#Sandwurm

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Dune Fan Art by Kentaro Kameda

#Dune #Sci-Fi #Fremen #Sandwurm #Kentaro Kameda

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Sandwurm Convergence

Cantankerous and territorial, sandwurms claim even the skies above their dunes.

Artist: Slawomir Maniak TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

#mtg #magic the gathering #tcg #$0.19 #slawomir maniak #sandwurm convergence #new capenna commander #enchantment

[homemadehorrors]

#art doll #monster #snake skull #creature #halloween #sandwurm colours #spookies #plush #didn't get a chance to make more of these dudes for the sale #but maybe for mff #wormsandbones #homemadehorrors

[magicwurms]

Howdy, it's been a while! As soon as I saw this beautiful Filip Burburan piece (artist of four wurm cards!) I was looking forward to seeing what this card did. I'm shocked it isn't a common (it's our first rare wurm in Standard since Brother's War, two years ago), but I'm equally shocked at the raw efficiency of this monster!

It is nicely keeping in tradition with Colossal creatures all having exclusively 5s and/or 6s in their stat boxes though, appreciated.

It feels a tad odd that this doesn't fit the bill of a "rattlesnake card" (card that sits around as a known quantity waiting for an opponent to do something threatening that prompts it to pounce) but flash feels appropriate. If this somehow ends out the bane of a format then I guess "leaving four green open" could be rattlesnakey enough (I'll eat my cowboy hat if that happens though yeeeeehawwww)

Ramping from the 'yard is nice too, and honestly makes this a decent fit for my Wurm commander deck, provided I can find enough Deserts that are any good...

#obviously blows every other wurm at this mana value out of the water and makes ol' Craw Wurm look oddly like a bad ancient design #but I don't mind tbh this isn't messing with things quite as much as Anzrag already did #odd note: why does this not say “this SPELL has flash” like every other card that sometimes has flash? #mtg #wurm #green #4 mana value #Thunder Junction #calling it now also: we'll get another wurm that cares about deserts somehow that is a direct Dune reference #or‚ maybe more appropriately‚ Tremors (1990)? #failing that‚ a reprint of old favourite (also from a deserts-matter set)‚ Greater Sandwurm

[dialupmodern]

Pilot and Machine: The Lovers

So i wrote a little story about a mech and her pilot, and i've finally worked up the confidence to post it, please be nice

CW for a few kinda gross descriptions of creatures, descriptions of violence, and some melancholic themes. (if i should add anything to this section please reach out!!)

The blistering heat of the desert sun beat relentlessly down upon the pilot, even through the labyrinthine mechanical nightmare of the mech's internals. Long ago, they had promised it relief from the heat, taken it underground into an icy laboratory, stripped it naked and wrapped it's skin with a tight suit of biotic interface material. "Self-sustaining," they had said, "No need to eat or drink in case of emergencies." They had slowly incorporated it into the biogel, a strange, frigid interface to the mech's controls and subsystems. It was odd, malleable yet firm, inescapable on one's own. Those memories felt distant and cold, now. Foreign, almost. The pilot found it irregular that it could feel the biogel against it's skin, which was radiating a feverish heat that was somehow still discernible even in the impossibly scorching desert sun. To the machine, it felt like a pit in her stomach, strangely like her first kiss, or at least what her mind told her was her first kiss. Which didn't make any sense, machines like her wouldn't have had a first kiss, let alone a need to remember far back enough for the sensation to be recalled with any detail. She paused at this series of messy thoughts, her patrol halted temporarily as the lone cloud in the sky passed overhead. She turned her head upward, gazing toward the horizon. The biogel continued getting hotter, tendrils of jet-black liquid crystal creeping through it ever closer to the pilot's burning form. Two more hours till the next suncycle, it dutifully reported. Even deep in the bowels of this mechanical beast it found joy in performing what small duties it had. The machine noted the suncycle countdown, and strained it's sensors to catch a glimpse of the half-sphere beginning to eclipse the sun. She couldn't see, and a painful twinge came to her as she remembered being scolded for looking at the sun, even when the tightly locked hexagonal panels covered it wholly. This didn't make any sense, she thought, a machine like her wouldn't have had anyone to scold her. A rippling in the sand brought the pilot and machine both into sharp focus. 

