#le dark brotherhood has arrived

[beardedmrbean]

[greysnames]

Facade coin flip

FACADE COIN FLIP MOVIE

FACADE COIN FLIP FULL

In the course of the opening, he sets off a collapse, a careering and huge boulder he must outrun, before being double crossed by his local guide afterward. Raiders of the Lost Ark perfectly introduces us to our intrepid archaeologist/adventurer as he retrieves a lost artefact from a boobytrap laden tomb. The ultimate action adventure film has to have a great opening sequence right? Well yes.

FACADE COIN FLIP FULL

Heat, full of great dialogue, beautiful photography and gripping encounters, never lets up, punctuated by exceptional and exquisitely executed set pieces. Then comes the introduction of Vincent Hanna, the flipside to Neil’s (De Niro) coin. We now see the dynamic of how De Niro operates and soon after it establishes Waingro as a loose end. Now it’s a murder charge and consequently in a planned contingency, the other guards are killed. It’s violent and authoritative as they disarm and disorientate the guards, but they’ll live… that is until a spanner in the works, Waingro (Kevin Gage), a new recruit with an itchy trigger finger, shoots down a guard. It’s quick, brutal and they’re running on a schedule down to the second. A well orchestrated hit on a transport vehicle sees Robert De Niro and his band of criminal cohorts strike with ruthless efficiency. Michael Mann’s classic crime thriller starts as it means to go on, and that’s with a visceral, hard hitting and terse sequence which is gritty and precise. At which point we’ve already done period epic, horror and now martial arts are thrown in, as Dacascos shows off his physical prowess whilst rain torrential pours down. They run into bandits dressed as women who are tormenting a farmer and his daughter. It’s brutal and effective, before transitioning right into the introduction of Gregoire De Fronsac (Samuel Le Bihan) and his trusted Native American aide Mani (Mark Dacascos). The first scene is a Jaws-esque sequence where a peasant is stalked and killed by an unseen creature. Within the opening 10 minutes he’s set the tone perfectly, as an aging Lord in a France under revolution, recounts the Beast of Gevauden, a creature which killed peasants in the French Countryside, and the Naturalist sent (by order of the King) to investigate. It was a genre mash up that was part period epic, part horror, martial arts action film and fantasy. Brotherhood of the WolfĬhristophe Gans announced himself around the world with his mega hit, Brotherhood of the Wolf. That the rest of the film, nay trilogy, couldn’t live up to the opening scene, is not a surprise. It’s a majestic scene only dated by some of the CGI, but it shows the brilliant mix of fierce martial arts and Blade’s arsenal of weaponry that drive the film from then on. Blood rains from sprinklers and the whole place is filled with the undead…then Snipes arrives as Blade and opens up a hefty can of whoop-ass. The opening vampire club sequence in particular is a brilliant way to open, as Traci Lords takes an unsuspecting human (see lamb to slaughter) to an underground rave where he’ll end up a main course. The dark, brooding comic book film from Stephen Norrington had a stoic Wesley Snipes in good form and Stephen Dorff enjoying himself as the villain, Deacon Frost. Ahead of its time, stylistically very of its time, but also distinctly flawed, Blade was almost the orchestrator of its own demise. The film that really blazed a trail for the MCU, was Blade back in 1998.

FACADE COIN FLIP MOVIE

Here are fifteen of the greatest movie openings… Blade Others might open somewhat meekly but improve as the film goes on (but at the risk of having lost viewers before the going gets good). Some films open brilliantly and can’t maintain it. Some films will opt for intrigue and a slow burn, but there needs to be enough to stop a viewer from potential peering down to their phone. In the age of streaming and a lust for instant gratification, where Tik Tok videos all of 20 seconds occasionally fail to keep attention till the end, it’s essential to open strongly. A film’s goal is to grab the attention of viewers and hold them until the final credits roll. Tom Jolliffe looks at 15 great movie openings which hook the audience immediately…Īudiences are a difficult bunch to please sometimes.

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part II

First | Next | Masterpost

He went straight to Vizima to find Triss, once he’d made his way out of Kaedwen. It wasn’t directly on the way to Oxenfurt, but it was close enough that he didn’t feel he was making an unreasonable digression. Though he was nervous about locating his bard, he needed to know what this Ida person could tell him.

