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antiquatedplumbobs · 3 months

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The Soddy

A CC Free Prairie Homestead

Lot size: 40x30 Price: §37,341 Lot type: Residential Location: Biscuit's Bastion, Chestnut Ridge

Homesteading and the settlement of the American west has always been a particular interest of mine and recently I've become very interested in sod houses! I toyed with the idea of recreating one in Sims but never had a good world or assets to work with. When I fell into my little building bender a few weeks ago I realized Chestnut Ridge was perfect for it and promptly hyperfixated.

This home is ideal for a couple or small family just trying to make their way in the prairie of Chestnut Ridge. The house can fit up to three sims and a baby or toddler, perhaps a bit snug for our modern standards but perfectly alright for the nineteenth century. Also comes complete with fertile fields, an empty chicken coop, a slightly decrepit horse barn, and a well stocked root cellar.

More info and download under the cut:

This house is heavily inspired by Prairie Homestead in South Dakota. When I started kicking around the idea of this build I started googling for reference photos and discovered this very cool historic site. I tried to match this build to its real life counterpart more than I usually do, as the interior that they have set up for that house was just so fun and unique feeling. The exterior is inspired by it, but sim lot constraints required more creative license. I highly recommend you look at some photos, it really is such an interesting place.

Sod houses, which were constructed by cutting hunks of the top layer of the grasslands (which were held together by the strong roots of the native grasses) were common throughout the latter part of the nineteenth century and began to peter out in the early part of the twentieth century. They weren't the most luxurious accommodations, but did have the virtue of being warm in the winter and cool in the summer.

Unfortunately as the walls were made from the earth, bugs could be an issue and I've given this lot the creepy crawlies bug challenge for ~realism~. It's also off-the-grid, and has a functional root cellar (meaning I put the fridge down there, have fun in thunderstorms).

This lot is fully playtested (might have been the most I've played in a while actually, I wanted to make sure the crib worked). Please please enjoy this build. I know I always say it but this one is actually my favorite, and making this work with the constraints of Sims 4 terrain tools was quite the undertaking and I'm so pleased with it.

If you use it please tag me in any photos, I love seeing what y'all get up to with my builds!!

Gallery ID: antiqueplumbobs

SFS | Google Drive

@publicvanillabuilds @twentiethcenturysims @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 build #sims 4 build #ts4 vanilla #sims 4 vanilla #sims 4 cc free #ts4 cc free #cc free build #vanilla builds #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #decades challenge #ts4 decades challenge #antiquatedresidential

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stromuprisahat · 2 months

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Isn’t the status of Grisha much worse after TGT. How are the Righteous Gang claiming to be victors/heroes who made others lives better. From my pov, grisha are much worse off while the otkazatsya are in status quo. Also what was wrong with the grisha coming to LP to live. From the books, it seems that none of them had any connection to their parents/relatives. If so that can also mean that their family did not care enough to reach out to them after they left.

Or did the Darkling ban all communications.

I’m sure the Righteous Gang think that all the cons of their dumb decisions are in fact the Darklings fault. You know because he did this or he did that. They do bot think for a single moment that he was the only one doing anything for them. While the soldat sol (shouldn’t they have been doing some charity work in name of their Saint?) and all other grisha did not lift a single finger to elevate the position of grisha in Ravka through ANY means.

Ironically, the Gang's decision to abolish Grisha draft should serve to further alienate Ravkan commoners and destabilize Nikolai's reign.

"... His serfs will get a taste of money and education and start thinking about building lives and businesses of their own instead of praying for their master’s patronage. ... "

King of Scars- Chapter 11

Nikolai had abolished the practice of separating Grisha from their parents. There was no mandatory draft to pull children from their homes.

Rule of Wolves- Chapter 9

The fact they aren't able to offer protection to any Grisha in Ravka, therefore hardly to children scattered all over the country, AND there's no system of home education, therefore these children might either hurt someone by accident or suffer from wasting sickness, aside...

This should be a gigantic legal issue.

(Although there's plenty of questions regarding servitude in general.)

Pre-KoS Grisha automatically became serfs. Their families were compensated financially.

Let's say Grisha are no longer required to move to Little Palace, otherwise everything stays the same. Are there lists of Grisha serfs to keep track of them? And how do they serve? Why should a family that keeps the amount of pairs of working hands get any money? Does it mean that a family of free- albeit poor- peasants, suddenly include a child serf with obligations of their own? Do these "free-range" serfs get personal assignments? That sounds like a whole lot of extra bureaucracy.

The other option is much more disasterous. If Grisha are no longer serfs, there's no reason to pay their families. They should be recorded the same way other free Ravkans are, and these records don't seem to be particularly meticulous:

Another [Ravkan Grisha] had been hidden in a root cellar when the Grisha Examiners arrived to test her. “My mother told them I’d been killed by the fever that had swept through our village the previous spring,” the Tidemaker said. “The neighbors cut my hair and passed me off as their dead otkazat’sya son until I was old enough to leave.”

Siege and Storm- Chapter 7

A year here, a year there... who'll know if the missing Grisha moved away, died or got kidnapped? But don't worry, the worst is yet to come- otkazat'sya (serfs). Why are Grisha freed as soon as three of theirs start whispering their advices into young King's ear (One of them rumoured to be his mistress to boot!), while common Ravkans keep bending their backs under nobility's jeweled slippers!

This is a starving, war-torn country, through which a wave of pogroms swept only a few years back! The hatred won't disappear only because a dead Saint allegedly appointed three of Grisha to what exactly? Represent? Or rule in the puppet-King's stead?

Sure, Nikolai's (strange, innovatory) reforms lead to more food for the poor... BUT- serfs are still property of their owners, unlike Grisha. West was somehow forced to remain with the East- feeding them, losing money to them. Nobles lost some privilages and whoever's not a complete baffoon will figure out they're losing power. Church should be pissed, because their leader got deposed, religious cult with Crown-appointed head took over and Nikolai cut their incomes too! Anyone even slightly distrustful towards Grisha- and that means all through Ravkan social strata- has every reason to believe they are running the country, which no longer means one black boogeyman, but a Suli whore with the King-killer.

_____

Members of Second Army weren't discouraged from staying in touch with their families, quite contrary. To make it more... well, to make it more KoS-ish, we get some specific data from Zoya:

She’d written every week to her aunt and every week received a long, newsy letter back with drawings of chickens in the corners and tales of the interesting traders who came through Novokribirsk.

King of Scars- Chapter 25

Ivan doesn't mention his family in present time, but I'd like to imagine he used to visit his widowed, almost childless mother until she died of old age.

_____

The only reason all those barely adult Grisha are even theoretically allowed to be teenagers, is that they're safe enough, thanks to Aleksander's work.

He was thirteen, but he’d had a hundred names, a new one for every town, camp, and city ... He would have lived next door to a garbage gully if it meant a roof over his head, hot meals, waking up in the same room every morning without his heart hammering as he tried to remember where he was. ... Grisha living in camps and broken-down mines, hiding out in tunnels. ... No safe place. No haven. There will be, he promised in the darkness, new words written upon his heart. I will make one.

Demon in the Wood

If Grisha are faring better at the beginning of Shadow and Bone, it's his doing:

... though it was smaller than the Grand Palace, the “Little” Palace was still huge. It rose from the trees surrounding it like something carved from an enchanted forest, a cluster of dark wood walls and golden domes. As we drew closer, I saw that every inch of it was covered in intricate carvings of birds and flowers, twisting vines, and magical beasts. ... We passed door after door, until finally we reached a chamber where another uniformed maid stood waiting by an open doorway. Dimly, I registered a large room, heavy golden curtains, a fire burning in a beautifully tiled grate, but all I really cared about was the huge canopied bed. “Can I get you anything? Something to eat?” asked the woman.

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 5

While I can "excuse" some of the "heroes"- victim of otkazat'sya brainwashing institution, unloved privilaged kid with saviour complex, bigoted religious fanatics due to questionable parenting, universal punching bag... LB's new best girl's somehow coming out of it as the worst one.

Just the fact Zoya was saved by the very law she didn't mind abolishing, going from starving asset of her own mother to well-fed, respected soldier, who knows what do sable and silks look like... what a horrible life to lead! Such deterioration! If only the Darkling didn't bother trying, she'd be free to scrape along as she pleases!

Centuries worth of Aleksander's efforts are the reason Zoya gets to whine about her suicidal aunt instead of being maritally raped by some ancient creep, or outright dead after getting pregnant way too young.

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bluecoolr · 2 months

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Roots

Part 1 of Darron and Baeron's Backstory

Link to Part 2

T’zeklochar cast a brief glance toward the vaulted cavern ceiling of Menzoberranzan. A faint red glow rose from somewhere in the middle of the city, signaling that the great stalagmite clock, Narbondel, had only begun its reckoning.

The Matron Mother had had him woken and dragged from bed, in the middle of the night.