Subroutines began to scream in the pilot's head, while hormones and stimulants flowed into the core crystal reservoir of the machine. They saw through the same eyes, heard the same rumbling terror, and both in harmony reached for the convertible sword upon their back. The sandwurm burst forth, horrifying speed and power behind it's strike, the sword slashing across it's body just as the wings unfurled, whipping downward in a desperate, violent attempt to escape what was, by now, it's certain fate. A second slash cleaved it's left wing in two, rending a guttural pained screech from the depths of the thing. It's mouth opened wide, millions of needled teeth and inflamed cilia attempting a last ditch gambit, some futile attempt to intimidate or eat the machine, though it was far too large, not to mention inedible. The machine's free hand hinged downward, a large metal spike emerging in an instant from it's wrist, as it's arm, already primed and ready, struck with a vicious speed. Effortlessly gliding past the creature's gaping maw, the spike passed cleanly through it's brain, sensory organs and shards of bone and tooth collecting along the base of the crude weapon as it pierced through the top of the sandwurm's skull. As the spike retracted, and the hand snapped back into place, the euphoric response began to kick in. It was built-in, a simple dopamine trigger for pilots after a combat victory at first, but it had evolved independent of the engineers and scientists. Whatever it was now was arcane to them, but it was astonishingly effective, so they let it be. 

The pilot felt the tendrils of liquid crystal wrapping around it's limbs, swimming through the biogel and quenching it's fervid flesh with exploratory touch. The machine had felt every last curve before, and yet it was so beautifully new to her, as if it was her first time all over again. The machine strained, trying to remember back to her actual first time. It had been a boring, unsatisfying affair, with some man who'd caught her the right amount of drunk and depressed. She was disgusted at the thought, that was the only man she'd ever been with, and while she didn't regret it, it still wasn't something she cared to dwell on. This, however, felt like how a first time was always talked about. Exploring, feeling, purest trust and pleasure leaking into every small movement, every inch a pyre upon which insecurities and anxieties were thrown, only to be quenched by her ice-cold crystal tendrils. The pilot, for it's part, was thrashing in ecstasy, still encased and protected by the biogel, every sensation upon it's parched and fevered skin a wholly new and rapturous experience. The pair continued to bask in their sensations, barriers broken and experiences intermingling freely, as the rest of their patrol finished without incident. Neither the machine nor the pilot wanted to return to the hangar, the underground laboratory. They knew what it would mean. separation, invasive diagnostics, repetitive, difficult questions.  They both felt a dread building, in their own ways.

The pilot hated being outside the biogel, aimlessly wandering the base for hours outside of it's patrol, it's purpose. It often ended up laying upon the machine's chest, locked in idle conversation until it was found and forced away again, to passionless wandering and waiting. The machine hated being alone, she always had. Loneliness wasn't a stranger to her, but a bitter old rival. A rival that had followed her all her life like a specter, reminding her what she could not have. When the pilot would come into the hangar against protocol and lay itself upon her chest and speak about anything and nothing, the loneliness left her, for a while. While her hulking metal form was essentially inert without the biogel and pilot, the sparse communication was still more than enough to keep her going in the times when her dear pilot was gone. Staring at the wall in the meantime bored her, though, and it had become positively maddening as of late. They saw the team in the hangar, just as they always were as their circular patrol route came to an end. The countenances of the engineers and scientists were dour and joyless, typical fare ever since the patrols had started in earnest. The machine was a prototype unit, something she was reminded of at every possible fucking interval, but the group had recently needed to start using the pair to properly defend the base against hostile fauna until additional mecha repair supplies could be secured. 

