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butternuggets-blog · 4 months

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FOR WANT OF A NAIL

@baldwin-montclair @adowobsessed @sylverdeclermont @nicki-mac-me @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @wheresthesunshinesblog @adowbaldwin @beautifulsoulsublime @lady-lazarus-declermont @adarafaelbarba @dogblessyoutascha

Part Fourty

Summary: Baldwin Montclair had a string of ex girlfriends, a single child, and a lifetime longer than most people could dream of to make all kinds of mistakes. His family knew one which kept coming out of the woodwork to irritate him every other century.

Also on AO3

They had been racing each other through the forest to see who could reach Sept Tours first. Try as he might to push his horse forward, Baldwin hadn't been able to outpace Martin since they started, which was why Martin saw the strange display in front of them first.

Martin burst out laughing, then called back over his shoulder to Baldwin as he caught up.

'Are we expected to dine in the grounds?'

'What?' Baldwin peered past him, confused, then stared.

Every single piece of furniture that the De Clermonts owned appeared to be scattered across the grass.

Astrolabes and books, scrolls and clocks and linen, cutlery and paintings and the paraphernalia of over a thousand years of life perched on or in the desks, chairs and tables. In the center stood Marthe; from where they were they could hear her muttering curses under her breath and loudly directing the servants on where to put everything.

'Smells of damp' Martin said, sniffing the air. There was a definite tang of mould; some of the furniture had been placed to one side, and a handful of kitchen boys were enthusiastically attacking the pile with axes.

They rode up and dismounted, leaving the horses tied to a boudoir to graze as they wound their way through the labyrinthine mess until they reached Marthe.

'What has happened here?' asked Baldwin.

'Matthew happened.' Marthe paused, then sighed and gestured helpelessly around her. 'He set up a new rain-catching system on the roof of the armoury and..'

'How unfortunate.'

'How far did the damage spread?' asked Martin, as Baldwin began happily snooping through everyone else's belongings.

'Only the armoury and the central tower, thank the gods.' Marthe nodded at Martin. 'A bed in the northeastern tower has been set up for you, and your usual rooms have been prepared for you as well, Lucius.'

'Thank you' said Martin. Baldwin looked up and nodded gratefully.

'Thank you Marthe.'

________________________________________________________________

Philippe and Ysabeau had cycled through the five stages of grief very quickly, so by evening they were laughing at their youngest son's lesson in failure. Marthe was still frosty, but Matthew had promised to help with the clean up which had gone a long way to thawing her temper.

'But what went wrong exactly?' Baldwin asked, while they ate dinner.

'I do not know.' Matthew shrugged.

'Perhaps it was the pipes.' Martin offered.

'Perhaps. There was nothing wrong with the receptacle when we tested it.'

Verin, who happened to have been available to join them for the night, pointed her knife at her brother. 'Fix your pipes Matthew!'

'Yes Matthieu, fix your pipes.' chortled Philippe.

Matthew's mouth twitched in a premonitory smirk. 'There's nothing wrong with my pipes.'

The table dissolved into giggles.

Author's Notes

Baldwin's just happy it's not his stuff that's been destroyed.

Toilet humour makes the world go round 😅

#a discovery of witches #baldwin montclair #adow #all souls trilogy #baldwin de clermont #all souls series #all souls tv series #a discovery of witches season 1 #a discovery of witches season 2 #a discovery of witches season 3 #bibaldwin #baldwin de clermont/original male character

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redhairedwolfwitch · 3 years

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This Christmas Was Surprisingly Violent - Legacies x Noralise!Daughter!Reader

It’ll All Be Painfully Clear Soon Enough

A/n: Sorry this is super short, this episode was honestly stupid and I never really watched it lmao

B/m/n = biological mother’s name

///

You were watching Maya at early morning cheer practice outside when a cold wind had you looking up at the sky.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” You exclaimed, spotting the snow as a flake of it landed on your nose, melting on contact.

“It’s snowing in October?” B/m/n asked as both Nora and Mary-Louise shuddered, remembering their time in the 1903 prison world.

“Isn’t it October?” Maya asked as she ran over, a smirk on her face as you shrugged, about to walk away when a snowball hit the back of your head.

“Oh, it’s on!” You retorted, diving into a crouch so you could scoop up some snow.

“Well at least someone enjoys the stupid snow.” Nora whined, leaving Mary-Louise to pull Nora closer to her.

///

“This is terrible news. It’s freaking fall! Not winter! What am I gonna wear?”

“Something to travel in? Y/n’s not answering her phone but she’s probably under the mistletoe with Maya, so...”

“You want me to quest for Frodo Baggins, don’t you? I thought that the monsters weren’t after him now-”

Hope just sighed, listening to Lizzie talk before Lizzie decided to agree.

“Fine, a little locator spell, then off to Mordor I go.”

“Ho, ho ho! I come bearing gifts!”

Lizzie’s eyes widened in shock and horror as Josie walked in, dressed in festive clothing and a tray of cookies.

///

Raf was sat on the bus with Landon when he noticed a sealed envelope in his bag.

“What the-”

“Angel wings wax seal, looks like Y/n sent you something.” Landon chuckled, watching as Raf opened the envelope.

“It’s a polaroid, from that party back before it went crazy... I didn’t know she even kept this.” Raf admitted, smiling at the photo of you, him, Josie and Lizzie.

///

“Why don’t you go back to the Salvatore School?” Maya asked as she laid her head in your lap, looking up at you as you sighed.

“Because this snow will put them in the Christmas spirit and I stopped enjoying Christmas when my mothers died... I don’t think we even celebrated Christmas back then either... I just don’t care for Christmas and I’d like to spend time with you, Maya.”

“She’s too young to remember winter with me.” B/m/n sighed, leaving Mary-Louise to add “We weren’t exactly celebrating Christmas in the hands of the Armoury, didn’t she celebrate with Valerie?”

“Maybe, but who knows.” Nora replied, sighing as she took Mary-Lou’s hand.

///

“Good luck dampening their spirits and getting them to listen to you. Especially when the two who would listen to you, aren’t at the school right now. The angel’s wandered off somewhere and you sent Lizzie off after Landon-” Clarke fell silent as Hope glared before walking off.

“You leave that to me.”

///

Mystic Falls High went crazy with winter spirit after the snow fell.

Ethan was still going to his appointments and physical therapy which the Sheriff took him to.

This left you to hang out with Maya at her house, curled up under blankets and watching movies including Krampus from 2015.

“What is this movie?”

“Some comedy horror thing I think.” B/m/n replied as she managed to get a glance at the synopsis before Maya played the film on Netflix.

You didn’t know that the Krampus was fighting Santa Claus as you napped on Sheriff Mac’s couch with Maya.