“Is there a room somewhere we can put Ryld?” she inquired after he had been essentially jostled through the whole damned house and dropped in front of her throne.

“Couldn't this wait till morning, Breena?” T’zeklochar asked pointedly. He glared at the guards at his elbows (both of whom were smirking females) and got to his feet.

As if T'zeklochar hadn't spoken out of turn, Matron Dinbreena carried on, “Somewhere out of the patron's way - where he won't notice. I mean, imagine.”

“How very delicate of you.”

Her eyes were dull from thought, her silver hair loose and trailing down her shoulders to her knees like a curtain. She was preoccupied. About Ryld, of course.

“See that he's found a room.”

It was final. Definite, No room left for contention.

“Yes, Matron Mother,” said T’zeklochar, bowing slightly, all thought of sleep banished with the new task at hand.

Presently, the Weapons Master of House Barriurden crossed the back courtyard, passing the stables housing the lizard mounts. He stepped into the kitchen, then further down into the cellar, and headed for the cubby tucked behind the shelves. The door to the hole slammed against the wall as T’zeklochar threw it open.

The single inhabitant of the cramped cubbyhole sprang up from his bed. “What in the hells – ?!”

“Wake up, pantry boy.” T’zeklochar ordered as Ryld blinked dumbly in the dark. “Whatever paltry possessions you have, gather them and follow me.”

Ryld was a commoner, a kitchen servant tasked with keeping track of the House’s food stores. He was also the newest, albeit unwilling, object of Matron Dinbreena's affections. Her appetite for amorous exploits was unabated even as she saw her third century. No drow could refuse her. Whichever male she chose must submit, under pain of death.

A swarm of bats flitted through the stalactites. Ryld stretched as he quietly followed T'zeklochar to the front of the house. Guards stood in attention as the Weapons Master walked past. The kitchen servant, they paid no mind.

It was difficult not to notice him, however, even T’zeklochar would admit. The drow, at the prime age of a hundred or so, was handsome and tall - tall by drow standards. His build was lean and wiry. His eyes appeared blue in the Underdark, with red pin pricks in their centers. An unfortunate defect, caused no doubt by his forebears interbreeding with surface elves or even humans. And yet, it did not take away from his beauty. The overall effect was one that stirred the blood.

“You think this is some sort of blessing?” T’zeklochar asked the younger drow, who was inspecting his new bedchamber.

Ryld peeled his eyes away from the ornate trimming and gossamer curtains overhanging the bed.

“You're in more peril than you ever were.”

Drow hated and yet thrived on competition. As a rival to the Matron’s consort, he would surely be faced with opposition. The patron would not allow Ryld to sire children by the Matron, and put his own children's ranks at risk.

“You think I asked for this?” snapped Ryld, an assertive fire making the red pin pricks of his eyes more pronounced.

T’zeklochar's frown belied his pleasure. “You'll need more tricks than just batting your eyelashes, if you want to survive now.” He shoved a shortsword into Ryld's hands. “Meet me in the training hall in two hours.”

The empty halls rang with the awful, pained screams of Matron Dinbreena as she labored to bring her and Ryld's child into the world. She had been taken into Lolth's unholy chamber, attended by her clerics and priestesses. All unneeded persons were barred entry, including the father.

Ryld sat trembling where he waited in the stairwell. T'zeklochar, who had become an unlikely friend in the last 10 months, stood leaning on the bannister, smoking on a small pipe. He took pity on the expectant father and passed him the pipe, chuckling as he struggled to put it to his lips.

There came Dinbreena's screams again. “RYLD! WHERE IS HE?! I WANT HIM HERE! RYLD!”

Ryld flew to his feet and up the stairs, followed closely by T'zeklochar. Dinbreena held out her arm as she saw them come through the door.

“Damn you and your spawn,” she hissed as tears streamed down her ashen cheeks. Her grip on Ryld's hand was crushing.

“What's happening? The child has been delivered. Why -?”

The pain was not letting up, even as Liriel, one of Dinbreena's daughters and high priestess of Lolth, carried a squealing child to a stone pedestal.

“There's a second child,” snapped Zardra. “You have twins.”

T’zeklochar stood over the kicking baby, wiping it clean with a blood-soaked towel. Ryld's heart sank as he studied the Weapons Master's expression.

His dark heart uttered a desperate prayer and a bargain. “Please, goddess. If you give me this, I will be your uncomplaining servant.”

Ryld gently set the Matron down on the armchair. She had succumbed to the exhaustion just after the second child arrived.

The children's sobbing had subsided and the chamber grew deathly quiet. Ryld held his breath, looking to T’zeklochar for some hope. His red eyes were empty, his face like stone.

The Weapons Master shook his head, and Ryld felt like he had been gutted.

“Two male children. Cursed day,” muttered Zardra.

Liriel turned to Ryld. “You ought to be executed for your uselessness!” She cast a venomous glance at her newborn brothers, her knuckles white over the handle of her dagger. “Along with these wretched whelps.”

“Look at their eyes!” gasped Evandra. The twins had inherited Ryld’s ice blue eyes, with the red pin pricks glowing bright in the worship chamber.

“Beastly little wretches!” chimed Zardra.

T’zeklochar, who had not left the babies’ side, appeared unbothered, but was slowly easing his hand toward the shortsword at his belt. If any of the priestesses attacked, he was going to defend the little ones.

“Liriel is right,” said Zardra. “This is an omen. We all know what happened to House Do’Urden. We must kill them lest these blue-eyed freaks follow in Drizzt's footsteps.”

Ryld grew cold. Beside him, Matron Dinbreena stirred, and, her voice husky from screaming, addressed her daughters with severity. “If you lay a finger on our children,” she said, “On my honor as Matron Mother, on my honor as the Spider Queen’s servant - I will cut your head off myself.”

A smirk pulled the corner of T’zeklochar’s mouth. Our children. Dinbreena was done for. She had fallen in love with Ryld.

“These children are Noble Drow of House Barriurden. You shall show them the respect they are due.”

Matron Dinbreena retired after nursing her twin boys. She left them in the company of their father, sleeping side by side in a cradle that had held five older sons. The daughters’ cradles were naturally more resplendent, but this one did the job and Ryld was satisfied.

He was still lost in thought when T’zeklochar entered, his hands clasped over something. Ryld admired the sight of the Weapons Master looking into the cradle, how gentle he became in the presence of his children. The way the tension from his broad, muscular back eased as he hummed and cooed at the little ones.

In the purple faerie fire, Ryld saw that T’zeklochar had brought a tarantula for the twins. The fuzzy creature crawled over T’zeklochar's knuckles and settled on Baeron's little chest. The little one stirred, smiled in his sleep, and cuddled the spider closer.

T’zeklochar opened his mouth, and a second tarantula crawled out of hiding. This one he gave to Darron. “Sleep sound in the dark, child,” he purred.

He addressed the father without looking at him. “Do not agree to have Dinbreena's daughters raise your children.”

Ryld scoffed. “I have no intention to. She's allowed me to raise them myself. Being her consort has granted me that favor, I guess.” He watched his boys with his arms crossed. He was steeling himself for what he was about to tell T’zeklochar. “I… I want you to train them, when they come of age.”

The Weapons Master still did not look him in the eye. “You're a madman and a fool,” he simply said.

Indignant, Ryld straightened up. He always had too much cheek for a commoner. It was one of the things that T’zeklochar admired about him. “A fool? My sons will live, if they know how to defend themselves. How am I a fool to know that?”

“Yes.” T'zeklochar nodded, his voice growing louder. “They will live, but not long enough to see 30. The Patron already hates you as it is. Put a sword in either boy's hand, and they will be a greater threat than ever. If they aren't murdered by their siblings, they will be murdered in the Academy.” He gestured wildly to the window. Somewhere out in the city stood Melee Magthere, where fighters were forged. It was a cruel and merciless place whose halls were washed with blood and colonnades polished with screams.

“I cannot protect them there,” T’zeklochar declared. I cannot protect all of you, he thought to himself.

“That's not what I'm asking,” Ryld replied coolly. “I only require that you teach them what they need to know.”

T’zeklochar was adamant. He shook his head. “Give them up for consortship and they may yet survive.”

“So they can be treated like… mere courtesans?” Ryld could not - would not see his sons suffer the same fate.

Ryld. What mother he had was so heartless as to name him “slave” in the drow tongue.

“They will marry into security,” T’zeklochar explained, “They'll be valuable in continuing the bloodline. Is that not enough to placate you?”

“And if your boy was alive, would you do the same?” Ryld snapped.

The words were out before Ryld could stop himself. When he saw the look of hurt on the Weapons Master's face, he knew he had gone too far.

T’zeklochar was Matron Dinbreena's consort once. He'd sired a child. A third son.

He didn't even get a chance to hold the boy before Liriel plunged her dagger into his tiny heart. A sacrifice to appease the goddess, Lolth.

