The Archer unit within the Skrall Military is a highly trained warrior in multiple forms of weapons combat, but primarily trained in the use of the traditional heavy bow. The archers, while not as prominent on the battle field as the infantry, are considered an elite unit due to their high level of training and are a feared opponent. Although the infantry are feared and terrifyingly strong warriors, the archers are typically stronger and are nearly as devastating at close quarters as they are at a distance. The archer, like all units of the Skrall military under the command of Matu, are highly loyal to Matu and consider the battlefield as a place to obtain honor and glory. Win or lose, the lust for battle resides within every Skrall warrior.

A mean, agile, and utterly ridiculous high-speed drift trike, the Chunkeh Munkeh is Gnasher Jack’s pride and joy, built for high-speed ambushes, hard-hitting firepower, and absolutely no subtlety. Jack stole the core power system from a Bastion during a particularly daring heist, and ever since, he’s been tearing through the Shattersea, cackling like a lunatic.

Key Features:

Dual 15mm Heavy Machine Guns – Mounted symmetrically on either side of the cockpit, these heavy hitters spit lead like a firehose, perfect for tearing up convoys, punching through armour, and sending a proper message. "Oi! You lot ever danced with a storm o’ bullets? ‘Cause now’s your chance!"

Lightweight G.A.S. Launcher (Dorsal Mounted) – A small but efficient Grav-Anchor System mounted directly to the frame, allowing Jack to hook onto gravity wells and slingshot himself into (or out of) trouble. He’s not the best at using it (”Ahh, just wing it, yeah?”), but it gets the job done.

Off-Road Long Travel Tricycle Suspension – The Chunkeh Munkeh’s absurdly long front fork absorbs the worst of the Shattersea’s terrain, while the rear wheel provide just the right amount of instability for those insane high-speed chases. It rides rough, unstable, and terrifyingly fast—just how Jack likes it.

Stolen Micro-Arc Reactor (Primary Power Source) – The real crown jewel—a compact, high-efficiency reactor Jack boosted from a Bastion vault. This rare piece of tech gives Chunkeh Munkeh near-limitless energy, allowing long-range raids, sustained combat, and an unhealthy amount of reckless stunts.

"Ohhh, don’t look so glum, mate! You’ve just been had by Gnasher Jack ‘imself! That’s a story worth tellin’, innit?"

A whole day with nothing to remind me I’m a 21st century man. Gorgeous tea dress, wonderful retro makeup job, sensible heels and tights, an authentic handbag with my Chanel perfume. It was…..surreal and intimately delightful ❤️👗️‍⚧️

Thanks for all awards and comments

My friend Vaki Zenovka - often referred to on my pics as "Madame Law*" - is a champion of the unboxed, aficionado of blurred edges and purveyor of all things non binary. She's been away from SL for a good year and a bit but recently returned and demanded to know what was new.

I was delighted to show her just how far things have progressed in male fashion over the time she's been away. Creators like Boys to the Bone, FakeIcon, Cubura, CheerNo, Riot and Artificial Hallucination creating items fitted to the guys as well as the women, even entire events springing up to celebrate humans who had been otherwise left to fall between the cracks. I'm wearing the Fan Slip dress by BTTB in this one and I love it.

Vaki, this picture is for you. I know I missed the one you made for me, and you didn't get to see last year's until 11 months after your birthday, but THIS ONE IS FOR YOU. Just get over your pneumonia soon, okay? The zombies miss you.

*Okay she recently got promoted by me and I now call her "Mistress Law" but that's because she is terrifyingly good at what she does at work. You can see her flickr stream HERE

Description:

LDN 1235, the shark nebula, prowls 650 light-years away in the constellation Cepheus, its silhouette carved not from flesh and teeth, but from interstellar dust dense enough to block starlight itself. This predator drifts silently through space, camouflaged against the faint glow of background stars, lit only by nearby bluish reflection nebulae. Unlike its oceanic cousins, it doesn’t bite, but it does photobomb astrophotographers with a molecular cloud big enough to make Earth look like a speck of plankton. Proof that even in the vacuum of space, evolution never misses a chance to make things look terrifyingly familiar.

Dates:

Aug. 21 - 22, 2025

Frames:

Luminance: 168×300″(14h)

Red: 60×300″(5h)

Green: 60×300″(5h)

Blue: 48×300″(4h 30')

Total integration time: 28h 30'

Equipment:

Telescope: Askar 140APO refractor

Camera: ZWO ASI2600MM Pro

Mount: ZWO AM5

Filters:

Antlia Luminance 36 mm

Antlia Red 36 mm

Antlia Green 36 mm

Antlia Blue 36 mm

Chroma Lum 36 mm

Chroma Red 36 mm

Chroma Green 36 mm

Chroma Blue 36 mm

Accessories:

Askar 0.8x Full Frame Reducer / Flattener for 140APO Telescope

The Archer unit within the Skrall Military is a highly trained warrior in multiple forms of weapons combat, but primarily trained in the use of the traditional heavy bow. The archers, while not as prominent on the battle field as the infantry, are considered an elite unit due to their high level of training and are a feared opponent. Although the infantry are feared and terrifyingly strong warriors, the archers are typically stronger and are nearly as devastating at close quarters as they are at a distance. The archer, like all units of the Skrall military under the command of Matu, are highly loyal to Matu and consider the battlefield as a place to obtain honor and glory. Win or lose, the lust for battle resides within every Skrall warrior.

None of them stood less than six feet tall. They arose lean, muscular, bare-breasted, and adorned with tattoos and jewelry. Over the shoulders of the first few, the women were mounted on terrifyingly large horses who matched the women both in muscle and sinew. Their skin was dark both by nature and by the sun. From the waist down they were covered by cloth and bronze. Their calves and shins, all, were sheathed in intricately worked metals and tendon ropes. In each hand, there was a weapon as large as my torso and a shield wider than my arm span. I knew I was in the presence of the Amazons.

_______________

I wanted to take a moment to introduce many of you to Scafall. I stumbled upon them while late-night shopping on MP one night. After purchasing a pair of earrings, one of the artists, Gigi, reached out to me to thank me for the purchase and tell me they were just starting out. I told her I had seen one of the jewelry sets, the one in the pic above, and had planned on using it in a picture soon. I had no idea the picture would be an Amazon nor that I would love it so much. Their jewelry really made it happen. I’m so happy. Thank you Gigi.

