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K ENB Extensive 'Pure Light' 0.308 Performance Quality + SweetFX + ENBSeries v319 + a few Mods.
More beautiful scenery from The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.
I admit to still being completely enthralled by the shapes and patterns in the smoke. I had no idea...
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This album's name is dedicated to my favourite game of all time Elder Scrolls Online and race of all time, The Argonians (reptile humanoids). There's a story for you to read below about some of them towards the bottom.
What does Ku Vastei mean? Read below
By Lights-the-Way, Mystic of the Mages Guild
It is hard to describe the culture of my people. Often my tongue stumbles as I try to explain, but it is my hope that ink and quill will give me time enough to gather my thoughts. And perhaps, though such writing, I will finally connect the parts of me that now feel so divided; my homeland of Murkmire and my new life within the Mages Guild.
These journals are to become my ku-vastei. And, as I write that, I can think of no better topic to begin with.
Ku-vastei roughly translates to "the catalyst of needed change," though such a direct translation in no way does justice to the original meaning. Another translation could be "that which creates the needed pathway for change to occur" or even "the spark which ignites the flame which must come into being."
Perhaps a more direct analysis should be first presented. Ku-vastei is a noun, a thing or person. Vastei directly translates to change, an important part of my culture. Ku is harder to speak of. It is that which leads to change, though not that which creates change. An important role, as stagnation is a fate worse than death.
Take a boulder which sits atop a cliff, teetering in place. It must fall eventually. The ku-vastei does not push the boulder off the cliff; rather, it picks the pebble which holds the rock in place. And so it falls, not by a push, but by a pathway cleared.
Ku-vastei is revered, just as change itself is revered, for to look back at what was means to stumble as you move forward. Sometimes, a little push in the right direction is all someone needs to remember such wisdom. Other times, they may need to be shoved.
-------------------------------------
The Gee-Rusleel Tribe
by Emmanubeth Hurrent, the Wayfarers' Society of Wayrest
I've had the privilege to speak to two different Miredancer elders now, and I've learned a great deal from both of these conversations. The "Gee-Rusleel," as they call themselves, are among the most introspective Argonians I've met in my travels. They also tend to be the most pleasant. For all their reclusiveness and wariness, I've never met a people more willing to share a meal or a game of Shells and Stones. They are skilled crafters, with a particular knack for working with Hist amber and egg shells. They are also peerless navigators, guiding their flat-bottom boats effortlessly through the swamp, master weavers, and skilled cartographers.
The most defining characteristic of the Miredancer tribe, however, is piety. This deep reverence for the Hist has earned them the right to name a "Sap-Speaker" for countless generations.
According to the elders I spoke with, the Sap-Speaker is the Hist's direct intermediary. (This is, of course, subject to debate. Many tribes boast unique methods of communion with the Hist. But as far as I have seen, the Miredancers make the most compelling case for the methods they use.) Sap-Speakers often go into seclusion for days or even weeks on end, venturing either down into the roots or high into the canopy of leaves in the uppermost branches. Here, they commune with the Hist. Indeed, the word that one of the elders used was "journey."
These journeys into the Hist tax the Sap-Speakers, but are thoroughly private affairs. After days by themselves, the Sap-Speakers emerge to hide away with old books, scrolls, and tablets. I asked after the purpose of these periods of seclusion, and this is what the elders told me. "The Sap-Speaker enters the embrace of the Hist to learn from the great tree," one elder said. "While in close contact with the roots and branches, the Sap-Speaker receives visions and other forms of communication that neither you nor I would understand."
The other elder continued. "Even the Sap-Speaker finds some of what is shown to be mystifying and confusing. I have heard that a Sap-Speaker is treated to ancient metaphors, arcane secrets, and visions that make little sense to creatures so far removed from sap and pulp." Apparently, the second period of seclusion allows the Sap-Speaker time to reflect on what he or she was shown, as well as time to consult with the ancient writings of Sap-Speakers who came before. After a suitable period of study and reflection, the Sap-Speaker emerges to reveal the Hist's will to the tribe.