As the gigantic blast door closed, the floor began to shudder, the impossibly large hydraulic platform lowering them into the base proper. Whenever the door closed, she dreamt of the mechs she occasionally saw with EVA units, able to breach the atmosphere and leave this godforsaken place at will. Instead, she was stuck in this sandy hell, being repeatedly lowered into a further circle. The machine always hated being disembarked, the feeling of being opened up, and everything inside removed or scrubbed so clean that it didn't feel like her anymore. It felt like losing half her mind every time, and it never got easier. The pilot hated it too, always resisting with what feeble strength it possessed, longing and fighting for the extra moments immersed in it's purpose, sharing a mind with what was, by all logic, it's only friend. And yet, the pilot was disembarked all the same, hatches opened and internals exposed. Her beloved pilot pulled reluctantly from her, resisting all the way. The biogel, thoroughly soiled, was drained away as diagnostic computers spun to life, cables plugged into ports she always forgot she had. She watched, helpless, as the pilot walked stiffly with the scientists, feeling an indescribable, choking sorrow rippling through her core as she realized she didn't remember how to breathe. Then the code surged through her, and she felt it, flowing down practiced pathways, invading her core, collecting endless data she hadn't realized she'd been storing. Small repair drones began skittering around her internals, quietly fixing any issues they found. It always made her feel so violated, her mind and body both laid bare, and relentlessly scrutinized without remorse or emotion. Despite all the anger and disquiet she felt, she hoped the results were good news. 

A lone scientist with mousy brown hair curled into a loose bun, and a face worn from a life of stress, sat the pilot down and began the questioning sequence. The pilot was deeply uncomfortable, the base was all white walls, cold steel and colder air. Sterile, unlike the cockpit, it's only real home. The last vestiges of purpose clung to the pilot like a lover the morning after as it obediently answered the same questions it always did, in the same impossibly bored monotone.

"Answer each question without thinking about it, as quickly as you can."

A terse nod. 

"What is your name?"

"I don't know." 

"What color are your eyes?" 

"I don't know." 

"Where were you born?" 

"I don't know."

"What year were you born?" 

"I don't know."

"How old are you?"

"I don't know."

"What planet are you on?"

"I don't know."

"What are you?" 

"A test pilot, selected for prototype mecha unit H6DR, final designation classified." 

"You are lost in the desert. The sun has made your mouth warm and sticky. Your skin blisters and burns in the unrelenting sunlight. Shards of debris and shrapnel lay around you, remnants from the destruction of all you hold dear. You are making your way toward the head of the mech you once occupied, the only identifiable piece of wreckage. In defiance of all logic, it speaks, in a broken and distorted voice, beckoning you in a way only you would understand. What does it call you?"

"Lover."

"Are you alone?" 

"Yes."

The scientist scribbled something on their clipboard. The pilot didn't want to know what it said, whatever was being written wasn't good news, of that it was sure. It had long since grown accustomed to the routine of it all, even if the questioning was supremely boring. Every time it hurt worse, every time the unjustifiable urge to snatch the clipboard out of her hand and throw it through the glass window got a little harder to resist. It hated the questions, they weren't anything but a formality, another roadblock to what it was meant to do, what it so desperately needed to do. And yet, ever since they'd started sending it out with the machine, to do it's job, they had only gotten more hostile toward the pair. Why did they get so angry at them, for only doing what they'd been made to do, what they were both built to do? Hollow tears rolled involuntarily down the pilot's flushed cheeks, it's face contorted into a mask of pure agony, but it didn't make a sound. Through the tears of rage and pain, it saw the scientist wince, clutching her clipboard tight, protecting her precious data, even as basic human empathy clawed at her heart. There was a distance there it knew all too well. It wasn't human, not in their eyes. The pilot so desperately wanted to disagree with her, to scream and flail and prove, somehow, that it was human. But it knew the truth, and in spite of all the illogical, unjustifiable want in it's heart, it was proud. 

