#Deceased Removal Service

[careremovals]

How Can Junk Removal Same Day Service Help in Cleaning the Environment?

Looking for junk removal same day service to keep your residential, office, or business premises clean and hygienic? Some well-known rubbish collection and removal services provide guaranteed timely waste clearance to avoid the build-up of trash that can be an ideal space for pests, encourage bacterial growth, and worsen environmental pollution.

They offer specialised deceased estate clean up services that guarantee the disposal of undesirable objects correctly while honouring the deceased's possessions. This ensures appropriate waste management procedures while assisting families in navigating the difficult emotional estate clearance process.

Advantages of Hiring Professional Rubbish Removal Service:

Expert rubbish removal services use effective waste management techniques, such as recycling, sorting, and safe disposal of rubbish that help to reduce waste in landfills and environmental pollution. It also helps in conserving recyclable materials and reduces wasting other useful resources.

Their dependable and convenient same-day junk collection services prevent unlawful rubbish disposal in unapproved locations such as public places, vacant lands, and water bodies. This keeps local neighbourhoods free from land pollution and maintains the hygiene of the area and its visual appearance.

How to Find a Recognised Waste and Deceased Clean-up Service Locally?

Property owners should find these recognised same-day junk removal and deceased clean-up services locally with positive reviews at market-compatible prices.

Ask for any references from friends, relatives, coworkers, or neighbours who have any experience with them and get their guidance to be aware of their transparency, service charges, and customer service.

Visit their websites to learn more about their services, email or contact them directly by call to get essential information and do not forget to compare them in the market among the same services available in the area.

Finally, contact them to get the appropriate service you require for your property cleaning or removing unwanted junk to maintain a cleaner, healthier environment for present and future generations.

Source

[executorofwillandestate]

Netflix is one of the world’s largest streaming services. In this blog, learn how to delete a Netflix account in just a few simple steps.

[lordprettyflackotara]

habits || bloody painter

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ tw: descriptions of gore, murder, abusive/toxic relationship, stalking, service dom!helen, borderline yandere helen, overstimulation, praise

Helen considered himself to be a poised and intelligent young man.

He had never considered himself lowly enough to crave romantic affairs, nevertheless develop a full fledge obsession.

He lived his life on a scheduled routine. The only variable he allowed to change was in which victim he selected. His creativity was shown through out his art pieces, he didn’t need tons and tons of action to keep him mentally satisfied. After all, he was an artist. A painter. One with methods society disapproved of, but a painter nevertheless. Helen considered himself to be content with life.

He came and went from the Trenderman mansion as he pleased. On Tuesday’s he spent quality time with The Puppeteer. What else could he possibly need?

That question became answered, once he saw you.

Helen hadn’t even meant to see you. Your neighbor had been his choice for his routine victim. Middle aged man with a habit of watching the neighborhood kids play in the street. One would normally find that endearing, but the contents Helen found in the mans household were not so much. Helen thought he had done a fine job, turning a scum of the earth pedophile into a work of art. He was spread like a starfish, pinned to the wall by his hands and feet with the handy kitchen knives. His chest of course was ripped open, the contents of his organs fallen onto the floor below. Helen's favorite part, the one he deemed to make this a masterpiece, was the removal of the mans genital's. Helen found it very appropriate to cut that off and staple it into the wall beside him.

As Helen admired his masterpiece, he couldn't help but overhear yelling coming from the direction of your house. Normally he would take this as his sign to leave. After all, his work here was done. But then he heard your voice. He was drawn to you like a sailor to a siren. Curiously he peered through the deceased mans curtains, looking over at your house. Your white curtains were closed, but he could make out the shadows of you arguing with a taller man. Helen wasn't a fan of domestic violence. He had witnessed all of that and more during his childhood stay at the psychiatric hospital. During that time he trained himself to stay neutral. To pretend what he was seeing didn't exist. But the pain in your voice intrigued him. Cautiously he slipped out of the mans house, dying for a closer look.

Using the shadows of the night to his advantage he slipped out of the neighbors backyard, hopping the fence. Helen creeped over to the window, peaking inside. That's when he saw you. Your face was red with anger, your eyes widened, and mouth running a thousand miles a minute as you argued with your presumed lover. Helen had never seen anyone like you. With your curves, feisty attitude, and bright eyes. You were something a man could only dream of. He felt himself frown at the sight of your oblivious and angry boyfriend, whose veins were popping out of his head from anger. Helen then made himself a vow, one he took very seriously. He was going to be your guardian angel, whether you knew it or not.

Helen didn't have obsessive tendencies. He had never spent his time stalking someone before. He didn't live at the Slenderman mansion, he wasn't sent on missions or anything absurd. He felt out of place as he studied you, becoming accustomed with your routine. You lived a simple and peaceful life, outside of your toxic relationship. Helen decided to study up on your lover as well, since he seemed to be such a massive issue. His name was Liam. Occupation: unemployed. If Helen had to take a guess he would assume that is why the two of you were arguing. Helen deemed Liam to be a useless slob. One that didn't do much of anything with his time, nevertheless tend to you and your needs. How you ended up with such a useless partner Helen could not figure out.

He enjoyed how modest you were. Your spare time was spent in libraries, curled up in the most secluded corner with a good book. You only ordered from small businesses, even if it meant going out of your way to attend them. All and all you were perfect. Helen thought of all the ways he’d introduce himself to you. Maybe he could run into you at the local book store. Or maybe he’d accidentally brush into you on the street. After all, Trenderman’s mansion was at least four states over from where he was wanted for being a serial killer. Showing his face in public was too much of a risk though, he feared. Especially with the cops now on high patrol in your neighborhood since the murder of your neighbor. If he could go back in time he wished he could’ve seen you first. He would’ve at least changed his victim to someone a few streets over.

The more Helen watched the more he noticed Liam’s violent tendencies. It all came to a screeching halt for Helen once he saw him put his hands on you. Now that. That did numbers on his mind. Who did he think he was? Stomping on such a delicate flower like yourself? If it wasn’t for the patrol car parked outside of your neighbors house he would’ve slit his throat and mutilated him for as long as possible. It took every ounce of self restraint he had to not interfere. The look of despair and sorrow you had written all over your face resonated with Helen more than he would’ve liked to admit. It stayed in his head rent free.

The next day Helen saw the bruises that littered your arms. It was in your character to modestly try to cover them. He expected that of you, even if he didn’t approve. What he hadn’t expected of you, was for your night life to become so social. You previously had proven yourself to be introverted and borderline antisocial. Yet, he watched you through your window as you put in earrings. You were dressed up more than he had ever seen. A tight dress and strappy heels clothed you, his mind going to rancid filth at the sight of your exposed thighs. So Helen did what he thought to be the best course of action: he followed you. This time however, he had different plans.

He planned to finally meet you.

He was surprised your location of choice was the local club, crowded with local college students and overbearingly loud with music. Even as you paced through the door he could sense how uncomfortable you were with the bass booming. Straightening out his collar he trailed behind you, the bouncer not glancing at him twice. He followed you through the never ending sea of swaying bodies, your hips ones that Helen would recognize anywhere. You approached the bar, sliding up on the bar stool like you had done this time and time again. Helen tried to appear casual as he sat beside you, the bartender approaching him. “Whiskey, neat please,” He ordered. You hadn’t glanced in his direction, your fingers aggressively typing against your phone screen. The overworked bar tender looked at you, your gaze not meeting his.

“Ma’am?”

Embarrassed you looked up, eyes widened. It then occurred to Helen why you chose the club. Subtracting the alcohol from the equation, your bruises were practically invisible strobe lights. “I’ll have a sex on the beach, sorry,” You gushed, face flushing with heat. Helen tried to avoid looking at you as to not seem obvious, but it was so hard not to. You were so darling, a ball of nervousness as you sat in a location you felt so out of place in. “Come here often?” Helen finally said, the words escaping his lips faster than he meant them to. Your eyes finally met his, soaking in his blue eyes. They were so striking, even in the inconsistent lighting. You awkwardly laughed, not having expected to indulge in a conversation with someone new. “Who? Me? Pfft, no. Absolutely not,” You rambled, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear. Helen didn’t fail to notice this, giving you a polite smile. “I don’t come here either. I’m Helen, lovely to meet you,” He greeted. He stuck out his hand for you to shake.

You flashed a small genuine smile, before shaking his hand. “Y/n. Nice to meet someone like me. Everyone here seems to know what they’re doing besides us,” You say, side eyeing a group doing body shots at the opposite end of the bar. The bartender set down both of your drinks, nodding before walking off to help another customer. “If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you in?” Helen pried. He sipped his drink, the firey liquid slithering its way down his throat. You slipped the little pink umbrella out of your glass, setting it aside on a napkin. “Just needed to get away from life, you know? I want to feel something absolutely liberating instead of the norm,” You say. Technically you were telling the truth, but you were smart enough to not spill your guts to a stranger. Helen liked that. He liked that you were smart enough to be cautious.

“How about you?” You asked, taking a large gulp of your fruity drink. Helen gave a slight chuckle. “Troubles at work. You know how that goes i’m sure,” He said. He was dancing along side you in the tango of word play. His occupation was untraditional surely, but the cop outside of your house was most certainly a thorn in his side. “Definitely. So do you live around here?” You asked, attempting to stir up conversation. You hadn’t expected to converse with anyone, nevertheless a handsome man. Helen was quick on his feet with an answer. After all, he had prepared conversation topics and answers for all of the different ways he could converse with you. “I’m new to the area actually. Been here about a month. You?” He replied slyly. You nervously pulled your short dress down before setting your drink on the counter. The obnoxious music seemed to be bothering you.

