#ELK Stack

[saumyachaudhary]

Where and How to Download Winlogbeat for ELK Stack

Learn how to download Winlogbeat and configure it with Logstash on Windows using this step-by-step guide. This tutorial from Tutorials24x7 helps you efficiently collect and ship Windows event logs to the Elastic Stack, ensuring seamless log management and monitoring for enhanced system visibility and performance. Ideal for system admins and DevOps professionals.

[lobbycards]

The Corrupt Ones (Die Hölle von Macao), German lobby card. 1967

[idl3dr3ams]

was tidying up some old stuff in my room and found the decorative ballet shoes that I used to hang by my door

Immediately made me think of Val 🥺

[fuckyeahnancykwan]

A German movie program for The Corrupt Ones (1967)

[minhphong306]

[Learning notes] Elastic Stack: Fulltext queries, combine queries

Full-text search queries: Running full text queries and complex queries with Elasticsearch and Kibana Match query: search bất cứ field nào của document có chứa một trong các từ (term) Continue reading [Learning notes] Elastic Stack: Fulltext queries, combine queries

[jiubilant]

Ao3 (2800 words)

In Betony, she had flown goshawks with eyes like coins of fire. In the frozen north, she flies stranger birds. When the enormous sea-eagle beats its beak thrice against her windowpane, insistent as a door-to-door peddler, she stands calmly from her desk to let it in.

“Well?” she asks, unsmiling.

The barbarian of air wings in on a gust of wind and snow that whips through her papers, scattering some Synod tract and an adept’s treatise on runestones. Its talons clack on the back of her chair. Beneath the fierce, hoary brows of old men and birds of prey, its mismatched eyes—one brown, the other bluish-green—flash with a question of their own.

She gestures, eyebrows raised, to the cloak hung by the door. Then she turns to close the window. When the click of claws on tile becomes the slap of bare feet, she repeats herself. “Well?”

“He’s as stubborn as ever,” a querulous voice grumbles at her back. Cloth rustles. Her spare chair scrapes across the floor, then creaks. “Heard me out and sent me off. It can’t be done, Mirabelle.”

“If it couldn’t be done, Tolfdir, I wouldn’t ask it of you.” Mirabelle Ervine, Master Wizard of the College of Winterhold, thumbs a smudge from the stained glass. It squeaks. “I would do it myself.”

She would have harsh words, under any other circumstances, for a mage foolish enough to alter his own shape—but her Master of Alteration has walked the world as wolf and otter, elk and wild boar, since she was a child struggling to cast colored lights. When she turns from the window, she almost smiles to see him hunched hawkish in the cloak: a frail old man who, in three days, has flown a journey that would take her several sennights.

“You ought to have gone yourself,” he says anyway, patting his windswept beard back into place. He seldom looks weary after his adventures. The light in his eyes—one brown, the other bluish-green—is the light of one who has outraced clouds. “He never listened to old men. But to old friends, my dear, he may yet unbar his door.”

Mirabelle waves a hand. The sheafs of strewn paper stack themselves on her desk, probably out of order. “I’m needed here. I can’t be long away.”

“Phinis could.” Tolfdir helps himself to her tea. Miraculous, she thinks, that all his flapping hadn’t sent the cup skidding to Atmora. “I remember the three of you knocking about as prentices. Couldn’t separate you.”

Mirabelle tries to picture poor Phinis, who pales when asked to venture into town, on the next karve to the Hjaal. When she surfaces from the fancy, less plausible by far than the Synod’s treasure-maps, the old man’s welkin eyes are watching her.

“Why now, Master Wizard?” he asks, not ungently.

His tea, now, Mirabelle thinks. She goes to the shelf for another cup. “Pardon?”

“Falion left us years ago.” The eagle looks out at her from Tolfdir’s face. “You let him go. Why ask him back now?”

Mirabelle’s fingers pause in midair. Most of her clayware is chipped. Ancano, when she’d interviewed him last, had lifted the cup she’d set out for him with near-imperceptible amusement—as if, she’d thought then, he were indulging thoughts of dropping it.

“It seems to me,” she says, her voice hard for all its softness, “that we have invited enemies into our house, and shut friends outside.”

“Ah.” Tolfdir’s cup clinks on her desk. “I saw a knarr sailing this way, you know, while I was up.” He pauses, then clears his throat. “East Empire Company, I thought.”

