#Desert Homestead Outpost

[logi1974]

Desert Homestead Outpost (previously Kulala Wilderness Tented Camp) is located southeast of Sesriem in the Namib-Naukluft National Park. On the edge of the Namib, the oldest desert in the world, wildlife is fascinating in its adaptation to the harsh conditions. Sparse, yet thrilling to see, are Springbok, Oryx, Ostrich, bat-eared Fox, the rarely seen Aardwolf and many small fauna. Excursions to the incredible dunes of Sossusvlei are a must. As are guided walks and scenic nature drives.

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Das Desert Homestead Outpost (ehemals Kulala Wilderness Tented Camp) liegt südöstlich von Sesriem im Namib-Naukluft-Nationalpark. Am Rande der Namib, der ältesten Wüste der Welt, ist die Tierwelt in ihrer Anpassung an die rauen Bedingungen faszinierend. Spärlich, aber spannend zu sehen, sind Springböcke, Oryx, Strauße, Löffelhunde, der selten zu sehende Erdwolf und viele kleine Tiere. Ausflüge zu den unglaublichen Sossusvlei Dünen sind ein Muss. Ebenso wie geführte Wanderungen und malerische Naturfahrten.

[sharpen-your-hatchet]

What I feel; What I do; What I want || Wenclair fic - Chapter 1

Description: "Frankly, all her life, she has felt separation between what she feels, what she does, and what she actually wants. Being royalty means there's often little room for opinion and desire [...]; Enid wonders how it'll feel to have her ingrained sense of duty be pitted against her unshackled curiosity. "

Six months past her 19th birthday - Enid, princess of The Kingdom of Nevermore, is allowed the chance to travel and explore the world as she sees fit. Unfortunately, it comes with a little caveat... in the form of some unwelcome company for protection. Cue Wednesday Addams, the only knight deemed worthy, and who is now Enid's personal thorn in her side.

Can they work together despite their differences? Or maybe fate has an entirely different plan for them altogether...

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 3150

Click Here To Read On AO3 or read below!

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The Kingdom Of Nevermore. A proud nation that towers not only in size, but also in the scale of opportunity it offers those who live within it’s borders. It is a magnificent nation, both well governed yet free. Not only this, as Nevermore is also a sprawling landscape with plentiful forests, lakes, and deserts to support the livelihood of almost any race and species. Anyone is welcome – particularly those thrown from their lands by beasts and thieves, or have otherwise been outcast. It is a land of peace and prosperity; a place that anyone may call home.

Within Nevermore’s borders there are a variety of towns, cities, and outposts – all freely explorable to every citizen if they are brave enough, or can find some way to adapt themselves to the local climate!

Some of these homesteads are within the coldest depths of the darkest caves; others amongst the crashing waterfalls of the great lakes that feed every river within the land. One particularly hardy group even find themselves nestled within an expired volcano. It is a sight to see. Not only are there free citizens, but factions too: causes people may align themselves with for a greater purpose. Most are for good, and to make Nevermore stronger… but not all are quite so innocent, though this is best not dwelled on. Unfortunately, corruption and evil can leech into anywhere, and no kingdom can be perfect - but for most, Nevermore is a place to call home and feel safe.

Within the main central city there is a castle. It is a magnificent building that is surrounded by elegant gardens, that only adds to the beauty of its architecture. This castle is the ancestral home of the Nevermore Royal Family, and it is where they still reside to this day. Though there is government, the Royal Family does not rest on their laurels. They take great pride in participating in the growth and maintenance of their land. The current family consists of the queen, prince consort, a myriad of young princes, and their single daughter – Princess Enid.

Today is a special day for the Royal Family, and there is an excitable thrum throughout the castle. Hums and whispers; glances between staff… and it is all to do with the princess herself. The staff that tend the garden look upon her room – easily spotted from the large circular stain-glass window – and wonder when the princess will emerge…

Their wait will not be long. Princess Enid awakes with a summer song in her heart, pulled into the world of the waking from a slither of sunlight piercing the curtains of her study. With a slight twinge in her neck, she groans as she shakes herself awake. Asleep at her desk again, it would seem… With an ancient Nevermorian text acting as her pillow. She must rush to her bed quick before the servants find her like this again. With sleep in her eyes, she stumbles through the short hall connecting the private study to her bedroom, tugging off her slept-in day clothes, before slipping into the relaxing coldness of her bed.

They will never know. She will play the neck ache as a training accident. Genius.

As if on cue, a servant quietly enters the room, a fond but restrained smile on his lips. He carries a tray over to the bed, his smile widening as he catches the sparkle within Enid’s eyes. Placing the tray down on her lap, he steps back then and awaits her commentary.

Enid shuffles one of her plush animals before looking down. It is a decadent array of fruits, some meats, breads, and tea. Delicious no doubt – but excessive. “Quite the platter this morning.” She muses, quirking her brow as she looks amusedly to the servant.

“Ah yes...well, you will not experience such decadence out there in the wild,” He replies, his tone playful but warm. “The kitchen thought it well you have a good hearty meal for your big day.”

Enid takes some of the meat – a sliced ham of sorts – and places it upon some bread before taking a bite. It is savoury and frankly, to die for. She is thankful for the effort, even if she thinks it unnecessary. She must remember to thank the kitchen staff before it’s too late. She grins at the servant “It’s wonderful! Though, definitely too much.”

The servant dips his head, shrugging. “I tried to tell them.”

“Well, I shall tell them myself once I am dressed.”

“Of course. I shall leave you to run your morning, princess.”

The servant smiles and leaves promptly. Enid eats some more of her breakfast platter but finds the excited flutter in her stomach too much. She simply cannot fill up on food when her insides hold too much anticipation...For today is the day.

Today. Is. The. Day!!!

The day she gets her freedom.

It is in all the governing texts – Upon six months passing a princess or prince’s 19th year, they are granted the freedom to discover and explore the lands as they wish. A journey of discovery, or thereabouts. The truth of it is that this exploration is a catalyst. The Royal Family were historically outcasts themselves: werewolves, purged from their lands. Now that the times have changed and they no longer fend amongst the wilderness, a large life-changing journey is necessary to bring forth their ability to shift. It is something Enid has looked forward to tremendously. Not so much for her abilities, but moreso knowing there is so much knowledge, wisdom, and so many stories to be found within this great land of theirs. She can only study books so much before wanting to see the world herself…If her wolf decides to show, that is only an additional benefit.

And now, the date is finally upon her. It has been the longest six months of her life.

Enid scrambles from her bed, eager to start the day. Oh she cannot wait for midday to strike; to be finally leaving the castle walls via the quiet back passages, where she and her trusty steed may gallop into their new adventure. No grand displays, no crowds pouring at her feet for just a glimpse, just her and the endless possibilities of what she’ll discover. She will prove herself a scholar finally – a reporter of the wonders of the land. She’s going to write a compendium. Something both factual and mystical to make her readers crave more!

It’s so close. She can almost taste it.

Enid dances around her room. She hums a tune as she dresses and prepares herself. Her clothing is simple yet refined, paired with a light armour set – handmade by the royal armoury. It is a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Agile, yet strong. It is quite unlike her regular garb; less elegant, but certainly more practical. Her father will be pleased! Her mother less so… though she is not fond of this adventure regardless. Enid falters for a moment but lets the thought pass.

Glancing in the mirror, Enid feels a world away from the princess she has been for the last 19 years of her life. It is thrilling, captivating even! She feels like herself and yet not at all. How exciting.

Briefly, she returns to her study, scrambling to pack away all her precious stationary. Paper, ink, writing quills, pencil lead, and charcoal - she considers more, but all this alongside the few books she is bringing to read, there is little room for more lest she wishes to break her back with the weight. Prioritising is key… but how does one prioritise when all you have known is luxury? Enid scowls at her belongings. Everything is important, and yet somehow forgettable. She thinks it best she not doubt her decisions because there’s always a solution if she’s wrong!

(There isn’t the time for doubt, regardless.)

She traipses back into the main bedroom, having little else to do considering her small pack of essentials has been prepared since a week prior – and then double, tripled checked.

There is perhaps one thing missing, however.

Enid approaches her bed once more. She glances at the array of – perhaps excessive – plush animals. Comfort items… something she should likely not use any more, considering she is an adult, not to mention potentially a queen in the future. But she cannot help herself, for there is a childlike warmth that exists in her heart when those soft and familiar shapes cuddle against her during the dark and cold nights. No one will notice if a small one went along with her… She picks up one of them – a plush depiction of a unicorn – and tucks it amongst the other items within her packed bag.

Despite the land of Nevermore being full of mystical and magical beings, many believe the unicorn to be a myth. Enid intends to prove them wrong. Something so majestic and widely reported surely cannot be false.

At least, that’s what her gut tells her… She’ll find out, one way or another. It’ll make a great report for her compendium!