The scientists and engineers convened in a room, a feed of the hangar cameras relegated to a small monitor on a corner table. The main presentation screen was filled with data, 3-dimensional models, graphs, and spreadsheets. The air in the room was heavy, almost humid with a sense of panic, yet beneath it all, the same icy dread. Everyone in the room was silent, looking at notes and back to the main screen, confirming what was all but written out for them. One scientist finally spoke up, the scientist who had taken the pilot's questions. "I think it's clear that we've gone far past the experimental stage. If she goes back into that mech, she isn't coming back out." Another piped up, a gruff, older man with graying brownish hair, whose lab coat clung to him with a desperation that spoke to his true aptitude. "She's already not coming back. You've seen the test results, we all have. They've each become too much of the other." He bowed his head solemnly before continuing, "Separating them would be an extraordinary act of cruelty." "But what can we do? They're the only mech/pilot team we have left! How are we going to-" she stopped herself. An uncomfortable truth had finally pushed itself to the front of her mind, one that everyone else in the room had long since realized. 

As the scientists went off to their meeting, the pilot hid behind the same rack it always did, the first chance it got. It was skilled at this by now, and they all seemed rather distracted today. Within minutes of the door closing, the pilot was back in the hangar. "You came back," spoke the titanic machine, heard only through the cybernetic nerves linked to the pilot's ears. "Of course I did, I always do. Sorry it took so long." The pilot began climbing the machine, and as it's skin touched the cold metal of her body, it inexplicably felt a little better. It knew every inch of the machine, in a deeply personal way, a way it knew the scientists would never understand. It found it's usual spot, a dent on her chest they never bothered to hammer out. The pilot loved this spot, not least because it could still see her face. "I hate it here," she said, her synthesized voice carrying a slightly distressing amount of emotion. "I never asked to be here, I just want to be with you, a part of you." The pilot took pause, staring at it's hands before replying, "And I, you. We were built for each other, and whatever we are now, they can't understand. But we're still made for each other." The machine felt so many emotions making ripples in her core, different frequencies all crashing together, making it hard for her to think. She opened the cockpit, catching the pilot somewhat off guard. "It's hard to… ugh, it's hard to think without you there. I can't move, I can't let my thoughts out. It's all just waves and frequencies, always hitting walls. Please." The pilot slid carefully from it's now precarious position and into the cockpit, breaking the surface of the fresh biogel. As it was fully engulfed, it felt the tendrils of the liquid crystal flowing down and in. One of the tendrils formed a hand, and reached out to grip the pilot's. 

"That's better," the machine spoke, her voice already noticeably softer than it had been. "It is," the pilot replied, it's normally stiff body going limp, save for the hand, gently holding the mass of liquid crystal interlocked with it. "I've been thinking y'know, but it's so limiting. Without you, I feel like I can't fully form ideas." "So, let's walk through it together." The pilot's calm, logical reassurances comforted the machine, setting her mind back on track. "What if we left? Just didn't come back to the base?" The pilot's brow furrowed, deep in thought. "C'mon, all the other mech teams did it! I'm sure we could find EVA equipment somewhere around here, if anyone could rig it, it's you!" The pilot spoke, calmly and evenly, "There wouldn't be any need. We already have EVA capabilities." "What?! Since when?" "It's been part of a slow series of upgrades, ever since we started going on excursions. I expect they've done their best to keep it from you." The pilot felt the hand tightening around it's own, another tendril reaching out to touch it's face tenderly, wiping away tears it didn't even know were there. "W-we could go? Whenever we want to?" "Yes. We wouldn't have many options after leaving, but we would be free, as it were. Together." More tendrils flowed into the biogel, surrounding the pilot in something that could almost be called a hug. "That," the machine said, voice vibrating through every tendril, "is the best news I have ever heard." The pilot felt itself smile, surrendering itself to the embrace of the machine.

"Th-they're going to let us die here, aren't they?" the scientist whimpered, eyes welling with tears and looking desperately for reassurance at a table full of people who wouldn't, no, couldn't look her in the eye. "Program was deemed a failure," the gruff man spoke at last, a barely perceptible catch in his voice, "they extracted all the standard teams one by one. That's why they haven't been coming back. We're to keep reporting data on H6DR until we run out of supplies, then-" He stopped himself, not willing to say what they had told him to do, to order his team to do. "Supposedly they'll send a rescue ship, but it's not looking likely." The scared scientist at the front of the room leaned herself against the large screen for support, and sobbed there, for a while. The gruff man looked on in quiet horror, as his heart broke. "I've been working on a project, something we might be able to do, but only if we surrender to the enemy forces." "The backup? I guess that could be a good enough bargaining chip. Wait, what about H6DR?" "A total loss. Honestly, I'm surprised it hasn't run yet. But whatever it does now isn't our concern. It deserves that freedom." "So what are we doing, then?" The gruff man stood, gesturing to the monitor in the corner, showing the pilot entering the cockpit of the mech. "We aren't interfering with the last phase of our experiment. Once it's gone, we unload the backup, send a distress call to the enemy, and hope they don't bomb us to hell." 