* * *

When she takes the stairs of the Archmage’s tower two by two, wound tight with the news, Ancano is already in yarak. Perhaps he has his own eyes in the air.

“No good will come of a Haafing ship testing these waters,” he’s saying when she slips into the Archmage’s study. She’s come to know Ancano better than she’d like; whenever he’s pressing a point, as he’s doing now, his voice takes on the high, humming urgency of a kite’s whistle. “We must signal at once for it to turn about.”

“Turn about?” Savos Aren’s hand is already tangled in his beard. The bewildered crease in his brow unbends when he sees Mirabelle, but does not disappear. “The College of Winterhold is not a port authority, Emissary. Nor is it a lighthouse.”

“Indeed,” says Mirabelle crisply, taking a stand beside his chair, “I should think that much good will come of a merchant ship, under the circumstances—this is the first,” she points out, “since the leads opened in spring.” They’d lasted the winter, as usual, on lutefisk. Even she is beginning to tire. “Our stores are running low.”

Savos, heartened, tries weakly for a joke. “Much goods?”

Ancano’s golden eyes glint up at Mirabelle. He and the Archmage are at table, lit blue by the drifting magelights: Ancano leaning forward, Savos huddled in his robe of office like an old man in his shawl. He never drinks anything stronger than the watered-milk tea favored so far north, where vegetal life is scant. His cup sits untouched. Ancano has supplied, from some shelf of his own stores, a jug of wine.

“Mistress Ervine,” he says with a courteous smile. The magelights chase a shadow across his narrow face. “You must sit.”

She must do nothing. She holds her face immobile.

“I was sharing my concerns with the Archmage.” If Ancano sees the pack-ice in her eyes, he gives no sign of it. He waves a black-gloved hand. His servant, an ancient elf with a blotch like a winestain on his cheek, hastens forward to fill a third cup. “I fear that this vessel, if it persists in its course, will be seized by the Jarl as a prize for the Stormcloak fleet.”

Mirabelle ignores both the wine and the servant, who always smiles in terror when acknowledged. “Korir lacks the men.”

“Then the ship will blunder into Ulfric’s blockade.” Ancano’s smiling again, close-lipped and motionless as an Aldmeri bust. “That it hasn’t already is miraculous.”

“The College is not party to the recent—rising tensions, shall we say, between Haafingar and Eastmarch,” says Savos, who has as many euphemisms for civil war as a skald has kennings. “I fail to see how the requisition of a knarr—by either fleet, Emissary—is a matter in which we have any right to intervene.”

Ancano’s face falls into a prim, prudent frown. “You must see, Archmage, how a disturbance in Winterhold’s waters would endanger the College’s neutral position—”

* * *

“—and on it went, like that,” Mirabelle finishes, stoic. “The Archmage remains undecided.”

“Of course he does,” says Faralda, reaching for the pitcher. “More blaand?”

She’d come to Faralda’s gatehouse to compare admission records—and, she admits, to cool a headache in the courtyard’s frigid wind. She’s stayed for supper. Her Master of Destruction is the terror and delight of the village’s braver children, who rattle her gate and barter foodstuffs for feats of witchery: fountains of sparks, sky-whales shaped of smoke, magefires juggled from hand to hand. One small petitioner had traded a fat square of blubber, now cubed and salted in Faralda’s only bowl, for a field of ice on which she and her siblings could play stickball.

Faralda refills their cups with the Vetrings’ creamy whey-wine, then takes another morsel from the bowl—with finger and thumb, as the villagers do. Her elbows brace the table like an old salt’s. “Company knarr, Tolfdir said?”

“Yes.” Faralda had been a ship’s mage, once. Mirabelle studies her for a moment—her hair that musses in all weather, the rigging-lines of laughter in her face—then rubs her forehead, resolving to drink no more blaand. “This ship. Why would it—”

Faralda, looking pained, says, “She.”

“—why would she sail into Stormcloak waters?”

A pause.

“You seek counsel,” says Faralda, a slow smile sharpening her face, “from your future Master Wizard—”

“Faralda.”