Triss was as welcoming as always, greeting him with a brief press of cheeks and a light embrace. Yennefer had told her of Geralt’s mission, but she was unable to assist him on the first day, busy with treating several commoners who had come down with a sickness. Nothing of a magical nature, but it did detain her for much of the day after Geralt’s arrival. He busied himself in the city, restocking on potion ingredients that he’d run low on over the long winter, dropping his armor off to be reinforced, and picking up a slim cloth bracelet for Jaskier. It was a soft blue color, with silver beads spaced evenly over the surface, and Geralt thought it would please him.

Gods. He was in trouble.

That evening he dined with Triss in her quarters, despite the fact that it was wildly inappropriate. Geralt asked after it, and Triss laughed dismissively.

“That is a delightful sentiment, but no one is questioning my dalliances,” she said with a grin. “They’re too afraid I’ll turn them into toads if they irritate me. And besides, half the Continent believes that you’re courting Yennefer because of the bard’s silly songs, and the other half thinks you’re courting the bard.”

Ah. “Well,” Geralt said, articulately.

Triss smirked at him over her wine. It was exceptionally good, a vintage from Toussaint that was nearly as old as Geralt. Triss’ quarters were fairly large, befitting a court mage, but decorated in a way that made them seem almost cozy. She favored muted colors that turned rich in the light of the candles scattered around the room. There were dozens of tables and shelves crowded with books, herbs and knick knacks that made the space feel distinctly lived in. It was a stark contrast to Yennefer’s lodgings, which were always immaculate and finely organized. The clutter was a refreshing change of pace. “Yennefer told me that you’re trying to make the bard immortal,” Triss said. One of her eyebrows rose, and Geralt wasn’t sure if the look she gave him was impressed or judgemental.

“Not necessarily,” Geralt said defensively. “Just not so, uh.”

“Excessively mortal?”

He hummed. Triss sighed.

“I don’t know of anything to lengthen a human lifespan to that of a witcher’s,” she said. “But the elves have been dealing in things relating to life force for longer than there have been human mages on the Continent. If anyone has any knowledge of what you’re after, it will be the Aen Saevherne.”

Geralt nodded. “Yennefer told me to ask after a woman named Ida. A sage?”

Triss set her goblet down, looking grave. “Ida Emean. An old acquaintance of mine. Perhaps one of the last elven sages alive, though they’re so secretive it’s difficult to tell. She works occasionally with the Brotherhood, when their goals align. But you need to know, Geralt, even if she has an answer for you, this kind of magic comes with a price. Always.”

“I’m willing to pay it,” Geralt said. “Jaskier, he’s—”

Triss interrupted him with a gentle smile, brushing her fingers over the back of his hand on the table. “I know what he is to you. I want to help. I just want you to be careful.” Geralt wondered when he’d become this transparent to, apparently, half the Continent and every one of his close friends. The sorceresses were probably gossiping behind his back.

“How will you contact her?” Geralt asked, pushing through his embarrassment. He wished saving Jaskier’s fragile human life didn’t involve so many conversations about his unrequited love.

“Megascope,” Triss said, rising. “We’ll need to do it soon, when the moon rises. It will make the connection stronger; I’m not sure where she is.”

Geralt followed her into a room off of the main sitting area, a small space that was almost entirely dominated by Triss’ megascope. He’d seen its like numerous times at Kaer Morhen, where Yennefer had set her own up in the highest tower still standing. The large crystal disks swam with a cool blue light as Triss waved her hand through the air. Three brass arms rose up to hold them at shoulder level, facing inwards to form a triangle. The soft light filled the dark space, throwing Triss’ face into sharp relief before Geralt snapped a finger to light the candles in the room.

Triss stepped up in front of the negative space between the stands, uttering a few words in Elder that Geralt wasn’t familiar with. After a moment the light began to shimmer and twist around itself, slowly solidifying into a human form.

The figure was indistinct, as they usually were in megascope projections, but Geralt could tell that the woman was beautiful. Used to dealing with elves in the south, whose genes had been diluted with human blood over so many centuries, Geralt was taken aback by the sharpness of her features. Her neck was long and elegant, and her hair fell in sheets around her alien features. He was reminded suddenly of his encounter with the elves of the Blue Mountains so many years ago, the inhuman angle of Filavandrel’s cheekbones.

