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shadow-scenarios · 4 years

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Hello~ may I ask for something slightly specific? I wanted to ask about a scenario in which the reader recently obtains the Meta-Nav but instead of the PT finding out first, Goro does. See, the reader and Goro have recently become acquaintances and reader thinks that the Meta-Nav is something related to illegal activity so she goes to consult their detective friend on this mysterious app! Haha, sorry if this is too specific ;-;

Hey there simulationone, this isn’t too specific!! I like creative ideas that change the plot & this has been my favourite request to write so far.

However, I did change the request slightly. I made it so that the Reader awakened to their Persona & gains the MetaNav!! I hope that’s alright with you. If not, feel free to message me again and I can rewrite it.

{ Post Writing Note: Well, I wrote way too much!! Sorry if there’s less Akechi content than you thought, I got hyperfixated on how it would affect the plot. I’d love to write a Part 2 full of angst with this, so feel free to request it!! }

- Nexus.

Dance with Justice | Goro Akechi

Life at Kosei High was predictable. Like a metronome. Constant pressure to be the best & high achievement boundaries, it was a wonder how she was ever accepted without some sort of moonlighting as a prodigy. These stories of mental shutdowns & psychotic breakdowns made the world look grim & everyone seemed desperate to escape it all.

Comfort was found in the Phantom Thieves and how they manipulated hearts. Dancing the line between immoral & illegal, it was a grey area where the who was less significant than the how. Society grasped onto them as miraculous saviours as they solved cases faster than regular forces ever could: Kamoshida, Madarame, Kaneshiro, Medjed. The world was taken by storm, these renegade rogues looking to change the world & it seemed they were no longer an urban legend.

Their downfall was unexpected, to say the least. Okumura was murdered in cold blood, his mental shutdown playing onscreen during an important meeting where he was about to reveal an important factor in solving this buck-wild case. A calling card was found at the residence, the sigil of their misdeeds. Just when the mystery was about to unravel, the threads gave way to a bigger problem: Did the Phantom Thieves cause the very shutdowns everyone was trying to escape?

Swiftly, the media capitalised. Labelling them as criminals, demanding their arrest. Everything shifted so quickly & she was caught up by the egregious claims of both sides. There was one thing for certain: The Phantoms Thieves had killed someone and regardless of their previous deeds, they needed to be brought to justice.

Naturally, the first viable suspect she found was Yusuke Kitagawa.

He was of the eccentric sort, gaining a scholarship through art. Everything the strange man did was usually for the sake of ‘ Finding true beauty! ’, which was slightly melodramatic. Before Madarame’s case, he was fixated on art singularly. Now? He seemed to have other priorities. Whenever someone would discuss the Phantom Thieves in an art lesson, there was a glimmer in his eye & the paintbrush that had been on the canvas stopped in order to listen in.

A victim of Madarame’s plagiarism, which gave a plausible motive. Despite this, nothing was concrete. She thought about her friend, Akechi. Was this how he solved crimes?

Obviously, the next step was to follow Yusuke around. Sneaking around was rather easy, all she had ever been known as by the student populace was ‘ the girl who was friends with Akechi! ’, so standing out was not much of a problem. There was not much abnormal. Despite being somewhat of a social outcast, he had a small circle of friends. Six in total.

Five of them were clearly wearing the Shujin Academy uniform on the day she spotted them. One was tall in stature with fluffy black hair & thick framed glasses. Reserved in nature but he always appeared to have some sort of witty comeback. Soon he became known as Akira.

Another one was a blonde, around the same height. He wore the uniform much like a delinquent alongside a yellow graphic tee. Obnoxiously loud, as it was never difficult to hear what he was saying even from far away. The person closest to him was Ann. She had platinum blonde hair tied back into pigtails & features of an American.

Makoto was next. Clearly more of a calculating type, she wore the uniform immaculately. Wearing her hair in a French-braid styled headband, she had maroon coloured eyes & was around average height. Most of the time, she was commenting on the boy’s behaviour.

Haru Okumura was someone recognisable due to the news about her father’s death, which was saddening. In her uniform, she wore a fluffy pink turtleneck alongside white tights with flower patterns.

Futaba was just as strange as Yusuke. She used a mixture of gamer jargon whenever she spoke and was never seen in a uniform. About middle school age, she carried around a set of headphones everywhere that regularly rested atop her maple coloured hair.

Stuffed inside of Akira’s bag was also a cat that they tried to hide. Key word: Tried. Six of them & a cat.

They frequented a local cafe in Shibuya, LeBlanc. It was a nice location & she had even gone in there once to listen in. Boss was kind, to say the least. He served coffee with a warm smile & the curry combined perfectly enough to encourage a smile out of her.

On a Friday, the cafe was busy. They had gathered at one table & chatted casually. Most of them looked forelorn. Akira eventually gestured for them to take the conversation outside, where they would disturb fewer people.

Following behind them, she paid Boss & followed, attempting to seem casual. They never noticed. Conspicuously trailing into an alleyway, Ryuji pulled out his phone. Listening in was difficult so she opted to pull out her own phone and record. One of them, presumably Akira, simply said “ Mementos. ”.

Mementos. That singular word triggered something & changed everything. As the world began to violently shift in a strange phenomena, hues of vermillion & mauve dotted her vision. It was hypnotic. Eventually, she snapped out of the trance.

Concealed by masks & flashy outfits were the suspicious group she had been following. It was blatantly obvious by their hair colours. However, the animated cat creature was a surprise. It was reminiscent of the cat Akira carried around but even stranger was that it talked. Then it turned into a bus. Which did not seem all that strange.

Inherently familiar with their environment, they sped off down the escalator, leaving her alone with her thoughts. There were so many reds & greys. Thick red veins ran through the sides in mangled forms. The wall behind her was dilapidated & the only way to proceed was the escalator in front of her.

A fatal mistake, really.

Recalling the details of the awakening are fuzzy at best. These lumbering creatures formed entirely out of shadow began to take notice of her unwanted presence. Cornered, desperate and alone. Insurmountable pain; the voice of someone almost familiar; then freedom & rebellion.

With the pact of her Persona, everything was clearer. Life had previously moved in rhetorical patterns, it was now a whimsical dance. Eliminating the so called enemies with a weapon in hand, she eventually found a way back to the surface. The door at the beginning looked to be a way out, so she threw caution to the wind & took the chance.

Fatigue came first in this dingy alleyway. Adrenaline had been fuelling the push to leave alongside her newly granted power and once that was gone, nothing would spare her from raw exhaustion. Checking her phone in the hopes of finding evidence, the video taken was still there, though it cut off as soon as anyone disappeared.

Even without evidence, she knew that this group was doing something illicit. So she texted the one person she trusted with this secret: Goro Akechi. He was a detective, surely he would have answers.

;; I must speak with you in person as soon as possible. It’s regarding the Phantom Thieves, I have some evidence for you. You’re investigating them, correct?

Knowing full well that Akechi lived a busy life, she did not expect a response for a while. After gathering the strength to stand once again, she headed home. It was the most exhausting experience ever, physically & emotionally. A few minutes after returning home, there was a response from Akechi.

I am indeed investigating them. If you have any evidence regarding them, would it not be more convenient for me to receive it via text? ;;

;; Yes, it would be, but I can barely even believe the evidence presented to me. It’s better for you to see it for yourself. Are you attending school tomorrow?

Indeed I am. Pulling away from the public eye has benefits. If you are free during lunch, we can meet on the rooftop and discuss the supposed evidence that you have found. Does that sound like a compromise? ;;

;; Alright. I’ll see you on the rooftop tomorrow.

The next day was filled with trepidation. Everyone seemed to be mulling about & with how slowly the clock was moving, it was if the school was in a state of chronostasis. Although she did not share many classes with Akechi, there had been a moment where she saw a mop of hazelnut brown hair amongst a crowd, so he was likely to be there.

Sitting on the rooftop alone was slightly boring but she understood why he was late. Every time lunch began, Akechi would be surrounded by people who wanted his attention. It must have been rather annoying.

5. 10. 15. Minutes ticked by. During the winter, it was exceptionally cold so not a single soul came up. The chilly winter breeze nipped at her skin & for a moment she wondered if it was Akechi that she had seen. The brown hair easily could have been mistaken—

The creak of the door announced his presence. With a formal apology, he recalled how his teachers were intent on swarming him with catch up work that he would inevitably never complete. Dismissing it all & moving along with the subject, Akechi got straight to the point:

“ What was it you wished to speak to me about? ”, he asked.

“ I believe I have ascertained the identities of the Phantom Thieves, ” was the only reply she gave.

Looking astounded, he shifted his glove via force of habit & looked directly at her.

“ That’s quite the bold claim, ” he returned to a neutral expression as the mask of the Detective Prince slipped back on, “ Do you have any evidence? ”.

Recalling the story to the best of her ability was tedious. From the suspicious behaviour Yusuke had been demonstrating to the video evidence taken from her phone. Throughout the entire story, he maintained a neutral expression so she was never quite sure what to think.

“ Usually, I would disregard such stories as a strange dream or a vision you had & declare your footage as edited. However, I have... also had an encounter in this strange phenomena as well. ”

Everything began to make more sense as it was explained. Akechi rattled off about the cognitive world, Palaces, Personas & even how ‘ stealing someone’s heart ’ was possible. He explained that his plan was to lend the Phantom Thieves a hand in their next assignment & catch them in the very act. Specifically, their leader.

“ That explains a lot. Let me help you. I have a Persona as well & I can fight in that other world. I want to bring the Phantom Thieves to justice. They killed Okumura & many others if they are the ones behind the mental shutdowns. Tampering with the heart of another is wrong... ”

“... Alright. I suppose it will make things easier if it is the two of us. I hope you are a very good actor,” Akechi extended a reluctant hand for her to shake. His gaze was calculated, cold. Much different from his tone of voice. However, she took his hand & shook it.

With that, a contract was signed. Both herself & the detective would bring about the end of the Phantom Thieves.

Word Count: 1.9k

Publish Date: 27.09.20

#{ crow }#{ you don’t know how much i loved this request }#{ specific requests are always the best ones because you know they care }#{ turns out i’m actually an akechi stan in disguise }#{ i hand out akechi content like i hand out drugs }#goro akechi #akechi x reader #persona 5 royal #persona 5 royal x reader #persona 5 x reader #persona 5 imagines

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bookofjin · 3 years

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Annals of Taihe 20 (496)

[From WS007. The Emperor changes his family name. The Empress is deposed. The Heir is deposed and reduced to commoner status. Mu Tai plans rebellion.]

20th Year, Spring, 1st Month, dingmao [2 February], decreed to change the family name to Yuan.

On renchen [27 February], changed the fief of the King of Shiping, Xie, to be King of Pengcheng. Used the King of Dingxiang county, Luan, to restore his fief to King of Chengyang.

2nd Month, xinchou [7 March], the Emperor favoured Hualin [the “Illustrious Forest”], and listened to disputes at the Chief Watchtower.

On renyin [8 March], decreed that since there were no metal and leather [i.e. weapons and armour → warfare], to allow the full three years of mourning.

On bingwu [12 March], decreed that within the imperial demesne, those seventy and above in late spring were to go to the Imperial City, where [the Emperor] wanted to act out the rites of nourshing the elderly.

