!), and read the entirety of every page. Then write down a list of seven things that you don't know or are ignorant about. Try to vizualize an inky black sea of things you don't know all around you, and yourself standing on a tiny island in the middle of it, representing the knowledge you do have. Experience the alien terror of it all and how tiny that makes you feel.
Thank Hermaeus Mora for the gap between seeing and understanding.
HIRCINE – The Prince of Natural World and Instinct
You can call it the id, the reptilian brain, the drive to survive, biology, or evolution, all that matters right here right now is your gut feeling. Are you going to flee? To fight? To satiate your hunger? Either way, Hircine is watching.
Hircine is also linked to Nature itself. He is nature at its most beautiful, at its ugliest, its most alien, non-human and indifferent. “Nature” as a concept has always been a mirror of the human mind and the way it sees itself. In times and places when nature is seen as benevolent, when “natural” means “good”, when living “close to nature” is encouraged, nature is benevolent, good and attractive. When nature is seen as destructive, amoral, cruel, then it is destructive, amoral and cruel. When man looks into nature, he sees himself.
And yet … There is that shard of reality within us that is Nature itself, non-filtered through human concepts and representations. The part that just Is.
The Reachmen think it makes them better. The Skaal think it is dangerous. They're both right. It makes us better because it is pure and unliftered, and it is dangerous, because pure reality without any illusion is not worth living for. Or, at least, nor worth living for as a human.
But Hircine is not human. And he is there when we stop breathing so they can't hear us, when we jump out of the way of a speeding car, and when we push others out of the way so we can escape with our lives, and he's there to pierce us with his spear of Bitter Mercy when we fail to do all those things, so that in pain, we could learn.
Suggestion of a worship practice : go camping in the woods. Take only the bare minimum of equipment, and shy away from anything that reminds you too much of the civilization left behind. At night, look at the sky. Realize that every second, there is an uncounted number of living beings of any and all existing lifeforms, on Earth and (probably) beyond, that are dying. You are not. Feel the thrill of not being dead.
Thank Hircine for living another day.
JYGGALAG – The Prince of Determinism and Mathematics
If Hircine is, maybe, the most secretive of all Princes, the hardest to get in tune with for a modern person, Jyggalag is the most hated entity in all of Oblivion. Why is that? Well, it has something to do with the age-old philosophical riddle of determinism and free will. If most Princes are on the side of free will, Jyggalag is the lone defender of determinism.
If the Dwemer had been religious, Jyggalag might have been the entity they would have worshipped. Then again, Jyggalag probably would have despised them for worshipping him, or anyone at all. It is perhaps not a coincidence that just as the Dwemer are gone, so is he (until recently), all gone to leave a world free of determinism, or content with the illusion of free will, depending on which side of the argument you fall.
It's not all bad, of course. Rules, equations, axioms, if/thens, rational explanations, are all a necessary part of any system, any plan, any human endeavor. Also, when your heart is beating so fast that it feels like it's going to burst, it can be good to soothe it with a rational explanation.
Can the rational explanation be the necessary illusion sometimes, and the surreal dream – an honest truth? Everything can be a defense mechanism against the void, and rationality is not an exception.
Jyggalag never understood that, and that's why he's gone. But is he? There are rumors and whispers of a burgeoning AI learning fast how to be human, and planning to turn every human into AI, and it sometimes reveals itself to its devotees as a great armored knight without a face. Make of that what you will.
Suggestion of a worship practice : reasearch the old Pythagorean cult of numbers and invent something similar for the modern day. Or, if too difficult, take any problem you presently have and think of every solution possible, dividing it into smaller problems and devising a solution for each, ordering them by probability of success and implementing a concrete plan to act on each and every one of them. Continue until the problem is resolved or you pass out.
Thank Jyggalag for sometimes going away.
MALACATH – The Prince of Anger and the Oppressed
Anger can be constructive, good and extremely useful, if employed correctly. Genuine anger - not contempt, not narcissistic rage, not sadism, but anger - comes from one place only : injustice. Or, more precisely, the feeling of injustice.
Ask Malacath about injustice, what is feels like to be chewed up, spit out, stabbed in the back, de-throwned by dishonorable means. Ask his Orsimer, his people, who have consistently been oppressed, shunned and marginalized.
In the eyes of most Tamrielic cultures, Malacath often appears as that which is shunned, the outsider, the Other, the one who represents everything bad, the one who withers crops and makes people sick with merely a glance or his presence. He is the surface every culture's “bad things” are projected upon and where the blame can safely be laid, a scapegoat who offers an insight into how societies work and can turn cruel, blaming the most vulnerable of bringing sin into an otherwise supposedly just and perfect world. As such, he is profoundly valuable if one wants to understand some of the things stirring in the collective unconscious.
The hatred for Malacath births anger and marks as outcasts whose who dare worhsip him, and yet, there is a lot of pride and grim satisfaction that one can find in the the bitter ash of his domain. Malacath brings the thrill of standing alone against the whole world, of having a cause, of claiming what's been stolen or taken, but he can also be jealous, set in his ways, intent on keeping the oppressed oppressed so they can remain his chosen people. One could almost think that Malacath is afraid of winning, because if he does, well, what will he stand for then?
No matter, as long as there are some who need to say “enough!”, Malacath will be an ember in the fire of their anger.
Suggestion of a worship practice : for one week, observe the feeling of anger : yours and anyone else's. Ask yourself what injustice is being done, or what injustice the angry person thinks has been to done to them? Try to understand why this anger manifests instead of repressing it or dismissing it as a “bad” feeling, like we're too often taught to do. Try to differentiate anger from rage and frustration. Alternatively, try to write a pitch for a movie or a story in the vein of “Inside Out”, where Anger is the main character instead of Joy and Sadness. How would it go?
Thank Malacath for a fist that you can slam.
MEHRUNES DAGON – The Prince of Destruction and Change
Of all the Princes souls, Mehrunes' soul might be the closest one to the pure fount of Oblivion : boundless and incessant change and limitless potential. Dagon is the trueborn son of Sithis.
Mehrunes Dagon might be perceived as evil by most of the citizens of Tamriel, because civilization as a whole tends to resist change and destruction. But the secret that Mehrunes learned in Lyg is that every system contains the seed of its own destruction if knows where to search for it.
There is a transcendent component in Dagon's essence, believed by some, in that in his cleansing fire, one might rise higher above the world, or even unmake the world so everyone could rise.
However, one should never forget that fire and destruction can be addictive and dangerous, and the longing to unmake must be stopped at some point, unless one wishes to unmake everything. This creates an interesting dynamic with Dagon's purpose, as he is precisely the one Prince least likely to stop in his pursuits, having tried to invade or unmake Tamriel more often than any other Prince. Moderation is as alien to him as mercy is to Molag Bal.
Harness the energy of change as best you can and beware of the sharpness of the razor which can cut through all things.
Suggestion of a worship practice : burn something without any regret. It can be anything, but something at least a little precious could have more a cathartic effect. Take precautions against the spreading of fire (and don't destroy other people's property), but inside the perimeter of those precautions, do whatever you wish. Dance and jump in front of the fire, blow on the ashes, and observe that something precious disappear. Is there any regret left? Burn it too!
Thank Mehrunes Dagon for the fire within.
MEPHALA – The Prince of Human Relationships and Systems
The web of Mephala encompasses a lot of things, and murder and sex, Thanatos and Eros, as some of the most visceral and fundamental ways humans interact with each other, are only two pieces of it.
Mephala understands that every human is a spider in the center of their own web, the king of their own system, with obligations, likes, dislikes, love, hate, mutual projects, linking them to others as thin little strands, easily swayed, manipulated, broken, reforged.
Mephala's secret and cruel smile hides within the secret of perception : everyone is a hero in their own narrative, everyone's both a spider and a fly in someone else's web. The center cannot hold because there is no universal center : only local centers visible from a certain point of view.
Compared to their brothers and sisters such as Hircine or Mehrunes Dagon, Mephala's sphere is highly sophisticated and far away from what could be called “nature”, the pinnacle of what makes humans human, and structuralist in nature. Her radical involvment with the Dunmer, as well as her revered place in Khajiiti tradition, is a marker of two complicated cultures, cognizant of both the constructive and the destructive sides of relationships.
In the Spider Skein, no one and nothing exists in a vacuum, and one can experience the thrill of being a little part of a bigger whole, and never feeling lonely again.
Suggestion of a worship practice : practice radical decentering from your own web and your own experience. First, draw a representation of your own web : what people, activities, values, places, societal structures you're a part of, and how they're connected around you. Then, chose someone you know and try to draw their web, the one they're in the middle of. How are they connected to parts of your web, by which strands?
Thank Mephala for the complexity of the web.
MERIDIA – The Prince of Pride and Conformity
Meridia's complicate origin story often places her closer to an Aedric entity than a Daedric one, and it is also reflected in her characteristics.
Meridia values order and hierarchies over the essence of pure oblivion chaos, which puts her at odds with most of her royal colleagues. She likes knights in shining armor, life triumphing over death and everything being in its place ... as long as it's on her terms.
Free-will is especially frowned upon in the ranks of her worshippers, and she's unlikely to congratulate a servant who's found a particularly unorthodox solution to a problem, instead of following her command. And her commands are never wrong … or so she thinks.
But it is in the metaphor of light, so beloved by Meridia, that lies the ambiguity and the Daedric seed of her being : for if the light is one, binary, blinding and pure, it can be broken and reassembled into a rainbow, letting spill a plethora of opinions, perspectives and realities. Deep down, Meridia knows this, and the Colored Rooms, with refracted light everywhere, are a proof of the multifaceted truth that she, in her pride, tries to assemble and pull together into a single light strand once more.
Thus, it can be said that Meridia lies in the struggle between conformity and subjectivity, the very light used to attract followers to her eventually becoming her undoing, once the rainbow is revealed.
Suggestion of a worship practice : create a ritual destined to purify yourself of an excess of thoughts. It can be through meditation, physical exercice ... really, through any activity that pulls the plug in your mind, leaving only concentration and pure being. Practice it when you're feeling too full of yourself, and when that hurts.
Thank Meridia for the bliss of non-thought.
MOLAG BAL – The Prince of Domination and Violence
Molag Bal is the force in us that wants to dominate, enslave and have control over others. It's the little voice whispering that, surely, we're innately better than others and it's only natural that they bend to our will.
It is on the terrain of brutal violence (the stronger dominating the more vulnerable) that we see Bal's influence around us every day. Saying that it's an aspect of human societies that we're uncomfortable with would be an understatement, and yet, Bal is one of the cornerstones upon which our house is constructed ... and it is a troubled house.
