#console variations

[posthumanwanderings]

Prototype XBOX 360 by Hers Experimental Design Laboratory, Osaka Japan

[viscerie]

The Metallic Rose Nintendogs DS Lite. (bundled with Nintendogs: Best Friends edition, Nov 23 2007)

[arcadebroke]

[rockoblanco]

some ppl hate the koopalings so much it’s bizarre but meanwhile apparently having baby versions of the main franchise cast is a fundamental unquestionable necessity to the foundation of Mario Kart like ok ……..

[folksy]

there’s that post going around about how bad 90s video games ads are. anyways this is one of my favs I have a shirt with this dog on it

[tsvai]

its so fucking funny when i go to put a pc game on my ITAD watchlist bc im like, well i don't NEED this right now but maybe if i can grab it eventually when it's 75% off or-- oh it's 90% off RIGHT now, huh

[mysticdragon3md3]

[pennilesswithannds]

Every model of the most popular selling handheld of all time, second only to the ps2, which was on store shelves for 13 years.

[akajustmerry]

Everyday I check Bisan and Motaz's posts, the comments are full of people saying variations of, "we love you! you've changed the world! you'll go down in history!" and there's nothing wrong with that, necessarily. however, I wish people would think about what Palestinian reporters actually want from people when they post about what's happening. I can't imagine its a consolation to motaz or bisan or any Palestinian reporter trying to survive their people's genocide that they will go down in history. They didn't ask for any of this. It's not pity or consolation or premature eulogising about how they've made history that they want. Palestinians need whatever emotion you feel harnessed into action. Yes, leave a comment to boost Palestine content against these Zionist algorithms, but be mindful of the comments you're leaving. Be mindful that you aren't relegating living breathing people to the past. Be mindful of the superiority that might be underpinning your pity. And above all, prioritise ACTION. go to protests, call your politicians, sign petitions, donate if you can, keep paying attention, and demanding action. You serve no one with pity. You serve no one by acting like the future is already history. Anyone who cares about Palestine has a duty to do everything they can to help Palestinians gain the freedom to live their lives.

[anincompoop]

ok so I want to go further into the head uhh I am solving the space within it for the cockpit, I was then told that it should be really.. wide so Im trying to rethink how you create the consoles and the meters and checkups... obviously when I shrunk the chair it wasn't fitting, I also realized you don't get the sense of space in the first so I am revisioning this

I have been looking at.. so many cockpit variations just to figure it out but this is so wide compared to inspirations and references

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Realistic Injuries

References (Minor Injuries; Head Injuries; Broken Bones; Dislocated Joints; Cutting & Piercing; Blood Loss; Blunt Trauma; Burns)

WHAT'S "NORMAL"

For a normal, reasonably healthy adult the following reading are ‘normal’. Some variation is usual and what’s normal for one person may be abnormal for another.

Pulse Rate

Between 60-100 beats per minute

A fitter person will have a rate towards the slower end of the margin and a child or young person will have a naturally high rate.

Any drastic increase or decrease in pulse rate is cause for concern.

Blood Pressure

120-140 over 70-90

Can vary with the time of day, amount of stress and a number of other factors.

High blood pressure is not usually immediately dangerous but can cause long term damage.

Low blood pressure can cause faintness, dizziness and blackouts and is usually a sign that there is an underlying problem to be treated.

Body Temperature

36°C (98.6°F) to 37.5°C (99.5°F)

Relatively minor variations in temperature are cause for concern.

MINOR INJURIES

Bumps, bruises, cuts and grazes

All inconvenient.

But not incapacitating.

A blow to a bony part of a limb or to a joint

Hurts a lot at the time of impact (as anyone who’s banged their shin will agree) and may swell and stiffen.

The impact may also have the effect of temporarily disrupting the ‘power supply’ to the limb meaning the person getting hit is likely to lose their grip on anything they’re carrying and be unable to move the joint for a few minutes.

Bruises

Can take anything from a few seconds to over a day to appear and anything from a day to several weeks to fade away again.

Soft fleshy areas bruise much more colourfully.

Sprains and torn muscles/tendons etc.

Will stiffen, swell and become more painful after a few hours.

A bad sprain can be every bit as incapacitating as a broken bone.

HEAD INJURIES

Probably the most common injury in fiction.

From “let’s bash the bad guy over the head to stop him running after us” to those scenes where everyone gets thrown all over the flight deck by the first bit of turbulence and bounce their heads off consoles.