“Still sneaking around with your childhood toys?” Comes a soft, quiet voice, laughing slightly.

Enid jumps, having not noticed her father quietly sidle in whilst she had packed the unicorn away. She turns to him with a meek smile. Of course she had to get caught out. “Well…” She starts, a faux-innocent grin spreading across her cheeks. “I just need a companion, is all. Something to keep me safe.”

Her father looks at her fondly. He approaches and cups the back of her head as he leans to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “Oh, my Enid…” He sighs wistfully.

Her father’s hands are warm and feel like home. Despite her excitement, Enid feels the slight prick of tears, and she finds herself faltering once more… But it took too much to get here, and there is too much she has prepared for to even consider doubting her choice. She cannot consider any other possibility. Especially not now. Though perhaps a few tears for the sake of missing her Father is not a terrible thing.

“Going to miss me, hm?” She asks, distracting from her tears, and pulling her father into a hug. She presses her wet eyes into his shirt… hopefully he will not notice until he is gone.

“Of course… but this journey is important.”

“Exactly, even if mother almost put a stop to it.”

Her father lets out an indignant hum and pulls away. He looks Enid in the eye, and she feels a slight anxious twinge. She knows that grave look… Why did she have to say that? Ugh.

“Do not bring your mother into this.” Her father scolds. “She had her reasons… Fortunately, she eventually saw sense, but do not tempt fate, Enid.”

Enid nods, feeling suddenly bashful. She drops her father’s gaze. “Will mother be seeing me off?”

Her father turns quiet.

… Of course. She should have expected this.

If anything, it only solidifies her choice. She will likely not experience such freedom otherwise. She must take this chance and run with it. It does not stop the grumble of disappointment at knowing her mother’s less than warm reception, but she knows that within a few days it’ll be at the back of her mind, as she makes her way to greener pastures. Metaphorically speaking of course, as there is little pastures greener than the ones of the castle grounds. Emotionally greener pastures, perhaps, where she can escape the incessant need to be ‘good enough’ for her mother’s approval.

Frankly, all her life, she has felt separation between what she feels, what she does, and what she actually wants. Being royalty means there's often little room for opinion and desire – instead it is replaced with the wants of her parents instead, her mother specifically. Enid wonders how it'll feel to have her ingrained sense of duty be pitted against her unshackled curiosity. She hopes it will feel like a divine choosing of her own fate... And if not that, perhaps at least the weight on her shoulders to choose 'correctly' will err more in her favour, and her mother’s voice will not linger in her ear like a wicked siren song.

Sigh. She wishes her mother’s approval did not mean so much. It shouldn’t… and hopefully soon, it will mean almost nothing.

Enid takes in a deep breath. She must calm her own thoughts. She offers her father a half-hearted smile. “It’s okay. As long as you’re there.”

Her father’s expression warms. “Always,” He confirms, ruffling Enid’s hair slightly. “Now finish up getting ready, it isn’t long to go.”

Enid feels a smile tug back onto her lips, her energy and excitement revived. She nods and hugs her father again before he trundles out of the room, calling the servants to collect Enid’s things. As expected, a few servants enter moments later and collect Enid’s belongings before offering curt bows of their heads. Enid smiles in return, and wordlessly they disappear into the castle hallways. Efficient as always. The door shuts behind them and Enid is then left to her thoughts. Now her father is gone, they whir faster than ever, to the point she can hardly grasp them before another takes its place.

She is excited – that much has been established. Scared perhaps, too. Curious no doubt, and yet perhaps apprehensive at mingling with people who have only known her through paintings, books, and scrolls. It is a high pedestal to be on – that is, being a princess – and she can only hope people will cast aside their judgement of her bubbly, bright, curated exterior, and see that she is a person of substance with a lot to offer beyond her royal ties. People cannot be so shallow, surely?

Hm. She will find out soon enough.

Her eyes cast towards the clock above her dressing table. The time reads 11:30 – much later than she had expected! It really is nearly time!

Enid takes a breath, quickly taking a final scan of her beloved room before making her way out. With a pep in her step, Enid trails through the castle, greeting and smiling at every member of staff she can. She, of course, takes a quick detour to the kitchen to thank the cooks for her breakfast, before heading towards the stables around the back of the castle grounds. It is a short walk and she arrives ten minutes later to a small sending-off party, headed by her father who beams at her proudly. Enid feels her heart swell with happiness and she once again feels affirmed in this choice. She is so ready for this.

Enid goes to approach her horse – a beautiful white stallion named Sol – when her father gently guides her away for a private talk. He smiles at first, but it is empty and his expression soon pales, smile fading as it is replaced by what appears to be guilt. Enid’s stomach drops.

“Your mother and I talked.” He says stiffly.

Oh.

Enid replies with silence, staring up at him with a confused frown.

“She-… We think it would be best if you took a companion with you on your travels. To keep you safe.”

How convenient.

A companion? Seriously?! Six months of waiting, and training, and learning how to handle herself in the great wilderness… and she is now to take a companion!?! And to be dropped with this information right before her send off! Enid feels her face twitch, a stubborn scowl tugging at her eyebrows. This is unfair – more than unfair, this is an interruption of her birthright!

Perhaps the idea would’ve been loved by her had she been given the freedom to choose her travel partner – better yet, gotten to train with them… but no. Her “freedom” now suddenly hinges on the allowance of some likely brutish knight following her every move. The thought alone fills her with dread.

Enid’s mouth trembles as she tries to form words. How degrading it is that her mother disapproves of this journey and yet must dip her influential hand into it regardless. So much for freedom.

“Father-” Enid starts, only to be cut off harshly. She knows her Father’s pale heart cannot handle such a disagreement, and she can see his heart break as he asserts himself.

“No, Enid. I cannot let your mother – The queen – be disappointed. She is the ruler of us all, even me,” He sighs.

Enid grumbles. Frankly,it’s pointless to argue. “Who is it?”

Her father breathes out and calms himself. Expression brightening, he then places an encouraging hand on Enid’s shoulder before using it to spin her around. Her points with his free hand. “Her.”

… Her?

A...female knight?

At least, that’s what it appears to be. Knight’s armour and garb – though, unusually, a dark black as opposed to their usual royal blue – adorns the small frame of a woman who lurks in the shadow of the stables. Her neat uniform paired with her immaculately braided hair blends in with the dark wood, only really becoming visible when her head tilts upwards to show off the pale skin of her face. But it is not her skin nor her outfit that strikes Enid the most. It is her eyes. Intense, unwavering; a glare that sends a shiver down her spine. It is an inscrutable expression – one that has Enid wondering about this mystery knight. Despite being petite, she appears deadly regardless.

Enid feels herself struck. She simply cannot pull her gaze away.

Upon noticing their staring, the knight walks over with a stiff, but upright posture. She offers no greeting except the slight nod of her head. There’s no smile, barely even the twitch of her brow as she looks upon Enid. This is not a royal knight of which Enid is familiar… though considering the size of their forces, it is perhaps silly of her to think she would know them all.

“Enid,” Her father says with a hopeful tone. “This is Wednesday. She is a knight of a special calibre. She will be joining you for your journey.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Enid offers, holding her hand out. This turn of events is still most highly disappointing, but really she can only make the best of it. It isn’t as though she has much choice… in any case, this knight has certainly caught her attention. Maybe once the shock wears off she’ll feel differently.

But for now, Enid feels that maybe this won’t be the worst thing in the world.

Wednesday glares at her. She glances at Enid’s outstretched hand. “We’re leaving now.” Wednesday grunts, disregarding Enid and turning away. She heads back to the stables with a turn of her heel. Not an ounce of emotion seems to pass her.

Ah.

Enid suddenly feels she may have been very, very wrong.

[dankusner]

What Is Alex Jones Doing in This Tiny Far West Texas Town?

The bankrupt Infowars host is the latest colorful character to stake out a place in the desert outpost of Terlingua.

Alex Jones buys land in Terlingua

On the edge of Big Bend National Park, in the remote far West Texas town of approximately 150, Terlingua residents have coined a lot of sayings. There’s one about dating in the town:

“The odds are good, but the goods are odd.”

There’s one about the brand of eccentrics who choose to live there:

“Everyone in Terlingua is running from something,” said Stephanie Neckar, a local real estate agent.

Another resident recently told me: “We’re all here because we’re not all there.”

I was talking to these folks about a new interloper who ought to fit right in: the excitable alt-right radio host and conspiracy theorist Alex Jones.

Jones, along with his Austin-based company, Free Speech Systems, was ordered to pay $1.5 billion in damages to the families of the Sandy Hook shooting victims in 2022, after he promoted false conspiracy theories suggesting that the massacre was a hoax and that the deceased children were actually actors.

Shortly after that verdict, Jones and Free Speech Systems filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy.