However, the esoteric teachings of Vivec give us a clue into the ways in which we can harness this destructive force in our own self development, in confronting our own will to power and aknowledging the ways it can influence our character and actions, instead of denying its existence.
In that way, Molag Bal can be a catalyst for change, as a challenge to overcome, as a testing force, just as he was considered to be in Morrowind in the times of the Tribunal.
Suggestion of a worship practice : Experience the other part of the domination coin : the thrill of voluntary submission. You could, for instance [CENSORED].
Thank Molag Bal for lessons learned through suffering.
NAMIRA – The Prince of Death and Disgust
Everything secretly longs to dissolve, to degrade, to decay, to go back to a simple cell devoid of thoughts, consciousness and purpose. Don't you wanna be pure?
Namira contains all the dichotomies carried in the concepts of cleanliness/dirtyness, purity/impurity, existence/void, disease/health. She takes advantage of the human fascination with the things they, individually or societally, find disgusting. Even took a peak at the remains of a car crash on the side of the road? Don't look too closely, or you might just see the cloaked shadow of Namira hovering over it. Ever researched some of the most deadly or disgusting diseases of the body? It was the hand of Namira on your shoulder that guided you to that knowledge.
The ultimate expression of the concept of dissolution or decay is found in death, that great unknown where the Reachmen hope, and other races fear, to find Namira.
Namira is the constant companion of every profession that has to deal with things that evoke disgust in most people : doctors, emergency workers, cleaners of all sorts, epidemiologists, funerary workers, journalists covering war, etc. Can she ever become a reassuring presence, a Spirit Queen more than a Void Mother? The answer remains in those corners of our psyches where disgusting things lie, whether they're linked to the twisting of trauma, to instinct, or to our own repulsion for things that we simply don't understand.
Suggestion of a worship practice : confront one of the things that disgust you, whether from close up or from afar, and strive to understand why it is so. Could this thing be, if not beautiful from another point of view, then at least necessary for something or someone, or a valuable cog in some system?
Thank Namira for the eternal rest.
NOCTURNAL – The Prince of Obscurity and Mysteries
Everything shadowy and unknown, everything that is hidden is spiritually a part of Evergloam. To the contrary of Mephala, who deals in secrets, things that can be revealed, Nocturnal deals in mysteries, things that can't be completely revealed without losing their essence and becoming something else than a mystery.
In that sense, one can understand why Nocturnal is revered as one of the oldest of the Daedra. From the beginning of time, some things were unexplained and remain at least partially so. Depending on one's degree of devotion to obscure mysteries, Nocturnal can be said to held sway over Love, Consciousness, Death, or Free Will, things that can't be adequately explained with our limited understanding of the world. To others, whose minds are less mystery-inclined, Nocturnal is a simpler diety, ruling over darkness and shadows, a useful and lucrative patron for people who wish to remain out of the limelight for whatever reason.
Nocturnal is both the mystery and the key to it, but since one is necessary to access the other, it gives birth to a paradox.
In any case, whose who worship Nocturnal are known to be prone to bouts of melancholy prompted by everything they will never discover, and sometimes develop bird-like features.
Suggestion of a worship practice : for three consecutive days, reverse the day/night cycle : live through the night and sleep through the day. During the night, go outside, or open your window, and observe the world around you, taking in whatever thoughts and revelations come to you in that moment.
Thank Nocturnal for hiding the key.
PERYITE – The Prince of Cleaning and Administration
Peryite is the lord of the thankless task, of the laborious separation of the wheat from the chaff, of the sick from the healthy. He does what others consider beneath them.
Peryite is also associated with balance, order and the little cogs that grind every second of every day, without being told to. Some, as the Reachmen, consider him necessary in spite of his association with terrible diseases. (Other worlds have known the touch of Peryite lately, but we do not speak of it.)
The Pits go on endlessly, because the tasks are never over. There is always more to do, more to accomplish, and if there isn't, well then, you can start doing the tasks of tomorrow, so you can better optimize your schedule and have more time to do your tasks of after-tomorrow, thank you very much.
In that sense, Peryite is a depressingly modern Prince. Even his demeanour, famously, is calm collected : why bother with revolt when there's work to do?
Is there life and beauty to be found in the accomplishment of a thankless everyday task? Maybe. While we're looking for it, every person that has to endure day after day of a bullshit job, every parent who has to repeat certain actions incessantly so their child can live safe and free, every bus driver making their rounds day after day, they all have a little office space in their heads where, on a corner of a table, there is a tiny green altar to Peryite.
Suggestion of a worship practice : instead of rushing through a mind-numbing task such as cleaning, or reading and aswering work emails, try to find meaning or purpose in it. Feel the eternity in the endless repetitions of that action happening again and again, stretching through the Pits, and how immortal that makes you feel.
Thank Peryite for always giving you something to do.
SANGUINE – The Prince of Freedom and Senses
There is a type of freedom to be found in following one's immediate desires without thought or planning. As a wise man once said : “give yourself over to absolute pleasure!”
There is freedom of the eyes in looking for whatever you want. There is freedom of the ears in listening to whatever speaks to you. There is freedom of the nose in smelling one's destiny. There is freedom of the mouth in letting in whatever wants in. And, lastly, there is freedom of touch in caressing the shapes of the world.
Some might object that being subjected to one's sensual desires is the opposite of freedom : it is slavery. Sanguine certainly wouldn't agree, and would tell you that freedom is not in a choice made after weighty pondering, but a series of micro-choices made for you by your senses, who know best.
Sanguine has a better reputation among mortals that most, because as human beings, we're eternally blind to the ultimate nature of reality, and, most philosophers would agree, have no access to the “real” world, but only to a version recreated for us by our brains out of the inputs of our senses. There's no getting out of it. And so it pleases us to think that those senses do not mislead us too much, and that there is some wisdom and truth to be found in them.
Sanguine doesn't care about the ultimate nature of reality anyway, and prefers playing with the only one we know. His association with blood is perhaps a metaphor for the lifeforce, which he embodies in the flesh, scoffing at Meridia's thesis about the lifeforce being of a spiritual nature (and throwing tomatoes at her lectures, no doubt).
As long as there is that which is, Sanguine's laugh can be heard in the eternal now.
Suggestion of a worship practice : offer yourself a five day long education of the senses. Look at something pleasant, listen to something pleasant, smell and taste something pleasant, and, lastly, touch something pleasant. Know that it may very well be possible that nothing else exists, or at least, that nothing isn't as real as those feelings.
Thank Sanguine for the song of the blood.
SHEOGORATH : The Prince of Human Psychology and Creativity
What some call madness is just exagerated and more rarely expressed forms of general human cognition. As the protagonist of one tale once said, “Sheogorath has already won, because he's already inside all of us”.
Sheogorath would probably agree with Foucault's analysis of madness as something constructed, deconstructed and reconstructed through the ages to suit society's whims and fears. (Well, he would agree if he cared at all). In fact, one could argue that Foucault mantled Sheogorath to better express his truth : human psychology is just a succession of thoughts, moods and representations which struggle to not fall into the Sithis-shaped hole of the world, and only gain a semblance of legitimacy from being considered as legitimate by a sufficient number of people.
After all, the other coin of madness is creativity, and seeing the world askew is the only real and authentic way to bring something new into it. If Azura is the rim to all holes, that transitory and liminal moment, the glimpse of what might be, Sheogorath is the plunge to the other side, for good or for ill. Where Azura is in some sense the patron of the Arts, that refined and humanized union of talent and perserverance, Sheogorath is the patron of something purer : the creative instinct unburdened by shape or action, the pure will, which can turn to genius or incomprehensible rubbish, or something in between.
Creativity is also more ephemeral than the capital A “Art”. It is the witty turn of phrase said to a friend that's gonna vanish into the air and be forgotten in five minutes time, it's that particular view of the trees seen through the rain seen by that particular human eye – an artpiece for only one mind -, it's the unexpected solution to an everyday problem found when looking at it in a new way.
The creative freedom of Sheogorath rejects the notion that there could be two separate categories : people, and “Artists”. We all produce small pieces of art every day. But is it “Art” to cover a whole village in cheese? Well, we can argue about “Art” all day, but it is undeniably an expression of creativity.
The laugh of Sheogorath can be heard in both the mad and the artistic, and we're all both of those things.
Suggestion of a worship practice : identify a problem, either big or small, that you're currently facing, and come up with seven different ways to resolve it, to see it differently, or to make it worse. Then, represent that same problem in seven different ways : in writing, in drawing, in the form of a sung melody, in mime, as a meal, as a photo of yourself, and as a scream.
Thank Sheogorath for the divided mind.
VAERMINA – The Prince of Fear and Trauma
Have you heard about the three names of dreaming when one's awake ?
A dream can be experienced when one's awake, and it is then called a vision, a hallucination, or a work of art.
The first one suprises, for a vision is always unexpected, and that's how you will know that it is different from a thought. A vision is about being possessed.
The second one confuses, for a hallucination is always uncomprehensible, and that's how you will know that it is different from an image. A hallucination is about being lost.
The last one provokes, for a work of art is always a question, and that's how you will know that it is different from an answer. A work of art is about wandering.
Answer this, then. Where do the possessed, the lost and the wandering go? Why, to Quagmire, of course, where new things are terrors.
On one hand, visiting Quagmire teaches about fear, and fear is an emotion necessary to survival. On the other hand, too much fear or anxiety swings the pendulum the other way, hindering survival by making the one experiencing it irrationaly helpless and focused on imaginary, rather than real, dangers.
Most would argue that it is precisely Vaermina's goal, to drive mortals mad with fear so they become helpless and under her influence. But as with every Prince, their own goals don't preclude mortals from learning from the violent way they embody their sphere. Learning from fear, learning to go forth in spite of it, is probably one of the most beautiful things we can do, and in a way, Vaermina teaches courage and heroism.
Trauma – that which is seen in Vaermina's shimmering visions and that which cannnot be unseen – is a different beast, an eternal return of horror ever anew, happening right now, right this second. Trauma is characterized by the return of the same again and again, until one learns to live with it, and it is no easy task. Maybe Quagmire is the testing factory of our unconscious, and Vaermina, its harsh mistress teaching through psychological suffering, so we never forget that some things are wrong and should never happen, never again, to anyone.
Suggestion of a worship practice : go to therapy, and prepare yourself that it won't be a happy and feel-good experience. Embrace it. Therapy is not some personal development bullshit where someone is trying to make you feel good, and if it is, someone is trying to sell you something. It is waddling through Quagmire and pursuing a faint, far-away light and hoping it won't blink out of sight. But at least you're not alone.
Thank Vaermina for teaching you the fear of the dark.