Recovering, T'zeklochar replied, “If he had been allowed to live? Yes.”

He held Darron's foot and placed a tender kiss on his heel. He passed Ryld on his way to the door, and without so much as a warning, he grabbed him by the throat and shoved him against the wall.

The impact knocked the wind out of Ryld. His breath did not return now that he and T’zeklochar were a lip's distance from each other.

“If you ever mention my boy again,” T’zeklochar whispered, his voice soft as silk. “I'll kill you.”

He dropped Ryld to his feet and headed out the door.

“I need you.”

T’zeklochar froze.

“I cannot do this alone,” Ryld begged. “These boys need to be strong. You must teach them.”

“Have it your way. It won't be easy. It will break them.”

“I know.”

---

A/N: not me posting this because it got too long 🤡

There will be more.

#oc lore #character backstory #dnd oc #dnd au #drow oc #t'zeklochar #ryld #dinbreena #darron #baeron #twins au #drow twins #bluecoolr.txt

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octuscle · 1 year

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DeepTraining Part 2 – Gus

One of the first people to approach Stefek after IronData's presentation was Constantine. Constantine had worked with Stefek on two startups and had also made a lot of money on the exits. Unfortunately, he had been less fortunate with his business ideas after that; much of his fortune had already been spent. But there was more than enough left over for a carefree life. Besides, Constantine was a truly brilliant Data Scientist who loved his work. He was not made for idleness. Stupidly, he also looked like a Data Scientist. He looked like someone who loved to sit at a computer for a living: fat, pale, a bit unkempt. He had been an oddball since childhood. He was always teased. The feminine-sounding name hadn't helped. So he had kept to himself. But after seeing his old pal Stephen, he wanted to change that. If the nerd Stephen could become the alpha male Stefek, he wanted that too.

The two had met in Paris shortly after the trade show where Stefek had presented IronData. Stefek was on a promotional tour of France; Constantine was serving as interim CDO at a pharmaceutical company. "Let me be honest," Constantine got straight to the point. "IronData is hot shit. Great concept. I believe in your success. But your body wasn't shaped by IronData." The two had deliberately not met in public. Stefek had guessed it would be about DeepTraining. But there he was sworn to secrecy. And he didn't even want to imagine what could happen if he didn't keep to the agreement. Therefore, he answered honestly that he could not say much about it. But he could try to make a contact. And he wanted to point out that it would be expensive. How much Constantine would loosen up like that. Constantine was counting up his financial possibilities. He once estimated his fortune at $80 million to $90 million. Stefek slipped him the public business card of the young man from DeepTraining. It looked completely neutral. Nothing pointed to DeepTraining. Stefek thought it might be a little difficult to reach the contact. But a man with Constantine's skills should be able to do it. The two arranged to meet for lunch the next day, after which Stefek had to return to Gdansk.

Constantine had spent the whole night on the phone and at the computer. But he had actually managed to make an appointment with the young man. In three weeks. Somewhere in the countryside of Burgundy. Stefek didn't say a word. But instead Stefek slipped him an envelope. If he should meet someone, he should hand over the envelope. Constantine nodded. The two said goodbye.

A few weeks later, Constantine and the young man were sitting across from each other in a wine cellar of a chateau in Burgundy. The young man read Stefek's letter. He put the paper on the table, smiled at Constantine. What could he do for him? Constantine was sweating. He was nervous. And then he stammered that he wanted to become like Stefek. Maybe not such a colossus. But he wanted to become a man. Masculinity made flesh. He wanted everyone to want sex with him. And that he could have sex all the time. Constantine was in his early 30s and still a virgin. With no chance of ever going to bed with a woman or a man. Sure his money had helped him hook up with hookers and hustlers. But he had always been too nervous to get down to business. That was his driving force. "Well," the young man said. "You have half Greek roots, after all. Southern genes, in my experience, are a good basis for transformation in your sense. From there we should be able to comply with your wishes. I have just read the letter from our dear common friend Stefek. We are making a proposal to you. The transformation costs $100 million. Unfortunately, we cannot do it cheaper than that. Stefek offers to buy all your possessions from you for exactly that amount. We will carry out the transformation in Johannesburg. The authorities in South Africa are quite lax, there it will be easier to integrate you into a new life. Stefek has even already organized a plan for your departure. Settlement of the purchase contract, farewell party. And you should renew all your IDs beforehand to give you as much time as possible before you have to apply for new ones. You'll understand that when the time comes." Constantine looked first at the floor and then at the young man's face. "And what happens then? Then I'll be in South Africa with no money!" "Don't worry, Stefek is a smart man and has thought of everything. You'll get two months paid leave and then become CIO of IronData Africa with a generous salary."

Six weeks later, Constantine was in a limousine that would take him from the airport directly to his transformation. Here, the process was fully automated. After he got out of the car with his bit of carry-on luggage, doors opened and closed right behind him. There was not a person in sight. A few doors down, he found himself in a locker room. And a voice asked him to undress completely. Constantine became more and more nervous. And sweating like a pig again. But he did as he was told. Another door opened. And Constantine stood in a perfect copy of the room in which Stephen's transformation had also taken place. And the sequence of events was also identical. The only difference was that he was naked. My God, what if someone is watching me. Or filming. He felt ridiculous. But when he got on the weight bench to bench press, energy flowed through him. And the energy grew. He could already feel his new body; seeing anything in the dim light and without a mirror was difficult. But then the light came on. And a door opened. The young man and Stefek were waiting for him. But Constantine couldn't help but jerk off in front of the mirror first.

A year had passed since that day. No one had called Gus "Constantine" for a long time. After two months in a backyard gym learning everything he needed to know about bodybuilding and how to use IronData, he had joined IronData's software development team. He had never had a job like this before. Whereas before he had lived a completely asexual life, now he was surrounded only by men who made it hard for him not to think about sex. And more often than not, they were having some. The glory holes in the staff restrooms were legendary. And Gus' cock was a legend, too!

@peepshow321, thanks for the challenge!

@zakucavanje, awesome picture! Thanks for that too!

#tank top #muscle tf #male tf #IronData #DeepTraining

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kimberly40 · 1 year

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Before refrigerators and freezers: Most early settlers used a smokehouse, hanging hams and other large pieces of meat in a small building to cure through several weeks of exposure to a low fire with a lot of smoke. The process began around November. The meat would keep all winter and most of the summer. Some people still use this method on a limited basis, but most buy pork in the grocery store already cured. Another way to keep pork was to “salt it down.” Most families had a shelf in the smokehouse, a bench or table in another building, or a box that could be used for storing meat. They placed the meat on a layer of salt and covered it with more salt, sometimes mixed with pepper and brown sugar. Salt draws moisture out of meat and thus stops the process of rotting.

The type of food, of course, helped determine the best preservation method. Corn and pork were the most common staple foods, since farms could produce them in large quantities. Corn could be stored in several forms, kept in cribs while still on the cob, shelled, or ground into cornmeal. Some stored meat buried in shelled corn, because the corn was a good insulator. Over the years, people also have used salt and water mixtures to preserve many foods, such as fish or vegetables, by pickling.

Vegetables often were preserved by stringing them up to hang by the fireplace or in another warm, dry area to remove moisture. To prepare the vegetables for eating, people would soak them in water for a while. Beans prepared in this way were called “leather britches” because of their toughness after drying. Fruits, pumpkin, squash, and other foods could be kept in this way for months at a time.

Most homes years ago had a root cellar, where families kept food in a cool, dry environment. They stored apples and other foods in piles of sawdust or in containers filled with sawdust or similar loose material. Since the late 1800s, people have canned food and stored it in such places as the cellar.

One method rarely used today for preserving root crops such as potatoes and turnips was called “holing in.” People would dig a pit that was lined with sawdust or straw, place the foodstuff in the pit, and cover it with more sawdust or straw. Finally, they would place boards, tin, or a similar material on top. A similar method still is used in the Mountains of North Carolina. This method involves digging a furrow beside cabbage rows in a garden, pulling up the cabbage, placing each head upside down in the furrow, and covering it over with loose dirt. The cabbage turns white during the passing months but retains its flavor. Cabbage can be preserved in this way until time to plant again.

Before refrigerators, the springhouse was a fixture around most homes, providing a place to keep milk, butter, and other perishables from spoiling. Running springwater kept temperatures cool enough to preserve foods even on hot summer days. The “house” was a wooden structure with a roof built directly over the spring. It protected the food from animals and severe weather. In earlier days, people simply kept foods down in the water itself. Items like butter also might be kept down a well.

By the mid-1800s, a method of refrigeration had taken shape that seems rather crude when compared with today. People would dig icehouses into dirt banks in areas deprived of sunlight, line them with sawdust, and fill them with blocks of ice cut from frozen rivers and creeks. With proper care, the ice would last until summer.