Helen had learned all of your nervous habits. Strike one was pulling down or picking at your clothing. “Dont freak out but I may live next to the murder house,” You replied. Helen raised an eyebrow, now curious. “Murder house?” He asked. Of course, you figured sharing something so frightful to the normal man would be safer rather than lying. Oh how bright you were. “Oh cmon i’m sure you’ve heard. It’s the most talk we’ve had in this town for ages. Creepy old Gary got torn apart by some serial killer,” You explained. Helen was intrigued by what you thought. If things were different he’d ask so much more. Maybe when he got to know you better he’d ask what you thought of his work. “Oh my. Sounds quite brutal,” Helen commented. You nodded, finishing off your drink. Huh. You seemed awfully desperate to get drunk. The bartender approached the two of you again, going to pour you another one.

“Oh no no just one please. Do you guys accept cash?” You rambled. You began digging in your clutch, searching for the crumbled up bills you had shoved in there. Helen knew this to be because of your lack of funds. He suspected Liam had some sort of control over your finances. “Put anything she wants on my tab please,” He intervened. Wide eyed you turned to Helen. “You didn’t have to do that,” You told him. He shrugged and sipped his drink, watching the bar tender deliver your drink before walking away. “The pleasures all mine. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be paying for her own drinks,” He said truthfully. Your blush may have not been visible because of the lighting, but you best believe Helen knew you were. You couldn't help but feel hopelessly attracted to him. Maybe it was desperation. Or maybe it was nice being treated with respect for once.

The clubs music switched to a different song, one with more bass. Helen noted you nervously glancing over your shoulder, staring at the DJ booth. Strike two was the way your eyes darted around when you were nervous. Helen decided distracting you might be the best course of action. “So, may I ask you on a proper date? What fun activities are there to do around here?” He asked. You became incredibly flustered, the sight definitely one for sore eyes. “There’s an art museum down the street. It’s the only gallery I haven’t seen in this town,” You suggested. Oh how little did you know that suggestion secured your fate and locked it in place. Helen then had mentally deemed you to be his perfect match. You both would make a delightful pair.

“Thats a splendid idea. Truthfully I adore the arts,” Helen answered. It was then you delivered the third strike, the biting of the inside of your cheek. Helen wasn’t quite sure what set you off, but the room was overstimulating to say the very least. “How about we take this party elsewhere? Your place perhaps?” Helen asked. He knew that wasn’t possible, but curiosity lingered about what your answer would be. “Oh um, no mine it’s very unorganized right now. What about yours?” You asked. You were now gnawing on the inside of your cheek. Oh dear, had you developed a new habit? “I have the most obnoxious roommate. Here, take my hand,” He proposed, setting a neat pile of bills on the counter. Your soft hand took his, the painter leading you through the crowds of people. Truthfully he was searching for more of a supply closet, something more secluded and private. But he supposed an unoccupied handicapped restroom would do. “I apologize for the lack of cleanliness that’s surrounds us, but your well being is more important,” Helen said, locking the door.

It wasn’t terribly filthy, but he much rather would’ve taken you somewhere nicer. “Helen I- I must be honest, I have-” You began. He knew where this was going. And if he was being truthful with himself he did not want to discuss Liam at your first meeting. So instead, he decided an alternative. “I apologize if this is a little too straight forward,” He said abruptly. Helen towered over you, cupping your cheeks before planting your lips against his. His lips were soft and warm, the faintest taste of whiskey still lingering. You melted into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. Stumbling you fell back against the wall, your head spinning. “You are so beautiful and you deserve to be treated as so. May I show you how beautiful you are?” He asked. You nodded profusely, watching him drop to his knees. His slender fingers pulled up your dress, revealing your lacey black panties. Helen couldn’t help but feel like you had worn them for him.

It only made his cock harder as he pushed them to the side. Your slick was already wet, your folds begging for attention. “This wet already? You poor thing, does no one tend to your needs?” He asked, a hint of taunting lacing his tone. You were desperate, the double meaning of his words flying over your head. “N-no, please, please touch me,” You whined. Who was Helen to deny you of that? He licked a stripe up your cunt, sending a shudder down your spine. You grabbed onto his jet black locs for support as his large hands settled onto your thighs. He lapped at your cunt like a starved man, devouring every drop of juice your body was producing. His eagerness to please you only made you wetter. Truthfully you couldn’t recall the last time Liam had ever done foreplay with you. Your moans were loud and shameless, the clubs music overpowering the sounds anyways. You grinded against his face, whining as you approached your high. His lips attached to your clit, sucking at the sensitive bud harshly. His ocean eyes watched your facial expressions intently.

You were like a divine art piece that came to life.

Helen kept your thighs apart as they trembled, his name falling off of your lips as you came on his face. Shamelessly he lapped all of the juices away, licking you until he deemed you clean. You went to drop to your knees to return the favor, Helen stopping you. “A lady such as yourself does not belong on this filthy floor. Where you do belong, is with my fingers buried in your cunt until I make you cum again,” He said. Your head was spinning as he picked you up, setting you on the sink. He nudged his way between your thighs, plunging two fingers into your eager cunt. “Oh my- fuck- holy shit,” You whined, tilting your head back. Helen curled his fingers inside of you, your gummy walls clinging to him. “Such a tight cunt, what a masterpiece,” He praised, licking his lips. He began to curl his fingers faster, placing sloppy and uncoordinated kisses onto your neck. “D-don’t leave marks,” You pleaded in between pants. Helen knew why, but agreed to your request.

“I would never mark such a beautiful masterpiece my love,” He agreed, his voice hoarse. He pulled down your dress, exposing your breast. He was pleased at your lack of a bra. With one hand he toyed with your nipple, the other abusing your g spot as it pleased. “Feels so good Helen, you make me feel so good,” You whimpered, pawing at his button up. You grabbed handfuls of the fabric, Helen more amused than anything else. How long had it been since someone had truly pleasured you? He concluded it must’ve been an entirety, based on the way he could feel your second orgasm coming. “Someone close again? Wanna make a mess on my fingers?” Helen asked, a sly grin dancing across his lips. You managed to meet his gaze, your mouth fallen open in the shape of an O. “So close, wanna cum for you,” You whined. Helen twisted your nipple painfully, triggering your second orgasm. You didn’t have time to process it, your vision going white as you creamed around his fingers.

Helen enjoyed watching you ride out your high, your body convulsing as you experienced euphoria. He removed his fingers from your cunt, licking them clean. “You taste divine my love,” He praised. You gave him a dazed smile, hopping off of the sink. Helen guided you to turn around, studying the mounds of your ass as he pulled your dress up to your waist. “Such a gorgeous body. Truly a walking goddess,” He mumbled, undoing his belt. It wasn’t long before you felt him rub his tip up and down your slick, earning desperate moans from you. You gripped the sink as he began to push inside of you. Your face told Helen everything. That truthfully Liam was no whereas big as him or as coordinated. That you had not had a good fuck in a longtime. Your body was the snitch to everything you were attempting to hide. Helen was quick to bottom out, your gummy walls clinging to him. “You’re so perfect,” He grunted, beginning to pick up the pace. Helen thrust were slow and powerful, each one hitting your g spot just right.

It was like he knew what your body needed, your sounds sinful and pure filth as he rammed into you. Your cunt told him everything he needed to know, the sound of his name falling off of your lips one he wanted to hear forever. He relentlessly snapped his hips into yours, your orgasm growing closer and closer as he fucked you. “I’m going to make you mine my love, my perfect masterpiece,” Helen huffed, his slender fingers digging into your hips. You babbled an agreement, your mind too far gone. Helen slithered one of his hands down to your clit, drawing fast circles. You stood upwards, your back colliding with his chest as you felt yourself coming closer to your final orgasm. “Thats it, cum for me. Make a mess on my cock,” He praised, his breath hot against your ear. His name rang off of the bathroom walls as you creamed on his shaft, your orgasm triggering his own. Helen was quick to pull out of you, bending you over and cumming on your ass.

He watched his white seed paint your skin, creating a beautiful work of art.

Your fate was sealed, you were to spend entirety as his canvas.

[emilystheories]

Aelin, Nesta, Bryce: the secret of the eight-pointed star.

My all time favourite SJM universe theory.

[Spoilers for ACOTAR, Throne of Glass, and Crescent City!]

In Empire of Storms, Aelin is seen wearing a Wyrdkey around her neck. Because of this, a temporary gate is opened inside of her, allowing Deanna to possess her body.

Within the Throne of Glass world, Deanna is a god.

When Aelin attends a religious service to honour Deanna and the other gods, it is noted that the High Priestess bears the marking of an eight-pointed star above her brow.

In the ACOTAR world, it has been widely speculated that the Cauldron - with its three magical legs - is also made from Wyrdkeys (thus creating a Wyrdgate). Items dipped into the Cauldron, such as the Dread Trove, also appear to take on similar properties to the Wyrdkeys.

When Nesta uses the Dread Trove items - just like Aelin and the Wyrdkey - a god-like being appears to possess Nesta.

Nesta also bore a tattoo of the eight-pointed star. The symbol of the gods.

Many believe that the fourth Dread Trove item is the Horn in the Crescent City world.

The Horn is embedded into Bryce's back. Just like the Wyrdkeys, it allows Bryce to open up doors to other worlds.