“East Empire Company,” says Faralda, as if that explains everything. She waves a hand that shines with grease in the firelight. “The Imperial Fleet can fit in a puddle. Mede could float out his toy ships to be rammed to flinders by Ulfric’s drekar—or,” she says, longships burning in her eyes, “he could let Cousin Vici and her mercenaries defend their searoads.”

Mirabelle frowns. “With one knarr?”

“A maiden to lure out the dragons, perhaps.”

Always evocative, Faralda’s fancies. Mirabelle pictures a line of dragon-headed longships gliding to the knarr, their oars churning, their painted snarls crusted with ice—and their hulls splintering, brittle as kindling, beneath the bolts and prows of a host of Company ships.

“Let us not speak of dragons,” she says, reaching wearily into the bowl. Since the recent news from Helgen, she’s caught herself eyeing the sky every time she crosses the quadrangle. “Ancano has the right of it, then, that this ship is likely to stir trouble.”

Faralda sniffs. “You ought to do the very opposite of whatever he suggests.”

“His counsel is often sound. That’s the trouble. If it weren’t, Savos—the Archmage,” Mirabelle corrects herself, “would not entertain him.” She thinks of dragons settling on the ramparts, crushing the crenels between their toes. “What can he want with us?”

“Remember how he tried to cram that monstrous desk up the stairwell? The one he brought out of Valenwood?”

“Solid graht-oak.” Enthir, pacing her office, had almost wept with rage. She can’t laugh, now, recalling how the thing had rained drawers on several Aldmeri attachés.

“He wants what that knarr wants.” Faralda’s smile is thin and taut. “Something costly to bring home.”

* * *

Evening creeps early, on misty feet, into the lumber-town of Morthal. The watchmen have been jumpy, of late, as well they should; their torchlights bob past the wizard’s window in twos, like great eyes gleaming in the dark, as they creak up and down the bridge. The fog muffles their steps. The wizard, going about his evening chores, smiles and listens.

“Is he in there?” asks one of the watchmen.

“Aye,” says another, and spits.

If he were out, they’d spit at that, too. The wizard raises his eyebrows, nonplussed, and scrubs a crust of pottage from a pewter plate—

Falion.

The plate clatters to the floor. When the wizard whirls with a spell on his lips and a washrag in his hand—anticipating fiends, fire, fool neighbors with pitchforks—he finds his hearthroom empty.

He stares about him at what his sister, with twinkling eyes, calls his instruments of sorcery: the great cookpot, the garlic-strings, the besom and staff by the door. Then he sighs and flicks the rag aside. “You would bespeak me while I’m scouring dishes.”

The voice, cool and familiar, rises in his mind like a wry notion of his own. I trust I did not catch you unawares.

“I will tell you what I told Tolfdir, and no more.” Things stranger than Mirabelle Ervine have spoken into Falion’s mind. He stoops for the plate. “My talents are much needed here. Much maligned, as well, but no matter—I have found in the marshes of Morthal my masters, my mystic tomes, my métier.” His own stern, seamed face frowns back at him from the pewter. “If Aren himself groveled at my feet, I would not return.”

Apprentices had been awed, once, by his dire proclamations: heed my words, and meddle not with each other's summoning-circles, and so. Never Mirabelle. Perhaps I wished only to speak to you.

“Speak to me, then, of the sorcery of Winterhold.” The face reflected in the plate would make a bitter meal. He sets it aside. “Of the marvels its mages have wrought. Of Mirabelle Ervine”—his voice gentles, then—“and her miracles.”

He can almost see her desk, cluttered with distractions of all description, and her terse smile. She strikes back. How is Agni?

“My young ward,” says Falion, after a pause, “shows some promise.”

To clasp one's mind with the mind of another mage—master, pupil, friend—is to do more than converse. He’s known Mirabelle since she was a prentice; the keen and steady stare that had followed him in his youth passes through him now, insubstantial, searching his mind for the child. The byre in which he’d found her—the reek of damp, the rotting straw. The murrain she’d spelled from Eivor’s cattle. Her first magelight, bright and startled as her smile. His terror that he’ll teach her ill, that she’ll end like his last pupil—

That, says Mirabelle softly, was not your fault.

“I know.” Falion flicks a taut hand. The fire in his hearth bursts up; the dishes, clattering like a draugr’s mail, stack themselves on the shelf. “And you know. And the rest of you, chasing shadows and squabbling over chairs—Mirabelle,” he murmurs with ferocity, sweeping his arm in an arc that rattles every shutter, “how can you stay?”