On gengxu [16 March], favoured Hualin, and listened to disputes at the Chief Watchtower.

On guichou [19 March], decreed that the towns of Jie Mountian were allowed to make cold food, the remainder were forbidden and were to put a stop to it.

3rd Month, bingyin [1 April], banqueted the crowd of subjects and the elderly of the state and the elderly of the myriads at Hualin Park. A decree said:

For the elderly of state, the yellow-haired and wrinkled and above, [will be] provisional Central Unassigned Grandees and commandery Wardens; the aged and above [will be] provisional Serving Affairs-at-Centre and county Prefects. The elderly of the myriads will just be provisional commander and county [Wardens and Prefects]. On each bestow dove-shaped canes, clothes and garments.

On dingchou [12 April], decreed that the Central Correctors of the various provinces were each to lift up their district's commoners' hopefuls. Those aged fifty and above who guarded simplicity [at their] their crossbeam gates, were to conferred on as Prefects and Chiefs.

Summer, 4th Month, jiachen [9 May], the Inspector of Guang province, Xue Fahu, went south in rebellion.

5th Month, bingzi [10 June], a decree said:

Agriculture in particular is at the head of government, and the altars of grain indeed are the priority of the people. Timely rain abundant and widespread is what ought to genuinely be striven for. Should order within the imperial demesne to strictly apply teaching and supervision. Those who are indolent with their patrimony to be restrained with scouring and flogging. Those who put their strength in farming to be drawn up so their names are known.

On bingxu [20 June], began to lay out the Square Meadow at Heyin.

Dispatched envoys to use the grand sacrificial animals to worship at the mounds of Emperors Guangwu, Ming, and Zhang of Han. Also decreed that for the mounds of the various emperors of Han, Wei, and Jin, each would have a restricted area of a hundred paces where [people] did not get to gather wood or herbs, tread or walk.

On dinghai [21 June], the Chariot Drove to have affairs at the Square Meadow.

7th Month [26 July – 24 August], deposed the August Empress, Ms. Feng.

On wuyin [11 August], the Emperor, due to the long drought, altogether put in order the crowd of gods. From guiwei [16 August], he did not eat until yiyou [18 August]. That night there was timely rain, great and widespread.

On dinghai [20 August], a decree said:

Blazing heat contravening moderation, autumn drizzle rolling up timely rain, the responsibility is with Me, who it truth is deeply trembling with fear. For that reason stopped ordering meals for three mornings, so as to instruct high complaints. The numinous discerned the sincere earnestness, and specially let flow the clouds' liquid.

Even when resting, never rest, but instead dare to overstep idleness. There might be worthy people with profound virtue, exalted scholars stuck on their perches, and though applying measuring and selection, [we] are not able to summon them to come. Should focus on inquiring into the secluded valleys, lift up now these worthy intellects, to straight-away speak the utmost admonitions, and correct what I do not attain.

Also when pernicious flattery damage the court, it certainly will only govern vermin; when greedy men pilfer positions, the great government will then be deficient. The master criticizes and reproaches the incompetent, clarifies and demotes [those] with illicit beneficence.

Also when laws are the core of government, the people's fate is particularly heavy. For the prisoners that are in the Capital, comprehensively instruct itemize them in memorials. We want to personally rely on them for timely discussion and judgement.

Also illness and hardship's six extremities are what people and gods have sympathy for. [We] ought to timely inquire into and care [for them], so as to help the poor and discarded. For the widowed, orphaned, hard-pressed and bereft, and those who are not able survive by themselves, clarify applying sympathy and care, and cause them to obtain aid to survive.

Also to make light conscription and diminish taxes is a lordly person's regular arrangement. [If] within a year there is persistent service, draw it up so that the circumstances are known.

Also the Way of husband and wife is first among the living people. During mid-spring to run and assemble, the rite has an insightful model. For those men and women who have lost the times, use the rite to assemble them.

Also for the Capital's people who have begun the legacy, farming mulberry trees is the foundation. For fields that are sown much or little, teach and supervise so that it is not done, and draw it up so the circumstances are told.

8th Month, renchen, New Moon [25 August], favoured Hualin Park, and personally recorded the prisoners and convicts. For everyone he reduced the original crime with two grades, decided and dispatched them.

On wuxu [31 August], the Chariot Drove to favour Songgao.

On jiayin [16 September], returned to the Palace.

On dingsi [19 September], the King of Nan'an, Zhen, passed away.

Favoured Hualin Park and listened to disputes.

9th Month, wuchen [30 September], the Chariot Drove to review the military at Xiaping Ford.

On guiyou [5 October], returned to the Palace.

On dinghai [19 October], was about to pass along the Luo River to enter the valley. The Emperor personally approached and observed.

Winter, 10th Month, wuxu [30 October], used all of the soldiers who had moved from Dai as Feathered Forest and Rapid-as-Tigers. For the people of Si province, from each twelve men they were to levy one functionary, and be four years replacement soldiers. At the beginning of the year, they would alternate to be on leave, and so provide public and private labour and service.

On jiyou [10 November], a special amnesty for the Imperial City.

11th Month, yiyou [16 December], restored the fief of the former King of Ruyin, Tianci's grandson Jinghe to be King of Ruyin. The former King of Jinzhao, Taixing, became King of Xihe.

Intercalary Month, bingchen [16 January], the General of the Right, Yuan Long, greatly routed the rebellious Hu of Fen province.

12th Month, jiazi [24 January], since the north-western provinces and commanderies had drought and bad harvests, dispatched attendant subjects to inspect and examine, and opened the granaries to relieve and aid.

On yichou [25 January], began with restrictions on salt pools, and gave to people to provide to them.

On bingyin [26 January], deposed the August Heir-Apparent, Xun, to be a commoner.

On dingmao [27 January], announced it to the Grand Temple-

On wuchen [28 January], set up Regular Levelling Granaries.

The Inspector of Heng province, Mu Tai, and others in the province planned rebellion. Dispatched the Acting Master of Writing of the Personnel Section, the King of Rencheng, Cheng, to record and put them in order.

The King Leling, Siyu was convicted of knowing about Tai's secret plans and not reporting it. Stripped off his feudal rank to be a commoner.

#ws007

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darksunvibes · 4 years

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The Case for Dark Sun

Dark Sun is a campaign setting for the Dungeons and Dragons Roleplaying game beginning with 2E in 1991. Dark Sun sits amongst other settings such as The forgotten Realms, Eberron, Planescape, Spelljammer, and Greyhawk as a world or universe in which D&D campaigns might be set.

The world of Dark Sun, called Athas, is a world where magic has ravaged the landscape, turning it into a barren desert dotted here and there by oppressive city-states. It deviated in many ways from both its contemporary settings and from epic fantasy as a whole and remains a beloved world for many. This break from the typical canon of D&D included things such as magic being rare and despised, many of the familiar races being changed or absent in the setting, and an emphasis on day to day survival over lofty goals of heroics or righteousness. We see evil Sorcerer-Kings ruling over an oppressed and enslaved populace in lavish, cruel cities. We see nomadic tribes wandering through a harsh wasteland filled with bizarre and vicious monsters, searching for water and shelter. We see ruins in the desert, symbols of a bygone age of peace and prosperity, destroyed long ago by wars and reckless sorcery. This setting represents a synthesis of design, visuals, mechanics, and themes that is unmatched by few if any other campaign settings for D&D. For these and reasons I will go into further, Dark Sun is the best campaign setting either TSR or Wizards of the Coast have ever produced.

Dark Sun came out of a period of D&D’s history where TSR were furiously producing campaign settings left, right, and centre. This period, 2E, lasted from 1989 to 1996, at which point TSR went bankrupt and sold D&D to Wizards of the Coast, of Magic the Gathering fame. During this period they produced such settings as Spelljammer, Dark Sun, Planescape, and Birthright, all of which pushed the boundaries of D&D in some way beyond the older heroic fantasy of Dragonlance, Forgotten Realms, and Greyhawk. Many of these new settings were only modest successes, and TSR’s dilution of their brand with all of these conflicting products likely had a part in their downfall. However, before they fell they gave us intriguing, genre-bending, and in many ways inimitable campaign settings. Dark Sun is the best of these and as such has a large fan community to this day and has received some degree of support in both 3.5 and 4E.

Dark Sun was developed by Timothy B. Brown and Troy Denning and draws on the typical pulp-fantasy sources of D&D, like Conan the Barbarian, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, and to an extent, Moorcock’s Eternal Champions books. However it also draws on things such as Frank Herbert’s Dune, Edgar Rice Burrough’s Barsoom series, incorporating Sci-Fi elements just as Spelljammer did. In terms of genre, Dark Sun might be described as belonging to Post-Apocalyptic, Dying Earth, Swords and Sorcery, Dark Fantasy, and even Science-Fiction. Gone are the mystical forests, noble knights, and sagacious wizards of almost every other campaign setting. In their place are hulking barbarians, callous rogues, desperate gladiators, and despised sorcerers practicing their arts in secret. With these concepts in place, the world of Athas is populated by cities and cultures inspired by a variety of peoples and empires from earth’s past. The Aztecs, Ptolemaic Egypt, and Hammurabi’s Babylon to name just a few. This helps to cement Athas as being more akin to the Asia and Northern Africa of antiquity rather than the nauseatingly familiar medieval Europe we’ve come to expect from D&D.

Dark Sun is notable for its pulp adventure art direction, spearheaded by Brom whose artwork can be found everywhere. A young artist at the time, his work inspired many of the monsters and creatures that appear in Dark Sun sourcebooks. While it is by no means unusual to see Dungeons and Dragons products accompanied by amazing artwork, Dark Sun stands out for the clarity of its vision. The pieces share similar designs and its products are easily identified at a glance. Brom’s work sets the product line well apart from anything else before or after. This ‘art-inspired’ design would never again be matched by any Dungeons and Dragons product, with only the Planescape line coming close.

The history and truth behind Athas’ present ruined state is kept deliberately unclear by both the designers and powerful figures within the world itself. This leaves multiple interpretations of canon (at least in the original boxed set). Essentially, Athas has gone through at least three ages, typically referred to as the Blue Age, the Green Age, and the present Desert Age. The Blue Age was a world ruled by Halflings who lived on small islands amidst a vast ocean. These halflings had a great degree of control over nature and could grow almost everything they needed, making them masters of bioengineering. The Green Age was the period of Athasian history most resembling the standards of settings such as Forgotten Realms, Greyhawk, and Eberron, but leaned more heavily on Psionics than magic in its varied and verdant cultures. The Desert Age is the standard time of play and is a world controlled by a vengeful environment and the whims of tyrannical sorcerers. This final age is the one expected in typical play in the Dark Sun setting and is the world presented in most if not all the art and stories of the various Dark Sun product lines.

Like all good stories and worlds, Dark Sun has important messages built into it. These messages are evident everywhere in the world and its characters. Like Dune before it, Dark Sun has strong and deeply ingrained environmentalist messages. The world was once vibrant and lush, filled with a variety of lifeforms. Now the world is drained of all material resources, the vast grasslands and forests are almost completely gone, and the sea vanished, leaving only silt behind. The animals that remain are twisted, violent mutants, and the scattered plant-life is little better. This environmental collapse was not an accident and has been, at each stage, the result of irresponsible and reckless magic-use on the part of a sorcerous or naturemaster elite. The unfortunates of the Desert Age are, for the most part, innocent in this environmental degradation and simply have to endure the ruined world they were born into. Most only have a vague understanding that ‘sorcerers did it’, not fully understanding that their rulers, the Sorcerer-Kings are responsible for almost all of it.