#appalachian #appalachian mountains #north carolina #appalachian culture #appalachia #western north carolina

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holocene-sims · 1 year

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15 oc questions!

i was tagged by @stargazer-sims - thank you so much!! ❤️ i've never done one of these tags in a character's voice, so it's fun to get extra practice writing as them 😊

i'll tag:

@dandylion240 @bl-sims-anime @idyllicephemera @elderwisp @nectar-cellar @minty-plumbob @crazykissim @mangosimoothie & anyone else who wants to do it!

ANYWAY i'm doing this for grant! idc if y'all have heard enough about grant, the honor goes to him

are you named after anybody?

my actual legal first name is joseph, which is my grandfather's name! so, uh, somehow yes, i am named after somebody! but i'm 99.9% sure it was out of laziness and not out of love. well, no, i'm 100% sure of that. it's not like my mom has ever respected her parents...but that's a whole different thing, we're not going there.

when was the last time you cried?

i'm a crybaby, come on! i'm known for being very emotional. i mean, sad animal commercials make me weepy. externally weepy. like tears running down my cheeks weepy. but the actual last time i cried? hmm, maybe like a week ago? i don't know if i could tell you why, though. i probably blocked it out of my memory! i'm great at that.

do you have kids?

do, uh, do cats count? because i do have a cat who i love and put sweaters on. sweaters! and he loves it.

do you use sarcasm?

it depends? sarcasm usually feels mean-spirited to me, so i'm not super into it, but then again, that's half the conversations i have with my family. i know in that case, though, that it's all bullshit humor and not serious. anyway, i think what i'm saying in a roundabout way is it depends a lot on context and audience. i don't want to hurt anyone's feelings or be a dick. i like being nice.

what's the first thing you notice about people?

okay, listen, in the most normal and not at all weird way possible, people's hairlines are always what i see first. i've been the first witness to so, so many fake blondes accidentally showing their dark roots or to dudes going bald. i'm sorry! i'm just freakishly tall! i can't not look down at all your heads unless i'm kneeling down on the ground. i'm not trying to spy on or judge the state of your hair, i promise.

what's your eye color?

brown! justice for brown eyes, the best eye color. i love being able to go out in the sun and not have my eyeballs bleached by the light. also, there's really not that many brown eyes in my family, so that's kind of fun. i'm a special boy.

scary movies or happy endings?

why not both? i love a good blair witch project, final destination moment. i also love a nice mushy gushy romantic movie with a happy ending. hell, i'd watch both in the same evening. start off with a fucked up horror movie and end it with pride and prejudice. sounds like a perfect night to me.

any special talents?

probably not anything relevant? i mean, i've played skyrim on survival mode without dying before. oh, and i guess back when i was still playing hockey, uh, a decade ago, i could score with the michigan goal pretty easily, which isn't all that common. in high school, i got my school the state championship win with that skill. but meh, i don't know how many people in the world know enough about hockey to care about that.

where were you born?

michigan! the part everyone forgets about, aka the upper peninsula, aka diet canada.

what are your hobbies?

i like to think i'm a well rounded person. i enjoy the super basic stuff like listening to music, but i'm also into into video games and tabletop RPGs like d&d. cooking and baking are fun for me, too. i did get into art semi-recently as well. i kind of had to have something i could do while laying down, like, 24/7 after i had spinal surgery.

if you're ever bored, just go fuck up your spine. you'll have SO much time on your hands to get new hobbies. actually, don't. please don't. i've been suffering for years and will continue to. i'm dying. don't be me. pretty please. pinky promise.

oh, duh, i also forgot that i'm into astronomy and um, planes. look, i'm not a car guy, i'm a plane guy. that's more fun, right?

have you any pets?

he's a cat named turtle, so, like, you know, the best cat in the world. sometimes i think about getting him a cat friend to hang out with but then i worry he'd get jealous, so i haven't done it. who am i to say whether or not he wants to live with a friend? or a sibling? being alone is so valid. i respect that.

what sports do you play/have you played?

oh, well, like i said, i played hockey for a really long time, like from, hmm, i think kindergarten and on! i even got a scholarship in college to play hockey. i'm glad to be done, though. some things ruined it for me. long story. but these days, uhh, i don't play any real sports anymore. i like hiking, you know, and i do work out at least every other day because it makes me feel better in a lot of ways, but that's kind of it. my sports days are over. i don't even skateboard anymore and i used to do that all the time.

how tall are you?

like 6'7" - though, i am rounding down a little bit. yes, down. not up. also, don't ask me how i ended up that tall. i have exactly one relative who is also tall. hi, chelsea! anyway, i am an accident or one hell of a joke. i'm laughing, i swear. it's very funny.

favorite subject in school?

i was overall a good student because i studied pretty hard but i was for sure a science and math kid. i loved physics in high school. and then in college, i got some way more fun science and math classes. just so you know, i am really holding back right now from rambling like a total nerd loser about my college classes...

but i mean, if you wanna learn about, i don't know, quantum mechanics or flight control systems, hit me up.

dream job?

that's such an easy question! when i was really, really young, i wanted to be a weather man, but then i changed my mind and wanted to be a pilot because, i don't know, i hit that time in every child's life where they have to become obsessed with a form of transportation. but then i never let that obsession go. my parents wanted me to be a doctor the whole time, though, but eww, no, i'm good. anyway, the dream of flying planes never died and somehow it worked out. now if i could just, uh, you know, go back to that job soon, that'd be sick.

#tag games #hlcn: grant #hlcn: oc info #hlcn: story extras #i live for happy rambly silly goofy mood grant #he's so baby girl #he's also 100% the kind of person that says UHHH UMMM YEAH SO LIKE UMMM way too much #he's also definitely one of those people who cannot tell a coherent story #it's always “yeah so this happened OH AND WAIT UH SO LIKE YES ACTUALLY BACKSTORY FIRST okay so then next after that”#“anna write less than 50 words per question challenge” coming soon #jk we all know that's not gonna happen #it's the autism i must communicate unnaturally #also *continues talking* sorry i'm being so bad about asks and tag games recently #i'm not ignoring y'all i swear!! i'm just dying and drowning in homework

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therosecrest · 2 years

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I think I dreamt of moving to another town for university. Perhaps I changed Unis in the second year? Whilst exploring the town, I saw a bunch of discarded CRT monitors all stacked up in a display. It didn't seem like I could justifiably take those, so I set out to find one elsewhere, seeing as they appeared to be common around here.

I picked up a stalker, or a dubious friend at some point. I don't remember, but they knew, or discovered where I was living.

Whilst exploring, I found a strange place. I don't quite remember the entrance, but it was this long, descending tunnel made of only roots. As though they had all grown to create this space. I crawled in. On and on it went, so far the outside light dimmed to a speck. I wasn't worried though, since I could turn around any time.

Eventually, I reached the bottom. It came out to some kind of cellar space, a large, rectangular room. By the ceiling were grates, which let the natural light. I came so far, but they were street level. You could have put a sewer man in here. In fact, the place was full of sewer people. This was a hidden encampment for a homeless population, who lived here communally. They'd made it quite homey. It was actually sort of appealing, and the people looked reasonably well.This was were my friend/stalker lived.

#dreams

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thisdaywinehistory · 10 months

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This Day in Wine History Examines the Intriguing Link Between Wine and Conflict

The introduction The history of wine and its fascinating link to battle is intricately woven into the tapestry of human history. Wine has been used in many different ways throughout history, including as a diplomatic tool, a symbol of authority, a means of consolation, and even as a source of nutrition, during times of strife. In this blog, we drink deeply into the interesting history connecting wine and war, as told by This Day in Wine History.

Comfort and Resilience from Wine, Chapter 1

Historically, wine has provided solace and strength to individuals struggling through conflict. A drink of wine might help soldiers forget about their troubles for a little while. Bottles of wine were included in care packages sent to World War I soldiers to raise morale and bring some routine to their lives in the middle of the mayhem of the trenches.

Wine, a Symbol of Authority and Privilege, Chapter 2

In the past, commanders and conquerors would frequently take the best vineyards and cellars as prizes of war because of the grandeur and power they represented. Conquering armies of ancient civilizations realised the strategic value of wine and used its possession as a symbol of wealth and power. The conquerors would tend and value the acquired vines, changing the course of history for the wine trade in the occupied areas.

Wine as Nutritional Support, Chapter 3

Wine has been used as sustenance in wartime situations where food is scarce. Wine's inherent disinfecting properties made it a popular choice in the past when water was scarce. When potable water was limited or polluted, wine was used by both soldiers and civilians to stay hydrated. This was commonly done by soldiers and sailors during extended trips.

Wine as a Diplomatic Instrument, Chapter 4

During times of conflict, wine has also been used as a diplomatic tool. Wine has been utilized by political leaders throughout history to cement alliances, seal peace agreements, and build diplomatic links. Wine has been a unifying force, helping former foes discover common ground and form bonds of friendship via conversation. The cultural interchange fostered by the shared appreciation of wine was often on display at banquets and formal functions.