When the Horn was repaired... Bryce also gained the same marking of the eight-pointed star.

Thus, it appears that Wyrdkeys and the Dread Trove (including the Horn) allow gods, or higher beings, to possess the bodies of those wielding them.

However, unlike Aelin or Nesta, who can remove their access to these items, Bryce is stuck with the Horn permanently inked into her back.

In the final chapters of CC2, when Bryce reaches the Asteri palace, it is said that an eye opens within her soul, and "snarls."

This begs the question; is there someone inside Bryce as well...?

Interestingly, after the Horn was healed and Bryce is racing to save the humans, the Prime of the Wolves looks at Bryce and refers to her as a "wolf." As he says this, he points to his heart.

Similarly, when Bryce meets the Prime again in CC2, he once again refers to her as a "wolf" and taps his chest - his heart.

But, the Prime isn't referring to Bryce. He's referring to Danika.

Bryce's best friend, the wolf-shifter... the one who is always inside of Bryce's heart... literally.

Danika told Baxian that she was trying to find a way into a new world. But, she also knew that she was going to die before this could happen.

Perhaps it's then no coincidence that Danika inked the Horn on Bryce's back; creating a gate inside of Bryce - one that she could enter, even after death, should she need it.

Danika inked the Horn in the "language of universes" - Wyrdmarks.

In doing this, she spelt out the phrase "through love, all is possible." When Hypaxia asks Bryce about this very phrase on her back, Bryce explains the meaning: that she and Danika will never be parted.

Danika says the same thing herself; that even if Bryce cannot see her... she will always be there.

And, I don't think these are just pretty words. Because, through the Horn - a gate into Bryce's soul - Danika's own soul resides.

This explains how, after the Horn was healed, Bryce was able to the Drop.

The Drop is a descent into one's soul. When Bryce does the Drop, when she descends into her own soul... she found Danika there.

But, this raises an interesting question; can any deceased or otherworldly being enter Bryce through the Horn?

Or... is Danika someone important?

Given the theme of reincarnation within the SJM universe... it is possible that Danika was once a god, or a higher being, herself?

Well, the name Danika means "morning star." Or, otherwise known as Sirius.

In the Crescent City world, Sirius was the seventh (and long deceased) Asteri.

Sirius was known as the WOLF STAR.

Further, within various strains of mythology, Danika is known as the Goddess of Dusk.

...Danika's search for Dusk's Truth.

...The Horn, given to Bryce by Danika, is a beacon to Prythian. To the Dusk Court.

The Dusk Court (most likely situated on the Prison Island), with the same marking of the eight-pointed star.

The symbol of the Starborn fae.

The symbol of the Gods.

With SJM's next (multiverse?) series speculated to be called Twilight of the Gods...

Twilight being another word for dusk...

It's all coming together.

(And, as an additional headcanon - if this theory is true - I wonder if this is all leading up to Starfall - the migration of souls. That we will see Danika's soul leave her place inside of Bryce, and join the other souls in the sky - destined to be reborn once more).

[ramithetradfem]

My prolife stance

1. If the mothers live is in danger and the baby is not viable out of the womb

If the baby is not viable then if the mom dies then the baby will die too. However, if the baby is viable then the baby should be removed and the mother should be treated.

2. If the child would not survive birth due to extreme defects

There are many defects that cause immense pain or extreme struggle for a child. Such as if they can't breathe properly, can't eat, don't have normal brain function. In these cases it's understandable that a parent would not want their child to suffer.

3. Babies conceived from assault are physical evidence of the act.

Getting rid of them only makes the case harder to prove especially with minors. I believe the woman should put them up for adoption if they do not wish to keep them and if they abort then refer to point 8

4. I'm completely against gamete donation and surrogacy and IVF.

Too many cases have come up where people are getting with their own siblings because of gamete donation. Everyone should have the right to know where they came from and many of these places don't want to give up the information of the people that donated the gametes. If someone wants to know who their biological mother is, then they should be allowed to. And with IVF many babies are needlessly aborted because they want to create as many eggs as possible. There's no point in having all of your other babies die just to produce one. It would be better to adopt. As for surrogacy It's completely and utterly not for the child. They don't care about mother and child bonds or about infant trauma. You wouldn't separate a puppy from their mother at birth yet you would separate a human being from their mother at birth and no one sees the problem with this. That baby doesn't know the surrogate isn't their "mother" yet she is the one that they look for when they are born. She is the one that they want and to remove her from that is so cruel to that child.

5. People should be allowed to get sterilized if they want

If someone wants to get sterilized then they should be allowed to. Just as with any other surgery they need to sign whatever paperwork that they need to do to show that this is the decision that they make and they need to stand on that decision. Once a person is a legal adult in their country then they should be allowed to sterilize themselves if they want to. If they regret it then that's on them.

6. Infant adoption should only occur if there are no biological family members that can take them in.

Infants adoption is already traumatic especially when many of these parents take the babies away as soon as they're born in the hospital, these children need their family members and if it's possible to have them go with family it's better for them to do that. Let's not add the fact that many of these families who are looking for babies are extremely manipulative, especially during covid, when many of them were angry that mothers were actually able to provide for their children and thus kept their babies.

7. Birth control and protection should be accessible

Banning birth control would not help mothers keep their babies. We should focus less on trying to stop people from not having children and more on promoting and helping families, especially mothers from preconception to postpartum. If someone does not wish to have children then that's fine, they should be taking the proper steps to not create a baby.

8. Deceased babies should be treated with respect regardless of if their mothers wanted them or not

If in the end a child has to be aborted then that should be treated with respect. They are not medical waste. They are not science experiments. They are babies. They are human beings and should be respected as such. They deserve to be cremated and at least have a small service for them. If you can't do that, then at least give a moment of silence. Small cremation urns like in the photo, or maybe a memorial plaque with each baby's name that can be added. They were not just a clump of cells, they were another human being and if you're going to end their life, at least respect them.

“I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb. Before you were born I set you apart and appointed you as my prophet to the nations.” Jeremiah 1:5

[careremovals]

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A delicate and necessary service that helps with the humane treatment of a deceased loved one's possessions is deceased esteate cleaning. Professional support may be useful when a family is confronted with the difficult chore of liquidating an estate. Cleaning a deceased person's estate includes getting rid of stuff like clothes, furniture, appliances, and large objects while taking into account the sentimental significance of each item.

Let's Examine Some Additional Professional Clean Out Services

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Source

[head-post]

Storm Boris devastates Central Europe, death toll rises

Storm Boris caused widespread destruction in Central and Eastern Europe, killing at least 15 people. The storm swept across Romania, the Czech Republic, Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, southern Germany and parts of Austria, causing heavy rain, flooding and strong wind gusts.

Romania

In Galati county in eastern Romania, the hardest-hit region of the country, heavy rains caused widespread damage, affecting about 5,000 homes and leaving at least 25,000 people without electricity.

Romania’s emergency department confirmed the discovery of six bodies, including three elderly women and one man over the past two days.

Romanian President Klaus Iohannis deplored the situation, saying:

“We are again facing the effects of climate change, which are increasingly present on the European continent, with dramatic consequences.”

Rescue teams rescued hundreds of people in 19 areas of the country.

Czech Republic

In the Czech Republic, heavy rains fell for three consecutive days and flooding affected mainly northern parts of the country, leaving more than 50,000 homes without power.

Authorities reported one death, but said seven people in the country were missing, The Guardian reported.

The risk of flooding remains critical for rivers such as the Odra, Opava, Branna and Novohradka, especially in Jeseníky and Pardubice, Radio Prague International reported.

Although water levels in the upper reaches of the rivers are decreasing, the flood wave continues to travel downstream, threatening lower areas such as Uhretice and Chroustovice, the station added.

Austria

Austria has also been hit hard, with 24 villages in Lower Austria declared “disaster zones” and the death toll rising to three, the country’s vice-chancellor Werner Kogler told TV X.

“We have just received the terrible news of two more fatalities in Lower Austria,” he stated, expressing his “thoughts and deepest sympathy” for the relatives, families and friends of the deceased. He also added:

“The situation in the areas affected by the #Hochwasser (flood) remains very critical,” he warned, calling on the whole country to “follow the instructions of the emergency services on site.”

On Sunday, he said a firefighter had died battling flooding in Lower Austria after authorities declared the province surrounding the capital Vienna a disaster zone.

Chancellor Karl Nehammer noted on X:

“The Austrian Armed Forces are deployed in the storm-hit regions wherever help is needed.”

Rail services in the eastern part of the country were suspended and several metro lines in Vienna were closed due to the threat of the overflowing river Wien, APA news agency reported.

Poland

One person has drowned in Poland’s Kłodzko region, bringing the country’s death toll to five, Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk said.

He said on X:

“I have ordered the Minister of Finance to prepare funds for emergency aid and flood damage removal. The Minister for European Affairs will apply for European aid.”

He said he had asked the defence minister to “deploy additional forces to the threatened areas.” The Polish prime minister also added:

“After consultations with the relevant ministers and services, I have instructed to prepare a Council of Ministers resolution on the introduction of a state of natural disaster.”

According to The Guardian, around 1,600 people have been evacuated in Klodzko.

Because of all this, Warsaw is expected to declare a state of natural disaster, although it has not done so during previous difficulties such as the COVID-19 pandemic or major floods in 1997 and 2010, Polish Radio reported.