Minor Head injuries

The human skull is pretty robust and designed to take a fair amount of punishment. Consequently the occasional bump won’t do all that much damage.

A minor bump on the head may leave a character feeling dazed and suffering from a headache, blurred vision and ringing ears but will clear within a few minutes.

Facial bruising - quite uncommon, it takes quite a hard blow or a blow that impacts with the soft tissue around the eyes to leave a mark.

Minor cuts and lacerations on the scalp and face will hurt and bleed out of all proportion to their seriousness. [NOTE: A ‘laceration’ does not mean ‘a very bad cut’ – it is a term for a specific type of wound caused by the tearing rather than the slicing of the skin. It’s the sort of cut you get from being hit with a blunt object (or a fist).]

Medium Head Injuries

A more forceful blow (equivalent to a fall of several feet) can lead to complications of the injury.

Concussion (damage to the brain tissue) is quite common after a hard blow to the head and is often accompanied by temporary unconsciousness. (And it should be very temporary if you don’t want your character to be permanently damaged). This can also result in dizziness, nausea and, not surprisingly, a nasty headache.

Medium cuts and lacerations will be painful and messy but not dangerous. There may be scarring.

Severe Head Injuries

A blow to the head resulting in prolonged unconsciousness will almost certainly result in brain damage, possibly a fractured skull and bruising or bleeding within the brain itself. It can be fatal either straight away if the damage is extensive enough or later as the blood from the injury causes pressure to be put on the brain.

Severe cuts - can damage muscle and sinew and do permanent damage. The pain from such injuries would have most characters unable to concentrate on much else.

Concussion Symptoms

Confusion, disorientation, memory loss,

Dizziness, headache (lingering after the first few hours)

Nausea, vomiting,

Pupils uneven in size and/or reaction,

Sluggish reactions, sleepiness.

Any painkillers given to treat the headache must be non-narcotic and relatively mild. Otherwise it is difficult to tell if sleepiness is caused by a worsening of the injury or by the painkillers.

Someone suffering from a suspected head injury should be watched for at least 24 hours, and woken every few hours if they’re asleep, to check for the above symptoms.

BROKEN BONES

In general they hurt. A lot. Any character with a broken bone (with the possible exception of the ribs) is going to know about it and not be very happy. It is possible that if there is no displacement they might not hurt much at all, and it may not be immediately obvious that the bone is actually broken.

The initial shock and pain is often enough to cause unconsciousness. Keeping the limb immobile will minimise the pain but any pressure or movement is going to be extremely unpleasant.

Severe breaks (compound fractures) can cause part of the bone to protrude through the skin, this will also cause blood loss, which can be severe enough to be dangerous. Nerves and blood vessels can also be permanently damaged.

Smaller bones are obviously more likely to break than larger ones but they hurt every bit as much.

Distinguishing between breaks/sprains is not always easy with just 'it hurts to go on but as a guide… Lots of pain but some movement is a relatively good thing -- it indicates 'just' a tear. Less pain but very limited movement is a worry, because it can mean you've snapped something, and the joint becomes useless without surgery.

Broken Ribs

All sorts of nasty complications can arise here. For a start, though a character who has just broken a rib will feel winded and uncomfortable, the initial discomfort will pass quickly and they may feel fine for some hours afterwards. Possibly they may not even realise that they had broken anything.

After a few hours it will start to hurt badly and breathing may be impaired and painful. Problems can occur when the injured person is breathing only shallowly because of the pain and not expanding their lungs fully, lungs can collapse as a result, causing pneumonia. Interesting in a morbid kind of way is that the breathing difficulties of a collapsed lung aren't what gets you - it's the air pressure that builds up in the chest cutting of the blood flow to the heart.

Broken ribs can also puncture a lung or even the heart with fatal results. A punctured lung would result in death within 3-15 minutes if untreated.

DISLOCATED JOINTS

Hurt just as much as broken bones.

Can be forced back into place without medical facilities but it’s not recommended and will hurt a lot, probably enough to cause unconsciousness. On-the-hoof treatment is the same as for broken bones – imobilise and support the limb.

There are a few dislocations which can be life-threatening -- the sterno-clavicular joint (where the collarbone joins the breastbone) is one. It requires a lot of force to pop it (most people's collarbones will break before the joint goes), and the collarbone usually goes outwards, but if it displaces inwards, it can compress the airways. This joint can dislocate if you get slammed very hard into something like a wall and take the impact on the point of the shoulder. I can also say it hurts very badly and for a very long time.

