#tales of a naturalist
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The Silt Verses my absolute beloved: I'm relistening and was so excited to get back to Chapter 17, and the way that most of the episode just sweeps over you with an unexpected degree of kindness. Important to be reminded that kindness — or something like it — is possible, even in this brutal world.
#the silt verses#tsv#the silt verses season 2#pine's silt verses relisten#'the words are kind and i enjoy their closeness to my breath' love 2 have feelings about the way we reach for poetry for the ritualized wor#to soothe#as much as all the other things#and now thinking my little thoughts about prayers and rituals and liturgy and how the language of tsv often allows us to navigate#the horrors in a metaphorical-metaphysical?-way#the way the show uses a kind of mythical cadence in its narration carries us into the space of myth or fairy tale#and lets us sit outside it: this is a story#but the naturalistic dialogue and the immersive soundscapes and the so-real performances force us to be present#writing meta in the tags because its after midnight and i don't have it in me to really write this rn#but I'm eternally stunned by this show#no id#sorry i am in a lot of pain and am going to bed soon!
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sean glatch pomegranate \\ georgy nikolsky for pytor manteufel’s tales of a naturalist \\ sean glatch pomegranate \\ ursula le guin tales from earthsea: “dragonfly”
shout me a coffee
#mine#my webweaving#web weaving#webweaving#webweave#web weave#webweaves#web weaves#web#webs#ww#parallel#parallels#parallelism#compilation#compilations#intertext#intertextuality#comparative#comparatives#webweavings#web weavings#tales of a naturalist#pytor manteufel#georgy nikolsky#ursula le guin#tales from earthsea#dragonfly
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Tales of a Naturalist. Written by Pytor Manteufel. Illustrated by Georgy Nikolsky. English translation c. 1989.
via
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The Naturalist's Guidebook, Part 6
The Eternal Return
TYPE: Phenomenon
TIME: When The Time Is Right
RARITY: Common
DESCRIPTION:
It is said that nobody ever truly leaves Tumblr. Even in the minds and hearts of those who left it behind long ago it persists, hidden but living, always ready to proffer a memory or an emotion from long ago and send a wave of nostalgia coursing through their veins. And more often than not, they do come back. To greet old friends, and make new ones in the process; to settle in with a brand new joy in the place they feel will nurture it safely. For when that bell of enthusiasm chimes in their head it is not new horizons that they seek to have it heard upon. The sound has a home already.
FIELD NOTES:
The primal urge to return might have a biological or physiological root worth investigating: perhaps an organ or organism grows within, nurtured by Tumblr’s atmosphere?
New users that arrive during the Migration often find themselves accompanied by those on the path of the Return. This allows for sharing of tales and advice between generations.
The Returners bring with them knowledge and affinities from elsewhere; in this way they re-seed the Tumblr landscape with healthy biodiversity.
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Over the long weekend, I taught a couple of my field classes. Sunday was the field portion of the two-day Nature Identification for the Amateur Naturalist class (the next session of which will be the first weekend in July, if you're interested.) Among the many other nifty flora, fauna, and fungi we observed, we also found some great feathers!
The first is from a Cooper's hawk (Accipiter cooperii) (likely juvenile secondary, according to the USFW Feather Atlas.) We actually got to see the bird that shed it, as a pair were courting far up in the trees above us--really cool to watch!
The second one is a turkey vulture (Cathartes aura) primary that some other park visitor had left tucked into the tree just so. And the third is a primary from some flavor of dove (Columbidae spp.)
It was a great opportunity to talk about how even though we may not observe an animal directly, we can still often find signs that they were there--feathers and fur, prints, scat, claw or antler marks on trees, etc. There is a lot of storytelling in nature interpretation, and these little clues are a great way to spark a tale of curiosity.
(Just as a reminder, it is against federal law in the US--the Migratory Bird Treaty Act--to possess the feathers of almost any wild bird. There's no way to distinguish a feather naturally molted, and one that was taken from a poached bird, so the law errs on the side of protection.)
#feathers#birds#wildlife#Cooper's hawk#turkey vulture#Columbidae#nature#nature identification#animals#science#conservation#ecology#biodiversity#Aves
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When I was just a wee child, in between tales of his own pyrotechnic youth, my father would often tell us bedtime stories that mostly ended up being oral retellings of the 1980s and 90s' finest horror and action films. One of my favorites of this time was the retelling of Ridley Scott's Alien, a film itself reaching mythical status within the world of scifi cinema.