Hungary

In Budapest, officials have raised the forecast for water levels in the Danube River to rise to 8.5 metres (27.9 feet) in the second half of this week, nearing the record high of 8.91 metres recorded in 2013, The Guardian reported.

Zoltan Kovacs, the spokesperson for Prime Minister Viktor Orbán, said on X:

“Amphibious tracked vehicles are en route from Szentes to Pilismarot to support flood defense efforts. The Hungarian Defence Forces are playing a key role in the flood protection efforts, deploying various equipment. Nothing is more important than the safety of the Hungarian people.”

Slovakia

Concern has been mounting in the Slovakian capital of Bratislava, where authorities have been taking protective measures to contain the surging waters of the Danube. Police have extensively “warned the public about the danger” of walking along the river, a Bratislava Police spokesperson told CNN on Monday.

Extreme rainfall events are likely to become more frequent and intense as the planet warms, science shows.

An analysis of a 2021 heavy rainfall event in Europe, in which more than 200 people were killed, found human-caused climate change had increased the likelihood and intensity of these events in the region. The World Weather Attribution initiative — a group of scientists who study extreme weather and published the analysis — concluded “these changes will continue in a rapidly warming climate.”

Read more HERE

[dungeon-strugglers]

✨New item!✨ Antlers of the Deepwood Wondrous item, artifact (requires attunement)

These resplendent antlers gleam brilliantly with a golden light. To attune to the antlers, you must hold them to your head for 1 minute, upon which they will fuse to your skull. In order to remove the antlers the bearer must be dead. As an action you must attempt a contested Wisdom check with the spirit of the deceased bearer. The bearer makes this check with advantage, or it can choose to automatically fail. If you fail, you cannot attempt to remove the antlers again for 1 year. On a success, the antlers detach from the skull, revert to their dormant state, and the attunement ends.

As a bonus action, while attuned to the antlers, you can cause them to become incorporeal. While incorporeal, you still benefit from the antlers’ magical properties, but they are invisible and cannot be interacted with physically. They become corporeal if you fall unconscious or if you will them back with a bonus action.

The antlers only sport a single tine in their dormant state. As you grow in power, the antlers grow in size and gain additional tines.

Dormant. The antlers grant the following benefits in its dormant state:

You can speak, read, and write Sylvan.

You emanate an aura of serenity to the creatures of your domain. When a beast comes within 30 feet of you for the first time on a turn or starts its turn there, that creature must make a DC 13 Wisdom saving throw or be affected by the animal friendship spell.

You can use an action to cast one of the following spells from the antlers (save DC 13): animal messenger (4th level version), conjure animals (5th level version) or dominate beast (6th level version). Once a spell has been cast from the antlers, that spell can't be cast from them again until the next dawn.

You gain access to a demi-plane known as the Deepwood. This demi-plane spans 1 square mile populated by dense groves of trees, trickling streams and sunny meadows. Flitting throughout the realm are all manner of intelligent beasts and fey creatures. Within this demi-plane you are ruler and patron of all its inhabitants. You can converse with any plant, beast or fey creature here and they will treat you as their liege. You are provided all necessary sustenance in cornucopias of forest fruits, nuts, roots and leaf-cups of fresh spring water. A creature that completes a long rest in one of the many mossy burrows or sweet-grass meadows of the Deepwood removes 1 additional level of exhaustion. The denizens of the Deepwood can be hired for their services (martial, mercantile, artisanal, etc.) as you would pay for hirelings from a humanoid kingdom, but only the most loyal and trusted allies will follow you out of the realm. The heads of noble houses comprise your royal court and consult you on governance of the realm, as well as vie for influence and power of their own.

You can access this demi-plane by focusing on a Large or larger inanimate plant for 1 minute, upon which an arched doorway will appear. You can dismiss this doorway as a bonus action, otherwise it will disappear after 1 minute. The doorway is only visible to creatures you designate, to all others it is invisible. Within the Deepwood there are many doorways to fey realms and the material plane that emissaries and envoys use to traverse to the outside world. These portals are hidden with verdant forests as overly large rabbit holes, hollow logs or tree burls.

Awakened.  When the antlers reach an awakened state, they gain the following properties:

The saving throw DC for the magical effects and spells cast from the antlers increases to 15.

As an action you can touch a willing Large or smaller beast to imbue it with the blessing of the Deepwood. The beast’s Intelligence score becomes 10, unless it was higher, and it gains the ability to speak, read and write Common and Sylvan. Its maximum hit points becomes 10 x your proficiency bonus, unless it was higher. This beast is friendly to you and your companions and it will obey any verbal commands that you issue to it. You can communicate telepathically with the beast as long as you are on the same plane of existence. Beasts with this blessing usually develop a fondness for walking on their hind legs, wearing clothes or armor and using weapons or implements designed for humanoids. The beast’s anatomy shifts slightly to enable this behavior (hooves or paws develop the ability to grasp, but wings do not, for example). It becomes proficient with all armor, shields, simple weapons, and martial weapons, 2 skills and 1 saving throw of your choice, and it uses your proficiency bonus instead of its own. A beast cannot fly while wearing medium or heavy armor. When you bestow your blessing, you can choose a specialization from the following archetypes:

Emissary. The Emissary has expertise in Stealth and Survival. You can perceive through the Emissary's senses as long as you are on the same plane of existence. While perceiving through the Emissary's senses, you benefit from any special senses possessed by that creature, and you are blinded and deafened to your own surroundings. The Emissary can dash as a bonus action.

Herald. The Herald’s Charisma score becomes 10, unless it was higher, and it has expertise in Performance and proficiency with 1 instrument of your choice. While the Herald is within 60 feet of you, you have advantage on death saving throws and Persuasion checks as long as the Herald is not incapacitated.

Knight. The Knight can attack twice, instead of once, when it takes the Attack action on its turn using a weapon made for humanoids (not its natural weapons). Once per turn, when the Knight hits a creature with an attack, it can add your proficiency bonus to one damage roll.

Only one beast can receive this blessing at a time, if you bless a new beast, the previous one reverts to normal.

The glory and splendor of the Deepwood grows with you. The area of the demi-plane now spans 10 square miles. Once every 7 days, you can command a grand jubilee to be thrown in your honor. All of the inhabitants of the Deepwood will gather to host a splendid party, with raucous dancing, music, games and flattery. A creature that revels in the jubilee for at least 1 hour gains the effects of the freedom of movement spell for the next 24 hours.

Exalted. When the antlers reach an exalted state, they gain the following properties:

The saving throw DC for the magical effects and spells cast from the antlers increases to 17.

Add dominate monster to the list of spells that can be cast from the antlers.

The radius of your aura of serenity increases to 60 feet. Allied beasts within this radius have resistance to nonmagical damage.

The many thickets of the Deepwood throng with activity and the halls of your forest domain have reached the pinnacle of magnificence. The area of the demi-plane now spans 100 square miles. Reveling in a jubilee grants advantage to Constitution saving throws for 24 hours in addition to the prior benefits.

Long ago, in a fey realm, there was a clan of creatures both bestial and beautiful that desired sovereignty away from the ruling courts of the land. Their leader, a majestic archfey with an unusually lawful disposition, known as Dildarion Deepwood, dreamed of a place that they could call their own. An isolated pocket in the planar mélange began to form, born of this dream, and it shaped itself to their wishes.

Taking notice of this plot, another archfey by the name of Hagatha Bossomblossom decided to play a trick on Dildarion. She offered to aid him with his ambition and hide the realm as a safeguard against intrusion. Secretly woven into her magic was a curse upon Dildarion, obscuring his land and his people from him forever. As they migrated to their new home, Dildarion tried to follow, but he only succeeded in getting terribly lost. 

For many eons the people of the Deepwood awaited the arrival of their king, and over the years a splendid kingdom grew amongst the trees. The descendants of Dildarion’s disciples have long forgotten the true form of their liege, though they pass down the legend of a being with a crown of golden antlers that will lead them to greatness.

Rumor has it that Dildarion searched for a fortnight before succumbing to despair in some forgotten hollow. Wherever he may lay, atop his brow rests a fraction of his power and the key to the hidden realm of the Deepwood. Destroying the Antlers. The secret to destroying the antlers is known by the only remaining co-creator, Hagatha Bossomblossom. It is rumored that an archfey must claim the antlers for themself and will the Deepwood out of existence. As the demi-plane crumbles away to nothing, so shall the antlers. - 🖌🎨 Like our work? Consider supporting us on Patreon and gain access to the hi-resolution art for over 150 magic items, item cards and card packs, beautiful creature art and stat blocks and setting pdfs with narrative hooks and unique lore!🧙‍♂️

📜 Credit. Art and design by us: the Dungeon Strugglers. Please credit us if you repost elsewhere.

