#onmars

[pahad1xh0ra]

The picture I generated earlier was a simple illustration of Elon Musk standing on the surface of Mars, with a SpaceX Starship in the background.

Here's a more detailed description:

Elon Musk is wearing a SpaceX spacesuit, with a helmet and oxygen tank. He's standing on the Martian surface, with a vast, barren landscape stretching out behind him.

In the background, you can see a SpaceX Starship, with its distinctive fins and nose cone. The ship is parked on the Martian surface, with a plume of smoke or dust rising from its base.

The sky above is a deep, reddish-orange color, with a few wispy clouds scattered across the horizon.

Overall, the picture is meant to evoke a sense of exploration, discovery, and possibility – the idea that humans might one day set foot on Mars and explore the Red Planet up close.

[lovesaloon]

[stellastra-scribbles]

April 25-May 2, 2024 - Some TES characters I drew for some Twitter requests.

Individual images under the cut.

[atypicalacademic]

Beloved

For @tes-summer-fest prompt for day 2, beloved

There was a cornerclub in Blacklight, hoisted on a hillside over a double-storied building they’d hastened to build for a flood of refugees. At first there was a single room, chairs huddled close and a ragged mat for the standing. The publican had a handsome, wicked smile, like a knife’s glint in the dark, a single, claw-shaped golden earring dangling from his ear. At first the curtains were drawn to shield the flood of blood-red ash.

 “My lady wife can’t take it.” He said. “Wasn’t built for Vvardenfell, this one.” Then, when the tally of the dead and the living began its slow, tortured ascent, the doors opened for the ailing, for the grieving, and the ill. They clung to his shoulder and clutched at the kerchief of his lady wife. 

If his eyes were rubies, hers were emeralds. His skin the deep grey of a rain-bearing cloud, and hers the rosy olive of a sunrise over fields of wheat. She pulled up the sleeves of an old gown worn to familiarity, and began to heal. 

“Time to break out the old tutoring, my love.” She said, her smile was strained and sad.  He stood by the bedside, and held down thrashing limbs, slipped numbing brandy into gasping mouths. Sometimes a bangle or a bronze key tempted him, and his lady wife’s tired eyes tempted him, the wanting to make her glow with silk and jewels and to keep his promises, keep some more tempted him, and knowing she was good enough for the two of them tempted him.  

Ancestors forgive him, but he was a mer made to desire. But he was fastened to a word, he joked, to his patrons when he took it on his shoulders to cheer them up. Fastened to a word as he was to her pretty skirts. 

Ancestors forgive him, but when lives slipped from beneath her palms, it wasn’t her that cried. 

*

There was a cornerclub in Blacklight, snow-frosted glass windows lit with two hefty lanterns alone. The matron wiped rust from their iron bottoms, oiled the creaking hinges when the endless ash blew in to settle in every nook and crevice. 

An old friend, an alchemist who wrapped her own heart in lace and parchment and sent it home, had left the lanterns behind. The matron found it among a thrifting treasure hunter's hoard, rusted beyond recognition. She'd gasped and put her palm on them, as if will alone could light a fire. 

Come home when you see reason, her parents had written, in their last missive.

Reason wore the face of old friends when the dusk rolled in and laid a carpet of shadows over the cracked tile floor. Reason was too many men and mer succumbing to the smoke closing their chest, rotting their labouring lungs, the whisper in her ear and the dreadful grating in her throat that promised she'd love her way to an early grave. Reason was a morning she rose with her bones aching of a hard bed, yearning a little more for the rosy dawn and the cinnamon-tinted coffee and a soft brush for her hair than for him. 

Reason was a fight without resolution, how he sharpened under fear and she turned brittle from sacrifice. He gave up nothing, a bitter voice snaked between sleep and waking. 

But come morning, and his hair that smelt of camphor nuzzled against her bare skin, it vanished like mist. She remembered that first graze of his hand, deft fingers at the clasp of her necklace without so much as brushing the fine golden baby hair at the back of her neck. Careful, if she were never meant to be broken and moulded like clay, but preserved without malice, without caveats.

