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one-of-many-journeys · 5 months ago

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Day 69 (1/2)

Dawn's Sentinel

I set out from Dawn's Senitnel at first light and was soon thrown from my mount by the Stormbird circling the western skies.

It fried my Broadhead to a crisp, so I was forced to run on foot to Free Heap, thankfully closeby. I wasn't feeling up to taking on a Stormbird when my body was barely awake.

A bit of trading with the village merchant. Now that the bandits are off the scrap heap, there's a whole lot more weapons and parts for sale.

I found Petra at her workshop with Kaeluf. Seems any bad blood Kaeluf's lie might have brought between them didn't stick around for long. Jorgriz and Beladga brought the Behemoth cables back to Free Heap as promised, though they took their sweet time about it. There was no harm done; Petra's weapon-making was still going strong, as was Kaeluf's trading. And Beladga and Jorgriz's relationship. Petra even showed me the improvements she'd made to her cannons.

Stocking up on medicinal herbs once back on the road. I needed them after tousling with that Stormbird.

I picked myself up another mount and headed up the Bitter Climb, passing the wreckage of the Gaia Prime facility ejected by Gaia's self destruction.

I left my mount as the path grew more precarious, climbing around the wreckage to an open plain swarming with Watchers, Scrappers and Stalkers. I snuck past them along the far side of the river, working my way around to climb the ridge onto the next level of the incline.

Glinthawks and Ravagers nesting on the next pile of debris, along with smaller machines. I overrode one of the Ravagers and fought at its side to clear the path forward. Snow started up in the higher altitude.

A Stormbird swooped low and unleashed a barrage of shock as I climbed further up. I tied it down and iced it before targeting its shock core with hardpoints to down it in the snow. That's revenge for this morning, I suppose.

Past its corpse and yet more twisted remnants of bunker rooms, I saw the true extent of the damage Gaia wrought when she destroyed herself. The blast tore out the insides of the entire mountain, sending pieces of its core down to the icy waters below. It looked more precarious than any ruin I'd braved, but Sylens had helpfully installed a climbing path years earlier for my use. So he'd been here before as well. Would it kill him to mention this just once?

I made my way up the path to Sylens' workshop.

He appeared—only holographically, of course—to lament a little more about his inability to get anywhere without me as his personal key. He put it a little nicer than that, to his credit. Apparently this was his base of operations, once upon a time. Lots of scrap left around, half-finished inventions, sacks and crates of supplies embossed with sigils from the Carja and Oseram. I didn't stay to snoop too thoroughly. I activated the genetic scan in the room, unlocking the doors throughout the rest of the facility.

Making my way to the other side of the wreckage, I made what is possibly the most dangerous jump of my life. Pieces of old, rusted rooms were strung out across the abyss on trembling cables—I wasn't even sure it would take my weight. Made it though, and continued on.

From the datapoints I found along the way, I learnt that after the team were forced to evacuate the Zero Dawn facility three weeks early, the Alphas accompanied Gaia here to the prime facility that would be her permanent residence. The Alphas never made it to Elysium, as was their promise. There was still work to be done. I found the recordings from Margo Shen most touching, pontificating on a world of tiny societies buried in caves underground, without hope, doomed to either be found by the swarm, tear each other apart, or fade slowly. The mountain was one of them; the ten Alphas couldn't leave once the facility was sealed. They were to spend the rest of their lives here.

From the logs I heard, Travis seemed to have been in high spirits, though he'd been the same way when told of the world's inevitable annihilation, so maybe it was just his permanent disposition. Patrick was gloomier, seeming to resent his coworkers and remain doubtful of the project's chances for success. Charles mourned Tom Paech, who died alone when he opted for medical euthanasia, as he'd resolved to do upon hearing of his options at Zero Dawn.

Further on, I found Elisabet's office. Her own journals were inside, but I couldn't access them; all were corrupted. I scanned them anyway, as Sylens told me that the Focus could repair the data over time, though it could take anywhere from minutes to years depending on the severity of the damage. I hope I get the chance to read them someday.

The storage crates in Elisabet's office were still sealed, unlike in the other rooms where the Alphas' affects were frozen solid to desks and shelves. She never even unpacked her things.

I soon discovered why. In the facility's largest chamber yet, the central table showed a hologram of Elisabet's face, beneath it a pile of colourful projected flowers, like offerings on a grave. Activating the holographic interface, Charles' voice told me of what happened when the Alphas first arrived at Gaia Prime.

To prevent the swarm from detecting the facility, there was shielding around the entire structure. When the team made their entrance, part of it didn't seal properly and could only be secured by mechanical locks on the exterior. It had to be done manually. If it wasn't, the swarm would attack and destroy Gaia, who by this time was almost complete. All of their work would have been for nothing, along with the sacrifices of all humanity during Operation Enduring Victory.

Half of the Alphas gathered to discuss the emergency, arguing over who should make the sacrifice. Charles said it had to be Lis' decision. Elisabet's closest friends all seem to have called her that.

She interrupted the argument of her subordinates with a holographic message, dressed in an environmental suit to combat the toxic world outside. She'd already fixed the breach and was locked outside the facility. The others argued, wanting to find another way, but Elisabet knew there wasn't one. She had already accepted her fate, trusting Gaia to keep going as she had been taught.

There were no goodbyes. Elisabet shut down any heartfelt speeches before they could begin, said she was okay with it. She was going home.

I wonder if she ever made it there. The datapoints I've found say she grew up near a place called Carson City.

Even though I knew the chances of Elisabet's survival to this day were almost zero, it was hard to believe she was really gone, that I would never meet her. Even Sylens seemed sympathetic, which was...novel. We got into another argument. He thinks Elisabet was better than the other Alphas, than the rest of humankind, because she was smart, because she built Gaia and Zero Dawn and made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure the success of her creation, but it's more than that.

While her people squabbled in fear, she quietly did what had to be done, asking for no thanks and expecting no reward. She cared about Gaia and about the world to come, deeply. She cared about the other Alphas too, and all the people who died on the war front to buy time for her success. Her's was just one more body for the foddering. Elisabet understood the value in a love so deep; that's why she programmed it into Gaia, arguing its importance when Faro protested. She knew that without that care embedded into the mechanisms of the new world, it would never succeed.

I had to take a moment there, in that room. More messages left from the other Alphas, and from Ted Faro. His words I could barely stomach. 'You got to play the saviour and the martyr all at once this time. Great work.' It's like he was jealous of her, after all he did...He still wanted to be 'the man who saved the world.'

Charles Ronson's words hit close as well. I found references around the facility to something called the ‘Lightkeeper Protocol’. That's why there were living spaces and amenities constructed in Gaia Prime to begin with. Elisabet's original plan was to create...clones, of all the Alphas, and have them live here in this facility to continue monitoring and making improvements to Gaia as she began shaping the new biosphere.

They were to be raised by their progenitors, taught from Apollo, each having expertise in their respective subordinate functions and access to certain areas of the project tied to their genetic codes. I guess they would have stopped being reborn once humans were introduced into the new world. I'm not sure, there weren't many details. It seems that Elisabet herself canned the initiative before it could really get underway, but I suppose that explains why Elisabet's genetic material was sitting in the Eleuthia-9 Cradle...and why Gaia thought cloning her would be a suitable option to begin with.

Those people would have been instruments of Gaia, just as I am...only, they would have known. They would have understood their purpose from the moment they could comprehend speech. I envy those potentials.

Charles referenced this abandoned protocol in his eulogy for Elisabet, as he tried to imagine another version of her walking these halls. 'Elisabet Sobeck? There's only one.' Well, Charles, here I am.

There's more still to explore, and a master override to find.