[red-velvet-0w0]

Hello from the hallowoods is really good at paralels between characters

the hfth brainrot is going strong and I need to take a bit to rant about how good all of the parralels between all of the characters are because oh my good mx wellman you truly outdid yourself on them

Riot-The Misters R&W-Moth: all three spent their entire time since the black rain in bunkers, only to be forced to leave

Riot-Clara-Moth: all three spent their time isolated in their respective safe houses with their families, only for something to go terribly wrong and them being forced to flee. They lose their parents, but after leaving all found a new mentor/father figure to teach them how to become strong enough to survive

Clara-Olivier: kinda obvious basicaly everybody references how clara is slowly becoming the new olivier and in the season 3 finale they make it even more clear by saying that blackletter didnt even remove olivier from the plan. also both dated riot

Walt-Bern: both were survivors in the woods but while walt used compassion and understanding, bern initialy refused to believe either diggory or olivier should be allowed to survive

Soloman-Irene: both were masters of the dark arts who attempted to reanimate the dead

The Resting Place crew-The Grand Crossroads crew: a group of a renagade devil, a powerful creature animated by the black rains, and a woman who takes her power from another indiscribably who acts as a lancer and supporter of the devil

The Countess-The Count: kinda obvious dont think I need to explain this one

Diggory-Cindy: connection to rizwana and dedication to stopping the end of the world

Diggory-Mort: deceased members of Rizwanas doomed expedition who in the end have to choose which one of them will die saving the world

Diggory-Creep: beings who have stolen the memories of Rizwanas expedition mixed with the black water

Friday-Penny: both have luck based powers that cause them to remain trapped and isolated being tormented for years

Nikignik-Ethel: both communicate stories through dreams, but LEM uses it to talk about herself and tell her own story, while Nik barely ever talks about it, especialy in season 1

Walt&Riot-Winona&Alena: young person with older mentor with a special sword

Ray-Gale-Bill: Moths 3 father figures, each of which take a different approach towards raising moth

Buck&Rick-Hector&Jonah: another pretty simple one

Jonah-Faceless King-Rat King: three kings of the end with three different perspectives on what that means for them

Marolmar-Nikignik-Xizikxiz: watch starcrossed gods please even if you have never watched a single episode of the show before I am begging you its so good

Al-Percy: the two ghosts, both only have one friend who can ever see them and carries their instrument around and a bad single parent

Ms Wicker-Indrid: both mothers who join the church of the hallowed name and have a chance to save their son from the spring service

Riot-Clementine: I really should not need to explain this one

I could go on for literal hours but literaly you can choose any two characters and their stories will parralel each other in some way and let you see something new/unique about how each handles their situation in contrast to the other.

If you have not watched HFTH please do so it is genuinely the best podcast if not the best story I have ever seen(or heard? its a podcast so im not sure what proper terminolodgy would be)

[scotianostra]

July 18th 1792 saw the death of John Paul Jones in Paris.

I covered the life of "The Father of the US Navy" in my post on his birth date a little over a fortnight ago so wont cover old ground, instead will go through his final days and his death, which many deemed to be mysterious, in Paris France.

As far as we know, John Paul Jones was in good health until 1770, when a severe fever sent him to bed for 16 days and left him ‘much reduced’. Nothing more is known of the character of this illness or its treatment. He was 23, serving in the West Indies and recovered. Except for two other unnamed illnesses and recurrent psychological highs and lows bordering on manic-depressive disorder, he seems to have been well for the next seven years.

In 1780, after many months at sea, he complained his eyes were so sore that he was almost blind, and for a time was so incapacitated that he gave up visiting friends on shore. His behaviour then was ‘Qweeg-like, suspicious and slightly dotty’, and though only 33, he felt like an old man. Three years later, during further service in the West Indies, a severe attack of ‘tropical fever’ caused him to travel to a Moravian sanatorium in Bethlehem, Palestine, for hydrotherapy, after which he recovered.

At the age of 41, Jones became ill during an overland trip in an open carriage from Hamburg to Copenhagen. From Copenhagen, he travelled to St. Petersburg through ice floes in a small open boat to take command of a Russian fleet, arriving exhausted, sick and depressed. The illness lingered on for months. Although its specific characteristics are unknown, it is believed to have involved the lungs; afterwards, he had a persistent hacking cough and ‘Grey visage

Shortly before his 45th birthday, Jones’ health declined rapidly. The nature of his final illness is described vividly in a letter written by a close friend, Col. Samuel Blackden, to Jones’ sister shortly after the naval hero’s death. In it, Blackden says of Jones:

" But for two months past he began to lose his appetite, grew yellow, and showed symptoms of jaundice. For this he took medical treatment and for a short time seemed to grow better. A few days before his death his legs began to swell, which proceeded upward to his body, so that for two days before his decease he could not button his waistcoat and had great difficulty in breathing ... [He] put off the making of his will until the afternoon of July 18, when he was prevailed upon to send for a notary and made his will. M. Beaupoil and myself witnessed it and left him sitting in a chair in his parlor. A few minutes after we retired he walked into his chamber and laid himself upon his face on the bedside, with his feet on the floor. The Queen’s physician, who was attending him, came soon after, and on entering the apartment found him in that position, and on trying to lift him up found that he had expired. His disorder had terminated in dropsy of the heart. His body was put into a leaden coffin [and submerged in alcohol] on the 20th, that, in case the United States, which he had so essentially served and with so much honor, should claim his remains they might be more easily removed "

One hundred and thirteen years later (in 1905), the remains of John Paul Jones were recovered and autopsied. According to L. Capitan and Victor Cornil, who performed the autopsy:

"The only organs which were injured were the kidneys As far as can be judged, by examination of the badly preserved viscera(which included the heart, aorta, liver, gallbladder and spleen but not the brain), we believe that the case in point is interstitial nephritis, with fibrous degeneracy of the glomeruli of Malpighi, which quite agrees with the symptoms observed during life. "

The autopsy goes on in some detail, I wont bore you with it but at the end of the day, the kidney failure/disease killed him, but there is no explanation of how it came about.

Jone's liver was normal, he wasn't the cliched stereotypical Scot, he abstained from spirits, his tipple was wine and it is said he drunk no more than three glasses,so alcohol was ruled out, as was lead poisoning, which would have come from the wine of the era. Cardiac arrhythmia or some other complication of uremia has been the conclusions. The first is a group of conditions that cause the heart to beat irregular, too slowly, or too quickly, the second occurs when your kidneys become damaged. The toxins, or bodily waste, that your kidneys normally send out in your urine end up in your bloodstream instead.

With regard to the question of the true ‘father’ of the United States Navy, no one person emerged as singularly worthy of the title in the aftermath of the American Revolution. Following the war, Jones left America embittered by a lack of recognition and served briefly as an officer in Catherine the Great’s imperial fleet before fleeing Russia over an apparently trumped up rape charge. Hopeful of securing another naval commission, he travelled to Paris where he died in 1792, lonely and forgotten. Because the American minister, Gouverneur Morris, refused to claim his body, a French official paid to have the corpse packed in straw and alcohol and sealed in a lead coffin for possible future transport to the United States.

If it wasn't for the foresight of this unknown French official the fate of John Paul Jones would have been unknown.

[stalkedbytrains]

Stone Face Sorrow

The mourners were all there, in their elaborately carved masks. Each carved face covering was unique to the person, to the family, to the emotion the wood conveyed for flesh. All of them showed sadness or regret or, in a few cases, sorrow.

All of them were draped head to toe in black, not a piece of skin showing, only masks, frozen in a single emotion. The procession started, passed the freshly dug grace, passed the coffin, passed the crying masks of a tall figure, passed the three smaller sad masked figures, the husband and the children of the deceased.

A processional of carved mourning faces moved passed the grieving family, offering flowers on the grave and hushed, muffled words of condolences. The masked family nodded their acceptance of the comforts but didn’t say anything, the masks conveying their emotions for them.

With the processional was almost done, only one person was left. There was no billow of breath rising from beneath the elegantly carved sorrow mask. Not a single indication that it breathed, or if it did, the breath was warm.

Empty, sad eyes of the mask looked over the small remains of the family and placed a small statuette on the coffin, before turning to leave. The footprints left behind in the semi-frozen mud were much deeper than the others of the processional.

The tall remaining figure, the husband of the deceased woman, looked at the statuette only to see the small representation of the Wailing Father.

That would mean…

The man quickly turned to see where the last person went, the one with the heavy Sorrow mask, but they were gone, off into the late evening mist that was rolling off the mountains.

He was nervous now, was it possibly they were just visited by The Sorrow?

He didn’t know, didn’t want to know.

With the processional, and the funeral over, the husband took his children out of the cemetery and back to the house.

Once inside, in private, the family could remove their masks and cloaks. They sat together in silence. The twins hugged the little one, a girl no older than four.

The father was just about to rise from his seat to fetch something. He was dimly aware that the girls needed to eat, but he wasn’t hungry. That was when they heard the loud footsteps on the front porch. Slow, heavy footsteps.

Then the door burst open revealing in the Sorrow masked figure, dressed all in black, with a cold, late winder wind blowing in behind it.

The figure stepped in, crossing the threshold with heavy, steady steps. Then with a black clad hand, reached back and closed the wooden door behind it before standing in silence.

In the absolute silence that radiated from the being’s presence the family could hear a quiet, raspy, labored breathing despite seeing no breath coming from it earlier.

The father moved, stood in front of his daughters and yelled, “We don’t want you here! We didn’t pray to the Wailing Father! Leave us in peace! Please!”

But the hollow eyes of the Sorrow weren’t directed at the father, or at the older girls, the twins with the dark hair, past them to the smallest girl, the four year old with the shock of bright blonde hair. The instant girl felt the attention on her she ran away from her father and sisters and into the back bedroom.

“Just leave us alone! We thank the Wailing Father for sending you in our hour of despair but we don’t need your services, please. My wife… my wife is dead. There’s nothing to be done. She drowned,” the father choked out.

Suddenly the younger girl was back, this time she was holding up a much too large mask of dark wood, painted red, with an angry snarl carved into it.

With the wooden barrier between herself and the masked Sorrow, she spoke up, “Will you find out who killed mommy?”

Sorrow descended, resting on knees that were hidden the large dark robe. With a voice like air escaping from a long sealed tomb it answered, “Yes.”

