I'm no great photographer, so I always take multiple photos just to make sure I've got at least a couple that I consider perfect for posting.

Yes, Daisy often finds that exasperating, but hey...it's my job and I do it my way. Her only job is to look pretty and follow instructions! 😉

But what to do when nearly ALL are winners? 🤔

Yep...just post the lot! 😊

 

Anyway, Daisy was just heading out the door Saturday to pick up groceries for our cook out...and I had her pose for a few before she left. 💗💗

Riding Hood & Bad Wolf - Issue #4 "The Wolf and the Rabbit"

 

In the past...

The boy held his sobbing sister, her tears soaked his filthy clothes. She'd stepped out of line again, the red welt on her check from the hit was enough to prove it. The man's boots trudged their way to the end of the hall making the boy's stomach churn, his sister whimpered as he shoved her away hiding her under the rags his bed was made from. He stood there in the shadow of the giant, the boy looked up the man's neck chain, dangling from it was a badge reading "POLICE". The boy's eyes glanced down at the man's loose belt, attached to it. A handgun...

_________________________________________________

*Easter leaps at the two shattering the ground below him with his leg braces as he does, in midair he extends the handle of his sledgehammer raising it above his head.*

 

Easter: "Happy Easter!"

 

*The two look up at Easter with both a look of confusion and anger as he brings down his hammer, the two jump back as he smashes his hammer down into the ground causing it to tremble. BW snarls revealing his large teeth and lunges at Easter who giggles raising his sledgehammer ready to strike. However, BW pins him down with his great size.*

 

Bad Wolf: "Don't make my friend kill you."

 

Easter: "I thought you were a Wolf not a pussycat. Kill me yourself!"

 

*RH laughs slightly raising his guns up about to fire but Easter kicks up with his leg braces making BW fly up and over him grunting in pain. RH fires his guns but Easter rolls back and leaps off the ground avoiding the hail of bullets, RH fires round after round at Easter who then ricochets off the wall and ceiling soaring towards him laughing. RH rolls to the side avoiding Easter's sledgehammer hit and reloads his guns getting some distance. He looks up seeing Bad Wolf recovering and let's out a sigh of relief.*

 

Bad Wolf: "Are you a member of the Convicted 5?"

 

*Easter turns to BW nodding and giggling as he springs off the ground smashing it beneath him, he swings his hammer in a series of strikes at BW who narrowly dodges the attacks. A blow like that with such speed and strength would sure hurt him despite his thick skin. As his back is turned RH aims his pistols at him and unleashes a flurry of bullets that riddle into Easter's back making him fall on his front. BW looks down at him as red patches emerge under his hoodie staining it, he stares down at Easter who giggles quietly.*

 

Riding Hood: "Haha, what a psycho!"

 

Bad Wolf: "RH, he's bleeding out!"

 

Riding Hood: "So?"

 

Bad Wolf: "We need him! He knows about the Convicted 5."

 

*RH sighs exasperated and jogs over to Easter who's legs twitch as he giggles and coughs. He lifts up Easter's hoodie revealing his injuries and holds out BW's fingers using them to dig out the bullets from his back, Easter's giggling intensifies as he squirms. RH uses BW's claws to take out the last bullet and drops it on the floor looking away. BW leans in extending his tongue and kitten licks the injuries, almost immediately the wounds close and BW uses his paw to wipe off the blood from his lips.*

 

Riding Hood: "For the record if I ever get shot. Never do that to me, it's gross."

 

Bad Wolf: "My antiseptic tongue has saved me from death, RH. I would not consider it to be gross."

 

*Easter groans in pain trying to get up on his hands only to be kicked by RH onto his back. BW pinches his throat with his huge furry fingers and lifts him off the ground showing his teeth. Easter squeals slightly and holds onto the enormous paw as RH looks up at him chuckling*

 

Riding Hood: "Alright, Easter. Question 1: How do we take out the Convicted 5?"

   

Check me out with a shot I physically took on Halloween and I am posting on Valentines Day.

 

Talk about two conflicting holidays. On one hand you have Halloween, which is all about goons, goblins, drunken parties, the color black, children, dressing up, and evil spirits. Dissimilarity you have Valentines Day which is all about love, couples, the color red, cupid, and of course chocolates, balloons, and Hallmark greeting cards.

 

Which holiday do you prefer? Do you care? Do you have distaste for either day? Do you love either day? Oddly enough though, both aren’t really holidays at all, they are just “fun theme days” in which we as a culture play into the theme each day brings with it.

 

Let’s get one thing straight, if you are below the age of 10, you mostly love both of these holidays. What’s better than exchanging Valentines when you were in elementary school? It’s like a big fucking deal man! This is the 3rd year in a row I’ve sat up and personalized my daughter’s cards for her classmates. If you have a young child then you understand the importance of this.

 

Trick or treating though? Can you think of a more bizarre yet entertaining tradition than that of dressing up in a costume and walking the your streets knocking on random strangers doors who in turn give out candy to everyone? If you think about it, it’s fucking real weird that we as a culture do this.

 

But you know, both holidays are kind of worthless the more I think about it. I wonder how they even became the tradition that they are today. I think I’ll wikipedia that later and enlighten myself on that. (Ask me tomorrow I’ll be an expert on the history of both of these days, I’m compulsive like that).

 

For some reason I used to get all exasperated and forlorn when Valentines Day rolled around and I was single. I’m not quite sure why, because today I really couldn’t care one way or the other. Doesn’t bother me one bit. Although I think if I was in love and all that shit, I’d find no problem playing into the whole Valentine Day extravaganza. Even though if you give it some thought, the whole concept of showcasing your “love” for your woman one day out of the year is kind of silly. Because if there was one thing you should take the time to demonstrate every damn day, it’s love.

 

So with all this shit said, even though as a single parent it’s more of a pain in my ass every year, I think I prefer Halloween. You can celebrate it solo if you don’t have a girlfriend. And it’s the only day of the year you can dress up as an eccentric weirdo and it’s perfectly acceptable.

 

And you know what? I really need to start taking advantage of that!

 

The shot at hand? I was taking a walk with Chloe and noticed the worn down cracked and very charismatic side of this house. I liked how the walls and windows were aged and crumbling apart giving the photo some interestingness. I tried to bring out these elements while editing the picture.

 

The album at hand? An obscure Scottish band from the late 70’s/early 80’s that released only three albums I believe. This is a compilation album that showcases the band rather well (their other albums are out of print I believe). This is basically kind of a romantic post-punk indie rocker gem of an album. It’s fun and catchy. You can hear Velvet Underground influences while listening to it in full. The 2000’s indie rock band Franz Ferdinand reminds me of this band. They took the Orange Juice style of music one step further and made their own distinctive fun sound from it.

 

Location: random street in my town; Alameda, California

Taken: October 31st, 2009

Posted: February 14th, 2010

Album of the Day: The Glaskow School by Orange Juice

Video: Falling And Laughing by Orange Juice

*=lapse

Well, I thought it was a cool game, anyway. Mom and Dad weren't so thrilled with it.

 

About a week or two ago, Mom brought a buoyant frisbee to the Erie Canal where we go for walks and dock diving. I retrieved it a few times, but then started to get bored with it, so Mom and Dad started throwing sticks off the dock instead, thinking that they wouldn't care if I didn't bring back a stick.

 

After playing around jumping off the dock, we went for our walk. I was off-lead and very wet, so Mom and Dad put me back on my leash if we saw people, because they say that people really don't appreciate muddy paw prints (whatever, they're too fussy if they care about a little mud. Mom and Dad don't understand that people really do want to meet me!)

 

So as we got back to the dock, there was this man walking by. Instead of getting me back on lead, Dad threw my frisbee off the dock. I ran right after it, but decided that there were more interesting things than the frisbee in the water, so I didn't bring it back.

 

Mom and Dad tried for a LONG time to get the frisbee and to get me to get the frisbee. Dad threw rocks into the canal near the frisbee. I would swim out and stick my head under trying to get the rocks but when Mom and Dad yelled "take it!" as I got near the frisbee, I decided to pretend that I didn't know what that command meant anymore. I was bored with the silly frisbee.

 

Dad tried to use a stick to fish the frisbee out, but no luck. It just wasn't happening,

 

So yesterday, we went back to the canal, and right in the middle was my frisbee. Dad threw a rock in, and I jumped in and tried to find the rock. No luck (those dumb rocks sink to the bottom!). He just figured that the frisbee would live in the canal and that it was time to move on. So he started walking along. It was then that I saw the frisbee and decided I wanted it back. I jumped out into the canal (over a whole bunch of bushes and thistle, by the way, not at my usual jumping off spots) and retrieved it.

 

Mom and Dad say I am exasperating. I think I just know how to keep them guessing!

Each of the 178 monochrome “Light “ frames is calibrated by various subtraction and division methods using Bias Dark & Flat Frame images. Bias data is a camera “signature” comprised of the average of 30 frames of the shortest exposure the camera can take while exposed to zero light. Many of the 16 million pixels perform differently and a predictive pattern of this can be derived and eliminated from Light Frames. A Dark frame also has the lens cap on and zero light leakage but is matched exactly to the light frames in exposure time, gain and temperature. Dozens of these provide the average noise for, say a five minute exposure. Flat Frames are critical to decent images and the most exasperating to perfect. They are images of a perfectly evenly illuminated color balanced field such as a perfectly clear eastern sky near sunset or an LED panel properly diffused. I stretch a pristine white tee shirt over the telescope objective and snap 30 exposures thru each filter. Flat Frames record the donut shaped halos of dust on any of the dozen surfaces in the optical path. They also record any vignetting that exists in almost every optical system. While the stacking of images is ideal for eliminating random noise as it boosts weak signal it tends to multiply anomalies like vignettes, dust donuts and camera sensor flaws, so calibration before any other processing is paramount.

Molly exasperated herself sometimes. The fit was perfect—snug, warm, in a stylish black leather. She had just thrown out the right-hand glove in last Thursday’s trash, had kept it for over a year because she was certain the left would turn up, but it never had—until now. She was cleaning out the drawer of the telephone table and there it was, the missing glove, hiding in the back underneath an old telephone book, the one place she’d never looked. Another hidden cost of giving up her landline.

 

He’d given her the gloves, her favorite pair, two years ago at Christmas, their only Christmas. Near the end of that winter, she’d lost the left one. Before the next Christmas, he’d left, forgetting to take a right-hand glove of his own. They’d argued, not for the first time, about his working late, something she was suspicious of, something she regretted ever thinking about him. She was certain now he’d been truthful, but he’d become fed up and left. She hadn’t seen him since.

 

Now it was she who worked late, too often seventy-hour weeks. She understood the kind of pressure he’d been under. But she came home to an empty house and two gloves, one his, the other hers. If only she’d kept its mate. She tried hard to suppress them, but tears welled in her eyes.

 

* * *

 

Mark missed her, knew he’d made a mistake in walking out. Of course she was suspicious. All of those late hours, who wouldn’t be? Why didn’t he do more to reassure her? He’d dated no other since. It was Molly who dwelt within.

 

He’d lost a glove himself, the right-hand one, didn’t know where it was, which drove him nuts. She’d given him the pair. For Christmas. He was always so careful about knowing where his things were. Thought he must’ve left it at some restaurant uptown at a working lunch. The only pair he had remaining were wool, with holes in the fingertips and fraying at the wrists. He needed a new pair for the bitter cold to come.

 

He stopped at a small shop, Tender Hands, located on a back street, where he’d gone for Molly’s pair. The same wise, kind woman who had waited on him then was still there. “Hello,” he said. She seemed to smile in recognition. “I’m looking for a new pair of men’s gloves.”

 

“This way, sir.” Right away he saw the match to the one he’d lost. He shook his head, couldn’t believe his luck, that they were even still in style.

 

“I’ll take those,” he said. “Unless”—he paused a moment—“I don’t suppose you’d sell me just one.” She smiled.

 

“For the right price, I might. People are funny, you know.” She reached in the display case and took out the pair. “You’d be surprised at how many lose one glove and, afterwards, ask if I will sell them just one.” She placed the pair in his hand. “I almost always do,” she said, “but as I said, for the right price.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Two-thirds the price of the pair. Since this pair is $40"—she quickly worked the keys of a calculator—"I’ll sell you one for $26.80, plus tax.”

 

He thought for a moment. The glove he retained showed virtually no wear. Spending $26.80 was better than spending $40. It seemed fair enough. What was it Molly had called him? “I’ll do it,” he said. “The one for the right hand, please.” Silas Marner. Yes, that old miser, Silas Marner.

 

“Sir,” the woman said, “I must tell you, should you ever come back for the left glove, it will cost you the same as the one you are now purchasing. Do you understand?”

 

He hesitated, then nodded yes. Then his eye caught the display for ladies’ gloves. He stepped over, and there they were, a pair of gloves that matched the ones he’d given Molly. He motioned to the clerk. “Do you see something else, sir?”

 

“Yes, that pair of ladies’ gloves in front, the stylish, black leather ones. How much are they?”

 

She took the pair out and laid them on the counter. “They’re $60, sir.”

 

“And one would be two-thirds of that price?”

 

“I’m sorry, sir, these are pure—

 

“Italian leather. Yes, I know. I bought a pair a couple of years back.”

 

“And did she like them?”

 

“Yes, very much, but she’s lost the left one.”

 

“I see,” said the woman, and thought a moment. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll sell the left-hand glove for $45, plus, of course, tax. That’s three fourths of the price for the pair. Is that acceptable to you? And the same rule applies if you should come back for the other.”

 

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, “that will do.”

 

* * *

 

A week later, on Christmas Eve, a surprise knocks on Molly's door. There stands Mark, with a small gift-wrapped box in his hand. She invites him in. A brief awkwardness as they embrace, and then he hands her the gift. As she opens it, she bursts into tears. Thinking he’s done something horribly wrong, he apologizes—“I’m sorry, Molly,” he keeps saying, “I’m sorry”—but she can only shake her head and wipe away tears. “No, No,” she keeps saying, and rushes to the front closet, retrieves her left-hand glove and his right one. When she shows them, he bursts out laughing. Then she does. Here she is with two left-hand gloves and no right. There he stands with two right and one left. Which, not unsurprisingly, clinches it.

 

Yes, two young lovers in a fast clinch, with mistletoe hanging above their heads. They don't notice it, of course. Why would they? When you fit together like a pair of . . . —well, who needs mistletoe?

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, inside Tender Hands, a wise, kind woman, one who understood the value of things, stands at a display counter of gloves, and lovingly settles two unmatched gloves, one woman’s, one man’s, in a single box. She gently tears off a piece of wrapping paper showing black ink tracing a bright star and three, tiny crowned figures riding camels in a vast desert of white. The scene seems to be drawing itself. She affixes the last piece of scotch tape, and tenderly places the wrapped box in a drawer behind her. He won't mind paying again, she knows. As she leaves through the rear door, she reaches for the light switch, and turns her head one last time towards the drawer. A smile ever so slight creases her face. She switches the lights off and closes the door softly behind her. All is silent. Outside, snow feathers down, street lamps slowly form to light, and through the shop window, a soft, tender warmth glows from within.

 

—by Mike S.

 

Happy Holidays, Flickr friends. May this time of year bring you many blessings.

 

(for Poetography, Theme 152—Choose Your Own—Gloves; Literary Reference in Pictures; and ODT—Clothes)

 

Created for The Hypothetical Awards' FINDERS KEEPERS mini-challenge.

 

Found this book on the side of the road...old-time, hardware manual...such a weird thing for someone to just toss out of their window of the car unless...

 

"Like, are you a complete asshole, or what?" Jen shouted at the young, pimply-faced teen driving the car. He attempts to utter some kind of response but, is cut off mid-sentence..."I said, 'a book on how to screw'! She takes the thing and flings it out of the passenger side window and then slumps down in the seat, arms folded in front of her, sour look on her face and a exasperated. "hrmpft!" expelled for effect.

 

When Wally got home, after dropping Jennifer off at the local A&W, he parked the Ford Pinto and attempted to slip in quietly...

 

"Waaalllyy! is that you?" came the shrieking inquiry from upstairs.

He blew out a breath of resignation and replied, "Yes Mom, it is..."

"Whaaatt! What did you say?"

He kicks at the cat purring around his legs and yells up, "Yes Mom! It is me!"

Even though I'm not an ocean person, I do spend a lot of time photographing them. Maybe as long as there are mountains close by, I feel a little more comfy.

 

The NW area of Iceland is edged with countless fjords. They just go on and on and on. It's also confusing when you are not used to the area. The road goes around the outside of course, and as you edge out onto one peninsula, it circles back into another big loop around the bay. Each loop takes another 30-45 minutes or so! I remember I was trying to get to a certain town, and I knew it was somewhere there along the road. Fjord after fjord passed, and as I rounded yet another peninsula, I was both exasperated and excited that I had to make a big loop around yet another fjord!

 

Read the rest here at the Stuck in Customs blog.

Spider-Man gracefully flew out of the air vent from the side of the NYPD building and quickly swung up to the top of a nearby building. He then sat down, his legs hanging off the sides. He sighed and his eyes fixed on the atmosphere around him. The city was coated in a sheet of grey and the lights of numerous buildings brightened as the sky became darker. A raindrop gently tapped his head and he looked up. Another drop hit his cheek and slowly trickled down his face. The few drops started to turn into a gentle drizzle.

 

He stretched his arms the sky and felt a large crack tingle down his spine. He let the rain fall upon him. The interaction with Gwen’s father still wandered his mind. No, it was Gwen. His mind was always filled with Gwen. It was his fault she was in pain. He had hurt the girl he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

 

He removes the sunflower bracelet from his suit and stares at it wistfully as the guilt ricocheted about his mind. He collapsed onto his back, the rain hitting his suit and soaking his body. His lip quivered as he closed his eyes. The look on her face tormented him. He had let her down. Again and again, time after time. He swallowed hard, tears filling his eyes. His body started to tremble as guilt raging inside of him rose. The cluttered thoughts of his mind stopped as he heard a pair of boots land behind him. His eyes flickered rapidly and his vision cleared, the tears subsiding.

 

Spider-Man: Carol! You got my text.

 

Spider-Man turned around to find a boot in his face. This knocked him off the building and caused him to lose consciousness momentarily. The sunflower bracelet flew from his hand and drifted in the sky next to him

 

His eyes flashed open seconds before hitting the ground. He stabilized himself and landed on three limbs and rolled, skidding to a halt 15 feet away from the building. He spots the sunflower bracelet midair and fires a web, keeping it safe on a nearby wall.

 

???: Spider-Man!

 

Spider-Man looks up to a hooded figure standing on the edge of the building

 

Spider-Man, whispering: So much for my plan.

???: I wish to-

 

The familiar thwip of Spider-Man’s webs stopped the booming of the hooded man’s voice.

Peter takes the opportunity to launch himself back up to the building as the hooded man rips the webs off his face.

 

???, his face now slightly reddened: I only wish to talk you Spider-Man.

 

Conflicted, Spider-Man loosens his posture and lets out an angry growl

 

Spider-Man: Why should I listen to a psycho like you?

???: Psychotic? No no no, that is far from the truth Spider-Man.

Spider-Man: Then why have you been killing people, hm?

Normal people don’t go about their day doing such a thing.

 

The man lets out a coarse, yet emotional laugh

 

???: I will not disagree with the last statement, but I do not murder.

I purge and purify this city of its worst filth.

My mission is to remove the tumors of society.

All of them, starting with this beautiful city.

 

With the last few words, he removes his hood.

Spider-Man observes the man. Late thirties, sizeable facial hair, and slightly long, black hair.

 

Sergei Kravinoff: I, Sergei Kravinoff, Kraven the Hunter, will accomplish the greatest hunt the world has ever seen. Starting from the bottom, all the way to the top. I will accomplish what you and any authority could ever possibly have imagined. I will make this world perfect.

Spider-Man, sighing: You’re right, I would and could never dream of doing that.

If you haven’t noticed, no one has to die.

There are systems in place-

Sergei Kravinoff: How idiotic can you be!?

The systems fail over and over.

Ever wonder how the All Mighty Kingpin is still in business?

Corruption Spider-Man, corruption is the one and only answer.

And there is only one way to fix it.

 

He draws a black short sword from his belt and takes an oblong shaped shield off his back

 

Sergei Kravinoff: I could use an ally Spider-Man, but if you shall deny my offer…

 

He raises the sword to Spider-Man’s chest and twists his hand, gently touching the middle of his breasts

 

Sergei Kravinoff: You will not take me in as you did to my brother.

 

A chill runs down Spider-Man’s spine.

He had his suspicion when he first said his name, but this confirmed it.

This was the brother of Dmitri Kravinoff, otherwise known as the Chameleon.

The man that encouraged and shaped Peter to what he has become

 

As he comes back into reality, he focuses on Sergei and his lenses narrow

 

Sergei Kravinoff: *Sigh* I’ll take that as a no.

 

Spider-Man backflips, landing ten feet away from his opponent and within seconds Sergei had already closed the gap. Quickly, Spider-Man aims for Sergei’s mouth and fires, but the man simply cuts the webbing into two parts. He then lunges forward slashing a small cut into his bicep. Reeling in pain, Spider-Man dodges to the side and fires two more shots. Sergei struggles as Spiderman accomplishes his goal of getting Sergei's’ sword above his head. He takes the opportunity to fire another web, which makes direct contact with the flat of the blade. Sergei loses control of his weapon and growls. Spiderman slides underneath Sergei at the last minute and webs his shield to push it close to his chest. He then jumps off and roundhouse kicks the shield into the top of Sergei’s back and the lower portion of his head.

 

Sergei hit the ground hard and dazed, but shuttered awake when Spider-Man began to web him down. With a loud roar, he rips himself from the ground and stands up triumphantly, webs blowing in the breeze on his arms. He charges at Spider-Man, wildly, yet calculatingly swinging at the wallcrawler. Spider-Man dodges effectively, but soon gets exhausted. His Spider-Sense could only save him for so long against a trained fighter such as Sergei. Even in anger, Sergei was calculated. Peters breathing becomes shallow and he trips, panic starting to take over. Pain pricked his calf and pain flowed up his body when Sergei struck. Sergei brought his palm to Spider-man's chin, sending him sailing down to the ground with a thud. Sergei lifted his sword to deliver the final blow, a triumphant face staring down at Spiderman.

Peter rolled onto his stomach and spun, knocking Sergei to the ground.

 

Spider-Man stood up, exasperated. Blood oozed from several areas and his body ached. He stumbled over to the now barely conscious Sergei and kicked the sword away from Sergei’s hand. The metal shrieking against the concrete as he did so. He collapsed to his knees above Sergei and tiredly rose his fist. Peter contemplated what Sergei had said. He was right. Spider-Man could easily end this now and the world would never have to worry about Sergei Kravinoff ever again, but something stopped him. Peter looked at the lacerations on the unconscious body and shuddered. He knew it was wrong, even with all of the pure rage boiling inside of him.

 

He threw his head back and began to sob. All the emotions pouring out at once.

Tear by tear, the anger and sadness surged out of him. He stood up and limped towards the edge of the building.The pouring rain beat against his raw wounds and the adrenaline wore off.

He winced and jumped, retrieving the piece of metal that encompassed his love. The sunflower.

 

Une des "casse-pieds" qui roucoule encore et encore

 

One of the exasperating turtledove cooing again and again

Dark Eyed Junco looks a little exasperated by the snow in Dixie.

 

Member of the Flickr Bird Brigade

Activists for birds and wildlife

 

Member of the Nature’s Spirit

Good Stewards of Nature

The Château du Haut-Koenigsbourg, seen form a viewpoint near the village of Orschwiller, Alsace, France

 

Some background information:

 

The Château du Haut-Koenigsbourg (in German: "Hohkönigsburg") is a medieval castle located in the commune of Orschwiller in the French département of Bas-Rhin in the Alsace region. It lies in the Vosges mountains just five kilometres (3.1 miles) west of the town of Sélestat and about 45 kilometres (28 miles) southwest of the city of Strasbourg. The castle is situated in a strategic area on a rocky spur overlooking the Upper Rhine Plain. Unfortunately, the castle was quite far away when I took this photo and I had to use a high zoom factor. The image was in jpg and not in raw standard, the sky was bad and the photographic result wasn’t really good. So it took me some time and work to get a halfway decent picture.

 

In 854, the cliff, on which the castle was built later, was in possession of the French Basilica of St Denis and the site of a monastery. It is not known when the first castle was erected. However, in 1147, a castle named "Staufen" was first mentioned in a document, when the monks complained to King Louis VII of France about its unlawful construction by the Hohenstaufen Duke Frederick II of Swabia. By 1192 the castle was called "Kinzburg", which later became "Königsburg" by phonetic change.

 

In the early 13th century, the fortification passed from the Hohenstaufen family to the dukes of Lorraine, who entrusted it to the Lords of Hohenstein, who held the castle until the 15th century. As the Lords of Hohenstein allowed some robber barons to use the castle as a hideout, and their behaviour began to exasperate the neighbouring rulers, it was occupied by Elector Palatine Frederick I in 1454. In 1462, it was set ablaze by the unified forces of the cities of Colmar, Strasbourg, and Basel.

 

In 1479, the Habsburg emperor Frederick III granted the castle ruins in fief to the Counts of Thierstein, who rebuilt them with a defensive system suited to the new artillery of the time. When in 1517 the last Thierstein died, the castle became a reverted fief and again came into Habsburg possession in the person of emperor Maximilian I.

 

In 1633, during the Thirty Years' War, the Imperial castle was besieged by Protestant Swedish forces. After a 52-day siege, the Königsburg was burned and looted by the Swedish troops. For several hundred years it was left unused, and the ruins became overgrown by the forest. Various romantic poets and artists were inspired by the castle ruins during this time.

 

The ruins had been listed as a monument historique of the Second French Empire since 1862 and were purchased by the township of Sélestat three years later. After the Franco-Prussian War (1870 to 1871) the region was incorporated into the German imperial territory of Alsace-Lorraine, and in 1899 the citizens granted what was left of the castle to the German emperor Wilhelm II.

 

Wilhelm II wished to create a castle lauding the qualities of Alsace in the Middle Ages and more generally of German civilization stretching from Hohkönigsburg in the west to Marienburg Castle in the east of the German Empire. The management of the restoration of the fortifications was entrusted to the architect Bodo Ebhardt, a proven expert on the reconstruction of medieval castles. Work proceeded from 1900 to 1908. In that year the restored Hohkönigsburg was inaugurated in the presence of the German emperor.

 

Ebhardt's goal was to rebuild the castle, as close as possible, as it was on the eve of the Thirty Years' War. He relied heavily on historical accounts but, occasionally lacking information, he had to improvise some parts of the stronghold. For example, the keep is now reckoned to be about 14 metres too tall. Wilhelm II also encouraged certain modifications that emphasised a romantic nostalgia for Germanic civilization. For example, the main dining hall has a higher roof than it did in medieval times.

 

After World War I, the French state confiscated the Château du Haut-Koenigsbourg in accordance with the Treaty of Versailles. In 1940, during the Second World War, Alsace-Lorraine was occupied by Germany and incorporated into the Third Reich. But in February 1945, the allies liberated the area around the Château du Haut-Koenigsbourg. The castle has already been listed since 1862, but only in 1993, it has been classified as a monument historique by the French Ministry of Culture. Today, it is a major tourist site, attracting more than 500,000 visitors per year.

==Arkham Asylum==

 

"Is it done?" Crane pried, leaning forward to examine the collection of monitors on the wall.

 

"Juuuust finishing rendering, I'm setting it to run on auto. If you think you can handle that," Billings teased Cobb, as he inputted a final command into his keyboard.

 

"I can handle it," Cobb crackled back irritably, clearly insulted by Billings' insinuation.

 

Billings shrugged dispassionately, and took a glug from his flask, beer dripping down his chin. Since Thawne returned, he was drinking even more than usual. "Hey, I never asked!" he burped out suddenly. "What's the one thing you guys want most?"

 

The response was a resounding groan from the rest of the room.

 

"C'mon, it's topical. You, Zoom?"

 

Zolomon, looked off into the distance; he would keep his fantasy to himself, yet even so, Crane could discern a slight change in his demeanour.

 

"Forget it," a less perceptive Billings groaned. "Hayden?"

 

"Ooh!” Hayden clapped his hands together with delight. “A world to conquer! Billions of playthings to control!" he jumped up and down giddily. "Just like the Monitor promised. He promised, you know! Oh, so long ago... But he's gone. He's gone and I'm still waiting."

 

"Well, I don't know about any monitor, but it's a strong start," Billings smiled. "Crane?"

 

Scarecrow paused. "What do I want most?" he repeated, a thin, nostalgic smile breaking across his scarred face. "Leek and potato soup."

 

"What?" Billings frowned, his excitement dissipating like the steam from one of Crane’s broths.

 

"A warm bowl of leek and potato soup," Crane whispered longingly, practically salivating. "Funny where the mind wanders, no? I am not a sentimental person by any measure, and yet... I find myself fantasising not of a world torn apart by terror, nor of a working body... But of my mother's humble, homemade broth, a slight comfort from the wretched hell that was my childhood. And what of yourself?"

 

Billings chuckled. "Easy. I want my leg back. I want to walk without limping. I... I want Best Picture. Sims: you and I could partner up, do some real arthouse shit, A24, the works; tits, gore, close ups of flowers... And when those accolades come flooding in, I want someone to share it with. I want... I want a mouth around my cock. One of those pretty broads, from Hollywood. But the classy kind, not those new-age sl-ts. Now, Walker's wife, she was a knockout."

 

"Oh, yes, we liked Mrs Moth..." the King giggled, his tail wriggling between his legs. "But what of Selina Kyle?" the creature pried.

 

"Wayne's girl? I guess. Nice ass, but the short hair's a turn-off. I like my women to look like women, you know?"

 

The King didn't like that; a quiet hiss escaped his saliva-drenched lips, but went unnoticed by Billings.

 

"How about you, Sims?" Billings pressed on.

 

Sims laced his hands together as he contemplated his response. "Do you remember the day Superman died?" he asked at last.

 

"Well, of course, everyone fucking does."

 

Sims’ glass-like eyes narrowed. "Exactly. When that Doomsday monster murdered Superman one of the photographers from the Planet, Olsen, snuck in quick, got the money shot. And what a shot it was; a tattered cape hanging from a piece of twisted metal like a flag; Lane, tear stricken, clutching his battered body. I don't think there's a single person on the planet who hasn't seen that photo.

 

And it was taken by a child.

 

It was everywhere. On every paper, on every website. That is what I want. I want to be there when Batman dies. Someone else can shoot him. Stab him. Choke him. But I want to be the one to take that picture."

 

"Cobb?"

 

The hologram flickered. "Aside from the obvious? I want you to stop downloading porn on my servers. Tall ask."