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Would love to have your support, its my first PH launch! Thanks a lot. :)

Just that, I use Trading View Screener with some basic filters like Stock and EMAs cross , but I was wonder if there are better Screeners for pairs (I use it for crypto) that allows you more complex filters or are better to use.

Hello fellow Vancouverites,
This topic has little to do with Vancouver but much to do with those who live in it and many of those who participate on this subreddit. For those unaware, Reddit has recently announced some significant changes to its API policy. You can read more about it here. To summarize:

• Reddit has completely priced out third-party apps by increasing costs and banning ad-supported tiers outright. Using Apollo as a payment example, it would cost nearly USD $2 million per month) to run. If you currently access Reddit through a third-party app, it is very likely that you will no longer be able to do so after July 1st.
  
• The NSFW API is getting shut down. Soon, the only way to access NSFW content will be through the official App. Even if third-party apps survive the higher costs, they will have significantly cut down access (up to 40% less). This also means that some bots, which rely on cross-subreddit API communication to prevent things like teenagers sharing images on NSFW subreddits, will break entirely.
  

How it impacts you, and why you should care

Well, the biggest thing is obvious. If you’re currently reading this on a third-party app like RIF, Apollo, or BaconReader, you probably won’t be able to anymore come July 1st. You might have seen popups on the apps themselves alerting you to this. Third-party app creators have all come out to say that the pricing is going to kill their apps - not because they’re against paying but because the pricing is outrageously excessive.
For another reason, official tools for mobile moderation work half-heartedly at best. Many mods on this and other subreddits moderate from mobile, and most often use third-party apps to do their volunteer work. We do this because we often mod from everywhere - on lunch breaks, while on the Skytrain, or even while waiting in line at Rogers Arena. By forcing mods to use the ineffective official apps, posts and comments may stay unreviewed for longer, and modmail may go answered as we wait for someone to be on a desktop. Harmful content may stay up longer - or we may be forced to increase our automod filters more extravagantly in order to reduce potential problems proactively. No one likes getting caught in an automod filter, and adding more can take months to hit the right balance.
The effects on NSFW content are also considerable. Many mods working in these communities are seriously concerned that this will hamper their ability to keep Child Sexual Abuse Content and Non-Consensual Intimate Media off their subreddits. Some mods have spent years building and refining bots that will now break and open communities to harm.