“I’m officially out of money, personally,” Jones said in his Infowars podcast. “It’s all going to be filed. It’s all going to be public. And you will see that Alex Jones has almost no cash.”

Nevertheless, property records show that in June 2023, his wife, Erika Wulff Jones, purchased twenty acres—appraised at $20,000, according to property records—in Terlingua Ranch, a sparsely populated swath of desert north of town.

If Terlingua is offbeat, the ranch is even weirder.

It’s where David Kaczynski, brother of Ted Kaczynski—the Unabomber—retreated to connect with nature and escape the media throngs that wanted to know more about his infamous sibling.

And it’s where a woman named Judith Broughton kept her dead mother buried in a blue tarp beneath her kitchen floor while she collected the woman’s Social Security benefits.

Terlingua and the ranch have also long been places of refuge.

As Texas Monthly writer at large Robert Draper wrote in 1996, “Terlingua is the state’s last outpost for outcasts, for those maligned American loners who fashion their own crude American dream in the anonymity of the desert.”

A Terlingua resident, who owns land neighboring the plot Wulff Jones bought, spoke with me on the condition that I withhold his name.

(Terlingua is an intimate hamlet, he noted, and “anything I say is going to piss off half of the community.”)

He told me that Terlingua was the first place he’d ever felt a sense of belonging.

“And I’m not the strangest person in town,” he said, “only maybe the third strangest.”

Terlingua residents first took notice of Jones and his wife last year, when they were seen on a couple of occasions dining at High Sierra, one of the few watering holes in the area.

“I heard that he partied pretty hard,” said Neckar, who also expressed some surprise that the Joneses bought property where they did.

“That’s a weird piece of land to buy,” Neckar said. “There’s no development [paved roads, electricity, sewage]; there’s some homesteads; it’s rough as heck.”

Erika Wulff Jones’s real estate agent, Kate Keenan, declined to be interviewed on the purchase.

Jones’s neighbors could attest to the land’s rawness.

Inhabitants of the ranch get their electricity from a solar system and water via catchment.

The unnamed neighbor first encountered the Joneses in February of this year, when they showed up in a “big, black, brand-new Suburban-type thing,” he said, adding that Jones was personable, while his wife seemed “very nice.”

“Would I have chosen Alex Jones as my neighbor if I had a choice?” the neighbor said. “No. But that said, we have a very diverse community here.”

As the neighbor described it, Terlingua is deeply divided as far as politics are concerned—a division that was spawned during the COVID-19 pandemic.

(In the November 2020 election, Donald Trump secured 53 percent of the vote in the precinct where Terlingua lies, while Joe Biden scored 45 percent; in 2016, the divide between Trump and Hillary Clinton was a more narrow 48 percent to 46 percent, though the number of voters also increased in 2020.)

“Before the great divide of COVID, we all were very functional together,” he said. “Now we’re working on bridging those gaps.” Referring to Jones, he said, “Half the community is going to love him. It doesn’t happen to be my half of the community.”

Rhonda Haberer, the owner of Tin Valley Retro Rentals, a private campground that offers both primitive camping and “glamping,” belongs to that other half.

“I would love to have him for a neighbor,” Haberer said of Jones. “He might make a landing strip for future alien[s].”

Jones has been known to promote theories around extraterrestrial life, and he has claimed the U.S. government is communicating with space aliens with the help of psychedelic drugs.

“We have many, many people, including extreme liberals, that believe in aliens out here,” Haberer added.

Jones gave his neighbor no indication of what he intended to do with the land, and neither Jones nor Wulff Jones responded to requests for an interview.

“He didn’t even know where his property was,” his neighbor said. “I had to go show him.”

Jones isn’t the first to purchase land in the region without comprehending where, exactly, it is.

In recent years, Terlingua has experienced rapid development, particularly since the pandemic, which has caused property prices to skyrocket.

Living in the Texas desert is not for the faint of heart, and it’s still too early in Jones’s tenure to say whether he can abide by its terms.

His neighbor told me another saying about Terlingua: “You’re either a good neighbor, or you won’t be a neighbor for very long.”

[leiascully]

Fic:  Endeavours Too Short Of Desires

4500 words | Teen | moody atmospheric vignettes from season 6 and a hike in the woods that never was

A/N: This isn’t new.  I just wanted a tumblr copy.  It is, as ever, for @dilkirani

I.

"Nothing ever happens," Mulder wakes himself saying, jerking back from the depths of sleep.

Scully's face is a stern half-moon in the driver's seat.

"Hmm?" she says, eyes on the road.

"Dreaming," he says rather pathetically, hauling one shoulder up.

"About your love life?"

"Hah," he says. She smirks to herself. Every now and then he remembers she is someone's little sister.

A semi oozes past, its bulk as eerie as the lanternfish Mulder saw in a photo, the small lights set to tantalize with false promises of goodness within. The rental car hurls them through the night, back to the hotel, after the long day of pounding on the doors of innocent farmers. The air conditioner has the same hushed burble as his aquarium filter. The night is clear enough to swim in. If he rolled down the window, the dark would spill in and flood the car. He spins out a story in his half-awake mind: he and Scully, in their rented (though stolen would have more glamour) subaquatic transport are speeding towards the last outpost of civilization to confront the crooked Merpolice. He finds he is holding his breath and abandons the narrative. More apt to be pioneers. The thought of Scully's face hidden behind a ruffled bonnet is too entertaining to pass up.

"Think the Homestead Act is still in effect?" he asked.

Her mouth crimped. "This isn't a Conestoga, Mulder, and you're not a country boy. You'd starve without a deli."

"You hunt, I gather. What do you say, partner?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"After seven years, you expect me to be suddenly amenable to your lunatic schemes?" She makes a smooth stop at a deserted crossroads and sets the car in motion again.

"But you were so good with those pigs," he wheedles.

"Only you would want to settle down by actually settling," she says, putting the turn signal on though there isn't another car on the road. She pulls into the parking lot and noses the car into a slot, equidistant from the cars on either side. He hovers as she unlocks her door and slips in.

"Night, Mulder," she says, tipping her head against the frame.

"Night," he says as she pushes the door to and slides home the bolts. He lays awake in his mirror room, arm cocked over his head so that the back of his hand rests against the wall, trying to feel her heartbeat through the dark.

II.

What the hell are they doing?

There was a time his days had purpose, but now he finds himself floundering. A day's work? A life's work? A fine romance, a deadly drama, a comedy of errors? Scully is no waifish Ophelia, but there are days he fears they'll all end up dead due to the miching mallechos set off by his own determination. At least piles of manure aren't as likely to kill them as most of his demons.

He remembers when he met her, the cool firmness of her handshake and the bad cut of her suit. She is leaner now. Honed is the word he would use: it suits the way they scrape against each other. She has the clean compact lines of his Sig and he reaches for her the same way in a crisis. She isn't pretty. The word isn't in her vocabulary, with all the frou-frou softness it implies. If he can say she is beautiful, it is the beauty of the scalpel's edge. He feels softer by the day, his hand always half-extended to her. There are weekends he orders two coffees just because he forgets she isn't there. He drinks the second and buzzes for hours, having learned to tolerate cream in his coffee rather than face the shades his brain creates.

He dreams about picket fences and Scully with a fond palm cupped over the head of a blond boy. He wakes in a sweat. She deserves more. Not just someone who calls to say, "Hey, I found a musty old file, want to get takeout and give up your weekend?" She merits someone who calls to say instead "I was thinking of you" and leaves it at that. She deserves to be the sign and the signifier. He still loves the hunt, too, with a modern man's shame over the thrill of the chase. Dress it in a suit, give it a pistol, and call the hunt a puzzle or a profile or a case, but she's right: he gets off on it. She rides with him, but it doesn't take her to the same place. Bad motels, bad food, his everloving need to track the villain to his last hideout. Or maybe she does feel the call of it these days: he's guilty about that too. What has he made of her, this serious woman whose family hardly recognizes her? The two of them in coordinating blacks, him stooping along in the shadows with her ramrod-straight and stern beside him.

Who would she be if she weren't his Scully? How many hours of laughter has he stolen from her? How many years of ease? He feels the weight of his debts as an ache when he runs, a tug between his shoulders when he drives.

III.

So she isn't pretty (too severe, too pale of skin and sharp of chin) and she rubs him, god, the wrong way entirely with her pointed insistence on the rational. There are days lately that they just prickle at each other until the air is so charged he isn't sure one of them won't take a swing. He gets smug and she gets arch and he wants to remind her of Scully-that-was with the bad suits and the naivete, but the quips dry up when he looks at Scully-that-is, who might just shoot him to shut him up, her eyebrow cocking almost audibly as a pistol. It was easier when they were upstairs, Moose and Squirrel against the Badinovs. Now they've won and they're back in their weird seclusion, and he spends all day trying not to think about things. Diana and Spender and the enormous scar on Scully's stomach and a normal life and that's just for starters. Scully nags at him: he should be thinking of his knees, his cholesterol, his prostate, his geriatric future chasing phantoms, and he almost blushes under her cool stare as she dissects him and gets irritable about that.