Their origins are left vague in the original boxed set, Troy Denning and future product releases make it clear that the Sorcerer-Kings are the cause of most of the world’s destruction. These immortal psionicist/wizards ruined the world and then divided up the last oases amongst themselves, ruling the people that flocked there. The Sorcerer-Kings and their Templar priests are cold tyrants who brook no threat to their authority and violently suppress rebellions or even attempts to learn the truth about them. Many of these tyrants claim to be gods or ‘responsible sorcerers’ and blame others for the destruction that they themselves wrought. With the modern spectre of climate change looming and our leaders refusing to act or take responsibility for it, Dark Sun is more relevant than ever.

Dark Sun is infamous for tweaking, breaking, or outright removing typical elements of whichever D&D edition it exists in. Arcane magic draws life from the plants and even creatures around the caster, draining their vitality to fuel spells. Instead of magic being common and widespread it is rare and feared, in its place stands psionics; the Will and the Way. Due to the scarcity of metals such as iron and bronze, armour and weapons are typically made of salvaged components such as obsidian, stone, bone, or chitin. Dark Sun has a very minimalist cosmology compared to most other campaign settings with only really the Elemental planes having any real impact on the daily lives of most Athasians. Athas can’t be accessed from other worlds and there is no Heaven for Athasians’souls to go to after death.

Many of the recognisable races such as gnomes, orcs, and goblins are gone, replaced by strange new races like the half-dwarf Muls, the unnatural Half-Giants and the insectoid Thri-Kreen. Existing races are tweaked in large and small ways; Halflings are cannibals, elves care nothing for nature, and dwarves are completely hairless. All of this means that the typical adventuring party looks very different to what you might expect in other worlds. Instead of magic they employ psychic powers, instead of gleaming armour they wear ramshackle insect-shells, and instead of magic weapons they have obsidian axes. survival is more important than glory and clean water is worth more than all the gold in the world.

Psionicists use their mind to conjure strange effects, to control others, and to fight, and are everywhere. The plants and animals of Athas are almost all psychically sensitive in one way or another and this is in part due to the timing of the Complete Psionics Handbook’s publication aligning so closely with the Dark Sun product line’s beginning. As such, this focus on psychic rather than magic ability suffuses the setting and informs what kinds of characters exist there. Spell components are illicit and hard to come by, but any living person can focus their mind to create a psychic effect of some kind. Psionics has had a troubled time throughout DnD’s long history, having difficulty differentiating itself from magic and facing balancing and theming issues aplenty. Nonetheless, psionics is an engaging and essential part of the setting and any interpretation of Athas without it would be hollow.

Dark Sun doesn’t cater to the lowest common denominator by adhering to the heroic and epic fantasy of its contemporaries. It also sets itself apart by striving for uniqueness and pushing the boundaries of what people expect from a Dungeons and Dragons setting. It can be a difficult world to play in and exist in, what with its strange aesthetics and stranger rules.

However, its combination of groundbreaking world design, powerful artistic direction, and compelling lore make it a classic, and in my opinion, the greatest campaign setting ever produced by Wizards of the Coast or TSR.

#Dark Sun #Athas #Dungeons and Dragons #D&D #DnD #wizards of the coast #art #rant #Tyler Jacobson #wayne reynolds #william o'connor #Gerald Brom #Brom #Kerem Beyit

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artemisfowlcodex · 5 years

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The B’wa Kell

In the Lower Elements, Goblins are responsible for more crime than any other Fairy race.

The reasons behind this elevated rate are hotly debated. Many say that it’s merely socio-economic, while the more bigoted would claim that it’s simply in the nature of a Goblin to be destructive. It certainly doesn’t help either case that Goblins are verified to be the least intelligent sapient species on Earth.

The worst part is that they can conjure fire, making arson a common occurrence. Goblins present unique issues, and the Correctional Service operates an entire high-security prison fortress at Howler’s Peak to hold those sentenced. A lowered potential for brain development, a poor sense of self-preservation, and a general disregard for authority figures makes for a rather interesting combination.

However, despite these factors, Goblins are still capable of higher organisation, and they can be quite dangerous if they don’t collapse from the usual infighting.

The most well known group that they have formed is the B’wa Kell, a criminal triad whose name translates to “Blood Pack.” Originally, they were formed as a militia that would fight in the low-intensity turf wars between Goblin and Dwarf gangs that sometimes flare up in the lower tunnels, but it wasn’t long before they decided to get into more profitable businesses.

The usual mob activities were involved. Smuggling, racketeering, illegal gambling, typical stuff. It wasn’t long before the LEP noticed. Large scale operations found themselves shut down in short order, as one is wont to do when a raid team smashes through the nearest wall. However, the police could never find them all. There’d always be a B’wa Kell operation that escaped their eyes, whether out of dumb luck or higher priorities taking resources. Still, it wasn’t particularly problematic. The leadership of the gang were the smartest of the bunch (relatively), and they knew that excessive violence only brought trouble.

So they ran their criminal enterprises, attempted to dodge LEP countermeasures, and generally did their thing, a cycle that lasted three hundred years.

An internal coup brought trouble. Goblins respect those who are brutally cunning and cunningly brutal, and leadership amongst them is generally decided through physical removal of the previous guy. This new leadership wanted the B’wa Kell to return to their roots. They could be more than petty criminals. They could be more than a mob.

They could be the masters of the Lower Elements.

Of course, this was all simple ideology. They were smart enough to know that fighting the LEP on even ground was outright impossible. Illegal weaponry was quite difficult to get a hold of, let alone weapons that could actually do any real damage to an armoured LEP officer. The B’wa Kell simply did not have the numbers, arms, or coordination to do anything more than they currently were, skittering about in the shadows. Functionally, their tactics didn’t change much. They were still performing the usual mobster jobs, still shaking down businesses, and still dealing in illicit goods.

About half a year after the Fowl Incident, the B’wa Kell was approached by Briar Cudgeon, a LEP officer who had received a demotion from a commanding position after completely botching the rescue operation aimed at recovering Captain Short, in an attempt to wrest command of Haven Surface Ops from Commander Root.

Cudgeon’s offer was quite enticing. He would leverage his experience and a powerful new connection to fund, organise, and streamline the B’wa Kell’s operations, and help them acquire a great many weapons. With these new strengths, the triad would be able to perform a coup and take over Haven, with Cudgeon taking the position of Governor General. His first act in this role: open the gates of Howler’s Peak, releasing the B’wa Kell’s incarcerated brethren. The triad’s self-styled ‘Generals’ were almost immediately enamoured with this idea, and they signed an alliance with Cudgeon.

The rogue’s mysterious connection turned out to be none other than Opal Koboi, industrial magnate and technological genius. She, too, had ambitions of ruling Haven. And she had the money and means to do it. All she required was manpower. The Goblins were all too happy to oblige. Arming them wasn’t hard, despite the effective weapons restrictions in place in the Lower Elements. Koboi was able to retool a hidden production line to build old model Softnose Lasguns, powerful energy weapons that had been outlawed and decommissioned many years ago. Enough of these Lasguns had escaped confiscation to show up in criminal hands on occasion, but their usage had dwindled as their specialised energy cells had run dry and fallen out of production. Not enough of these weapons existed anymore to arm a proper fighting force with, forcing Koboi to construct more, using falsified serial numbers and artificially ageing their casings to give the appearance of being much older than they really were.

Rather than produce new energy cells directly, which would have aroused suspicion, Koboi designed a suitably rough-looking conversion that plugged into the port, utilising Human chemical batteries instead. With a vastly lower energy potential, these could only last around six shots before requiring a reload, automatically ejecting and being manually replaced by hand in a way that resembled a shotgun shell. These batteries were imported into Haven through the B’Wa Kell’s experienced smugglers, utilising a disused port and route to transfer crates full of the things. The end result: an armament that looked like it could have been put together by a decently intelligent Goblin engineer, rather than a professional weapon designer.

Of course, weapons such as these were not enough to beat the LEP and their advanced equipment. So, Koboi gave them yet another advantage. After the Fowl Incident, the Security Council authorised a major funding boost to the LEP, which had been facing budgetary cuts for years, forcing them to use outdated equipment. Koboi leveraged her influence and genuinely high quality designs to snatch up almost every single upgrade contract that had been offered, much to Foaly’s dismay. The entire LEP inventory saw major boosts in performance, with new Neutrino models gaining vastly superior power while still cutting down on heat production and cooling time, while Koboi’s signature DoubleDex wingpacks became the units of choice for LEPrecon operations.

Now, there is a damn good reason why relying on a single contractor is a terrible idea in the procurement world. If they were to go down, you’d be left in some serious shit. In order to gain more concessions and throw off any suspicion of collaboration, Koboi ordered the B’wa Kell to attack and destroy some expendable assets from her own company. Owing to Koboi Labs’ importance to LEP operations, the Security Council authorised a Special Weapons Permit, allowing Koboi facilities to be equipped with defensive turrets and traps that are ordinarily quite illegal in civilian hands.

The battery smuggling gig was uncovered and shut down by Captain Short, in the process encountering the Softnose weapons and their new converters. The plan was moved up in response, taking advantage of a later absence of both Short and Commander Root. Every piece of Koboi equipment housed a tiny, nigh-undetectable jamming device and wireless backdoor, allowing her to access and disable any of the LEP’s new equipment as she pleased. When the signal went out, the police forces were simply unable to fight back against the B’wa Kell’s forces as they rose up across the city. The Triad’s dreams of domination were so close, they could almost lick it with their reptilian tongues. Unsurprisingly, they were being taken for fools.

The plan wasn’t for them to wrest control from the Council, not directly. While the LEP retreated to the fortress of Police Plaza, evacuating the Council there as they did, the blame was placed on Foaly, given that the hacks appeared to be originating from his Ops room. Meanwhile, the Goblins were literally at the gates, laying siege to the base with everything they had. They eventually broke through the armoured doors through the usage of a massive Softnose Mining Rig, the laser cannon that had been the origin of the miniaturised weapons all those years ago.

Cudgeon’s role in this was to take command of the LEP and rally their forces, repairing his reputation and regaining his commander’s commission. When the Goblins broke through, he volunteered to go out and parlay with them, which he played up as a sacrificial move, given that he didn’t come back. He was taken back to Koboi Labs. Once there, he would have Koboi restore control of LEP weaponry and have them beat back the Goblins, betraying them and claiming victory over both the rebellion and Foaly.

As we all know, that didn’t work out. The intervention of Root, Short, Fowl, and Butler struck right were Koboi was vulnerable, and both Opal and Cudgeon simultaneously betrayed each other. The LEP’s weaponry was brought back online, while the Goblins lost their command and control capability. They were cleared off the streets with remarkable swiftness. Many of them tried to run, and some got away, but the B’wa Kell was effectively no more. They had utterly exhausted themselves with this coup attempt.

Over the next few months, the LEP made it their greatest priority to track down and annihilate the remnants, preventing any form of comeback.

The Triad’s bloody history is an object lesson in trust and knowing your own abilities. They were better off skulking in the shadows and drawing in illicit money like they always had been, but sheer hubris was their downfall.