Beneath Vvardenfells falling rain she'd thought of him and shivered. If his malice felt so tender, what of his love?

That other love was but a blade twisting in her gut. 

By the fog-lamps wrought in Aldcroft, she remembered cobblestones and girlhood. Not wanting to leave them with the last word, she scribbled a reply: I'm alive. 

The doorbell chimed as he swept in, and pulled her close to dance.

I'm alive. 

*

There was a cornerclub in Blacklight, and the windows inched open as the ash began to settle, and the first flowers opened their tentative buds. The air was still thick with Red Mountain’s dying breath, but enchantments hung from the rafters and the square balconies. The Imperial officer who lived across the street had left, quiet as he’d come, when the banner at his door came tattered, its red like a smear of blood in the snow. 

“Morrowind is ours again.” The publican said, to the feeble sunrise. 

His lady wife lifted her head from the book or from her sewing or from wiping down the countertop, threading a new flower into the curtains, mixing a potion. The look in her eyes wavered from soft to chiding. Morrowind is yours, you mean. 

The publican wondered what it means for a land to be his own. He hadn’t much to call his own until her and the cornerclub; Vvardenfell hadn’t been his, welcoming him to her shadows, tempting him to plunder, but he’d wept for it as she had, as he would for a lover, for a child. 

Kings and Empires rose and fell with the tides. His business, the lot of his life, was between them. He saw Rootspire’s new Council Hall rise in grandeur, another noble House take its seat at the high table. 

Morrowind is ours, he said, but what he meant was he knew now what it meant to build a life on legs that stand. Ours, he said, and what he meant was his and hers, and theirs. Morrowind is ours, he said, but what he meant was he’d learnt to belong without having to flee, with nothing at his back but his own shadow and hers. 

He meant a fresh crop of young mer now haunted the cornerclub, growing strong and sturdy and slow to die, and they would remember how he met her. Tried to rob her, and she gave me a glove and a note for the trouble. And hear this, do you know who played the courier? 

He meant a quiet hope, a steely personhood buried in him like a seed had flowered, and dear gods, the vein-flooding pleasure of it. 

There were wrinkles around her eyes now, when she smiled. New lines around her mouth. Mine. A dusting of freckles by the season, darkening to spots of sun and age. Ours, his unlined face and her hand that caught calluses. One morning he found the old glove, wedged between a book and a lockbox on the top shelf. The lace had come undone, the beading scattered where he touched it, but it fit her just fine still.

“What I mean is,” he told her, lacing his palms with hers and blushing when she kissed it, thinking with his chest caving in that he’d bury her here, as all Ancestors were. “You’ve given me my homeland long ago.” 

*

There is a cornerclub in Blacklight, and flowers grow in potted plants at the doorstep. A revolving door of tired Councillors and bright-eyed adventurers keep a near constant vigil to that tale, two-hundred years old now. 

The babies she’d brought into this world are old enough to bear swords and children of their own. They water the flowers and pull out the weeds. The neighbors leave an ash yam by the shrine as they pass by, joking if she still preferred the eclairs he’d learnt to bake for her.

She wants to smile back, and say she does, she does, she wants to touch the fabric of their robe and the metal of their armor and ask them to love him when he’s alone.

A bard from the West picked it up for a laugh and plucked a tune and fashioned a tale of it. The beauty and the bandit. The healer and the barman. Maurrie and Nelos.

She’s but a tapestry woven of words and the faint whiff of her perfume between refurbished rooms. She’d died an old lady, her body slowing and thinning when lines had barely begun to web across his skin, she’d died as all men do, and her fingerbones rest quietly in ash. 

Death is a thin veil when he still looks to the side and smiles at where her poultice shelf sits, and he leaves a coat of dust there for hopes she’d come back only to wipe it clean. 

Blacklight knows spring again. She slips into the wind and dances through the chimes. Invisible fingers card through his hair as he sleeps. The warmth of his breath alone can bring her to life, breathe a body into her. 