CREDITS:

Jewelry:

- Scafall - // EARRING // ISIS - Bronze

- Scafall - // Septum // ISIS - Bronze

- Scafall - // Necklace // ISIS - Bronze

marketplace.secondlife.com/stores/211877

V/.VoluptasVirtualis - Amaranth - {ML} - Collar 1.1

S-RANK "HOOP PENDANT NECKLACE"

Skin & Shape:

Implode Briefly

Sixty EvoX skin 4

Sixty shape

Izzie's - LeL Evo X - 04 Bunny Lines

Izzie's - LeL Evo X - 04 Anger Wrinkles

Eyes:

::Loa:: Azath Eyes Pack ~LeLutka EVO Applier~

Lashes:

keikumu - saint eyelashes (lelutka)

Tattoos:

Skoll - Myrin sleeves

Skoll - Myrin forehead EVOX

Skoll - Myrin chest

Skoll - Myrin cheeks EVOX

Skoll - Myrin chin EVOX

REVOUL - 'Have Merciana' Braids / Small+

/ HEAD / lel EvoX BRIANNON 3.1

LeLUTKA.EvoX.Hairbase.059

The Archer unit within the Skrall Military is a highly trained warrior in multiple forms of weapons combat, but primarily trained in the use of the traditional heavy bow. The archers, while not as prominent on the battle field as the infantry, are considered an elite unit due to their high level of training and are a feared opponent. Although the infantry are feared and terrifyingly strong warriors, the archers are typically stronger and are nearly as devastating at close quarters as they are at a distance. The archer, like all units of the Skrall military under the command of Matu, are highly loyal to Matu and consider the battlefield as a place to obtain honor and glory. Win or lose, the lust for battle resides within every Skrall warrior.

Genetic experiment gone horribly, terrifyingly, wrong

This image is probably one of the most personal, and visually meaningful, images I've ever posted.

A perfect storm of stress, depression, illness and a severe lack of sleep over a period of several weeks culminated in putting my head into one of the scariest places it's ever been in, and appropriately enough whilst on a 3 day holiday sabbatical in the mountains of Snowdonia last week. They were 3 days I hope I never have to experience the like of which again. The sense of isolation, of disjointedness from the world around me, of not even being sure who I was anymore was emotionally and mentally excruciating. The nights were the worst, unable to sleep I experienced the full depth of myself while at the same time feeling so terrifyingly distant from everything in existence. Identity and reality fractured, insanity beckoned…

Strangely enough, as much as it scared me, it was finding my depth that was my saviour, that and the love of a woman who reached down into my personal hell, gently pulled me out and helped me see the light again, inner and outer. If she hadn't been there to listen to my ramblings, my fears, and to comfort me in the darkest moments, I dread to think what the consequences for my mental health would have been.

I've thought long and hard about revealing such a personal experience here on flickr, but ultimately I'm willingly to do so if it helps just one person going through something similar to take a risk and reach out and talk to someone they trust implicitly, and maybe you who read this with a sound mind could extend a hand to someone who you know is going through their own personal hell and be the spar they cling onto in their storm tossed ocean, and slowly but surely carry them back to the safety of the shore. Don't worry, you don't have to come up with answers to their issues, it's enough to lend an ear to their fears. I tried to deal it with by myself but badly crashed and burned. I kept quiet because of pride, fear and the belief that no one could help me. They can. Find that person you trust, and talk, talk like there's no tomorrow, don't leave it until you're hanging on by your fingernails like I did.

Alan Lake Factori(e) - LE CRI DES MÉDUSES

www.alanlakefactorie.org

www.facebook.com/alanlakefactorie

(FR) Après Là-bas, le lointain, Ravages et Les caveaux, Alan Lake poursuit son approche multidisciplinaire en faisant dialoguer son langage chorégraphique et sa sensibilité aux arts visuels dans une pièce pour 9 danseurs et un musicien «live.

Inspiré par Le Radeau de la Méduse de Géricault et l’état d’urgence vécu par les naufragés dans la célèbre peinture.

Le cri des méduses prend place dans un lieu inventé afin de nous propulser dans un onirisme terrifiant.

Une danse physique à fleur de peau comme un rituel païen, bousculée par les images d’une scénographie puissante.

Le cri des méduses est un rêve éveillé, une danse de (sur)vie.

(EN) After Là-bas, le lointain, Ravages et Les caveaux, Alan Lake continues to develop his multidisciplinary approach by engaging his choreographic language and sensitivity to visual arts in a play for 9 dancers and a live musician, inspired by Géricault’s Le Radeau de la Méduse and the state of emergency experienced by the shipwrecked people in the famous painting.

Le Cri des Méduses takes place in an invented place, thrusting us into a terrifying dream-fantasy—an edgy physical dance like a pagan ritual, jolted by the images of a powerful scenography.

Le Cri des Méduses is a waking dream, a dance of life, of survival.

CRÉDIT

Création : Alan Lake

Chorégraphie : Alan Lake, avec la complicité des interprètes.

Interprétation : Josiane Bernier, Kimberley de Jong, Jean-Benoit Labrecque, Louis-Elyan Martin, Odile-Amélie Peters, Fabien Piché, David Rancourt, Geneviève Robitaille et Esther Rousseau-Morin

Musique : Antoine Berthiaume

Lumières : Karine Gauthier

Répétition : Annie Gagnon (Montréal)

Scénographie : Marilène Bastien et Alan Lake

Costumes: Marilène Bastien

Photos : David Wong / Vanessa Fortin (Vanessa Fortin Photographie)

Direction de production: André Houle, Centre de Création O Vertigo – CCOV

Direction technique : Antoine Caron

Producteur délégué : Centre de Création O Vertigo – CCOV (Montréal)

Une production d’Alan Lake Factori(e) en coproduction avec Danse Danse, le Centre de Création O Vertigo – CCOV (Montréal)

Support en résidence de création : Place des Arts, La Rotonde, La Maison pour la danse et Danse à la Carte

Agents: Brent Belsher (Belsherarts Management) et Mickaël Spinnhirny (Agence Mickaël Spinnhirny)

#bringingtheartstolife #lartaucoeurdenosvies

11of52weeksTM

To continue with the cold theme, I rummaged through my terrifyingly huge backlog of photos, we are talking thousands here, and found this from New Zealand where I was in November 2011. Which is New Zealand's spring time as they do inhabit the southern hemisphere of our planet.

This is taken from one of the mountain tops which are accessible only through helicopter ride which I indeed had :) It was incredible to see all this, it was already fairly warm, but here on the tops the snow stayed well into the spring, and some places even all year round. New Zealand is a gorgeous place to visit. The nature is absolutely spectacular.

This is Ebby, the favorite boyfriend of Kira, our Jack Russell mix. He's really a happy, gentle little guy, but he looks downright terrifying here. Who says pictures don't lie...☺

After a hugely enjoyable couple of hours spent on the scar the previous evening, I returned the next day to explore an area I hadn't managed to reach before sunset. This involved lugging my gear over a wall as there appeared to be no public access. Referred to on the Ordinance Survey maps as 'Twistleton Scar End', this part of the limestone pavement was much less sparse and populated with many more trees.

After spending a while exploring and almost falling over more times than I can count in the terrifyingly strong winds, I encountered this delightful erratic perched on the edge of a section of limestone pavement. Needless to say I couldn't resist its charms and began to compose this shot.

Copyright © 2011 Robert Thomas Allen. All rights reserved.

Please do not use without my explicit permission.

At Reliable Market in Union Square, Somerville, MA

Followers of mine may recognize this photo. This is actually a re-post after I accidentally made a wrong choice on LightroomCC and wound up deleting it from Flickr. #*@~?+^!