After all, nobody said that Goblins were smart.

#Artemis Fowl #Codex Canon #Goblins #B'wa Kell #Worldbuilding

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cactusjacked · 5 years

Text

FFVIII fic, “Liberation”

Pre-game. Slightly AU. Lots of odd snippets of headcanon about the Forest Owls/Rinoa’s life in Galbadia/the animal liberationist movement in Dollet.

Summary: Rinoa wants to be useful. She also wants a dog.

She had never before experienced the sensation of wanting to be useful.

In her old world there had useful people everywhere. There had been valets and maids for doing her hair and maids for making her bed. There had been chauffeurs who never smiled, gardeners with dirt under their fingernails, cooks who made perfect toast.

She tried to recall to her mind all the moments she had thanked the help, all the moments she made sure to refer to them by their first names or ask them how their day was going. She must have, she thought, must have.

She had never wanted to be useful for him or for any other Caraway, or for the teachers at her school or even for the people who had somehow ended up as something like her friends but not really. It had been easy then to think of herself as everything her aunt or her ex-stepmother or in his darker moments her father had said she was: selfish, ungrateful, hateful, even.

No, wait, there had been sitting by her mother by the piano, she had wanted to be useful then. But her mother was only humouring her by letting her turn the pages. She still couldn’t read music, but maybe she could learn, now, here. She didn’t suppose it’d be easy to get a piano through the door of the train carriage, though.

And money, she chastised herself, pianos cost money, and you – we – have none here.

She had already burned their shirts and saucepans. Hours of needlework lessons at school learning how to embroider flowers (lessons where she had was forever surly, argumentative) left her unequipped for shirt buttons and sock darning. Watts quietly and gently took over the job of polishing shoes, a task Rinoa had failed to appreciate the intricate labour of – just like she had with boiling lentils or making beds – until now.

Revolutionaries did not need the skills acquired from years of immersive training in the delicate art of Galbadian girlhood. They did not want or need to know the right way to accept or decline a dinner invitation. They did not have to memorise the words to Vinzer Deling’s favourite folk songs just in case he showed up to a social gathering and demanded the young ladies crowd around the piano to amuse him. Nor did they have to know about Admiral Thibault’s womanising problem that no-one talked about but also very much did (though she knew it thrilled them all here to know the tawdry, hypocritical lives their beloved leaders led).

No-one is here to make you a housewife, Zone told her, just pull your weight.

Some days she felt brave enough to participate in their study groups. She spent evenings familiarising herself with the illicit canon of essays, pamphlets, books, revolutionary songs. She learnt terms like eco-imperialism, resource imperialism (everything everything imperialism), ecocide, permaculture, food forestry, the military industrial complex, the carceral state.

She was still afraid to go outside before dark. In the evenings they went gleaning for food disposed of by the restaurants she and her father had once patronised. She learnt to love the texture of stale bread and the soft, fermented flesh of over-ripe apples. She was no good at stealing, but learnt she was good at smiling and distracting the Galbadian business-owners the Owls deemed grew too fat from selling wine and cheese to tourists from Deling City.

A girl from another faction donated her old boots to Rinoa - in her rush from the house the only shoes she had bought were her party ones, white satin with a heel not made for running. She would slide on her new-old boots and stamp hard on the soft ground of the railyard, laughing giddily at the idea of her father and her aunt and her ex-stepmother and her ballet teacher and her friends watching her climbing deftly over old shipping containers and scraping her knees.

The first time she is useful – or she at least thinks of herself, finally, as useful -- is because she stubbornly insists upon it. She is bored. She is still waited upon. She is still Rinoa Caraway.

A group of animal liberationists from Dollet had been in contact with information about a new initiative in a military camp about ten miles east of the city. There was recent confirmation of a new experiment. The group had been involved before in the liberation of Geezards, who were being - unsuccessfully - trained to detonate remote explosives. This new weapon, however, was more cuddly.

“Dogs.” Zone told her. “Attack dogs, specifically.”

Her ex-stepmother had been allergic. Her father disinterested and non-committal about the idea of pets. She felt ten years old again when Zone told her, coveting the simple, uncomplicated companionship she felt would – must – exist between her and a dog. She had even collected editions of Pet Pals and shoved them under her father’s nose at the dinner table.

“Look.” She had said, pointing to a page. “They’ve trained rescue dogs in the Trabian mountains to administer Phoenix Downs to people with hypothermia.”

Had he thought, then, she wondered, had the idea begun to germinate in his mind? She felt unwell, the same kind of unwell she had first felt when Zone had told her about the Town Square Massacre during the end of the Second Sorceress War (had her father known that they would shoot into the crowd? Had he? Had he?) or the methods of torture used at D-District.

“I’m going to come.” She announced. A panicked Zone recited the familiar list of reasons over why she absolutely should not come.

“If they find you--” He started.

“They won’t.” She said. “Please, Zone.”

He looked at her as if they were children again, with her barraging in on his and Watts’ play the way she always did, demanding they find a place for her. They always had.

“They want someone to record inside the facility.” He said. “You just hang back, okay? Stay outta shot. Follow our lead.” He paused for a second, bit his lip. “I meant what I said before, you know. There’s no condition to you being here. You don’t have to help us in our mission.”

“What if I want to?” She asked.

“You’re fifteen years old.” He said, only eighteen himself. “Just a few months ago you had no idea any of this existed.”

She wanted to tell him that that was a lie. She wanted to think that her acts of rebellion – both large and small, both petty and serious -- against her father, her family, her school, even Vinzer had been for something beyond herself. Back then Zone and Watts were just childhood memories, servants’ boys who she had followed and pestered and then lost the same time it had felt like she had lost everything: her mother, the Timber house, her father.

“And how old were you when you decided this is what you were meant to do? How old were you when you realised how wrong this all was?” She knew the answer. She knew it was the day Vinzer Deling had killed his father. There was no other answer he could give. Rinoa clutched the top of her arm and looked outside the train window, uncomfortable. “You know what I saw, what I went through, as his daughter. It was nothing compared to what people go through here, I know, but…”

She heard him sigh. She watched Joly and Jehan outside smoking and playing dice under the washing line. Behind them stood the solid boundary of Argoat Forest. It would be autumn soon and she would have been here for three months, waiting for something or someone or somewhere to show her what to do with the rest of her life. Maybe all she needed was a dog.

Rinoa accepts a cigarette from one of the Dollet Animal Liberationists even though she had promised herself she would quit because Rinoa Heartilly didn’t smoke. Rinoa Caraway’s last cigarette had been by patio doors of the Timber house as party music poured out into the night air. She had been wearing those satin shoes and the blue dress her aunt always insisted she wore around company. This Rinoa, though, wore sensible shoes designed for scaling chain-link fences and clothes that made her into shadow.

They sketch out the outline of the base into the earth with a stick. Rinoa does her best to memorise the exit points and guard towers. There is an air of nervous anticipation she can feel between them all as they huddle together in the twilight. An owl hoots in the distance, and Rinoa chooses to take it as a good omen.

“Rinoa, it’s okay if you want to wait in the van with Watts.” Zone whispers. She frowns and shakes her head and he grips her shoulder.

She imagines the fence as one of the trees she and Zone used to climb in the grounds of the Timber house. She looks across and sees he is still beside her. They used to have races to climb to the top of the big oak. He wins now just as he did then, but here he is once more with a hand out for her.

They keep low to the ground, dodging spotlights and sleepy, inattentive soldiers. The forest crowds around the camp, the sound of the wind through the leaves softens the noise of their footsteps on the gravel. Her back begins to hurt. Her comrades open control panels, begin fiddling with wires and keypads, muttering curses under their breath.

She used to come with him on tours of these places, sometimes. Officials would hurry her father around and talk in squeaky, anxious voices. She used to try and pretend she was somewhere else. Her father didn’t trust her home alone - she had managed her way out of too many bolted windows and locked doors.

The largest members of the Forest Owls and the D.A.L – Bahorel and a Dollet man she knows only by his muddy yellow hair – swarm the lone soldier out for his cigarette break. He is slipped discreetly into a small closet and his keycard stolen, hands bound and mouth gagged.

When they make their way through the back door of the kennel she is hit overwhelmingly by the scent of dog. She stands, dazed for a moment at the ugly bright fluorescent light, before remembering to switch on the camera. Everyone slips on their masks. They are old pantomime props from long ago showing faces of forest animals: bears, fawns, weasels, and, of course, owls. There is a faint smell of urine as the puppies begin to wake, whining and pacing in their cages.

Zone and the D.A.L. leader stand shoulder to shoulder. Rinoa raises the camera. She knows Zone’s speech already, he had her sit and listen and critique him on his posture, his over-reliance on metaphor, the use of his hands.

“We can see here the plain, naked brutality of the Galbadian Empire.” He began. “Not only do they corrupt and brutalise the minds and bodies of the soldiers under their command, but they extend their treatment to these innocent victims.” Someone hands him a puppy, who sits placidly in his arms. “Who gave these animals the choice to participate in their cruel regimes of violence against Timber, or against all who would seek to oppose their imperialistic dogma? This is only the first step in Timber’s liberation. Soon we liberate all of those who make their home on our soil!”

His delivery is stifled in places, over-practiced. He is not really built for this, she knows. In another place and time Zone would have been a ticket inspector or a clerk in a timber yard, work where his awkwardness and anxious temperament would have proved no serious hindrance to him. But this is not that time. This is not that place.

After the D.A.L leader’s speech – one that stresses the importance of direct action, of interspecies compassion -- she clicks off the camera. Zone thrusts the puppy into her arms.

“What are you doing?” She asks. The small body wriggles against her chest.

“It pissed on me! During my speech!” He replies, ripping off his mask. His face is flustered and he has been sweating. “Hyne this is a disgusting mission.”

Rinoa bobs the puppy up and down in her arms. All around them littermates are being slipped into carriers covered with dark blankets. One of the D.A.L. goes to take the bundle from Rinoa’s arms, but she will not let them take it. No, not this one, she says. I’ll carry it.

#ff8 #ffviii #rinoa heartilly #my fic

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fidemcanem · 5 years

Note

♡ ( from marls )

send ❛ ♡ ❜ to suddenly hug my muse ( not accepting ) | @redemptioninterlude

He’s eleven years old, and it’s Christmas.

(In another nine months, he’ll meet a messy-haired boy onthe train, and his life will change—but he doesn’t know that yet.)

Sitting on a tall-backed chair at the side of the room, hewatches the grown-ups talk—the low murmurings and haughty expressions, thefaint signs of disdain that flow back and forth, a constantly fluctuatinghierarchy that everyone is fighting to climb.

Everyone except his mother and father who, surveying thistiny kingdom of their own, bear not the slightest doubt about the height oftheir thrones.

Sirius sticks a finger into the neck of his dress robes, andabsently tugs at them. His mother had caught him, half an hour ago, trying tosteal candied almonds for Regulus, who’s upstairs in bed—not old enough toattend the party. Her anger had been all silent, pursed up in her lips andflaring in her eyes. Though the party’s boring, Sirius finds himself hoping forit not to end; that’s when she’ll shout.

For now, she’s hissed stern words in his ear, and sent himto the edge of the room. He’s happy enough to be there, kicking his feet andwondering if he could get away with disappearing. At least for a little while.