#aloy you are being soooo unhealthy abt all of this ily #we are setting up the beta resentment character arc earlyyyy #hzd #horizon zero dawn #aloy #aloy sobeck #aloysjournal #hzd remastered #photomode #virtual photography #horizon

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llort · 11 months ago

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As an affecter, Olistole’s influence was mostly a hit and hope type situation. He could not sense what matter contained what nodes but if he could spread the focus of his mental reconstruction over an object and detect a node, he could enact whatever sub-program was encoded into that node by an alter or by nature himself. Olistole enjoyed scanning inanimate objects as the environment was always adapting and exchanging nodes with itself. Sometimes he could get a pebble to float, a tree to hypnotically change colours, or for shits and giggles, activate the notification system on someone's mailbox and these were the three exact things that Olistole did on his way home. He passed by a small garden that his brother used to take Olistole to show him how to harness his affecting. Syn was older and a very seasoned affecter, he had already passed the trials with flying colours and was in some higher educational program in the mainland. Olistole looked up to his brother and was looking forward to his own trial where he resolved to create his very own powerful or high utility actuator pathway. Olistole actuated the lock on his front door and made it open for him. while daydreaming about his future and being relieved that no effectors seemed to catch him annoying his neighbours. He would rather be annoying his friends, he was late for his daily training session regardless. He hurried with the gait of a man who didn’t really care about arriving on time

Under the sky clocked green and orange auroras flaked with electric blinding networks of fractals. Five spectres embossed in impossible colours, waltzed and stumbled around amongst a flurry of flung meta-material manipulated with the synergistic team effort of an effector and affector pair, The stage of this intricate dance was an obsidian coloured rocky black battlefield serving as an arena. The foundation of their training zone was threaded with multicoloured fractures with blips of light that had a life of themselves zipped, pulsated, and strobes in response to and despite of the five influencers. These figures spun from place and be dancing and flitting between glossed tracers of energy. Olistole saw excognitive phosphenes representing Kela’s effecting outlying a prominent target and he utilized his effecting mentally and lifted a rock and propelled it toward/ Velor didn’t need Ikaria to see this impending collision to his temple and caught the projectile in mid-air, redirecting the geode..

Ikaria and Kela seemed busy supressing each others effecting, essentially muting precognitive intuition for each others effector/affector pair. Olistole and Velor had to resort to the metaphorical equilivent of slinging crap at each other, dumb non-precise missles. They were training for much more dangerous environments so the risk of acute blunt risk trauma wasn’t much of a bother.

The Wild Grid continually fractured back together physically, mentally, and cognitively regurgitating hazing memetic caustic embedded in cyberphysical substrates. To Olistole, this buzz on the periphery external environment intersecting with though fuzzy boundary of his conscious subjective non gestalt boundary of his mind/prefrontal cortex fizzled and spitted in a self same esq pattern that didn’t warrant any level of increased offensive meta awareness. Typically net lossless grid states didn’t indicate that there was no potential threat to Olistole as he walked through the cellular Autonoma machinated via infected programmable Pico nanomaterials Jungle that thrived on churning chaotic procedural generation clashing with itself with caustic, potent violations for variations of the laws of thermodynamics, game theory, and biological theorems.

After a few hours of the five influencers playing and training their influence for the upcoming trials they came to a natural rest and lay about idly on the landscape floating their various thoughts about. The eldritch entities that they do or do not know that exist but their belief is always wrong, observed the objective, subjective, and abstract external frame of the influencers internal subjective reality. These beings alone saw the total of potentiality across all probabilities.

Zeph rested on the side lines trailing his fingers through solid ground as the teams of an effecter and an affecter put their wits and their proficiency over their respective type of influence while he grafted the ground itself into intricate geometries while the lights seem to interact with his actions and thought only known to him, IIkaria and Kela, and god knows how many Friendly Local Neighborhood Effector Vigilantes prowling around to assert self righteous judgement and punishment

Their surroundings were dark, and it was hard to tell what flora or fauna was compared to the ever-shifting evolving landscape. The effector affecter teams from before were coupled up and talking, Zeph had his fingers knuckle deep into one of the glowing veins and was appearing to influence the ever shifting ever evolving nature of the area around him. As all things do, the social temporal superposition faded

The five influencers parted their ways after a while of idle chatting about the training session and the upcoming trials and shortly after Olistole found himself winding his way home. The darkness of the sky didn’t bother him, his eyes were adapted to it. Sometimes something malicious could be lurking in the. surroundings, internally or externally. Ever vigilant for a potential possible threat Olistole noticed a vague shape far above. The sky is aways cast in a mixed green hue of auroras and this object seemed to be ascending further towards these heavens. Olistole knew that this was likely to be Dayns, his anchorite friend. Olistole wondered if he could somehow get Dayns attention from where he was standing, as an affecter he couldn’t communicate at range, so he had no choice to use his affecting just to knock the object that Dayns was in to get his attention. Olistole focused his external matrix on the slim, apparently poorly made wicker basket hot air balloon. There was a sudden but ultimately not quite unexpected result of the structure collapsing and its occupant start to plummet to the ground of Epheosia.

Olistole felt a bit guilty, but he knew that anchorite’s internal matrix was their domain, meaning that anchorites could reinforce and boost their bodies natural abilities and resilience. Dayns appeared in a tumbled heap as Olistole approached. With a crack of his back and snapping stretch of his neck, Dayns said “you do realize that was my trial run, right? Forty days of fasting and meditation for preparation and crafting the most minimal possible wicker basket hot air balloon for my holy tempering and cleansing?” Olistole felt a bit more guilty. “Can you just resit with a few days of fasting and try again” he said. Dayns casually pointed to the faint glint of the fire that was fuelling his wicker balloon as the balloon drifted off somewhere to be reclaimed by the wilds and Olistole shrugged in apology and the two friends walked back to their village together.

Dayns affect perked up when he spotted his anchorite temple and asked Olistole if he would like to visit. Olistole agreed and they both proceeded through the temple courtyard, past living gardens the training grounds, and wicker balloon workshop, approaching the shrines entrance. Meditating in the shrine in front of an open hearth with black flames was Yan, the anchorite leader. “Ah, Dayns, you are back from your ascent pretty early, what happened to your balloon?” commented Yan. Dayns replied” I starved myself for forty eons before this idiot knocked me out of the sky, do I really have to fast again before I retry my ascendance?”. Yan unfolded his limbs with cat like grace and stood up with perfect posture and poise “Unfortunately it is our way Dayn, you will have to nourish yourself before fasting again and you will have no assistance from any alters in crafting a new wicker balloon”. At this point, Olistole did feel true guilt, he had gotten in the way of his friend's trial of sustenance. All Anchorites when they came of age were to construct their own method of reaching the skies and touch the auroras which would corrode their flesh then they would descend to rejuvenate and touch the auroras repeatedly, until they had tempered their bodies and minds and strengthened their connection with their internal matrix. Olistole did not really understand why they put themselves through all that, but then again anchorites were the only type of influencer who had no will over their external environment. It made sense that they would go to extreme lengths to make the most of their own abilities.

“Yan” said Olistole, “Why do you all undergo the tempering, it seems awfully inconvenient”? Yan looked to be no older than Dayns but he carried himself with grace and coiled lethality that betrayed his years and he remarked” Mastery over the inward is its own reward, you know that the anchorite's power is the inverse of the alters, we can have an enormous influence over our own internal physiology and psychology. I can, for example, sustain myself without matter or fluid indefinitely if I needed to, only to replace damaged or lost tissue and blood. We anchorites believe that the minimal viable unit is the one closest to perfection, but we also believe in maximising the creative and actualized self, so we train and temper our minds and bodies to simplify our matrixes but to maximize our potential number of actions that we can enact in any given moment”. Yan then proceeded to turn around and hold his hand outstretched in the black flames behind him. The fire started to consume the flesh around his fingers, smiling Yan pulled his outstretched arm from the flame and turned around to hold it upright in front of Olistole and Dayns. As the two friends looked on, the anchorites flesh began to warp and bubble as soft tissue, blood vessels, and skin flowed and reformed the damaged hand with no obvious signs of previous damage.

“The temperature of that fire isn’t typically hot enough to hurt me” said Yan “The auroras are a different beast though Dayns. It could be good fortune this eon is not the time that you fully attempt your tempering, I have been trying to pass through the auroras for as long as I can remember, and they just get stronger and more dangerous the more far out you go. Nobody knows what lies past the auroras and part of our anchorite philosophy is tempering and training until our matrix is resilient and lean enough to get through into heaven. Even the strongest effector cannot sense what lies beyond Epheosia’s upper atmosphere.” Olistole briefly wondered if he could benefit from tempering as well, maybe he would join Dayns on his next journey skyward. Olistole as an affecter could dimly sense nodes in his own internal matrix but they felt dull, blurry, faint, and imprecise but if he concentrated and focused hard with his mental constonstruction, he could sometimes achieve small feats like raising or lowing his pulse or blood temperature at will or turn his skin or hair a slightly different hue.