This photo postcard from the Wartime Information Board shows what U.S. Army Engineers would have called the Pioneer Road, the first primitive, but drivable, construction phase of what is today known as the Alaska Highway.

This spot became known in the early days as Suicide Hill. Sardonic workers even placed a sign at the top saying "Prepare To Meet Thy Maker." It is near today’s historic milepost 148. Here, one gets a sense of what traveling that “highway” must have been like at first: no paved surfaces, terrifyingly steep grades and no shoulders.

Caption: “View along the new Alaska Highway through Canada’s wilderness – Built by a welcome army of U.S. Soldiers.”

This photo was most likely purchased by Bill for his album of scenes along the Alaska Highway. In 1943 he was a civilian worker constructing the ALCAN Highway in British Columbia and Yukon.

To enlarge, double-click on image or type L.

Rainbow pencils

Hi. This is a brilliant website for finding other brilliant photography websites. Love it.

www.expertphotography.com/top-20-photography-websites-2012

I'm still really loving light room. Terrifyingly, I think I'm going to move my whole Aperture library, thousands of photographs, to light room. I think I'm going to need the whole weekend to do it. I'm dreading it. But it will be fantastic to use this far superior software for my future photo fun.

Mouth of a demolition excavator.

The Archer unit within the Skrall Military is a highly trained warrior in multiple forms of weapons combat, but primarily trained in the use of the traditional heavy bow. The archers, while not as prominent on the battle field as the infantry, are considered an elite unit due to their high level of training and are a feared opponent. Although the infantry are feared and terrifyingly strong warriors, the archers are typically stronger and are nearly as devastating at close quarters as they are at a distance. The archer, like all units of the Skrall military under the command of Matu, are highly loyal to Matu and consider the battlefield as a place to obtain honor and glory. Win or lose, the lust for battle resides within every Skrall warrior.

Brumhilda Stiffbroom the Housewife:

Halfling women are notoriously stern caretakers. In the house, their rule is law, and all who break the rules receive a stinging ladle slap to the hands, or head! These wonderful women take great joy in filling the bellies of their men, having a fierce pride when it comes to a full belly.

Often times they can be found bustling through the markets gathering foodstores and supplies. When their men wobble to war, the wives accompany the baggage train, cooking and cleaning but also offering a strong hand in battle should the need arise.

The matriarchs of a halfling community are known as Housewives and are respected by all. Stern of hand and fond of good times, these leaders help to teach the young about the ways of halfling life. The most renown Housewife found in the lands of the little folk is Brumhilda Stiffbroom. Famous for her victory feasts post-battle (and sometimes pre-battle), Brumhilda has accompanied the stouthearted warriors for years, always providing for the needs of the folk.

Brumhilda Stiffbroom, however, is no slouch in combat. During the Battle of Rumpfeld it was said that she lopped the heads off of dozens of goblins with her oak rolling pin, a family heirloom passed down from past generations. Wielding a stiff broom and other household essentials, Brumhilda swings in terrifyingly ferocious arcs, protecting the men folk, and also the foodstuffs.

The hobbling halflings rejoice when their matriarch, the Housewife Brumhilda Stiffbroom marches to war!

Dear Journal,

It is strange, the difference between the feeling of sailing carelessly through the vastness of open sky, and the feeling of staring down into the black, bottomless throat of a cavern. Instead of seeing as far as one may wish to look, one’s vision is blocked by the impassable, unwavering blackness.

“Ready, Mister Zenas?” my friend John called down.

“Ready!” I lied.

The rope descended, and I with it. Down, down, down… I was lowered deeper and deeper into the increasingly cold heart of the island. Oh, the places I’ll go and the things I’ll do in the name of discovery! The tantalizing temptation of finding the treasure drew me irresistibly… in spite of the increasing sense of claustrophobia that clasped its tight embrace about me.

At long, long last, I touched down on the soggy, gritty surface of the cavern floor and, clutching my rope, peered around into the absolute midnight of the massive cave. Behind me, there, something caught my eye. A tiny glimmer of light – it came from a small tunnel. I could hear the sloshing sound of water as I slowly inched towards it.

Once through, I encountered another cavern, smaller than the last one and… surprisingly beautiful. Purplish foliage clambered down from the heights above, and amid the rocks grew pockets of glowing mushrooms, quietly lighting the shadows. A collection of small waterfalls fed several trickling rivers that drained into a rushing whirlpool on the left of the cavern. In the center of the cavern was a small isle of wet sand, in the middle of which stood a lone column, atop which laid a small, golden artifact. The moment I espied it I knew, after weeks of travel, I had found what I sought.

I crept up towards it in the soft beam of light, mist drifting hazily around me. I circled the item, examining its every beautiful detail before I could dare to reach out and lift it up from its base.

But then, Journal, the unmistakable sound of a flintlock pistol being cocked echoed off the walls of the rocky chamber. I froze, the untouched golden relic still before me, and slowly glanced up to see a figure standing opposite me.

“I will not insult your intelligence, Mr. Abbington, as long as you do not explore the boundaries of my patience.” A confident and mellifluous voice flowed from the tall, mysteriously black-clad figure. His pistol gleamed, aimed directly at my heart. Terrifyingly, one could not see his features, for his face was entirely covered in spotless, filmy cloth. No doubt he could see outwards, but none could look in at him.

I was shivering. “Who-o-o are you?”

“I see no purpose in divulging my identity to you, nor that of my companion.” To my horror, another figure, similarly dressed, though a bit heftier in the shoulders, stood just past him. He too was armed with a flintlock.

Suddenly my thoughts darted in a different direction. “Wait, what have you done with John?”

“Your companion? I underestimated the speed and agility of his craft. He sailed off and made good his escape. I am certain he understood the message of my cannons and he shall not be trifling with me any further.” A tiny click announced the removal of his weapon’s safety latch. “Now, Mr. Abbington, as your conversational abilities leave much to be desired… the tablet, if you please.”

It was then that I saw my opportunity. I snatched the golden square and held it, ready to cast into the whirlpool swirling just within reach of me. The man and his companion started in shock.

“Now, you masked man, I will not insult your intelligence. Lower your weapon and leave, or I shall toss this tablet to the waters.”

The stranger chuckled menacingly. “I am more than prepared to murder for that tablet. Are you prepared to die for it?”

“I suppose I will have to find out!” I cried, hurling myself and said tablet into the whirlpool in one swift dive.

I shall write again, dear Journal, as soon as I may, and explain just how I came to be writing this entry and not drowned.

-Zenas Abbington

via Instagram ift.tt/2ieRuKK

The Archer unit within the Skrall Military is a highly trained warrior in multiple forms of weapons combat, but primarily trained in the use of the traditional heavy bow. The archers, while not as prominent on the battle field as the infantry, are considered an elite unit due to their high level of training and are a feared opponent. Although the infantry are feared and terrifyingly strong warriors, the archers are typically stronger and are nearly as devastating at close quarters as they are at a distance. The archer, like all units of the Skrall military under the command of Matu, are highly loyal to Matu and consider the battlefield as a place to obtain honor and glory. Win or lose, the lust for battle resides within every Skrall warrior.