Therefore I went into Alien with a certain understanding brought to me by my father explaining the physics of the chestburster to my 4-year-old self. The plot and quality of the film did not surprise me. I already knew it was going to be good.
What did surprise me was how immersive the entire world of the film was. I knew it was going to be good, but unlike other scifi films you never really had to suspend disbelief. This movie fully drew me in, and it communicated space travel in a very naturalistic way that didn't require poking a pencil through a folded sheet of paper to get me to take it seriously.
Part of this came from the decades of scifi that had come before it, anchoring concepts like hyperspace travel into familiar landmarks that needn't be explained further just as Alien itself shaped the landscape for the films that came after. Regardless, Alien entranced me and felt so fully realized and grounded in a way that a lot of new scifi fails to no matter how gritty it tries to be.
Jodorowsky's Dune is likely to thank for this. Either way, go watch it.
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The Events of the Year 1900-1901 1899-1899
I don't have time for another fic right now, so I have to sum up.
The Ex-Disgraced Academic has their appellation because they were booted from the University and High Society. This happens to pretty much everyone along the main Fallen London plotline. But it hit them harder, and they never quite got over it.
The Ex-Disgraced Academic is driven by curiosity. They're a very classic sort of Mad Scientist. The Neath is one big book, and they want to keep reading. If there's no next page, then they have to get out there and make it.
They want to see what happens.
Spoilers for Evolution, Heart's Desire below:
The Academic has spent this past year going back and forth between The Evolution plotline and wormgrinding, which for them was a lab carousel for Cartographer's Hoards. I've got plenty of jokes I'd like to make about that grind sometime, but the most important thing to know is that they have well and truly devalued an expensive item. This is the text you get when you get one:
And this is how many they had, partway through grinding:
I didn't even get a shot of the total number, because I sold a lot of them halfway through out of sheer boredom. I needed to see some other number go up for a change.
Doing massive amounts of research, smuggling it out of London, and disseminating it upriver was a fairly in-character thing for The Academic to do. Forbidden knowledge in the hands of the public has been their M.O., after all. And as they could make a tidy sum off the whole deal and incensify their rivmantic colleague, why not?
The Academic's destiny, by the way, is Gleam:
Not exactly shocking, considering that they're a Mr Cards, but that's the "accompanies The Masters when The Bazaar leaves, but never truly becomes one of them" destiny, not the "I am one of you now" ending. The Academic really loves London, for all its flaws, but was also supremely arrogant: they chose Power instead of Time at the end of Heart's Desire because they wanted to forge a path for London, rather than relying on the word of The Masters. And if they had access to lots and lots of secrets, then surely putting those into the hands of the public would mean that scientific advancement would flourish!
And, incidentally, The Academic would get to see what happens. That's just incidental, of course. They're doing this for kindly reasons, they would assure you (and themself), reasons that benefit London. They would never be so careless as to allow unchecked experimentation to run rampant through The Neath. They would never encourage scholars and NPCs to commit grievous acts of body horror upon themselves merely to sate an addiction to see what happens.
If you've played Evolution, you know what is about to happen.
Evolution has been an exercise in trying to play nice with many of the same people who cast them out of society. Evolution can be many things, but for The Academic, it's a tale of scientific openness, a tale of forgiveness and community and-
It's a tale of throwing one person after another under the boat in their quest for power and The Dilmun Club is one big piggy bank and the Naturalist is not a person, but the control group.
Because it didn't really matter what sort of perks knowing the Boatman or fulfilling The Masters' promise to the old one might be. Calling in favors with the person who decides who lives and dies or getting the thumbs claws-up from your peers is far, far inferior to that sweet, addictive rush of encouraging the person who has trusted you and worked with you, someone you quite like, to stumble at the final step of their ambition, to not take into account new information, to doggedly pursue their goals at all costs, causing their humanity to unravel before their very eyes.
It hurt a lot more the first time The Academic did it, anyway.
The Academic knew they were going to go The Hanged Man route before they even drew the card, knew that they were going to split the Naturalist off into something unrecognizable, and when they stepped back to the loom in Irem, they were positively drunk on this power. They gorged themself on the visions of the possible futures, shuffling and flipping over card after card after card, the proverbial child given access to a pack of cigarettes, laughing at the leniency of their parents, until they realize that they're trapped inside the gift, that it's turned on them, that this was a punishment all along, stifling and choking them, because it wasn't fun, it wasn't freedom, it was bad, it was always bad, and en masse, it is killing them.