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caustic-splines · 7 months ago

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The Balloon and the Five Buffoons

Under the sky clocked green and orange auroras flaked with electric blinding networks of fractals. Five spectres embossed in impossible colours, waltzed and stumbled around amongst a flurry of flung meta-material manipulated with the synergistic team effort of an effector and affector pair, The stage of this intricate dance was an obsidian coloured rocky black battlefield serving as an arena. The foundation of their training zone was threaded with multicoloured fractures with blips of light that had a life of themselves zipped, pulsated, and strobed in response to and despite of the five influencers. These figures spun from place and be dancing and flitting between glossed tracers of energy. Olistole saw excognitive phosphenes representing Kela’s effecting outlying a prominent target and he utilized his effecting mentally and lifted a rock and propelled it toward/ Velor didn’t need Ikaria to see this impending collision to his temple and caught the projectile in mid-air, redirecting the geode..

The five influencers parted their ways after a while of idle chatting about the training session and the upcoming trials and shortly after Olistole found himself winding his way home. The darkness of the sky didn’t bother him, his eyes were adapted to it. Sometimes something malicious could be lurking in the. surroundings, internally or externally. Ever vigilant for a potential possible threat Olistole noticed a vague shape far above. The sky is always cast in a mixed green hue of auroras and this object seemed to be ascending further towards these heavens. Olistole knew that this was likely to be Dayns, his anchorite friend. Olistole wondered if he could somehow get Dayns attention from where he was standing, as an affecter he couldn’t communicate at range, so he had no choice to use his affecting just to knock the object that Dayns was in to get his attention. Olistole focused his external matrix on the slim, apparently poorly made wicker basket hot air balloon. There was a sudden but ultimately not quite unexpected result of the structure collapsing and its occupant start to plummet to the ground of Epheosia.

“The temperature of that fire isn’t typically hot enough to hurt me” said Yan “The auroras are a different beast though Dayns. It could be good fortune this eon is not the time that you fully attempt your tempering, I have been trying to pass through the auroras for as long as I can remember, and they just get stronger and more dangerous the more far out you go. Nobody knows what lies past the auroras and part of our anchorite philosophy is tempering and training until our matrix is resilient and lean enough to get through into heaven. Even the strongest effector cannot sense what lies beyond Epheosia’s upper atmosphere.” Olistole briefly wondered if he could benefit from tempering as well, maybe he would join Dayns on his next journey skyward. Olistole as an affecter could dimly sense nodes in his own internal matrix but they felt dull, blurry, faint, and imprecise but if he concentrated and focused hard with his mental constructional matrix, he could sometimes achieve small feats like raising or lowing his pulse or blood temperature at will or turn his skin or hair a slightly different hue.

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skxrbrand · 11 months ago

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Prev / 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐇 - 𝐈

"The Unmaker demands his due."

The Herald of Malal-Khade hissed, a shadow-thing with the suggestion of daemon-shape-- horns, claws, a maw of fangs and a pair of glinting coals for eyes. It hung before Skarbrand, much smaller but with the mien of a creature bigger and stronger than even the Reaper. A favored daemon of the hybrid-god, it displayed it's mark proudly for all assembled and seemed to dare the Exile to contest the message it brought.

Skarbrand felt his claws twitch with ire. He quashed the murderous urge by balling a fist but was unable to keep his sentiments out of the words he growled. " He need not. I am a daemon of my word."

Indeed, the ranks of Infernius had been gathered up into ranks. Mortals hopped up upon their destriers, Bloodletters upon their Juggers. Men clustered behind siege machines, pushing the iron-spiked wheels forwards. Beastmasters whipped and harried war-creatures ahead of themselves. Skarbrand tilted his head.

" And what of Khade? What numbers can he put to my own?"

The Herald snorted, as if this was a stupid question. " He is a God, Reaper; a power beyond even your own. A god in the flesh, that mortals can see, hear, obey. Legions flock to his banner, for fear of utter damnation." The creature chortled. Though it spoke it not, both of them knew Skarbrand had done much the same as the fleshlings.

" I will trust my eyes more than your words."

" When you see what he has gathered, you may not even trust those, O' Reaper." The shadow-thing laughed, it's voice fading and fluttering as it's existence guttered in and out. Skarbrand watched it float out of reach, realizing it meant to lead the Reaper and his warriors wherever they were meant to go. A distrustful pang stung his heart, but he ignored it, looking to his Blood Reapers instead. He assigned hosts, marching orders, routes to the Chaos Realm. And all the while a feeling in his chest sat and persisted.

The same feeling he had gotten when he had marched up the stairs to the zenith of the Brass Keep to strike Khorne down... Striding to the head of the largest host, the Reaper bellowed.

"MARCH! We bring blood and fire to the heart of the Witchbreed! We will show those cravens what it means to truly wage war!"

And avenge the Reaper's wounded pride.

---

The march took days, insofar as they could be measured this far north. Here, time was a dubious concept at best, one that meant less and less the closer they drew to the Empyrean. Every so often, the Reaper would look up and spy the shadow-thing, the daemon darting ahead and to the left or right, leading them every onward, winding through Nurgh-corrupted lands.

Khazaan and Kha'xanzyr followed a respectable distance behind him, the presence of the former providing some small measure of comfort. As for Kha'xanzyr...the Reaper was a keen to watch him as the shadow-thing. Skarbrand had donned his Zharr armor, and the black zharr-axes containing the Greater Daemons of the Shadow God. When they had at last been led to stretch of wasteland serving as a camp for the fused God's forces, the fact of it had gotten him looks from the Shadow Daemons.

After them, he took stock of the others the Usurper godling had gathered in the few short months after that momentous battle at the Brazen Altar. Beastmen, as always, were plentiful and milled about in their myriads. Some were black and white, in the manner of Malal's chosen, and others were bright red followers of the Red God with fierce feline features. There were no few mortals, clad in chaos armor and embossed with the rune of either, or even both, gods. Skarbrand could spy the remains of past allegiances-- brands and markings of the four paved with new, fresh brands or outright dug out of the skin with claws and blades. Lastly, there the daemons, milling about in an uneasy coexistence with the followers of Chaos. All sat beneath the shadow of a lone, black mountain, the darkness it caste broken up here and there by pyres and spits of roasted meat.

Khade had stolen these warriors from the Worship of the Ruinous Powers, and now he meant to challenge the gods themselves, using those same spoils. Even Skarbrand had to acknowledge the audacity, the boldness; if there were any questions about Khade or Malal's kinship to Khorne, they had been soundly stamped out.

" Where is Malal-Khade?" The Reaper demanded, turning his eyes to the shadow-thing. It did not answer, but something else did. The very earth, it seemed, shook and rattled in response to the question. Skarbrand looked about himself, freezing at he again noticed the lone mountain cloaking the army in darkness. It began to move, unfolding into bestial shape. It's jagged peaks became the back-spines of a monster and long, but stocky, limbs. A nest of curling horns crown it's long face, the god bearing features both felid and draconic. Eyes appeared, blues and whites and scattered liberally about it's hide. Feathers clung to the creature, the fused god shaking himself as he stood to his full height. He was enormous, much larger than when he had come to Infernius to boast about his new form.

Immediately, his followers knelt in his presence, flattening themselves to the earth. Skarbrand could even see some of his own forces cower to their knees from the corner of his eyes. Khazaan stumbled back a step and Kha'xanzyr bowed before his new patron. Only the Reaper stood firm, unimpressed. Refusing to gratify Malal-Khade with his submission.

"𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑷𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑭 𝑳𝑬𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑫." Malal-Khade begin, speaking with two voices. " 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑯𝑶𝑵𝑶𝑹 𝑼𝑺 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑫𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑶 𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑬."

Skarbrand said nothing, and so the hybrid deity looked to his children. He raised both arms out to his side and from his position on the ground, it appeared as if he were holding both moons -- Mansliebb and Morsliebb, in his talons.