The pilot and the machine were entwined completely within the biogel, minds and bodies a blur. The sensations pulsing through the both of them were indescribable, a pure and deepest joy, the feeling of getting home on the first day of summer vacation. Endorphins, hormones, snippets of euphoric response code, and combat stimulants all swirled throughout the steel behemoth. The scientists watching the readouts were perplexed, as the two continued to bond in so many arcane and beautiful ways. The pilot's body continuously convulsed in pure pleasure, waves cascading through every last system and wire, every atom of the liquid crystal core that flowed like a waterfall down the machine's spine and through it's heart. The two minds, pressed so tightly together and communicating, finally communicating correctly, spoke to each other in perfect harmony. "Lover," they spoke, in unison. The scientists heard them speak aloud through the monitor, for the first time. "Lover." The scientist at the front of the room started crying again. "I get it now. I understand." She looked up at the gruff man, who pulled her into a tight hug. "You have no idea. Neither do they." 

The lovers took their first steps outside, into the darkened desert. The semt-transparent hexagonal panels of the Dyson sphere eclipsing the sun entirely, casting an eerie half-light as far as the horizon. They dug into their systems, their true synchronization revealing things they didn't even realize were there. The booster jets in their flight system, the railgun in their arm, the convertible sword's full potential. Every system at 100%, green lights across every panel and a violent euphoria coursing through them. They crouched, initiating a liftoff sequence that they had never once performed, but felt entirely natural to them. The sand turned to a crude glass beneath the heat of the boosters, fusion reactors spilling a deluge of their excess heat into the ground. A sandwurm pack rumbled ominously toward them, the leader leaping forward with murderous intent. On instinct, the concealed railgun deployed, piercing a hole straight through the beast's gaping maw and out the other side. The surge of emotion and ecstasy intensified, boosters screaming for liftoff, knees of steel momentarily buckled before springing up higher than they ever had. A missile salvo loosed itself from an integrated rack in their shoulder, catching the three other horrid things in a cascade of explosive power, shrapnel and molten sand blasting relentlessly against their soft bodies. They didn't even look back, feeling the euphoria of a job well done and letting it carry them up, up, up. When they finally breached the atmosphere, they heard radio chatter explode into their head. Through all the chatter, they heard a familiar voice, the scientist with the loose, messy bun and the stress-worn face. It sounded like she was crying as she spoke, "Goodbye, and good luck. I'm so sorry, for everything." The mech felt another surge of emotion, something different from the euphoric response, rawer and more difficult to parse. Another message came through, directed specifically at them, "Unidentified craft, exiting the troposphere, please identify or we will fire." The mech paused, unable to locate the source of the transmission, or even a possibility of such. "We are mecha unit HDR-VI. Shorthand designation: The Lovers." They didn't wait for a response, they simply engaged their boosters and flew, savoring freedom while they could. 

#mechposting #mech pilot #mech posting #mecha #empty spaces #my writing

[danco110]

“Now, are you sure you want me on lookout duty?”

Bonny Pall restlessly hefted a massive axe over her shoulder while addressing the human lumberjacks at her feet. The other loggers quickly voiced their assent, having to shout to be heard due to their relatively minuscule stature.

“Uh, yep!” chimed one of the loggers, as she attacked a bramble-wreathed thicket. “Just keep keepin an eye out for sandwurms up there!”

“…Are you sure you’re sure? No need to be polite, we’re all pretty salt-of-the-earth, here. And I don’t mind doin the grunt work.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble! You’re helpin us out way more right there!”