They could have any destiny, any at all, but now that they'd seen them all, now that they'd read them all, they'd pilfered their future right out from under their hands. What were they supposed to read? What do you do when you can look at all the futures and you realize that they're all painful, or fearful, that you can't hold onto the lovely city you adore forever, that all things must die or change beyond recognition?
You go back to work. A little broken, a little shattered. You sail to the Khanate, do a little dirty work for Fires and Stones, and take the long way home because you can't bear to pass by Irem again. You dock back on familiar Netha Firma, breathe in the mushroomy air, and head for Veilgarden. Sometimes, the simplest pleasures can be overlooked. Sometimes you just want a minute with your fellow man.
But then The Dilmun club calls. They're throwing throwing a huge banquet! In your honor! Because you did it! You unlocked the secret to life everlasting, to the continuity of a singular life form, you understand how to weave causality and change the future and though not a single one understands a word you're saying, it all seems oh so very charmingly impressive, and everyone, everyone is clapping
and you're being invited to a private supper with Her Majesty herself and both colleges are so very proud of you and you're going to be in all the London papers, and think about how amazing it will be, to share this knowledge with the public at large, and wait what's that that's being handed to you-
what is this
what
Oh.
And you realize that you've already read this one. Not the map. Not the whole damned sheaf. These people. This city. You've read it. There is nothing more for this city to give you. And maybe that's why it's the Fifth one, maybe that's why these small little people with their small little minds don't appreciate good research, whether they're lauding you or leaving you, maybe the infinite possibilities of scientific research, the blossoming fruits of causality. Maybe you should, in fact, hoard it all for yourself. Maybe it isn't, in the end, ethical to be charitable. Maybe your destiny was right all along, save for the mindset. Maybe you are one of them. Maybe you should rob the city of every last story from every last crevice, keep it all for you to read, and tear up two more cities when you leave with the rest of your bat-kin.
Maybe those ingrates just plain don't deserve to see what happens.
#fallen london#fallen london spoilers#OCs#The Ex-Disgraced Academic#Mr Cards#This write up is rough and as quick as I could make it#but it still got long and out of hand#The Academic has been slipping further and further into villain territory for the last year#I'd say that they've been low morality for a while now#But this was a blast of sheer SPITE#Honestly if it weren't for that last scene with The Dilmun Club I think they might've turned things around a bit#They were so close to healthy closure#But this was A Joker Moment XDDD
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Phantom Ship Reflection by James Marvin Phelps
Via Flickr:
Phantom Ship Reflection Crater Lake National Park Oregon July 2023 Phantom Island, a captivating enigma nestled within the majestic expanse of Crater Lake National Park, has long captured the imagination of adventurers and naturalists alike. Rising like an ethereal mirage from the cerulean depths of Crater Lake, this elusive island is a geological marvel, believed to be a submerged volcanic pinnacle. Its fleeting appearances, often shrouded in mist and mystery, have inspired tales of folklore and wonder. Phantom Island stands as a symbol of the enigmatic beauty that defines Crater Lake and the enduring allure of the natural world's secrets.
#oregon#national park#phantom ship#volcano#lake#crater#water#phantom ship island#daytime#reflection#landscape#nature#beauty#outdoors#travel#james marvin phelps photography#flickr
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Butterflies and moths of Doriath
Flora, fauna, geography and environment Masterlist
As always I included world building notes at the bottom so it’s not just a list of species
There are hundreds of species of butterflies found throughout the region of Doriath. Though Tolkien abandoned the idea that butterflies, all originated in the Nan Tathren, which was written in the book of lost tales, I do like to headcanon that this remained a legend or folktale in universe
Note: there are so many species of insects, this unfortunately cannot be a complete list
Primarily Neldoreth: orange tip (outskirts), elm autumn moth, Aglia tau, silver washed fritillary, dotted border moth, brown tail moth, comma butterfly
Primarily Nivrim: Checkered skipper, purple hairstreak (found in Region too), green hair streak, large copper, white prominent moth, purple emperor, large tortoiseshell
Primarily Region: Holly blue, northern blue, oak lantern moth, bird cherry ermine moth, blotched emerald moth
Throughout Doriath: ghost moth, wood white, cranberry blue, green longhorn moth, Luna moth, peacock butterfly, ghost moth, lilac leafminer moth, paper moth, white Pearl moth, red admiral, Heath fritillary, light emerald moth
Forest edges and clearings: short tailed blue, pea blue, purple edged copper, small copper, speckled wood, green hairstreak, wal brown, scarce swallowtail, clouded Apollo, blue spot hairstreak, twin spot fritillary, Julia,
World building notes
-Butterflies and moths, as a whole are associated among the Sindar with transformation and cycles of life as they are in many cultures. They are also symbols of abundance, color and precision/agility. Different species and varieties will have more specific connotations, however
-Arthórien has rare, even rainforest butterflies due to the difference in temperature and rainfall. I will make a separate post for its butterflies!