 

==Butchinsky's==

 

While the rest of The Misfits drowned their sorrows in unrefrigerated spirits, Chuck, Ten, Bridget, Kuttler and Needham had set up shop in Len’s office. While Ten finished unfurrowing blueprints of Arkham Island, Needham wandered off, distracted by a framed class photo hanging above a metal safe. He wiped the dust-covered glass with his thumb and frowned. "Huh. Didn't know Fiasco went to middle school with Bruce Wayne," he spoke, noticing a skinny blond boy shooting daggers at a dark-haired student two rows in front of him.

 

"Are you kidding? He never shut up about it," Chuck smiled nostalgically.

 

"Really?" Ten frowned. "He always struck me as pretty reserved. Closed off, even."

 

"Then you never saw him with a shotgun," Needham turned his head back.

 

"Len's a good man, honest. He just... holds a few grudges. Anyway, it was just for a year or two, before Wayne left for soul searching or whatever he did abroad."

 

"A man like that, I can hazard a guess," Bridget shivered.

 

“Wayne isn't so bad," Ten vouched for him. "He gave me a job at Wayne Enterprises once I got out of Blackgate, gave me these prosthetics… He even donated money to Joey and I's start-up."

 

Kuttler shot Needham a glance. "They don't know?" he whispered.

 

"No, and he'd rather we kept it that way."

 

Kuttler rolled his eyes, slumping back in his chair in annoyed resignation.

 

"Eric, you were on Arkham Island, did you learn anything when you were down there?" Chuck asked, unaware of the duo’s hushed exchange.

 

"Nothing of value," Needham replied discouragingly, gesturing to the forest on the maps. "They have King of Cats on patrol, cameras everywhere… Bats figured Spellbinder has cast an illusion across the entire island. We'd be going in blind. Can't say I like our odds,” he spoke candidly.

 

"Yes, I recognise the energy signature… Hmm, he’s not been capable of something on this scale before; that must be Cobb’s doing. It’s going to be tricky to disable, I know of only one other who could…” Kuttler presumed. “I should be able to access the bunker, that uses Lexcorp security, it was always cheaper than Luthor let on… Do you have any idea how to access the Asylum?”

 

"Well, full-frontal would-be suicide," Bridget stated. "What about the beach?"

 

“S’possible, if we had someone drawing their fire,” Needham answered.

 

"Well, I could maybe get onto the rooftop, access Intensive Treatment from there. Assuming that's where they're keeping them. Otis can take a team into the sewers… Just need them focused on the courtyards. Draw them out. Knock them out," Chuck smirked.

 

“Hah,” Ten laughed dryly, twirling a lock of greying hair. “You make it sound easy.”

 

~-~

 

"What're you doing back there?" Blake inquired, sipping from a warm bottle of beer, and peering over the counter.

 

Joey turned off the blow torch and lowered his goggles. "Back at Gotham General, Carson took down Suit with some kind of Fire-Sword-"

 

"It was a lightsaber, Rig. Let's call it as it is," Gar interrupted, taking time away from watching the door as he waited for Jenna.

 

"Lightsaber, fine," Joey smiled slightly. "Carson might not be going anywhere, but with what we know about the other Outcasts, we need every advantage we can get. I'm just trying to see if I can reverse engineer a fire- uh, lightsaber of my own," he explained to the pair, as he continued to weld together his weapon.

 

"Keep working at it," Gar nodded curtly, as he patted him on the back, then turned his attention back to the bar floor; The front door opened with a creak and Jenna entered the bar. And, to Gar's surprise (and his chagrin), she was not alone:

 

"What’s she doing here?" Gar frowned, watching as Volcana entered, a child-filled papoose around her chest.

 

"She insisted," Jenna rolled her eyes, as the two embraced in a hug that was all too short.

 

Clair raised baby Josie above her head and planted her in Gar's arms, a delighted "Dada" escaping the child's lips, as she wriggled around and cooed.

 

"Dude... is that baby fucking flammable?" Sharpe asked, as a fiery snot bubble escaped Josie's chubby nose.

 

"Most are," Flannegan responded dryly; he was standing by a dusty pool table; breaking up the neat triangle of pool balls with the chalked-up base of his staff for dramatic effect.

 

"Jenna, dear, listen. I make a margarita that is to die for," Clair declared to a bewildered Duffy, as she parted the saloon doors and disappeared behind the bar, unearthing two cocktail glasses and a metal shaker. Blake's eyes followed her as she bent over, a sudden flash in his brown eyes.

 

"Really?" Gar growled disapprovingly at him.

 

"Hey, it's been a hot minute. Don't be greedy, Lynns," he lectured him on dubious moral grounds.

 

Gar rolled his eyes, swallowing his retort. "Clair, this is serious-" he called out over the distracting sound of bottles clinking against one another as his ex searched the cupboards for garnishes, but it was no use.

 

"So am I," she replied airily. "Now where does that Pencil keep the salt?" she scowled.

 

Gar let out an exasperated sigh, his eyes meeting Jenna's as he sought understanding. “Beside the rat poison," he relented tiredly.

 

"Fuckin’ savage," Flannegan muttered disdainfully, moving his staff away from the pool table so that Mayo could have a turn. The Condiment King eagerly jabbed the cue forwards; the white ball shot off the table and, gaining momentum, crashed through the window.

 

“WHO FUCKING THREW THAT?”

 

The front door swung open for the second time in five minutes, as Doctor Gaige stormed forward, a white pool ball in his hand; he was joined by a dour looking Axel, a tearful Kitten, and Simon, who was holding Cammy on his shoulders; the youngest of the Gaige-Walkers playfully tugging on the antennae on his purple helmet.

 

"Heyo, Doc, you sure you can bring them in here? Aren't they a little young?" Sharpe teased.

 

Gaige and Axel stuck their middle fingers out in unison.

 

“Funny,” Axel scowled.

 

“Your balls drop yet?” Gaige queried.

 

"Josie!" Cammy pointed excitedly from atop Simon's shoulders. Simon smiled, and lowered his younger brother to the ground, letting him toddle along the wooden floor towards Gar’s child.

 

"Cam-Cam!" Josie squealed back as she tried to wrestle herself from her father’s grip, clapping her chubby fists together.

 

"Well? Where is he? Where is that self-righteous, self-serious Furry-Fetish Fuckwit?" Gaige demanded.

 

"He's gone."

 

Gaige tilted his head towards Needham; the meeting in Len’s office now adjourned. "What?"

 

"He took a hit in the precinct, and he's out of action."

 

"That inconsiderate bastard!" Gaige roared, throwing the pool ball out the other window.

 

“Wait, we’re not doing this without the Bat, are we?” Blake gasped, flecks of beer foam in his orange beard.

 

“We’ve done plenty without the Bat,” Gar responded.

 

“Yeah, heists. And guess what, he managed to kick our asses every time!” Blake panicked. "Look, it doesn't matter if we beat the clown, if we even can. If we lose Killer, it's a phallic victory at best," he declared despondently.

 

"You're doing that intentionally," Kuttler spoke, massaging his temples.

 

"Doing what?"

 

Sharpe chugged his fifth pint and beamed. The Misfits, the Gaige-Walkers, Jenna, and Needham all groaned, fearing the worst. "I'm with Lynns. Listen, y'all know I'm no big fan of Moth's. He hung me out to dry while you all went scouting for college chicks-"

 

"That's not what happened-" Ten protested.

 

"That's exactly what happened," Blake testified.

 

"Doesn't matter! Look, we all have our talents; Ten, you provide sagely wisdom, Gar sets things on fire and is sad about it; Rigger sets things on fire with impressive enthusiasm. Blake is a stellar one-on-one combatant, (and a less than stellar ladies' man, let's be honest, Tom) while I literally have plot on my side. Now, Moth, Moth is a born leader, that’s why we need him! And Chuck was born to lead whenever he falls into a depressive state. You, Calculator, you do something with computers, right? Bridget gave us a lovely marketable redemption arc. And Needham? Oh, Needham knows where to get all the best drugs; downside is, he's also killed most of the suppliers. Jenna is a woman, and that's great! We need more of those! Speaking of more of those, Volcana-"

 

"Leave me out of this, Texas Toast,” Clair warned, her margarita glass burning in her grip.

 

"Kay! Otis has a bunch of skills that I don't really wanna look into, but they exist! Doc, you make animal cruelty a loveable quirk! We are all valuable, and there isn't anything that can stop us if we can put our minds to it."

 

"Oh, and Mayo. Forgot about him," Sharpe added apologetically.

 

"So did I!" Mitch replied, toasting Sharpe's speech with a can of Cream Soda.

 

“Still, it’s not going to be easy. We’ll need nothing short of an army to storm Arkham,” Chuck declared.

 

“Hhn. Is that all? I can get you an army,” Gaige growled assertively.

 

"Ooh, and I could ask Fang!" Kitten squealed delightedly.

 

The Misfits stared back blankly. Chuck looked at their resident database, Kuttler, who shrugged.

 

"Uh... My boyfriend? Fang?" Kitten twirled a lock of long blonde hair.

 

"I, uh, appreciate the enthusiasm, Kitten. But we can't ask a boy to fight for us... We need powerhouses,” Chuck replied.

 

"But he-"

 

"-Deserves to spend the rest of his life with you, I'm sure,” he smiled, placing a supportive, if not a little dismissive, hand on her shoulder.

 

"Which for him is one to two years," Axel muttered.

 

"Are we really doing this?" Joey asked. "Fighting a speedster, the Psycho Pirate, Joker?"

 

Chuck looked around the room, at the faces waiting expectantly. "Hell yeah."

 

~-~

 

Simon entered the bathroom; he flicked water into his dry eyes, he rubbed his eyelids, he looked up at the mirror, and then-?

 

And then he jumped back.

 

In his reflection, was a man dressed in yellow, red eyes boring through Simon’s petrified figure. Simon spun around, praying it was the sleep deprivation.

 

It wasn’t.

 

"If you try to tell anyone I'm here, I'll slaughter all of them before you can finish the first syllable. Do you understand?"

 

"How- How are you-?" the boy choked.

 

"Don't speak. Just nod."

 

It took everything in Simon’s power not to run. To scream. To hide. But he was restrained by the thought of what Eobard Thawne might do to his family if he refused him. So, he swallowed his fear and met his request with a rigid nod.

 

"Good,” Thawne smiled with that sadistic, condescending smile that had haunted Simon for over five years. “You have questions, naturally, that's understandable. Let me catch you up to speed: The last time you saw me, you were going back in time, to undo Chronos and the Pike girl's little 'mess.' Well done, by the way, I see things are mostly back to normal... Now, the last time I saw you, you were choking to death on your own blood.”

 

Simon stared back with unblinking eyes and Thawne yawned.

 

“Time Travel; it's a difficult concept to wrap your head around, if you're a novice... Oh, what's the matter, Simon? Life flashing before your eyes?"

 

"You're- You're with the Outcasts?” he spoke at last, each word a challenge as they fought their way past the lump in his throat. “This- this was all you?"

 

Thawne let out a cold, mirthless chuckle as he approached. His hand lingered on Simon’s chest, mere inches from where he’d once plunged his hand, his smile growing broader as he felt the boy tremble. "Oh, please, I'm not responsible for every bad day in your life. You're not The Flash. The clown has his agenda, I have mine. Consider this a... ‘notice’ on the eve of war."

 

His hand retreated from Simon’s person, as his body coursed with red lightning.

 

"Wait!" Simon pleaded. He couldn’t let him go, not without asking him.

 

Thawne tried to hide his annoyance. Poorly. "Yes?" he asked.

 

"Where you come from, whatever that original timeline was... Was this always supposed to happen?"

 

Thawne exhaled. "Why should it matter?"

 

"Because... I need to know if..."

 

"If your stepmother was always fated to die?"

 

Thawne zoomed behind him, and Simon's stomach lurched. "No, more than that..." he smiled, piecing together Simon's motives. "You want to know if it's your fault."

 

Simon nodded, avoiding eye contact.

 

He chuckled coldly. "Well, I'm sorry to say you severely overestimate my knowledge of your family, and my interest… But I shall tell you this, in my timeline? Before Chronos shattered it, and you tried to patch it up with sticky tape and chewing gum?

 

The Arkham Project never got off the ground."

 

A flash of lightning and Thawne was gone, but not without leaving a lingering, grinning afterimage in his wake. A final taunt to the boy he’d killed.

 

==Gotham Warehouse District==

 

The site of Drury’s first Mothcave

 

Joey christened his new firesword by using its blade to melt through the lock to the warehouse, leading the group into an abandoned loading bay. Jenna took point, kneeling beside a metal hatch and opening her toolbox. She retrieved her favourite power drill and unscrewed the set of four bolts. Next, Gar leaned in, helping her lift the heavy hatch aside. Taking the lead, Chuck grasped the end of his torch and walked down the steps, uncovering a sparse basement below. He ripped a sheet down and revealed a large mirror. He looked to Axel for confirmation, then chapped rhythmically on the glass. At first, nothing happened, then a dishevelled looking man with scruffy orange hair stuck his head out of the mirror. "Aye?" he slurred, evidently hungover.

 

"Drury's been taken."

 

"Well dinnae just stand there!" the Scottish man commanded, pulling Chuck through the portal, and re-emerging in a bar in Keystone City. As the Misfits took turns stepping through the mirror, Chuck caught the bar’s costumed inhabitants up to speed.

 

“Yeah, Zoom’s a tough bastard,” Mick Rory nodded, downing a shot of whiskey. “So, unless you lot are carrying secret speedster powers, you’ve no chance.”

 

"Not alone no, but that’s why we're assembling a crack team," Joey proclaimed, his cheeks red.

 

"Och, did somebody say crack?" McCulloch asked, rubbing his running nose.

 

The Misfits stared back uncomfortably.

 

"Ach, ahm just joshing ya,” McCulloch chortled. “But seriously, if ya do ha' any crack, best ye keep it ta yerselves. Ahm tryna get clean."

 

Before the Misfits could offer their support of his sobriety, a blonde woman entered the room, pausing as her amber eyes met Chuck’s. Rory growled protectively.

 

McCulloch grinned. "Och, aye. Lis', this is Chuckie Broon. He's one a' Axel’s dad's pals. Fae tha Misfits"

 

The blonde woman, Lisa, waved back politely, then left the way she came. Rory rose from his stool and followed her out.

 

"You'll have ta forgive Rory,” McCulloch apologised. “He thinks yer aw fookin’ mental. No' me? I ken yer aw fookin' mental. Wit do yous have in mind?"

 

Jenna smirked. "We know a couple guys."

 

~-~

 

"Fame, and fortune?" Paul Booker asked, lowering his pint, wiping away the thick layer of beer foam with the back of his hand. "Sure! Why not!"

 

"But Big Sir has lots of fame and fortune, Mr Major,” the enormous man beside him cooed.

 

"And some of us have a triple mortgage and a boat to pay off!” Booker snapped back.

 

"Big Sir told you that was a bad investment,” Ratchett replied sternly.

 

"Like I'm gonna take financial advice from a gopher that can't count to ten! This- This pays, don't it?" Booker’s eyes squinted at Jenna.

 

==The Broken Arrow. Star City==

 

“-And that’s why we’ll beat Green Arrow once and for all!” the Pinball Wizard proclaimed, making his speech from atop an overturned wine crate.

 

William Tockman sighed as his back pocket began vibrating; he removed his clock-like helmet and picked up his phone. "Clocko, it's Maj. Got another job for you," a familiar voice called out.

 

Clock King looked over at Scimitar, now picking his nose, and Rainbow Archer, in a perpetual state of swallowing saliva and, putting the phone away from his mouth, muttered quietly "Thank God."

The mountain slopes of Swat are a home to all sorts of wildlife including Musk Deer, Wolf, Black Bear, Partridge, Vultures, Redstarts and in the winter Ibex and Snow Leopard descend here.

 

In winter this area will be under snow as it is over 3200 metres above sea level and people move further south down the valley.

  

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swat_District

  

Swat (pronounced [ˈsʋaːt̪], Pashto: سوات) is a valley and an administrative district in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa Province, located close to the Afghan-Pakistan border. It is the upper valley of the Swat River, which rises in the Hindu Kush range. The capital of Swat is Saidu Sharif, but the main town in the Swat valley is Mingora.[1] It was a princely state (see Swat (princely state)) in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa until it was dissolved in 1969. The valley is almost entirely populated by ethnic Gujjar and Pashtuns (Afghans). The language spoken in the valley is Pashto/Pakhto and Gojri. With high mountains, green meadows, and clear lakes, it is a place of great natural beauty and is popular with tourists as "the Switzerland of the region".

  

History

  

Swat has been inhabited for over two thousand years. The first inhabitants were settled in well-planned towns. In 327 BC, Alexander the Great fought his way to odegram and Barikot and stormed their battlements. In Greek accounts these towns have been identified as Ora and Bazira. Around the 2nd century BC, the area was occupied by Buddhists, who were attracted by the peace and serenity of the land. There are many remains that testify to their skills as sculptors and architects. In the beginning of the 8th century AD, Gabari Royal Tajik tribe advanced through Laghman, ningarhar, Dir and invaded Swat, defeating the Buddhists and the Hindus. This war was headed by Sultan Pakhal Gabari and later on by Sultan Behram Gabari Rulers of Kuner Pich and cousin of Rulers of Balkh and Kashmir. Later some Dilazak encrouched tha area and settled among Gabaris, who in turn were ousted by the Yusufzais which was backed by Mughal Badshah Zahiruddin Muhammad Baber, considered the super power in 1519 and 1520. The historical paradox was that the Yusufzais were ousted from Kabul by Mirza Ullegh beg, the uncle of Baber, and killed 600 malak of Yusufzai; the Gabaris helped Yousofzais refugees with a warm welcome and settled them in Bajour Dir and Swat regions. The Yousofzais forgot the generosity of Gabaris and encrouched upon the Gabari state with the plotted help of Zahiruddin Muhammad babar. They Demolished the Gabar-Kot (fortress) in bajour in 1519 and further advanced to the swat and compelled the last Gabari King Sultan Awais Gabari to flee to Upper Dir where he established his rule in,Chitral wakhan,Badakhshan and other upper Oxus. The originator of the present family of Swat was the Muslim saint Abdul Ghafoor, the Akhund of Swat, a Safi Momand of Hazara district, from where he went to Buner territory. He was a pious man and the people respected him so greatly that they called him Akhund Sahib.[2]

 

During the mid-19th century, Muslim tribes were fighting against each other for the possession of Swat Valley. On the intervention of the honourable Akhund Sahib, the killing was stopped, and such was his influence that the chiefs of all tribes unanimously made him the ruler of the valley. Akhund Sahib administrated the valley according to Muslim laws. Peace and tranquility prevailed, and agriculture and trade flourished in the territory. Akhund Sahib had two sons by his wife, who belonged to Nikpi Khel(نیک پی خیل).

 

After the death of Akhund Sahib, the tribal chiefs again started fighting and killing, which continued for years. Eventually the tribal chiefs agreed to give the control of the valley into the hands of the honourable Gul Shahzada Abdul Wadood, the son of Mian Gul Abdul Khaliq, son of Akhund Sahib. The wife of Mian Abdul Wadood was the daughter of Honorable Mirza Afzal-ul-Mulk, the ruler of Chitral. The British by trick put Chitral under the suzerainty of Kashmir. The Chitral ruler gave two horses every year to the Rajia of Kashmir, and the Raja provided Chitral with grain and sugar, etc. Swat thus went under protection of the British.

 

During the rule of Mian Gul Muhammad, Abdul Haq Jehanzeb, the son of Mian Abdul Wadood Khatana, the state acceded to Pakistan in 1947. The present prince, Muhammad Aurzngzeb Khan, son of Jahanzeb, married the daughter of Field Marshal Mohammad Ayub Khan in 1955. Thus by intermarriages with the other castes, the family became a branch of the imperial Gujjars i.e., the Royal family of Swat valley which belongs to the Gujjar family which laid down the foundation of Swat kingdom. Jahanzeb started a Degree College at Saidu Sahrif, the capital of the State, and four High Schools at Mingora, Chakesar, Matta and Dagar. Fourteen middle schools, twenty-eight lower middle schools, and fifty-six primary schools were established. A girls high school and high class religious schools were established at Saidu Sharif. At all the schools, the poor students were granted scholarships. The state was an exemplary state during British rule. They also have a firm stand in politics of Pakistan. The current Prince Aurangzeb Khan was also Governor of Baluchistan.

  

Buddhist heritage of Swat

  

Although it is generally accepted that Tantric Buddhism first developed in Swat under King Indrabhuti, there is an old and well-known scholarly dispute as to whether Uddiyana was in the Swat valley, Orissa or some other place. Padmasambhava (flourished eighth century AD), also called Guru Rimpoche, Tibetan Slob-dpon (teacher), or Padma ‘byung-gnas (lotus born) legendary Indian Buddhist mystic who introduced Tantric Buddhism to Tibet and is credited with establishing the first buddhist monastery there.According to tradition, Padmasambhava was native to Udyana (now Swat in Pakistan).[3] Padmasambhava was the son of Indrabhuti, king of Swat in the early eighth century AD. One of the original Siddhas, Indrabhuti flourished in the early eighth century AD and was the king of Uddiyana in the Kabul valley. His son Padmasambhava is revered as the second Buddha in Tibet. Indrabhuti's sister, Lakshminkaradevi, was also an accomplished siddha of the 9th century AD.[4] Ancient Gandhara, the valley of Pekhawar, with the adjacent hilly regions of Swat and Buner, Dir and Bajaur was one of the earliest centers of Buddhist religion and culture following the reign of the Mauryan emperor Ashoka, in the third century BC. The name Gandhara first occurs in the Rigveda which is usually identified with the region[5]

  

Buddha heritage in the Swat Valley

  

The Swat museum has acquired footprints of the Buddha, which were originally placed for devotion in the sacred Swat valley. When the Buddha ascended, relics (personal items, body parts, ashes etc.) were distributed to seven kings, who built stupas over them for veneration.

  

The Harmarajika stupa (Taxila) and Butkarha (Swat) stupa at Jamal Garha were among the earliest Gandhara stupas. These were erected on the orders of King Ashoka and contained the genuine relics of the historic Buddha.[citation needed]

 

The Gandhara school is credited with the first representations of the Buddha in human form, rather symbolically as the wheel of the law, the tree, etc.[citation needed]

 

As Buddhist art developed and spread outside Gandhara, Gandharan styles were imitated. In China the Gandhara style was imitated in bronze images, with gradual changes in the features of these images over the passage of time. Swat, the land of romance and beauty, is celebrated throughout the Buddhist world as the holy land of Buddhist learning and piety. Swat was a popular destination for Buddhist pilgrims. Buddhist tradition holds that Buddha himself came to Swat during his incarnation as Gautama Buddha and preached to the people here.

 

It is said[by whom?] that the Swat valley was filled with fourteen hundred imposing and beautiful stupas and monasteries, which housed as many as 6,000 gold images of the Buddhist pantheon for worship and education. Archaeologists now know of more than 400 Buddhist sites covering an area of 160 km2 in Swat valley alone. Among the important excavations of Buddhist sites in Swat an important one is Butkarha-I, containing original relics of the Buddha. A stone statue of Buddha, is still there in the village Ghalegay.[citation needed] There is also a big stupa in Mohallah Singardar Ghalegay

  

Hindu Shahi Rulers and Sanskrit

  

Swat was ruled by the Hindu Shahi dynasty who have built an extensive array of temples and other architectural buildings now in ruins. Sanskrit may have been the lingua franca of the Swatis.[

  

Hindu Shahi rulers built fortresses to guard and tax the commerce through this area. Their ruins can be seen in the hills of Swat: at Malakand pass at Swat’s southern entrance

  

Advent of Islam by Mahmud of Ghazni

  

At the end of the Mauryan period (324-185 BC) Buddhism spread in the whole Swat valley, which became a very famous center of Buddhist religion.[8]

 

After a Buddhist phase the Hindu religion reasserted itself, so that at the time of the Muslim conquest (1000 AD) the population was solidly Hindu.[8]

  

In 1023 Mahmood of Ghazni attacked Swat and crushed the last Buddhist King, Raja Gira in battle. The invasion of Mahmood of Ghazni is of special importance because of the introduction of Islam as well as changing the Chronology.

  

Arrival Of Yousafzais

  

The first Muslim arrivals in Swat were Pakhtun Dilazak tribes from south-east Afghanistan. These were later ousted by Swati Pakhtuns, who were succeeded in the sixteenth century by Yusufzai Pakhtuns. Both groups of Pakhtuns came from the Kandahar and Kabul valley

  

Geography

  

The valley of Swat is situated in the north of N.W.F.P, 35° North Latitude and 72° and 30° East Longitude, and is enclosed by the sky-high mountains.

 

Chitral and Gilgit are situated in the north, Dir in the west, and Mardan in the south, while Indus separates it from Hazara in the east. Physical Features: Swat can be divided into two physical regions:

 

Mountainous Ranges.

Plains.

  

Mountainous Ranges

  

As mentioned above, Swat is lying in the lap of Mountainous Ranges, which are the offshoots of Hindukush, so the larger part of Swat is covered with high mountains and hills, the crests of which is hidden by everlasting snow. Though these gigantic Ranges run irregularly: some to the west while the others to the east, but the general direction is North-South. These ranges enclose small but very enchanting valleys.

 

Eastern Ranges: In Kohistan-e-Swat the chief knot of eastern ranges is Mankial. Its northern branches separate Kohistan-e-Swat from Abasin Kohistan. These ranges form a barrier between Gilgit and Swat, and between Chitral and Swat. The southern extension of Mankial ranges reaches proper Swat. There they join Shangla ranges. Shangla ranges separate proper Swat from Shangla Par area (Shangla Par district). In Shangla district, there are Karora Ranges, which separate Puran from Kanra and Ghurband. The continuation of Shangla ranges joins Dwasaray. On the one hand Dwasaray separates lower Swat from Puran, on the other, it set aside the Buner from Puran. Now the general Direction of the ranges turns westward. Here it is called Elum. Elum Ranges is a big wall between the proper Swat and Buner. The Elum ranges at last join mountains of Malakand.

  

The Western Ranges: Western ranges start from the mountain and hills of Gabral, Kohistan-e-Swat. It joins the hills of Kundal (Utror). There these ranges meet Daral Ranges. These ranges form a border with Dir district. They run west ward and are named according to the locality. For example Lalko ranges Manrai and Chaprai etc. at last they join the hills of Adenzee and Shamozee. Manrai ranges send off some off shoots southward. They the hills separate Arnoyay valley from the widest valley of Nekpikheil valley.

  

Plains

  

Actually the valley of Swat starts from the foothill of Malakand but we are concerned with portion from Landakay to Gabral (Gulabad), the area within the administrative boundaries of Swat. The length of the valley from Landakay to Gabral is 91 miles. Two narrow strips of plains run along the banks of Swat River from Landakay to Madyan. Beyond Madyan in Kohistan-e-Swat, the plan is too little to be mentioned. So for as the width concerns, it is not similar, it varies from place to place. We can say that the average width is 5 miles. The widest portion of the valley is between Barikot and khwaza khela. The widest view point and the charming sight where a major portion of the valley is seen is at Gulibagh on main road, which leads to Madyan. There are some subsidiary valleys, which help to increase the width of the main valley. These subsidiary valleys are called "Daras". A Dara a narrow passage between mountains, and sometimes, the upper course of a river is also called Dara. If we imagine the main valley as a stem of a tree the subsidiary valleys form its branches. Swat River and its tributaries drain Swat. There fore, the whole valley is the outcome of running water. This flowing water cuts the upper courses deeply, and flows the load of washed away materials. As the gradient is greater in the upper course so the erosion is on large scale, particularly in the summer rains, when all the rivers are in flood. The big boulders and stones are rolled, which causes more destruction in the upper courses. When the loaded water reaches to the areas of low gradient, the heavier materials are deposited. The deposition takes place according to the slope, generally, we observe, that the upper course is made up of big boulders, the middle course is of relatively small stones, pebbles, and debris, while the lower course is made of fine clay. Anyhow, the whole plain of Swat valley is strewn by the running water, and is made up of fine alluvial soil.

  

Demographics

  

The population at the 1981 Census was 715,938, which had risen to 1,257,602 at the next Census in 1998. The main language of the area is Pakhto. The people of Swat are mainly Pakhtuns,(Afghans) Yusufzais, Akhund Khel Miangan (Syed), Chitralis, Kohistan is, Gurjar (Gujar or Gurjar is the major tribe of the district; its people are divided in different clans like Khatana, Bajarh, Chichi, Ahir, Chuhan, Pamra, Gangal etc. are the main subtribe of the Gurjar family of Swat), Akhund khel Yousafzai, Nooristani, and Awans. Most probably they are originated from the same tribe that roamed around the great trans-Himalayan mountain ranges thousands of years before, and now remained in some isolated pockets of the Himalayan mountain ranges.[citation needed]

 

The Dardic people of the Kalam region in northern Swat are known as Kohistan is and speak the Torwali and Kalami languages. There are also some Khowar speakers in the Kalam region. This is because before Kalam came under the rule of Swat, it was a regional tributary to Chitral. The Kalamis paid a tribute of mountain ponies to the Mehtar of Chitral every year.

  

Tourist attractions

  

Marghazar

  

Marghazar 16 km away from Saidu Sharif is famous for its “Sufed Mahal” the white marble palace of the former Wali (Ruler) of Swat.

  

Malam Jabba

  

Malam Jabba (also Maalam Jabba, Urdu: مالم جبہ) is a Hill Station in the Karakoram mountain range nearly 40 km from Saidu Sharif in Swat Valley, Peshawar, Pakistan. It is 314 km from Islamabad and 51 km from Saidu Sharif Airport.Malam Jabba is home to the largest ski resort in Pakistan. The Malam Jabba Ski Resort, owned by the Pakistani Tourism Development Corporation, had a ski slope of about 800m with the highest point of the slope 2804 m (9200 ft) above sea level. Malam Jabba Ski Resort was the joint effort of the Pakistan government with its Austrian counterpart. The resort was equipped with modern facilities including roller/ice-skating rinks, chair lifts, skiing platforms, telephones and snow clearing equipment.

  

Swat Museum

  

Swat Museum is on the east side of the street, halfway between Mingora and Saidu. Japanese aid has given a facelift to its seven galleries which now contain an excellent collection of Gandhara sculptures taken from some of the Buddhist sites in Swat, rearranged and labelled to illustrate the Buddha's life story. Terracotta figurines and utensils, beads, precious stones, coins, weapons and various metal objects illustrate daily life in Gandhara. The ethnographic section displays the finest examples of local embroidery, carved wood and tribal jewellery. For the last three years the museum is occupied by Pakistan army and it is not known when they would be leaving it.