A pause.

These are tempestuous times. Mirabelle’s voice, to his surprise, is tinged with weary humor. If a dragon lands in the forecourt, who will remind it that we wizards are beyond worldly affairs?

Falion blinks. Then, despite everything, he smiles.

“If you need me,” he says to the empty room, “truly need me, my old friend—I will come.” He shakes his head. “But not before.”

“Falion,” calls a small voice from the doorway, “are you talking to dwarves?”

He turns. The child, picking sprigs of heather from her hair, greets him with a hesitant smile; she’s been in the marshes again, loosing coneys from his snares. The presence in his mind, with mingled frustration and warmth, flickers out.

“Agni.” He’ll scold her later. He raises an eyebrow and plucks a twig from behind her ear. “I was speaking with—a former colleague.”

“A wizard?” Her grin has a gap in it; the loose tooth must have come out. “A College wizard?”

“Were the snares empty again?”

“A College wizard, Falion?”

She’d been baking bread with Jonna when Tolfdir arrived. Small mercies. “Perhaps not for much longer.”

His apprentice still believes, somehow, in wonders: need-fires and marshfires, fish that grant wishes, wizards in the north that make the skylights dance. She frowns as if betrayed. “Why?”

“If you saw the College, child,” says Falion, kneeling to help her with her boots, “you would know.”

* * *

On the deck of the Valravn, the knarr creaking through the ice off the Vetring coast, a man in shabby furs smiles in surprise. His eyes have frozen shut.

“Sten, lad,” he calls to the steersman who’s been kind to him, kinder than he deserves, on the long, careful journey through the leads: a young man, quick to laugh, whose brothers have all gone south to war. They could be in his daughter’s centuria, he thinks, joking with her over a supper of mashed grain. They could be heads on spears. The wind saws his face like a carving-knife. “My pipe’s out.”

“Here you are, then, Master Clerk,” says a good-natured voice by his ear, followed by the mineral clack of struck flint. A hand swathed in fishskin turns his face for inspection. “Kyne caught you a nip, has she?”

“Don’t fuss.” His face is nearly too stiff to force a smile. “It’s only the lashes.”

“Well”—the hand tugs gently at his sleeve—“come away from the side. You’ll have your last cold bath, sir, if we meet a floe and pitch. And I want to watch you sell snow to those Vetrings.”

Lumber, in fact, and gruit, meal, mead. None are why the clerk is here; someone else will get rid of them, in due course. He doesn’t move. “In a moment. I want to see the school.”

Sten brushes the snow from his shoulders—fuss—and bustles off to haul some line or other. The wind that freezes men solid in their sleep closes around the clerk, whirling away the creak of rigging, the grumble of ice, the boatswain’s busy shouts. He’s alone with it again. When he breathes in deep, it burns on the way down like a clean, destroying flame; when he holds his pipe-bowl to his eye and waits for the lashes to thaw, the warmth is no different than the chill.

The dead in their doorways of fire, he thinks, must feel this way: blind, bright, with all that they love behind them. He leans forward a little. Let this sermon be consolation to those—

Something trickles down his face. His eye unsticks.

“Ai, cardehni,” he says, appalled. A great grin cracks the ice of his face. He steps back, leaning on his cane, and cranes his head to better see. “Sten, lad—what happens if a wizard sneezes?”

The boy’s laugh bursts over the ice. High above them, rearing out of a screaming cloud of kittiwakes, towers the wizards’ school: a fortress leaning, on its chunk of frozen rock, as though a sudden noise might knock it over.

[baby-you-you]

if its not too much of a hassle, could you do things for a snow leopard regressor please? no worries if not, and take you time on things, your rest and mental health is important

- @stary-regression (ask sent from sfw but more serious main blog, sorry)

snow leopard regressor theme !!!