Marlene takes the chair next to him without saying anything.The sidelong glance that Sirius casts her is calculating, considering. If thegrown-ups have their hierarchy, then it’s just true of their children. Siriuscarries the superiority that has been bred into his bones, tempered only by hiscuriosity, his tendency to push back at boundaries. Marlene meets his gaze, unwavering.

Her robes are immaculate, her back straight. Her hair istwisted up and there’s a silver necklace at her throat that’s too long for her—probablyher mother’s. Sirius turns his gaze back to the room.

“Lucius said your mother caught you stealing,” Marlene says, eventually. Sirius’ eyes seek out theolder boy in question, and he scowls, taut and imperious.

“It’s hardly stealing if it’s from my own house,” he says.Lucius Malfoy holds himself like a prince or little lordling; Sirius knows thatdespite being almost five years younger than him, he could put him in his placeeasily enough. Especially here, withall these generations of Blacks looking down at him from the walls. But thenhis mother would send him an approving smile, the tilt of her head that meanshe’s done well, and he’s too busy resenting her for not letting him go up toRegulus to please her, right now.

“It’s still not very proper, is it?” Marlene says,sceptically.

(In another six years, he’ll be the one to tell her that, teasingly, when she produces anillicit bottle of firewhiskey from inside her bag to the delight of all—but hedoesn’t know that yet.)

“If you must know,I promised Regulus something,” Sirius says idly, not bothering to focus on heras they talk. “The only thing more boring than being at this party is not being at this party.” She watcheshim for a while, as though assessing his words.

“Well,” she allows. “All right then.” A frown alights gentlybetween Sirius’ brows, and he finally turns his attention onto her.

“All right?” he echoes. She nods. For a moment, there’ssomething in her eyes that he recognises, and then it’s gone.

(A year from now, he’ll belatedly realise it was the same,choking dissatisfaction rising in both of them, sewn tight into the seams oftheir robes and in the hard leather of their smart shoes—but he doesn’t know ityet.)

“Merry Christmas, Sirius,” she says, decisively, and shehugs him without ceremony. Sirius’ eyes flicker over to his mother, loomingover his father like a graceful, horrible bird in her dark robes. The faintestsmile tugs at her mouth, and her head inclines, just a little.

Sirius feels a sick feeling in his stomach, and pushesMarlene away.

He’s sixteen years old, and it’s Christmas.

(In seven months, he’ll walk out of this house and he won’tcome back—but he doesn’t know that yet.)

It’s extreme duress and nothing more that’s got him here. Everyyear his mother gives up on him a little more, her attempts to bring him backto the fold growing more lacklustre, and her resentment growing. Sirius mightbe the heir, but Regulus is her golden child, now. This year, he’d flat out refusedto attend her stupid, pureblood, peacock-show of a party. She’d told him thatunless he did, there’d be no visits to James Potter at all next summer.

So here he is. His dress robes are deliberately rumpled, hislong hair swept messily back. Though the whole ensemble manages to retain arakishly elegant look, it’s clear enough that this small rebellion is one hewon’t let go of.

He’s mostly ignored, anyway, except for a few sneeringcomments from his peers and a plethora of disgusted looks from their parents.He’s amazed Walburga wants him here at all, to embarrass her like this.

“You are still a member of this family whether you like itor not,” she’d shrieked at himearlier, while his father pretended to ignore them and read the paper, andRegulus had settled a hard stare onto his brother that said for Merlin’s sake, just play along. “You carry the Black name and you will act like it! And once all your nonsenseis out of your system, you will—”

He’d tuned out. Not in the mood to shout back. Regulus, atleast, had looked grateful for it.

It’s a surprise when Marlene turns up. She’s similarly cladas Sirius—dress robes that ought to be right for the occasion, but which havebeen treated with enough contempt to leave them wanting—and he thinks she’swearing her combat boots underneath. He fights down a grin as Walburga’s facetwists in familiar anger.

“And here I thought I’d have to suffer through this alone,”he drawls, as she spots him and makes a beeline. He’s leaning against the wall,arms folded. His face is carefully set to purebloodneutral, as he likes to call it; a mildly contemptuous, superior expressionthat does a good enough job of keeping others away.

“You’re never alone with one of these,” she mutters, andtaps a pocket; Sirius makes out the faint sound of metal, the slight sloshingof liquid. A flask, no doubt. He smirks his amusement, curls it across his lipslike a secret. It’s almost sickening, how easily he can still play the part.Outwardly, at least.

“I’m amazed your parents still come to these things,” hepoints out.

(In another six years, Marlene’s family will be murdered,viciously cut down by some of the very people in this room—but he doesn’t knowthat yet.)

“Yeah, well,” she scowls. “Your family has a way of draggingeveryone into their bullshit.” Sirius can’t help but laugh, at that.

“Guilty,” he says, pressing a hand to his heart.

“I meant your mum.”

“I know.”

There’s a comfortable silence between them, and Sirius findshimself glad that she’s there. It eases some of the angry tension from hisshoulders. Idly, he wonders if they can escape upstairs—barricade themselvesinto his room, with its gaudy Gryffindor colours, and let the party wear itselfout. If he’s caught, there’ll be hell to pay—but when isn’t there, these days?

“How’s your brother?” she asks, without warning. Sirius’ eyespick Regulus out of the crowd easily enough, without even trying. Some part ofhim is still a big brother, after all. Regulus is fourteen years old and elegant withit, perfectly at home in the room. Though he’s young, he carries some of thatsame commanding presence as their mother, when he wants to, and wields it likea weapon.

“Sick of me,” Sirius says, dismissively. “He’d like nothingmore than for me to roll over and submit to Walburga’s demands.” He’s beendoing that for nearly a year, now—calling his mother by her name. It feels moretrue than calling her mother, whenany maternal feeling she ever had for him has dwindled almost to nothing. “Hestill thinks we can play happy families, that I’ll come home and be a perfectpureblood heir.”

Marlene’s nose wrinkles at the thought. Sirius’ smile lacksthe amusement that it previously possessed. He misses his brother, but he won’tcome back to this. Not for anybody.

The hug is a surprise. After half a heartbeat, he returnsthe embrace. Almost unwillingly, his eyes catch Walburga’s over Marlene’s shoulder, just like they’d done all those years ago. Her lip twitches inanger or perhaps just disappointment, and she stares him down with a coldnessthat he’s long since grown used to. He doesn’t much care, not with Marlene asan ally against the tide of her wrath, at least until the end of the night.

(Three years from now they’ll stand as real allies, childrenthrust into a war that will take everything from them, before the end—but hedoesn’t know that yet.)

There’s a lot that Sirius Black doesn’t know. But tonight,leaning in the corner and passing illicit flask with the faint brush of fingers,lingering the burning at the back of his throat, he knows this: sometimes,family is absolutely nothing to do with blood, or name, or house.

#redemptioninterlude #;drabble: m #v: i solemnly swear #hello and welcome to the 'awkwardly long drabble' club

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page-of-tales · 5 years

Text

Story: Faith in Humanity III

Word Count: 1800

---

Censorship reflects society's lack of confidence in itself

-Potter Stewart

---

Senior Agent Barann watched as his communicator buzzed on his desk. The calls were becoming endless. High level officials continually asking for updates or input on policy. Colleagues badgering him for advice or help. All noise in the background to current events. In the month since interstellar communications with all aliens had been cut. things had spiralled out of control. It wasn’t the economical impact, that consequence had been accounted for, and in fact hadn’t been as severe as analysts feared. No, it wasn’t the corporations who were causing trouble. It was the common people. Their interest in humans had spiked just before the communications blackout. There had even been small gatherings of citizens to protest the deportation of all humans residing in Ergotoid space. Those initial warning signs were all they had of what was to come.

The Bureau of Surveillance had reported a rise in subversive acts since the blackout. Citations for illegal possession of alien contraband. Indicative of a thriving black market for alien products. An increase in unregulated media stations had been evading the Bureau of Communications. Spouting radical agendas inspired by whatever alien influence had corrupted their minds. The Bureau of Propaganda was hard pressed in a campaign promoting the superiority of the Ergotoids. Political action was on the rise, protests, dissidence, and all other treasonous activity was beginning to disrupt the peace.

The authority was becoming increasingly nervous about this sway in public opinion. Recent decrees illustrated the drastic measures they felt had become a necessity. Quotes, song lyrics, and references of alien culture would be punished severely. If necessary the police would beat it out of the populace. Crackdowns on illicit activities were becoming increasingly harsh. The automatic censors caught most of the visceral imagery from those raids before it spread. Illegal distribution would be punishable by death, without trial. Yet even with all these measures, massive amounts of net contraband were being seized and discovered online daily. Physical backups were dumping their contents onto the net making censoring less effective. The viral videos continued to be the primary source of this unrest. Emulations being the most visible element of this illegal contact.

The Bureau of Alien Contact had been compiling a report to present to the top levels of government regarding this precarious situation. His department was compiling a video, ironically a version of the Faith in Humanity format. The purpose of which was to exemplify the subversive elements contained within the messaging of such videos, messaging which had struck an affinity with the Ergotoids. A message which sparked the ongoing cultural wave of rebellion.

A pink finger scrubs the lens before allowing the camera to adjust to the lighting of the scene. As the light flares and recovers an outdoor scene comes into sight. The ground covered in a white material that falls from the clouded sky. A number of humans dressed in bulky clothes stride about. Condensation from their breath indicative of a cold temperature. A group of humans are meandering in a field. Rolling the white material into waist high spheres. These spheres are piled together forming a mound a half length taller than the humans. The group set to shearing away layers of the mound with their hands. When the group steps back, an imperfect cube of white material is left behind.

The group gather round in a circle around the work. They sway in unison, arms over each other’s shoulder. The camera approaches and the wavering pattern of a song can be heard.

♩ “We wish you a Merry Christmas-” ♫

As the song continues other humans approach from across the field. Joining the circle they also join in the song. As the song ends the group launches into another.

♪ “Dreydle, Dreydle, Dreydle.” ♪

More humans join, forming two encircling loops. More snow is piled to form a low wall around the cube. Another pile of snow is formed and from this one a pyramid is carved out. And as more humans join the group, another sculpture is created. The footage begins to cut to different perspectives. Jumping across the field to capture all that is happening. A lighthearted mood kicks up with an impromptu snowball fight briefly disrupting the singing. Piles of snow are made into impromptu benches. At some point a food stand stops by and a line of people form for food. A second soon joins it. As the light begins to fade, the crowd only grows larger. Glow orbs hover above to light the festivities. Someone stuffs lights into the sculptures, the muted lighting reflecting off happy faces. All throughout the singing continues. Different songs in different tongues of an ever changing cast of singers.

As rapidly as it grew the spontaneous party vanished. The field going dark and quiet as the last revelers left. The flash event gone as rapidly as it had appeared.

The footage vibrates from atop a vehicle. A gun mounted camera, the long barrel of the weapon protruding into the view. As the gun rotates in its top turret a convoy of military vehicles are seen following closely behind. A stamp in the upper corner marks the military unit as Jik’an military, Imperial Executors some cycles ago. Abruptly the vehicle comes to a stop. The gun rotates to face forward. A line of humans stand in the road, a human wall.

A speaker on the vehicle crackles to life.