““Y/n, hey, babe, your phone has been going crazy-” Maya woke you up holding your phone.

“What? Oh, thanks... oh shi-uttlebugs.” You stopped swearing at the last second as you read Hope and Lizzie’s texts, sensing eyes watching you from the doorway.

Hope: Snow in October can mean only one thing

Hope: Monster attack

Hope: where are you?

Hope: I could use your help

Lizzie: Hope’s sent me after the mophead

Lizzie: having fun under the mistletoe with the muggle?

Hope: Krampus on campus, where are you?!?!

Hope: Santa Claus is fighting the Krampus?

Hope: Where are you, you’re missing all of this chaos!

“I have to go.” You admitted, leaving Maya to pout as she watched you get up from the couch, rushing around quietly to grab your shoes.

“It’s nearly midnight-” Maya was cut off as you quickly kissed her, blushing as you realised what you did but you had already made it outside the house and teleported before Maya could stop you.

“Did she just-”

“Aw how adorable!” Nora cooed, leaving Mary-Louise to snort.

“That was cute. Shame she ran out of here so fast.” Her mother remarked as she stood in the doorway, leaving Maya to freeze.

“Hey, mom... how long have you been standing there?”

///

“What did I miss?” Your voice had Hope glance at you from the payphone.

“This Christmas was surprisingly violent.” Hope chuckled down the phone, smiling as you walked over to her.

“Merry Christmas, Clarke.”

The two of you just smiled as Hope hung up the phone, linking arms to walk outside.

“Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas, Hope!”

You chuckled at the shout, watching the red streak in a dark sky of bright stars.

“That’s my cue. Goodnight Hope, Merry Christmas.” you replied, hugging her slightly as you realised Landon was approaching.

“Goodnight Y/n.”

“Well at least one love triangle with Hope is being sorted out.” B/m/n mumbled, wishing in that moment she could actually drink.

You teleported back to Valerie’s apartment, finding her on the couch with a glass of wine/blood, you weren’t sure which.

“Hi, auntie.”

The room was dark besides the light from the fireplace as you sat on the couch next to her.

“I miss them.” You admitted, leaving Valerie to sigh as she wrapped an arm around you.

“I miss them too.”

“We miss you too.” Noralise whispered, holding each other as they watched you and Valerie sitting in the dark.

I Could Not Have Done This Without You

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teddybasmanov · 2 years

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he's bad at keeping secrets, isn't he?

there's not bodily harm, at least not yet. with romi's ask to mac, it seems as though trouble may be on the horizon. a few more pretty weapons may not hurt, don't you think?

we can get you meaningful gifts too, if you'd like them!

I'm afraid he is, princess.

Yes, I completely agree, your Highness, but those "pretty weapons" should be in the hands of specially trained and skilled knights and castle guards and not the crown prince and princess - you two should be guarded much stricter than any armoury or treasury.

#and the post with transfers flies from the mainland #teasandcardigans #tea princess #I can't get a break here can I #/lh #Macadamia kingdom

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calamitousrpg · 3 years

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SIGN UPS ARE NOW CLOSED

The roster’s updated; ring names pinned to the front of the SR as sign up slips make their way into waiting hands. Most are voluntary, nobody questions when a couple of slips come in from a single person, an entry is an entry.

The slots are filled quickly, name after name streams in and the chosen champions give themselves a few days to prepare, every behind the scenes arrangement is made and on SRS day, the champions find that they’re treated like royalty. There’s unfamiliar faces leading those nominated to decorated tunnels that surround the sandy ring itself. An armoury offered with the exact amount of requested equipment – large trunks with the champions’ names are found as the weapons housing.

Inside, the order of events –

Before it can be read, a rumble from the Slaughter Ring’s caves has everyone looking up, for a moment, it’s mistaken as the crowd outside roaring and jeering to see blood. It still could be, the energy of the Slaughter Ring carries right across the North; one of the most anticipated events of the year always brings the crowds. But this rumbling is closer, like a train reverberating up the tunnels at an unrelenting speed.

Some of those with more adept senses are already backing out of the armoury – shaken for just a moment before there’s an echoing whisper that reaches the champion’s ears:

“Here’s your warm-up before the first round, champions.”

And the Southside ceiling collapses, no chance to process the recognisable tone when the competitors are finding any exit they can as rocks from above threaten to come down and crush them; jagged, purposeful chunks of stone that intend to do a little more than harm.

As fast as it comes, its over.

If adrenaline wasn’t already running through the veins of every champion, it certainly is now; glances are thrown suspiciously in every direction, most are looking for those who didn’t make it out; there’s less bodies standing there in the wings of the ring. SRS organisers are near enough rushing at them, checking for casualties, ushering the designated groups to their private wings organised in factions before they are to put feet on the sand.

Everyone that’s still holding their match roster notices – as if by magic, those missing and likely beneath the rubble of the armoury are also absent the fight line-up. (It doesn’t take a genius to work out how organised a sabotage it had been.) Everyone has their own theories; perhaps an eradication of those districts attempting to put additional champions in their ranks, though, something darker sits in the minds of some where they swear they’ve heard the ghost-like voice before.

There’s eight names struck out; casualties before even the SRS has begun. Most bring the champion count down from the usual four and at a slight disadvantage as a group – however two names stand out above the rest; if only for their notoriety:

Prince Quintus “The Pirate” Zander of the Forgotten and Tranterdor ‘Troy’ “The Lover Man” Dazzoth of the Dominion.

Mourning isn’t an agenda within the Slaughter Ring and its likely that their names would be announced as losses at the end of the SRS. Only the Champions seem to be aware of the tragic accident that sets up the Slasher for a questionable start.

Another voice cuts through the Slaughter Ring, this time, from overhead speakers:

Welcome to the one-hundred and twenty-first Slaughter Ring Slasher, citizens of Calamity. We apologise for the delay, but Round One shall begin shortly, above you you’ll find the line-up, alongside the standings for how each Champion is pitted; we promised you blood; we always deliver.

A pause, a shuffle on the speakers, before:

There has been a slight change to the Champions, but nothing to worry about, the Knockout’s will commence forthwith. [END] Static silences the voice.

Tradition stands; the Knockouts, a head-to-head, show of strength that acts as an opener – one rule; get your opponent to concede, if they don’t, then knockout is putting it kindly.

Bring on the blood.