The little Ford 7Y cost about £100 in 1939. It had a 933cc side valve engine developing 26 bhp, and a 3-speed gearbox. The first family car that I remember was the predecessor to the 7Y, the Model Y or Baby Ford. These cars were known for their terrifyingly ineffective brakes, a fact of which we, as children, were blissfully unaware!

Canon F1n, 50mm f1.2L lens, Ilford XP2 rated at ISO 200

Monster High: Skullector "Alien Xenomorph" 1/6 Scale Fashion Doll (Mattel Creations) 2025

"No one can hear you scream in space, especially when the alien hunting you slays this hard. Just in time for scary season and the new Alien: Earth series, we’ve reimagined the iconic Xenomorph of the original film franchise in terrifyingly chic Monster High style. This predatory creature is as nightmarish as ever, dressed in a sheer black and iridescent foil print top and skirt plus a pleather bodysuit. Facehugger heels make the look even more killer."

JillyBean's Halloween Spooktacular

Continuing my exploration of completely improbably modes of transportation, I bring you the Dust Devil.

Once small, high powered thruster technology became common, tuners started looking for ways to integrate them into racing. Highly illegal, and terrifyingly dangerous, the Dust Devil style of motorbike conversion quickly became the ride of choice for insatiable adrenaline junkies. The side to side instability of the bikes, combined with their tremendous speed makes them unsuitable for circuit racing. Drag racing however is another thing. Desert races are popular, despite the losers often left decorating the sand.

This is the Washington D.C. subway station entrance at Dupont Circle. It was actually pretty terrifyingly deep underground.

Alton Towers Resort Scarefest 2018

this year’s terrifyingly fantastic Scarefest event with spooks, frights and thrills for everyone , This unmissable event takes place on selected dates in October/November when the Resort becomes home to Halloween. Open until late so you can enjoy your favourite rides in the dark and for the first time Wicker Man’s flames lighting up the night sky! For younger visitors, there are live shows, a new addition to our famous ‘freaky four’ to meet, whilst older families will find laughs and frights in our House of Monsters maze. And for those in search of spine-tingling terror, you’ll need your wits about you when you enter our terrifying scare mazes…

decay is progress too.

been kinda tied up in other peoples problems lately. For a long time now, actually. I hadn't really realized the full extent of it, until recently. Now that chapter is coming to a close. Sad in a lot of ways, but also exhilarating.

and terrifyingly fresh.

"John's books provide a unique perspective on the psychic and paranormal realms. Fans of true ghost stories will be entertained by accounts ranging from UFO encounters to Guardian Angel guidance that proved to be life-saving." — George Noory, Host: Coast to Coast AM

"Russell's paranormal and life experiences are engaging, charming, and offer a unique perspective on questions of life and death." — The BookLife Prize (Publishers Weekly)

"These stories are terrifyingly fantastic. The author's experience as a psychic and ghost chaser allow him to tell unique, haunting stories. This book is hard to put down." — Judge, 30th Annual Writer's Digest Self-Published Book Awards

"John's second book, A Knock in the Attic, is an experiential tour de force of the Other Side. John immerses us in his life's fascinating journey through planes both seen and unseen, giving us powerful insights into how the two worlds intersect. With his distinctive Texas-style storytelling, John has laid out a must-read for anybody wanting to gain more clarity about all things paranormal." — Jim Mullen, multi-award-winning television producer/editor/writer

"Doc and I have both finished reading A Knock in the Attic. We were hooked from the first paragraph, and once we started it we couldn't put it down. It's a fascinating read that will hold your attention until the very end. We both love it, and we have a hard copy as well as two Kindle editions. We love John's style of writing: he writes in such a way that you feel like you are having a personal conversation with him on your back porch. Well worth the price. Keep writing John...your two biggest fans want more." — Jeanne & Doc Staso

The Archer unit within the Skrall Military is a highly trained warrior in multiple forms of weapons combat, but primarily trained in the use of the traditional heavy bow. The archers, while not as prominent on the battle field as the infantry, are considered an elite unit due to their high level of training and are a feared opponent. Although the infantry are feared and terrifyingly strong warriors, the archers are typically stronger and are nearly as devastating at close quarters as they are at a distance. The archer, like all units of the Skrall military under the command of Matu, are highly loyal to Matu and consider the battlefield as a place to obtain honor and glory. Win or lose, the lust for battle resides within every Skrall warrior.

The Archer unit within the Skrall Military is a highly trained warrior in multiple forms of weapons combat, but primarily trained in the use of the traditional heavy bow. The archers, while not as prominent on the battle field as the infantry, are considered an elite unit due to their high level of training and are a feared opponent. Although the infantry are feared and terrifyingly strong warriors, the archers are typically stronger and are nearly as devastating at close quarters as they are at a distance. The archer, like all units of the Skrall military under the command of Matu, are highly loyal to Matu and consider the battlefield as a place to obtain honor and glory. Win or lose, the lust for battle resides within every Skrall warrior.

One moment during a recent difficult time.

But the city was so terrifyingly beautiful — and ours again for a while!

Film: Kodacolor 200 (expired 2009)

Camera: Yashica T4

See more at linktr.ee/ale.di.gangi

Alan Lake Factori(e) - LE CRI DES MÉDUSES

mailchi.mp/a366609a9847/alan-lake-factorie?e=4fad4373a7

(FR) Après Là-bas, le lointain, Ravages et Les caveaux, Alan Lake poursuit son approche multidisciplinaire en faisant dialoguer son langage chorégraphique et sa sensibilité aux arts visuels dans une pièce pour 9 danseurs et un musicien «live.

Inspiré par Le Radeau de la Méduse de Géricault et l’état d’urgence vécu par les naufragés dans la célèbre peinture.

Le cri des méduses prend place dans un lieu inventé afin de nous propulser dans un onirisme terrifiant.

Une danse physique à fleur de peau comme un rituel païen, bousculée par les images d’une scénographie puissante.

Le cri des méduses est un rêve éveillé, une danse de (sur)vie.

(EN) After Là-bas, le lointain, Ravages et Les caveaux, Alan Lake continues to develop his multidisciplinary approach by engaging his choreographic language and sensitivity to visual arts in a play for 9 dancers and a live musician, inspired by Géricault’s Le Radeau de la Méduse and the state of emergency experienced by the shipwrecked people in the famous painting.

Le Cri des Méduses takes place in an invented place, thrusting us into a terrifying dream-fantasy—an edgy physical dance like a pagan ritual, jolted by the images of a powerful scenography.

Le Cri des Méduses is a waking dream, a dance of life, of survival.

CRÉDIT

Création : Alan Lake

Chorégraphie : Alan Lake, avec la complicité des interprètes.