-The gardens of Menengroth also have several species of rare butterflies not found elsewhere in Doriath. These are nurtured by Melian’s power.
-ghost moths are associated with spring and summer for their bright colors and emergence in warmer weather. Insects and flora have had a large influence on color and pigmentation in Sindarin practices, both as inspiration and material.
There are even practices of safely collecting the dust and pollen that collect on the wings and legs of insects; it is immensely time consuming and precise.
-Orange tips can be found on the sigils of certain Doriath nobles. Their image is sometimes used in Doriathrim fashion, especially in jewel and hair pieces made from wood or metal. Alder bark is typically used to create the orange color
It was from these species among others that pollination was originally studied by the Sindar of Doriath.
-The purple hairstreak is associated with twilight and the darker reaches of the forest. This is primarily for its color as like most species of its family, they tend to emerge mainly on sunny days. They feed mostly on oak trees. The name for this species in Ilkorin translates to butterfly of twilight.
Their almost shadow like appearance in flight makes them a favorite for artists who make prints and illustrate naturalist work!
-Wood whites are often associated with niphredil both for their color and their habitat.
Note: I always imagine Niënor wearing a hair piece or embroidery with this species during her time in Doriath
-Luna moths are highly associated with Melian and with Lórien. They symbolize night, dream, and desire and appear as motifs in a lot of later Sindar poetry and art
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Siberian wolf 5th-3rd C. BCE. Wood with shell inlays. Overall: 11.1 x 3.3 x 5.9 cm (4 3/8 x 1 5/16 x 2 5/16 in.). Its subject, size, materials, and naturalistic style suggest that this small sculpture was made by one of the nomadic peoples of Western and Central Asia---perhaps the Scythians. From the Cleveland Art Museum.
"The Neuri follow Scythian customs; but one generation before the advent of Darius' army, they happened to be driven from their country by snakes; for their land produced great numbers of these, and still more came down on them out of the desolation on the north, until at last the Neuri were so afflicted that they left their own country and lived among the Budini. It may be that these people are wizards; for the Scythians, and the Greeks settled in Scythia, say that once a year every one of the Neuri becomes a wolf for a few days and changes back again to his former shape. Those who tell this tale do not convince me; but they tell it nonetheless, and swear to its truth."
-Herodotus, The Histories 4.105.1
#scythian#siberian#wolf#antiquities#artifacts#herodotus#werewolf#werewolves#literature#history#ancient history#pagan#paganism#ancient greece#statue#sculpture#5th century bce
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Don't Look Now will be released on 4K Ultra HD and Blu-ray on October 3 via The Criterion Collection. Fred Davis designed the cover art for the 1973 horror drama.
Nicolas Roeg (The Witches, The Man Who Fell to Earth) directs from a script by Allan Scott (The Witches, The Queen's Gambit) and Chris Bryant (The Awakening), based on Daphne du Maurier's 1971 short story. Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland star.
Don't Look Now has been restored in 4K, supervised by director of photography Anthony Richmond, with uncompressed monaural sound. Special features are listed below.
Special features:
Don't Look Now: Looking Back - 2002 featurette with director Nicolas Roeg, editor Graeme Clifford, and director of photography Anthony Richmond
Making-of featurette with actors Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland, director of photography Anthony Richmond, and co-writer Allan Scott
Interview with editor Graeme Clifford by film historian Bobbie O’Steen
Interview with composer Pino Donaggio
Nicolas Roeg featurette with filmmakers Danny Boyle and Steven Soderbergh
Q&A with Nicolas Roeg from 2003 at London’s Ciné Lumière
Trailer
Essay by film critic David Thompson
Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie mesmerize as a married couple on an extended trip to Venice following a family tragedy. While in that elegantly decaying city, they have a series of inexplicable, terrifying, and increasingly dangerous experiences. A masterpiece from Nicolas Roeg, Don’t Look Now, adapted from a story by Daphne du Maurier, is a brilliantly disturbing tale of the supernatural, as renowned for its innovative editing and haunting cinematography as for its naturalistic eroticism and its unforgettable climax and denouement—one of the great endings in horror history.