"You want to be the one saying I told you so for once?" he snaps. "I'm sure when I'm dead you'll find a reason." She doesn't rise to the bait, just purses her lips and turns away, and he spends a couple of hours coming up with a good retort for her to have said. "Sooner rather than later" or "I've already seen you naked, I understand the situation" or a reminder of how it's her logic that turns him into something the world doesn't shun. But none of them measures up to her eloquent silence and the fact that she's still here (god, the miracle and the thorn in his side) and it makes him crankier and crankier until he has to go to the vending machine and buy a candy bar to drop on her desk. She raises an eyebrow and splits it with him, both of them with sticky fingertips and dense mouthfuls of nougat and peanut. She swallows with an effort, taps her lower lip with one finger. He licks exaggeratedly at his mouth and tastes caramel. She nearly smiles.

There are some days they're so in sync it's as if they're sharing a skin. He never thinks of it until later, when he turns and she's not there. But they haven't either of them been there, lately. In the bullpen, he can't even stare surreptitiously sideways at her profile.

They talk on the phone in the evenings, too accustomed for self-consciousness. He doesn't remember how many times he's heard her fall asleep, even in the middle of some hushed dispute. He thinks of her, limbs askirl in the comforter, wearing those shapeless pajamas. He wants to ease her out of them, put her in his oldest, softest t-shirt, watch her curl around him as she dreams. Hell, he'll let her drool on his chest if that's what it takes to see her unlimber that prickly standalone self-assurance. She must have been a girl once, laughing with those blue eyes, listening to rough-voiced men croon about how they needed her to need them. He likes to think that he could stop running long enough to spend the morning reading snippets of news stories to her.

IV.

He stares at the phone on the table. It lies there, implacable. He sighs, picks it up, and hits the button.

"Scully."

"Scully, it's me."

"Mulder," she says with a touch of reproval, "it's Friday night."

"It only feels that way because it gets dark early," he says, glancing at the dusky mirror of his window.

"Mulder," she sighs.

"Yeah," he says, and almost hangs up.

"And?" she prompts.

"There's a haunted wood in West Virginia that's very scenic this time of year," he says.

"Haunted?"

"The hotel has a hot tub," he says. "And the hike up to the site is gorgeous."

There is a long moment of silence. He hums The Eagles under his breath.

"Pick me up in half an hour," she says and hangs up.

They spin out the long miles between haunted places together in a silence he likes to call comfortable. He has been a connoisseur of silences since Samantha disappeared: his mother's, Phoebe's, Diana's. Scully's are sometimes cool or pointed but never cruel. The evening dims into early night. He wants to hear stories of her childhood, wants to relate the play-by-play of sandlot games from the days when Samantha was there, pigtails bouncing against her shoulders as she scrambled for a foul ball and held up the game. Instead he tunes the radio to NPR and feels Scully slouch next to him, relaxing into a concert of Bach's sonatas. She props one stocking-sheathed foot on the glove box.

"You like Bach, Mulder?"

"I live for Bach," he says easily. She flashes him a look and he quirks his mouth in a doesn't-matter smile. Those are times he doesn't like to think about, when they were separated, when he abandoned her without looking back and she came anyway to save him from his follies. Dana Scully, Our Lady of Second Chances. He'd lay flowers at her feet, but she doesn't suffer reverence well, the deflection of affection almost automatic between them. Not all wisdom has benefits, he thinks: too wise to woo, they are stuck in the stasis of longing and denial.

The stairs to the basement still smell like smoke when he goes to salvage his files, and his car still smells like Diana's perfume, however he tries to air it out. Betrayal has an acrid bite in his nose. Scully's hands are ashy as they sort through burned fragments of manila; he is aware that he does not deserve her.

West Virginia will not solve any of this, but he is longing for the old earnest purity of the supernatural after the months and months of bureaucracy. After the indignity of being dragged out of their basement. After the wedge Diana has put between them, after his new disillusionment, after his near-drowning. A nice trip to the woods, one that won't end in some ancient hollow filled with bones or the two of them dehydrated beyond recognition. It is tending toward autumn in the mountains, and he has hope again.

V.

She's seen him naked before with those doctor eyes, one self-inflicted health concern after another. He frets that when the day of glory comes she won't see him as anything but a collection of troubles bundled in a too-familiar skin. Where's the mystery of undressing each other when they know all the scars? Where's the room for shadows and secrets and discovery?

All these dreams of yielding, but in the light, they brace their feet and bicker, an endlessly rehearsed debate.

They get in too late for the woods, just collapse in their separate rustic rooms. She yawns through breakfast, but he plies her with coffee and drags her up the mountain.

"What am I looking for?" she asks, her feet clompy in her boots. She has brought a pack with food and water and a good pocketknife. He has a compass in his pocket and a pamphlet in his bag about the local hauntings.

"Any sign of haints, spectres, manifestations, you know."

"Projectile vomiting?" she asks wryly, and pushes up the sleeves of her fleecy pullover.

"Breakfast wasn't that bad, Scully. Now get ghost huntin'."

"Mulder, is this an apology?"

He stretches his legs and outpaces her, scrambling up outcroppings just because he can. The ghostly copse is bright and sunny, the leaves just edged with crimson and yellow.

"Look at that, Scully," he says, putting out his arms and spinning. "Have you ever seen a place more positively haunted?"

She laughs, unpredictably. They eat apples and spit out the seeds. She chose the apples from a bowl in the dining room; he doesn't recognize the names of the varieties when she says them. He thinks, briefly, that he should give it all up and they could grow apples instead. In the evening they sit by a fireplace and the owner of the inn tells them all the ghost stories. Mulder takes notes. Scully stares dreamily into the flames. They slip into the hot tub under the stars, Scully in a very functional one piece, her towel close at hand against the chill in the air. They seem to be the only guests at the lodge. He swats at a lonely mosquito. Scully peers up at the sky.

"You know," Mulder nudges her toes in the water, "if we went up there now, maybe we'd catch Old Smoky in the act of spooking deer."

She regards him, her eyes half-lidded through the steam. "Mulder, was there even a ghost here?"

"There's always a ghost," he says.

On Monday, they don't talk about it.

VI.

Sometimes he sees himself as she must see him, on bad days. Hulking, crowding Mulder, deranged Mulder, screeching inanity even the Gunmen would discount out of hand. Broody, sulky, disturbed Mulder, who hasn't had a date or even a bedroom in years, who has more than once held a gun on her. Same old same old, dragging her across the nation's pale and seedy underbelly for the sake of an anonymous newspaper clipping or a breathless phonecall.

"Why do you trust these whackos?" she asks once, point blank Scully bluntness. "Mulder, are you just aching to have faith in someone?"

He bristles, ignoring the opportunity to be sweet. "They're not whackos. They're truthseekers."

"They're attention seekers." She is already turning away.

"Please don't undervalue my work," he says stiffly, stirred into adolescent sudden outrage so that his elbows jab at the fabric of his suit and his ears feel too large, awkward, hearing sly whispers. "However little you may respect these people and their struggles to confront the paranormal aspects, things that people like you say shouldn't exist, they deserve at least the justice of being listened to. This is my life, Scully. I'm not apologizing."

Her shoulders tilt. "It's become my life."

He punches the buttons on the radio until he finds a classic rock station and taps the steering wheel, trying not to turn around or beg forgiveness. Maybe he'll miss the exit, just drive until they find her magical normal-normal suburb so that she could trot up some manicured walkway to a boring husband and two point five adopted children, since he'd taken the chance of her own from her. Picket fences, Irish setter, parade of heart attack victims and plain vanilla old folks splayed across her morgue table. Maybe that would suit her, he thinks, as they grind into the parking lot. He feels guilty later and turns his plate so she can steal his fries, but she is looking out the window.

The informant is an unqualified whacko.

VII.

She is asleep, her breath a rhythmic fog on the window. Her hair has drifted across her face like autumn coming on. He can see the pulse in her neck. The compact loveliness of her startles him: pulse, respiration, the flicker of muscle as she shifts. She is so solid: the brace of arm from wrist to shoulder as she sights along her gun, the stance of her when they argue. Her skin in the moonlight looks bluish, the milky color of old marbles. She had been almost heavy in his arms, that time in Antarctica, as he'd struggled to clothe her in the meager layers of down and Goretex. The two of them in the clothes he'd worn, sharing his warmth, sharing his skin. As he'd lifted her, he'd caught his own scent on her neck. Her damp skin, bare inside his parka. The two of them breathing in the defiance of the fathomless cold.