🐆 activities

Pretending to be a snow leopard stalking around the room Crawling into blanket forts or “mountain dens” to nap Snow ambient sounds & Firewood crackling sounds Padding around in soft socks or mittens like paws Drawing big cats, snow scenes, or mountain landscapes Playing with plush animals in pretend “snow habitats” Gentle yoga/stretching like a lazy snow leopard Watching snowy animal videos or cartoons (Wild Kratts, Nature Cat) Reading or being read to in a “den” with lots of pillows Sensory play with “snow” (kinetic sand, fluffy cotton, fake snow kits)

🐆 clothes

Pajamas or onesies with snow leopard spots Fluffy hoodies with cat ears and tails Grey/white/pale blue footie pajamas Soft mittens that mimic paws Fleece robes or cloaks for warmth Snmowy or leopard-print leggings Faux fur accessories (collars, cuffs, scarves) Beanies or hats with ears and a little snow leopard nose

🐆 toys

Big plush snow leopard or other mountain animals (Goats, elk,) Sensory toys like soft stress balls or icy-blue fidget cubes Weighted plushies for grounded comfort Mirror toys (like reflective “ice” for peeking and pawing) Animal figures (especially snow cats, foxes, wolves) Light projectors with snowflake or aurora effects Faux ice blocks or gems to “collect” and hoard Cat wand toys

🐆 games

Hide and seek in the “snowy mountains” (pillows/blankets) Stalking games: sneaking up on plushies or toys Pretend snow leopard daycare for stuffies Sorting by color! Ice gem scavenger hunt Playing snow explorer and pretending to rescue or protect plushies Drawing your snow leopard self (with accessories!) Quiet building games like stacking snowflake blocks

🐆 foods/drinks

White or silver-dusted cookies Cold applasauce or yogurt Blue or white Jello cut into snow cubes Rice cakes or oat bites with yogurt drizzle Warm milk or cocoa in a snow-leopard mug or sippy Banana slices or soft white grapes (yum!) Marshmallow snacks or “snow puffs” Smoothies in pale colors Sugar-free popsicles or frozen fruit bits Porridge with honey and berries

🐆 nicknames <3

Snowy droplet Snowbean puffpaw Frostkit snowdrop spotty dotty little roar little growl little bean little snowy Sneaklet prowlie icebug Big tail baby <3

[shoezuki]

Theresbeen many a drunk headcanon and they be fun and funky but it got me thinking bout clumsiness outside of bein drunk.

Gepard seems very sure-footed. He's the captain of the guard, always leading, never showing hesitation lest it brings nerves upon his troops. I don't think he's some sorta balance god but I do think he's a steady guy that isn't really bumping into anything.

Sampo gives off cat vibes to me, I can imagine him scuttling up a wall jus to tiptoe across its top as if it was nothing. He's doin lil hops and skips just to show off a little. Whilst Geppie is strong in his stance and motion, Sampo is graceful but not really in a delicate way? He's got the smugness of a cat but his grace is more akin to an elk. It's got weight behind it but you can tell he's not fallin anytime soon.

But I like to think he's extremely used to having everything mapped out. He has places for everything and whilst it doesn't at all look neat, he knows exactly where everything is.

His coffee table is always crooked but he simply bends out of the way as he walks past, head in a stack of documents. There's stuff all over the floor but he's tiptoeing between them without hesitation. He has cabinets full of anything and everything, look in them and god knows what his file sorting system is but you ask for something specific and he makes a beeline for the bottom left drawer, stuffs his hand to the back and pulls it out instantly.

With Gep, he's also orderly. He knows where everything is but because it's neat. Even his pens are organised by colour and use. He's not a neat-freak, he's just grown up to always put things back where he found it when he's done and having shared sleepin spaces for so long with fellow soldiers, knows that keeping everything in its place makes things less stressful.

He knows better than to mess with Sampo's files or move any of his 'work' stuff but he's defo moving tidbits off the floor and pushing furniture back against the wall. Like, why is the sofa in the middle of the room??? How does someone do that in the first place???

So now Sampo, as aware and confident as he is, is now tripping over everything. He's knocked his shin on the coffee table 3 times in one day. He's stubbed his toe on the sofa and fully fallen to the ground, he's gone to grab something off the floor (where it usually is) only to realise it's no longer there and just stand in the middle of the room, looking lost, staring into space for 5 minutes.

He feels like he's been invaded. Never had to shrug off Natasha's questioning so often when she comments on a new bruise or scrape. He's not even getting them on the field!!!! That stool was perfectly fine in front of the cupboard. That's where he liked it.