The Influence of Wine on Underground Movements (Chapter 5)

Wine has been crucial in helping communities maintain their identities and traditions during periods of occupation and resistance. Winemaking traditions have sometimes been carried down covertly in areas subject to repressive government, with subterranean cellars and hidden vines serving as potent symbols of defiance. In the midst of the turmoil and destruction of war, the winemakers continued to produce wine at great risk to themselves.

Post-conflict reconstruction and revitalization constitute Chapter 6.

It is inspiring to see how quickly and effectively wine areas recover from conflict and return to their vines and winemaking roots. Reestablishing the wine business after war might require reconnecting with the soil, planting new vines, and getting back to the roots of winemaking. The years following World War II serve as a testimonial to the dedication of winemakers who set out to revitalize their own wine areas.

In conclusion, the complex nature of the ties that bind war and wine, including comfort, strength, sustenance, diplomacy, resistance, and resiliency. Throughout history, wine has served as an impartial observer and active participant in the human experience of war. It's evidence of how resilient people can be in the face of misfortune. This Day in Wine History delves into the fascinating tales that show how wine was used to overcome barriers, console soldiers, and represent the resilience of the human spirit in the face of adversity during times of war.

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ordersreality · 1 year

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Mjǫðvitnir ‘Wolf’

Against the Cult of the Reptile God

Knowing he had four months to make his delivery Wolf made his first choice. The hermit would countenance any help with the chores and only asked a message be delivered to Ollwin Cralloon at the Inn of the Sleeping Serpent1. It felt like a scam. Not that the hermit meant any harm. Wolf knew he wouldn’t learn anything sitting on his heels.

Still, a stop at the shrine might do something. While he suspected the shrine might be dedicated to Merikka, would she worry if he spent some time consulting his own deity, Amduxias, god of music, in that sacred space.

He squatted2, tapped his brow, and began to hum. He never expected a response. Honor the gods, his mother advised him,and expect nothing of them. These sessions could center him, maybe help him review some experience, remember some song, even test a skill in his mind. Most times he just came away refreshed and better equipped. Sometimes it eased his grief, just a little more.

He sensed, from the hermit’s ramblings, that Merikka and Amduxias might think differently about the puzzle he’d just been presented. Her so dedicated to rules and order and being very much on time. Amduxias likes timing, rhythm, tempo. Once we have that going the rest can be fun, chaotic, even if things are far from precise.

And maybe that’s the answer. If he took on this puzzle he would want the right tempo. Still, it might have been something the hermit said, or the way he said it, Wolf felt if he wanted this puzzle, he’d best find that beat and go.

He tapped his brow again, reviewed the hermit’s instructions, and took off. East, but lean a little north, cross the road.

The Red Dragon on the sign had been depicted as a curled up and snoozing. Well kept kitchen garden promised fresh fair. The smell of roasting malt also promised fresh ale. Open windows and doors let the young djyp know the inn was nearly empty. If the hermit spoke true he knew business would pick up with sun down.

An3 idea spawned on him, and he threw his gait off. Somethings are worth more than a shilling or two.

The publican spotted the djyp right away. Apparently the man was not expecting strangers, and certainly not this strange.

Wolf respected the human customs, he knew them well enough. Hello, handshake, talk about the light rain that is sure to hit mid-afternoon. The message, a jar of salve for the missus, was greatly received. Then, the test. Twisted my foot, it’s not bad, but a couple days’ rest ought to do it. Exchange a bed and board for some chores?

The publican called to the missus out of courtesy, her being just the other side of the wall. Sure, a couple days. Would you sleep in the cellar? Good. The mister showed the way, and a chest with a simple lock to stow his bags.

Wolf4 collected water, a fist of garlic chives, and swept the floor. He spent a bit applying lard to a shutter and tightened the hinge on another.

The clouds brought a threat of rain and nothing more. About the time the sun kissed the horizon customers came calling.

To keep up deceptions he carried a truncheon or two easing the publican or their daughter as food and drink were delivered. Not to worry, the usual bard had come up missing. Oh, maybe a song and flute might do? Great!

He5 flouted, sang a comedy in the common tongue, and a love song in his mother’s. About that time he realized they wanted a dance. Tough to do that with just a flute. But he started one, and a goatherd started rapping his table.

The Mother began to rise and the clientele began to go home. That meant clean up, which was unusually easy. Close up and wash up. He pulled some water from the well and washed at the roots of an ancient elm.

He6 felt sure that keeping up appearances had helped him miss something in the gossip. A few people had gone missing, one had returned quite different, and it looked like Misha, priestess of Merikka, was gaining weight. Pregnant?

All the gods of his people thought chastity boring and unnatural. Yet these people kind of wrote this pregnancy as sacrilege. Over eating was too, so the shame was even either way.

Wolf rolled his bed out. It took some time to get to sleep, strange enclosure and all. Still, the sleep felt well earned.

· • ° • ·7

1 Building 25

2 Religion 10+3 xp5

3 Deception 10+2 5xp

4 Xp 2+2+2+5=11

5 Performance 18 8xp

6 Insight 2+4 3xp

7 Journal’s XP: 36

2023 April 12 Mjǫðvitnir 'Wolf’ Vlad. Rogue Level 1 XP 100

#fan fiction #tolkien #rpg #order of realities #role play #roleplay #monster hunters int #survival crafts #roleplaying games #Against the Cult of the Reptile God

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wintershieldedheart · 1 year

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starter // open verse: teen wolf dev server event: mystery choose your own adventure

margot hadn't expected that her inheritance would include an old run down building. The distillery was barely held together with metal walls, and inside held a whole host of things that had little to no use to her. There was a spiral clawed into the side of it, one that was all too familiar to her. Briefly, she wondered why her Grandmother would have held onto a place like this of all things. Still, with it came an old root cellar, one that held uncomfortable memories for her. Curious as ever though, Margot started looking through the old building, only to find a letter tucked into the little shelf on top of the table.

with a quiet hum, she carefully unfolded it, both shocked and unsurprised to find her Nan's loopy handwriting. Her Nan writing a letter wasn’t surprising, but the fact that it was addressed to her was. Seeing her name was more than startling, knowing that her Nan had passed several years before she was even born, let alone conceived.

' dear Margot, by the time this building comes into your possession, you'll already be familiar with it. Then again, it's been yours since before you were born. ' Delicate eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she read the first couple lines over again. Beacon Hills had more than a few strange things happen in the time she'd been here, but this had to be the strangest. Though her Dad had said that he'd grown up here for a time, that his mother had been from here, Margot hadn't realized how intertwined her family was with this place.

' this building was once a popular distillery for the supernatural population. It was a common ground; a neutral territory that allowed for treaties to be made and peace to be brokered. I’m sure it’s been a long time since this place has been anything of the sort. ' Her eyes flitted from the note to the room around her, trying to imagine the building being what this letter described it as. Margot was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that her Nan knew about the supernatural community here, and was somehow connected to it.

turning back to the letter, Margot continued reading, ' We haven't been a matriarch for a very long time, my little pearl, but with you we have a new opportunity. My hope is that putting this place in your hands gives it the chance to thrive again. There is so much you already know about the place you live, about parts of your family history, and yet, so little about mine. ' Flipping the page over, Margot was about to start again when she heard the sound of footsteps and eventually a voice asking " What are you doing here? This place has been shut up for years, why are you trespassing now?"

gazing up at the newcomer, Margot gave them a small smile, " It's not trespassing when you own the building. The better question is why are you here? " she asked, curious, but kind.