#don't look now#nicolas roeg#donald sutherland#julie christie#criterion#the criterion collection#criterion collection#fred davis#dvd#gift#horror#70s horror#1970s horror#allan scott#daphne du maurier
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hi!! could i request a webweave on feelings of intense rage, love, and a mixture of both? thanku <3
susan sontag as consciousness is harnessed to flesh: journals and notebooks, 1964-1980: "february 20th, 1970" (via @theoptia) \\ roger reeves best barbarian: "after death" \\ georgy nikolsky for pytor manteufel's tales of a naturalist \\ clarice lispector the hour of the star
buy me a dirty chai
#asks#anonymous#on emotion#on emotions#susan sontag#as consciousness is harnessed to flesh#mine#my webweaving#webweaving#web weaving#webweave#web weave#web#webs#ww#parallel#parallels#parallelism#compilation#compilations#intertext#intertextuality#comparative#comparatives#as consciousness is harnessed to flesh: journals and notebooks#georgy nikolsky#pytor manteufel#tales of a naturalist#best barbarian#after death
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Tales of a Naturalist. Written by Pytor Manteufel. Illustrated by Georgy Nikolsky. English translation c. 1989.
via
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Wojun (Monster)
(Common Sloths by IllustratedMenagerie on Deviantart)
(I'm just a lover of speculative evolution, have been since Future is Wild aired while I was 7. Kaimere is one of two current projects I'm keeping up with, and perhaps the more approachable of the two; it's a setting written by artist and writer Keenan Taylor, and presented in a series of youtube videos on the Tales of Kaimere channel, as well as short story collections.
Kaimere is a planet where endemic microorganisms periodically replicate Earth organisms; they then evolve in a separate context from Earth. It's populated by creatures like gigantic megaraptorans, spiny sauropods, and a variety of ground sloths, including the first creatures I'm converting to Pathfinder.)
Also known as the common sloth in certain regions, or Volgarocnus by naturalists, wojun are large omnivorous ground sloths who fill the niche of large, powerful omnivores. They are somewhat slower, mentally and physically, than bears and pigs, but are powerfully built, heavily armored, and especially belligerent, making them able to compete with these animals.
Wojun are natural diggers; they sleep in burrows that can be as much as 50ft into a hill, or diagonally into the earth. This skill is also used to break into the nests of other animals, or the food stores of peoples they live near.
There are two recorded varieties of wojun; the black wojun lives in cooler uplands, and while it's less carnivorous, it's no less aggressive and territorial. The red wojun lives in hot grasslands and is a scavenger and a hunter of small or slow game first and foremost, although they still supplement their diet with roots and seeds.
Wojun Companions
Starting Statistics: AC: +7 Size: Medium Speed: 30ft Attack: 2 Claw (1d6) Ability Scores: Str:14 Dex:15 Con:22 Int:1 Wis:12 Cha:6 Special Qualities: Digger, Ferocity, Crushing Claws
7th Level Advancement:AC: +4, Size: Large, Attack: 2 Claw (2d4), Str +4, Dex -4
This large mammal has the thick hide and long claws of a sloth, but is proportioned like a bear, and has boar-like tusks.
Misc- CR4 Large Animal HD5 Init:+0 Senses: Perception:+7 Scent, Low-Light Vision
Stats- Str:18(+4) Dex:11(+0) Con:22(+6) Int:1(-1) Wis:12(+1) Cha:6(-2) BAB:+4 Space:10ft Reach:5ft
Defense- HP:53(5d8+30) AC:20(-1 Size, +11 Natural) Fort:+10 Ref:+4 Will:+5 CMD:19 Special Defenses: Ferocity
Offense- 2 Claw +6(2d4+4), Bite +1(1d6+2) CMB:+9 Speed:30ft
Feats- Iron Will, Weapon Focus (Claw), Power Attack (-2/+4)
Skills- +7 Perception, +14 Swim (+6 Racial bonus to Swim)
Special Qualities- Digger, Crushing Claws
Ecology- Environment- Mountains, Hills, Plains (Temperate, Hot) Languages- None Organization- Solitary, Pack (2-4) Treasure- None
Special Abilities- Crushing Claws (Ex)- A wojun's claws deal damage that is both slashing and bludgeoning. Digger (Ex)- A wojun making a concerted effort to dig can excavate a 10x10x10 cube of soil, sand, or gravel in one minute.