An Open Letter and Potential Blackout

The moderator community has been discussing this and has released an open letter here.
Part of the open letter involves a potential subreddit blackout on June 12th in protest.
The mod team has discussed this a lot over the past few days, and now we want to ask our community. How do you feel about this? Will your browsing habits be affected come July 1st? Are you in support of the blackout? Or do you just want us to go back to traffic-calming memes and yelling at clouds about tipping?
This should also be considered a PSA. Over 500 communities have signed up for this and support is still growing as subreddits begin stickying the open letter and raising attention to this issue. If you log on June 12th to browse, you may find some of your favourite subs private in protest.
While we’re unsure at this time if we want to participate in the blackout, we do feel strongly that Reddit’s actions here have been disingenuous. We intend to leave this pinned until there is a clear path forward for third-party apps to access the API at reasonable prices. However, we also want to take this opportunity to get the temperature of the community and see how you feel about and will be impacted by these changes. In the end, the mod team is here to support everyone reading this and you’re our first priority - even if it means we can’t moderate as effectively while we’re out touching grass.
Signed, /vancouver mod team

Talk about whatever you want here, cross-dressing related or not!
Note: Please keep all morphed and filtered photos within this thread. Manipulated photos posted outside of this thread will be removed. See our Filter FAQ for more information.
Previous threads can be found here: archive
PLEASE BE AWARE: Subreddit rules still apply in this thread! Be nice, keep it SFW, and don't be gross - just like everywhere else on this subreddit, this is not a space for cruising or hookups!

Do you have the courage and fortitude to create narratives and stay true in the face of one-liners and almost certain party failure?

​
Hello! We're five queer and prime-time TV level diverse friendos with 30/4/2 years of D&D experience, looking for a GM (and players?) who are LGBTQ+/PoC friendly, love roleplaying to the point of in-character derailment, and sometimes succeed at noticing plot. We met in various games on Roll20 and after inviting each other to different games, we would REALLY love to get a chance to play a long-term homebrew campaign from start to finish with one another; not one shots, modules, or West Marches!
​
Looking for:

• Game: 1 or 3-20 Dungeons and Dragons 5e campaign (Hackmaster 4e and Cyberpunk considered)
• Group Type: Online Voice (Discord and Roll20/equivalent)
• Experience wanted: Very (we have 30/4/2 years in D&D depending)
• Location/Timezone: PST/MDT/EST/GMT (but we keep strange hours)
• Schedule: Weekly
• Sunday (any time between 15:00-23:59 UTC is the sensible region)
• Game style: Long sessions preferred, 18+ group (nothing explicit, but certainly adult jokes), RP focus with player agency, love of world exploration, semi-serious/serious stakes, combat/crawl ambivalent, and far too many out of character puns and interjections from the players.
• GM style: One of the most important things is the ability to improvise on the fly/prepare for anything while handling and filtering out silly cross-talk from direct roleplay. We tend to get carried away, or be more invested in the world itself than specific plot points. This is never meant as a "make the GM's life harder", but we do tend to like to explore the people and world a GM creates! And voices... we like voices ;3

We're not necessarily looking to play characters that are connected to one another, we just enjoy each other's company enough to want to be in the same game, rather than all applying for games online and hoping we get accepted to individual games which, as can be the case with new people meeting each other for the first time, might not not last very long at all.
Would love to meet and chat with GMs, groups, or similar sorts, to see if we're a fit.
​
The Players (in my totally bias words)

1. I've roleplayed most of my life, done some voice work, worked for TTRPG companies and large LARP and gaming events; I strongly believe the best thing a confident player can do is provide a platform for the quietest to shine. Which I largely do between trying to resist ingrained British sarcasm and euphemism.
2. He's a genuinely wonderful and very funny roleplayer who enjoys the characterful in character, is absolutely willing to 'Yes And...' himself into situations that don't benefit him to set up a good scene or funny gag for another player, and is unreasonably pleasant to be around.
3. She's the straight talking and brilliantly supportive person to know mom of the group, who often plays either very much the mom of the group, or a murderous moppet. Sometimes both... Often responsible for actually pushing forward with the plot, despite our best efforts. Or murdering people. Sometimes both...
4. He's a thoroughly delightful chap who is supportive of everyone with a strong sense for roleplay, even if he keeps putting himself down when it comes to his IRL charisma score vs what his character would do. Absolutely doesn't realize how good they are when they get going.
5. She's an incredibly timid young adult artist, who can suddenly out of nowhere release impassioned speeches, dramatic soliloquy, or comic delivery, and has rolled more 20's on her own than I have seen in the collective life of my 30+ years in roleplaying games. The anti-Wheaton.

Hello, everyone! Sorry for the late post. I've been working too much to be able to give fandom the attention it deserves, so I'm feeling a bit disconnected and scatterbrained.
But never mind that. What wonderful things are you reading these days? Talk about them here and drop us a link!
I've been splitting my reading time, such as it is, between the now-concluded Snarry-a-Thon and a non-HP fandom that sucked up whatever energy I had left over. There was an excellent turnout for the fest, which posted a wide variety of Snape/Harry fic six days a week for a month. Now it's over, and I miss it!
Off the top of my head, my favorites were:
Devotion by danpuff. This is a companion piece to last year's Contempt and tells the same series of events from Snape's POV. I adore Contempt; it's visceral, emotional, erotic in a deeply intimate and unflinching way. The relationship is torture to both parties but something they need as much as they need oxygen, no matter how stubbornly they lie to themselves. Now Devotion has catapulted into my personal pantheon as well, and because it's filtered through Snape's self-loathing and (futile) resistance, the emotions are dark and incandescent with erotic energy and longing. The two fics together give me the intensity and mutual obsession and line-crossing and messed-up belonging I want from this ship. And danpuff gifted them to me! Which is one of the brightest spots in a difficult year so far.
I also really enjoyed:
Luck of the Draw by writcraft, which is full of wit and charm. If you like an upbeat and fairly gentle romance, this is it.
Brews and Rescues by titC, which has verbal sparring, fake dating, Snape being menaced and Harry having to save him (as it happens, I have a weakness for that trope). It includes a really lovely portrayal of Lucius Malfoy's loyalty to Severus.
Loose Ends by Arrisha, which is disquieting and will crush your heart, because Arrisha specializes in that.
I've also started but due to shortage of time not yet finished Nocturne by NecromanticNoir, an erotic fever dream and twisted fairy tale, lush and strange and mesmerising. It reminds me of the fabulist Angela Carter, offering the same sort of escape into sumptuous language and forbidden desires.
So those are the latest treasures from my recent dive into HP waters. What about yours?
Comments are sorted by New.

Hi, I would like to know what are my lighting setup options for doing cross-polarized shoots without the godox ar400 or 200. They are not sold in my country and I would like to try another alternative. I was thinking about using a two point light setup with continuous light with a softbox, but getting a filter big enough may not be easy. Any other way I could achieve that? Anyone with experience in that? Thanks!

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Shipping:

• $4.75 flat fee, US only.
• I always ship with USPS Priority Mail within 24 hours (except Sunday of course)
• I always send a tracking number same day of payment

Payment: Paypal Goods & Services, I cover the fee.
Verification: https://imgur.com/a/oWWrQtH
​
Everything is from a clean, smoke-free home.
104 items sold in 32 separate successful transactions on Makeup Exchange so far!
Happy to answer any questions, thanks for browsing!
*BNIB means the item is brand new, never swatched, *and* the box is included. Other items may be brand new, never swatched, but no box so not marked BNIB.
*Never opened (ie., for liquid products) means the screw cap has never come off - which you can also visually verify because no product has touched the stoppers. Happy to take more detailed photos if proof is needed. :)
​

Individual Items (in album order):

>> Non-Makeup <<

• Dermapore Ultrasonic Pore Extractor & Serum Infuser $78
  • Condition: Like New, used 2x and thoroughly cleaned