“Good,” the girl said. “I’m mad at them. Mommy was supposed to come home. We was gonna read the end of the Princesses story together. But now she can’t.”

Sorrow’s empty eyes stared back at Anger held up by the four year old. For a long moment there was silence.

The Sorrow stood up and exited the house with a slow but determined gait.

The next night was just as cold and windy as the night of the funeral, but today had a sleety, half frozen rain to add to it.

The tavern’s fireplaces were all roaring and the food was hot. All of the patrons were dressed in their warmest, their masks were often the woolen or knitted variety, politely hiding half their faces while leaving their mouths exposed as to better talk and drink.

Through his informal, dull, half-faded mask that showed off his cheeks and mouth and chin, the bartender surveyed the bar.

All of the masked faces turned when someone burst through the door. All of the people that were usually here were here, and everyone else was in the safety and warmth of their own houses. It was either an out-of-towner or bad news.

The new arrival threw off their clock, soaked with freezing rain and before the tavern stood a tall, red cheeked, auburn hair elf with pointed ears, high cheekbones, bright eyes and no mask.

After shaking out some of the water from their curly and graying hair, the elf took a seat at the bar.

“What do you want here bareface?’ the bartender asked unkindly.

They always started with the maskless insults before they moved into the racism.

But the elf was tired and having none of it. They reached into their pocket and produced a hand sized piece of metal. The second they slapped it on the table it glowed, white, and brilliant and outshone everything else in the tavern. After a second the light faded and the metal returned to being just a highly polished metal star.

The bartender’s attitude changed. “What can I offer you Lady Investigator?”

“Whiskey,” they said. “You may refer to me as Investigator Stalking Heron.”

“Start with what?” he asked nervously, adjusting his mask to sit correctly over his face.

“I heard Sorrow is in town. Has anyone in town died recently? Or anyone seen the Sorrow faced being?” they asked loudly.

Once again the silence filled the room like smoke, choking out the sound.

“I’ll take that oppressive silence as a yes. Any one seen The Sorrow? Anyone pray to the Wailing Father?” Heron asked.

They were only greeted with more silence.

“Do you want me to break out my mask? I’ll get it and conduct this investigation all proper like if that’s what you all want,” they threatened.

When the elf was met with only silence, the mysterious Investigator started to reach for their coat when the man slumped on the bar next to them drunkenly raised his head.

“It was me! My wife died three days ago. Drowned in that damn lake out back. My littlest prayed to the Wailing Father himself and he sent The Sorrow down on our heads. Maybe we’ll find out if a godsend can fight a lake.”

Heron sighed heavily. “I’m sorry,” they said with genuine sadness. “But if Sorrow is here, then I hate to tell you that your wife was murdered.”

The drunk and bereaved man broke out into a fresh round of sobs.

"I’m going to need a room somewhere,” Investigator Heron said. “I’ve got to solve a murder quickly before you’re burying someone else.”

“If they killed my wife,” the drunk shouted. “They’ll be lucky if there’s anything left to bury!”

“Alright Elijah, I know you’re grieving, but it’s time you went home,” the bartender told him.

The drunk was already asleep.

“Silah is dead, someone prays to your damn elven demon god, Sorrow is here, and now a barefaced elven Investigator here. How can it get any worse?” the bartender muttered as he looked at the passed out man on his bar.

“The barefaced elf is Inspector Heron,” they said with a menacing finger pointed at the bartender. “And as if your ignorance couldn’t show any further, the Wailing Father is one of the very few gods that exist in all six major pantheons. Now, if you’re done choking everyone with your extreme aura of stupidity. I need to get to the bottom of this, get to the murderer before Sorrow does. If I do, there’s a chance that Sorrow will back off. They usually stand down when the murderer is brought to justice. Otherwise it’s just a death sentence. And it’s only a matter of time.”

At that moment, outside the bar, the figure in the Sorrow mask stood silent into the rain, empty mask eyes fixed on the bank of the slowly defrosting lake.

It stood there for some time, just looking without eyes or perhaps waiting.

Elijah stumbled out of the bar, with the help of one of his neighbors. The light spilled out of the open doorway for just a moment, illuminating the Sorrow, but in the next moment it was gone.

The two men walked through the slush and frozen rain towards Elijah’s house, masks keeping out the worst of the rain.

Neither of them noticed the Sorrow outside the house down the small lane from the both of them. If Sorrow had eyes to read it held the posture of something reading the name sign posting on the outside of the house.

But the men were too drunk and too eager to be out of the weather to notice the dark figure lurking.

Back in the bar, Investigator Heron started questioning patrons. They held the shining star in their hand at all times, metal gently pricking into their hands, as they passed from patron to patron. The human’s masks and half masks made it difficult to tell if someone was lying to them, but that’s why they had the star.

Every time someone lied to them the star started to glow. It made it easier for them. Even though Heron was a master liar at one point in their life, mask or no mask. But it still didn’t change the fact that they were no investigator, not really. So they held on to the star all the tighter.

They discovered that the deceased Silah was in the bar the night she died. Her husband was at home with the children. Silah and some of the other wives met once a month in the tavern for some time away from their usual duties. The last one to see Silah alive was the barkeep since she stayed till the tavern closed. The innkeeper was rapidly moving up the list of Heron’s suspects. He was right behind the husband, because it was always the husband.

Heron moved to put on their own mask, the terrifying bird shaped mask all investigators wore, their head a bit too small for it, even with their hair. The long beak and dark wood made it the long and thin elf look even more avian.

They’d barely got it on when someone burst into the tavern looking terrifying.

“Sorrow! It’s here!” the frightened young man yelled. “It’s in the cemetery!”

Heron swore, not bothering to take off their mask, and ran out into the driving rains, barely taking time to put on their clock as they ran.

If Sorrow was in the cemetery, then there was a chance. A slim chance, that maybe Sorrow would be occupied with the body of Silah. Hopefully they’d get there before Sorrow left.

They spoke a quick word that rolled off their tongue and a bright little marsh light appeared before them, lighting their way through the darkness.

Sorrow was in the cemetery, seemingly looking at headstones. Black shrouded fingers traced lettering on gravestones. The figure stood for several moments surrounded by the dead, a bit of it was touching their gravestones as if absorbing their lives through the tiny little epitaphs that sum up entire existences in as few words as possible.

By the time the marsh light got to the cemetery, Sorrow was already gone.

Heron swore, their tongue flying other lilting syllables in elvish, cursing everything, mostly themselves.

There was a statue of the Wailing Father in the cemetery, for the dead center. A grief stricken father kneeling over all the graves in the cemetery. Permanent, unending anguish over his finely sculpted face.

“You’ve already figured it out haven’t you?” Heron asked the statue, dropping the mask in the mud. “I’m not even half the investigator you were. Not even close. I don’t even know if I should go after the bartender or the husband.” They sank to their knees, falling into the freezing mud. “I know I’ve said it before, but I’d give anything to trade places with you. You should be the investigator everyone knows and fears. I should be the one that’s… that’s… Why? You were always the good one, the better one. I was the fuck up. I never wanted your job, your name, but you’re gone. And I’m trying, I’m trying so hard to be a better person, to be you, but I’m not. I’m just still me, and I’m awful at it. Just… just come home? Please? I can’t do this without you.”

The elf with the assumed name Heron knelt in the half melted snow and mud and midnight night rain before the Wailing Father. They knew it was too late. Sorrow had their target and was probably on its way. And they didn’t even know where to begin.

The rain blurred away the tears as soon as they fell, but it didn’t wash away the cries of anguish and failure.

Heron was alone, cold, tired, and failing more than they succeeded. All of that barefaced, raw emotion was coming out as they mirrored the emotions set in stone before her.

The weather did not care. If the Wailing Father cared, he didn’t show it.

“We’re closed!” the tavern keep called as he heard the door open and shut behind heavy footsteps.

He turned around to repeat the phrase, but instead found himself face-to-face with a pale weeping mask of sadness and stone.

“Fuck!” he cried and fell backwards.

“Murderer,” whispered the voice from behind the mask like a stale breeze being let out of a cave.

“I did nothing!” he yelled as he reached beneath his bar for the short sword hidden there.

He held up the sword between himself and Sorrow. The being did not move, save for the masked face that followed him as he slipped out from behind the bar.

“I did nothing! Ya hear!” he yelled again.

Sorrow took a single step towards the tavern keeper but he slashed out with steel.

That rebounded. Bounced off whatever passed for flesh beneath the black shroud.

“Cursed, demon elven gods! I didn’t kill her!” he cried once more before attacking.

But the blows bounced off once again. This time Sorrow reached out and grabbed the blade in one hand and ripped it from the half masked man.

The man yelped as the other hand rose and knocked off his mask revealing all of the barkeep’s worn, terrified, scratched face. He had several scratches by his eyes, which were concealed by the mask he wore.

The touch of the frozen hand of Sorrow caused him to leap out of the way and over to the fire. Her grabbed the hot iron poker from the dying embers and brandished it like a sword.

Still Sorrow advanced slowly.

The tavern keeper lashed out with the glowing poker. It connected with Sorrow causing a dull thud.

Nothing seemed to even affect it till the hot poker caught the robes on fire, then it only warranted a brief look down.

Sorrow took another step forward. It continued advancing, unceasing.

Until the tavern keeper struck with the heavy iron rod, right in the mask of Sorrow.

Two blows in quick succession and Sorrow stopped moving. The stone mask cracked. Heavy cracks like scars spread across the mask.