Nelos pulls the blinds down The Lady’s Glove. 

“Hear the birds, Maurrie?” He asks. 

I do, she says, in a small, laughing shower of rain. I do.

[uesp]

"I have agreed to try and find the bandit Nelos Onmar, and to deliver the glove of this young Breton woman... I fear for her heart, for these outlaws care nothing for others, only for the booty they can obtain."

--Excerpt from the Nerevarine's Journal.

[karthika-perumal]

Coursera - Data Analysis and Interpretation Specialization

I have chosen Mars Craters for my research dataset! Research question: How Do Crater Size and Depth Influence Ejecta Morphology in Mars Crater Data?

Topic 2: How Do Crater Size and Depth Influence Ejecta Morphology and the Number of Ejecta Layers in Martian Impact Craters?

Abstract of the study:

Ejecta morphology offers a window into the impact processes and surface properties of planetary bodies. This study leverages a high-resolution Mars crater dataset comprising over 44,000 entries among 380k entries with classified ejecta morphologies, focusing on how crater diameter and depth influence ejecta type. Crater size and rim-to-floor depth are examined whether they serve as reliable predictors of ejecta morphology complexity. Using statistical methods, we assess the relationship between crater dimensions and the occurrence of specific ejecta morphologies and number of layers.

Research Papers Referred:

Nadine G. Barlow., "Martian impact crater ejecta morphologies as indicators of the distribution of subsurface volatiles"

R. H. Hoover1 , S. J. Robbins , N. E. Putzig, J. D. Riggs, and B. M. Hynek. "Insight Into Formation Processes of Layered Ejecta Craters onMars From Thermophysical Observations"

[thana-topsy]

Heyhey!

I know you give some NPCs of TES more love they deserve! In Morrowind there is this sweet 'couple' named Maurrie Aurmine and Nelos Onmar.

He robbed her but she fell in love with him and we even gave him a message from her. I was always sad you never heard anything from them again, is there a chance you could draw them reunite?? ;-;

Ahh yes, I remember running across them on my playthrough. I think I delivered her message to Nelos, too. To be honest thought, I'm not particularly inspired by them, and generally I don't take drawing requests for fear of opening an endless floodgate of things I don't really want to draw. I can rarely control the things that inspire me, including the random NPCs I get attached to... And as of right now, my brain is rotted by BG3, as it seems many a TES fan is afflicted by (with good reason).

But! I always encourage everyone to try their hand at these things. If you feel inspired by these two, why not try writing a short fic about them? :> You might surprise yourself. Speak your visions into existence. You certainly have the power to do so.

[insightmyanmarpodcast]

“I got to know meditation in Burma. It was simply through the fact that my stepfather met Sayagyi U Ba Khin in Germany, which led to our stay in Rangoon. We were supposed to be there six months, but I stayed more than 10 years! I was happy in Burma, and it changed my life, really." — Friedgard Lottermoser, Episode 283 Friedgard Lottermoser, later Daw Onmar Khin, was born in Germany in 1942 and moved to Rangoon in 1959 with her family. Immersing herself in Burmese language and culture, she studied under Sayagyi U Ba Khin, becoming a devoted Vipassanā meditation practitioner, while also earning a Master’s Degree in Pāḷi after enrolling in universities in Rangoon and Mandalay. Friedgard later played a vital role in introducing U Ba Khin’s teachings to the West, supporting the foreign teachers he appointed during the early spread of meditation in Europe in the 1970s and 1980s. Friedgard also supported the education and empowerment of Buddhist nuns, recognizing the importance of providing them with resources and opportunities for spiritual and intellectual growth. At the same time, she was a passionate advocate for democracy, freedom and justice for the Burmese people. Friedgard was also influenced by her extended time with two renowned monks, Webu Sayadaw and Maha Gandayone Sayadaw. Webu Sayadaw, famous for his emphasis on continuous mindfulness practice, profoundly influenced her meditation journey, encouraging austerity and unwavering dedication. Maha Gandayone Sayadaw, known for his strict monastic discipline and commitment to education, offered her unique insights into Buddhist philosophy. Friedgard gained rare access to study at his monastery in Amarapura, immersing herself in rigorous learning. But it was her time with Sayagyi U Ba Khin that was most impactful for her. Friedgard’s dedication to U Ba Khin’s teachings was unwavering and deeply personal. During her initial ten-day course at the International Meditation Centre, when she was just 17 years old, she displayed such rapid progress in Vipassana meditation that U Ba Khin encouraged her to extend her stay for additional, specialized instructions. http://dlvr.it/TKSMyh