Interprétation : Josiane Bernier, Kimberley de Jong, Jean-Benoit Labrecque, Louis-Elyan Martin, Odile-Amélie Peters, Fabien Piché, David Rancourt, Geneviève Robitaille et Esther Rousseau-Morin

Musique : Antoine Berthiaume

Lumières : Karine Gauthier

Répétition : Annie Gagnon (Montréal)

Scénographie : Marilène Bastien et Alan Lake

Costumes: Marilène Bastien

Photos : David Wong / Vanessa Fortin (Vanessa Fortin Photographie)

Direction de production: André Houle, Centre de Création O Vertigo – CCOV

Direction technique : Antoine Caron

Producteur délégué : Centre de Création O Vertigo – CCOV (Montréal)

Une production d’Alan Lake Factori(e) en coproduction avec Danse Danse, le Centre de Création O Vertigo – CCOV (Montréal)

Support en résidence de création : Place des Arts, La Rotonde, La Maison pour la danse et Danse à la Carte

Agents: Brent Belsher (Belsherarts Management) et Mickaël Spinnhirny (Agence Mickaël Spinnhirny)

Continuing my exploration of completely improbably modes of transportation, I bring you the Dust Devil.

Once small, high powered thruster technology became common, tuners started looking for ways to integrate them into racing. Highly illegal, and terrifyingly dangerous, the Dust Devil style of motorbike conversion quickly became the ride of choice for insatiable adrenaline junkies. The side to side instability of the bikes, combined with their tremendous speed makes them unsuitable for circuit racing. Drag racing however is another thing. Desert races are popular, despite the losers often left decorating the sand.

Seen in the very last of the sun (almost on the deck here!!) at Belstead on the 4M02 Felixstowe-Hams Hall, and yes that 321 was terrifyingly close, although the result doesnt look too tight it was only a couple of seconds off!

The Archer unit within the Skrall Military is a highly trained warrior in multiple forms of weapons combat, but primarily trained in the use of the traditional heavy bow. The archers, while not as prominent on the battle field as the infantry, are considered an elite unit due to their high level of training and are a feared opponent. Although the infantry are feared and terrifyingly strong warriors, the archers are typically stronger and are nearly as devastating at close quarters as they are at a distance. The archer, like all units of the Skrall military under the command of Matu, are highly loyal to Matu and consider the battlefield as a place to obtain honor and glory. Win or lose, the lust for battle resides within every Skrall warrior.

A ray of light during "Prosper Our Country" mass games in Pyongyang stadium.

All over the capital, the Arirang adverts (« Grand mass gymnastic and artistic performance », « Welcome to Pyongyang » and so on) warn the profane…Between August and October, takes place one of the biggest and most impressive performances in the world. The tone is set : even the Beijing Olympics ceremony can’t compete with the mass games organized by the Democratic People's Republic of Korea (DPRK). The show is held several times a week and welcomes tourists from all over the World, including the US, in one of the most isolated and despised country on earth. The well-called « mass games » are designed to emphasize group dynamics rather than individual performances as the supreme emblem of communism. Prepared by hundred of thousands performers all along the year, after their classes for the youngest of them, they are entirely dedicated to the NK’s leader Kim Jong Il and his deceased father Kim Il Sung, considered as the « Eternal president » and « sun of the 21st century »…

In the surroundings of Pyongyang's May Day giant Stadium, two girls are running to perform for the Arirang show. They are already dressed in their gymnastic outfits, as well as some 100,000 others who participate to the performance. They all come to honour their self-proclaimed « dear leader » Kim Jong Il, after a very hard and gruelling training, since their earliest age. Yet, it has been many years that Kim Jong Il has not shown up, formally for business reasons. But officials now admit the western medias’ assertions of illness. Anyways, Kim Jong Il or not, the mass games are held every year in Pyongyang, as a means for the regime to show to the entire world the country’s strength and good shape. To reach this sole purpose, not less than 100,000 people are involved in a choreographed show of simultaneous dancing and gymnastics. Many symbols are displayed by thousands of trained athlets, whether they are adults or even children. Hand over their heart, the young pupils sing in chorus "We are the happiest children in the world", one of the famous propaganda songs in North Korea. Many dancers make movements either with ribbons or colourful flowers named « kimjonglias » after the leader Kim Jong Il. All along the show, a live band plays a ceremonious music.

On the background, some 20,000 young koreans sit on the terraces, facing the spectators. They flip coloured cards at a high speed to form a fresco of animated and detailed images, changing from one to another. Each time they turn the page to create a new giant picture, they cry out. It creates a awe-inspiring atmosphere, as the shout is mixed with the noise of thousands of pages turned at the same moment. The figures are stunning : to compose these images, 2000 children are needed to make only one soldier, 20,000 for a north korean flag. Hiding a much more grim reality, the panels represent Pyongyang enlightened by night, wheat fields ready for harvest, scientists at work, atoms as symbols of the nuclear bomb and others for the reunification of two Koreas. One of the North Korea’s myths (history according to them) is recounted by the means of a huge image made by thousands of children. It represents the two pistols reportedly used by Kim Il Sung, when he founded the Anti-Japanese People’s Guerrilla Army in 1932. When the pistols appear, the audience applauses loudly. Among them, many soldiers attend the show as the ultimate award after years of good and faithful service.The thousands and thousands of boys and girls involved create a giant mass movement in the stadium which leaves the public stunned. These talented performers are used to that kind of performance: in North Korea they have to dance, sing, jump and spin around as many times as there are celebrations, always in praise of their leaders. There are mainly two sorts of shows. The first one is the classical artistic show, named "Arirang" after the famous korean folk song (whose story sometimes changes, but most often recounts the legend of a disappointed woman who hopes that her lover will return to her –metaphor of the break-up with South Korea). The second one is a more political show, which was untitled in 2008 "Prosper our country" and intended to show the country’s greatest achievements and its struggle against the foreign oppressors.

The show continues in the same way for one hour. Thereafter, the thousands of people present vanish in the dark and silent streets of Pyongyang, which contrast with the flood of lights and music in the stadium. Within the space of a few hours, it gives us a a strange feeling, between the real and unreal, of another universe both terrifying and fantastic.

Dans toute la ville, les publicités d’Arirang (« Grande représentation gymnastique et artistique de masse », « Bienvenue à Pyongyang » etc.) mettent le profane en garde …Entre août et octobre, a lieu l’une des plus grandes et impressionnantes représentations au monde. Le ton est donné : pas même la cérémonie des Jeux de Pékin ne peut rivaliser avec les mass games organisés par la République Démocratique Populaire de Corée (RDPC). Le spectacle se tient plusieurs fois par semaine et accueille des touristes du monde entier, y compris des Etats-Unis, dans l’un des pays les plus isolés et méprisés sur terre. Les biens nommés mass games (« mouvements de masse») sont conçus pour mettre en avant les dynamiques de groupe plutôt que les performances individuelles comme emblème suprême du communisme. Préparés par des centaines de milliers d’artistes tout au long de l’année, après les cours pour les plus jeunes d’entre eux, les jeux sont entièrement dédiés au leader de la Corée du Nord, Kim Jong Il, et feu son père Kim Il Sung, considéré comme l’ « Eternel président » et « soleil du 21ème siècle »…