ROUND ONE

I. Valerie “The Mistress” Sylla vs. Aslyn “Chaos Wolf” Bishop II. Lorelai “The Missing Half” Mackie vs. Josiah “The Ill-Advised” Maxwell III. Corvina “The Hellcat” Alkera vs. Demitri “Honeypot” IV. Cardelle “Ace of Spades” Mackie vs. Liliana “Khanivore” Solar V. Max “The Valkyrie” Roper vs. Ariel “Atlantis” Tarren VI. Boone “The Unawakened” Morris vs. Axel “Thor” Reyes VII. Dayanara “The Piranha Queen” Lighcrest vs. Esme “Scarlet Witch” Darcy VIII. Bram “Mac Rhys” Mackie vs. Jack “Legendary” Davenport IX. Garrett “The Dark Wolf” Kaelstrom vs. Ragnar “Fenrir’s Claw” Lothbrok X. Izyk “The Exiled” Vissar vs. Azarius “The Souleater” XI. Kondor “The Trident” Tarren vs. Ripley “The Ripper” Bell XII. Jasper “The Daring Chicken” Dalton vs. Alistair “Adonis” Adams XIII. Oberyn “The Viper” Cortes vs. Azagi “The Fury” Rabaz XIV. Mike “The Mad Wolf” Fothergill vs. Evan “The Hurricane” XV. Jake “The King’s Guard” Juarez vs. Lobo “Sad Moon Moon” Vasquez XVI. Hazel “The Vigilante” Warren vs. Rhysand “Star Boy” Darkwood

The names are called in order, I - XVI and is the fastest way to determine who makes it to Round Two. The Crowds are cheering and the Champions who didn’t sign themselves up to begin with are less than happy about the forced participation since their names are already plastered bold across the callboard.

Bets are being placed; Kochba is being slid into all the conman’s hands and wars have every ability to be waged on the sands. The losses earlier in the night sit unpleasant in the back of the Champion’s minds, a strange occurrence that reminds how dangerous the SRS is; how easy life can be taken, even for immortals. There’s no way someone in the ring planned the sabotage; cheating their way to victory this year?

Eradicating the competition and leaving district representatives short Champions; less to defeat, but those who were there, know that everyone in the backrooms were accounted for; as at equal risk; suicidal to cave a room in with those responsible within it, surely?

The SRS is only fun, right, Champions?

Better get ready to R U M B L E....

ADMIN NOTE: SRS day is HERE. Everyone who wants to be is gathered in the Slaughter Ring; the ringside seats are packed, there’s bustling from every angle, all trying to get the best view of the sandy ring itself, the Champions are in the wings preparing to watch; front row seats to their comrades and competitors fights. Heat and tension as the anticipation hits peak for them.

Champions can thread their fights, discuss in your pairs results or if you want that randomised too, please let us know, we’ll dice roll success/fails on hits/punches or whatever your pairing lead to! Or, you know, if your Champion retreats/runs and is deemed a coward. Whatever. ;) You can also thread being in the Champion wings with other Champs whilst you wait for your fight to go.

Then of course, everyone else in attendance can spectate, discuss around the ring, maybe ponder why the standings suddenly changed and names went missing dun dun dunnnn. But everyone will eventually notice that there is uneven champion reps due to the accident as they look at who’s left in the ring. This justifies why there’s extra champs in other districts... to you know... fill numbers... suspend your disbelief...

Any questions, please let us know! Also, update us on victors for the next rounds (and you know, if ... they’re still fight-able...), we’ll open up the event discord channel again as we do during events and you can discuss and place your bets ooc on people too if you want. All for fun y’all, we love you, peace !

R.I.P. Troy & Quintus. (We’re off to a good start with Nova at the reigns.)

This next part (round) will drop 18TH FEBRUARY 18:00GMT ! Please keep us updated with where you’re at results wise by then, or if you need more time!

#calamity.event #event: slaughter ring slasher #pastevent

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alchemisland · 5 years

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Moors Mutt III - Beastbound (second edit)

Night fled day and I read the sky. Through bores a fiery sliver shone, conjuring fantastical images of a great city somewhere past the clouds, its denizens craning to the light's dying. I stood waiting for a sunrise which never came. In her place a bruised bank of laden clouds arrived to the beat of mjolnir's blows.

The storm, furious mute, spoke through our works. Droplets exploded musically, dull on timber, shrill on sheet, like crackling fire against thatch.

Lar the blackbird rose early, stretching and emerging from the fugue state that best pleased his constitution, his wingspan filling the alcove.

Foot travel was impossible, even treacherous. Lar wouldn't have it. 'I know someone.' he said 'Unpaid tab, lovely spacious wagon. Hold tight.'

Lar inquired if I had thought in my wisdom to pack a rainmac, to which I said no. After deriding my urban foolishness he opted to lend me his own, an enormous caul like a bear pelt, waxy and unpleasant against my neck.

Unpaid tab, yes. Lovely wagon, no. Against the rising slope, his contraption strained. Its light frame shed water at every judder. We veered, almost fatally, at least twice, prompting a sudden whiteknuckled plee for forgiveness from whichever deity hated me, but the man knew his charge and kept us steady.

Soon the ground levelled and in relative peace I gelded the day's larger duties into manageable tasks. Ten had a certain motivating roundness. Ten labours set to Heracles condemned to misery by jealous Hera. Ten commandments from on high.

After a short time at work my mind lost its typical easy-focus. Each sentence I read twice or three times. At common words I stared with newfound curiousity. A single letter roused me, pertinent by its pompous wax rosette; a bill of sale for several oxgangs, including Talbot Church, to be sold to Lady Sizemore, with a transitory period of two hundred years during which no litigious action could be sought by either party for the purposes of solving any dispute of ownership. I paraphrase now, for each word writ was careful chosen.

There was little ambiguity as to the tone the bill's author Henry Wales, the estate's executor, attempted to convey. Beside the Lady's seal and sinister scrawl Henry, presuming wont to associate with the Sizemore name, printed his agency's crest, ruby pomegranates on a kylix with a lidded eye acentre.

Harder to discern, in an unpracticed hand was the seller's signature, a reluctant cluster of slanting characters keenly reflecting the scribe's defiance at his enforced shift, rudely contrasting the infernal airy loops of Mr. Wales and his evil brood at the Wales, DeLien & Hensonbore firm.

Perhaps fearing her legacy unworthy of envy, Lady Sizemore extended the empire's borders at considerable expense. In the same batch I found two drawings, the first a surveyor's border outline, the other a plan of the churchyard denoting nearby antiquities. Aside from the cairn, which for a thousand years stood its watch in front of Talbot Church, Lady Sizemore's purchase encompassed two dolmens, four standing stones, eight middens and one fulacht fiadh.