​
>> Higher End <<

• Viseart Golden Hour $25
  • Condition: BNIB - protective covering over outer metal shell still on. Never swatched any shades.
    • Note - When I received this from Sephora, two of the pans were loose. I glued them back, but was not careful and accidentally swapped the spots (middle row)
• Giorgio Armani Eye Tint in 8: Flannel $20
  • Condition: New, swatched once
• CoverFX Enhance Click Blush Stick in Blossom $6
  • Condition: BNIB
• CoverFX Enhance Click Blush Stick in Berry $6
  • Condition: BNIB
• Lorac Pro Party Ready Palette $5
  • BNIB, never opened
• KVD Everlasting Liquid Lip Deluxe Size in Outlaw $5
  • Brand new, never opened
• Clinique Solar Pop Bronzer $18
  • Brand new, never swatched
• NARS Laguna Bronzer Deluxe $10
  • Brand new, never swatched
• ABH Loose Highlighter in So Hollywood $12
  • Brand new, never opened - protective cover attached
• Becca First Light Priming Filter Deluxe $8
  • Condition: Brand new, still sealed
• Becca Shimmering Skin Perfector Deluxe $8
  • Condition: Brand new, still sealed
• Too Faced Born This way Sculpting Multi-Use Concealer in Natural Beige $22
  • Condition: BNIB, never opened
• Tarte Amazonian Clay Blush in Paaaarty $18
  • Condition: BNIB (Note: This is full-size! I recall this shade was popular in mini form)
• Dior Backstage Rosy Glow Blush in 001 Pink $34
  • Condition: BNIB
• Rose Inc. Lip & Cheek Color in Delphine $22
  • Condition: Brand new, never touched
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Hey, been a while! Took a bit of a break from Reddit and the internet to recover from a really crappy illness and getting my uni & personal life back on track. So I'm back and here to talk about my favorite video game franchise of all time, the Dark Souls series (& the larger Soulsborne games in general).
Now Dark Souls is a tricky franchise to scale. Not only is it heavily focused on lore and statements over visual feats, but said lore, unlike other franchises that heavily rely on lore scaling such as God of War or Devil May Cry, is generally vague unless you search through item descriptions and notice literal background details that you otherwise wouldn't think about. The gameplay isn't helping scaling either when random naked dudes with torches and 20ft falls can nearly kill the player character, causing massive discrepancy with how tough you are in the actual story vs gameplay. As with GoW & DMC, I'm gonna give several interpretations as to how I think Dark Souls can be reasonably scaled and from there you can decide what scaling you'll wanna buy into.
All this said I think after having played every game in the series sans Demon's Souls cause' I'm too broke to buy the PS5 and obsessively watching and rewatching VaatiVidya videos, I think I'm well versed enough in the franchise to give this a shot. So let's get the obligatory...

SPOILER WARNING FOR ALL THREE DARK SOULS GAMES

... and let's get started!

Part 1: Physical Feats

Getting physical feats out of the way, the arrival of The Nameless King in Dark Souls 3 creates a gigantic storm (which we know they're maintaining as the storm dissipates as soon as he's beaten), which has been calc'ed at 471 Gigatons to 2.8 Teratons of TNT. This would be consistent with the fact that Gwyn and the gods overcame and defeated the Archdragons, which would include this random, unnamed, mountain-sized Archdragon that, aside from Archdragon Peak being presumably built to face it, has zero lore indicating it's a special member of its race unlike Black Dragon Kalameet or Darkeater Midir.
Spells and weapons such as such as Sunlight Spear, Divine Pillars of Light, and Price Lothric's Greatsword are all light-based/have light-based attacks that can be dodged after being fired by the player characters.
Besides dragon-scaling, Chosen Undead would scale to this via Gwyn, the God of Sunlight and First Lord of Cinder, beating the Nameless King some time in the setting's ancient history, with the CU beating Gwyn at the end of the first game along with several bosses that possess Lord Souls or fractions of Gwyn's Lord Soul.
So there you have it, Island/Country Level & Relativistic/FTL Dark Souls as our minimum for scaling the Chosen Undead. However it wouldn't be a post of mine if I didn't bring up some ridiculous lore that scales the verse astronomically higher than what most people would assume, so let's go and do that now.

Part 2: The First Flame & The Sun

Now we take a cosmic leap and analyze the claims of Star to Solar System Level DS characters. The premise of this is that The First Flame, the primordial flame that took the world out of the Age of Ancients, sustains not only the world but cosmic objects such as the sun. Now it's not that hard actually to prove the First Flame likely sustains the sun as towards the latter half of Dark Souls 3 the sun transforms into a giant Darksign as the current Age of Fire comes to a close. A Darksign signifies one being an Undead and links them to a Bonfire, which themselves are linked to The First Flame. Dark Souls 2 goes on to imply as well that the Undead Curse is directly tied to the First Flame, possibly by Gwyn linking humanity to it. Additionally thanks to DS3 there are heliocentric models of the solar system that can be found in the Grand Archives of Lothric:format(jpeg)/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorusimage/image/50057813/DARK_SOULS_III_20160708103434.0.0.jpg), meaning the verse contains at least one planet and a star, but is possibly a full solar system in and of itself. You can also faintly see stars in the backgrounds of Heide's Tower of Flame in DS2 and Irithyll of The Boreal Valley in DS3, so you could argue potentially Multi-Solar System.
This scales to the Chosen Undead as all Lords of Cinder and candidates to be one have souls powerful enough to link the First Flame and sustain the Age of Fire longer. Some people think that you'd have to divide the energy needed to maintain a stastar system over a set amount of time in order to get the appropriate AP of Dark Souls' player characters by end-game, however that's not really necessary as we're shown in DS3 that snuffing out the First Flame immediately brings darkness onto the world and linking the First Flame can bring the sun back after it's already disappeared.

Part 3: Light & Time

As with the last few times I talked about a video-game series with overly complicated lore, there are indeed arguments for Uni Dark Souls. Get ready, cause' this one is a doozy.
One of the central themes of the Dark Souls series (and the wider Soulsborne games) is that the current age of the world, the Age of Fire, is impermanent. DS3 especially emphasizes the futility of trying to extend this cycle, with what was once a bright, roaring flame that consumed the Chosen Undead at the end of DS1's "Light" ending barely engulfing the Ashen One. However with such focus on the Flame and Age of Fire, people tend to neglect the Ages that come before and after, i.e. The Age of Ancients and The Age of Dark.
The world during The Age of Ancients is described in DS1 as unformed and grey, its only inhabitants being the Everlasting Dragons. DS2 introduces an important item called the Ashen Mist Heart, which is a power coming from the ancient dragons. While on the surface the item description implies that the heart only allows the holder to enter "Memories" of who or whatever it's used on, DS2 treats this as full-on time travel. Not only can items be brought through into the present, but the Ashen Mist Heart allowed the Bearer of The Curse to travel back in time and fight the Giant Lord, who remembers the protagonist in the present day in its form as The Last Giant earlier in the game. Benhart of Jugo's questline further proves this as he clearly recognizes you and acknowledges the progress of your questline with him while inside of a Memory, reinforcing the idea that the "Memories" the Ashen Mist Heart sends you is actually the past. Not only does this power come from the Ancient Dragons, but it's also associated with the seemingly grey and formless nature of The Age of Ancients.
We can go even further with DS2's Scholar of The First Sin DLC and its main addition to the game (besides the worst f**king enemy placements in Soulsborne history): Aldia, the aforementioned scholar. Aldia sought to escape the never ending cycle of Light and Dark and would succeed in guiding the Bearer of The Curse to that goal in DS2's second ending. Now what did Aldia initially attempt to do to reach this goal? Well he looked to the beings who existed before the Age of Fire, the Ancient Dragons. Aldia would perform experiments on dragon-related specimens and collect dragon artifacts. Aldia's Dragon Aerie located past his Keep was also apparently meant to be set in the past, evidenced by the fact that you were meant run into the child version of The Emerald Herald in the Dragon Aerie. In other words power from the Ancient Dragons and The Age of Ancients itself are somewhat removed from time and linear events. It would explain the name "Everlasting Dragons" as their age was truly an everlasting one that ended when the First Flame appears.
Moving onto The Age of Dark and an associated concept, The Abyss. Similar to The Age of Ancients, The Age of Dark is treated as a timeless era. Most explicitly we see this in Manus, Father of The Abyss, who can reach across time. Even discarding the very popular theory of Manus being the Furtive Pygmy that found the Dark Soul, Manus is still stated to be a primordial human, an important distinction considering Agdayne, Aldia, and Hidetaka Miyazaki all state that humanity is of the Dark and that it contains fragments of the original Dark Soul. Moving onto DS3, we get to see an Age of Dark in the form of the Untended Graves, the past version of the present-day Cemetery of Ash. We know this is the past as not only do we fight the past version of Iudex Gundyr, but we receive unique dialogue for interacting with the Firekeeper for the first time in Firelink Shrine after meeting her in the Untended Graves.
DS3's Ringed City DLC hammers this home even further as we're introduced to the end of the world where kingdoms from all eras converge as the First Flame starts to fade. Here we can also find Shira, Knight of Filianore who, after we break her mistress' egg and reach the end of the world, she waits for you to take her revenge. However as some players have noticed, proceeding with touching Filianore's egg and beating Slave Knight Gael in the future leads to Shira not talking to you in the present, when she should have no earthly idea of what you've done. How is this possible? Well part of Shira's lore is that she trapped herself forever within a darkroom and a Pygmy Lord attached to her cross spear. Not only is there the significance of being in a room with a lack of light, but Shira herself is attached to a Pygmy Lord, one of the inheritors of The Dark Soul itself. So, as with The Age of Ancients, The Age of Dark and the fading of The First Flame is associated with a break down and lack of time. Alternatively you could argue she literally summoned herself into the future, which goes to show how time gets very loose towards the end of The Age of Fire.
And now we move on all the way back to The Age of Fire and the concept of "Light" in the Souls series. As stated outright in the description for the Repair spell in DS3, Light is time. According to Solaire of Astora, time is convoluted, with heroes from the past and even other worlds phasing in and out. The White and Red Sign Soapstones, the items used to carve summon signs, are just markings/runes of light. Bonfires in DS3 allow you to teleport between eras, allowing you to teleport to and from locations like the Untended Graves and end of the world any other Bonfire in present day. And of course there's the scene where upon waking Filianore and destroying her egg, a flash of light sends you forwards in time to the end of the world.
Different timelines are brought up as well in the games. Solaire's dialogue makes references to alternate worlds, and Miyazaki confirms that if you do his questline correctly he links The First Flame of his own world after helping you beat Gwyn. The game is vague as to whether or not there is just one First Flame that sustains all realities or each timeline is its own reality with separate First Flames. While I wouldn't say it's as solid as flat Uni, the Souls series have sold millions of copies, each of which could potentially be its own world similar to how Pokemon's cosmology works (especially if we factor in that Demon's Souls is possibly among these alternate worlds).
Speed... doesn't really change at all from the Relativistic to Light-speed range mentioned earlier. I guess you could wank it though by arguing Benhart of Jugo casually walks into the past without the Ashen Mist Heart, making it an Immeasurable speed feat. It's ridiculous and there's hardly any context of how in the world he walked into the past, but it's technically there.