And now this, after the whacko. Each of them lost in particular frustrated solitude inside the cocoon of the rental car. The sussuration of tires on the highway. The clear air of the desert so unlike DC, with its concrete memories of swampiness. Go west, young man, he thinks as the car spins northeast back to the cluster of lights where their hotel hunches around a rock garden. Go west and grow up with your country. That made three times this year he'd dragged her along, restless in the bullpen, craving the nocturnal thrill of exchanged information. Cloak and dagger, he would say, thinking of spy movies. Like taking a woman's number in a dark bar, Scully would say, Mulder, what were you thinking?

VIII.

He shows up on her doorstep at Halloween, painted corpse grey with false stitches inked over the real scars. "Trick or treat," he rumbles, and she steps aside.

"You know Frankenstein was the doctor, Mulder."

"Didn't your mother ever warn you about things that go bump in the night?" he says over his shoulder on the way to the candy bowl, but she ducks past him and rations out three bite-size bars into his palm. "No apples? No granola? Why, Doctor Scully, what wicked indulgence. You're letting these kids live it up."

She half-shrugs, her shoulder cantilevered by the crook of the opposite eyebrow. Scully at equilibrium. "Any remnant of true ritual has been superceded by the commercialized sugar high, Mulder. The offering's only a gesture at the amalgamation of centuries of superstition and pagan belief."

"And yet," he murmurs, "think of the dental bills."

Her mouth quirks. In her line of work, he supposes, they appreciate distinctive dentition. "Not my watch. Plus, I like my windows unegged."

They watch bad monster movies on tv, punctuated by commercials and insistent variations on ghouls, heroes, and cartoon princesses. She rambles on about Samhain and Egyptian ritual and the bourgeois dilution of tradition until he unwraps a candy bar and pushes it between her lips. Not that he doesn't love to hear her talk, especially about fertility and death and holy holies and the human tendency to enjoy having the hell scared out of them, but it's Plan Nine From Outer Space and this is the good part.

She swallows, licks her lips, waits for commercial, worries a bit of peanut from between her back teeth. "I was you with all that Samhain stuff, you know. I don't think they sell Flowbees anymore, but I thought about stealing your awful ties."

"You may talk the talk, Scully, but you'll never encompass the Mulder mystique." She grimaces at him. "You're too short and too functional."

She brushes her knuckles against his knee and pretends it's an accident. "Happy Halloween, Mulder."

"Happy Halloween, Scully." He thinks his heart is growing three sizes larger, wrong season or not.

IX.

She pushes his hair back from his injured brow with a remarkable tenderness for a diagnostic. He touches the small of her back in possessive deference. They do not speak of this. It is a language of bodies, all fingertips and shoulders and the comfortable bump of knees under tables that are too small.

He steals her keys at Christmas out of hope.

They are often at odds. He knows she is seeing Diana around corners. The consummation goes on devoutly wished and entirely unconsummated; they are both restless with only their own skins around them. He is still hearing Padgett's voice on a loop (the lurid whisper, the revelation she didn't flinch from, so how could it be true except that she is not the swooning type), still seeing Ed Jerse's all-American face and blistered arm. The precedent of her lovers depresses him, but then, she's not tall, dark, and top-heavy. Tastes change.

He worries that he loves her by association. He worries that she tolerates him simply because she's used to him. In the daylight, in the office, their lives feel so ordinary. Two hired guns for the FBI, overeducated, underpaid, no scope at all for the kind of epic love he wants to believe they could share someday when they get around to saying it. When they find a safe space. "Son," says the bottom of the whiskey bottle some nights, "you're delusional."

He wants to believe.

"All right," she says at Christmas, exasperated, "I'm afraid. But it's an irrational fear." Scully tough as textbooks, always reaching for the quantifiable and the explicable. Love they can't riddle away so they ignore it, mired together in their apprehension, except for shining moments like Christmas morning, months ago. He knows this fear is rational, this fear of this, of them, as real and rational as his fear of Them, the consortiums, the shadow-men. She is not afraid, he thinks. She is not afraid of anything. She has confronted her demons and emerged cool and whole. But they push each other away.

He can't decide what he wants. Only her, to have and to hold away. She is exactly right and exactly wrong and there are days he wants to claim her and days he wants to put half the world between them for one reason or another. Mostly he just wants to go on like this, idle days in the basement. Funny. He can't remember when he stopped trying to keep her at arm's length. She was the spy sent in from the cold. Now she holds the earth steady as they boxstep around the space between them, though she sidles up almost under his arm now and then.

X.

An ordinary stakeout, undercover work for someone else, placating the powers that be. They are in a restaurant. He has his arm slung over her shoulders, for verisimilitude, he tells himself. She doesn't quite lean into his side and toys with her drink: tonic with a twist. He murmurs nothings about the news, about some new article he read on acupuncture for abductees. She tips her head up and peers over his chin to give him the skeptical glare.

"Mulder, why do I think you have an appointment for tomorrow morning with this acupuncturist?"

"Hey," he says, "I'm not an abductee. But if you want to go...."

She starts to turn away, gives him the one-eyed fisheye. He is startled by the depth of blue of her eyes in the dim. Just as he starts to worry he's stirred up too much of the aching past, she shifts her hip against his.

"I'm packing," she reminds him. Her lips pucker in that amused way that makes him think of a perfect plum he ate on a summer beach, half-stolen out of a joint packed lunch as Samantha picked the crusts off her sandwich.

"Come on, Scully," he prods teasingly. "Maybe if you clear your chi, the crazies will quit following you around."

"I sincerely doubt it," she says, and for a moment, her head touches his shoulder. "Isn't that what we're here for tonight?"

Let's ditch it, he wants to say. You and me and a pizza and some beers, what do you say? Forget this Bureau shit. Dinner and a movie.

But she's already scanning the room again over the rim of her tonic, though she's still settled against him. He sighs and picks up a cold fry, leftover from what used to be lunch - they wouldn't let the waitress clear the table. Skinner spooked her pretty good too, Mulder thinks, wondering if he can flag the girl down for a piece of pie. But she's pinballing her way across the far edge of her section, avoiding them.

"You know it's Shark Week on the Discovery Channel?" he says experimentally.

"Should have led with the Mystery Science Theatre marathon," Scully counters.

"Scully!" he says, charmed.

"I get the TV Guide too, Mulder." She flashes a quick grin. "Better than skin mags."

"Research." He cranes his head. "Is that Grubeck?"

"Or his twin," Scully says grimly. Mulder lifts the arm from her shoulders and waves at Grubeck, who makes his way slowly to them.

"What's going on?" Scully says. "Is the surveillance over?"

"Dincha hear? Team shagged 'im block from here four hours ago." Grubeck squints at them. "Finito."

Mulder feels his eyes tighten with anger. Deliberately forgotten, left in this restaurant. For himself he minds less, but Scully doesn't deserve it. Grubeck shifts from one pudgy foot to the other.

"Well," says Scully dryly. "Looks like there is such a thing as a free lunch. Or at least an expensed lunch." She drains her tonic and touches his arm.

It was easier to be alone, but the rough joy she raises in him is a better armor than misery. He stands tall, towering over Grubeck, and ghosts along behind Scully as she strides out of the place, his fingertips grazing her spine. It is one of those DC end-of-summer evenings: the air is thick and gold as honey, so that breathing is a slow effort. Scully's idea of civvies is a tank top and a filmy skirt that looks as if she inherited it from Melissa: Mulder admires the bronzy glaze of sunset on her collarbones. She stops abruptly at a corner and props her hands on her hips.

"I feel like smacking the crap out of something," she announces. "Let's go to the batting cages."

He loops his arms around her when they get there, reminding her how to hold the bat; they both pretend she's forgotten. The nape of her neck smells like a picnic. He tries not to breathe her in too noisily. She plants her shoulders against his chest and crows when they connect. Later, tired of the machine, he lobs easy underhanded pitches for her and teases her for the wiggle of her hips as she sets up to swing.

"Technique," she insists, and slaps one back at him so hard and fast he has to dodge.

XI.

That night, like every night, he can't believe he doesn't say it.

[politicalmamaduck]

The Last Shot

A Smuggler Ben Solo/Dark Side Rey arranged marriage fic for @the-reylo-void. Many thanks to @lariren-shadow for her inspiration and betaing, @rapturousaurora for betaing, @cosetteskywalker for the above moodboards, @aionimica for her drawing of Rey in her wedding dress, @roselinathart for her drawing of the wedding, and @lenuca for her chapter moodboards!

Read it on AO3 here, and listen to the playlist here!