CUTTING & PIERCING

most human beings come equipped with a healthy set of defensive reflexes to avoid it. If at all possible they will try to put something else (like hands) in the way of the blow. Most people injured in a stabbing have injuries on their hands and arms as well from trying to ward off their assailant.

The severity of the injury depends a great deal on its location:

Limbs

The arms and legs are not protected by much flesh so even a shallow cut or piercing injury here may damage bone and muscle and render the limb effectively useless.

Severe blood loss can occur if the major blood vessels in the inside of the upper arm and inner thigh are damaged.

Abdomen

Piercing injuries will bleed a lot and can easily do fatal damage, although unless a main artery is hit then it’s not going to be a quick death. A piercing more than 2 inches deep starts to get dangerous.

If the main descending aorta is hit, the character has seconds to live.

The femoral or renal arteries will lose a fatal amount of blood in 2 – 3 minutes.

Injury to internal organs would cause bleeding, infections and a nasty slow death if left untreated. Bleeding from the spleen or liver would cause death within 20 minutes. Less major damage to internal organs would cause death either from blood loss over several hours or up to several days later from infection and other complications.

Relatively slight cuts to the stomach area would affect breathing and damage muscles, More major cuts to this area can damage nerves and muscles, meaning the injured character would have no control over their legs. Not nice, when you’re trying to get away from the nutter who’s just sliced you up and suddenly your legs don’t work…

Extensive cuts here can also mean the insides are suddenly outside. Not pretty, not comfortable and, untreated, leaves the character with about 15 minutes to live and they’re going to wish it was much less. Quite apart from the pain (which is pretty horrific) the sight of their own insides tends to make most people quite hysterical.

BLOOD LOSS

Major blood loss will result in a fast weak pulse and accelerated respiratory rate.

For an average healthy person about a litre of blood lost is enough for shock to set in.

Loss of approximately a litre and a half to two litres or more will require transfusion.

Loss of more than 2 and a half litres will probably result in unconsciousness and, if transfusion is not given, death.

Symptoms of Blood Loss

Blood loss in litres < 0.75 || 0.750-1.5 || 1.5-2.0 || > 2.0

Percentage of blood lost < 15% || 15-30% || 30-40% || > 40%

Blood pressure Normal || Normal || Reduced || Low

Pulse rate (beats per minute) < 100 || > 100 || > 120 || > 140

Pulse pressure Normal || Decreased || Decreased || Decreased

Respiratory rate (breaths/min) 14-20 || 20-30 || 30-40 || > 35

Mental state Alert || Anxious || Confused || Lethargic

State of extremities Normal || Pale || Pale/Cool || Pale/Clammy

Amount of blood loss by injury

Severe blood loss, as a wound larger than a fist or that caused by a compound fracture. All figures are approximate and somewhat variable. They are meant as a rough guide only.

SITE OF INJURY || NORMAL BLOOD LOSS (Litres / %) || SEVERE || MAXIMUM

Shoulder: 0.85 / 17% || 1.25 / 25% || 2.1 / 42%

Arm: 0.4 / 8% || 0.85 / 17% || 1.25 / 25%

Elbow: 0.4 / 8% || 0.85 / 17% || 1.65 / 33%

Forearm: 0.4 / 8% || 0.85 / 17% || 1.25 / 25%

Wrist: 0.2 / 4% || 0.6 / 12% || 0.85 / 17%

Chest: 1.25 / 25% || 1.65 / 33% || 5.0 / 100%

Spleen/Liver: 1.25 / 25% || 1.65 / 33% || 5.0 / 100%

Pelvis: 1.25 / 25% || 1.65 / 33% || 5.0 / 100%

Thigh: 1.25 / 25% || 1.65 / 33% || 2.9 / 58%

Leg: 0.85 / 17% || 1.25 / 25% || 2.1 / 42%

Ankle: 0.85 / 17% || 1.25 / 25% || 2.1 / 42%

BLUNT TRAUMA

Getting hit…

Aside from the obvious risk of getting smacked upside the head or breaking bones (see above) there are assorted other injuries and complications which can arise.

Due to the elasticity of the ribcage getting smacked in the chest can cause a person to fly backwards some distance. Of course this means they can bounce off of something else and hurt themselves that way. At best they’re going to be winded and have difficulty breathing, which causes a certain amount of panic in most people. And it looks rather alarming.