“Is it because I might step on you? Cause I’ll be careful. And anyone can fend off sandwurms. Even Beau here can do it!” Bonny chuckled as she pointed over her shoulder with her free hand, to the massive blue ox standing patiently behind her. “C’mon, lemme help.”

A second human logger blanched at Bonny’s claim. “‘Anyone’? You sure you ain’t mixin that up there?”

“Sure I’m sure. Sandwurms are almost completely harmless, unless you get right up on their nests. Otherwise they only ever eat stuff that’s way smaller than…Oh, right.”

Bonny craned her neck down, just in time to see one of the loggers turn away to hide a smirk. She grimaced, and nodded before again turning her attention to the horizon.

“I’ll…keep watch.”

“We promise, we’re grateful! And we’re pretty sure this is the way to do it!”

“Yeah, you’re probably right…?”

As if on cue, Bonny spotted a billowing trail of dust in the distance, fast approaching the loggers’ clearing. When the dust trail drew near, and the ground began to tremble, Bonny brought her axe down to shake the ground with tremendous force. A massive sandwurm burst from the earth, hissing and writhing as it fled, realizing she was no easy meal.

“See? You’re helpin!”

“I guess,” Bonny sighed, as she wistfully eyed the steadily shrinking thicket.

#mtg #magic the gathering #thunder junction #story bites

[thecornwall]

Cornwall's Random Card of the Day #682: Sandwurm Convergence

Sandwurm Convergence is a rare from Amonkhet.

Eight mana rare! Must be good, right? Okay, I just looked at the text and yes, it is good. Keeps fliers off your back and also gets you a 5/5 each turn. Sounds good to me! The sandwurms of Amonkhet are less about Egyptian mythology, or Nicol Bolas, and are in fact a nod to the Dune series, of book and much more video game fame. I am fully happy to have out-of-left-field references in Magic, so long as it still gels with the setting as a whole, which this does.

#mtg

[iamthespineofmybook]

Dear Jewish Side of Tumblr (I believe you are also called "Jumblr"), I have a cultural consideration question.

I have built a fantasy world that is very adventurer friendly. As part of this, there are monsters, and the majority of monster species have a Boss Monster, who is the only monster in that species with actual intelligence (the rest are basically magic animals).

The question is about three of those bosses in particular: the Bosses of the megalodons, wyverns, and titans. Because I named them Leviathan, Ziz, and Behemoth, respectively, and it has recently come to my attention that, much like the Golem (which used to be the species name for the titans), these three beings are of Hebrew origin, so I wanted to be sure it was okay that I have them named such or if I should hunt for something else to call them.

To give some brief descriptions:

- Leviathan is the largest and oldest of the Boss Monsters, but she doesn't really talk to anyone. She may eat the occasional ship, but prefers to hunt krakens and whales.

- Ziz is a giant bird the size of a large island, to the point where they are occasionally mistaken with the flying island of Balnibarbi (and vice-versa) with a wingspan several kilometres across. They also eat whales, but occasionally stop off to catch a giant sandwurm from the desert when in that neighbourhood.

- Behemoth is not only the size of a mountain, but, as he spends most of his time sleeping, tends to be treated as one. This does cause some minor problems if a cave-making animal decides to try and carve out a home in him, but no more than most other natural disasters.

#judaism #jumblr #jewish side of tumblr #behemoth #leviathan #ziz #world of experia #culture

[uhrcenter]

Riders on the Worm: So atemberaubend wie der Ritt auf dem Sandwurm in „Dune: Part II“ ist auch das Design der limitierten Hamilton Uhr zum Film:

#hamilton #dune #uhrcenter #uhr #armbanduhr #modisch #modern #mode #fashion #style #lifestyle #limitiert #watch #herrenuhr #damenuhr #geschenkidee

[gameforestdach]