  

Miandam

  

Miandam is a small summer resort ten kilometres (six miles) up a steep side valley and 56 kilometers (35 mi) from Saidu Sharif, making it an hour's drive. The metaled road passes small villages stacked up the hillside, the roofs of one row of houses forming the street for the row of houses above. Tiny terraced fields march up the hillside right to the top. Miandam is a good place for walkers. Paths follow the stream, past houses with behives set into the walls and good-luck charms whitewashed around the doors. In the graveyards are carved wooden grave posts with floral designs, like those used by Buddhists 1,000 years ago.

  

Madyan

  

By the time you reach this small town at 1320 m and about 60 km from Mingora, the mountains have closed in and the valley is almost snug. Here one senses why Swat is so popular among the tourists. There are a lot of embroidered shawls in the Bazars of Madyan.At 1,321 metres (4,335 feet) above sea level,but it is a larger town and has many hotels in all price ranges and some good tourist shopping. Antique and modern shawls, traditional embroidery, tribal jewellery, carved wood and antique or reproduced coins are sold along the main street. This is the last Swati village, offering interesting two-and three-day walks up to the mountain villages... ask in the bazaar in Muambar Khan's shop for a guide. North of Madyan is Swat Kohistan where walking is not recommended without an armed guard. The central mosque at Madyan has carved wooden pillars with elegant scroll capitals, and its mud-plastered west wall is covered with relief designs in floral motifs. Both bespeak the Swati's love of decoration.[10]

  

Behrain

  

A quarter of an hour past Madyan, the road squeezes through Behrain. Tourists stop to shop or have a look around for beautiful carved wood chairs and tables and other handicrafts. Behrainis are a mix of Pashtuns and Kohistanis. Behrain is ten kilometres north of Madyan and only slightly higher, at about 1,400 metres (4,500 feet). It is another popular riverside tourist resort, with bazaars worth exploring for their handicrafts. Some of the houses have carved wooden doors, pillars and balconies. These show a remarkable variety of decorative motifs, including floral scrolls and bands of ornamental diaper patterns almost identical to those seen on Buddhist shrines and quite different from the usual Muslim designs.

  

Kalam

  

2070 m high and 100 km from Mingora, it was the centre of an independent state in the 19th century. It was later taken by Chitral then given to Swat after partition.Kalam, 29 kilometres (18 mi) from Bahrain and about 2,000 metres (6,800 feet) above sea level, the valley opens out, providing rooms for a small but fertile plateau above the river. In Kalam the Ushu and Utrot rivers join to form the Swat river. Here, the metalled road ends and shingle road leads to the Ushu and Utrot valleys. From Matiltan one gets a breath-taking view of the snow-capped Mount Falaksir 5918 metres (19,415 ft.), and another unnamed peak 6096 metres (20,000 ft.) high.

  

Usho

  

Usho 3 km from Kalam Valley and 117 km from Saidu Sharif

  

Utror

  

Utror 16 km from Kalam Valley and 120 km from Saidu Sharif. Utror valley is situated between 35° 20′ to 35° 48′ N latitudes and 72° 12′ and 72° 32′ E longitudes. The population of Utror is 6888 and the area of the valley is about 47400 hectares. Utror valley is surrounded by Gabral and Bhan valleys on the east, upper Dir district on the west, Kalam valley on the south and Gabral valley on the north. It is 15 km from Kalam, the centre of Swat Kohistan. The altitude of the valley at Utror proper is 2300 meters and reaches to 2900 meters at Kandol Lake.

  

Ghabral

  

Gabral valley lies between 35° 20′ to 35° 48′ N latitudes and 72° 12′ and 72° 32′ E longitudes over an area of about 38733 hectares. The population of Gabral is 3238. The valley is surrounded by Chitral District in the north, Utror valley in the south and south west, upper Dir district in the west and Bhan and Mahodand valleys in the east. It is 5 km distant from Utror proper and 20 km from Kalam. The altitude of the valley ranges from 2580 metres at Baila to 5160 metres at Karkaray Lake top.In Utror and Gabral, 44 medicinal plants are collected during the months of May, June, July and August. Only 14 of them are traded to National and International markets while the rest are used locally. A survey by Pakistan Forest Institute concludes that 75 crude herbal drugs are extensively exported and more than 200 are locally traded in Pakistan. Indigenous people, who have no training in sustainable harvesting, post-harvesting care and storing of medicinal plants, collect 85 percent of these crude herbs from the wild.

  

Kundol Lake, Swat valley

  

Mahudan

  

Mahodand valley, which lies in the North of Kalam, is famous not only among nature lovers, and escapists but also the exotic trout fish hunters. The valley can be accessed through an un-metalled road from Kalam in a four by four (4x4) vehicle. The road is bumpy and tricky but the surrounding landscapes engrosses you so severely that you wish for more and expect to discover new panoramas. The small hamlets that are scattered in the mountains and the bellowing smoke that spirals into the sky from the houses are some, which lives in the memory forever. Swat River, which is born here, is shackled by the tall mountains, which has turned its water into a roaring monster trying to release itself from its fetters, but there are some places where the river is calm and silent without showing any sign of rebellion.

  

Pari (Khapiro) lake

  

Pari Lake is one of the lakes in Swat region which is located at a very high altitude in the foot of the tallest peak in the range with a considerable depth. The name Pari or Khapiro is given to the lake due to the widespread belief that the lake is the abode of fairies where they live and bathe in the cool, pure and clear water of the lake. It is located to North-east of Utror valley and can be accessed only by trekking. Trekking to the lake needs endurance and love for nature as the trail is exasperating as well as dangerous therefore, utmost care should be taken while trekking on the narrow bends and turns leading to the lake. The lake is accessible from both Izmis and Kundal lakes. Two ascending tracks lead to this lake from Kundal and Izmis lakes taking almost five hours to reach this roof top of Swat. The trail is very steep from both sides but the surrounding beauty and eye-cooling green pastures and exotic flowers not only boost the trekker’s stamina but compel him to explore further.

  

Kundol Lake

  

The pastoral valley of Swat has abundance of precious resorts of nature where one can find solace and respite from the never-ending struggle of life. Kundal or Kandolo Lake is one such place here upon which the Maestro of nature has spent extra time and effort to paint. Kundal Lake is situated in the north of Utror valley. One can easily access it from Kalam via Utror from where a link road ends in a green valley called Ladu in the foothills of the lake. You can either hike to Ladu from Utror or take a four-wheeler to ease and minimize your journey. It consumes almost two hours to reach the beautiful valley of Ladu. For the adventurous kind, a walk in the romantic valley will unravel several new mysteries. The people who take temporary residency over here during summer plow the open land and harvest potatoes and turnips, which are famous all over the country for its exotic taste. There is also a small hut in Ladu where you can take tea and get something for eating. From Ladu it takes almost four hours to reach the lake. Some locals can guide you and even take your luggage if properly paid. The mountains around this small valley are covered with tall cedar and pine trees and meandered by different streams and torrents. The people are friendly and provide you guidance if required.

  

Bashigram Lake

  

Bashigram Lake is situated to the east of Bashigram valley near Madyan. The road to this valley is partly metaled and can be plied by a four by four or any ordinary vehicle. It takes almost forty to fifty minutes to reach this picturesque valley inhibited by simple and hospitable folk. From here, trekking of four to five hours, depending on professionalism and enthusiasm of the trekkers lands you in the realm of a serene and enchanting lake of Bashigram.

  

Spin Khwar (White Stream) Lake

  

Spin Khwar is a beautiful lake hidden in the lap of mountains towards the north of Kundal Lake and east of Utror valley. The name Spin Khwar has a clear significance as a small white stream in the east flows down to the lake from the surrounding mountains and is a major source of water for the lake. The lake is accessible through two tracks, one from Kundal and the other from Ladu valley. The track from Ladu is comparatively easy to walk and less tiring while the track from Kundal is not only difficult but alarmingly dangerous although it is short and links Kundal and Spin Khwar. Its steepness and dangerous bends needs an experienced trekker and unending physical strength. The grazers in the area have built small huts and a mosque where one can stay but a personal tent is more recommendable as these huts are in a poor condition due to lack of maintenance.

  

Daral Lake

  

Daral lake is situated to the northeast of Sidgai Lake and can be accessed through Saidgai after two three hours rigorous trekking. The trail to Daral is full of fun and amusement because it runs over sky touching heights of the mountains provides spectacular sights and panoramas for the beauty hungry eyes of nature lovers. A close look towards the south will reveal the long and winding sellouts of river Swat in the horizon.After walking and trekking for about two and a half hours on bare and naked mountains, the trail start descending towards the East where Daral Lake is located.

  

Administration

  

The region has gone through considerable changes over the last few years since the dissolution of the princely state in 1969. Members of the former Royal family have since on occasion been elected to represent the area in the Provincial Assembly and National Assembly.

  

Provincial & national politics

  

The region elects two male members of the National Assembly of Pakistan (MNAs), one female MNA, seven male members of the Provincial Assembly of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (MPAs)[11] and two female MPAs. In the 2002 National and Provincial elections, the Muttahida Majlis-e-Amal, an alliance of religious political parties, won all the seats amidst a wave of anti-Americanism that spread after the United States' invasion of Afghanistan.

  

Wild Life: In early days when the shrubs and bushes covered slopes and foothill areas,hares, porcupine, fox, jackal, wolf, pigs, and hyenas were in large number. Now the need for fuels decreased the scrubs and trees, so these animals have decreased considerably. In the forests,monkeys are often found. Among the birds: hawks, eagles, falcons are found in the high mountains, while pheasants, partridges, hoopoes, larks, sparrows, quails, doves, swallows, starlings, nightingales, crows, kites, vultures, owls, bates are the common birds.

  

Bees: The bees were kept in Swat commonly, and the pure honey of was famous all over the country. But now the moveable beehives have affected the Swat locally reared bees greatly. Now, the local good honey is found in remote areas only, while the honey of moveable hives is available everywhere in low prices.

  

Fisheries: There is a large fishery in Madyan. In this fishery the trout fish are being reared. In Kohistan-e-Swat there are some private fisheries too. In Buner the fish were being reared in Barandu, Dagar. Moreover the Swat River serves as a permanent fishery throughout the year while the tributaries of it are used for fishing only in spring season.

  

Mineral Resources: Mines' production plays an important role in the economy of a country, particularly in the regions where they exist, because, the local people get the opportunities to labor in, and earn their livelihood. But the Swati mines have no importance for the local people in this respect. It is necessary, however, to mention what they are, and where do they exist. Swat is rich in mineral wealth, but the discovered commodities are a few. Among them, the china clay stands first; others are marble stone, and emerald.

  

China Clay: The china clay exists at “Kathyar” in Nekpikheil (on the road that leads to Shahderai at a distance of 15 miles from Mingora). This is the largest mine, having the finest quality, of China clay in Pakistan. The clay is mined here, and is transported to Shaidu in Nawshehra (which is at a distance of around 100 miles from Swat). It is not so advantageous for the local people, because they have no opportunity to work in the complex.

  

Soap Clay: The mine of soap clay has been discovered recently between Alpurai and Kanra on the side of Gilgit Road (Shahrah-e-Resham). It is spread in a vast area.

  

Marbles: The marbles are dug near Charbagh, Murghuzar, and Barikot in the proper valley of Swat, and in Buner, it is mined in Thor Warsak, Bampokha, and Sawawai. Moreover, there is a great expectation of iron ores, which will be discovered in near future.

  

Emerald: The finest quality of emerald is produced in Swat. Its Color and transparency is unique. It is the best in world. It is exported to the international markets: There is an export potential of 500 million dollars in this sector, provided it is excavated and cut as per international standards. Before the absorption of Swat in Pakistan, the emeralds of Swat were better in quality, and greater in quantity. But since then it is said that the quantity of production is little, and the quality devalued.

  

Industries:

  

Handicrafts: The handicrafts of Swat are very famous. When a tourist visits Swat, he accumulates bundles of these articles as gifts for his friends. All of the crafts prepared here are interesting, especially, the following are very charming.

  

Woolen Blankets: These blankets are known as "Sharai". They are prepared of wool obtained from the local sheep. The weight of a medium size blanket is four kilos. This is the best source of defense from the severity of winter. It is woven in Dewlai, Kala Kalay, Salampur, Puran, and Ghurband. These villages prepare the items on commercial scale.

  

Shawl: Shawl is a younger brother of Sharai, as it is also a woolen sheet, but light in weight. Sometimes, cotton is also mixed in its texture. It is beautifully fringed, and is commonly used by ladies. The tourists like it too much. Shawls are prepared in Salampur and Dewlai "Jolabad" on commercial bases.

  

Rugs: The next important thing, made of local fleece with laborious work, is rug. This is prepared in the villages by pressing wool with the help of water spray. After preparation, it is beautified with the usage of various colors. Rugs are the traditional carpets of shepherds, but now are used everywhere.

  

Embroidery: The embroidery of Swat is very famous, and is liked everywhere in Pakistan, as well as by the out-comers. This art is an indoor hobby of the ladies in Swat. Particularly in Nekpikheil, this is so common that very younger girls might also be seen having needlework in their hands. There are three types of embroidery:

  

Panrae or Panhey: Panrey or Panrhey is the old fashion of shoes, still used by the old persons in Swat. They are made in Swat with the simply tanned leather. The cobblers have great skill in the formation of ladies shoes with golden lace work. Similarly, the sandals with golden lace work are also made. The cobblers of Shahderai had great skill in this field. It is now archaic.

  

Shkor: A Shkor is a pot in which chapatis (plate bread used in India and Pakistan) are kept. The ordinary Shkors are prepared everywhere in Swat, but a special design is made in Puran and Chagharzee (These Shkors are high-based pots made of wheat stalks with laborious art, not easily available in bazaar).

  

Furniture: Furniture of various styles is made in the district. The cots, tables, chairs, dressing tables, cradles of more advanced types, etc. are furnished in Mingora, and in nearly all large villages.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swat_District

  

Swat (pronounced [ˈsʋaːt̪], Pashto: سوات) is a valley and an administrative district in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa Province, located close to the Afghan-Pakistan border. It is the upper valley of the Swat River, which rises in the Hindu Kush range. The capital of Swat is Saidu Sharif, but the main town in the Swat valley is Mingora.[1] It was a princely state (see Swat (princely state)) in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa until it was dissolved in 1969. The valley is almost entirely populated by ethnic Gujjar and Pashtuns (Afghans). The language spoken in the valley is Pashto/Pakhto and Gojri. With high mountains, green meadows, and clear lakes, it is a place of great natural beauty and is popular with tourists as "the Switzerland of the region".

  

History

  

Swat has been inhabited for over two thousand years. The first inhabitants were settled in well-planned towns. In 327 BC, Alexander the Great fought his way to odegram and Barikot and stormed their battlements. In Greek accounts these towns have been identified as Ora and Bazira. Around the 2nd century BC, the area was occupied by Buddhists, who were attracted by the peace and serenity of the land. There are many remains that testify to their skills as sculptors and architects. In the beginning of the 8th century AD, Gabari Royal Tajik tribe advanced through Laghman, ningarhar, Dir and invaded Swat, defeating the Buddhists and the Hindus. This war was headed by Sultan Pakhal Gabari and later on by Sultan Behram Gabari Rulers of Kuner Pich and cousin of Rulers of Balkh and Kashmir. Later some Dilazak encrouched tha area and settled among Gabaris, who in turn were ousted by the Yusufzais which was backed by Mughal Badshah Zahiruddin Muhammad Baber, considered the super power in 1519 and 1520. The historical paradox was that the Yusufzais were ousted from Kabul by Mirza Ullegh beg, the uncle of Baber, and killed 600 malak of Yusufzai; the Gabaris helped Yousofzais refugees with a warm welcome and settled them in Bajour Dir and Swat regions. The Yousofzais forgot the generosity of Gabaris and encrouched upon the Gabari state with the plotted help of Zahiruddin Muhammad babar. They Demolished the Gabar-Kot (fortress) in bajour in 1519 and further advanced to the swat and compelled the last Gabari King Sultan Awais Gabari to flee to Upper Dir where he established his rule in,Chitral wakhan,Badakhshan and other upper Oxus. The originator of the present family of Swat was the Muslim saint Abdul Ghafoor, the Akhund of Swat, a Safi Momand of Hazara district, from where he went to Buner territory. He was a pious man and the people respected him so greatly that they called him Akhund Sahib.[2]

 

During the mid-19th century, Muslim tribes were fighting against each other for the possession of Swat Valley. On the intervention of the honourable Akhund Sahib, the killing was stopped, and such was his influence that the chiefs of all tribes unanimously made him the ruler of the valley. Akhund Sahib administrated the valley according to Muslim laws. Peace and tranquility prevailed, and agriculture and trade flourished in the territory. Akhund Sahib had two sons by his wife, who belonged to Nikpi Khel(نیک پی خیل).

 

After the death of Akhund Sahib, the tribal chiefs again started fighting and killing, which continued for years. Eventually the tribal chiefs agreed to give the control of the valley into the hands of the honourable Gul Shahzada Abdul Wadood, the son of Mian Gul Abdul Khaliq, son of Akhund Sahib. The wife of Mian Abdul Wadood was the daughter of Honorable Mirza Afzal-ul-Mulk, the ruler of Chitral. The British by trick put Chitral under the suzerainty of Kashmir. The Chitral ruler gave two horses every year to the Rajia of Kashmir, and the Raja provided Chitral with grain and sugar, etc. Swat thus went under protection of the British.

 

During the rule of Mian Gul Muhammad, Abdul Haq Jehanzeb, the son of Mian Abdul Wadood Khatana, the state acceded to Pakistan in 1947. The present prince, Muhammad Aurzngzeb Khan, son of Jahanzeb, married the daughter of Field Marshal Mohammad Ayub Khan in 1955. Thus by intermarriages with the other castes, the family became a branch of the imperial Gujjars i.e., the Royal family of Swat valley which belongs to the Gujjar family which laid down the foundation of Swat kingdom. Jahanzeb started a Degree College at Saidu Sahrif, the capital of the State, and four High Schools at Mingora, Chakesar, Matta and Dagar. Fourteen middle schools, twenty-eight lower middle schools, and fifty-six primary schools were established. A girls high school and high class religious schools were established at Saidu Sharif. At all the schools, the poor students were granted scholarships. The state was an exemplary state during British rule. They also have a firm stand in politics of Pakistan. The current Prince Aurangzeb Khan was also Governor of Baluchistan.

  

Buddhist heritage of Swat

  

Although it is generally accepted that Tantric Buddhism first developed in Swat under King Indrabhuti, there is an old and well-known scholarly dispute as to whether Uddiyana was in the Swat valley, Orissa or some other place. Padmasambhava (flourished eighth century AD), also called Guru Rimpoche, Tibetan Slob-dpon (teacher), or Padma ‘byung-gnas (lotus born) legendary Indian Buddhist mystic who introduced Tantric Buddhism to Tibet and is credited with establishing the first buddhist monastery there.According to tradition, Padmasambhava was native to Udyana (now Swat in Pakistan).[3] Padmasambhava was the son of Indrabhuti, king of Swat in the early eighth century AD. One of the original Siddhas, Indrabhuti flourished in the early eighth century AD and was the king of Uddiyana in the Kabul valley. His son Padmasambhava is revered as the second Buddha in Tibet. Indrabhuti's sister, Lakshminkaradevi, was also an accomplished siddha of the 9th century AD.[4] Ancient Gandhara, the valley of Pekhawar, with the adjacent hilly regions of Swat and Buner, Dir and Bajaur was one of the earliest centers of Buddhist religion and culture following the reign of the Mauryan emperor Ashoka, in the third century BC. The name Gandhara first occurs in the Rigveda which is usually identified with the region[5]

  

Buddha heritage in the Swat Valley

  

The Swat museum has acquired footprints of the Buddha, which were originally placed for devotion in the sacred Swat valley. When the Buddha ascended, relics (personal items, body parts, ashes etc.) were distributed to seven kings, who built stupas over them for veneration.

  

The Harmarajika stupa (Taxila) and Butkarha (Swat) stupa at Jamal Garha were among the earliest Gandhara stupas. These were erected on the orders of King Ashoka and contained the genuine relics of the historic Buddha.[citation needed]

 

The Gandhara school is credited with the first representations of the Buddha in human form, rather symbolically as the wheel of the law, the tree, etc.[citation needed]

 

As Buddhist art developed and spread outside Gandhara, Gandharan styles were imitated. In China the Gandhara style was imitated in bronze images, with gradual changes in the features of these images over the passage of time. Swat, the land of romance and beauty, is celebrated throughout the Buddhist world as the holy land of Buddhist learning and piety. Swat was a popular destination for Buddhist pilgrims. Buddhist tradition holds that Buddha himself came to Swat during his incarnation as Gautama Buddha and preached to the people here.

 

It is said[by whom?] that the Swat valley was filled with fourteen hundred imposing and beautiful stupas and monasteries, which housed as many as 6,000 gold images of the Buddhist pantheon for worship and education. Archaeologists now know of more than 400 Buddhist sites covering an area of 160 km2 in Swat valley alone. Among the important excavations of Buddhist sites in Swat an important one is Butkarha-I, containing original relics of the Buddha. A stone statue of Buddha, is still there in the village Ghalegay.[citation needed] There is also a big stupa in Mohallah Singardar Ghalegay

  

Hindu Shahi Rulers and Sanskrit

  

Swat was ruled by the Hindu Shahi dynasty who have built an extensive array of temples and other architectural buildings now in ruins. Sanskrit may have been the lingua franca of the Swatis.[

  

Hindu Shahi rulers built fortresses to guard and tax the commerce through this area. Their ruins can be seen in the hills of Swat: at Malakand pass at Swat’s southern entrance

  

Advent of Islam by Mahmud of Ghazni

  

At the end of the Mauryan period (324-185 BC) Buddhism spread in the whole Swat valley, which became a very famous center of Buddhist religion.[8]

 

After a Buddhist phase the Hindu religion reasserted itself, so that at the time of the Muslim conquest (1000 AD) the population was solidly Hindu.[8]

  

In 1023 Mahmood of Ghazni attacked Swat and crushed the last Buddhist King, Raja Gira in battle. The invasion of Mahmood of Ghazni is of special importance because of the introduction of Islam as well as changing the Chronology.

  

Arrival Of Yousafzais

  

The first Muslim arrivals in Swat were Pakhtun Dilazak tribes from south-east Afghanistan. These were later ousted by Swati Pakhtuns, who were succeeded in the sixteenth century by Yusufzai Pakhtuns. Both groups of Pakhtuns came from the Kandahar and Kabul valley

  

Geography

  

The valley of Swat is situated in the north of N.W.F.P, 35° North Latitude and 72° and 30° East Longitude, and is enclosed by the sky-high mountains.

 

Chitral and Gilgit are situated in the north, Dir in the west, and Mardan in the south, while Indus separates it from Hazara in the east. Physical Features: Swat can be divided into two physical regions:

 

Mountainous Ranges.

Plains.

  

Mountainous Ranges

  

As mentioned above, Swat is lying in the lap of Mountainous Ranges, which are the offshoots of Hindukush, so the larger part of Swat is covered with high mountains and hills, the crests of which is hidden by everlasting snow. Though these gigantic Ranges run irregularly: some to the west while the others to the east, but the general direction is North-South. These ranges enclose small but very enchanting valleys.

 

Eastern Ranges: In Kohistan-e-Swat the chief knot of eastern ranges is Mankial. Its northern branches separate Kohistan-e-Swat from Abasin Kohistan. These ranges form a barrier between Gilgit and Swat, and between Chitral and Swat. The southern extension of Mankial ranges reaches proper Swat. There they join Shangla ranges. Shangla ranges separate proper Swat from Shangla Par area (Shangla Par district). In Shangla district, there are Karora Ranges, which separate Puran from Kanra and Ghurband. The continuation of Shangla ranges joins Dwasaray. On the one hand Dwasaray separates lower Swat from Puran, on the other, it set aside the Buner from Puran. Now the general Direction of the ranges turns westward. Here it is called Elum. Elum Ranges is a big wall between the proper Swat and Buner. The Elum ranges at last join mountains of Malakand.

  

The Western Ranges: Western ranges start from the mountain and hills of Gabral, Kohistan-e-Swat. It joins the hills of Kundal (Utror). There these ranges meet Daral Ranges. These ranges form a border with Dir district. They run west ward and are named according to the locality. For example Lalko ranges Manrai and Chaprai etc. at last they join the hills of Adenzee and Shamozee. Manrai ranges send off some off shoots southward. They the hills separate Arnoyay valley from the widest valley of Nekpikheil valley.

  

Plains

  

Actually the valley of Swat starts from the foothill of Malakand but we are concerned with portion from Landakay to Gabral (Gulabad), the area within the administrative boundaries of Swat. The length of the valley from Landakay to Gabral is 91 miles. Two narrow strips of plains run along the banks of Swat River from Landakay to Madyan. Beyond Madyan in Kohistan-e-Swat, the plan is too little to be mentioned. So for as the width concerns, it is not similar, it varies from place to place. We can say that the average width is 5 miles. The widest portion of the valley is between Barikot and khwaza khela. The widest view point and the charming sight where a major portion of the valley is seen is at Gulibagh on main road, which leads to Madyan. There are some subsidiary valleys, which help to increase the width of the main valley. These subsidiary valleys are called "Daras". A Dara a narrow passage between mountains, and sometimes, the upper course of a river is also called Dara. If we imagine the main valley as a stem of a tree the subsidiary valleys form its branches. Swat River and its tributaries drain Swat. There fore, the whole valley is the outcome of running water. This flowing water cuts the upper courses deeply, and flows the load of washed away materials. As the gradient is greater in the upper course so the erosion is on large scale, particularly in the summer rains, when all the rivers are in flood. The big boulders and stones are rolled, which causes more destruction in the upper courses. When the loaded water reaches to the areas of low gradient, the heavier materials are deposited. The deposition takes place according to the slope, generally, we observe, that the upper course is made up of big boulders, the middle course is of relatively small stones, pebbles, and debris, while the lower course is made of fine clay. Anyhow, the whole plain of Swat valley is strewn by the running water, and is made up of fine alluvial soil.

  

Demographics

  

The population at the 1981 Census was 715,938, which had risen to 1,257,602 at the next Census in 1998. The main language of the area is Pakhto. The people of Swat are mainly Pakhtuns,(Afghans) Yusufzais, Akhund Khel Miangan (Syed), Chitralis, Kohistan is, Gurjar (Gujar or Gurjar is the major tribe of the district; its people are divided in different clans like Khatana, Bajarh, Chichi, Ahir, Chuhan, Pamra, Gangal etc. are the main subtribe of the Gurjar family of Swat), Akhund khel Yousafzai, Nooristani, and Awans. Most probably they are originated from the same tribe that roamed around the great trans-Himalayan mountain ranges thousands of years before, and now remained in some isolated pockets of the Himalayan mountain ranges.[citation needed]

 

The Dardic people of the Kalam region in northern Swat are known as Kohistan is and speak the Torwali and Kalami languages. There are also some Khowar speakers in the Kalam region. This is because before Kalam came under the rule of Swat, it was a regional tributary to Chitral. The Kalamis paid a tribute of mountain ponies to the Mehtar of Chitral every year.

  

Tourist attractions

  

Marghazar

  

Marghazar 16 km away from Saidu Sharif is famous for its “Sufed Mahal” the white marble palace of the former Wali (Ruler) of Swat.

  

Malam Jabba

  

Malam Jabba (also Maalam Jabba, Urdu: مالم جبہ) is a Hill Station in the Karakoram mountain range nearly 40 km from Saidu Sharif in Swat Valley, Peshawar, Pakistan. It is 314 km from Islamabad and 51 km from Saidu Sharif Airport.Malam Jabba is home to the largest ski resort in Pakistan. The Malam Jabba Ski Resort, owned by the Pakistani Tourism Development Corporation, had a ski slope of about 800m with the highest point of the slope 2804 m (9200 ft) above sea level. Malam Jabba Ski Resort was the joint effort of the Pakistan government with its Austrian counterpart. The resort was equipped with modern facilities including roller/ice-skating rinks, chair lifts, skiing platforms, telephones and snow clearing equipment.

  

Swat Museum

  

Swat Museum is on the east side of the street, halfway between Mingora and Saidu. Japanese aid has given a facelift to its seven galleries which now contain an excellent collection of Gandhara sculptures taken from some of the Buddhist sites in Swat, rearranged and labelled to illustrate the Buddha's life story. Terracotta figurines and utensils, beads, precious stones, coins, weapons and various metal objects illustrate daily life in Gandhara. The ethnographic section displays the finest examples of local embroidery, carved wood and tribal jewellery. For the last three years the museum is occupied by Pakistan army and it is not known when they would be leaving it.

  

Miandam

  

Miandam is a small summer resort ten kilometres (six miles) up a steep side valley and 56 kilometers (35 mi) from Saidu Sharif, making it an hour's drive. The metaled road passes small villages stacked up the hillside, the roofs of one row of houses forming the street for the row of houses above. Tiny terraced fields march up the hillside right to the top. Miandam is a good place for walkers. Paths follow the stream, past houses with behives set into the walls and good-luck charms whitewashed around the doors. In the graveyards are carved wooden grave posts with floral designs, like those used by Buddhists 1,000 years ago.

  

Madyan

  

By the time you reach this small town at 1320 m and about 60 km from Mingora, the mountains have closed in and the valley is almost snug. Here one senses why Swat is so popular among the tourists. There are a lot of embroidered shawls in the Bazars of Madyan.At 1,321 metres (4,335 feet) above sea level,but it is a larger town and has many hotels in all price ranges and some good tourist shopping. Antique and modern shawls, traditional embroidery, tribal jewellery, carved wood and antique or reproduced coins are sold along the main street. This is the last Swati village, offering interesting two-and three-day walks up to the mountain villages... ask in the bazaar in Muambar Khan's shop for a guide. North of Madyan is Swat Kohistan where walking is not recommended without an armed guard. The central mosque at Madyan has carved wooden pillars with elegant scroll capitals, and its mud-plastered west wall is covered with relief designs in floral motifs. Both bespeak the Swati's love of decoration.[10]

  

Behrain

  

A quarter of an hour past Madyan, the road squeezes through Behrain. Tourists stop to shop or have a look around for beautiful carved wood chairs and tables and other handicrafts. Behrainis are a mix of Pashtuns and Kohistanis. Behrain is ten kilometres north of Madyan and only slightly higher, at about 1,400 metres (4,500 feet). It is another popular riverside tourist resort, with bazaars worth exploring for their handicrafts. Some of the houses have carved wooden doors, pillars and balconies. These show a remarkable variety of decorative motifs, including floral scrolls and bands of ornamental diaper patterns almost identical to those seen on Buddhist shrines and quite different from the usual Muslim designs.