Heavy blows to the back can damage the spine resulting in possible paralysis and death. Kidney injuries are also common when someone is hit in the small of the back. They can bleed and may shut down altogether. Kidney failure means the body can’t clear certain waste products from its system, if the waste products build up too far then coma and death can result.

Internal organs such as the liver and spleen can also be damaged by blunt trauma and bleed as detailed above. Other organs which may be injured are the pancreas and the intestines.

If the pancreas is damaged it may spill digestive enzymes which start to digest the person’s own insides. Obviously this is rather painful and unpleasant.

Damage to the intestines can result in blockages (causing pain, nausea and vomiting), bleeding, and the release of bacteria into the bloodstream resulting in septic shock (high fever followed by sudden drop in temperature and blood pressure – fatal if not treated) This can take 24 hours or more.

Usual treatment for internal injuries is IV feeding, antibiotics, painkillers and sometimes surgery.

BURNS

Burns are classified into degree by their seriousness.

1st degree burns – Red, sensitive skin, like a sunburn.

2nd degree burns – Blistering on the first layer of skin (the epidermis) only.

3rd degree burns – Damage to both the epidermis and dermis (the first two layers of skin), visible scars.

Burns over more than 70% of the body are life threatening due to dehydration and the risk of shock, kidney failure and infection.

Electrical shock

Physical marks can vary from none at all to severe tissue damage depending on the severity of the shock.

Internal damage can be done by electrical current traveling along the nerves and blood vessels.

Source: Leia Fee (with additions by Susannah Shepherd) Part 2 ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[viscerie]

LovePlus+ Limited Edition Nintendo 3DS LL Versions Featuring Manaka, Nene, and Rinko.

[unwantedshivering]

TENDER

Kevin is frighteningly, scarily soft with you after Eva mistakes your bruise for his doing and you refute it.

MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: talk of DA (domestic abuse, but none actually committed), weird bruise kissing/touching, up for interpretation ending (could be sexual, could be cuddling), a hint of emotional manipulation and neglect. it’s kev after all

FOR: Kevin Khatchadourian (1.6k)

NOTES: so soft that i question myself if i wrote this with kev in mind, but i kept it as little OOC as possible

Kevin, for all intents and purposes, is like a cat.

This is not said to demean his true nature in any sense. You’ve seen firsthand the cruelty he can display with a brush of his finger, you’ve heard the things whispered along the walls of his home. You’ve spoken with Eva.

It was after your first dinner at the Khatchadourian household as his significant other. It felt more like a flimsy label sticker stuck on a can, but it was still a label rather than a sly tilt of the head — which, not surprisingly, was what you were met with in the first few months you hung around Kevin. Whenever you asked any variation of, “What are we?” it was faced with silence, a cock of the eyebrow, and then him ignoring you.

You came a long way.

After dinner you offered to help Eva with the dishes, and she politely declined before smiling and agreeing. It was awkward. Being alone with Eva in every sense of the word was just… awkward. It seemed as though she never wrapped her head around the fact that you stayed, and you weren’t going anywhere.

You placed a cup on the drying rack, making light conversation with her before she broke the lightheartedness abruptly.

“Does he… ah, Kevin — does he hurt you?”

It was uttered quick, in a short burst as though he could walk in any second and catch her. It felt surreal. You noted immediately that her eyes darted wildly from your face and the bruise you acquired from hitting your arm too hard on a railing.

“You can tell me. I can help, really —“

“No,” you interjected politely, blinking the shock out of your face. “No he doesn’t. I… yeah, he doesn’t. I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry it’s not what you’re looking for.

She deflated immediately. Maybe she was trying to find consolation in the fact that his cruelty was something evident to others, bared to others like it was to her. Still, you couldn’t lie to her. He never hurt you. Sometimes emotionally he drove you insane, but physically he never hurt you in a way that screamed imminent death. Sure, he could grip your wrist a bit too tight, but that was nothing.

Kevin is like a cat.

When you went upstairs that night after awkwardly drying off the dishes with Eva, he was already waiting for you at the top of the stairs. Not a creaking wooden step was heard as he stood unnervingly still, like an apparition waiting for you to make the first movie. You gave him a light smile, a cautious and confused one. He simply pivoted on his heel, leaving to his room. Follow me, the silence said.

And follow you did.