But like hell is he gonna tell Gepard that. He's tried to some extent but it's only led to long circle talk. After all, it's unsurprisingly hard to explain that you like your furniture layout to look like someone's lost a fight in your home and having things not in the way is mildly disturbing.

This was meant to be about clumsiness. They're gettin away from me again XD

~ 🥃

YesyesyesYES SBGDV god they both have like. Theyre own sense of order. Like gepard's is the most blatant. Hes got a Schedule ok he has an order to how he does things and when he does things and where stuff goes.

But sampo seems Chaotic. Like his things seem to be a mess and all disjointed and over the place but To Him he has like. A System. He has no fucking clue what that system is and can Not explain it whatsoever but hes got it. Sure its a mess and no one knows how he can possible operate like this and especially concerning his bomb making its crazy he hasnt blown himself up yet but it Works.

Them living together is Hilarious cuz if this. Like gepard needs things where theyre 'supposed' to be, while sampo shifts his things n environment according to Him. Mfers in a silent war cuz they keep moving shit back to where They think its sposed to be. Like sampo keeps shifting the coffee table to the left and at a bit of an angle so that he can rest his feet on it from the sofa but gep keeps moving it back cuz its Supposed To Be Exactly 2 feet from the sofa and Right in the middle of the fucking rug, sampo. Every late night sampo moves the dishes around seemingly randomly so that his favourite bowls and mugs are easily reachable while he cooks and every morning gepard gets up and reorganizes the cupboards by size and type of dish while he makes coffee.

Theyre engaging in domestic psychological warfare

[wings-of-ink]

I have suspicions about who ??? could be. May I introduce the suspects

1. Nathaniel. 🤡

2. Cat.🐈‍⬛

3. Elk.🦌

That is quite the roster, lol. Only time will tell for sure, but the next two chapters will provide you with more to consider on that subject. The clown emoji for Nathan is also very appropriate, lol.

Also, I read this ask with the voice of Robert Stack...

[lobbycards]

The Corrupt Ones (Die Hölle von Macao), German lobby card. 1967

[shaykai]

BG3 characters but it’s what Inscryption decks they would use (Spoilers for BG3)

Shadowheart uses a Magick deck Typically sticks to using only one color of Mox at a time in order to build resources- tends to favor Blue Mox. Used to have a Beast deck, but she doesn’t play with it much anymore. A Selune aligned Shadowheart does mix Beasts/Magick! She notably has a caged alpha card. A Shar aligned Shadowheart uses an Undead/Magick deck

Lae’zel uses a Beast deck Makes use of stacking Beast cards such as the Ants- has a firm belief that the best defense is a good offense. Late game Lae’zel also has Hydras and an Oroboros

Astarion uses an Undead deck He has several brittle cards that he’ll throw out while something like a Mummy Lord grows in the background, trying to keep his opponent busy while stronger cards grow on the side lines. Ascended Astarion has a Beast/Undead hybrid deck- mostly utilizes Goats, Cats, and Wolves from his Beast half- most of which have sigils to supply more blood or bones when sacrificed.

Wyll uses a Beast deck His deck is mostly Bird based to pass by his foe’s cards and attack them directly, though he does have a few Adders as well. A Devil-turned Wyll also utilizes Orange Mox cards alongside his Beasts.

Gale uses a Magick deck He’s very proud of his collection of rare Mox Master cards. He typically has a hybrid deck utilizing two of the three Mox colors, though he has been known to occasionally use all three at once through hybrid cards. Incredibly strategic in his use of sigils and resources- typically low on offense cards, but he’s chalked full of utility and can and will drag his opponents into card starvation

Karlach uses a Beast deck Notably has a few Undead cards from her time in the Hells, but not enough to call it a hybrid deck. She has several high cost hard hitting cards, like the Great White, Grizzly, and Moose, as well as several heavy defense cards (like the Tortoise & Mole Man). To try and balance out the high blood cost of her deck, she has several blood suppling cards- like the Squirrel Ball and a Black Goat.