  

Kalam

  

2070 m high and 100 km from Mingora, it was the centre of an independent state in the 19th century. It was later taken by Chitral then given to Swat after partition.Kalam, 29 kilometres (18 mi) from Bahrain and about 2,000 metres (6,800 feet) above sea level, the valley opens out, providing rooms for a small but fertile plateau above the river. In Kalam the Ushu and Utrot rivers join to form the Swat river. Here, the metalled road ends and shingle road leads to the Ushu and Utrot valleys. From Matiltan one gets a breath-taking view of the snow-capped Mount Falaksir 5918 metres (19,415 ft.), and another unnamed peak 6096 metres (20,000 ft.) high.

  

Usho

  

Usho 3 km from Kalam Valley and 117 km from Saidu Sharif

  

Utror

  

Utror 16 km from Kalam Valley and 120 km from Saidu Sharif. Utror valley is situated between 35° 20′ to 35° 48′ N latitudes and 72° 12′ and 72° 32′ E longitudes. The population of Utror is 6888 and the area of the valley is about 47400 hectares. Utror valley is surrounded by Gabral and Bhan valleys on the east, upper Dir district on the west, Kalam valley on the south and Gabral valley on the north. It is 15 km from Kalam, the centre of Swat Kohistan. The altitude of the valley at Utror proper is 2300 meters and reaches to 2900 meters at Kandol Lake.

  

Ghabral

  

Gabral valley lies between 35° 20′ to 35° 48′ N latitudes and 72° 12′ and 72° 32′ E longitudes over an area of about 38733 hectares. The population of Gabral is 3238. The valley is surrounded by Chitral District in the north, Utror valley in the south and south west, upper Dir district in the west and Bhan and Mahodand valleys in the east. It is 5 km distant from Utror proper and 20 km from Kalam. The altitude of the valley ranges from 2580 metres at Baila to 5160 metres at Karkaray Lake top.In Utror and Gabral, 44 medicinal plants are collected during the months of May, June, July and August. Only 14 of them are traded to National and International markets while the rest are used locally. A survey by Pakistan Forest Institute concludes that 75 crude herbal drugs are extensively exported and more than 200 are locally traded in Pakistan. Indigenous people, who have no training in sustainable harvesting, post-harvesting care and storing of medicinal plants, collect 85 percent of these crude herbs from the wild.

  

Kundol Lake, Swat valley

  

Mahudan

  

Mahodand valley, which lies in the North of Kalam, is famous not only among nature lovers, and escapists but also the exotic trout fish hunters. The valley can be accessed through an un-metalled road from Kalam in a four by four (4x4) vehicle. The road is bumpy and tricky but the surrounding landscapes engrosses you so severely that you wish for more and expect to discover new panoramas. The small hamlets that are scattered in the mountains and the bellowing smoke that spirals into the sky from the houses are some, which lives in the memory forever. Swat River, which is born here, is shackled by the tall mountains, which has turned its water into a roaring monster trying to release itself from its fetters, but there are some places where the river is calm and silent without showing any sign of rebellion.

  

Pari (Khapiro) lake

  

Pari Lake is one of the lakes in Swat region which is located at a very high altitude in the foot of the tallest peak in the range with a considerable depth. The name Pari or Khapiro is given to the lake due to the widespread belief that the lake is the abode of fairies where they live and bathe in the cool, pure and clear water of the lake. It is located to North-east of Utror valley and can be accessed only by trekking. Trekking to the lake needs endurance and love for nature as the trail is exasperating as well as dangerous therefore, utmost care should be taken while trekking on the narrow bends and turns leading to the lake. The lake is accessible from both Izmis and Kundal lakes. Two ascending tracks lead to this lake from Kundal and Izmis lakes taking almost five hours to reach this roof top of Swat. The trail is very steep from both sides but the surrounding beauty and eye-cooling green pastures and exotic flowers not only boost the trekker’s stamina but compel him to explore further.

  

Kundol Lake

  

The pastoral valley of Swat has abundance of precious resorts of nature where one can find solace and respite from the never-ending struggle of life. Kundal or Kandolo Lake is one such place here upon which the Maestro of nature has spent extra time and effort to paint. Kundal Lake is situated in the north of Utror valley. One can easily access it from Kalam via Utror from where a link road ends in a green valley called Ladu in the foothills of the lake. You can either hike to Ladu from Utror or take a four-wheeler to ease and minimize your journey. It consumes almost two hours to reach the beautiful valley of Ladu. For the adventurous kind, a walk in the romantic valley will unravel several new mysteries. The people who take temporary residency over here during summer plow the open land and harvest potatoes and turnips, which are famous all over the country for its exotic taste. There is also a small hut in Ladu where you can take tea and get something for eating. From Ladu it takes almost four hours to reach the lake. Some locals can guide you and even take your luggage if properly paid. The mountains around this small valley are covered with tall cedar and pine trees and meandered by different streams and torrents. The people are friendly and provide you guidance if required.

  

Bashigram Lake

  

Bashigram Lake is situated to the east of Bashigram valley near Madyan. The road to this valley is partly metaled and can be plied by a four by four or any ordinary vehicle. It takes almost forty to fifty minutes to reach this picturesque valley inhibited by simple and hospitable folk. From here, trekking of four to five hours, depending on professionalism and enthusiasm of the trekkers lands you in the realm of a serene and enchanting lake of Bashigram.

  

Spin Khwar (White Stream) Lake

  

Spin Khwar is a beautiful lake hidden in the lap of mountains towards the north of Kundal Lake and east of Utror valley. The name Spin Khwar has a clear significance as a small white stream in the east flows down to the lake from the surrounding mountains and is a major source of water for the lake. The lake is accessible through two tracks, one from Kundal and the other from Ladu valley. The track from Ladu is comparatively easy to walk and less tiring while the track from Kundal is not only difficult but alarmingly dangerous although it is short and links Kundal and Spin Khwar. Its steepness and dangerous bends needs an experienced trekker and unending physical strength. The grazers in the area have built small huts and a mosque where one can stay but a personal tent is more recommendable as these huts are in a poor condition due to lack of maintenance.

  

Daral Lake

  

Daral lake is situated to the northeast of Sidgai Lake and can be accessed through Saidgai after two three hours rigorous trekking. The trail to Daral is full of fun and amusement because it runs over sky touching heights of the mountains provides spectacular sights and panoramas for the beauty hungry eyes of nature lovers. A close look towards the south will reveal the long and winding sellouts of river Swat in the horizon.After walking and trekking for about two and a half hours on bare and naked mountains, the trail start descending towards the East where Daral Lake is located.

  

Administration

  

The region has gone through considerable changes over the last few years since the dissolution of the princely state in 1969. Members of the former Royal family have since on occasion been elected to represent the area in the Provincial Assembly and National Assembly.

  

Provincial & national politics

  

The region elects two male members of the National Assembly of Pakistan (MNAs), one female MNA, seven male members of the Provincial Assembly of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (MPAs)[11] and two female MPAs. In the 2002 National and Provincial elections, the Muttahida Majlis-e-Amal, an alliance of religious political parties, won all the seats amidst a wave of anti-Americanism that spread after the United States' invasion of Afghanistan.

  

Wild Life: In early days when the shrubs and bushes covered slopes and foothill areas,hares, porcupine, fox, jackal, wolf, pigs, and hyenas were in large number. Now the need for fuels decreased the scrubs and trees, so these animals have decreased considerably. In the forests,monkeys are often found. Among the birds: hawks, eagles, falcons are found in the high mountains, while pheasants, partridges, hoopoes, larks, sparrows, quails, doves, swallows, starlings, nightingales, crows, kites, vultures, owls, bates are the common birds.

  

Bees: The bees were kept in Swat commonly, and the pure honey of was famous all over the country. But now the moveable beehives have affected the Swat locally reared bees greatly. Now, the local good honey is found in remote areas only, while the honey of moveable hives is available everywhere in low prices.

  

Fisheries: There is a large fishery in Madyan. In this fishery the trout fish are being reared. In Kohistan-e-Swat there are some private fisheries too. In Buner the fish were being reared in Barandu, Dagar. Moreover the Swat River serves as a permanent fishery throughout the year while the tributaries of it are used for fishing only in spring season.

  

Mineral Resources: Mines' production plays an important role in the economy of a country, particularly in the regions where they exist, because, the local people get the opportunities to labor in, and earn their livelihood. But the Swati mines have no importance for the local people in this respect. It is necessary, however, to mention what they are, and where do they exist. Swat is rich in mineral wealth, but the discovered commodities are a few. Among them, the china clay stands first; others are marble stone, and emerald.

  

China Clay: The china clay exists at “Kathyar” in Nekpikheil (on the road that leads to Shahderai at a distance of 15 miles from Mingora). This is the largest mine, having the finest quality, of China clay in Pakistan. The clay is mined here, and is transported to Shaidu in Nawshehra (which is at a distance of around 100 miles from Swat). It is not so advantageous for the local people, because they have no opportunity to work in the complex.

  

Soap Clay: The mine of soap clay has been discovered recently between Alpurai and Kanra on the side of Gilgit Road (Shahrah-e-Resham). It is spread in a vast area.

  

Marbles: The marbles are dug near Charbagh, Murghuzar, and Barikot in the proper valley of Swat, and in Buner, it is mined in Thor Warsak, Bampokha, and Sawawai. Moreover, there is a great expectation of iron ores, which will be discovered in near future.

  

Emerald: The finest quality of emerald is produced in Swat. Its Color and transparency is unique. It is the best in world. It is exported to the international markets: There is an export potential of 500 million dollars in this sector, provided it is excavated and cut as per international standards. Before the absorption of Swat in Pakistan, the emeralds of Swat were better in quality, and greater in quantity. But since then it is said that the quantity of production is little, and the quality devalued.

  

Industries:

  

Handicrafts: The handicrafts of Swat are very famous. When a tourist visits Swat, he accumulates bundles of these articles as gifts for his friends. All of the crafts prepared here are interesting, especially, the following are very charming.

  

Woolen Blankets: These blankets are known as "Sharai". They are prepared of wool obtained from the local sheep. The weight of a medium size blanket is four kilos. This is the best source of defense from the severity of winter. It is woven in Dewlai, Kala Kalay, Salampur, Puran, and Ghurband. These villages prepare the items on commercial scale.

  

Shawl: Shawl is a younger brother of Sharai, as it is also a woolen sheet, but light in weight. Sometimes, cotton is also mixed in its texture. It is beautifully fringed, and is commonly used by ladies. The tourists like it too much. Shawls are prepared in Salampur and Dewlai "Jolabad" on commercial bases.

  

Rugs: The next important thing, made of local fleece with laborious work, is rug. This is prepared in the villages by pressing wool with the help of water spray. After preparation, it is beautified with the usage of various colors. Rugs are the traditional carpets of shepherds, but now are used everywhere.

  

Embroidery: The embroidery of Swat is very famous, and is liked everywhere in Pakistan, as well as by the out-comers. This art is an indoor hobby of the ladies in Swat. Particularly in Nekpikheil, this is so common that very younger girls might also be seen having needlework in their hands. There are three types of embroidery:

  

Panrae or Panhey: Panrey or Panrhey is the old fashion of shoes, still used by the old persons in Swat. They are made in Swat with the simply tanned leather. The cobblers have great skill in the formation of ladies shoes with golden lace work. Similarly, the sandals with golden lace work are also made. The cobblers of Shahderai had great skill in this field. It is now archaic.

  

Shkor: A Shkor is a pot in which chapatis (plate bread used in India and Pakistan) are kept. The ordinary Shkors are prepared everywhere in Swat, but a special design is made in Puran and Chagharzee (These Shkors are high-based pots made of wheat stalks with laborious art, not easily available in bazaar).

  

Furniture: Furniture of various styles is made in the district. The cots, tables, chairs, dressing tables, cradles of more advanced types, etc. are furnished in Mingora, and in nearly all large villages.

 

Había sido un día nefasto sin paliativos. El madrugón había batido todos los records y ya estábamos al borde de la vía desde las siete de la mañana. Pero todas nuestras expectativas se desvanecieron rápidamente porque los trenes que constituían nuestro principal objetivo habían circulado de madrugada. En Piedahita de Juarros, casi nada más llegar, me topé con sendas locomotoras aisladas de regreso a Bilbao que se habían hecho cargo del bobinero de Aranda de Duero y del tren de ácido con destino en Villalonquejar. Nuestra apuesta había sido muy arriegada porque a partir de Burgos se había cortado la línea hacia Venta de Baños por el cambio de un desvío en la estación de Quintana del Puente. En estas condiciones, podría parecer una cosa de locos venir a hacer fotos, pero ninguno de esos trenes circula por la citada estación así que el corte de línea no les afectaba. Pero como circularon fuera del horario previsto, nos quedamos casi sin alternativas. Únicamente nos quedaban los Alvias (demasiado vistos), los siderúrgicos de Villafría y quizás, algún tren de contenedores con destino en dicha terminal burgalesa. De estos últimos no vimos ni un solo tren en todo el día y los siderúrgicos se hicieron de rogar como nunca. A última hora de la tarde nos llegó la noticia de la circulación del mercante de la foto, un tren incapaz de arreglar por sí solo un día aciago pero que al menos nos permitiría volver a casa con algo mínimamente digno en la tarjeta de memoria de la cámara de fotos. Pero con este tren también nos tocó sufrir (y de qué forma!!) porque se lo tomó con una calma exasperante y ante nuestros ojos las sombras se iban apoderando de la vía hasta el punto de que, completamente desesperado, me bajé del puente y comencé a caminar hasta este punto donde pude hacer la foto libre de las indeseadas sombras. Pero no de los todavía más indeseables grafitis que afeaban todos y cada uno de los vagones de este largo siderúrgico que fue lo único bueno de un día para olvidar.

 

It had been an unmitigated disastrous day. We had gotten up early breaking all the records and we were already on the edge of the track since seven in the morning. But all our expectations were quickly dashed because the trains that were our main objective had run at dawn. In Piedahita de Juarros, almost as soon as I arrived, I came across separate locomotives returning to Bilbao that had taken charge of the Aranda de Duero steel freight and the acid train bound for Villalonquejar. Our bet had been very risky because from Burgos the line to Venta de Baños had been cut due to the change of a detour at the Quintana del Puente station. Under these conditions, it might seem crazy to come to take photos, but none of those trains run through the aforementioned station so the line cut did not affect them. But since they circulated outside the scheduled time, we were left with almost no alternatives. We only had the Alvias (too seen too many), the Villafría steel freights and perhaps a container train destined for said Burgos terminal. Of the latter we did not see a single train all day and the steel freights were delayed like never before. Late in the afternoon we received news of the circulation of the freight in the photo, a train incapable of fixing a disastrous day on its own but that would at least allow us to return home with something minimally decent on the memory card of the camera . But with this train we also had to suffer (and in what way!!) because it took it with exasperating calm and before our eyes the shadows were taking over the track to the point that, completely desperate, I got off the bridge and I began to walk to this point where I could take the photo free of the unwanted shadows. But not the even more undesirable graffiti that disfigured each and every one of the cars of this long steel freight that was the only good thing about a day to forget.

A bit bored with all that Charlemagne in Aachen, I went for a small hike up the Lousberg on the way passing by the Salvatorkirche on a lower hill. The Lousberg rises about 270 metres to give a grand view of the city. No, the name has nothing to do with Louis the Pious (778-840), son of Charlemagne and purported founder of that church. 'Lous' in the Aachen dialect means 'shrewd' or 'crafty', and it pertains directly to that Market Woman sculpted (1985) so life-like by Krista Löneke-Kemmerling.

'The Market Woman and the Devil' stands in a little dip between the Salavatorberg and the Lousberg. The story goes that when the Aacheners were constructing their cathedral, the Devil allowed them to do so if they paid him a hefty sum. They reneged and the Devil angrily slammed shut the church's doors, losing his thumbs in the process. Look at his right hand in the sculpture. Anyway, he swore revenge and on his way to cover the city in sand he met our crafty Market Woman, who recognised him by his hoof: 'Is it far to Aachen, then?' the Fiend demanded. She shrewdly replied: 'Look at my old shoes and the hardened bread I'm carrying; they were new and soft when I bought them.' The Devil, exasperated because it was too far for him, threw down his sack of sand which was transformed into the Lousberg, Crafty Hill. Thus the city was saved for the likes of myself to escape Charlemagne with a view, too, on this pleasant day.

So, what does Taxus baccata, Yew, have to do with all of this? Well, Yew trees were often regarded as repellants of Evil. Indeed, they are on the whole quite poisonous themselves but the adage is: poison poisons poison. But the red 'skins' of the fruits are not; in fact, they're quite deliciously sweet and nice for a jelly. In the bottom right of the inset you can see that Icky Delight. Yours Truly licked it up. But don't eat the seed!

The path up the hill is lined with these Yews; and no Devils about...

And this is how you photograph a dog the proper way. By holding a hot dog :) Hahaha

 

He exasperated me by not wanting to sit still for more than half a second, so I had to outsmart him. And since they were cooking hotdogs at a stand close by, I went and asked for one. And a miracle happened. Both the Dachshund and the Pug instantly calmed down and were ready to look intelligent and sweet :)

One full picture.

 

One 16.9 Crop

 

Then Three the Above, the Centre and the Lower Crops.

 

I did not reach for the highest reaches of the sky in Above so I made One more crop.

 

1 of 6 – Full Frame

2 of 6 – 16.9 Crop

3 of 6 – 16.9 Above Crop

4 of 6 – 16.9 Above Crop

5 of 6 – 16.9 Above Crop

 

⁕⁕⁕6 of 6 – 16.9 Ultimate Sky Crop⁕⁕⁕

 

The crops are technically all in and from the Full Frame. The Crops are me sharing some things that I see in the Full Frame and enjoy looking at and sharing. It might be too much similar, same and more and more so for others, but I hope to be looking at these images when I am older, weaker and less able. My gentle adventures to this scenic spot might be just the tonic that I need then, it is tonic right now as I edit these pictures and load them. It could be that in years to come I am completely exasperated with loading the same scene when maybe I could have been recording and loading other scenes and so enjoying more memories from more places? Right now this what I happy with.

 

The beautiful Pentland Hills Regional Park forms the superb skyline in this photograph.

 

Nature created all of the drama presented here and science and art made the exposure and the framing that is given so dramatically here by me.

 

When this image popped up on the screen I was confident that I had a record of the passing wonders that were delighting even as they deftly delicate dwindled before my eyes. Here the passing of light and the return of the dark was both absorbing, enthralling and enchanting. I was drawn into the scene as I photographed it and it drew me in further and further in as I altered and attempted exposures. The viewer and especially the recorder, the witness if you will becomes a part of the changeable scene feeling a prediction and an expectation of the elemental interplay til there is a belonging into the exchange that when eventually broken is a waking from an involved moment, a small encounter of a world within this world. Picture taking and making can be a Yoga exercise a communication with the scene and an appreciation of the seeming elemental metamorphosis, a time of something like first a loosing and then a finding of a self with a divine understanding whether that be any and every position you take on the potential of such.

 

© PHH Sykes 2023

phhsykes@gmail.com

  

Pentland Hills. The Regional Park...

www.pentlandhills.org/

 

Canmore - Upperside Limekiln, South

canmore.org.uk/site/234624/upperside-limekiln-south

 

Public Beaches will be closed in Indian River County tomorrow. Red Tide is intensified by global warming and further exasperated by fertilizer run off from lake Okeechobee. These photos were taken today, 10-16-18 at the beach at Round Island Park.

Red Tide is intensified by global warming and further exasperated by fertilizer run off from lake Okeechobee. These photos were taken today, 10-17-18 in Vero Beach.

but Barney and Dilly look like they've left room for one more here :) So would anyone like to come sit with them for a while, on our old garden bench? Dilly promises to be the perfect lap dog, she happily supplies warmth and comfort to any lap. Barney is a very good foot warmer and he will also provide tennis balls for your (and his!) entertainment, isn't he thoughtful?

 

Dilly loves finding benches for us. When we go out for walks on the hills, she hunts them out and stands next to them, wagging her tail proudly, showing us what she's found! Barney is less impressed by them, he doesn't like extended pauses in walks, so if we sit down on a bench, to rest or admire the view, he will come over with a rather exasperated and frustrated expression. If I sit on the ground, he's happier, because he likes rolling around and having a cuddle on the side of hills, strange dog!

 

I hope you all have a great Saturday and a lovely weekend!

 

Reached Explore #227

Hermanuspietersfontein, that's what Hermanus, South Africa, on Walker Bay, was once called. It was named after a farmer in the early nineteenth century - one Hermanus Pieters - who was a schoolmaster as well. He'd found a fresh water spring here on the coast for his cattle, and in 1855 the town was established. The local postmaster was exasperated at the long name of his station, and drastically cut it down to 'Hermanus'.

The ocean water on the horizon here is Walker Bay, apparently named for William Walker, a master of the Royal Navy who charted these waters in 1818. On the edge of The Land Over the Bay is Gansbaai, where last year I photographed the motorvessel Kolgans (a picture somewhere in my photostream: January 10, 2008).

Standing proudly on the craggy coast at the eastern end of Hermanus Is The Marine, an hotel founded by Walter McFarlane of Elgin, high on the mountain, in 1902. Some of the best seafood can be had here for lunch or dinner overlooking the blue of the Bay.

Behind the Hotel are these fancy flats, pristine in their whiteness, and stark against the bright azure sky.

The historic town of Harpers Ferry is illuminated from a full moon above; as seen from the edge of Maryland Heights.

 

On the night of October 16th, 1859 a party of 17 armed men led by the militant abolitionist John Brown crossed the Potomac River over the B&O railroad bridge (the piers of which can be seen below at left) to seize the federal arsenal at Harpers Ferry and its stockpile of 100,000 rifles and muskets. With these weapons, Brown intended to facilitate an armed slave uprising that would spread throughout the entire South.

 

While his raid failed, the news of John Brown's attempt was an earthquake that reverberated throughout the entire Union and split the fault line between North and South. denounced as a psychotic terrorist by Southerners, Brown was embraced by many Northern abolitionists as a martyr. This outpouring of support for Brown exasperated Southern suspicions of a yankee-abolitionist plot to subjugate the South under Northern control through emancipation; by force if necessary. Southern states, long fearful of slave revolts, revived the militia system to combat all future "John Browns" laying the foundation for what would become the Confederate Army.

 

On the morning of his execution, John Brown handed a note to one of his guards that would become prophetic: "I, John Brown, am now quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with blood..." 16 months later, Confederate batteries in Charleston would open fire on Fort Sumter, and the bloody purge would begin.

El Oro Parakeet (Pyrrhura orcesi) - Buenaventura Reserve, Ecuador

 

Well apparently today, May 15th, is endangered species day, so I thought it would be appropriate to post a photo of one endangered species thats rather close to my heart as I recently spent 6 months working with them. The El Oro Parakeet (Pyrrhura orcesi) is an endangered psittacid only found in the highlands of the El Oro Province. There are only about a 1000 of these birds remaining in several disjunct populations, efforts are underway to create an ecological corridor between atleast some of these populations. The issue is that much of their cloud forest habitat has been lost to cattle ranching, these parakeets need a variety of trees to both feed on and to nest in and there just isn't a sufficient amount of these due to deforestation. Additionally these parakeets won't disperse over large tracts of pasture and studies have shown they will not leave a certain altitudinal gradient even if there appears to be good habitat outside of it. For this reason the ecological corridor must provide pathways at the proper altitude inbetween existing populations which are currently isolated from each other.

 

As if the threat of deforestation isn't enough, this species is also under pressure from poaching. Parrots and parakeets are popular pets in Ecuador and many local people have one at home, we were frequently asked by locals if we would give them a parakeet to keep as a pet! This was rather exasperating as we are working to keep this species alive and well in the wild! Poaching has been a problem at nest boxes in the past, and while there are security measures we can take, community outreach and education is an important part of the conservation program in order to secure this birds future and ensure that it will grace the cloud forests of the El Oro province for a long time to come!

 

Also in honor of Endangered species day feel free to check out my Flickr Album "IUCN Redlisted" in which I have my photos of all imperiled animals ranging from "Near Threatened" to "Critically Endangered".

www.flickr.com/photos/26500525@N08/sets/72157623452025764

Not the first time this subject has been introduced in Flickr.

This time time I tried to use the native HDR from the camera. Not sure about the result. While the picture looks 'natural', with no exasperated colours or tones, I realized that sometimes the fusion of the pictures gives a blurred result, something it shouldn't occur when you shoot at a speed apt to freeze the subject.

Need to experiment more with it :)

Don had walked back to his house after seeing Cami off.

 

“Hey, Clown! You’re back. How about we barbecue for lunch?” Booley asked right away.

 

Don was about to answer – and even consider it – when he noticed something odd.

 

“Where did this swing come from?” Don asked.

 

“Oh, from storage. It’s my favorite outdoor hang spot.”

 

“How did you –” Don stopped talking as he looked at how Booley had secured his swing.

 

“You tied a piece of furniture around my roof? My vintage, delicate A-frame roof!?”

 

Booley shrugged, confused at why Don was irritated. At least he had tied it rather than glued it, Booley thought.

 

Don let out an exasperated sigh and marched toward a still speechless Elizabeth.

 

“Stick, you are going to have to take him. I’ve had him for months. I’ll take the kids, I’ll take Squeaky. Whatever trade you think is fair, but you have got to give me a break from Booley!”

 

After a few second of silence, Elizabeth replied, sort of.

 

“Don, do you know anything about a new Poppy moving into the neighborhood?”

 

My new girl, Ariel, looking exasperated in glamorous grunge!

 

I love how versatile this Poppy is--at first I thought she wouldn't be a good choice for a grungy photo, but it turns out she can be edgy as well as sweet.

*Home. It was really home. The building was old now. The wallpaper peeling off, broken glass everywhere. A few larger than average moths fly about the place. "Tread carefully" Drury begins to mutter to Gar, before remembering that, of course, he was gone. Krill's portals always were disorientating- taking into account the various broken bones and brain injuries sustained over the last months, Drury was still pretty rattled. He ran his fingers absentmindedly over his old TV- a lone video lay beneath the 80s set and he recognised it immediately, dust covered and all. Doubting the TV was actually working, no one seemed to have lived here since the move, Drury pressed it anyway. Nostalgia perhaps. If not for that portal, he would've noticed the looming figure now behind him*

 

====Earlier- Desmond's===

 

Drury- Norbert?

 

*The Wasp is lying on a bed, wired into some kind of medical apparatus. Scawling down notes, is Professor Hugo Strange, next to him, a record player rattles out symphonies*

 

Drury- What are you doing to him?

 

*Strange continues with his work, but turns up the music just a tad, a feeble attempt to drown out Walker's yelling*

 

Drury- Let him go! I'm telling-

 

*Exasperated, Strange brings the record to a stop*

 

Strange- I'm merely doing what he requested. "Fixing" him.

 

Gar- Yeah, uh, Fixing-?

 

Strange- Yes. Fixing. Do you require a definition?

 

Gar- Hey, I asked you a question-

 

Strange- And I answered it. Now if you're not squeamish I could do with an extra pair of hands. If you're *not* squeamish. If not, leave me to my work.

 

...

 

Drury- He's my brother.

 

Strange- (sarcastically) I noticed.

 

Drury- Just let me talk to him.

 

Strange- I think-

 

Gar- That wasn't a question.

 

*Drury ducks out of Gar's path, who hurls a Wratharang at the machinery, blowing it all up and knocking Hugo off the podium. Drury can just make out Norbert's upright shadow in the billowing smoke*

 

Drury- I said aim at Hugo!

 

Gar- I miscalculated! Fucking Wra-

 

*As it turned out, Norbert was not interested in talking, nor was he too happy about being reawakened to find his skin still jet black, his memories still foggy and a set of ghostly white wings still protruding from his back. Drury falls to the ground, Gar's thrown not long after, Norbert's preoccupied with him. Drury's head's spinning. No wait, maybe the world is... Something's spinning at least. And it hurts. Where.. where am I? thinks Drury, then it all comes back to him, but too little too late, as an arm wraps around his throat*

 

Strange- Imbecile. Think of what I might've accomplished here. All that machinery, destroyed! And for what? Because you missed your brother?! How childish, yet I shouldn't have expected anything else from you. The boy who never grew up.

 

*Despite everything, the returning pain in his leg and yet another concussion, Drury takes one look at Strange, and breaks into laughter*

 

Strange- What? Why are you-?

 

Drury- It's only... heh. Wh-haha-at are you wearing?

 

*Strange looks down at his attire cautiously, in case it was a foolhardy attempt at misdirection. He'd thrown his lab coat aside in the explosion, revealing a familiar set of tights and a long black cape*

 

Strange- What of it?

 

Drury- Well, Haha! You know, "I am the Night-" hahaha!

 

Strange- Most amusing.

 

Drury- "I haha-am vengeance!" Haha! Gar, Gar, he thinks he's Bat-

 

*A kick to the jaw knocks Drury back to the ground*

 

Drury- *ahem* he certainly fights like Batman.

 

Strange- I'll make this quick. I have far more important matters to attend to.

 

*Strange punches Drury again and arms himself with a syringe*

 

Strange- A mild euthanasia will do nicely

 

Drury- Oh crap.

 

*Strange grabs Drury by his smoking wing harness, the embers reflecting off of his dark glasses. With his free hand, he prepares to administer the drug when-*

 

Wasp- You. *You* did this.

 

*Drury's on the ground again, this time Strange is joining him. The vial has smashed, no longer harmful. Norbert looks down at his brother, only he doesn't recognise him*

 

Drury- Norbert, it's me, your brother! Remember me! Why won't you remember me?!

 

Wasp- I don't know you.

 

Drury- Please. You remembered this place, you remember Dad right? Why not me?!

 

Wasp- Because... you're forgettable.

 

*Drury's eyes fill with tears. His face crumbles in sorrow. Blinded by hurt, he fails to notice the blade in Wasp's hand. As it's about to find a home in Drury's throat, a portal opens, sucking Wasp through it. Wiping his eyes, Drury turns to see a battered looking Gar, belt in hand*

 

Drury- Gar, no...

 

Gar- He was going to kill you.

 

Drury- You don't-

 

Gar- Yes I do Drury! Yes I do!

 

...

 

Drury- Give me the belt back. Give me the belt Gar.

 

*Gar scratches his scalp, clearly torn*

 

Gar- Drury. He doesn't know you. You're better off this way. Trust me-

 

*Gar places his hand on Drury's shoulder*

 

Gar- I know what it's like. To love someone with all your heart and for them to look at you like you're diseased. Like with Volcana. Let it go. We can tell Gordon Wasp escaped, he's a good un', he'll be lenient.

 

*Drury stays still*

 

Drury- I'm sorry Gar. I should never dragged you into this.

 

...

 

Gar- Between you and me, it's been a hell of a ride.

 

Drury- Yeah. That's why I said sorry.

 

*And in one punch, Gar's on the ground unconscious. Drury picks up the belt and opens another bright portal*

 

Drury- I have to do this alone.