“Humans, disperse immediately.”

The humans remain.

“You are obstructing an active military operation. By Codex Line 23, obstruction of military operations is punishable by imprisonment or death. Disperse immediately.”

One human steps up. A second speaker booming at the convoy.

“Turn back. There is no need for violence. Leave the Lassarn alone. Go home.”

The vehicle speaker booms louder.

“Sheltering of rebels is an illegal act. This assembly is an illegal act. Disperse or be shot.”

A few individuals jump out of line, but the line remains.

“This is our right, and our homes. You do not belong here.”

The people begin to yell in chorus. Demanding the military leave. The gun levels out. Then the camera cuts to black as the gun opens fire.

A camera sweeps across a devastated landscape. Alien natives stumble through the bombed landscape. Rubble blocks the street. Smoke rises high on the horizon. Electricity is knocked out as evidenced by the darkened buildings. The surroundings lit by only the dim light of the sun filtering through a heavy cloud layer. Shocked and stunned individuals sit in silent contemplation. Whatever had attacked these people had left as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a devastated city. The camera sweeps up as a low rumble can be heard. Aliens scatter as a shape begins to descend through the clouds.

The footage cuts to the interior of a vehicle. Racing out of the city to a nearby field. The camera struggles to keep the descending shape of a spaceship in view as the vehicle bounces on the ruined road. The blackened and scorched fields giving a clear view of the descending ship. Massive in size, and gleaming with the emblem of the Federation.

The alien is not alone, a few others have driven out to the field and watch the ship as it finally touches down. Gusts of wind beat at their faces, covering them in ash. But they remain fixated on the ship. A ramp begins to descend. As it touched ground people begin to disembark. Like a showcase of the diversity of the Federation, a full spectrum of member species descend from the ship. Stygil hopping awkwardly down the sloped ramp. Lalochans seeming to float down the ramp. A troop of Anthdae moving in sync. Komus, large enough that they disembark individually. A dozen more unidentifiable species. And all throughout Humans intermingled in the crowd.

The mercy ship begins to unload supplies as well. Drones roll off the ramp loaded with crates. Vehicles are lowered from bays to roll away and make contact with the impacted area. From a hangar lifts several aircraft fly out. Shooting high and disappearing above the clouds. Back on the ground the group split into teams and begin setting up a base facility.

A human bounds over to them. Brushing at the ash that lingers in the air. He stops in front of the aliens, and reaches a hand out.

“Hello, we are here to help.”

An alien hand extends in response before the footage cuts out.

Unknown Station: Black Box Footage- Hangar B

Grainy footage. Lines of static crawl up the frame. A large room is depicted in low light. A hangar on a space station judging by the fielded wall on the far side exposed to space. Within the hangar there are lines of species in chains. Many more in enclosures. Green skinned quadrupeds walk about controlling the other species with neural prods. Ethyl slavers. The camera has a poor audio receiver and the screams of the slaves are distorted. An untranslated alien voice rasps in the hangar. The slavers begin to prod the chained slaves more vigorously. Corralling them into the enclosures. Others prepare to receive another shipment.

Through the field a large ship enters the hangar. It turns and lands in front of the slavers. The bay doors open and from the ship’s hold storm out a band of humans. The slavers closest to the ship are dropped quickly by weapons fire. The others barely have time to react before the humans are also upon them. As more humans pop out of hatches atop the ship it is apparent they are not a professional bunch. Their dress bearing colonial markings. Their weapons a varied arsenal of scavenged gear. But they throw themselves relentlessly at the slavers who fall back from the hangar.

The humans rally, gathering together. “For Freedom.” They proclaim as one and then they push forward. Chains are broken, and the lines of slaves freed. Any slaver left behind is executed. Reaching the end of the hangar the humans continue to blast their way into the station. Finally the camera is taken out by an explosion.

Barann looked away from the monitor and considered the form in his hands. His resignation. This entire event was his failure, and it was time for him to bear responsibility. He planned to present his resignation after the presentation. He didn’t plan to stick around to see where his failures would lead. Unlike the others he had an inside view into what was going on, had felt the emotions that would drive other Ergotoids to rebel. Witnessed the inspiring actions of ordinary people change those who bore witness. What had been an intrusive influence had now become an unstoppable force of society.

#hfy #story #writing #sci fi #page of tales #my line of thought was all over the place

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csowmya · 3 years

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What are the types of cyber attackers?

In PC and PC organizations, an assailant is the individual or association who plays out the vindictive exercises to annihilate, uncover, change, impair, top cybersecurity companies, take or gain unapproved admittance to or utilize a resource.

As the Internet access turns out to be more inescapable across the world, and every one of us invests more energy in the web, there is an aggressor develops too. Aggressors utilize each instrument and strategies they would attempt to assault us to get unapproved access.

There are four sorts of aggressors which are portrayed beneath

Digital Criminals

Cybercriminals are individual or gathering of individuals who use innovation to perpetrate cybercrime fully intent on taking touchy organization data or individual information and creating benefits. In the present, they are the most conspicuous and most dynamic kind of aggressor.

Cybercriminals use PCs in three wide ways to do cybercrimes-

Select PC as their objective In this, they assault others' PCs to do cybercrime, for example, spreading infections, information burglary, data fraud, and so forth

Utilizations the PC as their weapon-In this, they utilize the PC to do customary wrongdoing like spam, misrepresentation, illicit betting, and so forth

Utilizations the PC as their frill In this, they utilize the PC to take information wrongfully.

Hacktivists

Hacktivists are people or gatherings of programmers who complete malignant action to advance a political plan, strict conviction, or social philosophy. As per Dan Lohrmann, boss security official for Security Mentor, a public safety preparing firm that works with states said "Hacktivism is an advanced rebellion. It's hacking for a purpose." Hacktivists dislike cybercriminals who hack PC organizations to take information for the money. They are people or gatherings of programmers who cooperate and consider themselves to be battling bad form.

State-supported Attacker

State-supported aggressors have specific targets lined up with either the political, business or military interests of their nation of beginning. These sort of aggressors are not in a rush. The public authority associations have profoundly gifted programmers and have some expertise in identifying weaknesses and taking advantage of these before the openings are fixed. It is exceptionally difficult to overcome these aggressors because of the huge assets available to them.

Insider Threats

The insider danger is a danger to an association's security or information that comes from the inside. These kind of dangers are generally happened from representatives or previous workers, yet may likewise emerge from outsiders, including workers for hire, impermanent laborers, representatives or clients.

#cybersecurityexpert

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tremendouspeachduck · 6 years

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Besides the regular stuff

and could they be talking about education issues or problems?

Maybe she's thinking about . . . something substantial.

Of course, he's so sexy and appealing she’s thinking. Maybe I should turn up the heat.

Could they be interested in . . . EDUCATION? - such a difficult subject, right?

In 1998, a high school junior named Eric Harris from Colorado wanted to put on a performance, something for the world to remember him by. A little more than a year later, Eric and his best friend Dylan Klebold would place bombs all over their school — bombs large enough to collapse large chunks of the building and to kill the majority of the 2,000 students inside — and then wait outside with semi-automatic weapons to gun down any survivors before ending their own lives. “It’ll be like the LA riots, the Oklahoma bombing, WWII, Vietnam, Duke and Doom all mixed together,” Eric wrote in his journal. “Maybe we will even start a little rebellion or revolution to fuck things up as much as we can. I want to leave a lasting impression on the world.” Eric was a psychopath, but he was also smart. Despite what media outlets would later claim, Eric Harris was not the victim of bullying any more than other students, he was not a goth or a member of the “Trench Coat Mafia.” Eric was a straight-A student. He read Nietzsche and Hemingway for fun. He had friends and girlfriends. He was charming and funny and had a disarming smile.

But Eric also understood people. And because he understood people, he changed everything. By 1999, there had already been a series of school shootings across the United States. But Eric wasn’t interested in those. They were small-time jobs, amateur hour. Eric was far more interested in Timothy McVeigh’s bombing of the Oklahoma City federal building, which killed 168 and injured 600. Eric wanted to top that. But he didn’t just want to top the body count, he wanted to top the notoriety, the fame, the horror. He wanted to terrorize people and he understood that his best weapon was not the guns he secretly purchased or the bombs he built in his basement — it was television. He would not kill jocks or preps, he would kill indiscriminately, because that’s what caused the most fear and got the most attention. He wouldn’t just blow up the school, but he’d blow up the parking lot, the police cars and the firefighters and the journalists who rushed to the scene. He would, quite literally, go out with a bang, the shockwaves of which, carried by mass media and the internet, would reverberate through the world for decades. On April 20th, Eric and Dylan arrived at Columbine High School and opened fire on teachers, students, administrators, janitors and police officers. Eric’s largest bombs failed to detonate and bring the building down as he had hoped, but that did not prevent the ensuing carnage that would last for almost an hour, leaving 15 dead and 24 wounded.

As chaos engulfed the school in Colorado, it would quickly fan out across the country, commanding more or less 24-hour television coverage for weeks on end. The drama would be replayed endlessly — bloodied and crippled students climbing out of the library window, the heroic coach who lost his life saving dozens of kids. And then there would be the questions and the speculation. Why? First, it was goth culture and Marilyn Manson. Then it was bullying. Then it was being social loners and outcasts. All of the explanations were later discovered to be untrue. The event truly seemed inexplicable. And because it was inexplicable the media and the viewers couldn’t let it go. Books were written. Memorials were built and ceremonies filled out. Eric Harris got his death wish: “Columbine” was a household name.

Recently, a student named Elliot Rodger from Santa Barbara City College killed six and injured 13, the latest in a long series of school shootings that are all but becoming a normal part of American tradition. As usual, the killer left a cache of material behind to explain his intentions and milk as much publicity for his personal grievances as possible. This time, the focus was on women, and how they wouldn’t have sex with him.

Like they always do, the media have descended to explain away the madness. And like a Rorschach Test, each outlet had its own pet cause primed and ready to be read into the situation. Gun control advocates used the event as an opportunity to campaign for stricter gun control, despite the fact that Rodger bought his guns legally and easily passed the background checks. Mental health advocates used it as an opportunity to urge better mental health care, despite the fact that Rodger had a small army of therapists and social workers working with him for practically his entire life.

First, come and get the USA history and more NOW, before it’s not taught, erased from the net and books or before it’s tweeked, tampered-with or getting the waterdown disturbing version.

What is Melania doing to help our kids?

Time to lighten up - see video -

Feminists used it as an opportunity to promote awareness for violence against women, despite the fact that Rodger killed indiscriminately and the majority of the victims turned out to be men. Social justice advocates used it as an opportunity to rail against white male entitlement, despite the fact that Rodger was mixed race and a significant number of school shooters have also been minorities (Two examples: Seung-Hui Cho and Kimveer Gill). All of these issues are legitimate and deserve a conversation. But they are not the singular cause. They’re not the point.

However, the Fed. Govt. is not in charge - you are. There are many home school options available. Or go to curriculum meetings at your child’s school.

If you want some curriculum changes what do you do besides go to the PTA, get group together and approach the principal? You seek help from: Parent Revolution, Education Reform Now, and Stand for Children.

What kind of parent are you?