The tavern keeper laughed and smashed the iron into the mask once more, deepening the cracks and wounds.

A dark, thick red substance started to pour from the mask and a sound like rocks groaning before being split under pressure escaped Sorrow.

Another attack came from the over confident tavern owner. He tried to strike the figure with the bleeding stone mask, but Sorrow’s hand intercepted his own.

The hand was heavy and strong and it squeezed and the small bones in the attacker’s hands snapped loudly.

Sorrow took the weapon from the man and threw it into the bar, shattering liquor bottles and catching it on fire.

“Oh shit,” he swore.

The blood was pouring out of the cracks in the mask. Sorrow reached up and removed the wounded mask, dropping it heavily on the ground, then removed the burning, smoldering clothing.

Before the tavern keeper stood an ethereal beauty.

An elf, naked, pale skin looking exactly like porcelain stone. But the stonework was so perfect, so smooth, it looked like flesh transmuted or, perhaps, silk made stone.

Slowly, with all the ease of chiseling stone, Sorrow’s face turned from one of neutral interest to one of abject rage.

The figure raised its hands and advanced upon the innkeeper.

Sorrow didn’t stop until the murderer’s face matched the Sorrowful expression on the mask it wore.

A little while later Sorrow knocked once on the door of the residence that once belonged to Silah.

The father was passed out in his bed. The twins were up in a moment, the little one rising a little slower.

Sorrow entered the cabin, shrouded in black with the sad, broken expression on the mask it wore.

“It is done,” wheezed the voice behind the mask.

It held out a hand towards the youngest girl.

She nodded solemnly and turned back into the bedroom.

A moment later the girl returned and placed a well worn, much loved stuffed bear into Sorrow’s waiting hand.

“Thank you,” the girl said. “Take care of him. His name is Bubbles and he needs lots of hugs.”

Sorrow’s hand disappeared with the bear back inside the robes, then it turned and left without another word.

Once outside Sorrow’s mask turned towards the smoldering tavern fire. Heron was watching, forlorn and sad. Another missed opportunity.

Sorrow stood in the dark, watching the light for some time until the rain had stopped.

Then, as dawn was breaking, moved on.

In a little network of roads beneath a great tree, in a small area that formed a little cave Sorrow built itself a little fire, hung up the cloak and mask beside it.

It sat down, orange flames dancing across the pale porcelain skin that was gently reflecting it back. Then, very carefully, like it was reaching for a holy object, Sorrow grabbed the stuffed bear. In the dim firelight Sorrow examined the bear, almost as if it was trying to remember the object’s significance.

After several seconds the stone lips parted and Sorrow said in a rough, cracked voice becoming a being of stone, “You need lots of hugs.”

Then gently embraced the bear like Sorrow was once a small child with an animal.

[todaysdocument]

Statement of John Crosley, Son of Former Slave Prince Crosley Who Served in the Continental Army

Record Group 15: Records of the Department of Veterans Affairs Series: Case Files of Pension and Bounty-Land Warrant Applications Based on Revolutionary War Service

I William Spencer of Lyme in the State of Connecticut aged 54 years on oath depose and say that I am a Grandson of Israel Spencer formerly of East Haddam deceased. My Grandfather was for many years a Justice of the Peace for the County of Middlesex as I have understood. At the time of his death his papers came into the hands of my father. Some years afterwards my father moved into the State of Mississipi and when he went away the most valuable of the old papers in his possession were handed on to me and the rest were destroyed. I have never been able to find among those that were left any record of marriages performed by my grandfather, and if there ever was any it was probably destroyed. I do not believe that there is anything of the kind now in existence. My father has died since his removal. I was acquainted with Prince Crosly before his death and also with his wife Caroline Crosley. Before his death they lived together as husband and wife and I have no doubt but that they were married by my grandfather as is represented by him. She has never been again married. Wm Spencer {State of Connecticut New London County} ss Lyme Sept 24 A.D. 1838 Personally appeared William Spencer signer of the foregoing deposition and before me made oath to the truth of his issue. And I further certify that the said deposant is personally known to me & that he is a credible witness. Richard E Selden Jr Justice of peace

[theworldofwars]

Published in the Crag & Canyon. February 19, 1916. Banff, Alberta

The first funeral ever witnessed in Banff with full military honours occurred last Sunday, when the remains of the late Private John Sterling Grindley, a member of the 103rd regiment, were conveyed to their last resting place in the Banff Cemetery.

Private Grindley was taken ill Feb. 5 with an attack of la grippe, and later removed to the Brett hospital where he could receive more careful attention. Thursday evening he was seized with heart failure and expired in a few minutes.

Deceased was a native of Scotland, aged 32 years and unmarried. He leaves a brother in Calgary, where he enlisted some months ago. He had only been in Banff a few weeks. All his male relatives are on the firing line.

The funeral was held at 2:30 Sunday afternoon from the Brett hospital to the Union church where Rev. A.D. Archibald, assisted by Rev. A.V. Grant, conducted the funeral services.

The cortege then reformed, headed by the ministers, then came the casket covered with floral wreaths on a carriage, the pall bearers, the firing party with rifles reversed and some 80 officers and men of the 103rd regiment.

At the cemetery the final obsequies were performed, the "Last Post" was sounded and three volleys fired over the grave.

[galvanized-square-steel]

Creator and Created!: an introduction to the mod and their OC.

Hello! And welcome to my lil RP blog! I have recently found myself with a muse for Regretevator and interest in the lore. Of course, this naturally means looking for people to RP with! So I feel it is only natural to give yall a bit of info both about myself and the muse.

Who is the mod?

Nicknames: Nae, Trash, Trashley, Trashie, and Trash Can.

Gender: Apagender(Lack of caring about gender)

Pronouns: Any!!

EXTRA INFO

I am still new to Regretevator as a series, so it is possible I may not be the best with all the info and lore.

I LOVE to talk headcanons and discuss RP plots. Part of the fun in RP is actually brainstorming!

I am a massive fan of angst and/or fluff in a RP, and I am very prone to traumatizing my OCs for the plot™.

I have anxiety and autism. I can typically redirect my overthinking towards thoughts about the game, OCs or lore stuff. However, this is not always the case, and as a result I may not always be able to handle whatever fears are bothering me in that moment.

My interests outside of Regretevator are art, music, cool rocks, Super Mario Bros, and Touhou.

OOC stuff will be marked as such!

DNI LIST FOR THIS BLOG

MAPs/Pedos

Pro-shippers

People who are racist, ableist, sexist, etc. Just people who are bigoted in general.

Minors can interact and RP, just please try not to be suggestive or flirty!

Info about the OC

Under the cut!

Full Name: Galvanized Square Steel.

Nickname: Gavin

Age: unknown, but clearly adult.

Pronouns: He/Any

Species: He's a metal person. Idk what to call them.

Occupation: Blacksmith/miner.

Home floor: his forge.

Height: 8 feet, 5 inches[2.6 meters, roughly]

Personality

Gavin is a fairly stoic person to those who first meet him. He doesn't outwardly express emotion in the ways people typically expect, as his facial expression and tone of voice do not change. Gavin is not even necessarily aware that he has emotions. If he does have any feelings that he cannot brush off or avoid acknowledging, he will likely bury himself in his work to avoid them.

He is also obsessed with the idea of productivity and efficiency. He wants to be as efficient as humanly possible with his work. This attitude also applies to his interactions, resulting in a fairly blunt manner of speaking. His bluntness is not an attempt to be rude, he simply views it as the most efficient manner of getting a message across. He will also not attempt to be actively unkind towards somebody, as he considers it to be a waste of everyone's time, including his own. However, if he notices something is wrong, he is the first to attempt to communicate it to you. [E.G. "Your stand is covered in rust. This may inhibit its mobility and the ease of insertion or removal. I offer rust-removal services at my forge if you wish to resolve this." Or "Your tools do not appear to be in optimal condition. I am eager to restore them to their original condition, if permitted."] He generally considers helping people to sort of "automatically" be productive, and thus works towards that goal whenever he can.

As a result of these two traits, he rarely socializes with people outside of work purposes. He near-exclusively communicates with people specifically for discussing commissions or making a sale.

Backstory

Gavin comes from a long line of metallic people who were also blacksmiths. Everyone in his family also refused to acknowledge their feelings, falsely believing their species to just not experience emotion. As a result, Gavin picked up on this, too.

Even in death, these people do not have funerals that we may typically expect. Rather, they believe in not letting anything go to waste, including the remains of the deceased. As a result, deceased loved ones are often melted down and smelted into something new(this can be smelting them into tools or smelting them into a new member of the species). This is considered to be a form of "rebirth" essentially, so they may still benefit their families and peers, even if they aren't around anymore.

It is unknown how Gavin specifically ended up on the Regretevator. However, it wouldn't be long before he found an empty floor to take residence in[likely one of the scrapped floors], eventually transforming it into his own foundry.

Now, he makes money by creating weapons, tools, cooking equipment, pretty much anything that he feels can assist people with their time on the elevator or in their personal lives.

Little fun facts

The working hours for Gavin's forge are between 8AM and 8PM from Monday to Saturday.

On Sundays, the forge is closed and he goes to gather materials from the mine floors(or collect scraps of broken elevators from the elevator shaft)

Gavin dislikes flood levels, as they cause his body to rust if he spends too much time in the water.

Surface level rust is harmless to Gavin, and often takes on a form that resembles body hair. However, if that rust starts to penetrate any deeper, it can affect his mobility or make him feel sick.