 

======

 

Drury- Still don't recognise me do you?

 

*The Wasp looks right through him*

 

Drury- All this time I've been treating you like my brother, but really, you're just an animal aren't you?

 

*Wasp walks towards him. Drury picks up his gun and starts shooting. Of course, it's not effective*

 

Drury- Yeah, yeah. Bulletproof

 

*He takes out his knife, starts swinging it at his brother- no, the Wasp, but again it just bounces off of him. Drury looks back at the TV just for a second, and in an instant forms a new plan. Quite possibly the stupidest plan he's ever conjured*

 

Drury- Recognise this place do you? It's where we grew up! Me, you, mum and dad. Do you remember mum? ... You always were her favourite.

 

Wasp- Shut up!

 

Drury- You know me, Norbert, you never could get me to-

 

*And then the knife goes in. Wasp looks startled, shocked somehow. Drury almosts accepts it*

 

Wasp- Y-you just kept talking.

 

Drury- Hey. I know.

 

Norbert- I don't- you...

  

Drury- It's, it's ok... Norbert. Norbert look at me.

 

Norbert- Look at me! I didn't want this.

 

Drury- I said, I know. It's Ok.

 

*Drury puts his hand on Norbert's shoulder*

 

Drury- You have, and will always be my friend.

 

*And with that, he collapses to the floor, the blood loss at last getting to him, leaving Norbert for the first time in a long time truly alone with his thoughts- No Hugo Strange. No Danto Twag. No Yellow Wasp. Just... memories*

 

....

 

Norbert-.... Drury-?

===== Present / NYPD =====

Batroc the Leaper: And then I woke up here.

Spider-Man: Wait really, you woke up in this exact chair? I need to get new Spider-Glasses.

Batroc the Leaper: Have you no sympathy?

Spider-Man: Well, I’m happy you’re alive, Batroc.

 

Spider-Man holds out his arms

 

Spider-Man, his eyes widening in excitement: Hug and make up?

Batroc the Leaper: Don't you dare touch me.

 

Captain Stacy leans back in his chair and strokes the scruff on his face, frowning. He then shakes his head, confused.

 

Yuriko Watanabe: Captain?

Captain: Tch, tch, tch, tch, tch…

Spider-Man: Mr. Stacy?

 

Captain Stacy looks at Spider-Man with a pint of sadness, then looks back at the criminal fiddling with his cast.

 

Captain Stacy: Ms. Watanabe would you please escort Mr. Batroc back to his cell?

 

Watanabe nods her head and jerks Batroc out of the room.

 

Spider-Man: You okay Cap'n?

 

Captain Stacy stays quiet and looks down at the table. He then reaches into his jacket and pulls out a whiskey flask. He takes a sip then offers it to Spider-Man

 

Spider-Man: I er- Don’t drink.

Captain Stacy: Heh, of course. Can’t have the city’s greatest hero running around drunk, can we?

 

He takes another sip

 

Spider-Man: Captain Stacy, I really don’t think you should be drinking with your-

Captain Stacy: I’m fine, truly...

Spider-Man: ...What’s wrong?

 

Captain Stacy lets out a long exasperated sigh

 

Captain Stacy: Have you ever felt...a great deal of shame Spider-Man?

Spider-Man: Of course, its sort of a character trait of mine. But I see no reason for a man such as yourself to feel ashamed.

Captain Stacy: People are dead, Spider-Man. People keep dying on my hands. Now this? We haven’t had anything this big since- Well, you remember it as well as I do.

Spider-Man, shuddering: I still have nightmares. I never want to relive that calamity again.

 

Captain Stacy chuckles at Spider-Man's slight over-exaggeration

 

Captain Stacy: I never thanked you for your help... In fact, that’s why I feel shame.

Spider-Man: If not apologizing is bothering you-

Captain Stacy: It’s not that… Sorry, I should have been more clear. It’s the fact I needed help in the first place.

Spider-Man: Even the best of us need help sometimes. Trust me.

Captain Stacy: Yes, but I’m in charge here. These people count on me and I would’ve never been able to stop half the things that happen without you.

 

Captain Stacy nods and speaks before Spider-Man can respond.

 

Captain Stacy: I needed a vigilante’s help to run my city...to help protect the people. What does that make me?

 

Spider-Man walks over to Captain Stacy and places his hand on his shoulder

 

Spider-Man: If there’s anything I’ve learned, is that you should focus on the good things in life. Too much stress can affect your perspective on everything.

 

Captain Stacy raises an eyebrow

 

Spider-Man: I mean uh-

Captain Stacy: Yeah, yeah, I get yah...even though it may be a little hypocritical.

Spider-Man: Do as I say not as I do.

 

Captain Stacy stands up, rubs his eyes, and places the canteen back in his jacket.

 

Captain Stacy: I hate to say it like this, but...How are we going to catch this vigilante?

 

Spider-Man paces back and forth momentarily then snaps his fingers.

Spider-Man: I got it!

Captain Stacy: Well that was...fast.

Spider-Man: I’ll fill you in later.

 

Spider-Man lifts up his wrist and points at the vent preparing to make his escape when Captain Stacy places his hand on his arm

 

Captain Stacy: Where do you think you’re going?

Spider-Man: Just...trust me on this one.

Captain Stacy: You’ve been saying that for years…

Spider-Man: And have I ever let you down?

Captain Stacy: Debateable.

Spider-Man, putting his free hand on his chest: I’m insulted!

Captain Stacy: Go on now. I trust that you’ll “fill me in later”.

Spider-Man: You bet-

 

Spider-Man flings himself into the vent, spiraling as he does.

 

Captain Stacy leaves the interrogation room.

 

===LoA Computer Database===

 

Clark falls at Kuttler's feet, bruised and bloody, as Zod landed, he grabbed him by the throat and held tight. "Kuttler-" he gasped. "The JLA teleporters... They-"

 

Kuttler smiles as he places his hand over Clark's face. Super indeed. "-Leave behind a residual trace, yes. Think of it as a genetic imprint. With this device, Superman, we'll be able to latch on to each and every one of those teleporters, tap into their data-banks, that is to say, everyone who has ever used them, and form a link with the Phantom Zone that will drag every single member of the Justice League, the Titans and all your other fanclubs, through the wormhole, with no hope of escape. Poetic justice, no? How many times have you banished one of *us* in the Phantom Zone, or the Source Wall, or in a whole other universe."

 

"Not- what I was going to say-" Clark groans, as Zod's grip around his throat tightens.

 

"Let him go," Kuttler sighs. "If he tries anything, well, *then* you can kill him," he mutters to Zod. The General nods, and marches out of the room.

 

"Go on."

 

"Noah, I saw it's inner workings. It won't do what you think it will. It will pull in *anyone,* hero or villain! Zod doesn't want us *in,* he wants his family out, and he's going to do it by overloading the system," Superman explains.

 

"Check it, if you don't believe me."

 

Kuttler looks at Superman suspiciously, and walks over to the console, looking over the schematics. Putting his phone to his ear, he calls Bane. "That's not right... The schematics are all wrong... Bane, this is Noah, I-"

 

A blast of heat vision shoots the phone out of his hand. Zod, had returned.

 

====Nanda Parbat====

 

Arthur reaches his hand out to his brother, standing mere inches away from him. "Orm-!" he pleaded, as a gloved hand forced his head into the sand. "How does it feel, murderer?" Manta growled, digging the trident, *his* trident, deeper into his side. "That's how my father felt."

 

Orm watched with bated breath. He had no lost love for his brother. The pacifist bastard could've taken the surface world any time he wanted, but instead, he begged for peace. Peace! And yet, this... this barbarity wasn't conquest, but torture, plain and simple.

 

"You lost my sympathy when you murdered my son. When does it end, Manta?" Aquaman gasped, as he coughed up a mix of sand and blood. Manta knelt beside him, his eyes glowing.

"With you, strung up like those birds."

 

~

 

A terrible rumble echoed through the valley. A strike from Mardon's weather wand had critically damaged the Skull Ship, and as it crashed to the ground, sand flew through the air, knocking back everyone in its' path, Grodd burst out from the cockpit, his face filled with animalistic rage. Tearing his smouldering cape off, he turned to face McCulloch and Rory, their guns aimed at him. "Rogues...." he snarls, as he pounds his chest, and leaps into the air. As the battle raged on, reignited by the arrival of the Misfits' allies, the Injustice League ran for cover behind a feeble stack of rocks. Tremors from the crash landing had separated them from their camera crew, and they were terrified. "For god's sake, we're pinned down in here, tell me someone's coming!" Tockman screamed, no longer concerned that his fellow Green Arrow villains might recognise him. Scarlet Skier had flown in five minutes ago, and left just as quickly.

“Big Sir texted G’Nort!” Disaster replied feverishly, narrowing dodging a bright pink arrow fired by an even brighter, rainbow coloured archer.

 

"How the hell did Big Sir text?" Tockman yelled back, leaping out of the way of falling debris.

 

"Text to speech mostly," Brown murmured, the only one with any sort of composure.

 

Removing his clock face, Tockman sighed, exasperated. "You know my next question, Arthur."

 

"Wait, wait. I found it!" Multi Man cries out in delight, as he goes through Sir's phone. "Dear Doggie, need help from... dessert man," he finished, his face dropping.

 

"Dessert... You know, I really could go for a sundae right now..." Tockman said, as he unclasped his cape, and dapped his brow, his stomach now rumbling. “The last time I had a sundae was four months, two weeks, four days, and twenty seconds ago.”

 

“What? Can’t a man enjoy a banana split?” he added, as his teammates turned to face him, their brief moment of silence shattered with a blur of yellow and black flying above them, and quickly being dispatched by a figure just out of their eyesight.

 

"Sinestro!" Disaster cried out. "Who the hell took out Sinestro?!"

 

His question was answered moments later, as a shabby haired, foul smelling man jumped above them, a rusty old lantern in hand.

Ratcatcher looked down at the horrified group, and, grinning perversely, turns to Cluemaster. "Hello Artie, how's the stump?"

 

Arthur looks at Ratcatcher, and as he turns to run, trips and falls on his face. "It's him!" he yells out, the memory of his disarmament years ago fresh in his mind. "Kill him, kill him now!"

As Otis approaches, giggling to himself, Disaster makes sure to pull himself, Tockman and Pramble out of harm's way. Whatever history Artie had with him wasn't worth getting killed over. Now mere inches from his face, Artie began praying softly to himself. He'd already survived a plane crash, this was not how he'd die. And, as Otis drew a blunt knife from his belt...

Pow. Big Sir punches him in the face, knocking him out cold, and reaches out an oversized hand to Cluemaster. "I'm not thanking you, you tub of lard," Brown muttered, as he walked off.

 

~

 

Rigger looked out towards the desert, just below them, a ninja, about twenty years old, was thrown to the ground by a mass of fur and teeth- Cheetah. Her claws ripping out his throat, Joey watched helplessly as she began lapping up his blood. King Shark, smelling the still warm corpse, marched over, and dug into the boy's leg.

Chuck's hand on his shoulder snapped Joey out of his trance. "It's ok to be scared, Rig."

 

Rigger bowed his head. "Scared? Heh. Nah, scary is knowing that every day of my life I could get pulled over, or stopped in the street. And because I have a criminal record, no one would even think twice about it. Knowing that you've served your country, but your family's deaths are written off as cold cases because they ain't top priority. Or maybe because the building contractors paid off a couple unsympathetic cops. Couple a ninjas? Army of supervillains? Easy peasy!"

 

Chuck smirked. "Good. Because we're gonna need you, buddy."

 

~

 

As Drury climbed up to the surface, he was met with anarchy. Bodies strewn across the desert, buildings on fire, supervillains indiscriminately killing whoever they could find. 'This,' he murmured, 'Was no place for a child.' Yet, defying his orders as usual, were his children.

"Hi Dad!" Axel shouts, as he flies past him, a metal crown, Grodd's, atop his head.

 

"A-Axel?" he called out, turning to an equally bemused Norbert. "You brought your kids-?" he asked, a note of concern in his voice.

 

"No," Drury began. "I-"

 

"Daddy!" Kitten squeals, as she embraces him in a bear hug. Drury turns to the green and orange figure now following after them, a goofy smile on their face.

"Kitten-? McCulloch! Did you bring my kids to a warzone?!"

 

"Ach, the wee ones insisted," he smirked toothlessly, as he gives Axel a proud high five. "Grand job wi' tha monkey wee man. Could'ne ha' doon it without ye."

 

"Ah, well I owed him, didn't I?" Axel smiles, gesturing to his metal arm, him and his sister's attention now turning to the black figure behind their dad.

 

"Oh, uh, kids. This is your uncle Norbert," Drury mutters, still a little off balance.

 

"Awesome," Axel grins, but as he sees the look in his dad's eyes, it fades, as he walks past the group in silence, and enters the palace.

 

~

 

Staggering through the desert, and relying on sound alone, Ten's attention was brought to a familiar snapping of a camera. Watching the carnage unfold, and taking pictures, was Mr Camera. "Simms, you bastard!" he bellowed.

 

"Take it easy with the language, choir boy, I-" Simms calls out, his words muffled as Reardon tackles him to the ground, and smashes his glass lens. Pressing the button on the side of his mask, Camera activates his flash mode. "Smile!" he laughs, as he fires a series of bright flashes Reardon's way, before realising his fatal error: Philip Reardon, was blind. "Oh," he gasps, as he's swiftly knocked out.

 

====Ra's' Palace====

 

"Justice League. Can you hear me?" a deep voice calls out telepathically.

 

"Loud and clear, J'onn, good to have you back with us," Clark replies. "I'm engaging Zod, trying to draw him away from the control room. The device they're building is a Phantom Drive, which, if it reaches full power, can and will generate a wormhole that will suck everyone into the Phantom Zone."

 

"Understood," Cyborg replied. "Me and Miracle are heading to the server room now, see if we can't disable it."

 

"I'll help draw Zod away," Diana adds, as she soars into the air. "Bruce?"

 

"I've got to find Ra's," Batman said, as he attaches a sword to his belt. "He's the only person who might stop this madness."

 

"You sure, Bats?" Barry asks, as he steals The Fiddler's violin. "I reckon Bane's the closest thing we have to a lynchpin."

 

"Positive."

 

"Oh for- This isn't about Walker, is it?" Hal calls out, as he forms a green proton pack with his ring, and sucks up Gentleman Ghost.

 

...

 

"Keep this channel open, I'll let you know if the situation changes," Bruce murmurs, as he walks up a set of stone steps, opens a door, and is pulled through a wall by a large hand.

 

"We've come full circle, have we not?" Bane snarls, as he turns a dial on his wrist. "You, me, and a choice. Do you stop Ra's? Or do you stop the Society? Last time you couldn't do either."

He rips a chunk out of the wall, and hurls it at Bruce, who slides under it.

 

"Tell me. Was it compassion, Batman? Guilt? I bet it was. You can't help but take in strays, to fuel your self destructive quest, and here you are, about to implode," Bane gloats, as he throws several fast, hard punches.

 

"What are you talking about?" Batman snaps back.

 

"There aren't many who can freely walk into your Batcave, now are there?" Bane smirks, as he picks Bruce up, and throws him against a wall. He reaches for the venom tube on the back of his neck, but is thrown backwards before he can cut it. "You know I planned to kill the Misfits," he continues. "Keep them distracted at a bare minimum, torment them, anything to avoid their interference... And then, an invisible assailant- invisible! lay siege to your very own GCPD. Imagine my surprise when Tetch told me that that man... was none other than Drury Walker?"

 

"You're lying!" Batman retorts, as his slams a batarang into Bane's arm.

 

"No! When I heard the news, I called him, told him of my plan, that only one thing remained, to tune the Batcave's teleporter to Kuttler's network. And he agreed. All it took... was the right persuasion."

 

"Ra's... You offered him Ra's," Bruce gasped, as he swung his body around Bane's arm, and kicked him in the face, turning to the stairwell.

In turn, Bane grabbed his right leg, and tugged him backwards.

 

"Goddammit!" he yells, as he punches Bane's arm. "Ra's will kill him!"

 

"Let him! Forget about Walker. Forget about Ra's. And face *me,*" Bane exclaimed angrily, as Batman finally freed himself from his grip. Panting for breath, he reaches for his grapnel gun, and aims it at the balcony above. "Do you know what you are, Bane? You're a college football star, you never grew up, you never changed. You're just stuck reliving that one match you won. The one goal you scored. The one time you broke me. And you're not worth it," he sighed, as he scaled the stairwell.

 

"Face me!" Bane screamed back.

 

"No," Batman muttered, as he approached the League of Assassins' Archives.

Bane paused, lost for a second, and then he yelled back "I sent Tommy Elliot, Batman! I sent Hush after Selina Kyle! Now fight me!"

 

As Bruce places his hand on the doorknob, he turns around. "No. You didn't."

 

"Was it worth it, Ra's?" Bruce calls out. Gaige lies sprawled on the floor, blood dribbling from his mouth, his body slowly rising and falling from each slow breath he takes.

 

"Yes," he said. "After all, Detective, it brought me you. "Don't you see, the world is changing, it's finally moving forward, and I want you by my side, by my daughter's side when it does." He turned around, and Batman could finally see the damage Gaige had wrought. His face was scarred with three deep marks, like a tiger's claw. His right arm hung loosely, barely in its' socket, and his left eye was white. Colourless.

"This was all for you, Detective. All so that you might follow my example, and finally, finally take command of the League of Assassins."

 

"You maniac," Batman muttered, aghast. "You genocidal, tyrannical maniac. Look at the bloodshed, look at the people, your people, that have died today, because of Arkham City."

 

"Progress always has a cost, Detective," Ra's mused. "The offer stands. Bane could never lead, he's but a thug. Brutal. Inelegant. My daughters, alone, are unsuitable. But with you- The perfect heir. The perfect specimen. Think of the difference we could make... All that's left, is to-" he trails off, as he looks at the open doorway. Standing, gun in hand, is Drury Walker.

 

"Drury? What are you-" Batman begins, but he's cut off as a stream of webbing sticks him and Ra's to the ground.

 

"So I fixed the cocoon gun. Thought you'd like to know," Walker murmurs, as he walks towards Ra's, and kneels softly beside him.

 

"Don't do this-" Bruce urges, as he takes a knife from his belt, and begins whittling away the netting.

 

"No!" Moth yells back. "I'm done playing second fiddle to you and "your" rogues. This is my story, Bats, mine! And you aren't taking that from me. Miranda's dead, her death won't just be a footnote in the story of the Batman," he says coldly, as he places a cold hand on Ra's face.

 

"You ever heard of Quakemaster? How about Geomancer? Nah, I wouldn't expect you to. But when it comes to C-Listers I'm something of a expert," Drury says, as he reaches into his bag, and lifts out a pair of gloves taken from the GCPD. "I want you to feel the pain, all the pain of everyone you hurt... Everyone you *killed* when you dropped a city on them. Their bones breaking, fracturing, twisting out their skin. Their ribcages collapsing, the dust suffocating, clogging up their lungs. Course, I don't have the time to mine under *your* city. To build my *own* bomb... Good thing, I don't need to."

 

Just as Batman frees himself from the cocoon, a harpoon flies through the air, and lodges itself in his knee, a barely conscious Gaige nodding to Walker. The look he gives says everything he needed to hear. 'For her,'

Drury places the gloves on Ra's chest, he can't move, he can't fight back, the cocoon gun has make sure of that, and pushes down, vibrations shaking through his body, his bone's crushed, he struggles to speak. And when he thinks he's suffered enough, Drury picks up a blade, Ra's sword- and rams it through his chest. Just like he did her.

 

Day 1. 2nd attempt at the annual fen and stumpy photo trip, I asked for snow, and what did we find as we approached Glen Coe.... Snow... I cried! very exciting. Stumpy was exasperated with my over emotional state. Happiness = 100%

Azuma House, by Tadao Ando. This house in Osaka is instantly recognizable to any architecture fan. It was one of the first projects I came in touch with as a first year architecture student. I fell in love with Tadao Ando’s work. So I had to see this one in person, even though it’s very well documented online. So well documented in fact, that there’s a poster on the inside of the entrance wall that asks people to keep quiet and to stop going in the entrance and take photos. Apparently the number of visitors exasperates the neighbors.

((Written by me,

translated by my dear friend Mohannad))

__________________

 

The chair… A tricky concept

A conventional term that lifts one name and brings down the crowds.

A conspired necessity that raises one voice and silences the whole.

It is a difficult responsibility when humanity is common… and a revolting bloodshed when bestiality prevails.

The chair… is a big trap and a constant test… You are better finished with it than it finishing you.

The chair is prestige… then a delusion persisting like a fantasy… then a loud fall like an earthquake,

The chair is adhesion… force… command… influence… an almost eternal bliss… though, faster than one expects, is no more all of a sudden.

The chair is an ever growing idea… it knows no fading. Like an inflated balloon… it never shrinks till it blows up.

The chair is a collective of mutilated concepts… It turns brothers bitter… It messes the balance of the scales of justice… and raises a huge obstacle in the way of humanity in its absolute value and decent efficiency.

The chair… is pure insanity… it grows until it becomes the mirror image of a person’s value… and then the metaphysical equivalent to void… and then the true equal of fetishism… But in the end, it is really nothing but a furbished object that is meant to be seated on in the meager realms of reality.

The chair has its rituals… A beginning that enchants its master and falsely promises him a long life of comfort… A middle of absence that exhausts the country and people and veils the hearts with worry… And an end that comes with change… like extracting a tooth and upsetting the soul… until it becomes an eternal lesson that will be told in the grandmothers’ bed time stories.

When the chair is inherited, its human value depreciates immediately until it comes to a minimum… A nation that accepts passing down the chair is a nation that accepts being a whore between the legs of the strongest of semi-humans.

It is the ultimate irony when a cusp forms on the chair… tearing the master’s dress, piercing his bottom, and exasperating his seating.

And it is the ultimate justice for the cusp to grow and grow until it becomes a stake that impales the chair’s master during his tenacious seating…. Turning him from tangible to a trace… or to a shadow cast on the wall of time… like a mark of shame that no passage of time can erase.

When the chair takes off a person… it is terminal… lethal… and as brutal as eternal injustice… and the longer the clinging to the chair is… the bitterer the dislocation is… and when it becomes that bitter… it seizes to be a dislocation and becomes something much more noble and present… it becomes a revolution.

Château du Haut-Koenigsbourg (Haut-Koenigsbourg castle), in Orschwiller, the Bas-Rhin département of Alsace, France.

 

It is not known when the first castle was built. However, a Burg Staufen (Castrum Estufin) is documented in 1147, when the monks complained to King Louis VII of France about its unlawful construction by the Hohenstaufen Duke Frederick II of Swabia.

 

In the early thirteenth century, the fortification passed from the Hohenstaufen family to the dukes of Lorraine, who entrusted it to the local Rathsamhausen knightly family and the Lords of Hohenstein, who held the castle until the fifteenth century.

 

As the Hohensteins allowed some robber barons to use the castle as a hideout, and their behaviour began to exasperate the neighbouring rulers, in 1454 it was occupied by Elector Palatine Frederick I.

 

In 1479, the Habsburg emperor Frederick III granted the castle ruins to the Counts of Thierstein, who rebuilt them with a defensive system suited to the new artillery of the time. in 1462 was set ablaze by the unified forces of the cities of Colmar, Strasbourg, and Basel.

 

In 1633, during the Thirty Years' War in which Catholics forces fought Protestants, the Imperial castle was besieged by Protestant Swedish forces. After a 52-day siege, the castle was burned and looted by the Swedish troops. For several hundred years it was left unused, and the ruins became overgrown by the forest. Various romantic poets and artists were inspired by the castle during this time.

 

The castle was left abandoned until 1899 when it was given to Kaiser Wilhelm II von Hohenzollern by the town of Sélestat. He commissioned the architect Bodo Ebhardt, a specialist in medieval fortifications, to restore the castle. Its renovation satisfied his passion for the Middle Ages, whilst he dreamed of a return to the old German Empire.

 

The political ambition of this huge renovation project, undertaken at the beginning of the 20th century, was to legitimize the newly forged Hohenzollern imperial dynasty, and create a symbol for the world of the power held by this new empire. Today, the restoration is admired more for its educational potential: although it is not altogether perfect, the result is undeniably authentic.

 

Information Sources:

www.haut-koenigsbourg.fr/en/the-castle

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ch%C3%A2teau_du_Haut-Koenigsbourg

 

Issue#14 "You think this is a joke?"

 

After taking over the hospital with my Phobia gas I began distributing and charging extortionate prices to people in need of the supplies. After all a man has to look out for himself. I hear footsteps echo through the deserted hospital, it sounds like multiple persons I better be careful. The hallway doors open and I stare at the pale faced man who walks in, the Joker.

 

"Ah hello there." He greets through a painfully wide smile, his henchmen stand at each side of him and I notice they only have one arm each. Joker must catch on because his lips peel back showing his yellow teeth "Oh ignore them, they were Siamese twins I split up." He states gesturing for them to stay back, I grip onto my scythe tighter and retreat back slightly ready to lunge at him with my blade. "What do you want?" I demand studying his hands for any weaponry, he gestures to me grinning "I want to team up, an alliance if you will." he says smirking. I have to admit that would be quite interesting working with him but he has got quite the rep with The Batman and I don't want that kind of attention. My head throbs in pain and I bite down on my tongue seeing Scarecrow materialise over my shoulder immersed in the shadows. "BUT together we could beat the bat." Scarecrow sneers "But Scarecr-" I begin to say but he leans in close to me, he's so close I can smell his rotting breath and I gag "Do I need to repeat myself?!" he bellows outraged. "N-No Scarecrow." I mutter timidly as he evaporates into the shadows. I look at Joker who seems puzzled, I notice the henchmen behind him staring alarmed. "Ignore Scarecrow he's just a persona." I say chucking awkwardly, Joker laughs with a raspy edge like a smokers laughter. "Personas am I aright?! So what do you say, want to team up?" He cackles placing a hand on my shoulder with his blood red lips stretched from ear to ear. "Ok."

 

"So what is it you have planned?" He coaxes leaning against the wall looking over my chemicals. "Well first let me ask you this, what is the greatest weapon?" I say smirking, he looks to the right slightly perplexed "A killer punchline?" He says bending forward holding his stomach as he laughs. I grit my teeth angrily and look at the Jokers twin henchmen who smile meekly. "Do you think this is a joke?!" I hiss at him walking towards him with my blade raised to his throat. "No jokes are funny I'm just crazy!" He grins lifting up his head exposing his neck to my blade without caution, I contemplate cutting it but step back. "I't's fear, fear is the greatest weapon." I state looking at him, he looks back at me with a deadpan demeanour his smile sagged downwards "Wow you're just a barrel of laughs(!)" he says sarcastically, I huff exasperated and turn back and begin tinkering with my chemicals. "This is going to be fun, The Joker and his edgy cosplaying friend!" He jests placing his hands on my armoured shoulders attempting to massage them encouragingly. "Ugh."

A Noel In Black.

 

The doors to the homeless shelter shut in ten minutes, but Caleb needed another drink. It was Christmas Eve 1970, and he was wandering the streets of Eureka, California in a tattered and filthy Santa suit, crimson hat perched atop his head, dirty beard pulled down around his neck, a streak of vomit running down his left leg.

 

When the Salvation Army gave him the costume, days ago—how many now? Three? Four?—it had been brand new and shiny clean, but he had gone AWOL as soon as he had begged up enough money for a good drunk. He couldn’t believe how easy it was to get money begging in a Santa Suit during the holidays, especially when people thought they were giving to the Salvation Army. Too bad, he thought, that the racket had to end tonight. Fuck it, he was headed to the nearest bar and had a pocket full of money.

 

Bells on bob-tail ring, making spirits bright. Oh what fun it is to sing a sleighing song tonight.

 

Finally managing to make eye contact with the simian faced bartender who was absent-mindedly pushing a dishtowel up and down a pint glass, Caleb waved a fiver in the air, a wry smile of what the fuck? on his face. Red and green Christmas tree lights flickered over the bottles and mirrors and off in the corner the Ghost of Christmas Past grinned its horrid smile. The bartender nodded acknowledgment and strutted over.

 

“Yeah? Whaddya want?”

 

“Beer and a whiskey.”

 

“What kinda beer? What kinda whiskey?”

 

“The cheapest.”

 

The bartender got him his drinks, took the twenty, and left his change in front of him on the bar.

 

Sipping the bitter medicine, Caleb noticed a woman a few stools down trying to draw his attention, a jet of blue smoke issuing from her cherry-red lips as she raised and lowered her thickly-penciled eyebrows. He could tell she had done her best to look good tonight: lots of eye makeup, newer, hipper-looking clothes, but he could see the age in her face, recognized her need like a bad smell. Battered, needy women gave off a stink of desperation he’d learned to recognize over the years. Those years since he’d been back from the war. He’d had his fair share of these types. Always good for a warm bed and a hot meal, but too crazy to spend any real time with.

 

“Hey there, Santa. Buy a girl a drink?”

 

“Sure thing, honey.” Caleb glanced at the barkeep. “Give the lady what she wants.”

 

She slid down next to him as the grim faced bartender mixed a rum and coke, speared a lime with a tiny sword and dropped it in the glass. “I’ve always had a thing for Santa,” she whispered. “Coming in late at night to punish the naughty and reward the nice.”

 

“Yeah, and what are you, darling? Naughty or nice?”

 

“I’ve always thought I was a little of both.”

 

“Ha. What’s your name, baby?”

 

“Sandra. They call me Sandy around here. But I think of myself as Sandra.”

 

“All right, Sandra. What’s your story?”

 

“Just a local girl, been in the same place too long. What about you, Santa? Don’t you gotta lot of work to do tonight?”

 

Caleb laughed, that deep, reassuring laugh he’d mastered over the years, to put people—women especially—at ease. They talked for a while. Then Caleb ordered a pitcher of beer and a couple more shots and they moved to a corner booth. Sandra talked on and on, chain smoking Salems while he drank his beer and sipped his whiskey, watching as the room began to spin in slow, psychedelic and nauseating circles.

 

“You’re awful quiet.”

 

“I’ve been told that before.”

 

“How’d you get them scars on your neck?”

 

Caleb put his hand to his neck, let it drift down to the dirty fake beard, and pulled the knotted grey and black mess of hair over to cover his throat. And that wicked Ghost of Christmas Past with sunken eyes and yellow teeth whispered, “Tell her.” And so Caleb did.

 

“In the war.”

 

“You were over in ‘Nam, huh?”

 

“Yeah, two tours.”

 

“And then what? You come back to have these damn hippies spiting at you? I feel for you, sweetie. My daddy died in France fighting Nazis. Now my brother is in the Navy while this country goes to shit. You got these bastards like that dirty Abbey Hoffman saying to steal everything. And this Charlie Manson Family killing movie stars.” She laughed, shook her head and sipped her drink. “It’s enough to make you sick.”