As I read, the cairn braced like a greatshield outside. Henry Wales' told me everything else in his correspondence - he was nothing if not thorough. He outlined the how of its shifting, even naming decent but affordable lackeys who wouldn't let the superstitions dissuade their good sense. I peered over my shoulder through the second floor window at the mound of the immense granite phallus, its pulsing micha veins dazzling in the scantest light. Virile and windworn, the stone in shifting lost little of its commanding presence, which had driven men of the Dawn Age prostrate. She took the winds gladly against her bulk like oil upon an anointed brow.

I wondered why she had closed the church. Why move the stone at all if she owned the lands. Surely enforcing a harsh penalty for trespassing to deter ramblers over time is easier than shifting a megalith. How the mind boggles.

Little else occurred. I found interesting some newspaper snippets concerning the then day's pugilistic affairs, to which the upper classes had enured themselves, to such degrees that even the leisurely apolitical pages of Country Living magazine included a column notating the latest heroes and villains of the prize ring - most from Broughton's.

Gull-winged Dan Donnelly was bold in Vetruvian repose. His shoulders wrapped the borders. I noted a scribble in the margin, not her Ladyship's hand, H's looping like drunk P's and S's like broken 8's; the person had written, 'Jew though he is, he is more twelve trys than twelve tribes.. Did you see that match last week? Mendoza has a head like a breastplate.' Witty, though I stayed my smile as punishment for his beastly opening stipulations, but he was right - Mendoza was incredible.

The day otherwise passed quickly. I worked mostly absent of mind. Near freedom the final banality seemed yet more soul destroying, but fortunately it was easily done. I signed the final field with flourish.

On the doorstep gazing out at the torrid tempest, for a brief moment Cairn Cottage seemed inviting. I cast a final backward glance. Inside Acrisian frames, there lay yesteryear's gentry in oils, frozen in perpetual offence.

As arranged Charon ferried me back to Sperrin. In the carriage I thought of Talbot Church. Desirous of its contour I pierced the veil of evening and through the smoking air rifled the horizon. I wished it a modest place, far from the ostentation of Cairn Cottage. The church loomed out there somewhere in the vild. I imagined a modest place, with trees once forming a wondrous girdle reclaiming their purloined land, where roots and shooted tentacles bored the aged concrete, flourished in the open and grew upward until the church itself resembled a pagan kingdom, a mask of blushing ivy hosting colonies of resident bats.

Outside Lar's, wet as it was possible to be, some queer curiosity took me and I paused on the threshold. Fingering the doorhandle, I brought my ear to the wood. Lar joked, joyous overmuch at his own humour. I turned the handle and let the door swing open. All attention on me, I let them drink in the sight of the soaked city rat. 'In you come.' A wave of relief swept Lar, which he wrestled into a piteous pout. Relief more that his finances were secure than any concern for my wellbeing.

Two drinks waited, patient as unconfessed sinners. He smiled as I peeled off the sopping mac and slung it across the chair back, nodding him his reluctant dues.

We feasted like sentenced men. For to uphold our strength we ate lashings of gravy thickened by meat juices, steaming Yorkshire puddings, slabs of succulent pork, bog mushy peas, and custard to follow.

We reclined afterwards. Fergus slipped the bolt unbidden when the small crowd shifted, loudly dragging his stool the short distance to our barside council. We traded nothings, batting pleasantries back and forth with all the vigour of two exhausted tennis players; he shamelessly imparting tall tales of field endeavors and cabbage patch dalliances; I feigning amusement, ascribing his stories more laughter than their content deserved, desperate to avoid frank discussion. I was eaten witless. My mind in grave custardy.

'Are we, like lantern thieves, away with the light?' Lar undid the top button of his trousers and swelled an inch before my eyes.

'We are.' I answered curtly.

'Handled a gun before?' Lar braced for a hasty response, which I gladly supplied.

'I have and don't intend to again. I'm not sure about guns.' Lar's brow furrowed. 'I believe with alternate ends, disagreements often arise.' I thought carefully and to his credit he waited patiently. 'How can I put this.. I don't want a fox hunt.'

'I never said it was.' Lar replied. 'If I might be bold, why hate the gun and not its wielder? Is a rifle always an instrument of terror no matter the context? On the shoulder of an adventurer piercing the interior, emboldened by its weight, is it the selfsame tool dispensing random death in the hands of a deranged?'

He continued on in a similar fashion for several minutes. After zoning out, I had to nod with extra vigor to his next points, just enough to convey attentiveness but not agreement.

Foam pooled at the corners of his mouth. 'It's a fool that lowers caution in victory! Wear these chains. Be it upon your head.'

I tried to interject, 'Lar, really that's a bit dram-'

He continued unabated, 'Should the beast prove strengthful and beguiling and somehow catch us unawares, it won't make a good look for that book of yours.'

Admiring of his passion, I had none to share. 'Any given situation is more likely to end in a leaden exchange with guns present, vise a vie, sans guns we are overall safer, despite feeling less protected individually.'

'Your charisma won't stop a beast. If in some desolate future you find yourself alone, bloodied and fatigued, you'll embrace your firearm like a lost lover and thank Mars for the gift of battle.' Empassioned, Lar slapped the bar.

'Point taken. I'll pack one. Don't intend on using it though. My only stipulation is that I choose my own gun.'

Pulling aside a rug Lar revealed a hatch, the entryway to his private cave of wonders. Fergus tossed the heavy door aside to reveal stone steps and a low unlit corridor. As he descended, candlelight revealed walls streaked and sticky with the dregs of drams spilled in violent melees.

He fetched the swaddled armoury and laid it for my reluctant perusal. I felt something like guilt looking at them. I couldn't pinpoint the feeling. Not a betrayal of principals; I am indignant, but I know my principals only matter until they don't fit my schedule. Nothing is too sacred to reconsider. Still, there was a lingering sense that I had wronged someone. My unease was perhaps a consequence of past lives lived conscience-free. When I rode with Cortez greedily discharging my sizzling firearm into the chest of a scout; when I stood a wart-faced archer at Agincourt and rained death across the mire, athwart a river of Francish blood.

I chose a revolver, its relative snugness more graceful than the longnecked pistols and bayonetted-rifles otherwise offered. Six shots, lightweight, swift off the hip.

Once the guns were again squirrelled away, we untensed with a fifth drink, and a sixth shortly thereafter.

'Have you a route in mind?' Lar slurred at length, his jaw shifting from side to side like a cow's chewing the cud.

'You tell me. You're the gun weilding adventurer.' I teased.

'I have some notions. Let's have one more drink. Don't go to bed bitter.' He fingered a bottle and seductively circled the cork, but his indecision had angered me.

'Notions are actions without legs! As joint expeditionaries, in name rather than eventual royalty I add, I offer no pronouncement on the route. What am I paying you for? Hardly your winning anecdotes. We're following your route to success or failure.' I departed, lifting the flap for myself this time.