Chapter Fifteen: Tatooine | Chapter Fourteen: The First Mission | Chapter Thirteen: Goodbye to Naboo | Chapter Twelve: The Wedding Night | Chapter Eleven: The Aftermath | Chapter Ten: The Wedding | Chapter Nine: Naboo | Chapter Eight: The Time in Between | Chapter Seven: The Negotiations | Chapter Six: The Duel | Chapter Five: The Discovery | Chapter Four: The Bargain | Chapter Three: The Bounty | Chapter Two: The Meeting | Chapter One: The Treaty

Tatooine was every bit as dusty and dirty as Jakku, although there was no Graveyard of Ships or Niima Outpost for scavengers to exploit and be exploited. Rather, the seedy cantinas and podraces dominated the local economy, primarily trafficking in Twi’lek women and illicit drugs rather than scavenged ship parts. Although those had their place, too, and were why she and Ben were there at all. The junk dealers on Tatooine offered the best price for old scraps that few would admit they wanted--and didn’t ask twice about who was funding the parts buyers.

Rey was relieved that the Knights would be joining her after she and Ben left. There was no doubt in her mind that they would have ravaged every cantina and casino on behalf of the slaves, particularly in honor of Oona. Her hands were clenched beneath her cape, itching to pick a fight with some of the odious, despicable beings who hid behind their wares. Now was not the time, however. The time would come for the Knights of Ren to exact retribution.

Ben’s family were legends here; his grandfather was a child prodigy in the podraces, his uncle a living testament to the planet’s potential, and his mother Leia the Huttslayer revered in secret, for the Hutts had regained control of the planet after the crime syndicates destroyed each other in turf wars. The Sand People still roamed the deserts, though they avoided a particular homestead that once served as a moisture farm; ghosts were said to walk there, ghosts that could tell the future and the past.

It was with all of this in mind and as their backdrop that they were to meet a parts dealer in one of the slightly more reputable cantinas in Mos Eisley. The Falcon was always temperamental, and Captain Solo wanted to expand his own crew and fleet of ships. Ben and Rey discussed parts and inventory as they settled in, waiting for Ben’s contact to arrive.

The drinks were nothing like what they enjoyed on Naboo, but Rey was grateful for the refreshment served and the smoky bite that only Corellian whiskey could provide. She and Ben sipped their whiskey, looking for all intents and purposes a normal, loving couple casually having a drink.

They were anything but, however, and the air crackled with uncertainty. A sandstorm was rumored, and patrons seemed on edge due to the shifting winds. Their words bit and stung like the sand and what lay hidden beneath; card games were becoming aggressive, drinks were sloshing, and Ben had a distinctly bad feeling about the whole thing. The parts dealer was fifteen minutes late; Ben resisted the urge to look at his wrist chrono once more.

Rey abandoned looking only at Ben, into his dark eyes, and talking with him quietly to maintain their cover, in favor of warily watching the cantina’s other patrons. Discussions centered around an upcoming podrace; wagers were being made over drinks and sabacc hands. There was still no sign of Ben’s parts dealer; he was worried, though he wasn’t certain whether to be more worried about the impending storm or the atmosphere in the cantina.

That question was abruptly answered for him when a Rodian sitting at the bar began to have words with the Frenk sitting next to him. Words led to drinks being slammed down on the bar, which left their fists free for shoving. The shoving did not last long, for the Rodian pulled his blaster faster than did his unfortunate opponent, who fell to the floor with a hole in his chest.

The deceased Frenk’s companion at the bar roared and took a vicious swing at the Rodian, and from across the bar, patrons began to erupt in cheers and screams. Sabacc cards and flimsis for wagering bets went flying as beings scrambled either out of the way or to join the fight. The barkeep made the mistake of trying to intervene between the Rodian and the dead Frenk’s friend, and was pushed backward into his bar, scattering glasses and bottles everywhere, shards flying and prompting a scuffle to break out on the other side of the bar as more patrons scrambled to avoid falling bottles and glasses.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Ben remarked. Rey raised her eyebrows.

“Now is when you’ve decided you have a bad feeling?” she replied, looking aghast. “I thought you were supposed to be powerful in the Force.”

“I am,” he retorted, using said Force to prevent a stumbling, drunk Bith who was trying to escape with a pile of credits from crashing into their table. “I was trying to be optimistic for once in my life.”

Rey snorted and rolled her eyes, reaching for her lightsaber, but Ben grabbed her hand.

“Don’t,” he said, looking at her intently. “That will only make it worse. Let’s get out of here.”

They picked up their cloaks and headed to leave when a Quarren got up from her table and pointed directly at Ben. Neither Ben nor Rey could understand what she called out to nearby patrons, but it could not possibly have been good.

Half the cantina’s inhabitants stopped punching their neighbors to stare at Ben and Rey, then headed towards them in a swarm.

Ben and Rey ignited their lightsabers, their backs to the cantina’s only entrance and exit, and began their deadly dance, dodging blaster bolts, fists, and shot glasses alike. A Gamorrean presumably in the Hutts’ employ lunged for Ben with an axe that was supposedly banned from the bar. Ben kicked him in the stomach, pushing him back far enough that he fell into a charging Dug who clearly had been itching for a fight.

“Guess your parts dealer decided not to show?” Rey asked, deflecting blaster bolts and edging closer to the exit.

“Guess he had a better way of making some money,” Ben said, gesturing with his hand to the

Quarren, who had opened his bounty file on her comlink while yelling into it.

Rey shook her head and sliced into the chest of the Dug, who was enraged after being hit by the Gamorrean’s girth.

Finally seeing a break in the fighting patrons, Ben and Rey escaped into the swirling sands, leaving the chaos in the cantina behind them. After the carnage they dealt, no one chose to risk their own lives by following them into the tempest.

The desert beckoned, singing their names into the howling wind. Ben could hear its siren call; he knew the Force was still strong where his uncle had grown up, and where Obi-Wan Kenobi created his hermitage. He spent a great deal of time there making peace with himself and with his family’s history, battling his demons, after his original break from his family. Someday, he would take Rey there, show her from whence Anakin Skywalker had come.

Today, however, they needed to survive. They fought the wind back to the hangar where they had docked the Millennium Falcon, covering their mouths and eyes from the sand, and blasted away from Tatooine. 

[collossusfatecampaign]

Story arc two: Go west, young adventurers

The players meet their new benefactor the 31st Dodge, Flávio Moonshield, and her chief counsellor Gracchus Firstlight, in the throne room of the Iron Palace.

“I cannot trust the official reports I am receiving from the west,“ she informed them. “I need a discreet and reliable team reporting to me and unconnected with the previous Dodge. I will be paying you out of my own pocket and cannot afford what Gracchus offered you. I am have word from my cousin, Lepidus Earthstrong, that the Gila are making trouble on our Western frontier. Go and find out what is going on.”

Gracchus escorts them to the Foundation Hill manor of the Moonshields where another of Flavia’s cousins has been detailed to assist them: providing them with maps, letters of introduction and passage, and blasters. Macario makes the most of access to the Moonshield library (and Gracchus’ library) to cram what knowledge he can about the Gila and to borrow a few volumes.

The players set out on a Presidium airship the Leafspear III to the sky port at Windwise Manor. From there they head-on towards the outer territories beyond the River Ox. For transport, they purchase a covered wagon and shaggy, pink, hairy lowland cattle called Babs.

They camp overnight on their way to Troutbeck on Ox, encountering a family returning to Colossus having tried the luck in the out of western territories and failed due to Gila hostility. They are attacked by wolves. The Wolves come off the worse, providing a cloak for Anwen and a hat for Anemone.

They pass through Troutbeck on Ox and catch the ferry to the “outer territories” beyond the river. Another day of travel brings them to the mining outpost and garrison at Arastra, the edge of empire.

Arastra is little more than a series of houses carved into sheer red rock cliffs, a particularly poor tavern, the Manticore’s Nest, and a tiny garrison staffed by a decade of soldiers and their thoroughly drunken Decurion, Lepidus Earthstrong. (Decurion being a rank few members of the Presidium have ever been busted down to).

Events move a pace. The players scout out some of the abandoned homesteads. Anemone is able to follow Gila tracks and discover a scout, and her apprentice (a child). The Gila are orange lizard people with purple bands. Macario is able to speak to the scout, Feldspar, and propose Anwen can seek to earn the right of Parlay through mock combat. (Which she does.)

They are taken to meet the local clan leader and “first mother“ Malachite. They learn many things. Somewhere in the distant desert stands Hoxar, another Colossus of the first Empire. The Gila, while nomadic, are bibliophiles and every member of the clan travels with books. A warrior race, they also travel with their God bones - A chest containing relics of a defeated enemy whose power they have absorbed. The plainsfolk God bones are no longer protecting them, so they have this site to sit on some Presidium bones – Lepidus’. Their grievance is that what the Empire regards as its “outer territories“, the Gila regard as being the most fertile land that was left to them under a peace treaty. The River Ox was meant to be the boundary.

The players ascertain that up to 500 Gila will descend on Arastra and quite possibly kill Lepidus unless something is done.

Over the objections of the hothead lieutenant, Topaz, a hostage exchange is agreed. The Gila get Lepidus and the players get ... Topaz. Malachite also intimates her preference that any peace treaty provide for a permanent bridge across the river Ox and the founding there of a University to promote the exchange of knowledge and understanding between the Empire and the Gila.