 

They grew quiet. “So, you going to tell me about those scars, or what?”

 

“Well, I was a Kootchie Kootie. A tunnel rat. You know what that is?”

 

“Oh, yeah. You were one of those guys that go down in those gook holes?”

 

“Sure was. Infantry. 1st Reconnaissance Squadron.” He sighed, not wanting to get into it, but once he started it was hard to stop. “I was working three clicks west of Duc Pho in the Quang Ngai province. I was down in a tunnel. Just me, my .45 and a flash light. Looking out for booby traps and rats and spiders, and this animal. . . it came out of nowhere. Fucking attacked me. Just latched onto my shoulder and wouldn’t let go.”

 

“Oh, baby. You was attacked by an animal down in one of those tunnels?”

 

“Yeah. But when I killed it, when I shot it . . . ” He couldn’t tell her the rest. He couldn’t tell her how after he had shot that thing, the muzzle blast a blinding light, the report deafening, after he had filled that monster full of holes and watched it drop, it had looked just like a little girl. Just a tiny, raven-haired girl, all shot up and bloody, when moments ago it had been a beast: a mess of lurching fangs and drool.

 

His mouth moved up and down silently. He couldn’t say anything. Then, with an incredible effort, what he had managed to say was, “I think I brought something back with me. I . . . I . . . I don’t know.”

 

“You brought something back with you? You mean like that agent orange stuff, honey?”

 

“No, something different. Something, something. . .”

 

“What? In your head?”

 

He wanted to say, no, something in my blood: I brought back something in my blood that makes me a monster; but instead, he just nodded yes, his face a knot, visibly fighting to not break down in tears.

 

“Oh, baby, oh, baby, I understand.”

 

The room was twirling now at a breakneck speed. He was going to be sick. He pulled away from her and vomited on the floor.

 

“Son of a bitch!” the bartender shouted. “Who’s going to clean that up?”

 

Caleb hung over the edge of the booth, retching and dry heaving.

 

“Fuck you, Sam. He’s a veteran! He fought for this country, got attacked down in one of them gook holes. What the fuck you ever done?”

 

“I don’t care if he was on the beach at Normandy. Get him the fuck out of here!”

 

“You’re a piece of work. A real piece of work, know that, Sam? Where’s your sense of Christmas spirit?”

 

The bartender stomped up to her, eyes bulging, an accusing finger extended. “Get your cheap-whore ass out of here, bitch, and take your Santa Claus friend with you. Got me?” he grabbed her face in his hand and jerked her chin up so that he could look her in the eye. “This bar ain’t no place for you any more, Sandy. You make my customers sick. Everyone who’s wanted to has fucked you, and none of them’s too proud of it either. You'se don’t belong here. Find some other place to haunt, you cheap skank.” With that he tossed her head aside and stormed back behind the bar.

 

We wish you a merry Christmas. We wish you a merry Christmas. We wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.

 

Sandra walked Caleb back to the motel room she rented by the month, holding him up the whole way while he leaned against her mumbling and pointing to ghosts she could not see. Once they were back at her room she helped him out of his Santa outfit and got him into the tub. In the heat of the steamy water he regained a semblance of consciousness, came back to himself. When he looked up he saw her through the mist, leaning in the doorway, staring at him. She had changed and was now wearing nothing but a silk kimono. He had to admit she didn’t look that bad.

 

“How you feeling, Santa?”

 

“Good. I feel . . .” he paused, unsure what to say, how he actually felt. “Good.”

 

She knelt down beside the tub, ran her finger over the surface of the water. “Thirsty?” she asked, holding up a tumbler of Scotch and water.

 

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

 

Taking the glass into his hands, he took a sip. Handing it back to her she gave him a penetrating stare that he found hard to decipher and then leaned in to kiss him. She tasted of whiskey, cigarettes and peppermint. But it was good, the way she gently ran her tongue over his upper lip before she pulled away, and Caleb felt himself growing aroused.

 

“Now that you’re all cleaned up, why don’t we get you to bed.”

 

“Sounds good, baby.”

 

“Dry yourself off. I’ll be waiting.” With that she disappeared out the door.

 

He got up from the tub and dried himself the best he could with the cheap, tiny towels the motel provided. When he entered the room she was already on the bed, prone on her back and naked. She may have had a butter face but her body was to die for, and she knew how to flaunt it. He started towards her but she held up her hand, palm out toward him, and exclaimed, “Stop right there, mister. The Santa suit. Put it on.”

 

He gave her a questioning half grimace and then smiled. “You serious?”

 

“I told you: I gotta thing for Santa.”

 

Smirking, he pulled on the dirty jacket and set the conical hat atop his head. “Better?”

 

“Oh, yeah, baby. I’ve been so naughty. I need to be punished.”

 

With that she burst out in playful laughter, turned over onto all fours, and stuck her ass into the air, whispering over her shoulder, “Come and get it, Santa.”

 

He approached the bed and, still standing, he pulled himself into her. She let out a deep moan and he began to move, slowly. He was still drunk as hell and the room was spinning slightly but he could feel that primal urge within to rock and rotate. He began to lunge faster, and faster, and then, suddenly, it was happening again.

 

Fuck. No. No. No. It was happening again. He could feel himself beginning to change as he thrust against her. A part of him wanted to run away, to bolt through the door and into the night so that he wouldn’t hurt her. But another part of him wanted this. It felt good. It felt so fucking good to let go and let the animal inside him take over. Still pounding, Sandra moaning beneath him, he watched in wonder as his fingers—tightly gripping her bony hips—became claws and a thick mat of fur began to weave itself up his arms. Thrusting against her with all his might he lifted his face and began to howl as his mouth filled with sharp, gleaming fangs.

 

Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Claus lane!

 

Margaret Ashton was the manager of the Lone Pine motel. She had been across the street visiting with her daughter and grandson in their two-story, cookie-cutter house, and she was just walking back to the motel office when she heard the screaming in room 308. It was that cheap-tramp Sandy’s room. Margaret had been waiting for an excuse to evict her and marched up to the door, ready to throw her out, Christmas Eve or not. But as she grew closer and heard the urgency to the screams, the gut-wrenching terror of the squeals, she grew hesitant and stopped. Suddenly, without warning, the window shattered, showering her with glass and splintered wood. She fell back and slipped to the ground, watching in utter disbelief as the craziest thing she had ever seen in her life of fifty-six years came tumbling down atop her. It was a wolf. A huge monster of a wolf, with a snarling mouth of fangs dripping blood and drool. And it was wearing a red coat lined in white fur with a Santa cap perched atop its head.

 

From his bedroom window her grandson Tommy watched the entire thing.

 

Later that night homicide detectives would interview the little boy. Tearfully he would relate how he had seen his grandmother ripped to shreds by some kind of beast in a Santa suit. One of the uniformed officers standing idly in the background would then turn to his partner and whisper under his breath, “Looks like grandma got run over by a werewolf, walking home from his house Christmas Eve.”

 

God, the Easter Bunny, and the Ghost of Christmas Present watched as two-year-old Annabelle toddled out the door of her street-level apartment and onto the sidewalk, a thumb stuck in her mouth and dragging a Barbie doll along by the hair. God looked like the guy from the Dos Equis commercials: an incredibly good looking older gentleman with white hair, perfectly coifed, and a nicely trimmed beard, in a tuxedo. The Ghost of Christmas Present looked extremely bored and kept yawning. The Easter Bunny was an out-of-work writer who needed a shave, dressed in a pink bunny outfit.

 

“Cute kid,” the Easter Bunny commented.

 

“I wouldn’t get too attached,” the Ghost of Christmas Present replied, disinterestedly stifling a yawn.

 

Annabelle’s parents were fighting again and they could all hear their voices echoing out from the apartment.

 

“Just how many Quaaludes did you take? You can’t even look at me. Jesus, wake up, bitch, I’m talking to you.”

 

“Fuck off, Henry. You always were a bore.”

 

“You dumb cunt. I oughta slap the stupid right offa your face.”

 

When the wolf came galloping down the middle of the street in its blood soaked Santa suit the Easter Bunny turned to God and said, “You gotta be putting me on, man.”

 

God rolled his eyes.

 

The wolf grabbed the baby in its mouth and threw the child upward into the night sky where she hung suspended in the moonlight for a moment, tiny arms and legs kicking, and then tumbled down, landing on the street with a thud. The beast leapt at her, sinking its fangs into her neck and thrashing its head side to side until the tiny figure ceased to struggle and lay limp in its mouth.

 

“It’s probably for the best,” the Ghost of Christmas Past said.

 

“What? Why?” the Easter Bunny asked, scratching at the stubble on his face.

 

“You want to tell him, God? Or should I?”

 

God gestured with his hands, as if to say, “Go ahead. It’s all you.”

 

“If Annabelle had lived through this night, after being molested by her stepfather and stepbrother, she would have become a heroin addict by fourteen and a prostitute by fifteen. She then would have gotten picked up by a notorious serial killer who after raping her for days would finally kill her by trying to give her a lobotomy with a cordless drill. Her life taken like this, quickly and mercifully, is a blessing, a thing of joy. A Christmas miracle.”

 

“Is this true?” the Easter Bunny asked God.

 

God grinned and nodded.

 

“You don’t say much, do you?” the Easter Bunny asked God.

 

God just shrugged.

 

Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la la la la la. ‘Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la la la la la.

 

Father Mulligan was cleaning up after midnight mass when he heard the click-clack of claws on the wooden floor. He paused, chalice in one hand, ciborium in the other, and listened.

 

“Hello?” he called out, his voice echoing throughout the empty chapel. “Who’s there?”

 

Beneath the pounding of blood in his ears he distinctly heard panting, like that of a large animal. “Hello?”

 

Deep in the dark recess of the hall something stirred, moved, and then came slinking out of the shadows: a large creature walking on all fours, its eyes alight and flickering like yellow flames. The beast came forward slowly down the aisle, Santa hat drooping down one side of its head, a dead baby hung limply in its mouth. The wolf approached the altar and came so close that the priest could smell it, a feral odor of blood and musk. It spit the baby to the floor where it landed with a horrible smack.

 

But the priest didn’t run. He stood his ground, murmuring prayers beneath his breath. He knew why the beast was there, why this spawn of evil had come. It was here to punish him. Punish him for the things he had done to all those little boys. So many. First in Ireland when he had just been doing what had been done to him when he was an altar boy. Then, after coming to America, in Philadelphia, where for years the urban darkness of poverty and city life had let him run rampant. Not yet here in California, where he had been sent quickly by the diocese so as not to cause a scandal. But he had his eyes on a few of the boys in his congregation. Some of the poorer ones who he thought wouldn’t tell.

 

Seeing the monster here was a blessing and death would be a mercy. He fell to his knees, kissed his stole, and lifted his neck to the beast. But instead of taking him by the throat, the beast spun him around by the shoulders so that the priest fell face first to the floor. With one quick jerking motion the monster shredded the priest’s pants and mounted him. The priest cried out in pain and surprise as the wolf forcibly entered him and warm blood began to trickle down his leg.

 

God, the Easter Bunny and the Ghost of Christmas Present stood at the back of the chapel watching. The Easter Bunny had taken off his hood of rabbit ears and was puffing on an e-cigarette and furiously tapping away on an iPad mini. “Been blogging about this whole thing, and, yeah, a lot of people see that as offensive. I mean, what the fuck? You got a werewolf dressed like Santa Claus raping a child molesting priest on Christmas Eve?”

 

The Ghost of Christmas Present laughed heartily. “Well, I hate to say I told you so, but . . .”

 

“You got nothing to say about this, God?” the Easter Bunny asked, momentarily looking away from his iPad.

 

God tilted his head to the left, his thin lips bending into a sad frown, and, raising his eyebrows in an, “Oh, well,” manner, shrugged again.

 

Joy to the world, the Lord has come. Let Earth receive her king!

 

Gravy Brain Jane was out of her mind on LSD and had nowhere to go. She had a thousand tabs of purple sunshine on her but the connect had never shown and wasn’t answering the phone. Exasperated and befuddled, her vision a swirling cyclone of light and darkness, she stumbled from the Greyhound Station to a small clearing in a copse of woods. She sat leaning against a tree, the branches dripping and melting around her, the sky a miasma of spiraling stars and galaxies. She giggled and mumbled, “No sense makes sense,” to herself.

 

Charlie had sent a message from prison that she should deliver the acid here. If Charlie said it would work out, it would work out. She was sure of that. She had thought the other passengers on the bus would have been startled and scared by the X that Sandy and Squeaky had helped her burn into her forehead with hot bobby pins, but no one had noticed at all.

 

The Easter Bunny, who wasn’t even wearing his rabbit outfit anymore, and was now just dressed in his usual black jeans and t-shirt, was pacing back and forth irritably. He turned to the Ghost of Christmas Present and asked, slightly argumentatively, “Well, where’s God?”

 

“Oh, he couldn’t make it. Had a concert to catch.”

 

“A concert? What are you talking about?”

 

“Well, it was Skynard and you know how he loves Free Bird.”

 

“Typical.”

 

Gravy Brain Jane giggled when she saw the beast slowly creeping towards her. She had been taught to love coyotes when the family was in the desert of Death Valley. Back on the ranch Charlie had taught them to break down the final walls society imposed on them by having them fellate the stray dogs.

 

“Hey there, beautiful,” she said. The wolf just stared at her with its unblinking yellow eyes.

 

From their glimmer and spark she knew just what the creature wanted. It wanted what all men want and she had been taught the ways of a free love society. Giggling she squirmed from her panties and lifted her skirt with a vacant grin. She knew that in love there is no wrong. That submission is a gift and that you should never learn not to love. Charlie had taught her well.

 

She spread her legs, exposing herself, and the beast crept up to her and lowered its snout to her and began to lap at her in quick, greedy, licks. She gripped his ears tight, her head thrown back, and thought about how groovy and sexy it was to be pleasured by the beast, to have death and life so close, to lay your hands upon the monster and be free in love. As she bucked and lurched and felt herself climax she thought about how the Son of Man had taught her that death is only another orgasm, that everything in the universe is in and out and in and out in a cosmic orgy, babies coming out, galaxies sinking into black holes, knives plunging in, blood pouring out. Wow! Talk about the Big Bang!

 

The beast crawled atop her and slipped itself into her. When it shuddered and released itself inside her she knew within her heart that she would be with child. This was a happy moment. A glorious moment in time. Another Christmas miracle. Oh, joyous night. She would name this child Stewart, Stewart Kirby, after her grandfather.

 

Afterwards, the beast lay against her, spent. She stroked its fur with her nails and gently kissed its blood drenched snout. In this way the beast kept the girl warm through the coldest hours of the night.

 

Silent Night. Holy Night. All is calm. All is bright.

 

Free in the moonlight as snow began to fall, bathed in the stink of congealing human blood, the taste of flesh and woman fresh on its lips and tongue, the lycanthrope ran, the stars above him a smear of spilled milk, the moon a cataract eye aglow in malignancy.

 

On the First Day of Christmas my true love gave to me. . .

 

Caleb awoke in the morning naked and freezing, enveloped in the scent of the Douglas fir and redwood. He shivered and looked about. Snow was falling heavily, blanketing the earth in white. Beside him lay his tattered Santa costume, by some miracle the hat still clung to his head.

 

He glanced above the towering tree tops to the shelter of the sky and saw there a light both majestic and bizarre. Seemingly fake, like a bad special effect from a cheap television show. And in that glaring gleam of white, he saw a black figure descend: The Ghost of Christmas Future who spoke in a deep and sultry voice while extending out a hand, “Do you wish to come with me?”

 

In his mind all he could hear was Bing Crosby crooning I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas, and a million worlds passed before his eyes. Birthday cakes with only a few candles to blow out. His mother’s smile as she tugged on thread, sewing patches on a Cub Scout sash. Playing catch with his dad who bought him that special glove for little league and would oil it with him in the falling sun of the suburban evening. Watching Kennedy’s skull explode on television, Jackie screeching and trying desperately to crawl away. The Howdy Doodie show. Lee Harvey Oswald grimacing in pain and turning as Ruby put a bullet in his side. That gnarled old apple tree in the backyard, how that ancient tree would fill with tiny white blossoms in the spring so that you could not tell how old and bent it really was, its age hidden in its blooming. How those tiny petals fell in early summer, glistening in the amber light, a shimmering rain of flowers cascading down and lying white as snow on the ground. Sweat streaming down his brow as he pushed a lawnmower, that smell of fresh-cut grass, such a vibrant green it made his head hurt. Behind the baseball dugout with Betty Connors on a warm summer night: his first kiss. How she had moved away soon after and he had never seen her again. His draft card: that plain and innocuous envelope of a pale yellow color that they’d all dreaded and all expected. Telling his father, “Guess I’m going to war, pops.” And his father just nodding back stoically. His gal Sally, with her beehive hairdo, who wouldn’t let him fuck her no matter how hard he begged and pleaded, telling her he didn’t want to go to war a virgin. The ancient apple tree in autumn, loaded with ripe fruit. The bumpy ride over the Pacific in a military transport plane. The Vietnamese whore who spread her legs for a single American dollar. Paddy fields burned and incinerated so that no water stood within them and the rice stalks withered. January 1968. Tet: The New Year, a time to worship ancestors. An intricate barrage of hellfire. Medivac choppers stuffed with bloody men and boys. Fire fights, flares illuminating the night, the thunder of mortars and sparks of muzzle flash. A landscape of smoke and exploding ordinances. Those mornings when the bombers flew in and the ground shook like jelly. Seeing men he knew dancing and screaming in flames. Splintered, broken trees, smoke billowing in the distance. The Pickle Switch and canisters of napalm. VC bodies dressed in black lying in horrible piles. A rifle on the ground with a stream of ammunition dripping out of it. “I dare you to pick up that dead man’s gun.” “Yeah, right.” The tunnels. And the idea of winter, just the concept of it in that hot, hot land where all is hidden from you, taken, and there is nothing to believe in or hope for, but you imagine that tree back home nonetheless, barren and without leaves and fruit, draped in snow and frozen. The way the men whispered when they found a dead body, till all you hear is whispers of body, body, body. Then the beast appears who is really only a little girl. How could you have thought that a little girl was a monster? There was no monster, just a little girl, you made everything else up. But now there is a monster, just as sure as there are ghosts, an Easter Bunny and a God. It’s you. You’re the monster. You’re the beast. And you think to yourself, “What have I done? What did I do?” Then, as you face this ultimate truth, the cold takes you. And when would spring come again? Certainly not in this lifetime, and not on this earth. So, “Yes,” you say to the cold and the winter. To the Ghost of Christmas Future who holds nothing forth but death. “Yes. Take me. Just take me away and let me be free.” An affirmation to end the rest of your negations.

 

And you let go of that aching, awful, agonizing pain of being a man of flesh and blood, the cold slowing down your heart, and give in to death.

 

And as you slip away, into the embrace of the Ghost of Christmas Future, you wonder, “Was it real? Was any of it real at all?”

 

And in the heavens a laughing God finally breaks his silence and answers: “There is no such thing as real. It’s all just a dream within a dream.”

 

Story written by: HumboldtLycanthrope

===Van Cleer Manor===

 

Blake- Hey, kiddies!

 

Kitten- Uncle Blake. ... How'd you get past the electric fence?

 

Blake- Calendar Man makes an excellent shield.

 

Axel- 'Not sure if that's impressive or horrifying.

 

Kitten- Both.

 

Blake- Look, children. Where's your ma?

 

Axel/Kitten- Out.

 

Blake- Don't lie to me. I can smell her scent.

 

Axel- Good god you've upped the creep factor.

 

Blake- Zodiac'll do that to you.

 

Kitten- But... He's dead.

 

Blake- Uh no. I think I'd know if he was dead!

 

Axel- Yeah, dad told us the whole story. Big penis cannon. Death by Fire Crotch. I heard Calendar Man fucked his corpse..

 

Blake- Well, your father's never been entirely honest... (kinda why he's in Blackgate)

 

Axel- No. You can't make that shit up.

 

Blake- Agree to disagree.

 

Axel- I'll agree that you're wrong

 

Kitten- Didn't you hide his body?- I was pretty sure it was found in that play park.

 

Blake- Where. Is. Your. Mother?!

 

Kitten- In the bathroom.

 

Blake- Ooh.

 

*Kitten and Axel exchange a look*

 

Axel- She's in the shooting range you fucking creep.

 

Blake- Ta.

 

...

 

Kitten- Was that wrong of us to tell him?

 

Axel- On the upside Mom might kill 'im.

 

Kitten- Hmm.

 

====The Shooting Range====

 

*Bang* *Bang* *Bang*

 

Blake- Hey Miranda.

 

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

 

Miranda- Blake.

 

Blake- Thank god, you've run out of bullets.

 

...

 

Blake- Oh no, you're reloading...

 

Miranda- We've been over this

 

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

 

Blake- You haven't heard me out proper.

 

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

 

Miranda- I think I heard all I needed to when you blurted out that hairball innuendo.

 

Blake- That was immature. But that was soooo long ago. I've changed!

 

*Bang! Bang!*

 

Miranda- That. Was. Tuesday.

 

Blake- And I've changed!

 

Miranda- Really? Even if you've suddenly grown a pair-

 

Blake- I have a perfectly fine pair already thank you.

 

Miranda- Who'd you steal them from? I'm not giving up on Drury just to screw a furry.

 

Blake- I'm not a- How come Drury gets a free pass?

 

Miranda- He's fuzzy. Not furry.

 

Blake- That's not- Don't tell me you haven't thought of it. Of me.

 

Miranda- I'd sooner snog Dekker.

 

...

 

Miranda- Fuck off.

 

Blake- Oh my. You have! You have thought of it! How couldn't you, eh?

 

*To the tune of "Everybody Wants to Be a Cat"*

 

Blake- 'Cause-

 

Everybody wants to screw this cat,

 

because this cat's the only cat

who knows where it's at.

 

Everybody's pickin' up on that feline beat,

'cause everything else is obsolete.

 

Now a Moth, please don't mourn,

can make you wish you weren't born,

ever' single day;

 

and with a Moth in the act,

he can set fuckin' back

to the caveman days.

 

I've heard some horny bugs who tried to sing,

 

but this cat's the only cat

who knows how to swing.

 

Who wants to dig

Professor Pyg,

or shit like that?

 

When everybody wants to screw this cat.

 

A Moth, please don't mourn,

makes you wish you weren't born,

ever' single day;

 

and with a Moth in the act,

he's gonna set sweet music back

to the cave man days.

 

Everybody wants to screw this cat,

because this cat's the only cat

who knows where it's at;

 

when havin' sex you always has a Welcome mat,

 

'cause everybody digs a bangin' cat.

 

Everybody digs a a bangin'-

 

*Bang!*

 

Blake- Aargh! You fucking shot me?!

 

Miranda- Oh yeah. Sorry.

*Bang*

 

Blake- You- you- did it again!

 

Miranda- Whoops

 

Blake- That's just- Since when do you even *have* a fucking shooting range?!

 

Miranda- Oh. Built it an hour ago.

Blake- N-aaargh!

 

Miranda- Aw, kitten.

 

*pow*

 

Miranda- "No one screams like Catman,

or demeans like Catman,

In a bawling match nobody bawls like Catman,

He's especially good at exasperating, everyone he's ever met"

==Pump Room. ACE Chemicals==

 

Doctor Alex Sartorius. As far as doctors in Gotham go, he's still one of the good ones, even now (granted, there ain't a lotta competition). When Cobb caused a city wide blackout, Al joined up with Gotham General, volunteering to strap himself up to a generator, all to keep the facility running. A makeshift human battery.

Later, he joined the Society- under my pressuring, and defected when Gotham became a target. Hadn't really talked to him since. Shame, he had a bunch of great party tricks. Infectious laugh. But as with a bunch of rogues; Freeze, Needham, his attempts to be better were thwarted. By Arkham City.

It's sickening, really. See, unlike the rest of them, I wasn't *planning* on going straight. Just kinda happened. Suppose I should thank Josie for that. Fact is, I'm not a hero and, unlike Drury, I never even wanted to be. I just look after my own. And Doctor Phosphorus is one I've neglected for too long. All I'm hoping is, that as one of the few rogues *not* to end up in Arkham, he's not feeling too bitter... Hah. Big fucking ask...

 

"Chuck," I say, "Can I trust you to get the rest of them free? And y'know, stop them from killing us."

 

"I'll do my best," he replies, as he fiddles with the door locks. Good, now I can focus on Phosphorus.

 

"Lynns...." his voice crackles, barely audible above his sizzling flames... His sizzling, gorgeous- Get a grip, Gar.

 

"Al. You take that drug too, or is the company here *really* that good?"

 

Phosphorus scowls. "You know, some of us aren't driven by greed or pride, Lynns. Some of us do what we do just to get by. My body is burning. Perpetually burning. My skin is on *fire,* and it will stay that way long after I'm dead. It used to be that every step I took was agony. I owe Doctor Crane, the painkillers he provides are the only things keeping me upright, so you'll be damned sure I'll protect his research."

 

"And here I thought you'd oppose human experimentation. You lot never learn."

 

"We have a plan, yeah?" Chuck asks, undoing the locks on Dekker's cell, avoiding a very grateful kiss.

 

"No, no we don't. My flamethrower's useless against *that*. Don't suppose you've got any baking soda in that kite of yours?"

 

Chuck pauses. In thought.

 

"Nah, of course not..." I sigh, dodging a fireball. God, green flames really are something special...

 

"Wait, I know someone who might," he responds, snapping me out of it, as he turns to the next cell.

 

==Mixing Chamber. ACE Chemicals==

 

Crane clutches a bag of seed in his hand, feeding his crows one by one. Even now his hands shake. Nervously. That just might be the key. "How did you get Mr Lynns to follow you? Threats of blackmail against his "family?" The simple promise of wanton destruction? Not, I hope, loyalty? These... misfits, think a lot of you. Mr Brown, especially, promised swift retribution, and, in the past I've had similar conversations, if you can call them that, with Mr Walker. It makes you wonder. Why *do* they believe in you? Every dog has it's day. Even you, you can't beat the "bad guy," every time. And yet their faith persists. Why? Fear, I suppose. But I know better. You're a fraud, Dark Knight. Two-Face can have what's left of you, I want your soul."

Two-Face pricks up at this, gripping his pistol.

 

"So, let's begin, shall we?" Scarecrow smiles, injecting Bruce with the serum. He rests his ring down on the table, and with it, the gurney disappears, and he staggers backwards, no longer is he held together by constructs, and nor, is Batman.

 

Two-Face scowls. "What are you doing, Crane?"

 

"Testing my hypothesis. I want to see how far he'll go. You're free, Batman. Free to win your war on crime whichever way you like! What first? A siege on Blackgate Prison? A hit and run in the Batmobile."

 

Batman looks down. The serum's taking it's toll, as hard as he's trying to fight it, the allure is... intoxicating. He's silent at first, and then, he whispers, softly. "What I should've done from the beginning"

 

He grabs Crane by the throat and hoists him above his head, a sadistic smile growing across his ragged face. "Wonder-urk-ful!" he cackles in-between gasps. Venom plays on Batman's lips. Each word a knife in Scarecrow's chest.

"They don't want you in The Society, Crane. You're unstable. Erratic. Flawed."

 

His smile fades. "Luthor-"

 

"Luthor's gone. Who does that leave? Bane. Sinestro. Black Adam. Do you really think they'd tolerate your psychoanalysis? Or your insane experiments?"

 

"The ring chose me!" he shrieks back. Two-Face reaches for his gun, pointing at it Batman's head. "Just give the word-"

 

"Wait-!" Scarecrow responds.

 

"Do you want to know what they really think of you? The truth? You're nothing. You're a distraction. Always were," Batman grins.

 

"The truth, Batman, is that I am *terrified.* I have no idea what is about to happen, and I love it... Fear is a drug... Ecstasy... Oh, I haven't been this afraid for so long... That's what happens when you've been on the receiving end of your wrath. Fear is wonderful... And that's what I'll take from you. The adrenaline pumping through your veins, the sweat on your brow... Fear is a privilege."

 

Batman stops himself from delivering a final blow, and loosens his grip around Crane's neck.

 

"You really are as naïve as you appear... How annoying..." Crane sighs, the ring returning to his finger. "Did you really think it would be that simple? On or off, the ring answers to *me* Batman. Did you think I had nothing left?"

 

Batman turns around, "No, I knew." Producing a syringe from his hand, taken from Crane's person, he hurls it in into Two-Face's wrist, the gun falling out of his hand. Next, he pins Cranes arm behind his back, and administers the toxin.

 

"What the hell are you doing?" Crane demands, as he sends a hailstorm of bats at Bruce. As they approach, the constructs fade. Powerless.

 

"Simple. Fearless gave Two-Face the push he needed to take control, introduce Fear toxin into the system, and he'll lose his foothold on Harvey's mind."

 

"Bruce... You lied..." Harvey coughs in-between breaths. His brow furrows, as he holds his hand in his. "I'm sorry Harvey, I can't give you peace. But maybe... I can give you control."

 

=======================

 

"Mayo! Mitch, buddy, I need your belt!" Chuck calls out, unlocking the cell door, the room smeared with sauces of every kind.

 

"Nice try, Charlie. But you betrayed us," Mayo utters in defiance.

 

Chuck raises an eyebrow. Confused.

 

"Arkham City? You left us at Zeiss' mercy. Twice. Then you dropped me in an earthquake!"

 

"That's not what... I saved you from Zeiss!" Chuck yells back, frustrated that this is what his kindness got him.

 

"You set him on us!" Mayo exclaims, a bottle of relish shaking in his hand.

 

"Technically, Penguin did-" Chuck groans.

 

"Forget about the midget, I am the Condiment King, and I will not be-"

 

Pow. A single blow and Mayo's unconscious. "Sorry Mitch, that drug did a real number on you..." But at the same time, he wondered if he *did* have a point. Fearless didn't make anything up, it just freed locked up feelings and brought them to the surface... No bicarbonate, anyway. What a waste, he thought, as he chased after Gar, his fight with Sartorius bringing him to the central vats.

 

"If it's medicine you want, Al, just let me-" Gar starts, another fireball grazing his face.

 

"It's Phosphorus! Doctor Phosphorus!" Sartorius screams, the catwalk beneath them melting under his heat.

"Yeah, yeah, and I'm Firefly but I'm not fucking uppity about it!"

 

"Hey you!"

 

"Chuck?" Gar coughs. "Did you get the stuff?"

 

"He had vinegar, would that help?" Chuck explains, holding up a single sachet.

 

"What are you idiots playing at?" Phosphorus turns around, laughing.

 

"Told ya, infectious," Gar smiles to himself.

 

An amused smile stretches across Phosphorus' skeletal features. "Yes, vinegar *can* remove phosphorus, but not alone, and not with a tiny sachet of it! Are you two insane?!"