"𝑹𝑰𝑺𝑬 𝑴𝒀 𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑫𝑹𝑬𝑵. 𝑹𝑰𝑺𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑹𝑬𝑱𝑶𝑰𝑪𝑬! 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑩𝑬𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑺𝑬 𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑺 𝑳𝑰𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑮𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻 𝑭𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑵 𝑮𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑺. 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑩𝑬𝒀𝑶𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑺𝑬 𝑮𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑺, 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑫𝑶𝑴 𝑶𝑭 𝑳𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝑹𝑼𝑳𝑬𝑫 𝑩𝒀 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑮𝑶𝑫 𝑶𝑭 𝑫𝑬𝑪𝑬𝑷𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵. 𝑩𝑼𝑻 𝑳𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝑫𝑶 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑾𝑰𝑵 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑺 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑵𝑶 𝑴𝑨𝑮𝑰𝑪 𝑾𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑩𝑬 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑶𝑭 𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺𝑻 𝑴𝒀 𝑷𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹!"

At this, Malal-Khade brandished his stolen Blade, a symbol of his deeds so far and a suggestion of what he could further accomplish. His followers did as they were bid, grabbing their weapons, mounting their steeds, and marching towards the blinding not-light of the horizon. Into the mouth of the hells. The fused god begin to stride ahead of them and with a glance backwards, Skarbrand felt his own hooves shift into motion.

The coveted day had come. He would caste down Tzeentch's kingdom as he had Slaanesh before him, as he had razed the Gardens of Nurgle.

He would have his vengeance.

#plot point #plotpoint #longpost #TWO GODS ONE FLESH (𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐋-𝐊𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄);#//ph e w #will write part 2 tomorrow orz

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blogbeatsever · 1 year ago

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The Art of Ink on Paper: Unveiling the Beauty of Commercial Printing in Hillsborough, NJ

In the bustling town of Hillsborough, New Jersey, the art of printing reigns supreme. From business cards that make a lasting impression to beautifully designed banners that catch the eye, the commercial printing industry is a vital aspect of the local business community, with its craftsmanship enhancing brand visibility and communication. Today, we delve into the intricate world of commercial printing in Hillsborough, NJ, to understand the value it brings to the region and the secrets of its trade.

Print media has a timeless appeal, intertwining traditional artistry with modern design and technology. Surrounded by the picturesque scenery of Hillsborough, NJ, local print shops flourish. These establishments are more than just spaces filled with machinery; they are the custodians of quality, the conduits of creativity, and the architects of art that find their way into the everyday lives of residents and businesses in the region.

From a historical perspective, Hillsborough and the broader Somerset County have been centers of local print culture, supporting local newspapers, heritage preservation, book publishing, and even clandestine printing during the American Revolution. Fast forward to the present, and the craft of commercial printing continues to evolve, with digital prowess complementing traditional printing techniques.

The Symphony of Colors and Machines

The Technology Behind the Tango

As the brisk hum of machines orchestrates the day, you will find that technology sits at the heart of commercial printing. Innovations in offset, digital, and large format printing have streamlined processes, allowing for speed without sacrificing the attention to detail that defines this craft.

Printing isn't simply a matter of hitting 'print' on a computer. It's an intricate process that begins with design, traverses through prepress, and culminates in production. Each step must be executed with precision to achieve the desired result. In Hillsborough, NJ, printing presses symbolize the fusion between art and machinery, where skilled operators are at the helm, ensuring that the colors dance in harmony and every impression is immaculate.

A Palette as Vast as the Imagination

The palette a commercial printing company offers is as diverse as the clientele it serves. Gone are the days of limited color options. Today, the industry buzzes with Pantones and CMYK, offering an array of shades that stretch as far as the imagination. Metallic inks shimmer, spot varnishes entice touch, and eco-friendly options appease the environmentally conscious. In Hillsborough, NJ, a printer's color expertise transforms visions into tangible hues, with a dedication to achieving the perfect tint, tone, and saturation.

Print Beyond the Page: The Impact on Business and Beyond

Branding Magic: Materializing Identity

Commercial printing is the medium through which brands manifest their identity. Logos embossed on premium paper, brochures that unfold to tell a story, and packaging that becomes an experience - these are the tools of branding that hold physical presence. In Hillsborough, NJ, print shops collaborate with businesses to ensure that every piece of print material reflects their essence and aids in customer connection.

Environmental Impact: Sustainable Printing Solutions

In an age where sustainability is not a buzzword but a necessity, commercial printing in Hillsborough, NJ, embraces green practices. From sourcing paper from certified forests to recycling by-products, the industry is making conscientious choices. The commitment to sustainable printing ensures that the beauty of ink on paper is harmonious with the environment.

Joining Forces: The Synergy Between Print and Digital Media

The Digital Dynamic: Complementary, Not Competitive

As the digital realm expands, some may speculate on print's fate. However, in Hillsborough, NJ, the symbiotic relationship between print and digital media is evident. Print is tactile, memorable, and when integrated with digital channels, it can enhance a campaign beyond the screen. The local printing industry adapts, offering services that are 'digitally conscious,' such as variable data printing and QR code integration.

Personalization: The Human Touch in a Digital World

In a world of mass communication, personalization stands out. Commercial printing allows for targeted, personalized messages that resonate with individuals on a personal level. From direct mail to custom-printed gifts, the human touch ensures that the impact is felt at an individual level, fostering deeper connections and increased responses.

The Print Reprise: A Conclusion Beyond the Fade

As we conclude our exploration of commercial printing Hillsborough NJ, we are reminded that print is not just an industry - it's an art. It is the intersection of technology, design, and human skill that creates something tangible, something real. The industry's value isn't just measured by its economic contributions but by the memories, the connections, and the experiences it helps to create.

For local businesses and beyond, the printed piece is a testament to their existence, aspirations, and achievements. It is a form of communication that engages the senses and calls to action.

The next time you hold a business card, read a magazine, or glance at a sign, take a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship behind it. In Hillsborough, NJ, commercial printing stands as a beacon of creativity, quality, and vision - a treasure to be celebrated and utilized.

In this town, on this paper, through these machines, art lives on. And it's a beautiful story to be told, again and again, in ink on paper.

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silkendandelion · 2 years ago

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Mirage In The Desert - Chapter 3 (One Year Ago)

Summary: With Operation Utopia drawing closer, let's back up. The events leading up to River's arrival at Rainbase are revealed, as well as meeting the people of Alabasta's territory island of Oasis.

Rated Teen and Up Audiences for mild violence, unsafe situations. Ongoing, will cover the Alabasta Arc. Cross-posted on Ao3, same username. Send me a DM: yell at me, send flowers. Cheers.

~*~

The mainland named it Oasis, it’s people: the Oasins. Called “islanders” with varying degrees of politeness, the people who live at port call them “the ones who wear blue”. The island sits exactly 3 and a half miles from Alabasta’s southwest shore, separated by a segmented reef and waters too shallow to sail. They are a patch of green on the horizon that relies on their mainland only as much as they need, and half as much as they want. Every 8 days the sea goes out further than it ever will, called “King Tide” as it bows before the sky, revealing a land bridge that connects the usually isolated island to shore.

And so the clock begins.

The Oasin trading party, aged from 6 to 79, as few as 10 but as many as 30, makes the journey to market. They bring their goods: textiles, fruits, anything they can carry that they do not need. And they must carry it, the bridge is too narrow for more than single-file foot travel and a precious few carts. They arrive in a line of blue linens, bodies decorated with gold and a song that can’t be heard in the hot, Alabastan sun. The shops are anticipating their benevolent neighbors, as eager to please as they are to be on time. Basket after basket is set up in their usual spot, all things ready to sell and everything must go.

Locals call people like River a “turnabout”. He’s agreeable, quick to make a sale, even quicker to make deliveries. And when they are ready, River is the cash drop. Oasins have no use for money, and River has a list. His bag is weighted down with medicine, but only after a long conversation with a nervous pharmacist who’s wondering if anyone will believe that a handsome islander talked him down on the price—twice. He stops for batteries for Claudia’s radio, fuel for Esai’s machines. Sunshine flickers off gold in a window display, and River doesn’t have to be persuaded to go inside the luxury shop. He’s only inside for a moment, but it’s as if Esai can smell the indulgence on him.