Drink deep of nightwine and give to tumbling, so say the texts. I have read them all, from Hobbes' Essential Oneiria to Throughland's Night Study. Through the circle's end, overboard the sil of sanity I fell to a gallery of my own being, divided into layers, each some fractured facet of the whole, where each feeling untempered by its counterparts unfolded in wicked fullness; galleries of nudes in lust's royal academy, raging red the river of anger, rocky the paths untold which might have been. I saw shades of myself in every variation, vexing and charmful, until at last to the untamed plains I came, savage and noxious. It was there I found the church.

What place more apt for spiritual contrition than a chapel of the mind where only the clanking templar's ghost sat in solemn judgement, his observations vocalised in clanks and bumps, selfsame the thud of ladders against the walls of Jerusalem.

I perceived the structure was a mental construct, but its myriad details and idiosyncratic flourishes hinted at a verifiable corporeal existence. A modest church of grey stone, low ceilinged with a single stained glass. I crouched at the fingertips of a stumped transept, at the left hand of the scoured christ on the cruciform. Talbot, who took no pleasure, busied as was his charge. He stared at empty pews. His name I knew implicitly and his face was one familiar, even through the scrambled madness of dreams. He strained from the pulpit without address toward where I watched. I never moved. What should happen if i did? Nothing. No more than the wild sun stirs at the opening of a bud.

Pried from the altar in a chaos of streaming robes and flicking pages, he descended the stairs, alone carpeted, toward the front row where a soiled shovel propped. He took the shovel in hand gravely and exited the church.

Upon his return he came to where I stood. Of the shovel there was no sign. In its place he carried a banded scroll and a small wooden lockbox fit for its length. He placed them by his feet, swept his robes backward and with a trowel from his belt began chipping away over an existing foundational weakness, until the trowel stove and the trough of the block was splayed. When the scroll was placed and the box sealed, he hid it away inside then set to repairing the flagstone.

I woke shortly thereafter to thunderous footsteps. I feared the storm had abated little in the night. Conditions so adverse would delay our expedition, but as the cacophony continued it seemed closer, from within the house. I walked from the bed wrapped in a sheet and opened the door a sliver to see Fergus stomping up and down the corridor gathering supplies.

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thedreamskeepmealive · 2 years

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ASUS ROG Delta S Animate gaming headset review

The Delta S Animate is a premium gaming headset from ASUS. It is a multi-platform USB-C headset, which works with most platforms, including Windows, Mac, PlayStation, Switch, Android, and iOS. One of the most interesting features of the Delta S Animate is the array of mini-LED on the sides, which can be customized to animate text and images. The headset is compatible with ASUS' Armoury Crate software, which lets you customize the LEDs and includes features such as AI noise cancellation for the microphone. Meanwhile the audio processing is handled by the ESS 9281 Quad DAC with...

source https://www.gsmarena.com/asus_rog_delta_s_animate_gaming_headset_review-news-53868.php

#tondeusepascher

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tech2cool · 2 years

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Asus ROG Cetra II In-Ear USB-C Wired Gaming Headphones

Vendor: Asus Type: Headsets Price: 139.25

Review Highlights

Neodymium magnet driver

Scratch resistance and lightweight metal housing

Customizable, multi-color RGB lighting

Features

USB-C connector provides multiplatform support for mobile phones, PCs, Mac and Nintendo Switch

Active Noise Cancelation (ANC) technology eliminates ambient noise

Ambient mode, built-in mic picks up surrounding noises and vocals, perfect when you need to hear what’s going on around you

Liquid silicone rubber (LSR) drivers provide stable speaker performance, delivering strong bass and optimized gaming audio

Microphones with noise-suppression technology embedded in the earbuds

Ergonomic design with ultrasoft liquid silicone rubber (LSR) ear fins and ear tips for a comfortable fit

In-line controls, adjust volume/play or pause audio/activate ANC or Ambient modes

Compact travel case for easy storage when on the go

Armoury Crate software offers extensive controls and an intuitive UI

Warranty

Two-year Singapore return-to-base (customer carry-in) limited material warranty

from Tech2Cool https://ift.tt/dNetGy7

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thetapelessworld · 6 years

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Spitfire Audio is proud to announce availability of SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS

Spitfire Audio is proud to announce availability of SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS — opening a new chapter in the British music technology company’s creative story by bookmarking the first release in an all-new orchestral library range recorded in a new space as an incredibly versatile pro-end dry stage sample library, available as SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS and also as an extended edition in SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS PROFESSIONAL — as of August 31…

By choosing the crisp and vibrant setting of AIR Studios’ Studio 1, smaller and more controllable — capable of accommodating up to 45 musicians across its 140m2 floating floor (with a specially designed sliding door system that allows it to be divided into acoustically separated areas) — compared to the opulence of AIR Studios’ Lyndurst Hall — helpfully accommodating a full symphony orchestra with choir as one of the largest recording rooms in the world — where Spitfire Audio has hitherto recorded an abundance of award-winning orchestral libraries in its ongoing mission to inspire a generation of music makers, this time the British music technology company is offering its fellow composers a string library with depth, detail, and focus all at once. One that will work on anything — from passionate period dramas to modern Scandi noir. Needless to say, it is as at home with quirky indie and crisp pop as it is tackling epic film and game scores.

Spitfire Audio’s all-new SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS package is a medium chamber (or small symphonic) ensemble recorded by section — 1st violins, 2nd violins, violas, cellos, and double basses — and available as standard (SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS) and extended (SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS PROFESSIONAL) editions. Either way, SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS takes its user straight to the heart of the British music technology company’s most pristine orchestral library to date with no fewer than 148 articulations across the full 30-piece (8.6.6.6.4) string section — from soaring legato and signature whispering super-flautando, right down to spiccato, hairpins, grace notes, and FX — that are as instantly compelling as they are immediately usable.

Ultimately, SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS PROFESSIONAL offers all of this and more, opening a musical doorway to transcendent detail and augmented creative control, courtesy of five additional MICS — C1 (Close mics), C2 (Leader close mic), T1 (Tree 1), T2 (Tree 2), A (Ambience mics), and O (Outriggers) — over and above SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS’ solitary Tree; two additional mixes — M1 (Mix 1) and M2 (Mix 2); large band (16.12.12.12.4); and divisi (half sections) for each section. Spitfire Audio was collectively determined to go the extra mile to offer divisi, empowering a new level of modular control in the process. Put it this way: with SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS PROFESSIONAL, the string orchestra is now configurable from the fibrous intimacy of dual four-piece 1st violin sections, three-piece 2nds, three- piece violas, and three-piece cellos (4.3.3.3) up to the rich power of 16.12.12.12.4 — a combination of the main sections (including basses), plus two divisi. In addition to an all-embracing 232 articulations, users can access and personalise their mix of the full microphone armoury of Abbey Road Studios Senior Engineer Simon Rhodes — six sundry setups, from pin-sharp to super-wide, picked up by the best offerings from Neumann, Schoeps, and Sennheiser, for instance.