Innocent lives are saved. Reputations are made. Anemone gets Babs and a hat.

[anotheruniverse-com]

Star Wars The Black Series Luke Skywalker’s Landspeeder Vehicle with Luke Skywalker Action Figure

New Post has been published on AnotherUniverse.com

Luke Skywalker owned a nondescript but speedy landspeeder, racing the sand-pocked and sun-faded craft across the desert between the Lars homestead and outposts like Tosche Station and Anchorhead. Crafted to look like Luke’s landspeeder in the original Star Wars film, A New Hope, this 6-inch scale Star Wars Black Series Luke Skywalker Landspeeder Vehicle is exquisitely detailed with a true-to-story design and incredible features.

See more great comic, games, toys, manga and TV/movie news at AnotherUniverse.com https://anotheruniverse.com/star-wars-the-black-series-luke-skywalkers-landspeeder-vehicle-with-luke-skywalker-action-figure

[flyguy]

New Images & Details For Star Wars The Black Series 6″ X-34 Landspeeder and Luke Skywalker figure...

Hasbro updated their site with this info: 

Luke Skywalker was just a farm boy from Tatooine before beginning his training to become a Jedi. Though he would eventually sell his X-34 Landspeeder in order to buy passage aboard the Millennium Falcon, for much of Luke’s youth, this civilian vehicle was his only transport between his homestead and outposts such as Tosche Station and Anchorhead, as well as the Jundland Wastes, Dune Sea, and beyond.

Imagine Luke cruising across the barren deserts of Tatooine with this 6-inch scale X-34 Landspeeder and Luke Skywalker figure. Designed for ultimate collectability and display, the X-34 Landspeeder and figure feature movie-real design and detailing. The Luke Skywalker figure features multiple points of articulation, while the X-34 Landspeeder vehicle includes a clear stand for display. Collect all Star Wars The Black Series figures, vehicles, and more to expand and enhance any Star Wars collection! • Includes: figure, vehicle, stand, and 5 accessories. • 6 -inch-scale, Star Wars The Black Series X-34 Landspeeder and Luke Skywalker figure • Collector grade quality figure and vehicle with authentic, movie-accurate detail • Includes 5 character-inspired accessories and artifacts • Premium packaging and design • Includes clear stand for display • Expand and enhance Star Wars collection • Figure scale: 6 inches Item will be available to order on 8/14/2017. Limit of 2 per household

H/T to Yakface for the link

[prime-buy-blog]

Star Wars The Black Series Luke Skywalker Landspeeder & Figure

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Star Wars The Black Series Luke Skywalker Landspeeder & Figure

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Kids and fans alike can imagine the biggest battles and missions in the Star Wars saga with new, 6-inch scale vehicles from Star Wars The Black Series! With exquisite features and decoration, this series embodies the quality and realism that Star Wars devotees love. Luke Skywalker owned a nondescript but speedy landspeeder, racing the sand-pocked and sun-faded craft across the desert between the Lars homestead and outposts such as Tosche Station and Anchorhead. Crafted to look like Luke Skywalker’s Landspeeder from Star Wars: A New Hope, this vehicle from Star Wars The Black Series is exquisitely-detailed with true-to-story design and incredible features. Designed for ultimate collectability and display, the Luke Skywalker’s Landspeeder and Luke Skywalker figure feature movie-real design and detailing. The Luke Skywalker figure features multiple points of articulation, while the X-34 Landspeeder vehicle includes a clear stand for display. Collect all Star Wars The Black Series figures, vehicles, and more to expand and enhance any Star Wars collection! Additional products each sold separately. Star Wars products are produced by Hasbro under license from Lucasfilm Ltd. Hasbro and all related terms are trademarks of Hasbro.6-inch-scale Luke Skywalker’s Landspeeder vehicle from Star Wars The Black Series Collector grade quality figure and vehicle with authentic, movie-accurate detail Premium packaging and design Inspired by Star Wars: A New Hope Includes: figure, vehicle, 3 accessories, stand, and instructions.

[zacklover24]

Fourth Dawn Chapter II

Somehow aurora knew that coming here to hope county would be a bad idea, but the way carmina begged for there helped over ride that fear. And now shit was bad, rush and several of there people had been taken by the twins, the people of hope county were nothing but shells of themselves too afraid to do much, but now aurora needed to step up and help them. Gather who was is needed and maybe go make a deal with the devil. And hopefully to save rush.

The judge drove Aurora across the eerie yet wonderful landscape of hope county. She drove for awhile till they came to the greenery faded away and turned to desert and they stopped.

“Why did we stop?” She asks as the judge pointed to an outpost a highwayman outpost, the judge found a stick and wrote something into the ground

“Falls end is now chop shop they have ethanol and we need ethanol for Prosperity we kill them and find the pastor who was once here.” Aurora reads it. And then it hit her.

“Now I get it! Prosperity needs the fuel to keep going and the highwaymen have it! Got it!” As she got her launcher ready. The judge shook there head and put a finger to there mask where there mouth would be.

“It's quiet!” She snaps, the judge shook there head no and moved low against the ground. Aurora did not like this, but went low with them. Aurora could see why they were going low they had an alarm and two snipers, the judge pulled there bow off there back and took out the two snipers and then sent Aurora in to cut the alarms off.

It was then that the highwaymen saw them and she had some fun. The saws ripped through the highwaymen like they were made out paper blood and organs when flying into a bloody pile. They freed everyone that was being held by The Highwaymen in the cages and one of them was a pastor named Jerome a  pastor with a shotgun Aurora had seen it all now.

“Why hello there.” Jerome greets warmly with a smile, “I’m pastor Jerome how may I help you?”

“Security captain Aurora I came in the train with thomas rush, and were in a bite of bind sir.” Aurora tells him, not missing how jerome was looking over her shoulder and glaring at the judge who was standing off to the side playing in the dirt. Why?

“Aww yes, I heard of you, I mean to say I heard of Mr. Rush. I’m sorry about him.” Jerome tells her in his best pastor voice.

“He’s not dead, mickey and lou aren’t going to kill him. He’s too valuable to kill.” Aurora tells him.

“My child it would be best to accept that they did kill him.” Jerome tries to tell her.

“He’s not dead they,” Aurora points to the judge who waves, “Told me so, they have him at the north coal mine. But I can’t go save him not till I go back to Prosperity.”

Jerome let out humph as the judge was still waving, “I would strongly take would they say at face value they are nothing but a cold blood killer. But you are going to Prosperity then I will join you. Kim is an old friend of mine.”

Aurora smiled, “Thank you sir, but I don’t know how the three of us are going to fit onto that ATV.” And it was  then that they saw that the judge was gone and now had a highwaymen car, and was in the driver seat. “How do they do that?”

“Some questions are better not answered.” Jerome tells her as they got into the car. The judge drove them to prosperity, or a bite aways they left the car parked on the side of the road and walked the rest of the way. They made it the homestead before dark and everyone was relieved to see jerome and aurora but not the judge. Kim and Carmina ushred the captain and the judge into the main house.

“What is that thing doing here?” Kim hisses as the judge was standing off to the side shifting there weight from foot to foot. Aurora rolled her eyes as she fished out a cigarette from her breast pocket,

“You means besides the fact they saved me from drowning, patched me and brought me back here in one piece?” She asks lighting her smoke. Kim rolled her eyes,

“That thing shouldn’t be here it should be back at New Edan where it belongs.” She insist watching the judge just stand there.

Aurora rolled her eyes again as she let out cloud of smoke from her mouth, “Kim I think the judge is here to help us, if they wanted to let me die they would have. Can we not like do this?”

“Mom please.” Carmina asks seeing as the judge was weaponless and just standing there.

“Fine, we needed to talk about a plan anyway. With rush gone we need to build up the homestead. We have little in the ways of defensive if mickey and lou attack again.” Kim sighs feeling tired. The judge walked over and pointed to there ring finger then to kim and then carmina.

“You mean my dad? Mickey and lou have him.” Carmina tells her, “Why does it matter to you!”  The judge then made the gesture for driving then outside where the garage was. They pointed to the lab outside and did there best to do a shark eating motion with there hands.

“Are you talking about uncle sharky?” The teen asks, as the judge nodded there head yes. They then did two different shooting gestures one for a gun and one for a bow, “Aunt grace and aunt jess! Are you saying we need them to help build this place up.”  

“Having jess and grace would help, but grace is blind but she can built, sharky can make any type of bomb and your father can build but we still need a few others. Bean and Selene might be our best bet as well.”

“Can you please explain who the fuck these people are?” Aurora asks taking in a deep drag.