“You were supposed to get medicine! Did you get the oil I asked for?” Esai says, as loudly as he always speaks, but only a few people turn to acknowledge the Oasin almost-yelling in his own language.

“Of course I did! I even got the nails you forgot to put on the list.” River said with a wave of his hand, pleased at his friend’s immediate deflation. But tired hands spill his bag onto the street, a recognizably expensive box landing squarely on top.

“I knew it. How much did this cost? It’s been a slow day, you know?” He bent to grab the box but River was quicker.

“Do you even know what today is?”

“Don’t play with me, River, I’m not in the mood—“

“Who’s birthday is it today? Hm? Is it Ines: our fair leader, light of our lives, your MOTHER?”

Esai blinked at him. “...Her birthday’s in the winter!”

“Eh? No way!”

“I’m going to—Mm!” He tugged at his hair to curb his temper.

“Just give it to Ines, she deserves to have nice things. Take it or I’ll use it. I have that one, it lasts forever.”

He snatched the box from River’s hand, calloused thumb rubbing over the gold-embossed label that read ‘Imported fragrance’, and something else in a language he couldn’t read. “As long as that’s all you managed to piss away, I won’t leave you here.”

“You’d do that to me, after all the years we’ve known each other? I have no money, you know.”

“Sell your earrings. Or any of the other gold on you. That’s what it’s for, in case you get lost.”

“I wouldn’t be lost, I’d be abandoned!”

“I look forward to my 8 days of peace.”

“Esai!”

“Shh, I’m imagining it now.”

“Can you two go away? You’re scaring the customers.” A woman barked at the two young men, shooing them off as she handed River his next pad of money.

Esai was quick to take it from him with a wide grin. “Come on, I saw somebody selling meat skewers down the street.”

“Really? Let’s go—”

‘I told you, I want my money back!’ An outburst broke the buzz of the market and both men turned to see their seller shrinking back from a customer. He seemed local enough, if unnaturally red in the heat, with a suit jacket that had ‘BW’ embroidered on both arms.

“If I said it made me sick, you have to give my money back.” He spat, his finger almost against her cheek. Esai moved the man’s arm away, standing so he forced them apart with his tall frame.

“Let’s calm down. And we can talk.” Despite their being the same age, Esai was much stronger than River, his bronze skin draped over muscles made for lifting crates of merchandise across miles of unsteady sand. He had a steel readiness beyond his years in his eyes, juxtaposed to his soft face, but typically managed to dissolve trouble on sight. Maybe this man wasn’t local after all.

“You all peddle raw food and blankets, I know there’s no quality control for whatever you manage to pack up and bring here. I bought some fruit earlier for my lunch, I’ve been throwing up all afternoon. It must have had worms in it, or was contaminated by the sea. I should have listened to the rumors: they say Oasin fruit makes you sick.”

Esai blinked with vague recollection at the sweaty man. “Hm? You mean the Ki-Ki fruit?”

River smirked as he watched Esai laugh, cold and loud. As easily as Esai’s presence bred peace, he had a sweet tooth for comeuppance. If asked, he would lie and say he got it from River’s bad influence, when the opposite was true. “If you ate the Ki-Ki fruit, you’d be dead before you made it to the trash to throw up. That’s why we don’t sell it.”

“What?” The sweaty man said while Esai grabbed a packet from the basket next to them.

“We don’t sell it because it will kill you. But the fish go crazy for it, and we dry down the seeds to make a dye powder. You still shouldn’t eat it, but for no more reason than to not swallow the dye powders you get from your tailor.” His informing was interrupted by nearby people who had stopped to listen, and snickered at the man’s expense.

“So it wasn’t our food that made you sick. I can give you something for your pain, some herbs we have. I won’t even charge you as an apology for the misunderstanding—”

It all happened so fast.

Esai stepped away to look through the herb clippings in another basket, just long enough for the man to lose his composure, humiliated both by his ignorance and prejudice on full display for a busy market where he had believed he was right. He reached into his breast pocket, moist hand grabbing a gun to point at the back of the man attempting to help him. But he didn’t have time to aim before a fist like iron connected with his face, punching him out of his shoes and to the other end of the street. Wall after wall followed his trajectory, lined by the faces of horrified onlookers. Silence followed the crash, and everyone for blocks stopped to stare at the Oasin and his friends. They saw River with arm outstretched, watched his adrenaline dissolve into shakes. His own voice broke the spell, almost too weak to be heard.

“He—he had a gun. Esai—”

“Everybody pack up,” came his voice. “Can’t you hear me? Get moving! The sun is getting low, we have to leave,” he said as the others hurried to comply.

“...Esai—”

“Don’t.” He shushed him. “Don’t speak. We have to get everyone home safe first. You go ahead, don’t wait for us.”

River nodded, eyes hot as Esai sent him off with a blessing of his thumb against his forehead. He tried not to run, counting his steps until he reached the bridge. But the familiarity of sand made his legs itch, and he was gone.

His godmother greeted him at home, nearly dropping dinner when he slammed into her for a brutal hug. “There you are! Are you alone? Where is everybody?”

She brushed his bangs from his wet eyes and set her pot on the table. “What’s wrong, baby? What happened? You’re pale.”

“… It’s fine. I-I don’t feel so well. Esai sent me home.” He gave Claudia a quivering smile.

“Get in bed, then. Dinner’s ready. Oh! Did you buy batteries?”

His smile faltered as he felt for the bag that should have been on his back. “I left them with the others.”

She clicked her teeth. “Ay, River. Go to bed, don’t worry about it. Somebody will bring them by when they all get back.”

King tide ended at sundown, and the trading party was late, walking the last half mile in water around their legs while the youngest rode on the shoulders of the tallest. They had received no resistance to their departure but waited almost too late for a relentless Esai that had gone door to door all afternoon to soothe angry business owners with missing walls.

Claudia answered the door for him in her nightgown. “Esai! Did you bring my batteries?”

“Where’s River?”

“Eh? He’s in bed. Why are you both acting so strange?” She went to fetch him but he was already in the doorway of his room, still dressed to leave.

“Let’s go.” Esai jerked his head to lead them outside. The island seemed especially busy after market days, the scattered houses receiving loved ones late with armfuls and weary legs. River delighted in the sounds of the evening, of children who’d never tasted bread so sweet or seen jewels so clear. It made any scolding from Esai worthwhile as he smuggled indulgence into every traders burden. But tonight the lamps went dark when the sun was still in the sky, and their community was quiet. They passed closed houses, walking almost to shore again before either of them spoke.

“He had a gun?”

“He would have killed you. Over something so stupid—”

“You shouldn’t have interfered.”

“What?!” River stopped suddenly, the disbelief leaving his lungs in a rush.

“You showed your Temple to the Alabastans, I would have rather you let him shoot me.”

“Shut up! What’s wrong with you? You would die all because of some—“

“Don’t finish that sentence. Your Temple is a gift from God, so few of us have awakened it’s power. The Alabastans would exploit you, or try to wipe us out and succeed this time. The king leaves us alone but if we step out of line that peace is over… We are less than a thousand. We cannot win, even with Temple, 10 of you cannot protect us from the Royal Army. I’ve always known leadership might cost my life. It is an honorable death to protect my people.”

“That’s stupid. How can you protect us if you’re dead?”

“Listen to my words, River, you endangered all of us when you lost control.”

He flinched away from open palms, but they only ruffled his hair like they weren’t the same age.

“I’m hard on you, I get that. Things are simple here but when we’re out there—no matter how angry you get, no matter what you witness, you have to stay calm. Don’t give them anything they can use against us. At the cost of our lives, we have to protect our home.”

River swiped at his own face, finding he could barely breathe. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Just… try not to be yourself.” Esai offered a smile.

“You’re an asshole,” he said but didn’t manage to sting through his tears.