I attempted to get more information about what happens while the Sap-Speaker meditates among the roots or branches, but I'm not sure the elders knew much more. They did tell me that the only nourishment the Sap-Speaker receives during these periods of seclusion is provided by the Hist itself in the form of sap, leaves, and the otherwise forbidden fruit of the tree.
There is a price to pay for the gift of Hist communion, however. Ingesting large quantities of Hist sap is a dangerous affair, even for Argonians. Sap-Speakers routinely suffer the effects of sap-poisoning, including "gold tongue" (permanent change of mouth pigmentation to a golden hue), unbidden hallucinations, "bark-scale" (thickening and darkening of surface scales), and other maladies they were reticent to talk about. The current Sap-Speaker, Thumarz, was in seclusion during my visit to the tribal village. I hope to meet him someday. If he's half as wise as the elders I interacted with, I'd no doubt learn a great deal from him.
Despite their deeply religious nature, the Miredancers also seem to have an obsession with games of all types. They are particularly fond of the games Nine-Shells and Shells and Stones, as well as sports such as the popular "teeba-hatsei" (also known as "hip and tail ball.") In addition to lovingly explaining their own games, they wanted to know everything I could tell them about the games we play back in Wayrest. I must admit, their enthusiasm was quite infectious! And I found it highly amusing to watch them try to re-create Deceiver's Bones from the vague description I provided.
The Miredancers are also inveterate gamblers, but they often forget to collect their winnings. Unlike the games of men and mer, Miredancer competitions appear to be completely devoid of malice or injured pride. Victory and defeat seem more like afterthoughts than objectives, due in no small part to their phlegmatic disposition. As in most things, their focus is strictly on the moment—the now. It pains me to leave their village, but I still have many more tribes to study. I doubt any of them will be as fascinating or as friendly as the Miredancers.
["the tribe is not currently in the game but in the world of the game"]
This album's name is dedicated to my favourite game of all time Elder Scrolls Online and race of all time, The Argonians (reptile humanoids). There's a story for you to read below about some of them towards the bottom.
What does Ku Vastei mean? Read below
By Lights-the-Way, Mystic of the Mages Guild
It is hard to describe the culture of my people. Often my tongue stumbles as I try to explain, but it is my hope that ink and quill will give me time enough to gather my thoughts. And perhaps, though such writing, I will finally connect the parts of me that now feel so divided; my homeland of Murkmire and my new life within the Mages Guild.
These journals are to become my ku-vastei. And, as I write that, I can think of no better topic to begin with.
Ku-vastei roughly translates to "the catalyst of needed change," though such a direct translation in no way does justice to the original meaning. Another translation could be "that which creates the needed pathway for change to occur" or even "the spark which ignites the flame which must come into being."
Perhaps a more direct analysis should be first presented. Ku-vastei is a noun, a thing or person. Vastei directly translates to change, an important part of my culture. Ku is harder to speak of. It is that which leads to change, though not that which creates change. An important role, as stagnation is a fate worse than death.
Take a boulder which sits atop a cliff, teetering in place. It must fall eventually. The ku-vastei does not push the boulder off the cliff; rather, it picks the pebble which holds the rock in place. And so it falls, not by a push, but by a pathway cleared.
Ku-vastei is revered, just as change itself is revered, for to look back at what was means to stumble as you move forward. Sometimes, a little push in the right direction is all someone needs to remember such wisdom. Other times, they may need to be shoved.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Naka Desh Tribe
by Emmanubeth Hurrent, the Wayfarers' Society of Wayrest
My guide, Names-the-Orchids, took me deep into the swamp to meet a little-known tribe called the Naka-Desh, or Riverbacks. Few Imperials venture far enough into Black Marsh to meet the People of the River, and the Naka-Desh see little benefit in traveling beyond the boundaries of their Hist's roots. For that reason, most perceive them as a secretive and mysterious tribe. This misconception is made all the more amusing by the Riverbacks' boundless hospitality.
We approached the Riverbacks' territory via ferry boats. Our expedition encountered tribal sentries almost immediately. They floated to the surface of the water like turtles or crocodiles. I was struck by the wideness of their faces, the largeness of their eyes, and the broad webs adorning their forearms and throats. The Hist clearly provided the "right skin" for the locale. Riverback territory is more water than land—a drowned marsh navigable by small rafts, canoes, and little else.