Aux environs du Stade géant May Day de Pyongyang, deux filles courent pour participer au spectacle de Arirang. Elles sont déjà en costume de gymnastique, tout comme quelque 100 000 autres qui participent à la représentation. Tous viennent pour honorer leur autoproclamé « cher leader » Kim Jong Il, après un très difficile et éprouvant entraînement, depuis leur plus jeune âge. Pourtant, cela fait plusieurs années que Kim Jong Il ne s’est pas montré, formellement pour des raisons professionnelles. Mais des officiels admettent les assertions des médias occidentaux sur sa maladie. Quoi qu’il en soit, Kim Jong Il ou pas, les jeux de masse ont lieu chaque année à Pyongyang, comme moyen pour le régime de montrer au monde entier la puissance et bonne santé du pays. Pour atteindre ce seul but, pas moins de 100 000 personnes sont engagées dans une chorégraphie de danses et gymnastiques synchronisées. De nombreux symboles sont affichés par des milliers d’athlètes entraînés, qu’il s’agisse d’adultes ou même d’enfants. Main sur le cœur, les jeunes élèves chantent en chœur « Nous sommes les enfants les plus heureux du monde », l’une des chansons de propagande les plus connues en Corée du Nord. De nombreux danseurs font des mouvements avec des rubans ou avec des fleurs colorées appelées « kimjonglias », du nom du leader Kim Jong Il. Tout le long du spectacle, un orchestre joue une musique solennelle.

À l’arrière-plan, quelque 20 000 jeunes coréens sont assis sur les gradins, faisant face aux spectateurs. Ils retournent des cartes colorées à une grande vitesse pour former une fresque d’images animées et détaillées, changeant de l’une à l’autre. Chaque fois qu’ils tournent la page pour créer une nouvelle illustration, ils crient. Cela crée une atmosphère impressionnante, le cri étant mêlé avec le bruit de milliers de pages tournées au même moment. Les chiffres sont stupéfiants : pour composer ces images, 2000 enfants sont nécessaires pour faire un seul soldat, 20 000 pour un drapeau de la Corée du Nord. Cachant une réalité bien plus dure, les panneaux représentent Pyongyang éclairée la nuit, des champs de blé prêt à être récolté, des scientifiques au travail, des atomes comme symboles de la bombe nucléaire et d’autres pour la réunification des deux Corées. L’un des mythes de Corée du Nord (ou histoire selon eux) est relaté au moyen d’une image gigantesque faite par des milliers d’enfants. Elle représente les deux pistolets que Kim Il Sung aurait utilisés quand il a fondé l’armée de guérilla populaire anti-japonaise en 1932. Lorsque les deux pistolets apparaissent, le public applaudit bruyamment. Parmi eux, de nombreux soldats assistent au spectacle comme récompense ultime après des années de bons et loyaux services. Les milliers et milliers de garçons et de filles participant créent un mouvement de masse géant dans le stade, qui laisse le public ébahi. Ces artistes talentueux sont coutumiers de ce type de représentation : en Corée du Nord ils doivent danser, chanter, sauter et virevolter autant de fois qu’il y a de célébrations, toujours à la gloire de leurs chefs. Il existe principalement deux sortes de spectacles. Le premier est le spectacle classique artistique, appelé « Arirang » d’après la célèbre chanson folklorique coréenne (dont l’histoire quelques fois change, mais qui raconte le plus souvent la légende d’une femme déçue qui espère que son amant lui reviendra –métaphore de la séparation avec la Corée du Sud). Le second est un spectacle plus politique, qui était intitulé en 2008 « Que prospère notre pays » et qui tentait de montrer les plus grandes réalisations du pays et sa lutte contre les oppresseurs étrangers.

Le spectacle continue de cette façon pendant une heure. Ensuite, les milliers de personnes présentes disparaissent dans les rues sombres et silencieuses de Pyongyang, ce qui contraste avec le déluge de lumières et de musique dans le stade. En l’espace de quelques heures, cela nous donne un étrange sentiment, entre le réel et l’irréel, d’un autre univers à la fois terrifiant et fantastique.

© Eric Lafforgue

www.ericlafforgue.com

The Archer unit within the Skrall Military is a highly trained warrior in multiple forms of weapons combat, but primarily trained in the use of the traditional heavy bow. The archers, while not as prominent on the battle field as the infantry, are considered an elite unit due to their high level of training and are a feared opponent. Although the infantry are feared and terrifyingly strong warriors, the archers are typically stronger and are nearly as devastating at close quarters as they are at a distance. The archer, like all units of the Skrall military under the command of Matu, are highly loyal to Matu and consider the battlefield as a place to obtain honor and glory. Win or lose, the lust for battle resides within every Skrall warrior.

Went out to sit in my chair and see what I could "capture" with my little camera. Seemed quiet. I looked up and spotted this little guy - frozen to his spot on the "Raywood" Ash Tree. For a full twenty minutes - I timed it - he sat there with virtually no movement at all except the occasional blinking of his eye. Finally he began turning his head and looking around and then, in a flash, he was gone.

He must have had a terrifyingly close call with the Cooper's Hawk just before I arrived. A few others were stark still, as well, but none for as long as this male Nuttall's.

Continuing my exploration of completely improbably modes of transportation, I bring you the Dust Devil.

Once small, high powered thruster technology became common, tuners started looking for ways to integrate them into racing. Highly illegal, and terrifyingly dangerous, the Dust Devil style of motorbike conversion quickly became the ride of choice for insatiable adrenaline junkies. The side to side instability of the bikes, combined with their tremendous speed makes them unsuitable for circuit racing. Drag racing however is another thing. Desert races are popular, despite the losers often left decorating the sand.

ift.tt/2P2C0wS

Something about the name of this location is just cool and fun to say. Despite a bit if looking though, I've not been able to find out the history of why it is called this, so if anyone knows please share. Anyway, this was a lucky grab shot during my recent impromptu Friday afternoon North Jersey tour.

Conrail shared assets local train SK-13 (doing leftover work from M-F job OI-14) with a lone CSXT GP40-2 is on Conrail Shared Assests Passaic and Harsimus Line at MP 3.4 as they cross the Point-No-Point movable bridge over the Passaic River crossing from Newark into Kearny. The 770 foot long double track bridge with a 270 ft camelback thru truss swing span was built in 1901 by the Pennsylvania Railroad as part of its Pennsylvania cut-off project and is slated for replacement in the coming years: https://jerseydigs.com/point-no-point-railroad-bridge-between-newark-kearny-could-be-replaced/

They are heading to the Waldo Running track to drop flats loaded with empty trash containers that will later be pulled down the Central Avenue Industrial Track to the NJRC loading facility down at Kearny Point. This view rather terrifyingly was taken looking down from the shoulder of the adjacent high New Jersey Turnpike/Interstate 95 bridge. Unfortunately, my palpable fear shooting in such a precarious location led me to not be able to change my lense and compose the wider shot I would have liked. Unfortunately I cut off the right bank of the bridge and would have liked to include all of the brick 1917 Essex Generating station that is only partially visible. Rounding out the iconic Jersey scene in the background is visvable a portion of the 3.5 mile long General Casimir Pulaski Skyway opened in 1932 as the last part of the Route 1 Extension, one of the first controlled-access highways in the United States, to provide a connection to the Holland Tunnel.