 

Chuck smirks, Fearless flowing through his veins

He turns to Gar, winks, then turns back to Phosphorus, jumping on the ground, he grabs Gar's fallen flamethrower, aims it at the floor beneath Phosphorus, and winks. "Hell yeah."

The catwalk beneath them melts, and, as Phosphorus reaches out for a railing, it burns in his hand. With a final yell, he plunges into the vats below.

 

Expecting thanks, Chuck is instead met with Gar's unchained fury. "You lunatic! We're standing on a powder keg!"

 

"Hell yeah!"

 

"He's made of fire!" Gar cries out.

 

"Hell yeah!"

 

"You're going to kill us-"

 

Chuck places a hand over his mouth, newfound confidence surging through his body. "Gar, buddy, say it with me."

 

…

 

"...Hell yeah," he mumbles as they head for the exit, the room behind them exploding into emerald flames, a gun blocking their path.

 

"Seriously?" Gar mutters, as he looks at Condiment King's bloody face. "You want to shower me in ketchup later, go ahead, but right now, let's get out of here."

 

"The Condiment King bows to no one!" Mayo proclaims, stroking his broken jaw.

 

"Just... Just fucking do it," an exasperated Gar replies, pushing the ketchup gun out of his way.

 

"Hell yeah!"

 

Gar pauses to point an warning finger at Chuck. "Stop that."

 

===========

 

Brown's explosion is felt halfway across the plant. Crane looks at the window, aghast, then back to Bruce. "You have no idea what you've done!" he cries, summoning a scythe, and hurtling it at him. But, before landing in his skull, it fades away again.

 

"Actually, I do. That ring feeds off fear Crane. I *let* you inject me. Because right now, you've got no-one left to terrorise. Right now, you've got no power. No allies. Just a man playing dress up."

 

"You're lying... You're lying! I will not be made a fool of again, Batman, I will not have my own weapons turned against me! Never again!"

 

His power was draining, his body was falling apart. As he chucks a knife Bruce's way, he ducks, knocking him back into the cages filled with crows, all of them pecking at Crane, injecting him with his virus. Disappointed, the ring slips off his finger, and attempts to fly off, in search of a new bearer, for Bruce to quickly grab and seal it away.

 

"No..." Crane whispers, as he staggers around. "*I* want to be afraid... I want... I need... That's all I ever wanted."

 

"So the Doc failed after all. Shame. All those speeches... All that power, and he tried, what, talking you to death?" Two-Face is on his feet, gun in his hand. "Where were we?"

 

The first shot hits Batman in the shoulder. The second in his shin. The suit's armoured, but it's not bulletproof, not completely.

Two-Face loads it with his silver bullet, now Bruce is finally here, finally at *his* mercy, and yet, he stops. His hand shakes. "Don't be a hero, Harvey," he mutters to himself.

 

"We need to check the coin..." Harvey warns.

 

"There *is* no coin anymore, you idiot, *I'm* the casting vote."

 

"That's not *fair,*" Harvey complains.

 

Bruce is getting up, slowly. Soon the whole factory will be up in flames and them with it.

"Who cares what's fair? The things I've had to put up with, for you. Jimbo, Bats, the little Kite-Man... If you let *me* make a damn decision, those problems would be gone! Dead!"

 

"The floors unstable," Bruce groans, "Harvey, let me save you!"

 

Dent turns around. He knew about the floor. "That's just it Bruce, I don't know if I can be... Heh, the coin, that usually decides it for us."

The planks give way, and Dent outstretches his arms. His turn. His turn to be free... Only for Bruce to catch his arm.

 

"Soon, Harvey," he sighs, as he pulls him back up, "I promise," placing him on his back, and grabbing Crane's limp figure, he leaps out the window to safety, ACE Chemicals erupting in a colourful display of flames and fumes.

On the ground, Chuck and Gar emerge from the rubble laughing like madmen. They'd flown out on Chuck's kite. For several minutes they just lie there giggling.

 

"That was incredible!" Gar cries out, taking in the view, before composing himself

 

"Hell yeah!"

 

"PETA's gonna kill us..."

 

"Hell yeah!"

 

A familiar voice calls out, as he rushes to their aid. Drury. "Gar, you’re ok! When I saw the blaze I thought that maybe you’d blown up… again. But, Gar, listen, when I was at Slabside-"

 

"Hah! Drury fecking Walker, we meet again! How many children do you suppose you've killed? Must be hard, sustaining the moral high ground when you've spilled any blood, let alone an innocent's!" Scarecrow cackles, as the GCPD carts him away.

 

"Oh, fuck off!" Gar cries, standing up. "What were you gonna say there Dru?"

 

Drury looked to the ground, and sighed. "Grange is dead."

 

...

 

There's a moment's pause in the festivities. "Good." Gar finally says.

 

"Yeah," Drury nods "That was me a few months ago. But, I don't... I should never have left the house," he mumbles as he steps back into his car.

 

"Hey, Drury!" Gar calls out. "What… What happened to your hand, there?"

 

Drury smiles slightly. "Nothing, it's stupid, this bird, it, uh, pecked me at the funeral. Rotten Walker luck, that's all. Rotten Walker luck..." as he turns on the ignition.

 

...

 

Batman and Gar both turn around at this. "Bird?"

1. Leslie: "Where have you been Lilith??? Lauren has another stash of designer clothing! We need to hurry while she's still up on the other tower!"

Lilith: "Stop!! It's not my fault!! I fell so many times and I needed to go fix my hair!"

Leslie: (exasperated) "just go around the corner already. You take that side and I'll do this ... Hurry!!!"

2. Lilith makes her way up the 2nd tower.....

3. And Leslie puts her best foot forward!

4.For some reason Lilith has a difficult time .... Maybe Leslie has taken Mountain Climbing lessons!

5. Lilith is exhausted .... but she did it .....

== My Alibi==

 

"Hey, folks," a new, squeaky voiced arrival swung the door open and lumbered down the steps.

 

The short man’s entrance was met with an enthusiastic "Jumbo!" from the bar patrons.

Smiling at the welcome, Jumbo trotted across the bustling bar and sat down beside James Carter at his usual stool by the counter. Carter slackened the strap of his hefty mail bag and slapped his friend across the back.

 

Without missing a beat, Leonard Fiasco manoeuvred past the Turtle, and slid a glass of the Ant-Man’s favourite beer his way.

As he did so, his eyes met with waitress Celia Smith who blushed and quickly looked down.

 

"Oh, Len, what are we doing?" she asked him.

 

Fiasco’s jaw slackened. The question had caught him by surprise. Something was wrong. He kept wiping the counter, his hand stuck in a clockwise motion. My Alibi was burned to the ground. Carson and Carter were dead. Turtle was currently a baby. Celia Smith ditched him for Bruce Wayne back in junior high. And... And... And... There was a ringing in his head like there was an audience just beyond the north wall. A north wall, which for some strange reason, his eyes would wander past. Like something was there that didn’t want to be seen.

 

"End the simulation."

 

==Arkham Asylum==

 

Crane’s gnarled hand grasped the armrest of his wheelchair, a curled lip concealed behind layers of stitched burlap. As they observed Fiasco, a variation of the Cheers theme began playing. Billings grinned at Crane proudly, but catching his eye, swallowed, and turned the cassette off.

 

"There’s... There was a good bit coming up," he assured Scarecrow.

 

Crane looked at him, his lip curled. "I think you misunderstand the assignment, Mr Billings. They are supposed to believe in the simulation."

 

"He did-"

 

"Oh? Reminding Fiasco of Carson’s death?"

 

"He fit the archetype-" Billings began.

 

"I don’t want an archetype. I don’t want tropes. Or clichés. I want an authentic glimpse into a better life. One we can tear down and destroy this man utterly. Run the simulation again. No Jumbo Carson. And no... wooden Indian in the doorway."

 

"Hey, I never met this Smith girl, she could look like Shelley Long-"

 

"Enough. Run the simulation again."

 

It wasn’t a suggestion, but a command. That much was clear. And Dellbert Billings had been in this business long enough to know when it was time to argue, and when it was time to shut up.

 

"No matter," Crane’s nose wrinkled, smelling the liquor on Billings’ breath. "How is our other subject?" he asked.

 

Billings breathed a sigh of relief. Good. Crane didn't intend to kill him just this yet. "Let me show you-"

 

As he took hold of the handles of the wheelchair, Crane slapped his hand away. So much for that goodwill...

 

"I am no helpless babe, Mr Billings. I do not require your assistance," he scowled, gripping the wheels himself, and trundling forwards.

 

"Uh, see, Joker was insistent, Scarecrow. Didn’t want you, uh, 'Trundling off the edge of a cliff.'"

 

"I would be so lucky..." Crane mused, as his arms slumped down to his sides, allowing Billings to cart him off in the direction of the second observation room: Jeremiah Arkham was standing in the center, the cramped cell transformed into a sprawling auditorium. He was on stage, accepting a Nobel Prize for his strides in bettering the world's understanding of Mental Health, in curing all the sick and unhinged that had plagued this city for all these years. And he was smiling, blissfully unaware of the two monsters observing him from behind the glass. No, he didn't have the capacity to fight the simulation; his weeks of torture at the clown's hand had made sure of that.

 

"See? Fine," Billings spoke, taking another swig from his hip flask.

 

"A pity."

 

"I don't know about that, he’s a valuable hostage," Billings shrugged. "No matter how things turn out, the cops aren’t gonna risk one of their own."

 

"One of their own? The fascist fools in the police department wave their badges and guns around in the air, begging to be taken seriously. But Jeremiah Arkham is, was, different. His family’s legacy was tarnished by a mad dog and a doctor stricken by the same madness he had built this institution to tame. So, when he graduated medical school, he aimed to do what Amadeus could not, what Sharp, Young, Cavendish and all the other supposed academics failed to do: To tame the untameable. Not for profit, but for the greater good. And look... Just look at what that has cost him. His freedom. His sanity, perhaps. The pity, Mr Billings, is that he failed. Failed to resist your illusions when a lowly bartender, a parasite, a lowlife with a gimmick saw through your mind games. Gotham grinds most into the ground, but none fare worse than the idealists who actually delude themselves into believing that they can make a difference. It consumed Dent. It consumed Grange. And so too will it consume Doctor Jeremiah Arkham."

 

A crackle of lightning signified Zoom's arrival, standing between the two men, his red eyes darting between them. "The Joooooker wantsto seeeeeeee you," he raised an arm at Scarecrow.

 

"Oh, very well..." Crane resigned himself. "We wouldn't want to disappoint him..."

 

===Gotham City===

 

Garfield Lynns rang the doorbell and took a step back, ushering his companions to stand behind him in case things got ugly. There was a faint tapping of footsteps from within, and then the handle turned; a tall, red-haired woman had answered the bell; she had a glass of wine in one hand and was dressed in a stretched-out t-shirt which came to a rest at her knees and read 'This Mom is on Fire.'

 

"Oh," her nose crinkled, as she looked down at the group shuffling by the porch. "I thought you were dead."

 

"Hey, Clair. Missed you," Gar spoke. Behind him, Needham nodded politely while Joey dragged his feet across the ground, avoiding eye contact. Jenna picked at a freckle on the bottom of her elbow.

 

"Well, that sucks all the fun out of teasing you. Come in," she replied, ushering Gar inside and rolling her eyes at the sorry-looking lot trailing behind him. "Josie’s upstairs, I just put her to bed ten minutes ago."

 

"Alright, good," Gar nodded. As Jenna stepped forward, Clair placed her arm across the doorframe, blocking her way.

 

"Jenna," she said coldly, her orange eyes fixed on her. The glass of wine in her other hand bubbled.

 

"Clair," Jenna answered equally stiffly, standing on her tip-toes to match Volcana's height.

 

"Let her through, Clair," Gar called back tiredly.

 

Clair ignored him at first, her eyes shining with an amber glow, but ultimately, she relented, moving her slender arm aside.

 

Jenna slid past her cautiously and caught up with Gar, resting her head on his shoulder and muttering in his ear. "That woman is a sociopath by the way. You do know that right?"

 

"I am aware," Gar smiled softly. "How do you think I got these?" he asked, gesturing to the dry patches of cracked, burnt skin across his face and scalp.

 

"She didn’t…" Jenna gasped. She looked back; Clair was waving at her, taunting her.

 

"She did. I was all fixed up until Clair Selton came back into my life."

 

"I mean, I know Drury said, but I thought-"

 

"He’s being overdramatic, dear. It was all very consensual," Clair rolled her eyes at her.

 

As Joey climbed up the steps, he turned back to face Needham.

 

"You not coming?" he asked, perturbed.

 

"Nah, I should probably check in with Bats... Someone needs to explain... that," Needham stated. "Don't worry, I’ll let Brown know you’re safe. Or safe enough," he gestured to the doorway.

 

Joey nodded back, and followed the rest of the group inside.

 

Shortly afterwards, the trio were escorted into the living room. As they settled down on the suspiciously up-market furniture, Gar frowned, noting a still-attached price tag, and a sticker which read 'Display Only.' Jenna, tapped his knee affectionately, and rose to her feet. “I'll be right back," she promised, although there was a peculiar unease to her words. "I just need to hit the shower.”

 

"It’s upstairs," Clair gestured.

 

As she departed, Joey took her place at Gar's side, nudging his friend's ribs playfully (and forgetting that he had broken them not so long ago). "Psst, Gar, that sounds like your cue."

 

"Huh?" Gar grunted in response.

 

"Look, I’m no Blake, but seems to me like 'Hit the shower' is girl talk for, y’know, an invitation."

 

"Rigger… She’s hitting the shower, to wash off the blood of her last boyfriend."

 

Joey's playful smile faded. "Oh. I thought those were freckles."

 

"In her hair?"

 

~-~

 

The Misfits approached the Waterworks: a foreboding structure of rusted metal pipes and stone arches overlooking the Gotham Reservoir. The other members of the party kept their distance, while Sharpe marched towards the entrance and chapped the golden, dragon-shaped door knocker against the tall wooden door. There was a sound of shuffling from within, then the door creaked open, revealing the fearsome, hooded visage of Shiro Ito. The doctor was holding a wax candle, which sat on a round metal tray, illuminating his reptilian eyes.

 

"Montgomery?" Ito answered, his eyes softening as he recognised his late-night caller. “What brings you by so late? If you are looking for Cynthia, then I am afraid to say that she is in her room, no doubt gossiping with her friends; you know how children are... I was just about to watch my programme on the television.”

 

"Yeah, Doc, I figured," Sharpe nodded. In actuality, looking for ‘Cynthia’ was the last thing he wanted to do. "Thing is, my friends and I need a place to crash. Normally, you know, I’d just take them to my place, which is pretty bitchin’ by the way, but it’s only got the two bedrooms, and after the night I’ve had, I really don’t feel like sharing a duvet with Condom King."

 

"Montgomery, you know how I feel about your profanity…" Ito chided him.

 

"Shit, yeah, I forgot," Sharpe swore, already taking a crumpled dollar bill out of his pocket. "To make matters worse, a friend of mine, Blake; maybe you’ll remember him; he was the guy possessed by King of Cats before Gramps. And if you don’t, then you probably have Alzheimer’s. Which is fine and all, you are a hundred and y’look great on it, scales and all! But it’s probably worth mentioning at your next physical."

 

"You are rambling, Montgomery."

 

"Right- Anyway, he got stabbed. Another friend of mine, more an associate, acquaintance, to be honest, also got stabbed. What’re the odds? Well, pretty high given our line of work, I guess... You’ve met him too, I think. He’s called Ten. Cause of his fingers. ‘Course, most people have ten fingers but his are freakier... ahem Basically, I’d really appreciate it if you could help a guy out."

 

Ito mulled over Sharpe’s request, then looked down. "Montgomery, what happened to your trousers?" he asked, gesturing to his ripped jeans.

 

Sharpe’s brow furrowed. "My pants? That’s just the style!"

 

"No no no," Ito shook his head. "This won’t do at all. Please, allow me to stitch them for you."

 

The Dragon King placed his arm around Sharpe’s back, and before he could utter a single word of protest, he was escorted inside, the door closing behind them.

 

The minutes passed, and although the rest of the Misfits continued to wait patiently, Chuck was more skeptical, wondering if perhaps Sharpe had abandoned them, having been led astray by the Dragon King’s promises of freshly baked muffins and a warm bubblebath. A further two minutes later however, his fears were disproven, as the door opened once again, and Sharpe called out to them:

 

"It’s cool, you can come in!" he assured them, standing in the doorway, his cheeks a deep red. Incidentally, he wasn't wearing any pants, exposing his white underpants adorned with red and black suits.

 

Not privy to Ito's earlier offer, the Misfits approached the entrance tentatively, as their minds ran wild with speculation. Initially silent, Mayo addressed the elephant in the room with his usual tact. "Chancer, where are your pants?"

 

"Hey, let's not judge him," Blake determined, sticking up for his friend. "Who hasn't greased a few palms here and there?"

 

"Somehow, I doubt that his palms were the only things greased," Kuttler murmured dryly, as the group entered the building.

 

==Arkham Asylum==

 

"Among the suspects arrested tonight was former Gotham mayor, Drury Walker. In addition to tonight’s skirmish, Walker faces charges for his attack on the GCPD earlier this summer. Additionally, Abner Krill, for his complacency in the Arkham City disaster, and Ted Carson for the shootout in Gotham General have also been apprehended, alongside the notorious Calendar Man, who is believed to be the mastermind behind the attack.

 

Walker, known by some as The Killer Moth, is reportedly cooperating with authorities to-"

 

A boxing glove attached to a metal spring smashed through the TV screen, then retracted into the barrel of The Joker’s oversized gag gun.

 

"No," the clown stated, an uncharacteristic scowl stretching across his pale face. "The story can’t end like this: Not yet. There are so many loose threads! Incomplete character arcs! And it won’t. Not if I (and our readers) have anything to say about it!"

 

"Bah!" Crane scoffed, no stranger to the clown's odd tangents. "I grow tired of these games, Joker. You know as well as I that Zolomon could eliminate every one of those Misfits in one swoop. And yet, you sacrificed my Fearless formula so, what? The Calendar Man could feel included? Well now, we have no formula, no Polka Dot Man and not an ounce of progress made on your little pet project. Now, is the time to act.

Think! We have an opportunity here, to bring this city to its knees, and you are squandering it all over an irrational infatuation with Killer Moth! Have you considered the avenues that Billings’ illusion technology can open? The new wave of nightmares that we can craft for our victims?"

 

A fresh smile broke across the clown's face, as he strutted over to his wheelchair-bound accomplice.

 

"Tut tut tut... You’re still so narrow minded, Johnny Boy. Fear this, fear that... It's rather like you're fearful of trying something new!" Joker teased, tussling Crane's hat playfully.

 

"Theeeeeeee prooooofesssssssooooor hasavalid point," Zoom interjected, his arms folded.

 

"Thank you," Crane nodded appreciatively.

 

"ButIhave noooooo interest inconquestor reeeeeeeevenge. Walker isthe taaaaaaaarget. Andright nooooooow Waaaaaaaalker isonthe edge. Hecanbe moooooooulded intothis wooooooorld’s greatest heeeeeeeero oritsvilest villain, buttheother Misfits are a distraaaaaaaaction fromthat goaaaaaaaal. Andthatgoal caaaaaan onlybe birthed from traaaaaaagedy."

 

~-~

 

"Excuse me, Doctor Ito," Chuck asked. "Is there a toilet?"

 

"Of course," Ito nodded, pointing his wooden spoon in the direction of the farthest hallway. "Third door down."

 

At the ISA headquarters, Thomas Blake was watching the news broadcast on the Dragon King's television; an old, unsightly thing that didn't seem to have been replaced since the 1960s. Behind him, Mayo was helping Ito stir a pot of sauce on the equally outdated stovetop.

As Julian's mugshot appeared on the screen, he raised his glass, as though to honour his old friend. "Notorious..." he repeated glumly. "You finally got your wish, didn't you Jules..."

He took a gulp of his drink, and immediately spat it out, drenching the table in crimson liquid. “Dude, is this blood?!” he glared at Ito. All eyes were on the Dragon King now, who shrugged dismissively:

 

"You said you were thirsty."

 

"Not for blood!" Blake countered.

 

"Ah. My Cynthia is a fussy eater too."

 

~-~

 

"In other news, four bodies were recovered from a Sionis Industries facility in South Gotham. Commissioner James Gordon held a press conference earlier today."

 

"It is believed that this particular warehouse was being used as a staging area for a rival gang working to take over the False Face Society. Of the four bodies recovered tonight, three were high profile inmates at Blackgate Penitentiary. The fourth, a man we have identified as Henry Ferris, is believed to have been the ringleader of this attempted coup. It is our suspicion that the Black Mask, the current head of the Society, uncovered Ferris’ scheme and sent a hit squad to eliminate him."

 

"Here, I made you some tea," Clair announced, placing down a tray of three steaming mugs on the coffee table beside Gar and Joey.

 

Wise to Volcana's tricks, Gar swatted Joey’s hand away. “Don’t drink it, Rigger," he warned before tilting his head towards Clair. "Did you heat it with your hands again?" he asked, throwing her an accusative glare.

 

"Maybe," was Clair's response.

 

"You know that burns the ceramics. And our insides… Just use a kettle."

 

"The kettle takes too long," she shrugged.

 

"Like thirty seconds at most," Gar began to argue, only to be struck by a sudden realisation. "You don’t heat the showers yourself, do you?"

 

"Gar, do I really strike you as the kind of person that would mutilate your current girlfriend?" Clair teased.

 

Gar looked at her askance.

 

"Yes…?" Joey asked. "Absolutely, yes."

 

"Lord, I’m kidding," Clair pouted. "I’m not a monster."

 

==ISA Headquarters==

 

Chuck opened the second door, and as he stepped through, it was as though he had been transported to another world, and in some respects, he had been; the room seemed to go on for miles and miles and the walls were all painted in hues of greys. It was like Kansas, from the Wizard of Oz film; all swirling shadows and black masses, and it felt like he was being watched by a thousand eyes.

 

"Good evening," a voice spoke from the darkness. It was surprisingly eloquent; the accent was English, but old English, like a nobleman's or a duke's, or an aristocrat's. Its' owner, was standing several yards away, denoted by the slight glint from their sunglasses and the hint of a tall top hat. They appeared to be holding a white cup and saucer; the only things not caked in darkness.

 

"I was... looking for the toilet," Chuck spoke, the words finally finding him.

 

"Third door on the right. Thank you kindly," the voice instructed him. "It wouldn't do to get lost. Not in this dreadful place."

 

~-~

 

Blake wiped his mouth, and looked up from the table: Ito’s daughter, Cindy Burman, was awake now, and with her were three other girls her age, all dressed in baggy clothing that could almost be mistaken for prison uniforms, if not for their bright pink colouring.

 

"Speak of the Devil-Child," Sharpe sniggered.

 

"Cynthia? You should be sleeping," Ito stated, cocking his head to one side.

 

"Urgh, don’t we have any food in this house?" the girl complained, ignoring her father’s queries, as she opened the cupboard beside him and started raking through it.

 

"There is a carton of ice cream in the freezer," Ito relented.

 

"What, where you keep the severed heads?"

 

"I am well organised, Cynthia. The risk of cross contamination is minimal."

 

"You’re embarrassing me!" the girl squealed petulantly. "Let's go, gang, I'll order us a pizza since daddy clearly doesn't care if I starve!" Cindy exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in protest, and kicking the trashcan on her way out.

 

"Ahh, teenagers," Ito spoke wistfully. "To be seventeen again..."

 

"Uh, dude, I don’t think those girls are here willingly," Blake tapped Sharpe on the shoulder, leaning in closely so that Ito would not overhear them.

 

"Nah, come on!" he snorted. "It’s Ito, he’s cool."

 

"Is he... Is he going to turn them into lizards?" Bridget asked, as she too looked over at the girls with increasing concern.

 

"Dragons, babe. And only if they force his hand," Sharpe shrugged.

 

Not convinced, Blake raised his shirt up, and ran his finger across his fully healed knife wound. "Yeah, well, I don’t think my skin’s supposed to turn green like that."

 

Kuttler, rolled his eyes, clearly irritated by the Misfits' irreverent attitude. "Very well, if no one else will ask it, then I will: What do you intend to do with her?" he asked. The Misfits each turned to look at Bridget, who sat isolated at the end of the table.

 

"She saved my life," Ten vouched for her. "I would have bled out in those service tunnels if not for her."

 

"Yeah, but no offense, Ten, you’ll latch onto anyone who can stop you bleeding for a while," Sharpe countered.

 

"I actually take quite a bit of offense to that."

 

"And when next you’re stabbed, I’ll have you indebted to me with some gauze and a couple of bandages."

 

"Don’t worry," Bridget shook her head. "I’m not staying long. I... can’t. I have to pick up a few things from Uncle Jacob, after that I’m leaving town. For good." But even so, she sounded unsure.

 

"Where will you go?" Mayo asked.

 

"Doesn't matter. I just... need to be away from this city for a while. Away from the Carsons and Walkers of the world."

 

Ten scraped his chair along the floor and placed it at her side. "Perhaps it’s not my place... Perhaps, god forbid, Chancer is right, and I do just have a dependency, a complex, but you did save me. And when you defied your father, when you kept that virus out of his reach, even if it was just for a moment, I believe you saved us all."

 

Bridget scoffed, dismissing Reardon's revisionist account. "I didn’t save anyone... Hayden messed with my mind, took the vial."

 

"And moments before, Julian Day dug an axe into my shoulder and took that same vial from me. At the end of the day, he was stopped, and you helped. You want to know why I have faith in you? Because faith... Faith is all I am. And I believe it’s all part of a bigger picture. His picture. You might not think that’s the case, but you did make a difference tonight. In fact, I believe you still can. If you stay with us, if you put up with us: it’s going to be hard, it’s going to be, quite frankly exasperating, but it will be worth it in the end."

 

He offered Bridget a prosthetic hand. His mouth was dry in anticipation, worried about what she might say or do. But after a moment's hesitation, after weighing her options, she took it, and shook it firmly. It wasn't just a gesture, no, she understood Ten's offer and what it represented; it was a way to clear the board, and finally do something right. And just like that, all those past grievances; the fights... The Arkham Moth, the Society, Chronos... it was all settled with a handshake.

 

Chuck re-entered, a phone in his hand, and perhaps a little paler than he had been when he had left. "That was Eric; Gar and Joey got Jenna. They're all safe; they'll be staying at Volcana's for the time being. Did I miss something-?"

 

"That's funny. Thought you said they were safe," Sharpe smirked.

Technical Info: Single Elinchrom Quadra head, camera left (full power, 1/250 @ f22).

 

This shot was taken on Devils Dyke, just outside Brighton, East Sussex. Despite Sunday being a pleasant spring day, early evening brought with it a bitterly cold north wind across the top of the South Downs. All credit to Magnus for braving the cold :) It was flippin' freezing!!!

 

Background

I first met Magnus about 2 years ago. At 6' 7" you can't help but be impressed by his physical presence, but then you realise that the power of Magnus goes beyond the physical. Magnus has a warmth and energy that is infectious. What follows comes from Magnus' website;

 

"Magnus’ parents came over from Nigeria in the 1960s, and Magnus was born opposite London’s Houses of Parliament, the eighth child of Fred Agugu, a Visionary, Statesman, Freedom Fighter and one of the Founding Fathers of Bayelsa State in Nigeria. The Agugu’s life in London was very different from their privileged position within the Izon tribe in Southern Nigeria. Six children were raised in a one bedroom flat in Brixton, Magnus’ parents’ marriage ended and his father returned to his homeland while Evelyn raised the children alone.

 

Times were extremely hard, but a great foundation was being laid – Evelyn was passing on to Magnus the methods their ancestors used to heal.

 

However, Magnus was struggling with school and a severe speech impediment and concluded that life held no opportunities for him. He entered a deep depression. At 17 Magnus was grateful to get a job as a porter.

 

Despite having no belief in himself, Magnus’ kindness and friendship was much valued by the millionaire residents where he worked and Magnus began to see that a world of opportunity did exist.

 

After 15 years he left his job as a porter and co-founded ‘The Shadow Workshop’, running a series of courses that educated people to channel their anger constructively, and put the power behind it to good use. The results were amazing, but the group dissolved, and Magnus was again struggling to find his path in life.

 

In 1999 Magnus had met Cathy and a long love affair had begun. However, Cathy’s life had been very different from Magnus’ - full of opportunity and privilege, and for many years there was no combining their different views on how they each wished to live their lives. Eventually, in September 2004 they married and Magnus moved away from the culture he knew and into life in the Sussex countryside.

 

Six months later, he had failed to find work and felt trapped and exasperated. One night he lay awake praying to God, ranting and raving and pleading for help. “Why, God, did you bring me here? You must have something in mind for me, what am I to do?” To his amazement there came a reply – clear as anything he heard the words “Magnus, be a masseur”. So with the confidence that God was behind him, he set to work, remembering how his mother had taught him as a child.

 

Immediately those he treated were telling him that he was no ordinary masseur, that he was a healer, and others were having premonitions that he would become a world healer".

 

Read more at www.magnusthemasseur.co.uk

Grazie a Chi l'ha visto, grazie ai siti on line, ai blogger, ai giornalisti, anche gli improvvisati dell'ultimo minuto, che attraverso la rete hanno diffuso le immagini di quanto successo in una scuola di Cittadella.

C'è poco da recriminare il video, come ha fatto il Garante per la protezione dei dati personali, invitando le persone a cancellarne ogni traccia dalla rete. Video che tra l'altro sfuma il viso dello sfortunato protagonista. Se così non fosse stato chi mai avrebbe conosciuto questo increscioso episodio, che probabilmente sarebbe rimasto circoscritto dentro le mura dell'antico comune nel padovano.

Quale media ne avrebbe mai parlato se il programma "Chi l'ha visto" non l'avesse trasmesso facendo indignare milioni di persone, che incredule hanno osservato scene d'una violenza inaudita contro un piccolo bambino di appena 10 anni, trascinato a forza dentro una macchina della Polizia davanti agli occhi increduli dei presenti, scioccati anche loro dalle urla strazianti di un figlio che lotta fino alla fine per non essere strappato dalla sua mamma.

Le immagini parlano da sole e non serve tanto entrare nel merito della questione, ovvero di una separazione finita male, probabilmente tra carte bollate e avvocati e con un figlio conteso tra due coniugi esasperati. Ma qui entrano in gioco le istituzioni, quelle che in taluni casi sono costrette a sostituirsi con estrema sensibilità e capacità a situazioni familiari difficili e pericolose in cui la protezione per i soggetti più deboli diventa la priorità assoluta.

L'esatto contrario di quanto offrono le vergognose immagini, in cui regna la completa assenza di quel minimo di sensibilità che questa operazione richiedeva.