Names-the-Orchids greeted them with a series of low croaks. They cheerfully repeated the sound before lifting themselves onto our boat. Neither of the sentries seemed familiar with Cyrodilic, so our guide had to interpret. She told us that the Riverbacks demanded tribute in the form of a riddle before they would grant passage. I detected no threat behind the demand. It seemed like more of an invitation than an order. I've no talent for wordplay, but I shared a children's riddle about doorknobs that practically every Imperial knows. As soon as Names-the-Orchids translated it, the two sentries clapped their hands. One of them pressed his forehead to mine, croaked twice, then both vanished into the water as suddenly as they appeared.
We spent four days among the Riverbacks—all but one of them on rafts fishing. Riverback fishing resembles traditional fishing in name only. Rather than hook and line, the Naka-Desh use large river fish called osheeja gars. Each osheeja is secured by a strange harness and bridle. When the Argonians find an abundant fishing spot, they release the predatory gars and let them snatch up the fish. As soon as an osheeja bites a fish, the Argonians pull their pets to the side of the boat and claim the fish for themselves. I asked Names-the-Orchids how it works. Apparently, the bridle prevents the gar from swallowing. She assured me that the osheejas are well-cared for, though. Until they grow too old, of course, whereupon they too are eaten.
Our time with the Riverbacks was not without frustration. Of all the Argonians I have met, the Naka-Desh were by far the least curious. Other than riddles, they had no appetite for anything we brought. They refused our food, took no particular interest in our tales, and did not even ask for our names. This disinterest combined with their boundless hospitality made most of the expedition uncomfortable. Names-the-Orchids chided us for thinking kindness demands reciprocity. As always, even these small disappointments teach us valuable lessons.
["the tribe is not currently in the game but in the world of the game"]
Wheaton IL, Cantigny Park, Canon EOS 5D Mark II, 17-40mm, f/4L
© All Rights Reserved, PJ Resnick
Better on black. Click on photo or press L.
Fluidr Gallery Sets: www.fluidr.com/photos/pjrone/sets
Scrolling through my archives, Im quite surprised by how many planes, birds and other winged things I have for the new group ! HWW folks ! www.flickr.com/groups/wing_wednesday/
To me, the most artistic part of the violin - the scroll.
Special thanks to StrattonBrew for his expertise and help with learning about lightpainting!
Please feel free to visit my portfolio to see more of my photography or to purchase prints.
Fantasy Fair!
Here at A&A we've got some amazing goodies for you. New releases throughout the entire fair event, so stay tuned!
To start, here's a look at our RFL Release!
~New Releases from Attitude is an Artform~
Located in Opera
~~~~The Shattered Halo~~~~
✦Fantasy Faire 2023✦
Begins April 20th 2023
A&A Shattered Halo - Base RFL Item
A&A Shattered Halo - With Scrolls RFL Item
Materials Enabled
Copy & Modify
➠Includes
☑ Texture Change HUD packed with 8 colorful Shards Textures for each option
☑ Scrolls version comes with 8 Shards color options and 2 Scrolls! Gold & Silver!
Full copy/mod! Edit as you see fit!
Enjoy!
© Attitude is an Artform 2023 100% Original Custom Mesh & Textures
you can't find in all Hammerfell, a single jewel more beautiful than that scar. Nor woman so proud of wearing it.
From The Elder Scrolls Online
my avi
Nord/Templar/ Master Wizard v4
Questing in Craglorn
wearing Xivkyn light armor
(A helical PDW)
(WARNING: its gonna be a long story post, if you don't want to read it -in which case I hate you- be prepared to scroll down a bit to get to the comments.)
A light cheery synthetic bell chime told Salem that the tram had
reached its next destination. Here though, the tram stopped, while
heavy machinery beneath noisily checked, repaired, and reset the
computer to travel the opposite direction on the track.
End of the line for this car.