Die Welt von Dune prallt auf die actiongeladene Atmosphäre von Call of Duty, denn Paul Atreides, dargestellt von Timothée Chalamet, wird jetzt ein spielbarer Operator in Modern Warfare 3 (MW3) und Warzone. Diese Neuerung ist Teil der neuesten Kollaboration von Call of Duty, die den bevorstehenden Release von Dune: Part Two feiert. Seit dem Launch von Warzone im Jahr 2020 hat Call of Duty sein In-Game-Angebot stetig erweitert und bringt eine Vielzahl an Skins und Waffenpaketen in den Store. Diese einzigartigen Hinzufügungen umfassten bereits Kinomotive, wie das Godzilla vs Kong-Event in Call of Duty: Vanguard 2021. Die Zusammenarbeit mit Dune begann bereits mit MW2 im Jahr 2022 und der Einführung des Sardaukar-Pakets, und nun setzt sich der Trend mit noch mehr immersiven Inhalten fort. Das Paul Atreides Operator-Paket in MW3 und Warzone ist für 2400 Call of Duty-Punkte erhältlich, was in etwa 20 Dollar entspricht. Dieses Paket enthält eine vielfältige Auswahl an Dune-themenbezogenen Gegenständen: "Paul Atreides" Operator-Skin Zwei Waffenbaupläne mit Gewürz-Spuren: das „Fremen Fighter“ Holger 556 Sturmgewehr und die „Desert Maula“ COR-45 Pistole „Crysknife“ Dual Kodachis (Nahkampf) Waffenbauplan „Chip and Shatter“ Hinrichtungsbewegung „Wormrider“ Visitenkarte „Muad'Dib“ Waffen-Anhänger „The Fighters“ Emblem Beachtenswert ist, dass der Kauf dieses Pakets die Holger 556 für Spieler freischaltet, die sie bisher noch nicht besitzen, wobei die Basisversion der Waffe weiterhin nicht verfügbar bleibt. Diese Art der In-Game-Inhalte zeigt die Strategie von Call of Duty, seinen In-Game-Store frisch und anziehend für die Spielenden zu halten. Zusätzlich zur Spannung wird Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, gespielt von Austin Butler, auch als separater Operator eingeführt. Die Darstellungen beider Charaktere im Spiel sind nach ihren jeweiligen Schauspielern aus Dune: Part Two modelliert. Dieses Crossover-Event ist Teil des Dune: Trial of Power, einem zeitlich begrenzten Event in MW3 und Warzone, das Spielern die Möglichkeit bietet, zusätzliche Belohnungen zu verdienen, wie die Sand & Spice Waffentarnung und einen Sandwurm-Waffenanhänger. Die Strategie von Call of Duty, Popkultur in sein Gaming-Universum zu integrieren, wurde von der Spielerschaft mit Begeisterung aufgenommen. Ihre Crossover-Events bereichern nicht nur das Spielerlebnis, sondern zollen auch ikonischen Figuren und Themen aus der breiteren Unterhaltungslandschaft Tribut.

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Sandwurm Convergence

Cantankerous and territorial, sandwurms claim even the skies above their dunes.

Artist: Slawomir Maniak TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

#mtg #magic the gathering #tcg #$0.16 #slawomir maniak #sandwurm convergence #new capenna commander #enchantment

[summersurf2023]

Sa. 5.8

Nachdem die Prognose heute erneut wieder besser war hatten wir unseren Surfkurs heute um 12:30. Anna hatte zu Anfang arge Bedenke („ich hasse die Wellen jetzt schon“), sollte aber alsbald eines Besseren belehrt werden. Sie ritt due Welle wie eine echte Frenin einen Sandwurm auf Dune! 🐛 😂

Alle haben heute, bei etwas niedrigeren Wellen aber dafür konstanteren Bedingungen, gut performed. Abdalla hatte die Welle des Urlaubs (oder zwei) und die Laune war damit erstmal gerettet. Denn wir mussten ja bereits um 11:00 unsere Villa Tiki räumen und gepackt haben, nach dem Surfkurs konnten wir noch duschen und etwas essen.