“Everyone says that. I’m thinking they can’t all be right.” ____ ___ __ _

But the great invasion Esai feared never came. The market was content to have the Oasins repair their businesses, and the city had no record of any complaint. They returned to their schedule, though River was told to stay behind for a couple weeks just in case. He had begged Ines and Ramon to reconsider but their leadership supported Esai’s opinion, believing some time away was best. They grounded him, wrapped him in the warmth of familiar food, and song, the breeze that carried the salt from the same sea every day. It made him itch, worsened when he stood on the beach to stare at the horizon that he longed to touch.

He missed the feeling of cobblestones under his feet, bartering with quick-witted merchants for spices and gold alike. He agreed the Alabastans couldn’t be trusted but their country breathed to him, so alive in the way a pirate wonders how high the mountain goes, or what lurks beneath the surface of a glass sea. He spoke into the sky, wishing on a squall that carried nothing but pain. But how does anyone who stands on the shore know what lurks in the sea?

No one could have predicted who would come to collect on River’s forgotten transgression because no one was supposed to know their name.

Across Alabasta, Crocodile was surprised to hear from the agent on his snail phone. “You were three days late to turn into your report. We declared you dead.”

‘I’ve been hospitalized, I—three DAYS?”

“I’m not hearing an explanation.”

‘I was in Alabasta to meet our contact and this man attacked me. His fist felt like hot iron, it threw me down the street and he was yelling “Down with Baroque Works”! He’s a menace out to get us and he knows the identity of—’

“Say that again.”

‘He’s declared himself an enemy of our organization—‘

“That’s not what I asked. ‘His fist felt like iron’.”

“Yes, Mr. 0. He threw me… must have been a quarter mile away. I would like to take care of this personally—‘

“Clearly, that’s not possible. Who was it? Or did your mild coma wipe your memory of that as well as your manners?”

“My-my apologies, Mr. 0. It was an Oasin, they’re a flea of a territory island. It was a man, young man with violet eyes and—‘

“That will be all. I’m not reinstating you, and wish you luck with your future endeavors.” He clicked the snail off before the former agent could protest. Twisting the same dial summoned Miss All Sunday’s voice.

‘Yes, Sir?’

“I’m sending you the number and location of an agent that is leaving our company.”

‘Oh?’

“And dispatch Mr. 9 and Miss Wednesday to Alabasta. I’ll send their brief momentarily.”

‘Yes, Sir.’ ____ ___ __ _

“How long do we have, Miss Wednesday?” Mr. 9 asked as he toed the sand leading away from shore, face pulled down in a grimace. The rational fear of drowning and all.

“The tide comes back in at sundown but we’ll be gone long before then, Mr. 9.”

“I don’t understand why he wasn’t at the market, Miss Wednesday, didn’t the brief say we’d find him there?”

“It said maybe. Or do you want to explain to Mr. 0 that we couldn’t find him, Mr. 9?”

“You’re a cruel woman.” He said as he began to walk.

Outside his home, River was harvesting vegetables from their raised garden beds, collecting them in his apron and minding the baby strapped to his back.

Claudia came up to his side to check his progress and offer him the basket to empty his burden. “How’s your little helper doing?”

“No help at all—”

“I was talking to the baby.” She stared and he struggled to reply over his laugh.

“He’s slept the entire day. And I think he’s eating my hair,” he said as Claudia reached up to pull down the hood, revealing a tiny Bananawani the size of a small child. His banana was just a young nub on his forehead, and the skin around his mouth and feet were sickly pale, almost white.

He chirped, reaching out to nip at her finger. “Those antibiotics haven’t done anything for his color. But he seems to have more energy. At least he’s hungry.”

“Why am I still holding him then, if he’s hungry?” River said and let Claudia pull the baby into her arms to offer him some coconut from her apron, the preferred, moisture-rich and fibrous treat for growing Wani.

She let him eat, careful to not touch sharp teeth that could easily amputate if he had more strength. “Eat up, little one. You have to be big enough to go back into the sea when the females return for your siblings. Why did you hatch early anyway? When you’re so sick.”

“If I hadn’t been swimming and seen him all alone, he would have been eaten.” River said.

“He still might get eaten if the females reject him… I won’t let that happen. I’ll just be your mother then.” She blew him a kiss, and the reptile squeaked for more food.

“For someone who never wanted children, you keep finding things to raise.”

“If I hadn’t taken you, no one would have. You were such a fussy little boy. Still are.”

“Little?” He grinned, though the tall woman looked into his eyes.

“This is exactly what I mean. You get your rudeness from your father, and your weakness to the sun. My sister was like me, we never burned. You have your father’s intolerance to drink—”

River’s laugh cut her off, and she linked their arm’s together to rest on his shoulder. “The man’s dead, Claudia, let him rest in peace.”

Their bittersweet banter, the ability to smile when remembering his parents would be, if River was asked, the greatest triumph they made as mother and son. Tied together by a fated stormy night, suddenly alone and without their favorite people in the world, they survive by holding hands. If asked, River will say his parents were stuck on the bridge because he made them late, distracted by jewels at the market. Claudia will say they were helpless to the weather. Neither of them remember too much about that night, but they honor their memory by going on together.

“Who are they?” Claudia said suddenly, breaking him from his thoughts.

At the edge of the village, River could see two strangers on the shore, a man and a woman in gaudy clothes. The man, irritated with the woman, it seemed, sported a lopsided crown on his feathering of ginger hair.

“…get inside. Don’t come out until someone comes to get you.”

Back on the mainland, an older man came to Esai’s side at the market, both recognizable to the other but struggled to recall names.

“Excuse me, but two people just crossed onto the land bridge. They didn’t look like natives.”

“What?!”

“I didn’t approach them, I mean I didn’t know if you were expecting somebody. But I’ve never seen anyone besides you all step foot onto that bridge.”

Esai didn’t bother to thank them before he was off in a sprint, grabbing a friend and yelling in their own language.

“…well, now I wish I’d said something.”

The Baroque Works agents found themselves barred from entering the village, stopped on the shore by what looked like a wall of the strongest among them.

“This is quite the welcome. They must not get too many visitors, don’t you think, Mr. 9?”

He shooed away an insect, tongue bared at the humidity. “Definitely not. Anyway, let’s not drag this out. We’re with the…” He struggled to recall the wording on their brief sheet.

“The Royal Coalition of Suspicious Persons, Peoples, and their Pets—”

“That’s right, the… The Crown. We’re here to apprehend River Faustina for crimes against the king,” he declared. When no one made any move to comply, content to stare at the two eccentric strangers, he jabbed a finger at the paper that flapped in his hand.

“We have a summons from King Cobra himself to arrest the man on this paper and any of you who will not cooperate will be apprehended as co-conspirators!”

Ines stepped forward, careful of her cane in the sand. “May I see that summons?”

“Impossible! You couldn’t read it anyway.”

She snatched the paper quick enough to make him yelp and flinch when she slapped it to smooth it’s wrinkles. “I speak three languages.”

After long, silent moments of watching her scan the page, she finally crumpled it up and pitched it into the sea.

“MA’AM—”

“Don’t yell at me, red, my ears work just fine. I’m not doubting the validity of your request. I just don’t care. Ka-HA!” She punctuated her laugh with a bonk to his head with her cane, and a hasty retreat on suddenly virile feet.

Ramon, the largest and second village leader, intercepted the yelling strangers easily while Ines made her escape from responsibility.

She reentered the village to find River waiting for her. “Mama Ines. You can’t just ignore them and hope they go away.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Whatever credentials they have, however mad they are about what you did… I’ll never hand you over to them. Okay?”

“… Yes, mama.”

“Good boy. Besides, what kind of king sends two skinny idiots to arrest one of my people? Ka-HA. Fucking moron.”

“Mama!”

“Sorry sorry. I forget Claudia raised you to be polite.”

Esai came up on the island as Ramon was restraining Mr. 9 with one hand, the latter kneeling on the ground as he yelled to be let go. Miss Wednesday wisely chose to give them space.

“What’s going on here? Ramon?”

“They’re from some royal organization, here to arrest River.”

“You can’t hurt them, it’ll make things worse.”

Ramon gave his hostage a hard shove, sending him face first into the sand with a muffled yell. “They were very rude. Ines says to leave them, and I second that.”

“You can’t refuse or we’ll take Mr. Faustina by force—” Miss Wednesday backed up when Ramon towered over her, his shadow suddenly blacking out the sun.