#( v; the sun the moon the truth. )#( open. )#( starter. )#rpcdev

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preppernewstoday · 1 year

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SHTFPreparedness might be compensated with a portion of the sales made through the links on this site. A study by Simply Facts, an independent research institute, looked at the number of murders in 2021 using death certificate data. It found that one out of every 179 Americans will be killed if the current crime rate of 2021 continues. Jim Agresti is the president and co-founder at Just Facts. He also authored the study. It's not over a year, or any other period. He continued, "It's just somebody is gonna kill you before you die from natural causes, an accidental, suicide, or whatever it may be." FBI data titled "Buried" Just Facts' study, "As Murders Soar FBI Buries The Data," found that the FBI had underreported murder rates, and published "incomplete" data for 2021. According to the FBI, between 21300 and 24600 people were killed last year. Just Facts stated that the FBI had reported the number of murders only in a "buried" report. The FBI relied on the voluntary reporting of crime data by law enforcement agencies across the country to create its reporting system. Nearly 40% of U.S. law enforcement agencies failed to provide complete crime data to the FBI by March deadline. Last year, the FBI reported a decrease in participation by law enforcement agencies. According to Just Facts, it was "far more difficult" to obtain national statistics on murders and other crimes from the FBI in 2021. Fox News Digital reported that the FBI didn't respond to a request for comment. Study of Just Facts Just Facts used death certificates as a source of data in its study. Death certificate reporting is mandatory, unlike the FBI's voluntary reporting system. Just Facts based on this data concluded that there was a "higher number and rate" of homicides in America compared to FBI data. This could be due to differences in coverage and scope, and the voluntary and mandatory nature of data collection, as explained above. After accounting for justified homicides committed by civilians and some police-initiated homicides, the study revealed that approximately 24,493 people were killed in 2021. In 2020, there were approximately 1,000 fewer murders. Just Facts stated that one in 179 Americans would be killed if the crime rate was not increased. The study found that even in years past, when murders were less common, the likelihood of someone being murdered over their lifetime was shockingly high. Some people sent repeated emails to Just Facts claiming it was wrong. Just Facts used a licensed actuary to calculate this figure. It was double-checked twice by a Ph.D. mathematician, and triple-checked three times by a Ph.D. Biostatistician. Bonus: Root Cellar that Can be Used as a Bunker Do you remember the old root cellars our great-grandparents used to have? In fact, they probably built it themselves, right in their back yard. Easy Cellar is the best way to learn how to build your own backyard bunker, just like your grandparents did. Easy Cellar will help you: How to select the perfect site Cost-effective building methods How to protect your bunker against nuclear fallout and blasts How to hide your bunker Basic life support Affordable Easy Cellar also reveals how a veteran built a small nuclear bunker right in his backyard with just $421 Also included:

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star-anise · 4 years

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@trustmeimageographer reblogged your post and added:

Hi I’m a fantasy writer and now I need to know what potatoes do to a society

They drastically increase peasant food security and social autonomy.

The main staple of medieval agriculture was grain--wheat, barley, oats, or rye. All that grain has to be harvested in a relatively short window, about a week or two. It has to be cut down (scythed), and stored in the field in a safe and effective way (stooked); then it has to be brought to a barn and vigorously beaten (threshed) to separate the grain from the stalks and the seed husks. It can be stored for a few weeks or months in this form before it spoils or loses nutritional value.

Then it has to be ground into flour. In the earlier middle ages, peasants could grind their own flour by hand using small querns, but landlords had realized that if they wanted to get more money out of their peasants, it was more effective for the entire village to have one large mill that everyone used. Peasants had to pay a fee to have their flour ground--and it might say something that there are practically no depictions of millers in medieval English literature in which the miller is not a corrupt thief.

Then the flour has to be processed to make most of its nutrients edible to humans, which ideally involves yeast--either it’s made into bread which takes hours to make every time (and often involves paying to use the village’s communal bread oven) and spoils within a few days, or it’s made into weak ale, which takes several weeks to make, but can keep for several months.

Potatoes, in comparison...

Potatoes have considerably more nutrients and calories than any similar crop available in medieval Europe--they beat turnips, carrots, parsnips, beets, or anything else all to heck. I don’t know if they beat wheat out for calories per acre, but practically...

When you dig a potato out of the ground (which you can do at any time within a span of several months), you can bury it in the ashes of a fire for an hour, or you can boil it in water for 20 minutes.

Then you eat it. Boom. Done. (I mean, if you’re not fussy, you could even eat them raw.)

You store the ones you don’t want right now in a root cellar and plant some of them in the spring to get between a fivefold and tenfold return on your crop.

Potatoes don’t just feed you--they free you. Grain-based agriculture relies on lots of people working together to get the work done in a very short length of time. It relies on common infrastructure that is outside the individual peasant’s control. The grain has to be brought to several different locations to be processed, and it can be seized or taxed at any of those points. It’s very open to exploitation.

TW: Genocide The Irish Potato Famine happened because the English colonizers of Ireland demanded rents and taxes that were paid in grain, and it ended up that you didn’t really get to keep much of the grain you grew. So the Irish farmed wheat in fields to pay the English, and then went home and ate potatoes from their gardens. And then, because they were eating only one specific breed of potatoes, a blight came through and wiped all their potatoes out, and then they starved. So English narratives about the potato famine tended to say “Oh yes, potato blight, very tragic,” and ignore the whole “The English were taking all the grain” aspect, but the subtext here is: Potatoes are much harder to tax or steal than grain.

So... yeah. I realize it’s very counterproductive to explain to everybody why I’m always like “OMG POTATO NO” when I wish I could just chill out and not care about this. But the social implications of the humble potato are rather dramatic.

#agriculture #medievalism #staranise original #genocide tw #food tw #trustmeimageographer

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mirageofthecrystal · 2 years

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LFRP -- Faiolan Penderghast (Endwalker Edition)

Name: Faiolan Penderghast

Age: 27

Birthday:

Race: Ishgardian Elezen

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual (female lean)

Marital Status: Single

Hair: Black Eyes: Blue Height: 6'10" Build: Athletic Voice: (( still trying to decide ;) )) Distinguishing Features:

Magitek Prosthetic: After losing his left arm in battle, Faiolan was fitted with a Magitek Prosthetic, fashioned by the minds at Garlond Ironworks in response to the increasing number of grievous war injuries and amputations. The arm itself is a simpler design, but it is capable of all functions necessary as well as being able to simulate the sensation of touch through a prototype aetheric feedback mesh interface.

Wounds of War: Having sustained a great number of injuries over the years, Faiolan's body is a tapestry of scars. A majority of his right side, including parts of his chest, abdomen, shoulder, arm, neck, and thigh are marked with burn scars sustained by dragonfire. A myriad of other scars such as stab wounds, arrow punctures, etc. are pockmarked across his body.

Common Accessories:

Necklace: A necklace made of simple leather cord from which hangs a simple silver ring and the claw of the first dragon he ever slew in battle.

Signet Ring: A ring bearing the crest of House Penderghast which he wears on his right ring finger most of the time.

Profession: Knight of Ishgard / Nobleman / Member of the reformed Heavens' Ward

Hobbies: Reading / Cooking / Drawing / Listening to Music

Languages: Common / Old Elezen / Dravanian (a small amount)

Birthplace: Ishgard, Coerthas

Residence: The Last Vigil, Ishgard

Religion: Ishgardian Orthodoxy (formerly)

Patron Deity: Halone

Fears: Fire / Abandonment / Being Confined

Romantic: None Children: None Parents:

Lord Aloysius Penderghast: Father, Lord of House Penderghast

Lady Amandine Penderghast: Mother, Lady of House Penderghast

Siblings:

Brielle Penderghast: Sister, Knight of Ishgard, dragoon-in-training

Other Relatives:

Artemoux Penderghast: Uncle, member of the Order of the Knights Dragoon.

Friends & Acquaintances:

Lieutenant Reynard: Former mentor

Brande: Former gladiator and mentor to Faiolan during his time in Ul'dah.

Esmerelda Myste (Deceased): Dragoon, former love interest, died during a siege at Whitebrim Front.

extroverted / in between / introverted

disorganized / in between / organized

close minded / in between / open-minded

calm / in between / anxious

disagreeable / in between / agreeable

cautious / in between / reckless

patient / in between / impatient

outspoken / in between / reserved

leader / in between / follower

empathetic / in between / unemphatic

optimistic / in between / pessimistic

traditional / in between / modern

hard-working / in between / lazy

cultured / in between / uncultured

loyal / in between / disloyal

faithful / in between / unfaithful

Smoking Habit: Faiolan enjoys smoking from a pipe, as it helps him relax and think.

Drugs: He occasionally has to take something for phantom pains in his severed arm, as there are flair ups and bad days, but he rarely engages in them recreationally.

Alcohol: Faiolan enjoys everything from a pungent, nauseating grog to a find Ishgardian brandy, though he tends to appreciate the sort of stuff you find at shady, hole-in-the-wall type of bars more than the extravagant stuff from a noble's wine cellar.

Heretic of the Holy See: Turmoil and treachery had long infected the Ishgardian Orthodoxy, turning brother against brother and man against dragon for nigh on a millennia. As agents of darkness worked to spurn Ishgard towards their own foul ends through the Archbishop Thordan VII, his agents of the Inquisition often sought to root out Dravanian agents and sympathizers entrenched within Ishgard's people. Some Inquisitors, however, saw their own sort of sin, and excised it under the auspices of heresy in service to both the Arcbishop's plans and darker designs. Faiolan, his sister Brielle, and his uncle Artemoux were all targets of the Inquisition, accused of heresy and given their sentences. Artemoux escaped capture and went into exile, a path which Faiolan would follow, while Brielle would be imprisoned until near the end of the Dragonsong War. This brand of heretic would stain their family even after being proved false, as there are still those who begrudge Ser Aymeric's revelation of the truth and the overthrowing of Thordan VII. Faiolan and Artemoux both would also fight alongside the heretics, most notably amongst the ranks of those dedicated to serving Lady Iceheart, leading up to the ultimate conflict with Thordan VII by the Warrior of Light. Those in Ishgard would likely known of House Penderghast and the woes these allegations had caused, and likely stand by the belief that they are heretics and traitors, and see the corruption of the church for what it was.