Elliot Rodger was a member of a number of sites, email lists, and Facebook groups. And all of these authors and dating coaches — some of them legitimately decent men, others shady marketers — are all frantically trying to cover their tracks as best as possible. But this “witch hunt” we go through every time a school shooting happens is a total ruse. Elliot Rodger didn’t become a killer because he was a misogynist; he became a misogynist because he was a killer. Just like Eric Harris didn’t become a killer because he loved violent video games; he loved violent video games because he was a killer. Just like Adam Lanza didn’t become a killer because he loved guns; he loved guns because he was a killer. Every school shooting incident comes in the same dreary package: an angry, politically-charged rant, shrink-wrapped around a core of mental illness and neglect. These shooters leave behind journals, videos, diagrams, manifestos, and treatises. They broadcast their plans and intentions to their friends and family. They email news outlets minutes before they start firing. They write down their plans and make checklists so that others may follow in their footsteps. They go on angry rants against materialism, hedonism, the government, mass media, women, and sometimes even the people close to them.

Trophy Wife prose, not poetry

And each time, as a culture, we work ourselves into a frenzy debating the angry exterior message, while ignoring the interior life and context of each killer. We miss the point entirely. Reality Check According to the FBI, mass shootings (defined as shooting events that kill at least four people) occur on average every two weeks in the United States. Yes, every two weeks. Yet we rarely, if ever, hear about most of them. The reason is that these shootings are easily explainable. In most mass shootings, the crimes occur at a private location and the victims are people close and well-known to the shooter — family members, neighbors, friends. Many of them are attributable to gang violence or illicit criminal activities. Others are a crime of passion. School shootings only account for 4% of all mass shootings and yet they dominate the news media and get the entire country talking about them for weeks on end. There are a few reasons for this: They occur in everyday public locations which are supposed to be safe. The victims are targeted and killed at random.

You missed the March, 2018 update:

The victims are innocent bystanders and often children. The killers leave behind large amounts of material about themselves for the media to share. The perpetrator and victims are generally upper-middle class, white, and privileged. These shooters know what they are doing. They’re not “crazy.” They don’t just “snap.” Most of them spend months or years planning their massacres. Elliot Rodger had apparently been planning his shooting for over a year. You don’t just show up with a 140-page manifesto and a large stockpile of weapons one day. You work at it for a long time. And you plan not only the violence but the presentation for the audience, the performance — what they will see from you, what they will hear from you, the reasons why, the message. It’s all very conscious and deliberate. And it works. Their killing sprees are specifically targeted to generate the most fear and uncertainty from the public, because the more fear and uncertainty they generate, the more attention they get. They then use all of the attention as a platform to promote themselves or whatever complaints they may have against society. It’s the Columbine formula. It works. And as Eric Harris pointed out in his journal, it’s not about the guns. It’s about the television. The films. The fame. The revolution. If this sounds like a familiar strategy, that’s because it is. Mass Shootings as Non-Political Terrorism

Parents ATTENTION – build this for your daughter

For a country that is so single-mindedly obsessed with terrorism, it’s jaw-dropping that almost nobody recognizes that school shooters use the exact same strategies to disseminate fear and their twisted agendas throughout society. Terrorists use violence and mass media coverage to promote political or religious beliefs; school shooters use violence and mass media coverage to promote their personal grievances and glorification. When viewed in this way, our responses to the school shooters look juvenile in comparison. Can you imagine arguing over whether misogyny made Osama Bin Laden plan September 11th? Or whether video games caused Dhokhar Tsarnaev to plant bombs at the Boston Marathon? Or whether heavy music inspired Timothy McVeigh to blow up the federal building in Oklahoma City? You would be laughed at. And in fact, when anyone goes as far as to suggest that Islam causes terrorism, they are immediately and rightfully scolded for it. Yet when it comes to school shootings, these types of discussions are not only tolerated, but engaged in willfully. It’s not that we should respond to school shootings the same way we respond to terrorist attacks. It’s that we already do. We just don’t realize it.

What are the 10 best states for K-12 ed? Are you ready to move?

If you can’t move, then do you prefer charter or voucher choices? Transportation to/from should also be considered, right? What about low income before/after school meals, tutoring or sports activities? Perhaps charter, voucher or public choices should be contingent on anti-gang, low-income after school participation, right? No participation = no school = mandatory work program in Sudan or Uganda. I’d like to see some corporate, ball player and entertainer money come forward to fund before & after school meals/tutoring/sports.

I’d also like to see some funding go fornutrition parenting and school meal classes:

When Elliot’s creepy YouTube videos went public, declaring vengeance upon every college girl that wouldn’t sleep with him, every woman who had ever heard a guy mutter something similar suddenly felt a chill run up her spine. And that chill caused the video to be posted and reposted, sending more chills up more women’s spines until it had spread across the country. My guess is that’s exactly what Elliot would have wanted. And we’ve seen this viral dissemination over and over again. After every school shooting episode, writings and videos of the killers get passed around on the internet. Television specials show and reshow the footage. Books are written. Experts are hired. Rinse and repeat. Last year, I wrote that terrorism works because it takes advantages of psychological inefficiencies in our brains: we pay a disproportionate amount of attention to threatening events and we always overestimate how likely it is for a random event to happen to us. School shootings transfix us by leveraging the exact same inefficiencies in our minds. And once they’ve dominated this mindspace, we can’t seem to shake them out of it.

Common Core is no longer mandatory for Fed money. States can now choose and let’s not forget about STEM career prep.

Next subject is about college loans. Predatory lending is any lending practice that imposes unfair or abusive loan terms on a borrower. It is also any practice that convinces a borrower to accept unfair terms through deceptive, coercive, exploitative or unscrupulous actions for a loan that a borrower doesn’t need, doesn’t want or can’t afford.

If the terms are unfair or abusive then seek another loan, right? How can a college loan officer be deceptive, coercive, exploitative or unscrupulous? Maybe someone has a recording of such, who knows?

Yet, for some reason, while we seem to imagine potential terrorists everywhere — in airport lines, at stadium gates, in subway cars — we never see the school shooters coming. We’re always caught by surprise. Hiding in Plain Sight When we think of terrorists, we think of some alien “other” — the bearded, turbaned man hiding in some cave on the other side of the world. Because he’s so distant and different, we let him eat at our imagination — he could be anywhere, ready to strike at any moment, hiding in behind every bush, planting a bomb on every bus or plane. We clog our airports and blast warnings through our public buildings for some imagined bogeyman who is never actually present. By contrast, we fail to spot shooter after shooter because they are so close to us and so much like us. We miss them because they are our neighbors, our classmates, our friends or even our family members. They are right in front of our noses and we ignore them for a whole host of trivial reasons. Maybe they’re too weird, or awkward, or they’re a loser. We don’t want to talk to them. We put our blinders on and pretend that they’re not miserable, we pretend that they didn’t just have that awkward outburst, we pretend they didn’t just make a joke about killing their own parents.

Pipeline info more pipeline info

In writing, in the loan paperwork do you see any lies or anything to mislead a borrower? The lender must be protected from students trying to pull a fast one, right? No lenders = no future loans for students. Betsy Devos, Sec of Ed, is fighting for our students to have loans to use to finance their college costs. A very good fight, right?

College costs are high, so it’s no game or time filler. The potential student must be serious and have the desire and ability to finish, right? Most people old and young know that any loan has rules and risks, right?

Signing without reading and understanding is at your peril, right? If you are a student what should you look at?

Eric Harris’ friends later said that he would often “joke” about blowing up the school and murdering classmates. Even after they discovered he was building bombs in his basement, they never put two-and-two together. They just couldn’t believe it. Not Eric. Not the guy they had played video games with and toilet papered girls’ houses with. Meanwhile, the wrong sarcastic word at the airport and you can be held in jail for days. An FBI study on school shooters found school shootings are never a result of a crazy person “snapping.” Most shooters do have serious mental health or emotional issues, but they all plan their attacks months or even years in advance. And as they plan, they almost always “leak” information about the attack beforehand, sometimes intentionally, and sometimes in incredibly obvious ways.

Are there any debt elimination scams?

Some qualify whereby most fees can be paid through scholarships, grants or military service benefits, right? If yourgrades suck, can you get a scholarship?

Are students aware of jobs for the future - dealing with the robot issue?

Many students get Fed. loans, grants or military benefits and most colleges/univ get Fed help. Perhaps it’s time to eliminate Fed loans or help, if the campuses are not safe for conservative speakers and still turn the eye at life/death hazing practices. Are parents aware of the current harm education is perpetrating on the youth?

Both Harris and Rodger had the police called on them multiple times due to suspicious behavior. Both of them had a history of strange and violent outbursts towards friends and those close to them. Both put their intentions and their angry rants up on the web for everyone to see. Elliot Rodger wrote and re-wrote his plan out, sometimes including murdering his family members and stealing their car. He wrote that if someone had just searched his room, it would have all come apart, he would have been found out. Eric Harris wrote almost the exact same thing 15 years earlier. Seung-Hui Cho, the Virginia Tech shooter who killed 32 people, turned in paper after paper that depicted gruesome killings and gun violence. He had a history of mental health issues and had been reported to the campus police four times for aggressive and antisocial behavior, particularly towards women. One of his professors went so far as to tell the board that she would rather resign than teach another class with him in it.

Adam Lanza, the Sandy Hook shooter, also had a history of mental illness and inappropriate anti-social behavior. And he too, began sharing his intentions online through forum posts and audio. Lanza had paranoid delusions about mass media and the government, and began to argue that school shootings were justified as a form of protest or revolt. People humored him and ignored him. No one realized he had a small armory of semi-automatic weapons in his house. Then there are those who are simply ignored. Dylan Klebold was suicidally depressed for over two years. He fantasized and wrote about killing himself liberally. Despite getting into trouble with the law, turning in school assignments that glorified murder and suicide and failing most of his classes senior year, his parents and friends claimed that they had no idea something was amiss.

If people insist on living on islands or near beaches, then the hurricane is a constant fear, right? What would a hurricane proof house look like? Perhaps it’s time to have the conversation about Fed help to public schools K-12 to be contnigent on ROTC and a business subject or job readiness program. What is your opinion?

The above katana homeis unique, right?

what about his one? what about a velvet blue sofa?

George Sodini, a middle-aged Pennsylvania man who shot up an aerobics class full of women, wrote in his journal that since he spent the past 20 years of his life alone and miserable, there was no reason to think that the next 20 wouldn’t be lonely and miserable as well. His mother had been emotionally abusive. His father hadn’t had a meaningful conversation with him in over 30 years. Simply put: he had nothing to live for. So why not take some revenge on your way out? Gun control gets the headlines. Mental health care gets the headlines. Violence and video games and misogyny and internet forums and atheism — the list is endless at this point. Here’s what doesn’t get the headlines: Empathy. Listening to those around you. Even if you don’t like them very much. We have come to live in a culture where it’s taboo or unacceptable to simply check in with people emotionally and offer some empathy and understanding. I’m not saying this would magically fix all gun violence. I’m just saying that all of these things — the lack of gun laws, the lack of health care, the inability to have basic conversations with friends and neighbors about what’s going on with them, these are all extensions of a callous and self-absorbed culture that lacks any real empathy.