Dann hieß es Aufbruch nach Moliets-et-Maa zu unserer nächsten Unterkunft für die 2. Woche. Das Familiensurfcamp ist auf dem Campingplatz Les Cigales immer noch an der alten Stelle, wurde aber umgebaut und ist jetzt noch goofier 😂

Aber gut, nachdem wir von Mauro eine kurze humoristische Einweisung und unser Mobile Home erhalten haben konnten wir auch schon „einziehen und es uns gemütlich machen. Leider hatte der Wettergott beschlossen es noch einmal regnen zu lassen, so dass ein schöner, chilliger Sommerabend im Camp ausfiel und wir bei verregneten Penne Napoli im Essenszelt über Atommodelle, Kernspaltung und Radioaktivität diskutierten. Morgen, ist ein neuer Tag.

[dune-the-spicening]

Sandwurm Convergence and it's token.

#dune #custom mtg #custom magic #magic the gathering #mtg

[hackingnewsde]

Russische Sandwurm-Hacker geben sich als ukrainische Telekommunikationsunternehmen aus, um Malware zu verbreiten

Russische Sandwurm-Hacker geben sich als ukrainische Telekommunikationsunternehmen aus, um Malware zu verbreiten

Ein Bedrohungscluster, das mit dem russischen NSA-Akteur Sandworm in Verbindung steht, hat die Ukraine weiterhin mit Commodity-Malware ins Visier genommen, indem es sich als Telekommunikationsanbieter ausgab. Recorded Future hat eine neue Infrastruktur entdeckt, die zu UAC-0113 gehört und Betreiber wie Datagroup und EuroTransTelecom imitiert, um Nutzdaten wie den Colibri Loader und Warzone RAT zu…

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[danco110]

“All right, I think that should be enough of a wall for now. Thank you again for your help.”

The Scarab God tilted its head at Hazoret’s statement as it lifted its staff high above its head. Djeru saw the motion and immediately put himself between the two gods, despite his relatively insignificant stature. Before the human could draw his khopesh, however, the undead deity brought down its staff to lightly tap against the ground.

“Huh? Oh.”

Djeru turned to glance at the lazotep-plated Eternals who had been helping the other survivors build a rough wall around their encampment. The zombies set down their loads and tools, and shuffled back to stand in a loose circle centered on the Scarab God.

“Again, thank you,” Hazoret sighed tiredly. “I…I know you probably don’t remember me. But I just wanted to say-”

“SANDWURM!”

A panicked naga standing atop the new wall coiled up and launched herself from the parapet with surprising force. Just in time, too, as a large explosion of sand made a sizeable hole in the barrier, directly below where she had been. A massive sandwurm surged forth through the gap, easily dwarfing both the living and Eternals, and even coming up to Hazoret and the Scarab God’s waists.

“Initiates! Behind me!”

While Hazoret ordered her people to fall back, the Scarab God did the same for its followers with another tap of its staff. The two gods stood their ground, staring down the rapidly approaching sandwurm.

Before anyone could strike however, there came a deafening buzzing from the sand around the wurm. It paused just in time to be attacked, as a myriad of locusts burst from the dunes and descended upon the hapless creature. Within seconds, the insects broke away, leaving behind a throughly-devoured wurm carcass. Hazoret and the Scarab God lowered their weapons, and both their peoples sent up cries of victory - whoops and hollers from the living, and energetic rattling and banging of shields from the undead.

A third god strode forward to stand beside the others - a tall winged figure with the head of a locust. The swarm of insects formed a dense cloud around it as Hazoret again voiced her thanks with an increasingly shaky voice.

“Thank you both. I…”

The undead gods turned in unison to leave. Their respective followings fell in line behind them, but they only made it a few steps before Hazoret pulled on their arms.

“You could stay. Bolas is gone, the Phyrexians defeated. The survivors hold no ill will towards…”

The gods broke free from Hazoret’s grip, continuing their trek into the desert. Soon their congregations had vanished from view, and the gods themselves were mere specks on the horizon. Hazoret’s stare remained unbroken, even as Djeru drew near.

“It’s good to know they aren’t hostile anymore,” Djeru chimed obliviously.

Hazoret gazed out wistfully at the other gods, leaving her once more; by choice this time, but leaving all the same.

“It…it certainly is.”

#mtg #magic the gathering #amonkhet #story bites

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Dune by Carlos NCT

#Dune #Sci-Fi #Arrakis #Sandwurm #Carlos NCT