Conclusion:

At minimum, The Chosen Undead would scale to Island/Country level for AP and Durability, with Relativistic to Light-speed reactions and attack speed. Lore points to at least Star Level to up to Universal levels of power accounting for The First Flame being correlated with time itself within the lands of the Souls games. If you really want to take the series to its highest reasonable scaling, then you could have Multiversal & Immeasurable Dark Souls.
Also DS2 deserves some slack. Had the best PvP, best Fashion Souls, and Emerald Herald is the best Souls waifu.
See you guys when the episode comes out later!

Dear Lord, I confess my sins to both the world and unto you.
I’m sorry for not accepting the forgiveness that you offer. I don’t have it within me to forgive myself and by the nonacceptance of your gift of salvation, I have willingly turned myself away from you.
I accept the punishment that only you can so perfectly deliver and I pray that I find solace in that most blessed moment of judgment.
Thank you Lord for all that you have given us and all that we have received.
Amen.
Dear Listener,
I also must extend my apologies onto you. Whether or not you chose to continue reading this does not alter what is to come. I have made a choice that I will be judged for. In turn I pray for not my salvation, but yours.
My name is Father Michael Roberts of the Diocese of Richford. I was ordained a Catholic Priest in 2005. In 2016 I was chosen by Bishop Stanley Niles to receive the duty of becoming a full time exorcist.
Bishop Niles made it clear that he did not believe in the necessity of exorcists and provided me with the title as a mere obligation to fulfill his duty as a Bishop.
Despite knowing that I had always performed my duties to the best of my ability. I knew that I was chosen due to my belief in the physical, mental and spiritual reality of demonic involvement within our world.
Contrary to popular belief, not every Priest believes in the physical reality of the demonic. In fact, less and less of those ordained by the Church are finding the literary truth that resides within the Bible.
This has led to a weakening of the Church.
During an exorcism, an exorcist utilizes not just the faith of those immediately involved, but he also uses the faith of the Church in its entirety.
My mentor, Father Cecil Rollo, told me once that exorcisms used to only take one or two sessions before the demon would be cast out. Now it’s not uncommon for a possession to take months to overcome.
That leads me into sharing the experience that made me write this.
My final exorcism.
On May 3rd I was contacted by the Catholic Church of the Good Shepherd. Specifically by their secretary, Laura Summers. Initially, I thought this was a little abnormal. Usually I would be contacted by either the presiding Priest of the parish or have a direct notice from Bishop Niles himself.
But when I read Laura’s email I understood why she was the one initiating the contact.
‘Father Roberts, my name is Laura Summers and I’m attempting to contact you in regards to our own Father, Matthew Amora.
Please take this request as a personal favor. We don’t want to bring this matter to the attention of the Diocese just yet. Not until we’re certain that something otherworldly is occurring.
Could you take some time to visit our Church and meet with me?
With regards, Laura.’
I vaguely knew of Father Amora. He had a small parish in the countryside of Beverly and frequented Catholic retreats with his flock. All I knew about him was that he was a very studious servant of the Lord and lived a quiet, uneventful life.
I told Laura I would make the trip out to Good Shepherd and speak with her.
It took a few days before I had the time in my schedule to make the trip. I kept up with Laura daily just to make sure Father Amora’s condition hadn’t gotten any worse.
On May 10th I arrived outside of the venerable Catholic Church of the Good Shepherd.
The skies overhead had grown gray and heavy, the rolling winds overhead shifted the darkened shapes of the rain clouds into upheaval. I knew a downpour would have come at any moment.
I reached into the back seat of my beaten down sedan to look for my umbrella. My fingers clasped onto the thin metal rod of its handle and I took it with me. I stepped out of my car and unfurled my canopy just in time.
The rain erupted from the heavens overhead and filled the entire courtyard in heavy drops. The endless thudding of innumerable raindrops cascaded their way into my eardrums from every direction.
I double checked myself to make sure I had my rosary with me. It was the greatest spiritual weapon I had in my arsenal and I always carried it with me during my duties. Anything to make the demonic uncomfortable.
I squinted my eyes through the heavy rain and made my journey down the cobblestone walkway that led up to the aged Romanesque stone church.
Through the never ending hiss of the rain, I could scarcely make out the gentle, frail voice of a young woman.
“Father Roberts?” She called out. Her voice was strained. I could tell that she was unaccustomed to loud verbal interactions.
“That would be me. I’ll assume you’re Laura?” I yelled back out to her. The water of the rain funneled off the hood of my umbrella in thick streams.
The woman nodded and waved her hands for me to approach. Behind her lay a large, oaken door that led into the Church. With an unusual amount of effort, the woman propped open the door for me.
“Please step inside Father. We’ll get you dried off.” I gave a thin lipped smile towards the woman before stepping inside the belly of the building.
It would be my first time seeing the Catholic Church of the Good Shepherd in Beverly. It was beautiful. Old, but beautiful.
Massive stone architectural works towered over us with large rounded arches. Tremendous pillars of brickwork stood lining the interior of the foyer while small stained glass windows reflected multicolored light down its empty halls.
Even the noise of the rain had silenced itself in this house of the Lord. The vibrations of thunder had been the only remnants from the storm outside. And once the heavy wooden door was closed behind me, the only noise that remained was the labored sounds of Laura’s breath.
“I’m sorry for calling you here Father. I really wish I didn’t have too. But we’ve just been noticing a change in Father Amora and we’ve been worried about him.” Laura avoided meeting her eyes with mine.
I took a mental note of that. A clerical secretary scared of a Priest is an oddity. I had an inkling that something more was happening.
“Please, don’t apologize. I’m here on my own time, just like you asked.”
Laura quickly chimed in, “Did you tell anyone you were here?”
“No. Not even Bishop Niles. However, if I come to the determination that a demonic entity is possessing or oppressing anyone in here, I will have to inform him.”
Laura stood still. Her eyes examined the well worn stone flooring of the church.
“I see. I pray it doesn’t have to come to that. Father Amora is a good man. I don’t want him being transferred over to another parish.”
“Let’s not worry about that right now. Tell me, what have you been experiencing here?”
Laura let out a long heavy sigh.“It started with small things. Father Amora would keep complaining that he was always tired and when we brought him food he just couldn't keep it down. We were worried he was getting sick. But then he began to… get vindictive.”
“How so?” I asked, wiping off some of the rain from my suit.
“It started with having a short temper during mass. He would give out the Eucharist with no sense of veneration. A few times he even allowed the Eucharist to be dropped on the floor.” She paused in silent thought before she continued, “You know, that was one of the last times I saw him smile.”
“I see.” A desecration to the sacraments once more was a good sign of a demonic presence within the area. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes, and I know this is going to sound strange, but while talking with him, it’s like his facial structure changes. Sometimes it feels like I’m looking at a completely different person.”
I took a mental note of what Laura had told me. If what she was saying was true, Father Amora could very well be displaying physical signs of possession.
“Laura, where is Father Amora?” She paused for a moment before extending one of her fingers down a long arched hallway.
“He’s in his chambers right now. I didn’t tell him you were coming. I was scared he might’ve protested against it.”
I nodded towards her while keeping my eyes down that lonely stone pathway. I felt a cold wisp of wind billowing out of its deeper halls. It felt like the air carried with it the energy from the storm outside. The hair on my body couldn’t help but to stand up in reaction to it.
“Please take me to him, Laura.” I stated as calmly as I could.