Halsin uses a Beast/Magick deck He has a lot of high cost powerhouse cards like Grizzlies & a Urayuli, though he typically makes use of smaller cheaper creatures like Beavers and adolescent Wolves/Stags & Mantises. He also notably has a Squirrel Ball & tends to utilize Green Mox (but has been known to use the other two before)

Minthara uses a Tech/Undead deck Almost everything she has comes with a Spike Sigil. Makes good use of energy cards & stim builds, utilizing low cost Brittle cards to buy her time. She also has several dozen Bolt/Bone Hounds

Jaheira uses a Beast deck She makes use of movement based cards, particularly favoring Stags. Notably also has a collection of Mantis Gods

Minsc uses a Beast deck Boo chooses cards, Minsc plays them. Has a lot of defense based cards- like Beavers, Tortoises, and Mole Men- as well as a Grizzly that he says reminds him of Boo.

Orin uses an Undead/Beast deck All of her Beasts are for sacrificing/building up her Undead cards in a quick manner (almost always starts with her Beast cards before switching to Undead ones roughly halfway through the game) Very notably has a Ijiraq card as well as a few Amalgams.

Gortash uses a Tech deck He has a lot of trap cards to whittle down a careless opponent’s deck as well a notable amount of Sentry & Sniper cards. Also those terrible Explode Bots/Bomb Latchers. A lot of his cards are pretty delicate, but he’s not above leveling out the playing field by bombing all of it.

Ketheric uses an Undead/Beast deck Has several cards that give him resources upon death. He relies heavily on hard defenses and stacking attacks- has several Caged Alphas and a Long Elk. He has has a nasty habit of having a Spike Sigil on a lot of his cards, so getting past his defenses can be quite the task.

Bonus!

Durge uses a Beast deck Lots of Blood Cats and high blood cost cards in this deck. Notably also has a few Undead cards in the interest of not letting a resource their Beast’s make go to waste. (Has a few coyote cards that they lovingly refer to as their gnollies)

[hedwigoprah]

Dragon Age 100 | Love

Prompt List | Read other prompts on AO3

"We've been here for a million hours." Detre kicked his shoe against the gravel, sending rocks scattering across the small pathway.  "It's been two hours, at most." Veryl was crouched down, peeking under old carts and boxes. The bits of dried fish in her hand made a little noise as she shook them together, it wasn't enough to achieve any kind of result. "And I don't care, I haven't seen him a couple of days, I'm getting worried." "Do you really think one of the resident advisors let him out?" Detre questioned as he gave up his complaining and started to begrudgingly help Veryl move some of the larger boxes to search behind. 

"Elke hates me, so I wouldn't be surprised." He wasn't here either, the space behind the crates was empty. When the aggressively rigid rule-enforcer briefly glimpsed Veryl was keeping a cat in their dorm, they had received a reprimand stemming from an anonymous complaint soon after. Veryl's issues with Elke had gone beyond that, because Veryl refused to participate in any of her 'mandatory social gatherings'. Rather, Veryl was never around to participate and was not at liberty to explain why.  "She's perfectly nice to me," Detre said. They separated and started walking up and down the alley. When they first arrived, Veryl had insisted on staying quiet, but as the panic of worry had set in, she had become more frantic. If Zon wasn't here, there was no telling where the little black cat would be.  "You're also the only noble recruit in our year, of course she would perfer to be on your nice side." She started nickering a little bit between words, trying to keep her throat from choking.  "That's what I like about you Veryl, you never seen the good in anybody— Ow!" Detre's hand flew to the meaty part of his biscep, massaging the place that Veryl had struck with her fist. Veryl left him to his own devices, walking around the corner of the alley to look further down the street to see if she saw the cat by chance.  All she hoped was that he was okay. Every once and while he got out of their rooms, and she couldn't blame the stray for wanting to escape, but it only happened when she had long stints away from thier rooms. It wasn't that Zon hated Detre, but there was definitely no love lost between them. She was saddened, but ultimately not surprised to come home to find him missing.  "Ver!" Detre called to her. "Oh, hang on buddy!" Veryl was quick to turn on her heel and jog back to the alley and jumped into helping Detre push aside a large stack of wood. The opening behind it was tiny enough that Veryl hadn't thought Zon would fit so she hadn't checked it.  Big green eyes stared up at them as they hefted the wood aside, creating just enough space for Veryl to reach in her arms and grasp at his scruff. She hauled him out gently, transferring her hold as soon as she secured him on the other side.  Veryl briefly checked him over for any major injuries or sore spots but a more thorough inspection could come later. For now he was safe, in her arms.  "He's safe, Ver, don't cry." Detre quickly wrapped an arm around Veryl's shoulders as she wiped furiously at her cheeks, trying to keep any evidence of her relief from her face as she locked down internally. She didn't trust her words and she didn't trust the feelings that threatened her composure.  "Come on, let's get you two home," Detre said as he guided them back out of the mouth of the alley. 