Both men stepped briskly out into the terminal, quickly locating the
proper tram to transfer over to for the next leg of the commute to
Salem's place. Anvil would have to crash there until he was set up
enough to get his own place. Mentally, Salem told himself he would
eagerly await that day. Truthfully though, the odd kid was starting to
grow on him, and the prospect of having Anvil as a partner was
increasingly looking to be a good thing. All the cold stiff handshakes,
formal protocols, impersonal meetings... working for corporations was a
bleak mechanical experience that made it hard to remember what it was
like to be a normal human. Smiles, laughter, the lame jokes and the
disgusting farts, all the things that showed up on sitcoms.
They talk about it, in the various locations where bounty hunters,
mercenaries, and acquisition agents pool around discussing their work
over a drink, talk about the "human factor" the need to communicate.
Keeps all the blood, bullets, and money from going to the head and
driving you insane. There are differing opinions as to if this is a bad
thing. The guys up top, the ones that talk to CEOs face to face, get
top of the line tech, get the world on a silver platter. Those mercs
are the crazy ones, the stone cold death-machines.
Salem wasn't too keen on the idea. What was the point of money if he
was a crazed nut who was only satisfied gunning targets down? It seemed
like a foolish end, a no win situation. To chase money just to forget
it once you have it.
No, Salem would take the lower level jobs, ones that paid enough but
let him keep himself. It was this part of his mind that started warming
to the newly instated agent Anvil.
The kid kept things human.
Salem checked his watch: time to kill. Not literally, of course, though
he mentally noted to save that for when a witty pun was needed. Good
way to start a fight.
He glanced around for the vending machine he knew was at this terminal.
Over towards the one door, a massive metal cube that looked more akin
to a vault. An automated gun store.
"Here kid, I hope you don't have any plans for that paycheck already,
because I'm going to show you your first expense."
Anvil looked up, startled from his thoughts.
"Ah, cool. I wasn't really sure what I was going to do with that
anyways."
"The money?"
"Yeah."
"You're crazy. Most people go through life with a list of things they
want to buy as soon as they have the money."
"That seemed like a pretty bleak way to live."
"Heh... Yeah well," he reached the machine, and thumped his hand
against it, "This won't have everything you want, but it is a start.
Here, this first one is on me."
He swiped a card, punched a few buttons, held still for a retinal scan,
and then the machine clunked and spat out a small black case.
"Weymouth Tech C3. Cheap, but reliable. Its the pistol I prefer to use
on the field. Works good, compact, and yet cheap enough you don't have
to feel bad if things get ugly and you lose it."
He handed the case over to Matt Anvil, and gestured to the machine.
"We'll want to figure out what you are good at, and what you prefer.
You'll want to get a little of every flavor. Sure, its a lot of guns,
but you won't regret it. Even if you don't like a type of weapon, never
hurts to practice and get familiar. Sometimes you don't get a choice of
what to defend yourself with. That, and like it or not, some guns have
their place that no amount of preference can replace.
"Like me, I hate shotguns, but I have to admit the things are perfect
for home defense. So I keep a shotty at home, and bring my pistols to
work, see? So we'll get several guns. The ones you don't like you can
keep for practice and for the few occasions they are best for."
Anvil nodded, and stepped up to the vending machine's screen.
"Sounds good, lets take a look here."
They spent the rest of the day hunting around for guns. The vending
machines didn't have a lot of variety, and were low grade in quality.
They hit bigger manned gunships of all sorts. Picked up a nice reliable
shotgun that kept things simple, but allowed for all kinds of
aftermarket modifications for later on down the road. Anvil seemed to
take a particular liking to this, his past experience being hunting
made him familiar with shotguns and simple rifles. They picked up a DMR
from another shop, to ween his hunting rifle skills into something a
little more military grade. Salem picked one that wasn't too expensive,
later on if he took well to automatic fire they may want to replace it
with a more flexible, if shorter ranged, system. They passed up on
getting any sort of machine gun, Salem figured that if they got into a
place where they needed it, they were doing their job wrong. Anvil
agreed, opting instead to purchase a small single shot grenade launcher
that'd do in a pinch if things got messy. Sure, it was pretty low tech,
but it could compact and store discretely, and was pretty light.
They were on their way to a place Salem knew where they could get a
hold of a nice quality sniper rifle, when they came across a little
shop off a side street that caught Anvil's eye. Salem had walked past it
a hundred times and never noticed.