His room was starkly blank, with nothing of interest but his bow and himself. It smelt of linen, and mornings of sun, but right then it smelt of nothing but Kevin. He had taken it upon himself to wear a white button up to dinner, a new development which left your mind reeling. Seriously, if his pale skin and lithe form weren’t emphasized before, the button up simply made him look angelic.

A deceiving sort of angelic, though. It was an uncomfortable sort of normalcy that he didn’t often display, and despite how lovely he looked in his all too-tight shirts, the looseness of the fabric made him look… soft. The exact opposite of what he was. The inky mess on his head only furthered this notion of softness, of, well, normal. He was a normal boyfriend, you could tell yourself.

He sat on the edge of his bed, and you trailed after him like a curious animal, hoping to be met with affection rather than harm. You told the truth to Eva, he never hurt you physically, but his mannerisms set off your base instincts as though he could. It was the possibility.

You stopped right in front of him and he looked up at you through his tussled locks, startlingly long lashes accentuating the darkness of his eyes. “What did she say?” he asked, though it was more like a statement than an inquiry. It was though he already knew.

“Nothing,” you murmured, soft. Soft, soft, soft.

“Don’t lie to me.”

You quirked the smallest smile, because his tone itself was intimidating enough for you to fold under the pressure. If you listened closely, you could’ve heard his heart dancing wildly under his skin, and his breathing catching for some reason. This some unknown and sanctified reason was, perhaps, you. He didn’t attempt to distinguish this, as if he did then he would truly be gone.

“I meant nothing that I could answer,” you reiterated, “nothing that could make me leave.”

Briefly, his intense eye contact broke, and he glanced down at the rest of you standing before him before blank eyes returned to your face. You tilted your head at this, as he was never one to randomly break eye contact, and nonetheless to return it afterward. It was either you had his attention or you didn’t. That was another reason why he was like a cat, you supposed.

In an instant, in a split second of thought, he gripped your waist, finding heavy purchase on the sides to pull you closer. You blinked, a small noise escaping your mouth in shock, your knee resting between his legs in an awkward fashion to not fall fully on him. He always got a little… odd when it came to his mother, and yet never was he touchy. There wasn’t a reason to comfort him when the oddness came in droves and mainly in the form of unfathomable anger.

His hands were large, fingers inching to dig into the flesh of your skin. Despite these urges, to dig as he pleased and not care of your cries, something stopped him. It was almost thankfulness, almost a twisted form of relief that Eva couldn’t make you run out the door screaming. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, the twinge so small that it couldn’t really be deemed feeling.

Other than sharing this with you, he hummed. It was a minuscule confirmation. “I heard what she asked,” he said, eyes looking up at you, grip firm. “She’s stupid to think that.”

Yes, stupid.

You smiled, your own hands finding loose comfort over his own. His purchase didn’t let up, and somehow his jaw set even firmer. “You don’t hurt me,” you answered. “I think you could, but you don’t.”

It was frighteningly bold of you to say this, as he could prove you wrong right then, though he wouldn’t. He could take it as a challenge, though he chose not to. It lit a small fire in Kevin, an annoyance that you were right yet no want to prove you wrong. It was uncannily unlike him.

“You’re stupid to think that.” There was no typical amusement in his voice. It was another statement, like he knew something you didn’t.

Yes, you were also stupid. Though you were still right, and Kevin instead did nothing to refute this other than a weak verbal rebuttal. He roamed your form once again, eyes crossing your collarbones, your shirt slightly lifting to show skin, and finally landing on the unmistakable bruise Eva thought was Kevin’s doing.

Without warning, he let up one of his hands to grip your elbow below the bruise, and you almost thought that yes, you were stupid to think that before his lips met it. It was a light, awkward thing he had to bend his neck for. It was way too soft to be his lips, way too soft to be him. In a fashion that was still himself though, you felt him smirk against the tender flesh as though he knew your brief fear.

You couldn’t lie and say that there wasn’t a staggering hint of terror that gripped your heart. There wasn’t a need a lie, it washed over your face. There wasn’t anything to be afraid of either, but it was the same fear and sense of accomplishment one would receive when a feral animal accepts food from their hand; it was unbelievable, something you could rave about in your head for months.

Despite the awkwardness of the position, Kevin was able to look graceful. His lips met it in a way that they would before taking a bite out of an apple, or perhaps a bruised peach or plum in this situation. Your base instincts told you he would sink his teeth into the skin, dig his fingers and nails into the darkened pit for nothing other than to hear you squeak. He did neither, and your instincts were wrong again. He kissed it once more. And again. And again. Each time a different angle, a different tilt of the head. Each time feather light, without pressure, like a ghost of lips to tantalize your flesh.