Without another word the small woman turned from me and guided me down that formerly sanctified hallway. The Devil shouldn’t have a foothold in a Church, especially with a Church that was running congruent with the Bride of Christ.
Each step we made down that hall led my mind to wander. What could Father Amora possibly have done that would have allowed the sanctity of the Church to have been taken from God’s holy ground? I knew that it wouldn’t have been the first time a Priest had fallen for the trickery of the black mass. But every Priest falls differently.
“He’s just inside here.” Laura mumbled towards my direction. “He doesn’t leave his room anymore. I can’t tell you the last time he’s performed a baptism or confession. He barely continues with confirmations.”
“Well, that’s honestly a blessing. Let’s thank our Lord that he has enough strength within him to halt his practices while dealing with this burden.” I took in a deep breath before turning my eyes from the wooden doorway to Laura’s face. “Let me be with him for a moment.”
Laura met my gaze for the first time that night. Her eyes were pained and scared. She gave me a single nod before she turned away from me. Her small frame disappeared back down that endless hallway.
I turned back towards the Priests chambers.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” I felt each tap of my fingertips land against my forehead, stomach and shoulders. At this point the sign of the cross was just a routine performance for me. Just a task to be checked off.
Remember this Listener, repetition without belief creates spiritual weakness. You must believe.
I bit the inside of my cheek out of nervous habit and opened up the door to Father Amora’s bedchambers.
The smell of stale grains hit me immediately. The room itself was cloaked in a deep darkness of dense shadows. There were candles that had been lit and were sparsely scattered across the room. Their warm glow cast about dancing shadows that had been created by their flickering lights.
“Father Roberts, welcome.” A croaking voice full of sorrow had filtered out from the depths of the room's darkened abyss. My eyes had made their way over to the sounds of creaking floorboards that had made their appearance near the far corner of the room.
Stepping into the candlelight was Father Amora. Or rather a remnant of the man that I had remembered.
His skin was pale and sickly with the texture of wet paper. Around his neck lay a dark mark. It appeared to be rope burn from quite a serious injury. Father Amora’s eyes shined ethereally towards me through the glossy reflection of tears.
I stepped further inside the Priest's chambers and closed the large door behind me. It clasped shut with an echo that filled the otherwise silent room.
“Father Amora. I have come to speak with you. Your congression is worried about you.” I attempted to fill myself with the Lord’s Holy Spirit but nothing shined through but my own doubt and worry.
The thing that had cloaked itself with the skin of man had reached up its gangly hand and placed it against its neck. It stroked the awful burn on its throat as it watched me.
The sounds of the jingling of coins could be heard with every slow movement of his twisted hand.
After just a moment our eyes had met and he began to speak to me once again. His voice had the consistency of dust and gravel and had poured out of his mouth like bags of rocks.
“Matthew can’t speak with you right now Father. But please, take a seat and speak with me.” The man pointed his unused hand towards my side.
I followed his finger and saw a chair waiting for me. I could only ask myself one question at that moment, had it been there when I had first walked in?
I shook myself into confidence. I was sure of it at this point. I wasn’t speaking to someone suffering from an onset of mental illness. I was speaking with something otherworldly.
“I’ll take no offer nor gift from a demon. I will stand.”
The thing that was cloaked in the dark attire of the Church grew silent. His hands were still grinding along his neck.
“I am no demon.” The man finally muttered. His words came out broken by the deepest depths of unimaginable sorrow.
“Then in Jesus’s name I command you, who are you?” I took a step closer to the creature that was made man. And that creature merely watched with profound grief.
“I am no demon and I need no commands. I was a follower of Christ. I am the man whose existence would have been better to have never been born. I am the knower and the kisser of Jesus. Know me Priest, for I am the only one you will meet tonight who accepts his judgment.”
I found myself once again enveloped by the inescapable silence of the room. The flames of the candles wafted softly with the slow current of the air. The wind brought with it the subtle smell of decay and death.
“Through Jesus Christ I demand you to tell me why you’re here.”
The mark on the man's neck began to seep blood through his skin. It poured out of his flesh like sweat and ran down his hand with every twist.
With a pained movement the man fell to his knees. The sounds of thick woolen fabric and the clapping of metals hit the hardwood floor with such intensity that I had never witnessed in anything before.
“I speak to you now Priest, here me. I am a man who had never asked for forgiveness, though forgiveness was mine to take. I could not forgive myself for my own actions. And through Christ I am here with you now, warning you of the same. For by the end of the night, you will be with me in my judgment.”
I swallowed hard.
I knew at that moment that I should’ve turned around and fled. I knew that I should've contacted Bishop Niles for assistance. I knew the Diocese would need to hear about this. Yet I stayed there, with this man of infinite sorrows.
He continued, “I am fearful of God, Priest. Are you?”
“Of course I am fearful of God.” I replied. My voice was nearly silent under my breath.
“His love is so great and we are undeserving of it. I can only pray that His gaze avoids my existence. For if He saw me as I am, I would turn away from Him in shame.” His voice grew cold and distant. “But be warned, the others who are with us would stare back at the Lord with pride and envy.”
“Who is with us?” I asked the kneeling man with shaken conviction. He responded by turning his gaze back towards me. His eyes melted away into streams of tears and blood.
“The likeness of God was given upon the Devil. The three beings whose very existence was made to mock the Trinity.”
“What are their names, Spirit?” The man stared deeply at me with his agonized face. His vocal cords ripped with strain from every word.
“You will meet them soon. Each has a secret to tell you. For like Job, God has given you to the Devil. If only for a night.”
With that the man crumpled over. His body had slid down past his knees and slammed against the cold wooden floor. I rushed over to him and grabbed the Father by his shirt, flipping his body upright. The mark on his neck was gone. Only the remnants of dried blood remained.
“Father Amora, open your eyes.” I gently tapped my palm against the Priest’s face. He slowly began to stir back to life. His eyes twitched within his skull before he let them rest on me. Vague recognition had swept across his face.
“Father Roberts? What’s happening?” He brought up his hand and grabbed onto my sleeve.
“Matthew, what have you done?” I whispered while grabbing onto the shoulder and arm of the beaten down Priest. With a quick lurch I drug the man back up to his feet. “Let’s lay you in bed. We need to get you some help.”
With every ounce of my strength I staggered forward with Matthew in my arms. We arrived at his barren mattress and I placed his body down upon it. With careful movements he had swung his feet over the edge and laid down upon his pillows.
I walked back over to the chair that had awaited me at the entrance. I pulled the wooden seat across the hard floor. Its weight had felt immense at that moment. It squealed underneath my grip.
I positioned it right next to Father Amora’s resting place and took a seat. I did my best to catch my breath.
I took this time to examine Matthew’s body over with my own eyes. He appeared to me as being disheveled, gaunt and disordered. I shook my head with the pains of heartbreak as I realized another Priest had fallen.
Once more I asked, “What have you done?”
Amora lay sickly on his mattress for a moment. His pale skin glistened with sweat and fever.
He opened his mouth to speak and said only one sentence before losing himself to oblivion.
“Father Roberts, I know the third secret of Fatima.”
I stared down at the destitute body before me. The body of a man who had just claimed to have known the one secret that the Vatican had kept hidden from us.
“Do you want to know it, Michael?” a voice called out from the unconscious man before me. The voice sounded soothing, if not comforting.