He leaned down so his threat would be their secret. “You have until sundown to decide what you will do, or you will be forced to survive on this beach for 8 days until the bridge reappears. Perhaps you’ll try to swim? The Bananawani have nests just offshore, they’ll be coming back for their young any day now.”

Both agents watched as Ramon and the others retreated down the path to leave them with only the oscillating sound of the ocean that chipped away at their time. “The sun is getting lower. We have to move now, Miss Wednesday.”

She watched the gap in the trees as if waiting for them to come back and make good on their threat. “Mr. 0 instructed us with nonviolence.”

“I’m more afraid of what he’ll do if we don’t bring Mr. Faustina back at all. Or get stuck here.”

Esai ran through the village from home to home to ask about River, but found no evidence of his whereabouts until he personally spotted him on the path to the beach.

‘Esai!’ He heard behind him.

“Not now, Claudia!”

“Damn it, Esai, talk to me! What’s going on with River!”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out!” He sprinted after the other man but skidded to a stop behind the treeline when he saw him already talking with the strangers.

“You’re River Faustina? Must be, they said you had violet eyes.” Mr. 9 said as he failed to crack his neck. “That gorilla did a number on me.”

“Have you called for help?” River asked.

“Of course we have,” the woman lied. “But this will be much easier if you leave peacefully. We don’t want anyone else to be hurt.”

His mind raced with the possibility of what his resistance would bring, sunset casting the island in orange. How many reinforcements did these people have? Do they have the technology to cross the reef outside of King Tide? We can’t hold back an army if who I hurt was someone important. Did he die? Is that why I’m being arrested? There’s just not enough time.

“I’ll go with you. You and your people are to never step foot on this island again. I am the only one who has committed a crime.”

The strangers, seemingly satisfied with his answer, made to leave as Esai ran from his hiding place. “River—”

“Don’t, Esai.”

“Ines and Ramon told us to stay put, to leave those two alone.”

“That won’t solve anything.” He turned to smile at his oldest friend, eyes wet with pooled tears. “I have to protect my home.”

‘Don’t keep us waiting, Mr. Faustina!’

“We can fix this, River. Don’t just leave, what about Claudia, what about—”

River let a tear fall before hurrying to swipe it away. The sun was almost gone, sky covered by indigo, and the water was shrinking the bridge even smaller. Would he be allowed to write a letter before they passed their judgment? Surely they have that much mercy. “Hug Claudia for me.”

I’ll tell her I’m sorry. I was stubborn, selfish to wait until there was no time left for goodbyes. I hope they have enough paper, that the birds are strong enough to carry my testament to her.

Esai watched him go until they were out of sight, swallowed by the curve of the ocean but awash in his mind as he caught the last of River’s scent on the wind.

I wanted it to last forever. ____ ___ __ _

As fast as the trio ran, they were exhausted, soggy, and half drowned by the time they trudged from the rising sea at shore. Miss Wednesday upturned her shoes, letting out buckets of water and a few small fish as she tried to decipher what street they faced.“My boots are ruined, Mr. 9. Where’s the drop-off point anyway?”

“Thank you, Miss Wednesday. Mr. 9. But I’ll be taking Mr. Faustina from here.”

The pair seemed to pale at the woman that waited at the road, and River desperately wished he understood just what kind of danger she posed. He’d never felt such cold on a summers night, pinned helpless with no idea how to fight, where to run, unable to even recognize his predator.

“Mi-Miss All Sunday. Of course.” Mr. 9 managed to squeak out.

“Come with me, Mr. Faustina. You two: your next assignment is already on it’s way.”

River followed the presumed ‘Miss All Sunday’ without complaint through the streets, nose blind to the vendors he normally marveled, the lights dimmer than he remembered. He could only see the white suede coat billowing behind his handler, the ink-black of her hair. Should he be taken to the desert to be murdered quietly, he wondered if she would deliver his message. Her blue eyes didn’t look as though they even saw him.

“You brought no belongings. Were you denied that privilege or was it the time?”

“It was… It all happened so fast.”

His handler, no, Miss All Sunday stopped in front of a store. “Let’s purchase some provisions. Our destination is a couple days away, even as fast as we travel.”

“Where are we going? By boat?”

She gave him the same cold smile she had given to the gaudy pair who dropped him off; he had already forgotten their names. “Get a change of clothes. Have you eaten supper?” ____ ___ __ _

Esai held his lip where Claudia had struck him, tasting copper.

“You gave him to them?!” She screeched, eyes wild as she made to hit him again.

“He left on his own!” He yelled back and her hand stopped in the air.

“He wouldn’t do that, he trusts us to help him. He did NOTHING wrong! Why did they even come?!” Her voice cracked and anger made way for tears in rivulets down her face.

Ramon appeared to place his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Claudia. We’re going to get him back.” He declared to the hollers of the crowd.

‘Let’s go!’

‘They can’t do this to us!”

‘We will not be bullied!’ Every shout vibrated his blood, Esai scrambled to salvage his thoughts.

We are less than a thousand. It’s been 400 years since our island challenged the king, and we barely emerged from that fight with half of us left. Who knows how things have changed? Nothing has changed here, even with our gifts we cannot stop an army. At all costs, we must survive. We must protect each other.

“They made a deal!” His voice silenced the crowd, and the dozens of stares threatened to shrink him into the ground.

“Do not pursue him. He left of his own free will, they agreed he could negotiate his punishment for labor. He will not be executed.”

“They’re going to enslave him?!”

“NO! No, they spoke of an exchange. He would use his strength to work for the King and be compensated accordingly. It—It sounded like a lot of money.”

“You’re a liar, Esai, I will—”

“Think, Claudia. I know you’re hurting but doesn’t that sound like him? River’s always chased gold, you all watch him spend our money every single market day. He’s as old as I am but he’s never left the island… We were never going to be enough for him.”

The crowd began to slowly disperse, it didn’t matter to Esai why they relented. Whether in acceptance or disgust, he just needed them to break. But Ines refused to look away from her son, and he felt his face grow hot under her stare even as he kept his feet planted. “Let him go. River of all people will find a way to get on.”

Esai stayed until the sun was long gone, left to swallow against his tears when Ines was the only one left.

“Did he truly leave on his own?” She said, only barely louder than the bugs.

“Yes. I—He stopped me.” The old woman reached for him so he could crumble into her arms. She stood there, quiet and still, until his sobs had soaked through her cloak.

He felt her place a kiss to his head as he spoke. “I don’t want to lead us.”

She let her own tears fall onto his shoulder. He couldn’t recall the last time she cried.

“It has to be you.”

#one piece #sir crocodile one piece #crocodile one piece #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x oc #male reader #crocodile x male reader #ao3 fanfic #oc fanfiction #silkendandelion #mirage in the desert #x reader #x oc

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agoabel · 2 days ago

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Inside LRI: From Production to Packaging of Consumer Goods

Factories aren’t glamorous. Not usually. They’re noisy, practical, and a bit chaotic if you walk in unannounced. But if you stop to really look—to pay attention to the process—you start to see something else. A rhythm. A kind of coordination that, when it works well, feels almost like choreography.

That’s what I feel every time I step into LRI.

LRI is one of LELEADER GROUP’s consumer goods divisions based in Benin. The full name? Leleader Resources Industries. But internally, we just call it LRI. It’s where a big part of our local manufacturing capacity lives—soap, bottled water, tissue paper, packaged condiments, and more.

I’ll be honest—when we first launched this operation, we didn’t know exactly how fast it would grow. Manufacturing isn’t easy in West Africa. Access to quality machinery, consistent electricity, raw materials, skilled labor—it all comes with its own set of challenges. And we’ve faced them all.

But we started anyway. Because we believed in the idea that locally made goods could match—or even exceed—the quality of imports. And that if we did it right, we’d not only serve a growing consumer market but also build something that created jobs, sparked pride, and stayed rooted in Benin.

So, how does it all work inside LRI?

Production starts early. Teams arrive before 7 a.m., gear up, review safety protocols, and check their machines. Whether it’s batching soap or filling sachets of water, every process has its own checks, balances, and tempo.