Finally, he let go, eyes still zoned in on that bruise as though he was thankful for it. It was a large thing, taking up a good amount of space on your inner arm as you had rammed front-first into railing on a crowded Friday. Kevin didn’t ask how you got it. You thought that aspect probably didn’t matter to him, it was just the fact that it was there.

It was also an ugly thing, growing yellow and purple and dark enough to be questioned in the first place. Despite its ugliness, it was being worshipped in that moment for a reason you couldn’t surmise.

Kevin’s dark eyes met yours again, lips still parted and breath escaping like stolen air. Your air, as you couldn’t believe what he just did. The inky blackness of his eyes under stern eyebrows roamed your face, your expression, tickling your skin with every trace over. If you didn’t know any better you would’ve assumed he wanted to engrave your every micro-expression to his memory.

In a singular moment, he pulled you forward, his back hitting the bed and taking you with him in a soft thud.

[the-liars-art]

Konrad and Tarot Cards: Compiled Excerpts

Tarot cards have been a part of his motifs, imageries, and aesthetics since the very beginning of the Horus Heresy publications (featured heavily in two short stories from 2007, and much less so in later stories where he gets more character development) and in his official miniature sculpt. Our primarch the Night Haunter used his deck of cards, a 40k Nostraman version of real tarot cards, for divination. The cards helped him interpret his visions, before the precognition became vivid and clear enough to do without. He used to consult his cards frequently and not in secret.

He and his Nostraman deck could have played a part in the later development of the Emperor's Tarot (though it won't be featured in this post), with the appearance of the card "the Dark King" and such, but Black Library inconsistency says no.

Also if I have a nickel every time Konrad is looking at his cards and one of his good sons walk in, I'd have 2, which isn't a lot but it's fun that it happened twice.

Now, the excerpts galore, in publication order:

Night Haunter turned over the last card and his jawline tightened as the familiar pattern emerged once more. The strategium of his flagship was kept dark, the faint blue light of consoles and hololithic displays islands of light in the darkness. The Primarch of the Night Lords paid no attention to his surroundings, ignoring the pregnant pressure of anticipation that bristled from every member of his bridge crew. A deck of worn cards sat on the softly glowing lectern before him, their edges scuffed and curled from decades of shuffling and dealing. Little more than a parlour game played by the indolent rich of Nostramo Quintus, he had since discovered that variations of these cards had been employed in the hives of Merica and by the tribes of the Franc as a means of divination in the time before Old Night had descended. The cards apparently corresponded to the stratification of society at the time, with the various suits representing warriors, priests, merchants and workers. Ancient belief held that the future could be read in the patterns of cards known as the Lesser Arcanoi, but such traditions were outmoded concepts in this colourless, secular galaxy… Except that no matter how thoroughly he shuffled the cards and dealt them on the polished glass of the lectern, the pattern was always the same. The Moon, the Martyr and the Monster lay in a triangular pattern. The King lay reversed at the feet of the Emperor on one side of the pattern, and on the other, also reversed, was the Dove – a card academics postulated was a symbol of hope. The card he had just dealt sat at the top of the pattern, a card that had changed little over the centuries and the meaning of which, though often misinterpreted, was unmistakable. Death. He heard footsteps and looked up to see Captain Shang approaching, clad in his battle plate and wrapped in his ceremonial black cape of gleaming patagium. His helmet’s flaring wings framed a death mask of an alien skull, its tusked lower jaw thrust beyond his throat. Behind his equerry, Night Haunter could see the gently rotating orb of Nostramo displayed on the viewscreen. Thick clouds of pollutants ringed the grey planet, shot through with emphysemic yellows and leprous browns. The radiation-blasted moon of Tenebor was just visible as a sickly orb emerging from the stained-lung corona of Nostramo’s dying sun.