[theropoda]

i keep forgetting that nels llendo and nelos onmar are two different people. they're too similar to me. at this point they're like twin brothers to me one just more sexually harassing than the other

[zuzusparrow]

vesel božič!:) kako ste kej praznoval doma?

vessl bozic (malo pozno) :)

Nismo glih. Dopoldne sm tla pucala u novi bajti, popoldne smo pa onmare selil. Sam mel smo bozicno vecerjo pa zjutri je tamal darilo odpru in to je to

[lifeworldless]

[wootusart]

Dr. Rathattan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . #drmanhattan #watchmen #rat #watchmencomic #jonosterman #ratart #ratstagram #rattus #ratartist #ratartwork #ratlover #onmars #aloneonmars #drmanhattanonmars #mars #landscapeart #marslandscape #superheroart #thinkingart #contemplative https://www.instagram.com/p/CgaJPMjqPHU/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[kdskeitaro]

Not mine, but this photos were taken during my last game of #OnMars Hopefully, I get to play lisboa soon https://www.instagram.com/p/CfQhmvyML-3/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ortanelli]

[ON MARS] 1 - 4 : joueur.se.s durée :  2 - 3h âge : 14+ Auteur.trice : Vital Lacerda Illustrateur.trice : Ian O’Toole Édition : Eagle-Gryphon Games Dans On Mars, on est plongé dans la conquête de la planète rouge ! Il faudra bâtir des usines et des mines pour récolter des ressources, mais aussi des habitats pour loger vos colons. Vous aurez aussi à charge d’explorer la surface de la planète grâce à votre rover pour récolter des ressources mais aussi de nouvelles technologies. Les mécaniques sont très bien huilées (c’est un Lacerda évidemment) et la prise en main assez rapide par rapport à la complexité des règles. Enfin, le matériel et l’artwork sont tous simplement splendide et nous plonge dans la thématique du début à la fin !  Les plus : * un matériel de qualité * une grande profondeur de jeu * des mécaniques qui s’imbriquent parfaitement les unes dans les autres. Les moins : * une mise en place un peu longue * des règles denses Mon avis : personnellement, j’adore ! Un jeu qui apporte beaucoup de satisfaction par son aspect planification, j’ai beaucoup aimé cette mécanique de navette qui permet d’aller de la planète à la station spatiale permettant d’accéder à différentes actions. #boardgames #boardgamesexperts #lacerda #onmars #boardgamesexperts https://www.instagram.com/p/CQdzVkFB_i6/?utm_medium=tumblr

[neseblodrecords]

NASAs Perseverance rover is about to start searching for life on Mars

[totallytabled]

Who else would spend an unreasonable amount of money if @eaglegryphon made a matching empty box to hold CO2 Second Chance? With Ian O'toole artwork, of course. Let's make it happen people! . . . #kanban #lisboa #co2 #onmars #vinhos #gallerist #escapeplan #games #gaming #gamer #boardgame #boardgames #boardgaming #tabletop #tabletopgaming #tabletopgames #bgg #boardgamegeek #boardgamesofinstagram #boardgamer #gamenight #geek #analoggames #tabled #totallytabled #play #playing #playinggames #instagamer #boardgameaddict (at Oregon , USA) https://www.instagram.com/p/CKrk5iEhAK-/?igshid=1nzibmiiiafgi