Indeed, Simon Rhodes — an absolute microphone magician with multiple GRAMMY® Awards to his notable name — was an obvious choice to helm Spitfire Audio’s all-new orchestral library range, resulting from his having worked at the highest level in film score recording, including being American composer, conductor, and orchestrator James Horner’s go-to engineer for 18 years. Blockbuster movies such as Avatar, Spectre, and Skyfall have all benefitted from his Midas touch. “For the SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS sessions, I used one of my tried-and-tested approaches to smaller rooms, but incorporated layers and options by using a variety of microphone setups — right down to that very close ‘Eleanor Rigby’ sound,” states the man himself — paying passing homage to the dearly departed extraordinary English record producer, arranger, composer, conductor, audio engineer, and musician George Martin, often referred to as the ‘Fifth Beatle’ by none other than Paul McCartney, and also famed for founding London’s legendary AIR Studios so beloved by Spitfire Audio.

As such, SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS users can choose to work with Simon Rhodes’ mix or — in the case of SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS PROFESSIONAL — customise to suit using the various mic options, including those two ‘Tree’ setups, both of which use Schoeps microphones. “The second uses Schoeps MK21 wide cardioids (or sub- cardioids), which are great for keeping the room sound at bay while allowing you to get a sense of distance and perspective,” tenders the engineer extraordinaire, before continuing: “This was especially important for our prized divisi recordings, where we recorded different sets of players in separate chairs, divided between inside and outside desks. With a touch of reverb on, this library is going to sound very lush and beautiful, but, at the same time, keep hold of all the detail.”

Such sentiment is echoed by Spitfire Audio Director Christian Henson — himself no stranger to music-to-picture as an established composer: “I’m so proud of our new SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS range, which, for me, is possibly our most versatile strings library to date. The size of the library is roughly halfway between our SPITFIRE CHAMBER STRINGS range and our SPITFIRE SYMPHONIC STRINGS range, but the key here is that it’s recorded in Studio 1 at AIR Studios — not Lyndhurst Hall, so the main appeal for me is about definition and control.”

Similarly, Spitfire Audio Director Paul Thomson — also an established composer, so, again, no stranger to music-to-picture — is thrilled at “...seeing the incredible work that has gone into creating SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS — something I’ve been talking about us making for six years now, with discussions predating all of our current tech, way back to the ‘basecamp’ era, so to finally be using this to write with is a pure joy!”

Joy to the world, then, as Spitfire Audio’s cherished customer base can creatively perform an even more comprehensive range of orchestral manoeuvres. As a matter of fact, the company collectively believes that SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS suits users of its existing ‘Lyndhurst Hall’ ranges as an essential sonic second string to their proverbial bow, but also a perfect fit for those looking to invest in a strings library that will give them the most bang for the buck — useable in the widest range of musical settings, ready for applying their personal favourite reverbs and effects. Engineering so much versatility into this library leaves little doubt: surely SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS is destined to become a cherished part of their music-making experience throughout the next decade!

SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS can be purchased and digitally downloaded for a time-limited introductory promo price of £159.00 GBP (inc. VAT)/ $199.00 USD/€199.00 EUR (inc. VAT) until September 13, 2018 — rising thereafter to an RRP of £199.00 GBP (inc. VAT)/$249.00 USD/€249.00 EUR (inc. VAT) — from here: https://www.spitfireaudio.com/shop/promotions/spitfire-studio-strings/

For more in-depth information, including a superb-sounding audio demo from Spitfire Audio Director Paul Thomson, please visit the dedicated SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS webpage here: https://www.spitfireaudio.com/shop/a-z/spitfire-studio-strings/

Watch Spitfire Audio Director Paul Thomson’s ‘traditional’ video walkthrough of SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS here: https://youtu.be/gO0rUPclgmw

youtube

Watch Spitfire Audio ‘composer-in-residence’ Homay Schmitz’s ‘In Action’ video for SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS here: https://youtu.be/mD1ppXKH0SQ

youtube

SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS PROFESSIONAL can be purchased and digitally downloaded for a time-limited introductory promo price of £349.00 GBP (inc. VAT)/$399.00 USD/€399.00 EUR (inc. VAT) until September 13, 2018 — rising thereafter to an RRP of £449.00 GBP (inc. VAT)/$499.00 USD/€499.00 EUR (inc. VAT) — from here: https://www.spitfireaudio.com/shop/promotions/spitfire-studio-strings-professional/

For more in-depth info, including superb-sounding audio demos from Spitfire Audio Director Christian Henson and fellow Director Paul Thomson, please visit the dedicated SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS PROFESSIONAL webpage here: https://www.spitfireaudio.com/shop/a-z/spitfire-studio-strings-professional/

Watch Spitfire Audio Director Paul Thomson’s ‘traditional’ video walkthrough of SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS PROFESSIONAL here: https://youtu.be/tNRgLkmqfCM

youtube

Watch Spitfire Audio Director Christian Henson’s ‘In Depth’ video for SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS PROFESSIONAL here: https://youtu.be/judf_LD7C-g

youtube

SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS and SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS PROFESSIONAL need Native Instruments’ free KONTAKT PLAYER (5.6.8 or higher) — included in the purchase — to run as a fully NKS (NATIVE KONTROL STANDARD®) supporting plug-in instrument for Mac (OS X 10.10 or later) or Windows (7, 8, or 10 — latest Service Pack, 32/64-bit), while Spitfire Audio’s free Download Manager application allows anyone to buy now and download anytime.

Watch Spitfire Audio’s artful trailer video for SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS and SPITFIRE STUDIO STRINGS PROFESSIONAL here: https://youtu.be/3hqikj0s3mY

-trailer

youtube

#news #kontakt #komplete #composer #spitfireaudio #nks #musiccomposer #filmcomposer #gameaudio #trailermusic #musiccompostion

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teddybasmanov · 2 years

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right, right! no more daggers for prince mac!

*discreetly shoves pretty daggers into a drawer*

(and yes, i like the tag!! it's so cute!!!)

*sighs and rubs the bridge of my nose, mutters under my breath* how did I end up like this.