--the short story The Dark King, by Graham McNeill (2007)

‘There is one other thing,’ said Malcador, setting his glass down and rising to his feet. ‘Something I want to show you.’ Malcador crossed the chamber, and took something from a drawer in an old bureau. He walked back to Dorn, and spread that something out on the low table between them. Dorn opened his mouth but no sound issued. Fear gripped him. ‘You recognise these, of course.’ Old cards, worn and fraying, discoloured and liver-spotted with time. One by one, Malcador laid them out. ‘The Lesser Arcanoi, just gaming trinkets really, but used widely before the coming of Old Night for divination. This deck was made on Nostramo Quintus.’ ‘He used them,’ Dorn breathed. ‘Yes, he did. He relied on them. He believed in cartomancy. He dealt his fate out, night after haunted night, and watched how the cards fell.’ ‘Oh, Holy Terra…’ ‘Are you all right, sir?’ Malcador asked, looking up. ‘You are quite pale.’ Dorn nodded. ‘Curze.’ ‘Yes, Curze. Had you forgotten him, or simply blocked him out? You have bickered and sparred with many of your brothers over the years, but only Konrad Curze ever hurt you.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘He nearly killed you.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘On Cheraut, long ago,’ ‘I remember it well enough!’ Malcador looked up at Dorn. The primarch had risen to his feet. ‘Then sit back down and tell me, because I wasn’t there.’ Dorn sat. ‘This is so long ago or like another life. We had brought the Cheraut system to compliance. It was hard fought. The Emperor’s Children, the Night Lords and my Fists, we affected compliance. But Curze didn’t know when to stop. He never knew when to stop.’ ‘And you rebuked him?’ ‘He was an animal. Yes, I rebuked him. Then Fulgrim told me.’ ‘Told you what?’ Dorn closed his eyes. ‘The Phoenician told me what Curze had told him: the fits, the seizures that had plagued Curze since his childhood on Nostramo, the visions. Curze said he had seen the galaxy in flames, the Emperor’s legacy overthrown, legionaries turning on legionaries. It was all lies, an insult to our creed!’ ‘You confronted Curze?’ ‘And he attacked me. He would have killed me, I think. He is insane. That’s why we drove him out, sick of his bloodletting. That’s why he burned his home world and took his Night Lords off into the darkest parts of the stars.’ Malcador nodded, and continued to deal the cards. ‘Rogal, he is what you are truly afraid of, because he is fear incarnate. No other primarch uses terror as a weapon like Curze does. You are not afraid of Horus and his sallow heretics. You are afraid of the fear that sides with him, the night terror that advances alongside the traitors.’ Dorn sat back and breathed out. ‘He has haunted me, I confess. All this time, he has haunted me.’ ‘Because he was right. His visions were true. He saw this Heresy coming in his visions. That is the truth you fear. You wish you had listened.’ Dorn looked down at the cards laid out on the table before him. ‘Do you believe in this divination, Sigillite?’ ‘Let’s see,’ said Malcador, turning the cards over one by one: the Moon, the Martyr and the Monster, the Dark King askew across the Emperor. One other card, the Lightning Tower. Dorn groaned. ‘A bastion, blown out by lightning. A palace brought to ruin by fire. I’ve seen enough.’ ‘The card has many meanings,’ said Malcador. ‘Like the Death card, it is not as obvious as it seems. In the hives of Nord Merica, it symbolised a change in fortune, an overturning of fate. To the tribes of Franc and Tali, it signified knowledge or achievement obtained through sacrifice. A flash of inspiration, if you will, one that tumbles the world you know down, but leaves you with a greater gift.’ ‘The Dark King lies across the Emperor,’ said Dorn, pointing. Malcador sniffed. ‘It’s not exactly a science, my friend.’

--the short story The Lightning Tower, by Dan Abnett (2007)

One brief mention of cards and pre-discovery Night Haunter:

The pale man knew he’d have to appear before many of them tonight – the cards had revealed that much to him. The thousands gathered into this place of sleazy sanctuary would see him for the first time. A necessary indulgence, nothing more. He’d learned from them. Now they would learn from him.

—the novella Prince of Crows, by Aaron Dembski-Bowden (2012)

Then we reach the most recent mentions in the primarch book:

Ledgers and data-slates were piled around his chamber upon the iron table. The mortal Ekra Trez worked quietly in the ­corner of the room. When the darkness came upon Curze, Trez’s psychic talent blunted the horror. At other times he aided his master, autoquill scratching on an accompanying screen as he compiled the data Curze himself had processed. The information was there to see, all aspects of each recruit meticulously recorded: genotype, origin, records of crime, set out in plain language. The men destroying his Legion from within were either confident they would not be discovered, or were so proud of their actions they felt they had nothing to hide. Curze glanced at the spread of worn cards in the middle of the table. Their reading suggested that could be it. They could believe they were doing the right thing. False rectitude was no shield against justice. The door to his chamber opened. ‘Sevatar,’ said Curze, without looking up. [...] ‘We shall see it done after Cheraut. Before then, I have another task to perform. It is time I spoke with my brothers.’ Again he looked at the cards. ‘What will happen is unclear to me, but perhaps all this horror can be forestalled. Perhaps the rumours are inflated, and Nostramo might be saved,’ murmured Curze. ‘Maybe Balthius is alive still, and this situation can be rectified.’