Bastano poche regole, che già esistono nero su bianco nella Convenzione sui diritti per l'infanzia. Piccoli principi ai quali le stesse istituzioni devono ispirarsi, perchè sono state siglate dai loro governi. E d’istituzioni coinvolte in questo frangente, ce ne sono. Eccome, dal Tribunali dei minori che ha ordinato il prelievo del piccolo, ma con "discrezione" riporta il provvedimento, agli agenti di Polizia che dopo i metodi ben documentati rispondono con una frase che ci fa precipitare improvvisamente in un'epoca da dimenticare: "io sono l'ispettore, lei non è nessuno". Questa Italia non è più quella che ricordavamo.

  

Thanks to who has seen it, thanks to online sites, bloggers, journalists, even the improvised last minute, that have spread through the network the images of what happened at a school in the Citadel.

There is little to complain about the video, as did the Guarantor for the protection of personal data, inviting people to erase any trace from the network. Video which also blurs the face of the unfortunate protagonist. If it had not been who never would have known this unfortunate episode, which probably would have remained confined within the walls of the ancient town in Padua.

Which media would have never talked about whether the program "Who has seen" had not transmitted by indignant million people, incredulous that observed scenes unprecedented violence against a small child of just 10 years, dragged in a police car before the incredulous eyes of those present, too shocked by the screams of a child who fight to the end to avoid being ripped from his mother.

The images speak for themselves and do not need much to go into the question, or a separation ended badly, probably between official documents and lawyers and a child torn between two spouses exasperated. But here comes into play the institutions, those that in some cases are forced to substitute with extreme sensitivity and ability to difficult family situations and dangerous in that protection for the weaker becomes the priority.

The exact opposite of what they offer the shameful images, in which prevails the complete absence of the minimum sensitivity that this operation required.

Just a few rules that already exist in black and white in the Convention on the Rights for Children. Small principles which should govern the institutions themselves, because they were signed by their governments. And on the institutions involved in this situation, there are none. And how, from the lower courts that ordered the removal of the small, but with "discretion" shows the measure, the police officers that after the well-documented methods respond with a sentence that makes us fall suddenly at a time to forget " I am the inspector, she is not anyone. " Italy this is not what we remembered.

The view form the Hotel Suvastu.

  

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swat_District

  

Swat (pronounced [ˈsʋaːt̪], Pashto: سوات) is a valley and an administrative district in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa Province, located close to the Afghan-Pakistan border. It is the upper valley of the Swat River, which rises in the Hindu Kush range. The capital of Swat is Saidu Sharif, but the main town in the Swat valley is Mingora.[1] It was a princely state (see Swat (princely state)) in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa until it was dissolved in 1969. The valley is almost entirely populated by ethnic Gujjar and Pashtuns (Afghans). The language spoken in the valley is Pashto/Pakhto and Gojri. With high mountains, green meadows, and clear lakes, it is a place of great natural beauty and is popular with tourists as "the Switzerland of the region".

  

History

  

Swat has been inhabited for over two thousand years. The first inhabitants were settled in well-planned towns. In 327 BC, Alexander the Great fought his way to odegram and Barikot and stormed their battlements. In Greek accounts these towns have been identified as Ora and Bazira. Around the 2nd century BC, the area was occupied by Buddhists, who were attracted by the peace and serenity of the land. There are many remains that testify to their skills as sculptors and architects. In the beginning of the 8th century AD, Gabari Royal Tajik tribe advanced through Laghman, ningarhar, Dir and invaded Swat, defeating the Buddhists and the Hindus. This war was headed by Sultan Pakhal Gabari and later on by Sultan Behram Gabari Rulers of Kuner Pich and cousin of Rulers of Balkh and Kashmir. Later some Dilazak encrouched tha area and settled among Gabaris, who in turn were ousted by the Yusufzais which was backed by Mughal Badshah Zahiruddin Muhammad Baber, considered the super power in 1519 and 1520. The historical paradox was that the Yusufzais were ousted from Kabul by Mirza Ullegh beg, the uncle of Baber, and killed 600 malak of Yusufzai; the Gabaris helped Yousofzais refugees with a warm welcome and settled them in Bajour Dir and Swat regions. The Yousofzais forgot the generosity of Gabaris and encrouched upon the Gabari state with the plotted help of Zahiruddin Muhammad babar. They Demolished the Gabar-Kot (fortress) in bajour in 1519 and further advanced to the swat and compelled the last Gabari King Sultan Awais Gabari to flee to Upper Dir where he established his rule in,Chitral wakhan,Badakhshan and other upper Oxus. The originator of the present family of Swat was the Muslim saint Abdul Ghafoor, the Akhund of Swat, a Safi Momand of Hazara district, from where he went to Buner territory. He was a pious man and the people respected him so greatly that they called him Akhund Sahib.[2]

 

During the mid-19th century, Muslim tribes were fighting against each other for the possession of Swat Valley. On the intervention of the honourable Akhund Sahib, the killing was stopped, and such was his influence that the chiefs of all tribes unanimously made him the ruler of the valley. Akhund Sahib administrated the valley according to Muslim laws. Peace and tranquility prevailed, and agriculture and trade flourished in the territory. Akhund Sahib had two sons by his wife, who belonged to Nikpi Khel(نیک پی خیل).

 

After the death of Akhund Sahib, the tribal chiefs again started fighting and killing, which continued for years. Eventually the tribal chiefs agreed to give the control of the valley into the hands of the honourable Gul Shahzada Abdul Wadood, the son of Mian Gul Abdul Khaliq, son of Akhund Sahib. The wife of Mian Abdul Wadood was the daughter of Honorable Mirza Afzal-ul-Mulk, the ruler of Chitral. The British by trick put Chitral under the suzerainty of Kashmir. The Chitral ruler gave two horses every year to the Rajia of Kashmir, and the Raja provided Chitral with grain and sugar, etc. Swat thus went under protection of the British.

 

During the rule of Mian Gul Muhammad, Abdul Haq Jehanzeb, the son of Mian Abdul Wadood Khatana, the state acceded to Pakistan in 1947. The present prince, Muhammad Aurzngzeb Khan, son of Jahanzeb, married the daughter of Field Marshal Mohammad Ayub Khan in 1955. Thus by intermarriages with the other castes, the family became a branch of the imperial Gujjars i.e., the Royal family of Swat valley which belongs to the Gujjar family which laid down the foundation of Swat kingdom. Jahanzeb started a Degree College at Saidu Sahrif, the capital of the State, and four High Schools at Mingora, Chakesar, Matta and Dagar. Fourteen middle schools, twenty-eight lower middle schools, and fifty-six primary schools were established. A girls high school and high class religious schools were established at Saidu Sharif. At all the schools, the poor students were granted scholarships. The state was an exemplary state during British rule. They also have a firm stand in politics of Pakistan. The current Prince Aurangzeb Khan was also Governor of Baluchistan.

  

Buddhist heritage of Swat

  

Although it is generally accepted that Tantric Buddhism first developed in Swat under King Indrabhuti, there is an old and well-known scholarly dispute as to whether Uddiyana was in the Swat valley, Orissa or some other place. Padmasambhava (flourished eighth century AD), also called Guru Rimpoche, Tibetan Slob-dpon (teacher), or Padma ‘byung-gnas (lotus born) legendary Indian Buddhist mystic who introduced Tantric Buddhism to Tibet and is credited with establishing the first buddhist monastery there.According to tradition, Padmasambhava was native to Udyana (now Swat in Pakistan).[3] Padmasambhava was the son of Indrabhuti, king of Swat in the early eighth century AD. One of the original Siddhas, Indrabhuti flourished in the early eighth century AD and was the king of Uddiyana in the Kabul valley. His son Padmasambhava is revered as the second Buddha in Tibet. Indrabhuti's sister, Lakshminkaradevi, was also an accomplished siddha of the 9th century AD.[4] Ancient Gandhara, the valley of Pekhawar, with the adjacent hilly regions of Swat and Buner, Dir and Bajaur was one of the earliest centers of Buddhist religion and culture following the reign of the Mauryan emperor Ashoka, in the third century BC. The name Gandhara first occurs in the Rigveda which is usually identified with the region[5]

  

Buddha heritage in the Swat Valley

  

The Swat museum has acquired footprints of the Buddha, which were originally placed for devotion in the sacred Swat valley. When the Buddha ascended, relics (personal items, body parts, ashes etc.) were distributed to seven kings, who built stupas over them for veneration.

  

The Harmarajika stupa (Taxila) and Butkarha (Swat) stupa at Jamal Garha were among the earliest Gandhara stupas. These were erected on the orders of King Ashoka and contained the genuine relics of the historic Buddha.[citation needed]

 

The Gandhara school is credited with the first representations of the Buddha in human form, rather symbolically as the wheel of the law, the tree, etc.[citation needed]

 

As Buddhist art developed and spread outside Gandhara, Gandharan styles were imitated. In China the Gandhara style was imitated in bronze images, with gradual changes in the features of these images over the passage of time. Swat, the land of romance and beauty, is celebrated throughout the Buddhist world as the holy land of Buddhist learning and piety. Swat was a popular destination for Buddhist pilgrims. Buddhist tradition holds that Buddha himself came to Swat during his incarnation as Gautama Buddha and preached to the people here.

 

It is said[by whom?] that the Swat valley was filled with fourteen hundred imposing and beautiful stupas and monasteries, which housed as many as 6,000 gold images of the Buddhist pantheon for worship and education. Archaeologists now know of more than 400 Buddhist sites covering an area of 160 km2 in Swat valley alone. Among the important excavations of Buddhist sites in Swat an important one is Butkarha-I, containing original relics of the Buddha. A stone statue of Buddha, is still there in the village Ghalegay.[citation needed] There is also a big stupa in Mohallah Singardar Ghalegay

  

Hindu Shahi Rulers and Sanskrit

  

Swat was ruled by the Hindu Shahi dynasty who have built an extensive array of temples and other architectural buildings now in ruins. Sanskrit may have been the lingua franca of the Swatis.[

  

Hindu Shahi rulers built fortresses to guard and tax the commerce through this area. Their ruins can be seen in the hills of Swat: at Malakand pass at Swat’s southern entrance

  

Advent of Islam by Mahmud of Ghazni

  

At the end of the Mauryan period (324-185 BC) Buddhism spread in the whole Swat valley, which became a very famous center of Buddhist religion.[8]

 

After a Buddhist phase the Hindu religion reasserted itself, so that at the time of the Muslim conquest (1000 AD) the population was solidly Hindu.[8]

  

In 1023 Mahmood of Ghazni attacked Swat and crushed the last Buddhist King, Raja Gira in battle. The invasion of Mahmood of Ghazni is of special importance because of the introduction of Islam as well as changing the Chronology.

  

Arrival Of Yousafzais

  

The first Muslim arrivals in Swat were Pakhtun Dilazak tribes from south-east Afghanistan. These were later ousted by Swati Pakhtuns, who were succeeded in the sixteenth century by Yusufzai Pakhtuns. Both groups of Pakhtuns came from the Kandahar and Kabul valley

  

Geography

  

The valley of Swat is situated in the north of N.W.F.P, 35° North Latitude and 72° and 30° East Longitude, and is enclosed by the sky-high mountains.

 

Chitral and Gilgit are situated in the north, Dir in the west, and Mardan in the south, while Indus separates it from Hazara in the east. Physical Features: Swat can be divided into two physical regions:

 

Mountainous Ranges.

Plains.

  

Mountainous Ranges

  

As mentioned above, Swat is lying in the lap of Mountainous Ranges, which are the offshoots of Hindukush, so the larger part of Swat is covered with high mountains and hills, the crests of which is hidden by everlasting snow. Though these gigantic Ranges run irregularly: some to the west while the others to the east, but the general direction is North-South. These ranges enclose small but very enchanting valleys.

 

Eastern Ranges: In Kohistan-e-Swat the chief knot of eastern ranges is Mankial. Its northern branches separate Kohistan-e-Swat from Abasin Kohistan. These ranges form a barrier between Gilgit and Swat, and between Chitral and Swat. The southern extension of Mankial ranges reaches proper Swat. There they join Shangla ranges. Shangla ranges separate proper Swat from Shangla Par area (Shangla Par district). In Shangla district, there are Karora Ranges, which separate Puran from Kanra and Ghurband. The continuation of Shangla ranges joins Dwasaray. On the one hand Dwasaray separates lower Swat from Puran, on the other, it set aside the Buner from Puran. Now the general Direction of the ranges turns westward. Here it is called Elum. Elum Ranges is a big wall between the proper Swat and Buner. The Elum ranges at last join mountains of Malakand.

  

The Western Ranges: Western ranges start from the mountain and hills of Gabral, Kohistan-e-Swat. It joins the hills of Kundal (Utror). There these ranges meet Daral Ranges. These ranges form a border with Dir district. They run west ward and are named according to the locality. For example Lalko ranges Manrai and Chaprai etc. at last they join the hills of Adenzee and Shamozee. Manrai ranges send off some off shoots southward. They the hills separate Arnoyay valley from the widest valley of Nekpikheil valley.

  

Plains

  

Actually the valley of Swat starts from the foothill of Malakand but we are concerned with portion from Landakay to Gabral (Gulabad), the area within the administrative boundaries of Swat. The length of the valley from Landakay to Gabral is 91 miles. Two narrow strips of plains run along the banks of Swat River from Landakay to Madyan. Beyond Madyan in Kohistan-e-Swat, the plan is too little to be mentioned. So for as the width concerns, it is not similar, it varies from place to place. We can say that the average width is 5 miles. The widest portion of the valley is between Barikot and khwaza khela. The widest view point and the charming sight where a major portion of the valley is seen is at Gulibagh on main road, which leads to Madyan. There are some subsidiary valleys, which help to increase the width of the main valley. These subsidiary valleys are called "Daras". A Dara a narrow passage between mountains, and sometimes, the upper course of a river is also called Dara. If we imagine the main valley as a stem of a tree the subsidiary valleys form its branches. Swat River and its tributaries drain Swat. There fore, the whole valley is the outcome of running water. This flowing water cuts the upper courses deeply, and flows the load of washed away materials. As the gradient is greater in the upper course so the erosion is on large scale, particularly in the summer rains, when all the rivers are in flood. The big boulders and stones are rolled, which causes more destruction in the upper courses. When the loaded water reaches to the areas of low gradient, the heavier materials are deposited. The deposition takes place according to the slope, generally, we observe, that the upper course is made up of big boulders, the middle course is of relatively small stones, pebbles, and debris, while the lower course is made of fine clay. Anyhow, the whole plain of Swat valley is strewn by the running water, and is made up of fine alluvial soil.

  

Demographics

  

The population at the 1981 Census was 715,938, which had risen to 1,257,602 at the next Census in 1998. The main language of the area is Pakhto. The people of Swat are mainly Pakhtuns,(Afghans) Yusufzais, Akhund Khel Miangan (Syed), Chitralis, Kohistan is, Gurjar (Gujar or Gurjar is the major tribe of the district; its people are divided in different clans like Khatana, Bajarh, Chichi, Ahir, Chuhan, Pamra, Gangal etc. are the main subtribe of the Gurjar family of Swat), Akhund khel Yousafzai, Nooristani, and Awans. Most probably they are originated from the same tribe that roamed around the great trans-Himalayan mountain ranges thousands of years before, and now remained in some isolated pockets of the Himalayan mountain ranges.[citation needed]

 

The Dardic people of the Kalam region in northern Swat are known as Kohistan is and speak the Torwali and Kalami languages. There are also some Khowar speakers in the Kalam region. This is because before Kalam came under the rule of Swat, it was a regional tributary to Chitral. The Kalamis paid a tribute of mountain ponies to the Mehtar of Chitral every year.

  

Tourist attractions

  

Marghazar

  

Marghazar 16 km away from Saidu Sharif is famous for its “Sufed Mahal” the white marble palace of the former Wali (Ruler) of Swat.

  

Malam Jabba

  

Malam Jabba (also Maalam Jabba, Urdu: مالم جبہ) is a Hill Station in the Karakoram mountain range nearly 40 km from Saidu Sharif in Swat Valley, Peshawar, Pakistan. It is 314 km from Islamabad and 51 km from Saidu Sharif Airport.Malam Jabba is home to the largest ski resort in Pakistan. The Malam Jabba Ski Resort, owned by the Pakistani Tourism Development Corporation, had a ski slope of about 800m with the highest point of the slope 2804 m (9200 ft) above sea level. Malam Jabba Ski Resort was the joint effort of the Pakistan government with its Austrian counterpart. The resort was equipped with modern facilities including roller/ice-skating rinks, chair lifts, skiing platforms, telephones and snow clearing equipment.

  

Swat Museum

  

Swat Museum is on the east side of the street, halfway between Mingora and Saidu. Japanese aid has given a facelift to its seven galleries which now contain an excellent collection of Gandhara sculptures taken from some of the Buddhist sites in Swat, rearranged and labelled to illustrate the Buddha's life story. Terracotta figurines and utensils, beads, precious stones, coins, weapons and various metal objects illustrate daily life in Gandhara. The ethnographic section displays the finest examples of local embroidery, carved wood and tribal jewellery. For the last three years the museum is occupied by Pakistan army and it is not known when they would be leaving it.

  

Miandam

  

Miandam is a small summer resort ten kilometres (six miles) up a steep side valley and 56 kilometers (35 mi) from Saidu Sharif, making it an hour's drive. The metaled road passes small villages stacked up the hillside, the roofs of one row of houses forming the street for the row of houses above. Tiny terraced fields march up the hillside right to the top. Miandam is a good place for walkers. Paths follow the stream, past houses with behives set into the walls and good-luck charms whitewashed around the doors. In the graveyards are carved wooden grave posts with floral designs, like those used by Buddhists 1,000 years ago.

  

Madyan

  

By the time you reach this small town at 1320 m and about 60 km from Mingora, the mountains have closed in and the valley is almost snug. Here one senses why Swat is so popular among the tourists. There are a lot of embroidered shawls in the Bazars of Madyan.At 1,321 metres (4,335 feet) above sea level,but it is a larger town and has many hotels in all price ranges and some good tourist shopping. Antique and modern shawls, traditional embroidery, tribal jewellery, carved wood and antique or reproduced coins are sold along the main street. This is the last Swati village, offering interesting two-and three-day walks up to the mountain villages... ask in the bazaar in Muambar Khan's shop for a guide. North of Madyan is Swat Kohistan where walking is not recommended without an armed guard. The central mosque at Madyan has carved wooden pillars with elegant scroll capitals, and its mud-plastered west wall is covered with relief designs in floral motifs. Both bespeak the Swati's love of decoration.[10]

  

Behrain

  

A quarter of an hour past Madyan, the road squeezes through Behrain. Tourists stop to shop or have a look around for beautiful carved wood chairs and tables and other handicrafts. Behrainis are a mix of Pashtuns and Kohistanis. Behrain is ten kilometres north of Madyan and only slightly higher, at about 1,400 metres (4,500 feet). It is another popular riverside tourist resort, with bazaars worth exploring for their handicrafts. Some of the houses have carved wooden doors, pillars and balconies. These show a remarkable variety of decorative motifs, including floral scrolls and bands of ornamental diaper patterns almost identical to those seen on Buddhist shrines and quite different from the usual Muslim designs.

  

Kalam

  

2070 m high and 100 km from Mingora, it was the centre of an independent state in the 19th century. It was later taken by Chitral then given to Swat after partition.Kalam, 29 kilometres (18 mi) from Bahrain and about 2,000 metres (6,800 feet) above sea level, the valley opens out, providing rooms for a small but fertile plateau above the river. In Kalam the Ushu and Utrot rivers join to form the Swat river. Here, the metalled road ends and shingle road leads to the Ushu and Utrot valleys. From Matiltan one gets a breath-taking view of the snow-capped Mount Falaksir 5918 metres (19,415 ft.), and another unnamed peak 6096 metres (20,000 ft.) high.

  

Usho

  

Usho 3 km from Kalam Valley and 117 km from Saidu Sharif

  

Utror

  

Utror 16 km from Kalam Valley and 120 km from Saidu Sharif. Utror valley is situated between 35° 20′ to 35° 48′ N latitudes and 72° 12′ and 72° 32′ E longitudes. The population of Utror is 6888 and the area of the valley is about 47400 hectares. Utror valley is surrounded by Gabral and Bhan valleys on the east, upper Dir district on the west, Kalam valley on the south and Gabral valley on the north. It is 15 km from Kalam, the centre of Swat Kohistan. The altitude of the valley at Utror proper is 2300 meters and reaches to 2900 meters at Kandol Lake.

  

Ghabral

  

Gabral valley lies between 35° 20′ to 35° 48′ N latitudes and 72° 12′ and 72° 32′ E longitudes over an area of about 38733 hectares. The population of Gabral is 3238. The valley is surrounded by Chitral District in the north, Utror valley in the south and south west, upper Dir district in the west and Bhan and Mahodand valleys in the east. It is 5 km distant from Utror proper and 20 km from Kalam. The altitude of the valley ranges from 2580 metres at Baila to 5160 metres at Karkaray Lake top.In Utror and Gabral, 44 medicinal plants are collected during the months of May, June, July and August. Only 14 of them are traded to National and International markets while the rest are used locally. A survey by Pakistan Forest Institute concludes that 75 crude herbal drugs are extensively exported and more than 200 are locally traded in Pakistan. Indigenous people, who have no training in sustainable harvesting, post-harvesting care and storing of medicinal plants, collect 85 percent of these crude herbs from the wild.

  

Kundol Lake, Swat valley

  

Mahudan

  

Mahodand valley, which lies in the North of Kalam, is famous not only among nature lovers, and escapists but also the exotic trout fish hunters. The valley can be accessed through an un-metalled road from Kalam in a four by four (4x4) vehicle. The road is bumpy and tricky but the surrounding landscapes engrosses you so severely that you wish for more and expect to discover new panoramas. The small hamlets that are scattered in the mountains and the bellowing smoke that spirals into the sky from the houses are some, which lives in the memory forever. Swat River, which is born here, is shackled by the tall mountains, which has turned its water into a roaring monster trying to release itself from its fetters, but there are some places where the river is calm and silent without showing any sign of rebellion.

  

Pari (Khapiro) lake

  

Pari Lake is one of the lakes in Swat region which is located at a very high altitude in the foot of the tallest peak in the range with a considerable depth. The name Pari or Khapiro is given to the lake due to the widespread belief that the lake is the abode of fairies where they live and bathe in the cool, pure and clear water of the lake. It is located to North-east of Utror valley and can be accessed only by trekking. Trekking to the lake needs endurance and love for nature as the trail is exasperating as well as dangerous therefore, utmost care should be taken while trekking on the narrow bends and turns leading to the lake. The lake is accessible from both Izmis and Kundal lakes. Two ascending tracks lead to this lake from Kundal and Izmis lakes taking almost five hours to reach this roof top of Swat. The trail is very steep from both sides but the surrounding beauty and eye-cooling green pastures and exotic flowers not only boost the trekker’s stamina but compel him to explore further.

  

Kundol Lake

  

The pastoral valley of Swat has abundance of precious resorts of nature where one can find solace and respite from the never-ending struggle of life. Kundal or Kandolo Lake is one such place here upon which the Maestro of nature has spent extra time and effort to paint. Kundal Lake is situated in the north of Utror valley. One can easily access it from Kalam via Utror from where a link road ends in a green valley called Ladu in the foothills of the lake. You can either hike to Ladu from Utror or take a four-wheeler to ease and minimize your journey. It consumes almost two hours to reach the beautiful valley of Ladu. For the adventurous kind, a walk in the romantic valley will unravel several new mysteries. The people who take temporary residency over here during summer plow the open land and harvest potatoes and turnips, which are famous all over the country for its exotic taste. There is also a small hut in Ladu where you can take tea and get something for eating. From Ladu it takes almost four hours to reach the lake. Some locals can guide you and even take your luggage if properly paid. The mountains around this small valley are covered with tall cedar and pine trees and meandered by different streams and torrents. The people are friendly and provide you guidance if required.

  

Bashigram Lake

  

Bashigram Lake is situated to the east of Bashigram valley near Madyan. The road to this valley is partly metaled and can be plied by a four by four or any ordinary vehicle. It takes almost forty to fifty minutes to reach this picturesque valley inhibited by simple and hospitable folk. From here, trekking of four to five hours, depending on professionalism and enthusiasm of the trekkers lands you in the realm of a serene and enchanting lake of Bashigram.

  

Spin Khwar (White Stream) Lake

  

Spin Khwar is a beautiful lake hidden in the lap of mountains towards the north of Kundal Lake and east of Utror valley. The name Spin Khwar has a clear significance as a small white stream in the east flows down to the lake from the surrounding mountains and is a major source of water for the lake. The lake is accessible through two tracks, one from Kundal and the other from Ladu valley. The track from Ladu is comparatively easy to walk and less tiring while the track from Kundal is not only difficult but alarmingly dangerous although it is short and links Kundal and Spin Khwar. Its steepness and dangerous bends needs an experienced trekker and unending physical strength. The grazers in the area have built small huts and a mosque where one can stay but a personal tent is more recommendable as these huts are in a poor condition due to lack of maintenance.

  

Daral Lake

  

Daral lake is situated to the northeast of Sidgai Lake and can be accessed through Saidgai after two three hours rigorous trekking. The trail to Daral is full of fun and amusement because it runs over sky touching heights of the mountains provides spectacular sights and panoramas for the beauty hungry eyes of nature lovers. A close look towards the south will reveal the long and winding sellouts of river Swat in the horizon.After walking and trekking for about two and a half hours on bare and naked mountains, the trail start descending towards the East where Daral Lake is located.

  

Administration

  

The region has gone through considerable changes over the last few years since the dissolution of the princely state in 1969. Members of the former Royal family have since on occasion been elected to represent the area in the Provincial Assembly and National Assembly.

  

Provincial & national politics

  

The region elects two male members of the National Assembly of Pakistan (MNAs), one female MNA, seven male members of the Provincial Assembly of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (MPAs)[11] and two female MPAs. In the 2002 National and Provincial elections, the Muttahida Majlis-e-Amal, an alliance of religious political parties, won all the seats amidst a wave of anti-Americanism that spread after the United States' invasion of Afghanistan.

  

Wild Life: In early days when the shrubs and bushes covered slopes and foothill areas,hares, porcupine, fox, jackal, wolf, pigs, and hyenas were in large number. Now the need for fuels decreased the scrubs and trees, so these animals have decreased considerably. In the forests,monkeys are often found. Among the birds: hawks, eagles, falcons are found in the high mountains, while pheasants, partridges, hoopoes, larks, sparrows, quails, doves, swallows, starlings, nightingales, crows, kites, vultures, owls, bates are the common birds.

  

Bees: The bees were kept in Swat commonly, and the pure honey of was famous all over the country. But now the moveable beehives have affected the Swat locally reared bees greatly. Now, the local good honey is found in remote areas only, while the honey of moveable hives is available everywhere in low prices.

  

Fisheries: There is a large fishery in Madyan. In this fishery the trout fish are being reared. In Kohistan-e-Swat there are some private fisheries too. In Buner the fish were being reared in Barandu, Dagar. Moreover the Swat River serves as a permanent fishery throughout the year while the tributaries of it are used for fishing only in spring season.

  

Mineral Resources: Mines' production plays an important role in the economy of a country, particularly in the regions where they exist, because, the local people get the opportunities to labor in, and earn their livelihood. But the Swati mines have no importance for the local people in this respect. It is necessary, however, to mention what they are, and where do they exist. Swat is rich in mineral wealth, but the discovered commodities are a few. Among them, the china clay stands first; others are marble stone, and emerald.

  

China Clay: The china clay exists at “Kathyar” in Nekpikheil (on the road that leads to Shahderai at a distance of 15 miles from Mingora). This is the largest mine, having the finest quality, of China clay in Pakistan. The clay is mined here, and is transported to Shaidu in Nawshehra (which is at a distance of around 100 miles from Swat). It is not so advantageous for the local people, because they have no opportunity to work in the complex.

  

Soap Clay: The mine of soap clay has been discovered recently between Alpurai and Kanra on the side of Gilgit Road (Shahrah-e-Resham). It is spread in a vast area.

  

Marbles: The marbles are dug near Charbagh, Murghuzar, and Barikot in the proper valley of Swat, and in Buner, it is mined in Thor Warsak, Bampokha, and Sawawai. Moreover, there is a great expectation of iron ores, which will be discovered in near future.

  

Emerald: The finest quality of emerald is produced in Swat. Its Color and transparency is unique. It is the best in world. It is exported to the international markets: There is an export potential of 500 million dollars in this sector, provided it is excavated and cut as per international standards. Before the absorption of Swat in Pakistan, the emeralds of Swat were better in quality, and greater in quantity. But since then it is said that the quantity of production is little, and the quality devalued.

  

Industries:

  

Handicrafts: The handicrafts of Swat are very famous. When a tourist visits Swat, he accumulates bundles of these articles as gifts for his friends. All of the crafts prepared here are interesting, especially, the following are very charming.

  

Woolen Blankets: These blankets are known as "Sharai". They are prepared of wool obtained from the local sheep. The weight of a medium size blanket is four kilos. This is the best source of defense from the severity of winter. It is woven in Dewlai, Kala Kalay, Salampur, Puran, and Ghurband. These villages prepare the items on commercial scale.

  

Shawl: Shawl is a younger brother of Sharai, as it is also a woolen sheet, but light in weight. Sometimes, cotton is also mixed in its texture. It is beautifully fringed, and is commonly used by ladies. The tourists like it too much. Shawls are prepared in Salampur and Dewlai "Jolabad" on commercial bases.

  

Rugs: The next important thing, made of local fleece with laborious work, is rug. This is prepared in the villages by pressing wool with the help of water spray. After preparation, it is beautified with the usage of various colors. Rugs are the traditional carpets of shepherds, but now are used everywhere.

  

Embroidery: The embroidery of Swat is very famous, and is liked everywhere in Pakistan, as well as by the out-comers. This art is an indoor hobby of the ladies in Swat. Particularly in Nekpikheil, this is so common that very younger girls might also be seen having needlework in their hands. There are three types of embroidery:

  

Panrae or Panhey: Panrey or Panrhey is the old fashion of shoes, still used by the old persons in Swat. They are made in Swat with the simply tanned leather. The cobblers have great skill in the formation of ladies shoes with golden lace work. Similarly, the sandals with golden lace work are also made. The cobblers of Shahderai had great skill in this field. It is now archaic.

  

Shkor: A Shkor is a pot in which chapatis (plate bread used in India and Pakistan) are kept. The ordinary Shkors are prepared everywhere in Swat, but a special design is made in Puran and Chagharzee (These Shkors are high-based pots made of wheat stalks with laborious art, not easily available in bazaar).

  

Furniture: Furniture of various styles is made in the district. The cots, tables, chairs, dressing tables, cradles of more advanced types, etc. are furnished in Mingora, and in nearly all large villages.