Newark, New Jersey

Friday October 2, 2020

"He looked at her and tried to discover behind her lascivious expression the familiar features that he loved tenderly. It was as if he were looking at two images through the same lens, at two images superimposed one on the other with one showing through the other. These two images showing through each other were telling him that everything was in the girl, that her soul was terrifyingly amorphous, that it held faithfulness and unfaithfulness, treachery and innocence, flirtatiousness and chastity. This disorderly jumble seemed disgusting to him, like the variety to be found in a pile of garbage. Both images continued to show through each other, and the young man understood that the girl differed only on the surface from other women, but deep down was the same as they: full of all possible thoughts, feelings, and vices, which justified all his secret misgivings and fits of jealousy. The impression that certain outlines delineated her as an individual was only a delusion to which the other person, the one who was looking, was subject--namely himself. It seemed to him that the girl he loved was a creation of his desire, his thoughts, and his faith and that the real girl now standing in front of him was hopelessly other, hopelessly alien, hopelessly ambiguous. He hated her."

~ Milan Kundera: Laughable Loves

Sarah Wallace had never killed a man, but at this moment she was very close.

The thin, soft spoken, fragile-looking young woman who had spent so much of her life two and a half feet from a screen was closer to breaking than she had ever been. And this was saying something. In the last year she had found herself soaring in her career, living her dreams, and feeling like she was finally getting to make a true difference in the universe as we know it. Within the last 6 months she had seen her mentor and close friend inexplicable evaporated, half her team go missing, her publishing clearance revoked, and research project she was assigned to indefinitely shuttered. The last 30 days had been spent fruitless struggling against an ever-tightening web of Centauri federal red tape; the feeling that she was being restrained until some metaphorical spider was ready to suck her dry was palpable. But then again, having someone standing beside you disintegrated to goo has a way of inducing paranoia.

Ms. Wallace was far from home, incredibly far. She had grown up on a family-owned automated farm in the old American Plains Governance Region of Earth. As was often the case with Earth-born farm children, the nearest other holdings were too far away to make in-person education feasible. After all, the Wallace Automated Farm precinct spanned almost the entirety of what was once the western half of Nebraska, back when North America was still divided into states. While this meant that Sarah’s physical socialization was limited to her family, pass-through traffic, the family dog, and some pretend conversations with the automated farming drones, it did provide for her the opportunity to attend via comm-link a very prestigious military academy on Oranis where her family hoped she would eventually attend in-person. Their dream for her was to see her become a famed military pilot, as many in her family had before they retired back to the family farm as decorated veterans.

Sarah was a model student. Her grades were high, her behavior was stellar, and her performance in flight sims was excellent. However, her grade in a particular subject was distinguishing, and it was to the great surprise of the entire Wallace clan that little Sarah received the long-awaited scholarship to Oranis. But not as a pilot. As a xeno-biologist. For the young academic, the years flew by in a rush of starlight and research. After finishing her advanced classes on Oranis at the top of her class, she landed a spot on a full-ride tuition for a xeno-biology research college: Minerva University. The bar was higher, classes taught by legendary professors whose work she grew up reading, and she now faced against competitive peers who were all, like her, prodigies in their fields. There was so little sleep, so many tears, and an unhealthy amount of coffee. Yet she had finally made it. She was the lead research assistant on an expedition to a recently discovered fringe system where early reports had found fascinating connections to flora and fauna previously only known in the Perseus Arm systems.

“Welcome to K15-2766b, or as we’ve been calling it: Kohara.” Professor Maxwell had said. Sarah wiped her hand across the fogged dropship side-window to get a closer look. Kohara was a strange planet, beyond what was normally the habitable zone for its system. A thick atmosphere of almost constant storms kept enough heat in to make life possible, but it was a turbulent form of possible. Gusts of cold wind tore about while a thick, warm humid fog rose from ground. High geothermic activity combined with terrifyingly common lightening strikes meant the growth was always vibrating or rumbling in some way. Plants of deep bluish green and vibrant purples shimmer against the rainfall then never really stopped. As gloomy as the downpour was, Sarah would come to prefer it to the stickiness of the misty days. Then the rain came lightly enough that it could not keep the thermal geysers suppressed. Those were the hot humid days, where the sun gleamed through as a murky teal lamp. The only escape from the wet was to stay in the habitation pods at camp. Yet for Sarah, the darkness of the planet was offset by the joy of her work.

Each day the team met to discuss their plan. Maxwell would lead an expedition in the morning to attempt to reach some previously unfound point. Sarah would oversea via vid-link while accessing the mobile database to provide accurate information to support the expedition. Additionally, Sarah’s job was to adjust the communications array when necessary, as the constant electronic activity of the planet was a nightmare for communications. If all went well, the expedition would arrive back at camp by mid-day, though it was not uncommon for disorientation in the thick wet undergrowth to delay their arrival. After a spirited lunch, most of the researchers would go about documenting their finds, while Sarah would accompany Maxwell and a few other assistants on returning to a few established research sites. Here they would collect data from observational sensors, place new sensors, and continue to probe and sample the flora. They knew fauna was present on Kohara, yet none of the researchers had managed to make contact beyond glimpses from a distance. Curiously, for such stealthy, cautious creatures, the fauna appeared to all sport some vibrant blue bioluminescence that pulsed when they were alerted. They had noticed a similar, though milder, form of bioluminescence in the plants. While they could not confirm with the animals, the plants pulsed their light with the lightning strikes. Brighter the closer the strike.

The exciting thrill of research, of finding new things, kept spirits high despite the gloomy local. Sarah and Maxwell talked at great length about their plans to try and get closer to the animals. Many ideas were discussed: traps, lures, bait, decoys, etc. Sarah had wanted to try using food bait to gain their trust, but they had not fully deduced what plants were eaten (or if plants were eaten). Maxwell thought perhaps a trap would be the only way, though they both worried that something so traumatic might not give them good data. The breakthrough of discovering an animal path brought them both closer to their goal. Observational sensors confirmed that a pack of small, ferret-like glowing lizards sped along this path in one direction. How they returned was unknown; they did so by another path. A plan was quickly hatched to place a variety of plants that, according to testing, were most likely edible. With video sensors in place, they would soon learn what the animals ate. This, Maxwell insisted, was key to finding out how to capture or tame them. The research group had been to Kohara before but contact with some kind of fauna would be a first. The excitement of that prospect had all of the research students chattering. Sarah could not even sleep, instead electing to play cards with Professor Maxwell and a few others of the sleepless research crew.

Sarah’s fingers shook, and she could not tell if it was from the cold downpour or from the excitement. This was the day. The sun was not visible as a heavy storm had rolled in. The team worked slowly through the thick foliage, relying on the dim green glow of chem-sticks to guide them, not using electric lights for fear of scaring wildlife away. The crashing of water through the thick fleshy leaves of the Kohara plant life was deafening. Communication was extra hard – it was nearly impossible to hear anyone’s voice. Their communication devices were all they had. Yet this did not stop everyone from excitedly chattering on the local channel. Occasionally communication with base would go down, and Sarah would get a twinge of guilt. They drew sticks on the exciting operation of the day because Sarah did not want to be left out, and now as a result Michael was staying behind to man comms and database. If the rest of the team were not so excited, they would have teased that it was because Sarah was Maxwell’s favorite that the draw ever happened. They eventually reached the path and began spreading out to set up devices and bait.