Former Gladiator: During his time in exile from Ishgard, Faiolan plied the only trade he had any skill in, that of the sword. He took to the Bloodsands of Ul'dah under the patronage of Brande and members of the wealthy elite who hoped to see their investments returned by victory (or constructed defeats). Though his career began a bit rough, Faiolan was forged into a formidable combatant, though he saw very little of the gil from his winnings. Such was the way of Ul'dah, and yet it put food in his belly and a roof over his head... even if that roof was more of a tent in the refugee camp.

Refugee Crisis: While some would recognize him from his bouts on the Bloodsands, Faiolan was also a common sight amongst the refugees, being a resident of one of the refugee camps himself. He was consistently seen doling out food rations and other necessities to other refugees, as well as acting as something of an enforcer for troublemakers and the occasional Brass Blade who overstepped their authority.

Veteran of the Dragonsong War: Faiolan returned to Ishgard at the behest of his uncle Artemoux to serve under Lady Iceheart and her heretics. Artemoux revealed to Faiolan the truth that the Lady Iceheart herself gleaned from the dragons, and thus convinced him that it was their duty to fight and overthrow the corrupt leadership of Ishgard and aid them in seeing the truth for themselves. In the end, Ishgard was indeed freed from the yolk of Thordan and his lies, and in the days after the end of the war the membes of House Penderghast were pardoned by the House of Lords and House of Commons, allowing Faiolan to return to Ishgard. He still maintains a relationship with those whom served on the side of the heretics.

Noble of Ishgard: Faiolan is a noble of a minor House of Ishgard, and thus is afforded all the privileges and respect of that station. House Penderghast was formed when its patriarch, Lord Aloysius Penderghast of House Durendaire, married a commoner woman who worked as a cook and servant to House Durendaire. Between muddying his lineage and the accusations of heresy that would eventually come, House Penderghast never enjoyed the prestige of the other noble houses, and only in recent times has it gained the respect of its peers through their efforts to assist in Ishgard's rebuilding and its commitment to the new path on which its citizens walk.

Knight of the Heavens' Ward: (This is a personal headcanon thing, and if it doesn't jive with your own, that's cool. This is my life and I'm gonna live it.) Before the stain of heresy fell upon his family, Faiolan was meant to serve as a squire to the knights of the Heavens' Ward to perhaps one day serve amongst them himself. However, the organization was temporarily dismantled in the wake of the Dragonsong War due to the treachery of the Knights Twelve. With trepidation did a reformation being, hoping to field the new Heavens' Ward as a most elite unit of Knights for incredibly dangerous operations alongside the Eorzean Alliance. Amongst other candidates, Faiolan was chosen to take a seat on the newly formed Heavens' Ward.

Veteran of the War for Ala Mhigan Liberation: Part of the Ishgardian forces dispatches to Baelsar's Wall alongside the rest of the Eorzean Alliance, Faiolan served as a unit commander during the War to liberate Ala Mhigo from the Empire. He fought alongside other members of the Alliance as well as Ala Mhigan Resistance members, and even lost his arm in the battle to retake the capital from the Garleans. Many of his comrades were lost in the fighting, and the bond formed with those whom managed to survive is one that will forever remain unbroken.

Howdy there folks! I'm Mirage, and welcome to my revamped LFR bit for Faiolan. I've been part of the tumblr / FFXIV community for a few months now as I played through the entire game in preparation for Endwalker. I've been roleplaying across various mediums (including forums, TTRPGs, and games) for over 20 years. I absolutely love story-driven RPGs, great characters, cool stories, and all that jazz.

Those of you who have seen my tumblr likely know I suffer from a lot of anxiety and depression. I'm pretty open about that because it affects me pretty harshly, especially when it comes to writing and socializing. What you won't get me from me a constant stream of content or someone who is going to be at their best 100% of the time. What you will get is someone who is fairly authentic, I like to think, as well as passionate... but someone who values quality more than quantity. I'm very laidback when it comes to writing and roleplaying, and find that just making friends and generally staying in touch over time is more important than adhering to some kind of strict posting regimen or anything.

I'm willing to RP in any way you feel most comfortable with, be that in-game, Discord, or some other outside thingy. I'm a little more focused on long-term roleplay, but I don't mind something a little simpler, short-term, or casual. It's the journey, not the destination, that matters after all!

In-game: Faiolan Penderghast

Server: Mateus (Crystal Data Center)

Timezone: EST

Discord: Mirage#0231 Tumblr:@mirageofthecrystal (asks and DMs always open!)

#ffxiv blogging #ffxiv mateus #ffxiv crystal #faiolan penderghast #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv rp #lfrp #mateus lfrp #crystal lfrp

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kimberly40 · 1 year

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Most early settlers used a smokehouse, hanging hams and other large pieces of meat in a small building to cure through several weeks of exposure to a low fire with a lot of smoke. The process began around November. The meat would keep all winter and most of the summer. Some people still use this method on a limited basis, but most buy pork in the grocery store already cured.

Another way to keep pork was to “salt it down.” Most families had a shelf in the smokehouse, a bench or table in another building, or a box that could be used for storing meat. They placed the meat on a layer of salt and covered it with more salt, sometimes mixed with pepper and brown sugar. Salt draws moisture out of meat and thus stops the process of rotting.

A similar method still is used in the Mountains of North Carolina. This method involves digging a furrow beside cabbage rows in a garden, pulling up the cabbage, placing each head upside down in the furrow, and covering it over with loose dirt. The cabbage turns white during the passing months but retains its flavor. Cabbage can be preserved in this way until time to plant again.

#appalachian

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ratcandy · 3 years

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Subcon Forest Analysis

Hi everyone I'm here to spill my aggressive overflowing thoughts on Subcon Forest and what it represents because it's been driving me insane since I finished the Sleepy Subcon time rift. Okay let's go. Obvious spoilers for AHIT ahead so proceed with caution.

This is also very, very long.

Disclaimer/warning: I will be discussing abusive/unhealthy relationships in this analysis. I mean. Vanessa. Come on. Also, there is a section on the nooses, and that delves, of course, into mentions of suicide. It will be sectioned off and easily skipped, but if you'd rather be safe and skip the entire post, that's completely understandable! Please stay safe. <3

Alright. Main point to be had here:

Subcon Forest is a giant extended metaphor for Snatcher's mind and character.

You all get to now listen to me spout nonsense about metaphors and symbolism because I'm a sucker for analysis and I'm given an opportunity to go ham. So perish.

The Ice

Let's start with the most obvious and most glaring thing in Subcon. The ice. It's everywhere. Not just outside Vanessa's manor, either; no, it's throughout the village, too. Shows up in the well and in random locations sprinkled about. When it comes to literal plot, we know that ice is just what lingers after Vanessa's wintery curse on Subcon. But going deeper and analyzing the meaning behind it?

Well, let's look at this from the perspective I've suggested. Subcon Forest being an extended metaphor for Snatcher's mind and character. A symbol for Vanessa then litters his mind, enough where it's certainly noticeable at first but blends in more easily once more of Subcon is unlocked to Hat Kid. This is clearly meant to be his lingering trauma, whether or not he wants to acknowledge it. Which he doesn't, as he never mentions it directly in his forest (that I can recall). Her influence plagues him, as to be expected with the traumatic experiences he went through with her. Breaking the ice is something Hat Kid must do in order to fulfill the wishes of the Fire Spirits (another subject I'll get into shortly), which, if self-indulgently playing with the found family idea, could mean that Hat Kid is helping him heal; if indirectly. Even if fulfilling the Fire Spirits' wish to die is... counterproductive, in that measure, which I'm now getting ahead of myself so hold on a sec!!

Vanessa. Ice. Everywhere. Traces of it all over his forest. That's the effects of an abusive relationship! Especially in a worst-case scenario where... yknow! One party in the relationship dies! So of course ice would be everywhere.

In and of itself, ice is a common symbol in literature and other forms of media. In this case, it's presented as an antagonistic force; emphasis is placed upon freezing and the harm that comes with it. The cold is unwelcoming, threatening, merciless. Snow can act as an insulating force, at least, but ice cannot. It can only make things colder.

A slight stretch: Seeing as this game deals a lot with time shenaniganry, I'm not sure if it'd be too out of left field to connect "freezing" with the theme of time. Yknow. Frozen in time. Both parties here, Snatcher and Vanessa, would be in this frozen state. One largely repressing it and never fully moving on, and the other doomed to her isolation ever since the event in question. They never moved past that moment after the Prince and florist's interaction.