*takes the daggers out and orders the servants to put them where the daggers are supposed to be - which is either the armoury or the treasury*

#and the post with transfers flies from the mainland #teasandcardigans #tea princess #Macadamia kingdom

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loadrevolution635 · 3 years

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Libreoffice For Mac Free

LibreOffice has long since moved on from being an offshoot of the OpenOffice project. It's now the go-to alternative to Microsoft Office, enjoying regular development and a constant tweaking to keep it up to date, stable and secure.

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On this page, you can download the LibreOffice 64 bit latest version free from its official website for Windows 64-bit operating system. Besides Windows OS, LibreOffice is also available for Mac OS and Linux and download links of this free office suite for Mac and Linux are also here on SoftShareNet.

Copy and transfer music & playlists from any iPod or iPhone to iTunes.

LibreOffice is a comprehensive, professional-quality productivity suite that you can download and install for free. There is a large base of satisfied LibreOffice users worldwide, and it is available in more than 30 languages and for all major operating systems, including Microsoft Windows, Mac OS X and Linux (Debian, Ubuntu, Fedora, Mandriva.

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Choose your operating system:Linux (64-bit) (deb) Linux (64-bit) (rpm) macOS (64-bit) Windows (32-bit) Windows (64-bit) Torrent, Info

7.0.3 If you're a technology enthusiast, early adopter or power user, this version is for you!LibreOffice 7.0.3 release notes

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Key management software for the new OpenPGP feature (external site)

Choose your operating system:Linux (64-bit) (deb) Linux (64-bit) (rpm) macOS (64-bit) Windows (32-bit) Windows (64-bit) Torrent, Info

6.4.7 This version is slightly older and does not have the latest features, but it has been tested for longer. For business deployments, we strongly recommend support from certified partners which also offer long-term support versions of LibreOffice.LibreOffice 6.4.7 release notes

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Libreoffice For Mac Free

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alchemisland · 5 years

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The Moors Mutt III

Night fled day. Before the others rose I read the sky. Spying an uncharacteristically vernal mustard sliver, I imagined another world past the clouds, opposing ours directly, and their rising summer sun.

God, shrouded in cancerous sadness, could but weep. Too weak to conjure flame.

The storm, furious mute, spoke through man's works, droplets exploded musically; dull on timbers, shrill on sheet, like crackling fire on thatch.

Foot travel was impossible, even treacherous. Lar wouldn't have it. 'I know someone. Unpaid tab, lovely spacious wagon. Hold tight.'

Unpaid tab, yes. Lovely wagon, no. Against the rising slope, his contraption strained. Its light frame shed water. The man knew his charge and kept us steady. Hold tight proved apt phrasing.

When the carriage wasn't veering towards fatal tip, I dismantled the day's duties into gelded chunks. Easy. Ten manageable tasks. Ten had a ring to it. A certain motivating roundness. Ten tasks set to Heracles condemned to misery by jealous Hera. Ten commandments from on high.

The day passed quickly. I worked mostly absent of mind, scanning peeling labels for keywords. I napped again at some indeterminate point, rising to the first red flares of evening.

Near freedom, the final banality seemed yet more soul destroying. Fortunately it proved easy, simple scribbles to confirm a job done. Mac donned, packed bag overshoulder, I signed the final form with a flourish.

On the doorstep, gazing out at the torrid tempest I was to endure, and again the following day, for a brief moment Cairn Cottage seemed inviting.

I cast a final backward glance. Inside Acrisian frames, there lay my ancestors in oils, frozen in perpetual offence.

As discussed, Charon on his chucking carriage arrived and ferried me back to Sperrin.

Outside the tavern, wet as it was possible to be, I waited. I don't know what I hoped to see. Some queer curiosity took me. I wished to see how they spoke without me. Maybe it was awkwardness that prevented an unannounced arrival. I pressed my ear to the door. Lar told a joke and howled with laughter, joyous overmuch at his own humour. When I entered I hovered in the open doorframe, dripping like a swamp witch. A wave of relief swept over Lar, which he wrestled into a piteous pout.

Two drinks waited, patient as unconfessed sinners. When I peeled off the mac, he flashed a one-sided smile. I muttered a reluctant thanks.

We feasted after. A meal to see us off. For strength, we ate lashings of gravy thickened by meat juices, steaming Yorkshire puddings, slabs of succulent pork, bog mushy peas, and custard to follow.

Afterwards, we reclined swollen. When the small crowd shifted, Fergus rose to slip the bolt unbidden.

My mind was in custardy. I was eaten witless. I wondered had Lar planned the old stuff and sneak.

'Are we, as lantern thieves, away with the light?' Lar undid his top trouser button and grew an inch before my eyes.

'We are.'

'Handled a gun before?' That old chestnut. Long I had anticipated such a discussion.

'I have and don't intend to again. Hate hate hate them. Listen, speaking of, we need to talk about this whole thing.' Lar's brow furrowed. 'I believe with alternate ends, disagreements arise.' I thought carefully and he waited patiently. 'This isn't a fox hunt.'

'I never said it was. You seem a bit peeved actually. If I can be bold, why hate the gun and not its wielder? Is a rifle always an instrument of terror no matter the context? On the shoulder of an adventurer piercing the interior, emboldened by its weight, is it the selfsame tool that greedily dispenses random death in the hands of a deranged person? Say a rifle, bought with pacivity in mind, never packed to shoot, merely to brandish and quell cooling tempers, where do you class that?'

Nobody is perfect and there was the proof. When it came to criticising people en masse, Lar was your man. Less evident was his enthusiasm when the crosshair turned to his own private club. Gunfans, gunmen, - for men they were mostly - whatever their preferred nomenclature, are tiresome, everybody agrees.

Realizing I had zoned out, I nodded extra vigorously at his next points, hoping the nod was taken as a sign of attentiveness and not agreement.

Foam pooled at the corners of his mouth. 'Even if we should not spend a single cartridge, it's a fool that lowers caution in victory! Wear these chains. Be it upon your head.'

I tried to interject, 'Lar, really that's a bit dram-'

He continued unabated, 'Should the beast prove strengthful and beguiling as I suspect, and we its seekers should become gunless hunted, it's not a good look for that book of yours.'

Though admiring of his passion on the subject, I had none to share. 'A gun is a gun. Any given situation is more likely to end in a leaden exchange with guns present, vise a vie, sans guns we are overall safer, despite feeling less protected individually.'

'Right. And when those eviller guns unleash in benign judgement, who better to return fire than kind souls equally armed?' He wagged a finger at my smirk. His voice lowered an octave. He swerved and spat, throwing his arms aloft with such momentum that his knuckles wrapped the timbers.

He paced, every inch of his pulpit touched. Standing again before me, he exhaled the temporary madness.

Fergus rose disturbed, a tremble evident. He vocalised disquiet at our clamour. Lar made his apologies; mine mumbled, Fergus' thoughtful.