The place was full of military surplus, discarded and battle scarred
gear. Weapons and armor filched from firefights before the respective
corporations involved could get in to clean up the mess.
They browsed through it. A lot of good stuff for a little more than
they wanted to pay. Salem had corporate level connections that he could
access most of the gear through more legal means. A lot of the stuff
was broken, or very questionable. Brands, companies, and corporations
that Salem had never heard of, and screamed of being fake rip-offs.
Anvil was drawn towards a dark green crate towards the back.
A Shield Weapon Crate.
How the vendor got a hold of one of those, Salem couldn't imagine. It
was pretty well useless like this. Shield was a subsidiary of Green
Corp. managing their external security. This meant running the entrance
checkpoints to Greenwall, handling and exterminating and attempts at
smuggling through the wall, and protecting Green Corp execs when they
left their isolated Greenwall Zone to attend a meeting of any sorts.
They had some pretty fancy tech. Most of their weapons were stored and
transported in special crates, like this one here. Basically a complex
puzzle-box. Entirely physical mechanics, no electronics involved besides
a few side elements that had nothing to do with opening the crate. An
encrypted ID tag, a tracking chip that had been crudely dismantled by
the shop owner, and a small glowing holograph of the Shield icon.
That was it. Nothing to hack, and the crates were highly resilient to
most kinetic energy. They were designed to resist up to a point, but
anything over what they could resist would blast through like butter.
This posed an interesting problem to would be looters. To get enough
power to break it, would be more than enough to incinerate whatever was
inside. The charges, or whatever was being used, would just melt
straight through and decimate the contents as soon as it reached past
the resistance point of the crate.
The shopkeeper noticed Anvil studying the crate and yelled out, "That
piece of junk? I thought it'd bring me a fortune, but the damn thing
can't be opened. I wish I never laid eyes on it." Anvil only smiled at
this, and the shopkeeper grew angry. "You think that is funny? Think it
is that simple? The stupid thing is designed to destroy the contents if
you try to blow it open. Tell ya what, if you can open it, you can have
it!"
Anvil grew serious suddenly. "Really?"
"Yeah, really. Its worthless to me, worthless to everyone. You can have
it! Hell, I don't even care if you can open it anymore. Just take it,
let it be your curse. I need the shelf space."
"Thank you sir, but I couldn't take it without paying."
"Its worthless."
"Only because it is shut, the contents could be priceless."
"Yeah, that’s the problem ain't it? I don't care anymore."
"Then at least let me pay you a little."
"Its your money boy, I ain't gonna complain if you throw it away. But
that thing is worthless."
Anvil only smiled and payed the man.
He left with the crate, and carried with him the rest of the way home.
They bought a sniper rifle, and like the other guns they sent it home
on a PackBot Delivery Unit. But the case Anvil kept with him, insisting
on carrying it personally.
It wasn't until they got home to Salem's apartment that, once sure no
one was watching, he set the crate on the table and let his finger rest
on the top, feeling the plates of its surface.
"You can really open that?" Salem's voice communicated skepticism as he
made his way to a small fridge and pulled out a carton of milk.
"Shh." Was the only response he got.
Slowly then, as if following a pattern painstakingly memorized, Anvil's
fingers pushed and rotated the circular tiles, building speed until his
fingers were moving faster and faster in complicated patterns. Salem's
eyes couldn't keep up, and gave up watching to finish pouring a glass
of milk. When he looked back the crate was open. Anvil stood before it,
holding a helical SMG of sorts emblazoned with the Shield trademarks.
Salem barely caught the carton of milk before it hit the floor.
"How... I don't... Never mind, I'm too tired for this."
*NOTICE: The above text is a work in progress trial run for a planned
literary work. Though subject to change and alteration, it represents
the majority of planned content for the final product. As such, the
ideas, characters, setting, and story written above is reserved as
intellectual property of C. J. King.*
Feedback and comments on the story are more than welcome, wanted in
fact.
Credit to Xan for inspiration on the sight.
There is probably a technical term for these scrolls above the windows on the Ashton Court Mansion. I don't know what it is but I like them.