The Fire Spirits (& the Portraits)

I'll put a slight warning here for suicidal ideation, if only because... it's the Fire Spirits we're talking about. It's not as grossly in-detail as the noose discussion will be, though, so make of that what you will.

To me, the Fire Spirits are a very interesting case. After all, they're fire. They're a direct contrast to the ice, thus being the only thing we're shown that could potentially melt it. The Fire Spirits, in my opinion, represent hope or a strength to continue. A strength to move on after troubles of the past.

...And that hope wants to die.

The Fire Spirits wish to burn out, to leave this mortal coil and abandon the forest to the cold. They make no effort to melt the ice, they simply dance, blissfully ignorant towards their surroundings. This being a metaphor for Snatcher's own hope for moving on is made all the more obvious by the fact he wants them gone. The first contract is to kill the Fire Spirits, to kill the hope. Perhaps he believes that sort of thing to be fruitless or naïve, so it only clutters his mind or has him foolishly optimistic at points. So, get rid of it. And the hope is happy to oblige.

(That, or their willingness to leave the forest to its own suffering and not aid in the ice's thaw angers him. Besides the whole "bark bark growl I can't get to parts of my forest because of them!!" which... also could represent a naïve hope clouding his judgement, not allowing him to see a bigger picture. But hope can't all be lost if one wants to move forward...)

A little side-tangent now on the portraits! And it's another slight stretch but the idea is in my head and I can't let it go. Portraits are another common symbol, usually being a physical representation of a memory or idea. For our purposes, let's say they're memories. I know in canon they appear to just hold souls captive or something but for now we're just Ignoring That(tm). The Fire Spirits have to burn the portraits to disappear. See where I'm going with this, maybe?

Instead of handling bad memories (or perhaps memories of the past in general) in any healthy manner, Snatcher chooses to forget/repress them, which just allows his hope to progressively die out.

I'm really hoping this is making sense because it makes a lot of sense to me but I might be insane rn

The Fact that this is a Forest

Forest symbolism breakdown! What's a forest usually mean in literature? "Traditionally, the forest has come to represent being lost, exploration and potential danger as well as mystery and 'other worldliness'." Okay. Yeah. Fair enough. That certainly works with the whole aesthetic we've got going on. Wood usually is life, growth and strength. But the trees of subcon are all dead. So what about that? It stands for death, big whoop, very spooky, we know Snatcher's dead and so are the children, yadda yadda wowie wowie. But. :) The trees in Subcon look a lot like trees that were scorched in a forest fire. Don't believe me?

(You could also argue they're just regular marsh/swamp trees bUT SSHHSUUHSH HANG ON HEAR ME OUT LOOK LOOK,)

What I believe to have happened was a controlled fire to rid the forest of the majority of its ice and snow. Likely done by Snatcher. It leaves behind a very desolate, depressing, barren scene... but. What else do dead/burnt trees symbolize? Rebirth. After all, controlled fires happen to make way for new trees to take the place of old ones. Some trees only drop seeds in fires/hot temperatures, so new ones take root and begin anew. Weird. It's almost like... I dunno. Snatcher was given some sorta second chance, given he's not just a corpse in Vanessa's cellar. So were the subconites. Another life given then by Snatcher. All connected I tell ya!!

Generally, aside from that, forests have many connotations. Mystery, isolation, claustrophobia; a place to dwell on regrets, or the past; to worry over one's future; to seek escape from or escape inside of... hmgmrnmm!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- T / W -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The Nooses

The t/w is given at the top and another cut-off point will follow the bottom of this, for those that would like to skip. This will delve into talk of suicide and abusive tactics used by abusers. Please don't read if it will upset you or make you feel unsafe!!!

Personally, I cannot stand the nooses, but that's just due to my own triggers. Were there a way to hide those from the game or replace the damned talking ones with anything else. I would take it. In a heartbeat. But I can still appreciate the potential analysis to be had with them. So now i'm gonna talk about it despite how uncomfortable it will make me to do so. yEa

So, what about 'em? There are three types of nooses seen in Subcon. At least that I remember but I didn't really go looking for them. Empty ones, ones containing empty subconites, and the talking ones.

Nooses in general obviously can hint towards suicidal thoughts or behaviors of the characters that interact with them. If saying Subcon is Snatcher's mind, it could suggest that he suffered from some sort of suicidal thoughts in life (or currently, if second death is possible... or if he never truly died... or maybe he's trying to figure that out...which has given me... a separate idea...uh oh). But. And hear me out. Different perspective.

A talking noose. I hate them with a fiery passion that is unmatched. But think of the packed symbolism of a noose that talks. And think more about what it says. "I wouldn't mind being strapped around a cute neck like yours." "Be careful now, I don't want to see you meet a miserable end anywhere, but with me." Oddly, a lot of what the noose says seems almost... endearing? One could argue it's a way of luring someone to put it around their necks, which in and of itself is a whole lot to unpack when it comes to suicidal thoughts beckoning one forward; painting itself as something romantic, almost. But. Here's a wild idea, now. What if the nooses, at least the talking ones, are another symbol for Vanessa?

They're tinted blue, after all. While Vanessa's scheme is more red, one could argue two things: One, ice. Blue. Ice. yeah. Or two, the fact that Snatcher's scheme is more purple. Blue and red... make... purple. So, for all we know, Snatcher's current state was a compound effort between suicidal thoughts and Vanessa's treatment of him. Perhaps he even found a way to put himself out of his misery before freezing/starving to death. (I know he has dialogue that argues against that, but... are we certain Snatcher would be the kind to admit suicide over freezing to death?... I don't think so.)

At any rate, a common threat by those in "control" of an abusive relationship is that of killing themselves should the other person not do as they desire. It's a cruel form of emotional manipulation to get their way, worse off if the other party is an empathetic individual. As a person who has been the empathetic individual in relationships like this... I would know. I've been here, unfortunately So, it's not completely out of the question to say Vanessa could've used some tactic like that, even before the whole... cellar ordeal. Did she? I dunno. I'm tossing ideas around. But if she did, the threats of such would sit around in the Prince's mind easily. Even if she has a reputation of not going through with it. It doesn't matter. That shit sticks with you forever, that scare, the potential of it ever being true, is horrifying and it ruins you. I'm projecting, Squirtle.

Still. A noose cannot hang itself. It has to have a victim.

...yea.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- T / W PASSED -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Misc. Ideas

- The spiders: Aside from the usual things spiders can be chalked up to symbolizing - toxicity, alluring danger, just... general pain - I like the potential wordplay that can happen here. Yknow. A black widow. Say the Prince and Vanessa were married when one died. What would that leave Vanessa? A widow. ...She's red and black, too. Yknow. Like a black widow. HA wordplay is fun isn't it?

- Snatcher's tree: Love this place, love sitting in here. But not the point! The inside of Snatcher's tree is such a harsh juxtaposition to the rest of Subcon that it kinda throws ya off guard. After all, the dark, purples and blues then contrasted with the bright warm colors of the inside. Even the music switches over. The thorns outside aren't present indoors. Ohh yeah this is gonna be on the nose as hell but the Tree(tm) is 100% representing Snatcher's appearance/put-on personality vs. his truer nature. Spooky outside with thorns, foreboding, unwelcoming. Then the more comfortable interior. VULnerable. Have I even mentioned that the tree is HOLLOW I mean COME ON. The sturdiness of that tree? Nonexistent. He's not a sturdy guy at all no matter how he fronts

- Intrusions are unwelcome: Snatcher does not like the fact that Hat Kid sticks around in his forest. His personal space. His mind. In fact he tries desperately to get rid of her after their fight, not wanting her presence in his forest at all. He has no problem providing more contracts later on with the Death Wish thing, and he finds great entertainment in messing around with Hat Kid, so it's not just a weird sudden hatred he has for her; it's the fact that. After she's finished being useful, he no longer wants her around, lest she find some things she shouldn't find. Now he's just uncomfortable with her in his personal boundaries. Could just be a denial that she's helped him heal (breaking ice, stealing from Vanessa, being something interesting for his kids to interact with) or just not really wanting a child to get wrapped up in. All that. Most likely the former. Considering the amount of joke-hints he drops regarding his background during his Death Wish dialogue. I see you funny man, making jokes out of your trauma as a coping mechanism. Punts him

Annnd I think that's all I got, for now! I'll make an update post if I get any more sporadic ideas. If you read this whole thing, thank you!! and also!! Wow that was a lot!! Hell world. Please feel free to elaborate on any of my points or debate with me on em!! I'm always open to other ideas, just be aware that if I disagree I am not shy when it comes to debate hehehe, tho I won't be aggressive to any extent I prommy!!

Alrighty. goes to sleep goodnight

#clamtalk #VERY long ramble #a hat in time #snatcher #ahit snatcher #subcon forest #vanessa ahit #ahit #analysis #the prince ahit #goes crazy. goes insane #ask to tag #i'm frazzled I can't add more tags I'll do so later

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