He continued 'A thousand fools wait raging. I'll not be one with my arms held aloft in deference to a keeper. Either I should die on spent casings or triumph. Your charisma won't stop bullets or beasts. I'll have Fergus pack a rifle for you. Don't wanna use it, don't.' Empassioned, Lar slammed his hand down on the bar.

'Take your rod, Pilate. We'll see who time vindicates. Have you not heard that he who lives by the sword shall too die by the sword?'

'Have heard you, Judge not?' Pulling aside a rug, he revealed a hatch beneath his feet. Fergus tossed the heavy door to one side with apparent ease and fetched a swaddled armoury, which he laid for my reluctant perusal. I chose a revolver. Six shots, lightweight, swift off the hip. I remember a sense of perceived ceremony, as if my hand should be drawn towards the right snug.

Once I fixed the holster, Lar longed to bequeath a second gift. Claims that my recent experiences left me badly turned on gifts fell on deaf ears. A gift on the house, as he put it. He returned, book in hand, and slapped it face-up on the bar. 'Old Mortimer's Mort Timer' was printed in bold crimson, letters tall as wide.

'If this is a pitiful attempt to convince me guns laws increase gun deaths, it's ill considered.'

'Ignore the cover. Cowboy there is a vessel for universal truths. Makes for a good bedtime story. Try it. If you're still offended tomorrow, we'll debate then.'

Everything seemed less intense once the guns were sealed away. We sank a fifth, then a sixth shortly after.

'Have you a path in mind?' Lar slurred.

'Arrogant I might be, fool not; you know the land better. Speak freely.'

'I have some notions.'

'Notions - mere legless actions! As joint expeditionaries, in name rather than eventual royalty, I offer no pronouncement. What am I paying you for? Hardly your winning anecdotes. We're following your route to success or failure.'

I departed, lifting the flap for myself this time. 'I know the way. See you. First light. Rest well.'

Once abed I turned the book in my hands. Its garish colour lent a faint luminosity which it seemed shameful my hands should dull. I discovered the binding was frayed. The object showed more blemish than the ravages of time; later pages wore blotches. A hypothesis soon formed, which further probing confirmed. This book was licked by the ocean. A sea tome it was.

On the inside cover, faded and difficult, illegible without foreknowledge of the owner, I saw Fergus' name printed, a phyrgian squiggle.

I read it;

Ever hear the story of old Mortimer Considine? He was bold as block letterin', round as a cowerin' brushhog, feared and lovered in equal measure. Them scales was centred for him. Instinctively he knew right from wrong. Round Texas way at one point he was the toughest sonofabitch the world had ever see'd. Papers sid it, wimmin giggled it, smoke signalled it, so it musta been true.

Guns smoking, he toured the land righting injustices, collecting bounties and if rumour holds truth, fathering bastards, later becoming county scourges in their own right. Nothing on their old man though, dull facsimiles, whudever that means. Chaotic he was. Kindly too. Smart as a Greek. Strong as a mountain man, and I hear them Greeks had big boys too.

Now, he was fixing to be the best at shooting after his days out ranging. Tired of hauling baddies in for cash. He wanted hisself a wife and cosy home, young'uns to raise right. Make right some on his past transgressions. Hell, if he had cash enough, as he was heard to say only in deepest cups on full moon nights, when the moon controlled the tides of his tears 'well as them on the beach, he'd seek out his illegitimate sprogs and give 'em something for their hard lot.

Best gotta beat the best. Roving West then East, he rode into town with his holster turned front, making his business clear so to speak. Everyone he'd fought so far he felled easy, like dead trees keeling at a shove. There was big boys, tough men who a punch would never fell. Only the impersonal, devious strength of a bullet would do it, seemed a shame really fer all their liftin' and sweatin'. What finnesse they had in riding and wrasslin' they lost at steels, for Mortimer was quick as cancer and spun like a storm at the whistle, shooting 'em full of steaming holes.

Had himself a reputation now. When he came upon town and rode the highstreet on his black destrier like a demon called from hell, only the toughest mothers dared from the shadow of the awnings. Now this one place he went, or was bound for, he got to hearing was a hovel of wretched rapists and varmint brigands, living in squalor, wallowing in vile hedonism. Imperial in their particular perversions, namely unholy orgies in that there big church built by them mexicans was once this far into the states, them was once from further yonder than Mexico and came upward, with them layered temples like square sandcastles.

Pilgrims passing elsewise in other directions he met, but none going toward. Then he saw it, the black spires silhouetted on the matte of night, which held purple and pink and orange, flashes of winking silver, and all the gold jewels of the firmament. He had no want of killing and no provin' to do with regular folk, so he kept his gun shy in behind, his trenchcoat held firm at his chest with a single button, which he took from a sheriff's waistcoat.

You there, he'd said, so high on his horse he appeared a drawn shadow, as if some perfidious god had set to drawing charcoal on the mirror of the world. Up stole the pilgrim and leapt almost.

Mort?

Nay, giggled Mortimer, almost though. What's yonder?

Pilgrim, without lookin, answered quick, Ain't nothing there and no god. Kindly sort you seem. Can tell from ya eyes. Big ol blue ones like the desert moon at night. Not cold though, blue as magick fire.

Mortimer again requested the name of that spiked tower.

Babel, he says and left.

Babel, Mortimer says and left wondering had he heard that name before. He'd met a guy named Barber once. Polack chap taking his wagon clean through to York. Was that the same word? Maybe. Nobody could kill him, not with a gun. Too fast, too cunnin' at gunnin'. Few years left at the top, at least. If they did it, it'd be ignoble, uncunning and devious. Mind, he was cunnin' at augurin' too. Augured him a plan.

After tracing his steps at a canter, Mortimer spied the same stooped soul, satchel slung on his back, hooded. Pilgrim, he said, help me and I'll pay ye. When the work is done, I'll ferry you safe to your destination.

Deal, said the pilgrim so quick as to be near suspicious.

All the way he walked fast. Faster'n an old man, Mortimer reckined. The man had loped, limped and lounged before, as a man of advanced age, now he sprang more sprightly.

Mortimer had a suspicion maybe. Gut feeling. A gnawing doubt. Not enough too stop him. Reckined he was too cliver 'n devious to get got. That morning when they got close to town and descried distantly, from a rise which he took to be an ancient thing built by them northern southern mexicans, a multitude assembled in the centre of town.

Mortimer turned to his pardner to git planning and found hisself did in, plugged and smoking, a fresh red rosette pinned on his breast. The pilgrim relieved Mortimer of his possessions and stole away back into a fresh day, right quicker than ever he'd gone yet.

That was the story of that there Mortimer.

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