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The town was dying.
Thunder Falls, South Dakota, was a small mountain town, founded on gold prospecting and fur trappers. Later, as the mines ran dry and the wildlife grew scarce, it simply became a small town between places. It was almost liminal. In the late 60's a university was built. Focusing on the sciences, the school became a small draw for the town, as it saw its population almost quadruple in the first decade of the campus being built. Small apartment buildings went up and suddenly, the town was back on the map. The low levels of light pollution warranted a planetarium and drew in astronomy students. The town's rich geography pulled in historians, geologists, paleontologists, and naturalists of all sorts to study. The old timers kept a sense of historical preservation to the town and its rich folklore. Old tales of monsters in the woods and giants in the mountains. One fellow had carved a tree in his yard to a detailed sculpture of Paul Bunyan. The town continued to grow from this thirst for knowledge.
Decades later, in 2014, geology students from the University stumbled on something that would reshape the landscape of the town. Then they found large pockets of natural gas beneath the mines. Multi Billion dollar companies all came, vying for the attention and permissions needed to begin harvesting this rich resource. With promises of riches for all, the shady conglomerates attempted to wrap their hands around the town and this new exploit. The college erupted in response. Every reputable scientist protested, petitioned and lobbied local landowners and politicians to block any fracking. They brought well written and well spoken arguments, clearly listing the dangers not just to the physical world and landscape around them, but to the local economy and infrastructure. The other side brought the better argument however: wealth, cash, and the ability to prey upon the greed of weaker men. Over time, ranchers, homeowners, and politicians signed over huge tracts of land. Rather than living spread out in their homesteads they began moving to the center of town, building taller apartments and homes. The demand for the places built for students forced the well-educated out of the town. Slowly, the college began to diminish as students found housing near impossible to find. With less and less students and traffic to the university, there was less and less protest to hinder the Corporation as it wove intricate tendrils throughout the local economy. The promise of business and revitalization to the town had everyone eating from the palms of the hands of the Rich. Like cattle being fed by a butcher.
The fracking began, forcing thousands upon thousands of tons of water and waste through deep crevices of the Earth. Tremors began to rattle the town at random times and places. The corporation assured everyone that this was a normal part of the process, that it was just the earth settling after each day's work. The gas began to be harvested, and the money began to flow. But not into the hands of the townspeople. The mayor found himself with a bigger house, and more land; a few of the other wealthy citizens did as well, having sold or rented large swaths of land to the Corporation. But the rest of the town didn't see a penny of it. Some folks were swindled into lesser deals that hinged on how much gas was harvested, or if they would even find any on their plots of land. They were promised more once the gas was flowing. The promises kept adding up, and the bills and debt kept piling up along with them.
After feeling the tremors, one old man recalled a story told to him by his father, who heard it from a trapper and guide back in his day. There was a story of the mines having to close down because of a beast; a massive monster that had eaten the horses of the prospectors before returning to the mountainside. He seemed to think something in the ground made the monster sleep, and the miners had dug too deep.
No one had thought of the story in generations. It was hardly an annotation in the sole copy of the town's history and folklore in the university library. But in a world where creatures like Godzilla existed, where a space dragon attacked Japan not 10 years prior, in a world where there was a giant moth that was advocating against climate change through two fairies… could such a tale afford to be disregarded to the annals of history?
The university geology department was in an uproar. The tremors were centered around a moving epicenter, one that followed its own path, and one that was circling in on, and growing ever closer to town. These reports were ignored by the Corporation, and town officials paid no heed to these warnings. The scientists were disregarded as fear mongers who were trying to stir the town up since their previous protests and arguments failed.