For more about Detre and Veryl's friendship before Veilguard, you can read Children of the Dark on AO3

[minhphong306]

[Learning notes] Elastic Stack – Relevance of search; fine tune precision or recall

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CCTgroOcyfM&list=LL&index=1 https://github.com/LisaHJung/Part-2-Understanding-the-relevance-of-your-search-with-Elasticsearch-and-Kibana- Một số khái niệm True positives: các document LIÊN QUAN và ĐƯỢC trả về cho user. False positives: các document KHÔNG LIÊN QUAN và ĐƯỢC trả về cho user. True negative: các document KHÔNG LIÊN QUAN và KHÔNG ĐƯỢC trả về cho…

[liskantope]

Over half of the bears in the world are American Black Bears, and Being scared of an American Black Bear is the same nearly the same level of silly as being scared of a white tail deer , Yeah it is technically a large mammal and therefore potentially dangerous but come on, just keep your distance ( though it will probably flee if it can, ”) and keep walking. Some Other bears like sun bears, giant pandas, and spectacled bears are even safer.

Sloth bear attacks ( defensive, There diet is like half plants half insects )are common, I’m not sure how to stack them against other bears though because India just has so many people

Asian black bears are between american black bears and brown bears in their tendency to go after non-insect prey, they also have a reputation from like age-of-imperialism white hunters as more ferocious than brown bears? Not sure whether I believe that?

Brown bears ( grizzly’s being the mainland north american subspecies)are very dangerous, second largest species, tend to fight instead of flee ( partially because poor tree climbers?) regularly hunt large animals like elk calves, and especially if they are acclimated to humans and associate humans to food( trash), very dangerous, pick the man

Polar bears, almost entirely carnivorous, largest “land” predator, they consider humans Food pretty much universally in a way no other animal does except maybe some crocodile species , black

The thing of course is we get our pop culture Idea of “ Bears” mainly from Europe, which only Has Brown Bears and polar bears, which are atypically dangerous if not the 2 most dangerous bear species.

~ signed, guy who picks the bear

Thank you for more bear facts! Now I have more bear facts than I know what to do with, that is until I encounter one in the wild and want to know the correct level of fearing-for-my-life. Or if I want to rethink my judgment of the (for the moment still making the rounds as a very popular meme) "man or bear" test, and say that averaging over all types of bear, the danger from a bear might be negligible enough (well, modulo considerations like how bears are distributed geographically, and how bear populations compare) that I should choose the bear for my daughter to find in the woods. Mea culpa, I was probably wrong to assume that a man is the safer option, mainly because bears are apparently a lot less dangerous on average than most of us assume.

If you [general audience "you"] can't tell from my tone, I still hold that the "man or bear" test is obnoxious and, outside of highlighting a highly specific and narrow aspect of gender dynamics, is not the knock-down feminist argument the internet seems to think it is. Sorry, this isn't aimed at the asker, bear facts are cool. Maybe a good thing to come out of this new meme is that we'll all wind up learning a lot more about bears in the surrounding discourse, because God knows it's not going to lead to anything constructive in the arena of gender issues or social justice discourse.

[debian-official]

archiving all the posts that come across my dash and putting it all into an ELK stack or whatever.

And then it turns out to be practically useless because no one fucking adds alt text to images

[possibly-in-wonderland]

so i made what i imagine DISC0RD's call to sound like using elk sounds

its unnerving.

warning for loud sound, plEASE check your volume.

essentially, i took elk sounds and stacked them. copied that audio. pitched down one of the tracks, pitched up the other one. and added some effects. i wanted to add infrasound but it sounded...off. anyway i used a combination of youtube, soundtrap, and this neat youtube to audio converter (AND ITS NOT SKETCHY GUYS-)

originally i was going to use the sound of rabbit screams paired with calls but i couldnt bring myself to have such a horrid sound downloaded on my computer.

so...elk.

(i want to make this sound with my mouth....elk sounds in general not just this weird ass call)

infrasound: the low frequency used in horror movies to instill paranoia and fear :)