Despite being relevant and important discussions, the glamorous headlines are ultimately distractions — they just feed into the carnage and the attention and the fame the killer desired. They are distractions from what is right in front of you and me and the victims of tomorrow’s shooting: people who need help. And while we’re all fighting over whose pet cause is more right and more true and more noble, there’s likely another young man out there, maybe suicidally depressed, maybe paranoid and delusional, maybe a psychopath, and he’s researching guns and bombs and mapping out schools and recording videos and thinking every day about the anger and hate he feels for this world. And no one is paying attention to him.

Are parents teaching kids to be responsible?

Betsy Devos is also promoting the rewriting of college harassment proceedings. They call on schools to conduct objective investigations and provide “prompt and equitable” resolutions. And, for the first time, the administration explicitly says that just as an institution’s treatment of a complainant could constitute sex discrimination, so would the treatment of the accused. Under the new rules, schools would be held to a new standard for determining whether they took the proper steps to address the allegations. It sounds as though the proposed rules will go a long way towards restoring meaningful due process protections to the campus justice system, which will benefit both accusers and the accused. What do you think?

What is rape?

THIS IS MY CALL TO ACTION - schools need huge changes ** many do not believe adaptation in teaching environments will be sufficient to teach new skills at the scale that is necessary to help workers keep abreast of the tech changes that will upend millions of jobs.

Vote GOP and help make advancement easy and smooth!

#sexy #alluring #mysterious #fun #appealing #youth #politics #dirty politics #relationship #dating #education

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beneaththetangles · 3 years

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Does God Speak Through Anime? Or, What Madoka Taught Me About God & the Trees

On 22 April 2011, Kaname Madoka used the most powerful of wishes to save all magical girls. About eight years later, I watched her do it, and it taught me something about the savior of the real world and his plan for humanity.

I am of course talking about Puella Magi Madoka Magica, which celebrates its tenth anniversary this season. It was the fifth anime series I ever watched, and the one that led me on the path that now has me writing with the crew here on Beneath the Tangles. Madoka showed me that Proverbs 25:2 applies to anime, too (“It is the glory of God to conceal a matter, and the glory of kings to search it out”), and it’s our joy here at BtT to search him out in this particularly rich field!

Madoka makes her wish…

What I learned from Madoka was not what you might expect. True, the Messianic parallels are pretty strong in episode 12, but so too are the Buddhist threads, and I think I was equally struck by all that is not Christlike with that episode—by which I mean not so much Madoka’s wish itself, which is full of grace, but the way it transforms her into a transcendent concept, distant from the world and forgotten by it (I’ll explore the controversial implications of this, as played out in the sequel movie, Rebellion, in my post tomorrow).

No, instead what gave me pause was Madoka’s conversation with Sayaka, when she explains why she did not simply wish for a cosmic Control+Z and undo the entire magical-girl-wish-to-witch-curse cycle. Madoka wants to preserve Sayaka’s wish and “all the hard work you did for it,” she explains, because it is “precious.” Something good came of the magical girls’ wishes, and so instead of dismantling the system, Madoka seeks to inject it with grace by bearing the burden of the curses personally. The magical girls still pay with their lives, but they die in peace, their legacies untarnished.

This conversation helped me to see the fall of humanity in a completely different way.

But before I explain, let me walk it back for a moment: How exactly does God speak through anime? There are of course loads of different ways that he helps us to understand something about him, ourselves, and living out our faith through the stories brought to life in anime. Sometimes, it’s a line of dialogue that is exactly what you needed to hear in that moment, maybe an encouragement, a challenge, or a pearl of wisdom. Or maybe something that you disagree with so strongly that it causes a situation in your own life to come into sharp focus, and you suddenly know what not to do. Sometimes, it’s a plot arc or character development that parallels a challenge you have faced yourself. Seeing it play out on the screen—and maybe in an alternate world!—can give you the perspective you need to see your own situation with fresh eyes; or maybe it just helps to smooth away the anxiety, knowing you’re not the only person ever to face such things. Anime is rich in allegory and metaphor—which I kind of think are the original language of the Bible!—and sometimes its symbolism and parables can have a personal meaning for us that speaks volumes that may not have been intended by the studio, but were woven into the fabric of the show by the greatest Author (and Editor) of all. Sometimes, it’s the tenderness and beauty conveyed in a show’s artistry that speak comfort, love, and hope when you need it most (Violet Evergarden, Non Non Biyori, Laid-Back Camp, I’m looking at you). There are even a few anime that feature Christian characters (and not all are villainous) and quite a few more that quote or paraphrase scripture, sometimes even helpfully (PsychoPass, Le Chevalier d’Eon, ViVid Strike). These are all powerful ways that the Holy Spirit can use this beautiful medium to touch our hearts and strengthen our souls, as he speaks a language that we know and love—the language of anime.

In conversation with Sayaka…

There’s another way too, that anime can draw us closer to our God, and that’s through prompting us to ask him questions. So often, we are reluctant to question God because we’re afraid that it is a marker of unbelief, but that’s not the case at all. He welcomes genuine questioning (e.g. Isaiah 1:18). After all, questions are how we get to know someone, and often they’re how we lead up to pouring out our own hearts. We ask questions because we want to hear the answers, but also because we want to be heard ourselves. Questions are core to building relationship and growing in intimate friendship.

Madoka’s conversation with Sayaka made me ask God some questions.

It made me wonder why God didn’t simply reset everything at the very beginning, in the Garden after the fall. I mean, he did to some extent in Noah’s day, but it wasn’t a hard reset; more of a reboot. The implications of that illicit feast of fruit persisted. But why didn’t he scrap Humanity 1.0? I began to wonder if God had a reason like Madoka’s.

Madoka confronts Walpurgis with grace. (Note the cross that seems to emanate from Madoka…)

When I did, I realized that I’ve misunderstood the purpose of the trees in the Garden. You know, the Tree of Eternal Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil (the forbidden fruit tree!). I’ve always taken for granted that they were there to be a temptation, a test. After all, “love isn’t love unless there’s a choice,” right? With the trees and God’s command not to eat their fruit setting up the choice for humanity—the chance to choose to love and trust God. Don’t get me wrong, I think there’s truth in that, but it’s only part of the story—one I’d never bothered to ask God about for myself. As a result, I saw the trees only in terms of the potential for their misuse, their abuse. I saw them as sin waiting to happen.

But God does not create for that purpose. How could something that had only destructive, devastating potential—that is, to sever the relationship between humanity and its creator—be considered “good” by God, as indeed it was? (Genesis 1:12) No, there must have been some purpose to these trees in the Garden that I had overlooked.

Redemption in action.

As I thought about God’s nature as a creator of only good things, I realized that the trees and their fruit of knowledge and eternal life were originally intended as a blessing for humanity. But that there was a particular timing attached to that blessing—they weren’t for straight away, at the beginning of humanity’s journey and relationship with God. Instead, the blessing of the trees was meant to come in time, at God’s invitation, and in a context of deep friendship with him. I think that is in part what God was doing when he came to walk with Adam and Eve in the cool of the evening: He was preparing humanity, building a bedrock of trust that could one day support the weight of his glory, the glory of godly knowledge and understanding, without separating us from the source of that knowledge, namely, himself. Because separated out and isolated from him, knowledge can kill. It can lead to all kinds of arrogance, but also to fear and shame. It can be used as a weapon to harm others or protect yourself in ways that leave you alone and cynical. It can split the atom and design a way to weaponize that discovery.

But knowledge is also a thing of beauty. It’s one of the characteristics of God himself! And in Ephesians 1:8-9, Paul explains that God’s grace is at work to release in us all forms of wisdom and practical understanding, and that in Christ, God’s plan from the beginning is revealed, with all its secrets and mystery. There are hints about it, too, along the way in the Old Testament, with Solomon and his encouragement in Proverbs that we seek wisdom and knowledge. And Bezalel, the first person in the bible to receive the Holy Spirit—for the sole purpose of gaining the knowledge to craft beautiful things.

Homura hearing the gospel of Madoka in the heavenly realms…

But God’s plan for the trees is revealed most succinctly in John 3:16 and 17:3, which tell us that his intent for us is eternal life—the fruit of the tree of life—and that eternal life is knowing him and Jesus whom he sent—the fruit of the tree of knowledge. The two trees were there all along, in the center of God’s plan for blessing us.

By telling Adam and Eve to forego the fruit, God wasn’t trying to keep humanity in ignorance, but rather to determine the right timing and conditions under which knowledge, discernment and wisdom, and eternal life were released to humanity. It was supposed to happen in the context of personal relationship with God, by his initiative, for those whom he’d prepared to be able to handle it well. It wasn’t a test at all—those trees were a promise.

But Adam and Eve rushed the plan.

As a kid, I used to think I would have done a much better job in the Garden. That maybe humanity wouldn’t even have fallen. I had no desire to usurp God—who would want the responsibility? Well, I may have been a pretty obedient child, but I was also impatient. I was born breach and prematurely, and used to joke that I kicked my way out because I was fed up of waiting. And it was, in part, that kind of impatience that led to the fall. The serpent tempted Adam and Eve—yes, to disobey God, to mistrust him, but also to take matters into their own hands and act out of impatience, rather than to trust God with their “destiny and its timing” (Psalm 16:5 TPT). Maybe I wouldn’t have saved humanity after all.

Gaining the knowledge of good and evil happened out of season for humanity, which is what rendered it harmful—a lot like how the magical girls’ wishes, though well-intentioned and objectively good, fed into curses and ultimately transformed them into witches: they were impatient to fix things according to their own judgement. In their case, it was the interference of an alien race that turned their wilful acts into destructive curses. Kyuubey and the Incubators are very much the serpents in the garden of these young women’s lives. But Madoka, like God, chose to pay a personal price to redeem rather than reset. She rewrites the laws of the universe to make redemption possible, in an attempt to overwrite the rule of balance (curses for wishes; destruction for miracles) with the reckless imbalance of grace. She seeks to throw off the tyranny of karma—a yoke that our savior, too, lifts away from us. In so doing, she transforms the legacy of the magical girls, preventing it from becoming bitter and destructive.

Jesus did the same with the legacy of the trees and the fruit that shouldn’t have been eaten when or how it was. In him, we have the ability to receive knowledge, understanding, wisdom, and a mind and spirit strong enough to handle them without it turning into a curse—the mind of Christ himself (1 Corinthians 2:16). In him, we have eternal life. He redeems the trees and that original mistake, just as Madoka redeems the magical girls’ wishes. Because they were all actually intended for good.

I’ll always be grateful to Madoka for teaching me this—for prompting me to ask my God a question and discover a piece of his heart that I never suspected was there.

And so my journey with God through anime began. Little did I know what an adventure I was in for! And it’s been made all the richer for having learnt to ask this all-important question every time I start a new series: “God, will you watch this one with me?”

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Puella Magi Madoka Magica can be streamed on Netflix, Funimation, and Crunchyroll. And I really recommend that you do it.

#Anime #Christianity #Puella Magi Madoka Magica #Madoka Kaname #Articles #Author: cajk2

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JUST IN:Governor, ACF back order to shoot bandits with AK-47

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/just-ingovernor-acf-back-order-to-shoot-bandits-with-ak-47/

JUST IN:Governor, ACF back order to shoot bandits with AK-47

Benue State Governor Samuel Ortom and the Arewa Consultative Forum (ACF) have given full sponsorship to the mandate by President Muhammadu Buhari that desperados bearing AK-47 ought to be shot immediately.