“Of course, my husband nick is a mechanic he can make anything, sharky boshaw can make a bomb out of anything, jess black is the best damn bow hunter we have, grace armstrong was the best sniper but her eyes are gone but she can build, bean has a network of scouts that gather intel everyday and selene is a doctor of sorts I think.” Kim explains.

“I think the judge is saying that if we have them all here we might stand a chance against the twins, right?” Camria asks as the judge nodded there head yes.  

“Bean, Selene and Grace are the closest start there and with the people you brough we can start building this place up.” Kim tells her looking at the map.

“What about the others?” Aurora asks stamping out her smoke.

“Sharky is all the way across the county at the geothermal plant and nick is out that way as well. Jess is up in the whitetails with wheaty were going to radio them and ask them come down and help us. We might have to wait to get them.” Kim admits.

“I don’t like it mom.” Carmina whines.

“I know but we will get him back I swear.”

“So I get bean selene and grace we might stand a chance and then we might be able to get rush back from those assholes.” Aurora hisses.

“Yes, you and the judge can start tomorrow.” The judge then made the gesture like they had something heavy on there shoulders and firing it at nothing it took Kim and carmina afew minutes  to figure it out.

“UNCLE HURK! You want us to get uncle hurk don't you?” The teens asks as the judge bopped her on the nose, “If we get uncle hurk we also need aunt Gina but she's in the highwaymen death race.”

“Well worry about those two after we get bean and selene. Carmina can you go check up on Jacob and grace. I think there out back with roger.” Carmina left with a hum.

“Didn't you say that grace was blind and not her here?” Aurora asks crossing her arms over chest.

“Jacob boshaw who is a year younger than my daughter and his ten year old sister Grace. Sharky left them here when he and hurk left to go look for Gina and that was two months ago.” Kim explains sounding tired and upset with the pair, “They have there mother's aim with a bow but there father’s love of fire. Jess helped to train after there mother went missing a few years ago.”

“Oh, well if you need any help training people I was in the army before the bombs dropped.” Aurora tells her.

“Thank you.”

End of line

[maripelomundo]

Quem também está viajando pela Namíbia é a Kely do blog kely pelo mundo. Acompanhe pelo insta e snap. Ela passou pelo trópico de capricórnio e por lindas paisagens. Para a Kely, a Namíbia lembra o cerrado de Brasília, sua terra natal. Acompanhe a viagem da Kely pela Namíbia ou as dicas da Áustria, país onde mora. Siga o insta👉 @kelypelomundo #namibia #africa #landscape #photooftheday #photographer #instagram #instatravel #luxurytrip #wanderful #wanderlust #sky #goodvibes #wonderful_destinations #luxuryandexperiences (em Desert Homestead Outpost)

[geekcarl]

The Star Wars.com Databank for Rogue One has just been updated with some glorious new hi-res images from Rogue One.

Check them out below.

HOLY CITY OF JEDHA

holy-city-of-jedha-rogue-one-databank-update

Also known as NiJedha or simply Jedha City, the fabled Holy City of Jedha continues to attract pilgrims from numerous faiths despite a brutal Imperial occupation. Saw Gerrera’s partisans have fought back against the Empire, turning the city’s ancient streets into a war zone. But pilgrims keep coming despite the danger, hungering for answers to spiritual questions…

JYN’S KYBER PENDANT

jyn-ersos-kyber-pendant-rogue-one-databank-update

As the Ersos fled Coruscant, a small fragment of kyber crystal from Galen’s research caught Lyra’s eye. Hoping it brought good luck, she took it to Lah’mu and made it into a pendant. As the Empire closed in, Lyra gave the pendant to Jyn, reminding her to trust in the Force. Jyn has kept it during her travels as a link to her lost family.

ERSO HOMESTEAD

erso-homestead-rogue-one-databank-update

When the Ersos decided to break with the Empire, Saw Gerrera facilitated the purchase of a 65-hectare farm on the eastern side of the distant planet Lah’mu. On this world far from the centers of power, Galen and his family have reinvented themselves as subsistence farmers, hoping to escape from Director Krennic and his hunters.

LAH’MU

planet-lahmu-rogue-one-databank-update

Located in the Outer Rim’s Raioballo sector, Lah’mu is a sparsely inhabited backwater whose rich soil and groundwater are contaminated by minerals and other elements. The Erso family fled to Lah’mu from Coruscant, hoping to find refuge from the Empire.

R3-S1

r3-s1-threecee-rogue-one-databank-update

Threece is the chief of the astromech pool at the Massassi base, where she ensures the Alliance’s technology is kept up to date and in prime condition. Threece has her programming quirks: she’s vain, argumentative and inordinately proud of her overclocked Intellex V processor. But her talent for organization is highly valued by the rebels.

R2-BHD (TOOBY)

r2-bhd-tooby-rogue-one-databank-update

A silver astromech with yellow accents, Tooby is typically assigned to “Dutch” Vander, who flies Gold Squadron’s lead Y-wing. A loyal and attentive droid, Tooby carefully follows the lengthy diagnostics checklists critical to keeping the Massassi base’s Y-wings ready for battle.

SE-2 (ESSIE)

se2-essie-rogue-one-databank-update

A menial labor droid, SE-2 works on the Erso farm on Lah’mu, fixing the homestead’s purification vaporators and performing other chores as needed. Despite his utilitarian purpose, Essie’s loyalty subroutine is robust. He keeps an eye on the horizon, ready to alert the Ersos of any intruders.

G2-1B7

g2-1b7-rogue-one-databank-update

A medical droid operating out of Jedha’s Catacombs of Cadera, G2-1B7 has one primary mission: keep Saw Gerrera alive. That’s no small challenge, as the infamous rebel partisan has lost limbs battling the Empire and inhaled near-lethal doses of Geonosian insecticide. G2-1B7 doses Saw with medicine at dangerously short intervals, and is puzzled that its high-value patient is still alive.

CATACOMBS OF CADERA

catacombs-of-cadera-rogue-one-databank-update

Across the desert from the Holy City lie the ancient Catacombs of Cadera, once the final resting place for adherents of a vanished faith. Saw Gerrera’s partisan militia has set up operations among the bones of the forgotten, using the catacombs as a base for raids against Jedha’s Imperial occupiers.

REBEL MASSASSI OUTPOST

rebel-massassi-outpost-rogue-one-databank-update

Some time after abandoning Dantooine, Alliance High Command transferred operations to a new headquarters on the jungle moon of Yavin 4. There, stone temples built by a now-vanished species have been transformed into hangars, barracks and a command center. From Base One, as the Massassi site is known, rebel leaders direct the fight against the Empire.

WOBANI

planet-wobani-rogue-one-databank-update

A forlorn world in the Mid Rim’s Bryx sector, Wobani is the site of Imperial Detention Center & Labor Camp LEG-817. Jyn Erso is serving a 20-year sentence on Wobani under the alias Liana Hallik when Alliance Pathfinders free her from captivity.

VANEÉ

vanee-darth-vaders-attendant-rogue-one-databank-update

A black-cloaked attendant to Darth Vader, Vaneé interrupts the Sith Lord’s meditation in his rejuvenation chamber on Mustafar to announce Orson Krennic’s arrival. After Krennic’s audience with Vader was over, Vaneé advises the director that it would be wise to say nothing of what he’s seen in the Sith sanctum.

DEATH STAR SCIENTISTS

death-star-scientists-rogue-one-databank-update

The Death Star began as a Geonosian design, but became operational after nearly two decades of work by a team of brilliant scientists sequestered on the rainswept world of Eadu. Led by a reluctant Galen Erso, the Death Star scientists seek to fuse kyber-crystal shards into larger structures and use those crystals to amplify energy into a stable beam powerful enough to destroy an entire planet.

DEATH STAR PLANS

the-death-star-plans-rogue-one-databank-update

The plans for the Empire’s ultimate weapon reside in a electromagnetic cartridge in the Structural Engineering node of the Scarif vault’s datatree. The plans contain the Death Star’s entire design history, including the flaw introduced into its reactor system. Stolen by Jyn Erso, they are beamed to the Profundity, copied and hidden in the memory systems of a humble astromech droid.

EADU

eadu-rogue-one-databank-update

A rugged planet in the Outer Rim’s Bheriz sector, Eadu is known – to the extent it’s known at all – for its rain and native nerf herders. Few suspect the planet is home to a top-secret laboratory where Imperial scientists working for the Tarkin Initiative seek to unlock the secrets of kyber crystals and perfect a terrifying weapon.

GX-8 CONDENSER UNIT

gx8-condenser-unit-rogue-one-databank-update

Lah’mu has abundant water, but tephra ejected by the planet’s volcanoes contains minerals that make its groundwater unpleasant to drink. The Erso homestead uses GX-8 condenser units manufactured by Pretormin Environmental to distill water vapor from the air and store it for later use.

Rogue One Databank Update The Star Wars.com Databank for Rogue One has just been updated with some glorious new hi-res images from Rogue One.