The tremors increased in ferocity, day by day, and the damage began to pile up. No longer were a few dishes falling from a single shelf, or a porcelain doll from the mantle. Now a barn collapsed, now an oil tank erupted in flame as electric wires collapsed. A fissure opened up in front of a stampede of cattle and the whole herd fell to their deaths. The rancher was on the phone calling it in, he reported what sounded like something was tearing through the cattle inside the fissure, though the ground had ceased moving they were still pulled deeper than he could see. There was a faint orange glow between the cracks in the rocks and down the fissure. He voiced concerns about an underground fire, much like Centralia in Pennsylvania where a coal mine fire still burns to this day. The receptionist taking his report at the police station reported that he heard his horse scream moments before the rancher did, then the line cut out. Rescue crews were working overnight to search the fissure to look for the man. There was no trace of him anywhere on his ranch or near the fissure. Just great upheavals of rock and stone protruding from the ground.
The sun was just beginning to cross the eastern slopes of the mountains. The sky turned from a deep lavender, to a rosey pink, now to a deep orange, like the clouds themselves were being set aflame. The ground in the center of town began to tremble, the buildings shook.
Suddenly large plumes of dirt and debris were hurled through the air, as if the ground were being shelled by artillery, but it was rhythmically constant, until suddenly a glowing orange horn pierced the surface, and then one massive clawed paw, and then another. Then the monster dragged itself from between the pillars of the Earth itself.
The story called the creature Baragon. It lived in the mountains and slept beneath the bedrock. When it last stirred, it ate several horses and miners who dug too greedily and too deep. That was over a century ago. That was a myth. That was a tale that should not have been forgotten. What erupted into the center of down, what began a tale of horror for those who remained, what was to become a reckoning for those who had abused the land once more was no myth. No legend sought the most primal form of justice nature could enact. This was real. This set fire to the town, this consumed the livestock: this tore its way through earth and stone, through concrete and pavement, through man and beast until it reached the gas refinery across town. No legend destroyed the plant and set fire to the gas within, or made a nest in the ruins.
In a world of monsters, where old myths wove new truth to our lives… Baragon was unleashed.
This day was a horror, and a bloody red mark in the histories of the state and the country. The refinery was on the opposite side of town from the University, so the University became a refuge for the citizens fleeing the beast. They were also the first to study the creature. They found that the natural gas of the area induced a trance in the creature, much like a shark turned upside down. They were able to use this knowledge to keep the creature subdued until it could be relocated safely. The Corporation was prosecuted by the townspeople, rather than the torches and pitchforks they deserved, they found themselves shackled to litigation. Ignoring the scientists, ignoring the safety data, failing to properly zone and inspect the areas and work zones, failing to follow through on their shady bargains to the townspeople. The company was found solely responsible for releasing the monster and the destruction and bloodshed it caused. The mayor died in the attack, as did most of the other wealthy elite who moved into the center of town with their new wealth from the Corporation. Nature's wrath found swift justice, but the town's justice took years, but set a precedent for the responsibility of all in the face of such a tragedy. Now after everything…
The town lived again.
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December 29th 1914 saw the birth of a Scottish legend, Tom Weir
Tom was born in Springburn, Glasgow the son of a locomotive engineer fitter, he belonged to the first generation of working-class outdoor men and began his career tramping the hills near the city whenever he could escape from the grocers shop where he worked.
The adventurer, is credited as introducing thousands of people to Scotland’s great outdoors through his tales of climbing, walking, nature conservation and campaigning. Tom is also fondly remembered for his long-running STV series, Weir’s Way, and his Scots Magazine column, which he wrote for 50 years.
Tom Weir was a writer, broadcaster, hill-walker, rock-climber, historian, naturalist and explorer. He was a popular sight traipsing across the Scottish countryside in his red bobble hat and Fair Isle jumpers since the 1930s.
There's probably not a single glen or mountain that he hadn't visited. Tom didn't just climb in Scotland, in 1950 he was a member of the first post-war Himalayan expedition and in 1952 was one of the first mountaineers to explore the hitherto closed ranges of Nepal, east of Katmandu.
His travels took him to the High Artic of East Greenland, the peaks of Northern Norway, the High Atlas of Morocco and the troubled frontier of the Iran, Syrian and Turkish Mountain lands known as Kurdistan.
He was the best of Scots and represented all that is good in our Nation. He spread enlightenment and joy wherever he went and will live on in our memories.
To this day the legend lives on with his statue at Balmaha on the shores of Loch Lomond, who hasn't visited and not had their photo taken beside it? Well me and ma wee Sis have, as seen in the pic.
Tom Weir passed away at the grand age of 91, on July 6th 2006, he was buried at in Kilmaronock Parish Church, near Drymen. He was buried in the same plot as the ashes of his big sister the actress Molly Weir.
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