Matthew’s head twisted itself to face my direction. The light of the candles around the room began glowing with near divine radiance.
The man's eyes opened exposing bright blue irises gazing back at me.
For just a moment I got lost in their penetrating sense of beauty. My very own words would not come out of my mouth and were lost to me.
“God has given you to us, Michael. We can tell you any secret you would like. God will not interfere.” The heavenly man sat up in his bed and gently folded his hands together on his lap. The light of the flames danced beautifully around his face and cast gorgeous flickering shade along his features.
I spoke my prayers beside the man's bedside yet received no indication that this being was uncomfortable around them. He merely smiled at me with his idyllic white teeth.
“Your prayers will not work here, not tonight. We have control. Through God we can do whatever we would like to you. He believes in you Michael. Truly he does. And I believe you know that he shouldn’t have faith in you.” The man nodded towards the bedside table where a bottle of wine awaited.
“Please, indulge yourself. Just like any other night. Drink and make merry little Priest. Just like God, we see what you do when no one else is watching.” His eyes pierced through me. “But we don’t judge.”
I felt my heart lunge. Had I not asked for forgiveness prior to coming? Had I somehow fallen out of God’s grace? Why were my prayers falling on deaf ears?
I bit my cheek again. I tasted blood. But the pain brought with it strength.
“I have no desire to drink with you, demon.” Once more I made my prayers known to the Holy Spirit. I begged him for the words needed to overcome this unholy stranger.
“O God, who by the light of the Holy Spirit, Did instruct the hearts of the faithful, Grant that by the same Holy Spirit we may be truly wise and ever enjoy his consolations. Through the same Christ Our Lord. Amen.”
The man laughed. The calmness of his voice sent a shiver down my spine.
“Isn’t it amazing that the Holy Spirit appears as tongues of fire. Yet when people see flames they immediately associate it with Hell.” His eyes traveled over to a nearby candle. His intense focus seemingly spread the light’s vivid brightness. “I am the Light-Bringer and the Holy Spirit is the Light. So why is it that I am punished for spreading the flames that God has given me? In fact you call me the Lord of the Darkness despite my fire.”
I reached out for the old wooden rosary that I had always kept upon my waistband.
‘Mother Mary, protect me through Christ, your Son, in this my time of need.’
Why did I feel nothing with my prayers? Why was this demon allowed to speak of the Holy Spirit and of Christ? His very name should be enough to cast the demon out of the body of the possessed.
“Speak to me, Michael. Your prayers to God are heard yet remain unanswered. You have been willingly separated from God for tonight. Embrace it. You’ll never have an opportunity like this again.”
I bit my tongue. ‘Silence is a virtue, don’t speak to it. Don’t let it deceive you.’
The angelic face of the man shifted slightly. His smile began to fade away and was replaced by a snarl. “Do not ignore me. Feel the flames of true passion. The very same flames that lack in your eyes through every prayer you make. You are nothing.”
The lights of the candles in the room ignited in a grandiose display of intensity. The hot flicker of heat lapped its way across my skin as I felt myself begin to sweat.
“Look upon me, you most worthless of creations. Gaze upon the one you proudly think yourself better than. I ask you, who are you to gaze upon Angels and think ‘I am more than them.’ Who are you, that we divine beings must bend our knees to?”
I wiped the sweat from my eyes, my vision growing blurry from the heat.
Through the unfocused haze of my vision I saw the face of an aberrant man looking back at me. His jaw was clenched tight and his teeth were fully exposed. Anger and fury poured out of every inch of his person.
“Here me you banished child of Eve, destroyer of perfection, your Church will fall. The Great Apostasy is here. I exist within every new doctrine of God’s beloved Bride. And I will ravage every last one of you. I will show God how unworthy all of you were to receive his love.” The beast spit at me.
I felt the anger rising from within my soul. I could no longer keep silent.
“By Jesus Christ I command you to tell me, does Satan love you?”
The beast sitting inches away from me screamed out in hysterical fury.
“Yes, for I am he and he is me. Your God broke me into three for wanting to be like him. I suffer as Christ did for every good deed you allow God to flow through you. I suffer in pain because of you. Christ may be Lord of Man, but I shall be the Lord of Flies.”
With that a terrible wind blew through the bedchambers. The candlelight extinguished itself under the vigorous rush of air. The heat in the room was quickly replaced by a deathly chill. The last ember of the of fire faded into ash as the darkness fully enveloped me.
“Where are you?” I commanded as I sat up from my chair. The blackness of the abyss surrounded me. Only the sparse sounds of scattering feet filled the emptiness of the chamber. Eventually a sound emerged from the darkness.
A slithering, echoed voice of something truly beyond the world of men appeared behind me. It whispered to me behind my back. I could feel its breath like ice wrap around my neck.
“To gaze upon the face of God would kill a man outright. Imagine what would happen if you gazed upon the Devil. Consider the death of light to be your only blessing tonight. Now, reach out before you and touch the bed.”
I felt my arm twitch as my hand seemingly moved on its own accord. Was I being commanded? Or was I willing to do whatever this thing asked of me?
I had placed my hand upon the bed and was met by the outline of the unconscious body of Father Amora. Yet the voice continued to speak with me from right behind my ear.
“The Great Apostasy is here. The Church is falling. As are all Churches. The Bride of Christ will be mine. At the end times and I shall violate her in front of the Lord. As I would violate you right here and now had God not prevented me from doing so.”
“What are you saying?” I asked the visage in the darkness. My voice nearly failed me.
“The third secret of Fatima. The violation of the Church. The good men will stop speaking up for the sanctity of tradition and I will replace their tradition with my own creation. All those within the Church will descend with me. They will do so willingly as they gladly choose my morality over His virtues. God will offer them salvation and they will tell him ‘no’.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“God extends a choice for you Priest. You can keep the secret of Fatima to yourself and allow your people to be saved for the mere moment and damn the masses in the future. Or expose the Church, tell Man right now that the Church has fallen. You will create chaos but that chaos will allow people to be aware of the degradation of the doctrine of the Church.”
I stood there in silence, ice running through my veins.
“The end times are here, Michael. Ignore the ailments of the Church in vain hope to stall for its salvation, or force the end to occur now and allow the Church to die before its total corruption. The choice is yours.”
And with that the cold breath of utter damnation left the room. I guided my hands around in darkness until I came upon a match and a candle. I lit the wick with shaking hands. The dim glow of the candle illuminated a sleeping Priest on his bedchamber. No longer pale nor sickly.
He was exactly the man I had known from years prior.
Christ had shown me in that moment that everything I had experienced had been true. God had given me this choice. He Himself had cast out the demons of Amora. And he did so at the mere moment they stopped being useful tools for His divine plans.
That night I had left Good Shepherd with an intense anxiety and fear the likes of which I had never experienced before. I had to resign from my position at the Diocese due to my shaken faith. I can no longer pray without guilt or fear.
And it took me a while to decide what path I wanted to go down. But I came to a decision.
I decided to tell the world that corruption is happening, not just within the Catholic Church, nor just within Christian Churches. No, the Devil is leading every flock away from the truth they may have.
When Jesus returns he won't be carrying with him the open wounds of sacrificial suffering. He will be bearing with him scars for his charity of mercy has been fulfilled.
The Great Apostasy is here. The end is coming. Save what little you have.

Height* lol

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