--Chapter 11 of Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, by Guy Haley (2019)

Shang reached up and removed his helmet. His scent hissed into the room more strongly with the escaping air. ‘My lord,’ he said. He licked dry lips, eyes flicking about the scene of ruin. ‘They are getting worse. Your visions.’ Curze nodded his head. His mouth swam with spit that tasted of blood. ‘They are, my son,’ said Curze. ‘Once, they were but images flitting through my mind, presaging events that I must labour over my cards to fully predict. Now they come to me wholly formed, and their violence flows out from me.’ Curze hauled himself up to his feet.

--Chapter 11 of Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, by Guy Haley (2019)

In pride of place, at a table by his side, sat the battered deck of cards he had consulted so many times. He meant their presence to be his last comment on fortune’s cruel grip. But the cards dragged at his attention, forcing him to reappraise them as a tool of his delusion.

--Chapter 13 of Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, by Guy Haley (2019)

Make of the it what you will. Ave Dominux Nox🦇

[shepscapades]

Howdy! Forgot to ask this on the quiz, so I'll ask here:

Do you ever get tired of the worldbuilding in your works? Like, do you ever want to include some whimsy magic, but the pre-set rules of the world don't allow you?

Also, I might have missed it, but is the concept of the "players code" a thing in your story? We talking admin panels, lag, etc

Just curious, have a nice day!

Ouuu those are two really good questions! I'll answer the code one first, since i think it's important to the dbhc story and something people should know if they didn't previously notice it:

My understanding/headcanon/conceptualization for Hermitcraft (and dbhc, by extension), is that the world and players are very much comprised of code. Code is to the fabric of their minecraft reality like atoms are to the fabric of our reality, and Admins (opped players, i suppose) have special access to and responsibility over this code: they can see into it and adjust or fix errors to ensure players are kept safe and worlds are managed well.

This is perhaps most obviously seen in the "A Delightful new Partnership begins!" Comic in which Xisuma notices something isn't sitting right in the code around him and takes out his 'control panel/admin panel/console/etc' to investigate. I talk about it in a little more detail in my breakdown post of this comic, where I talk about the possibility of 24 getting access to the code, scrambling it up, and not really knowing how it works enough to put things back right. It's also implied that he may be manipulating/messing with Xisuma's memories by deleting parts of X's player code (I note that i didn't want the glitch effects to necessarily be associated with android-y effects), as we see him forget parts of this encounter and constantly shifting in and out of place as he gives unsettlingly neutral/positive/encouraged answers to a manipulative and intimidating Android 24.

I also love incorporating like, console commands into the comics and au :D such as '/clear queued visual cache' from Don't Let It Reach The Heart :] Though i know it's different since he's an android hehe

I also just think code integration into a 'realistic' interpretation of Minecraft-based stories opens the door for really fun translations of Video Game experiences (i.e., interpreting lag as something like disorientation, disassociation, or misalignment between a player's code and the world's). It's super fun to think about so I love making it part of these stories :D

Regarding worldbuilding! I don't think I've really grown tired of it, as far as I know (assuming you're primarily asking about dbhc, but i would say the following goes for my original works, too): When it comes to storytelling and worldbuilding, I have a very very, uh, logically-tracked mind about things? The reason things happen and the way things work all need to make sense within whatever system i've chosen/come up with/been working in, so I often have a lot of fun (or experience a lot of turmoil) trying to make events and characterizations fit within that world. If I ever have a new idea that doesn't fit in that pre-determined set of rules, I either: move on pretty quickly, not lingering on things that wouldn't be possible so I can find ideas or variations of the non-conforming thought that *would* work, OR try to think of fun ways to make a non-conforming idea work by developing a new rule that still coexists with previous ones (i.e., maybe there's an exception in the way the world works for reason x/y/z, and the more i develop that possibility, it could make previous characters or ideas more complex in turn! It's like a very fun puzzle to me, and it's why i love storytelling so much :D

[postmanlinksbootyshorts]

also the remake has like 400 songs bc of all the subtle variations and shit

now why did they make the intro to ttyd remake different in the jp version