He "shaves" with an angle grinder.

He is fairly strong, partially because of the amount of activity his work requires, and partially because he is made of pure steel.

Since his body conducts heat, he often works metals with his bare hands. This leaves a side effect of his hands literally being glowing red-hot afterwards. He must quench them in liquid if he needs to make physical contact with something that could be burned by these temperatures.

Despite his name, Gavin enjoys metals in general, not just steel. However, his favorite is bismuth.

He also has respect for woodworking, "An axe without a wood is left with no handle, therefore it cannot be swung with significant force. An axe without metal is just a stick with no cutting edge, and cannot efficiently fell a tree."

Gavin finds concrete to be inefficient. He thinks it's brittle and you need large quantities of it to accomplish anything. You should have just smelted the stones or used them as an abrasive to sand down metal or wood.

Gavin doesn't know much about self-defense, however, it is not advised to punch him.

He bathes in molten rock[good way to kill germs]

Gavin does know how to braid! He typically does it when producing wires or steel cables(his hair is a steel cable btw). However, he can do it with hair too.

It sounds like pots and pans banging together when he runs/silly

Where are his parents? Smelted into the tools he uses in his forge(the anvil, his pickaxe for gathering material, etc). So they are technically still helping him.

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST: the Mod of this blog ships Gavin and Mannequin_Mark[let this man be happy please /silly]. A joke name for this ship is Galvanized Square Steel x Eco Friendly Wood Veneer. Their relationship isn't the healthiest at first due to their own problems affecting stuff, but they do work things out and eventually become fully healthy.

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST.... A PICTURE OF THE OC.

He is a man with dark Grey, metallic skin and brown eyes. He wears a soot-stained, brown apron, shorts(unseen under apron), and steel-toed boots. His hair is a rusted steel cable, braided and held together by a brass ring. He has a rust goatee, as well.[this rust is superficial and doesn't harm him].

[hisgrief]

CHARACTER SHEET — repost , do not reblog .

FULL NAME.  gary james turner.

NICKNAME.  gaz. 

PRONOUNS.  he/him.

SIZE.  6ft4.

AGE.  41.

ZODIAC.  aries sun. gemini rising. cancer moon.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES.  english.

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

HAIR.  naturally dark. usually cropped short. tends to curl once allowed to grow out. hairline beginning to recede. occasionally bleached.

EYES.   hazel green. expressive. hooded. prone to a thousand-yard stare. crinkle at their corners when he smiles. he's often described as having puppy-dog eyes.

BODY TYPE.  slim and lanky. broad in the shoulders and narrow in the hips. long limbs. large hands and feet. looks like a greyhound trapped in a human's body.

VOICE.   warm and kind. thickly accented. lowers when he's comforting someone. he has a particular tone when speaking to the animals in his life. example:

DOMINANT HAND.  ambidextrous.

POSTURE.  not the best. tends to slouch to make himself seem smaller and less intimidating.

SCARS.   so many. a couple are products of his upbringing, such as the cut through his left eyebrow and the lack of straightness to his nose. all the others were earned during the attack that killed his wife claire and turned him into a werewolf. he was torn to shreds and had a chunk of flesh removed from his right shoulder. most scar coverage focuses on his upper body, with his legs mostly undamaged. his back took the brunt of the attack, turning it into a mess of ugly scar tissue.

BIRTHMARKS.  covered in a smattering of moles across the entirety of his body. his favourites are the two on his right inner thigh, which he calls his 'vampire bite.'

MOST NOTABLE FEATURES.   his accent. his height. his tattoos. the thickness of his eyebrows and the warmth of his eyes. how quick he is to smile with his entire being. his loud, unrestrained belly laugh. SCENT.  cigarettes. whiskey. warm masculinity. light freshness. he tends to stick to lighter colognes and uses them sparingly due to his sensitivity to smell.

CHILDHOOD.

PLACE OF BIRTH.   preston, england, in the royal preston hospital.

HOMETOWN.   small mining town in lancashire, england, which he prefers not to name. he just says he's from lancashire.

SIBLINGS.  none.

PARENTS. his mother, angela turner, is alive and still lives in lancashire. his father, clive turner, is deceased.

ADULT LIFE.

OCCUPATION.   tattoo artist and owner of INK INK, NUDGE NUDGE.

CURRENT RESIDENCE.   verse dependent, but generally lives in the apartment above his tattoo shop, which is situated in LA.

CLOSE FRIENDS.   anyone and everyone who'll take him. he's particularly fond of frenchie, written by @gingerspiice.

FINANCIAL STATUS.   comfortably middle class. makes good money from INK INK, NUDGE NUDGE and operates an online store where he sells the carvings and furniture he makes.

DRIVER'S LICENSE.   yes, but he generally prefers to walk.

CRIMINAL RECORD.  clean. somehow. he avoids cops like the plague and tries not to get on their bad side. he has first-hand knowledge of what they're capable of.

VICES.   alcohol. cigarettes. marijuana.

SEX AND ROMANCE.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION.  bisexual.

PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE.   versatile.

TURN OFFS.   cruelty. bullies. overt aggression. people who lack passion. fun sponges.

TURN ONS.   a sense of humour. kindness to animals and the vulnerable. passion. hard workers. people who keep him on his toes but also help ground him.

LOVE LANGUAGE.   acts of service. physical touch.

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.  loyal. tendency to get swept up in the heat of a new romance. will adore his partner with every fibre of his being. romantic. chivalrous. will cook candle-lit dinners just for the hell of it. his partner's biggest fan and ally. a little inexperienced and naive due to spending almost all of his adult life in a monogamous relationship. will be slow to accept a new partner into his life due to the traumatic loss of his wife, but is well aware that she would want him to move on.

MISC.

CHARACTER'S THEME TUNE.   oceans of slumber - the banished heart.

HOBBIES TO PASS THE TIME.   sketching and drawing, wood-carving, camping trips, bushcraft, fishing, building and revitalising furniture, playing the acoustic guitar, playing the jaw harp and the harmonica, reading, coming up with bad dad jokes, cooking.

LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED.   right-brained.

SELF-CONFIDENCE LEVEL.   he'd consider it fairly high. he doesn't think he's the best-looking bloke, but he knows he makes up for that with his inherent charm. his confidence has however been pretty severely knocked in the aftermath of the attack.

[idiotwithanipad]

Outgoing 999 phone call from Button House- 20.07.26

*dial tone*

*dial tone*

Operator: Hello, ---- emergency services, which service do you require?

BH employee: Yes, hello?! We need an ambulance as quickly as possible please.

Operator: Address?

BH employee: Yes, that's- *classified* Button House

Operator: Thank you, it'll be around ten to fifteen minutes. I have to ask that you stay on the line and tell me what's happened.

BH employee: There's been an accident in one of our rooms. There's a girl upstairs, she's unresponsive, not breathing, no pulse.

Operator: Are you with her now?

BH employee: No but two of my colleagues are

Operator: Alright, you're going to have to go upstairs and hand the phone over to one of your colleagues so I can talk them through chest compressions and CPR, okay? Is the phone you're using a mobile or a landline?

BH employee: Cordless landline *painting/heavy footsteps heard*

Operator: Stay calm. Are you on your way up?

BH employee: Yeah- yeah, almost to the room... (Deranged crying heard)

Operator: Who's that?

BH employee: I think its the girl's mum, they came here together a week ago

(Another)BH employee: It's no good. No response-

Operator: Are you with her yet?

BH employee: Yeah, here- *hands phone to other employee*

Other BH employee: Hello?!

Operator: Hello, okay, stay calm and listen carefully, I'll talk you through chest compressions, put me on loud speaker and set the phone down beside you so you can use both hands, okay?

Other BH employee: Alright- *Phone hits the floor*

Operator: Okay, interlock your fingers on both hands and press them down in the middle of her chest and press down two inches, count to thirty and then do mouth to mouth

Other BH employee: Okay- *starts chest compressions*

Unidentified woman: Come on, Amy! Don't leave mummy!- *Unintelligible*

Operator: Miss, you need to stay calm, oka-

Unidentified woman: Don't tell me to calm down, you piece of *censored*!

Operator: Miss-?

Unidentified woman: JUST SEND SOMEONE OVER, YOU USELESS *Censored*!

*phone call proceeded for another nine and a half minutes. Chest compressions were unsuccessful. The woman heard crying in the phone call was later identitfied as the mother of the casualty, Ruth *Classified*. She was described as 'looking and sounding intoxicated'*

Paramedics: We're here, we're in!

Operator: Thank you, you've done so well, let the paramedics take care of the rest, okay, well done

Other BH employee: Alright- *panting*

Paramedics: Apply defibrillator- *unintelligible* stand, and- clear!

*beat*

Paramedics: Again. Clear! -

*beat*

BH employee: Come on, come on-

Other BH employee: Oh my god

*Phone seemingly either hung up abruptly or was damaged. Paramedics later confirmed that the handheld cordless landline had been accidentally crushed when one of the people in the room had accidentally stepped on it. Ruth *Classified* needed to be removed from the premises shortly after the unsuccessful resuscitation due to threats of violence and intoxication. She was taken along with the casualty, 19 year old Amy Olivia *Classified* to the --------- general hospital, but still remained deceased on arrival despite multiple resuscitation attempts. However, 48 year old Ruth *Classified* was later transfered to --------- police station and charged with aggravated battery for undisclosed reasons.