Take our tissue paper line, for example. It begins with large rolls—imported pulp, carefully sourced—fed into converting machines that cut, emboss, and roll the sheets into consumer-ready formats. From there, a second team takes over for quality control. Does the packaging seal properly? Are the sheets consistent? Is the branding aligned?

At full capacity, we process over 20,000 packs per day.

That might sound like a lot—and it is—but every one of those packs is destined for a local shelf. A market stall. A rural shop. A school. A small restaurant. And knowing that gives the work meaning.

There’s a constant push for balance. We want to automate where it makes sense—but we also want to employ people. So our model is hybrid. Machines for consistency, humans for precision and adaptability. I still believe no algorithm can replace the instincts of an experienced production worker who knows when a batch just doesn’t “feel” right.

One of our packaging leads, Thérèse, has been with us from the start. She doesn’t use many fancy words. But she can spot a defective seal before the machine even finishes the job. That kind of expertise? You can’t train it overnight. It comes from care.

And care matters.

Because consumer goods aren’t just products—they’re part of daily life. If we get it wrong, someone notices. If we get it right, they trust us again tomorrow.

We’ve also invested heavily in local sourcing where possible. Palm oil from within Benin. Water purification inputs from regional suppliers. It’s not always the cheapest route—but it creates ripple effects. When one factory buys local, it supports farmers, transporters, small service providers. It builds an ecosystem.

Now, I won’t pretend everything is smooth. We’ve had delays. Machinery breakdowns. Packaging misprints. Once, a full shipment of labels arrived in the wrong language. Mistakes happen. But we own them, fix them, and move forward. That’s just part of running a real operation.

This year, as we prepare to join the 2025 Go Global Awards in London—hosted by the International Trade Council—we’re taking stories like these with us. Not because they’re perfect, but because they’re honest. Because they show that even in a tough environment, with limited resources, real manufacturing can thrive.

The Go Global Awards aren’t just about winning. They’re about being seen. Being heard. Sharing lessons, failures, successes. We’re proud that LELEADER GROUP, from Benin, is among the nominees. And we’re looking forward to connecting with others who know what it’s like to build from the ground up.

Inside LRI, there’s still plenty of work to do. More lines to optimize. New products to launch. Better systems to adopt. But the foundation is there. And every day, I see the people who are making it stronger.

If you’ve never visited a factory in West Africa, I’d encourage you to try. You might not find glossy brochures or perfectly staged photos—but you’ll find real people, real progress, and real ambition.

That’s the story we’re telling. One batch, one box, one customer at a time.

#LELEADERGroup #MadeInBenin #ManufacturingAfrica #ConsumerGoods #LocalProduction #LRI #GoGlobalAwards2025 #FactoryLife #BusinessFromBenin #SustainableSupplyChains

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freightforwardingindonesia · 21 hours ago

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Paper Embossing Machine

Freight Forwarding for Paper Embossing Machines – Global Reach Paper embossing machines are widely used in tissue production, paper napkins, and packaging. These machines are large and sensitive – requiring proper HS Code classification, port handling, and legal shipping documentation. Keenam International ensures secure delivery of these machines worldwide. ✅ Our Freight Services Include: HS…

#Export Paper Equipment #Freight Forwarder Machines #freight forwarding heavy machinery #HS code 8441 #Indonesia freight forwarder #industrial equipment logistics #legal export machines Indonesia #Legal Machinery Logistics #paper embossing machine freight

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keenaminternational · 21 hours ago

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Paper Embossing Machine

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p2btek · 3 days ago

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How Does a Fully Automatic Sanitary Pad Machine Work?

In India, people are considering menstruation an important part. So, access to affordable and hygienic menstrual products is also crucial for women’s health. A sanitary pad making machine fully automatic makes pads with little or no manual work. The good thing about these machines is that they help factories produce many pads fast. They could make good quality pads at low cost with this machine. In this blog, let’s understand how these machines work step by step, and what parts they have.

Raw Materials and Unwinding

Every sanitary pad has layers which includes a top layer made of soft non-woven fabric, an absorbent core and a leak-proof back sheet. These raw materials make the best quality sanitary pads. In the beginning, big rolls of these materials are loaded onto the machine. These rolls unwind slowly so materials move forward in proper order. The unwinding system keeps the layers straight and at the correct position to stretch it. This helps to avoid wrinkles or misalignment of the raw materials.

Precise Feeding and Cutting

After unwinding, materials will move to a feeding unit. Here they are guided into position and cut into the exact size for each pad. This needs to be accurate, because the top sheet, core, and back sheet must match perfectly. If it is not, then the pads will not work well and not satisfy the needs. The feeding unit is controlled by robots or motors which makes the process fast and precise.

Forming Unit

The next component is the forming unit. Once the layers are cut and aligned, they enter the forming unit. Here the absorbent core is put in the middle between the top and back layers such as sandwich. The machine uses heat and pressure to bind these layers together gently. This helps keep the absorbent core in place, so the pad works correctly during use.

Sealing and Edge Finishing

The formed pads then go to the sealing unit. In this part, hot air, adhesive, or ultrasonic tools seal the edges. This performs the sealing process and should be done properly to avoid leaks and stop the layers from coming apart. The machine also cuts off extra material neatly so that it can give an accurate and desired shape to the sanitary pad.

Embossing and Sterilization

These are the extra features in many machines. Many modern machines do embossing, which means adding patterns on the pad surface. In sanitary pad making machines, the feature of embossing helps absorb blood faster and evenly. Some advanced machines that one can use for this is a UV light chamber for sterilization. The use of sterilization is important because UV light kills microbes and keeps the pad safe and hygienic.

Packaging Unit

After sealing, pads go to the packaging unit where pads are either packed singly or in sets. In this process, packaging is often done by flow wrap or bagging system. For this, businesses use fully automatic machines that can pack pads at high speed. This will be helpful in preparing them for sale while maintaining hygiene and quality. These machines use sensors to ensure that each pad is packed correctly without damage. Along with this, other parts of packaging are done such as labels, batch numbers, and manufacturing dates are printed. Finally, the packed pads are collected and arranged in cartons for easy transport and storage.

Quality Control and Waste Collection

These machines have quality control systems to check each pad. During the process of quality control, the main aim is to make every sanitary pad test of high quality. These machines look for wrong shapes, torn edges, missing layers, or poor seals. If pads are not good then they can be removed automatically. Also, there’s a waste collector that gathers trimmed edges and leftover material to keep the factory clean and prevent material loss. In addition to this, high-speed cameras or sensors help in spotting tiny defects quickly. This system saves time and increases overall production efficiency. It also ensures that only perfect pads reach the packaging stage.

Control Panel and Automation

A sanitary pad making machine fully automatic uses modern controls. These include touchscreen panel, PLC (program logic controller), and servo motors. Operators who are operating the machine set the pad size, speed, and layers through the touch panel. As it is a fully automatic machine, it repeats the process precisely. Automation of the machine indicates high speed, consistent quality, and less human error. The system can store multiple pad designs for quick changeover. Align with this, there are features like alarms and messages that will appear on the screen if there’s any problem. These machines let the operators monitor real-time data for output count and running speed.

Production Speed and Capacity

These automatic machines are fast and can produce large quantities in just a few minutes. Some can make 80–150 pads per minute, and some high-end machines can make 120 pads per minute or even more. This kind of speed is beneficial for big production units. Also, it can help businesses to lower the sanitary pads manufacturing machine price per pad.

Sanitary Pads Manufacturing Machine Price

If you are planning to start a sanitary pad production unit, you might want to know the sanitary pads manufacturing machine price. Well, the cost of the machine will depend on the type of machine, its features and production capacity. Price of manual small-scale machine, semi-automatic machines and automatic machines will be different. Sanitary pad making machines fully automatic will have higher cost. These fully automatic sanitary pads making machines are expensive but highly efficient and high performing.

Conclusion So, this is how a fully automatic sanitary pad making machine works. It is found in big production units and is used as a smart machine. It uses modern technology to make pads quickly and precisely. The sanitary pads manufacturing machine price may look high in the beginning, but it helps in saving money in the long run.

#sanitary pads manufacturing machine price

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