Suddenly, a cool breeze swept through the ravine that the animal track ran through. Random cold gusts were common on Kohara, but Sarah noticed something strange. A slight pulse in the plant bioluminescence. She had never seen it before. She glanced up to spot Maxwell standing on a small rise, where the vegetation was a little thinner, supervising the group. “Max! Max!” He turned to face her as she struggled her way up to the grassy lump beside him. His eyebrow raised, “What is it Ms. Wallace?”

“Something with the storm is different. The plants pulsed with the wind.”

It took a moment for this information to register on the professor’s face. “There was no lightning, Sarah.”

“I know,” she said breathlessly. In her excitement she forgot to breathe, “Something new is happening.”

Maxwell nodded quickly in agreement, raising his eyes to the skyline to inspect the weather. The dark clouds swirled as was normal, with the customary faint glow on the horizon that marked a setting sun they had never seen all day. The glow illuminated the lighter grey of the stony cliffs overlooking the ravine from across a small lake. It was a welcoming bit of light amidst a world of dark greens, blues, and purples that made up Kohara’s vegetation and blackish dirt. The large tree-like plants atop the trees glimmered blue with a distant lightning strike, a strange contract to a little green glowing speck. A green glowing speck- of what? It was too far to see. But the only green lights on the planet were the researcher’s chem lights. Maxwell’s brows furrowed, “Who is that up on the cliff?”

“What?” Sarah blinked. She had all but memorized the plan, “No one is supposed to be there. We’ve not even gone that far out yet.”

“Maxwell to base, Michael we’ve got someone out of formation!”

The radio buzzed with static, “Sorry si-….. -ear you… storm is interfere-… -justing commu-…-tions…”

Sarah swore under her breath. This happened all of the time. It would take about thirty seconds for the communications to recalibrate. Thirty seconds for her. Michael had only been on comms once before; it could take him twice as long.

“Max… I’ve got a really bad feeling about this. We need to get their attention now before we lose sight. I don’t know how long it’ll take to get communications back.”

Maxwell nodded grimly, “You’re right, Sarah. I’m going to wave my chem light at them and see if they noticed. If they cross over that cliff, between the storm and the rock, we may not be able to hail them on comms.” He stepped up on to a large rock that he had be standing beside and began to wave his chem stick back and forth over his head. Sarah focused her eyes intently on the distant green spot, looking for a sign of movement or acknowledgement. Strangely, it never moved. But then it pulsed, almost like Koharan animal. Sarah spun to face Maxwell quickly to tell him her observation when she saw it. Just a split second, but a second that would be etched into her mind as if it was a century. Maxwell, illuminated by a distant lightning strike, rain pouring down his concerned face as he waved his hands and shouted to the cliffside… and a brief blink of green laser light on his chest. Suddenly the air was filled with bright, searing, shrieking light as an intense energy blast like lightening cracked across the sky. In the blink of an eye a green beam shot from that distant glowing speck- and blew straight through Professor Maxwell. A black gloopy ash scattered across the area, coating plants, Maxwell’s backpack that was resting beside the rock, and across Sarah’s face. Instinctively, Sarah Wallace hit the ground, and as she did, she realized: Professor Timothy Maxwell was gone. And she had been very close.

Dear Journal,

It is strange, the difference between the feeling of sailing carelessly through the vastness of open sky, and the feeling of staring down into the black, bottomless throat of a cavern. Instead of seeing as far as one may wish to look, one’s vision is blocked by the impassable, unwavering blackness.

“Ready, Mister Zenas?” my friend John called down.

“Ready!” I lied.

The rope descended, and I with it. Down, down, down… I was lowered deeper and deeper into the increasingly cold heart of the island. Oh, the places I’ll go and the things I’ll do in the name of discovery! The tantalizing temptation of finding the treasure drew me irresistibly… in spite of the increasing sense of claustrophobia that clasped its tight embrace about me.

At long, long last, I touched down on the soggy, gritty surface of the cavern floor and, clutching my rope, peered around into the absolute midnight of the massive cave. Behind me, there, something caught my eye. A tiny glimmer of light – it came from a small tunnel. I could hear the sloshing sound of water as I slowly inched towards it.

Once through, I encountered another cavern, smaller than the last one and… surprisingly beautiful. Purplish foliage clambered down from the heights above, and amid the rocks grew pockets of glowing mushrooms, quietly lighting the shadows. A collection of small waterfalls fed several trickling rivers that drained into a rushing whirlpool on the left of the cavern. In the center of the cavern was a small isle of wet sand, in the middle of which stood a lone column, atop which laid a small, golden artifact. The moment I espied it I knew, after weeks of travel, I had found what I sought.

I crept up towards it in the soft beam of light, mist drifting hazily around me. I circled the item, examining its every beautiful detail before I could dare to reach out and lift it up from its base.

But then, Journal, the unmistakable sound of a flintlock pistol being cocked echoed off the walls of the rocky chamber. I froze, the untouched golden relic still before me, and slowly glanced up to see a figure standing opposite me.

“I will not insult your intelligence, Mr. Abbington, as long as you do not explore the boundaries of my patience.” A confident and mellifluous voice flowed from the tall, mysteriously black-clad figure. His pistol gleamed, aimed directly at my heart. Terrifyingly, one could not see his features, for his face was entirely covered in spotless, filmy cloth. No doubt he could see outwards, but none could look in at him.

I was shivering. “Who-o-o are you?”

“I see no purpose in divulging my identity to you, nor that of my companion.” To my horror, another figure, similarly dressed, though a bit heftier in the shoulders, stood just past him. He too was armed with a flintlock.

Suddenly my thoughts darted in a different direction. “Wait, what have you done with John?”

“Your companion? I underestimated the speed and agility of his craft. He sailed off and made good his escape. I am certain he understood the message of my cannons and he shall not be trifling with me any further.” A tiny click announced the removal of his weapon’s safety latch. “Now, Mr. Abbington, as your conversational abilities leave much to be desired… the tablet, if you please.”

It was then that I saw my opportunity. I snatched the golden square and held it, ready to cast into the whirlpool swirling just within reach of me. The man and his companion started in shock.

“Now, you masked man, I will not insult your intelligence. Lower your weapon and leave, or I shall toss this tablet to the waters.”

The stranger chuckled menacingly. “I am more than prepared to murder for that tablet. Are you prepared to die for it?”

“I suppose I will have to find out!” I cried, hurling myself and said tablet into the whirlpool in one swift dive.

I shall write again, dear Journal, as soon as I may, and explain just how I came to be writing this entry and not drowned.

-Zenas Abbington

Some of the fierce warriors at the Useldange Medieval Fair today,the weaponry was terrifyingly real!

Expo - Sainrte Marie Aux Mines