The smoky figure turned towards Triss first, her head dropping in a brief nod. “Triss Merigold. Keidmil.” Ida said in greeting.

Triss nodded in return, her curls bouncing with the motion. “Keidmil, Ida. I apologize for summoning you with so little warning. I have done so as a favor to a friend.” At this Ida’s eyes, empty orbs of swirling blue light in the megascope, fell on Geralt.

“Vatgern,” she said, with the tone of someone who has just discovered something fascinating but slightly repulsive on the bottom of their shoe. “You have friends in high places, wed. What business does a witcher have with me?” Her accent made the words almost musical.

Geralt’s nod of acknowledgement was more of a bow. He wasn’t normally one to show deference to those with power, but this time his heart was pounding in his ears as he leaned forward. If Ida wouldn’t help him, he would be back to square one before he’d even really begun. “Keidmil, Aen Saevherne,” he said as demurely as he could, which probably still came out sounding like gravel. “I was told by Yennefer of Vengerberg that you might have some knowledge on extending human lifespans.”

Ida’s head tilted a tic to the side, clearly intrigued. “Witchers already live near as long as any half-elf on the Continent,” she replied. “There is no spell that could give you the lifespan of a true Aen Seidhe.”

“It isn’t for myself,” Geralt said quickly. “It’s for a human. Someone I… care deeply about.” He ignored the way his face flamed at this admission, no matter how clear it was that Triss obviously knew about his infatuation. He’d barely admitted it aloud to himself, let alone anyone else.

Ida hummed, the sound vibrating through the megascope. “This has precedent. But the spell you seek does not come without cost.”

“Tell me,” Geralt said firmly.

“There has always been conflict between humankind and the Aes Seidhe. Our peoples have crossed gweld an gleidyf many times over the millennia. But there were always times when there was peace, coexistence. In the early days, before the blood of men diluted our own, the Aes Seidhe could live through half a dozen human lifetimes or more. It was taboo to form relationships with humans, and many did not bother. But there were, of course, exceptions.

“It is unclear where the ritual comes from, but the tales say that one of the Aen Saevherne fell in love with a human woman, who then fell gravely ill as she entered her twilight years. The sage, terrified of losing her, bound her lifeforce to his own, effectively extending her life at the cost of some of his own longevity. Over the years the ritual was refined by others. It has fallen out of practice, in this age; many of the Aes Seidhe’s bloodlines are so diluted that they live for no longer than twice a human lifetime. But the ritual remains.”

Geralt swallowed. “Can you explain it to me?”

“I can,” Ida said, her chin raising slightly. “But I do not need to tell you, vatgern, that all such magic comes with consequences. You cannot create those years from nothing; they must be drawn from somewhere. And you will be binding yourself to this human. I cannot say how this ritual will impact someone who is not of elvish blood.”

He could feel Triss turning worried eyes on him. She too knew the price that magic could demand. “Will Ja—the human, could he be harmed?” Geralt asked.

Ida’s head shook back and forth, her hair swaying. “You assume the responsibility of the ritual,” she said. “Is this human worth so much to you?”

“Yes,” Geralt said instantly, surprised by his own lack of hesitation. “Anything.”

Ida looked at him for a moment, as if judging his truthfulness. “Very well,” she finally said. “I will give you the words, but the ritual requires additional pieces. Gaes carraigh, an oathstone, for the vow; ghealachlíon, night’s linseed, for the binding; and ionad, a place of great power or great personal meaning. Once these elements are combined, you bind your hands with the moonflax over the oathstone and speak the incantation. It is straightforward, but your pronunciation and your intent must be exact. Me lámh le do lámh, me cáerme le do cáerme.”

“Me lámh le do lámh, me cáerme le do cáerme,” Geralt repeated. The words were easy, close enough to their modern counterparts that he was certain it would be nearly identical in southern Elder. It was almost too easy, romantic in its simplicity. Ida nodded, satisfied. “And that’s all?” Geralt asked, breathless.

“That is all. There need be no officiant, no further ceremony. You will be bound by Chaos herself.”

“Officiant?” Geralt blinked, confused. “Why would we need an officiant?”

“I have been told that human marriages tend to involve quite a few witnesses,” Ida said, sounding amused. “Ours are a bit more personal.”

“Wait. This is a marriage ritual?” Geralt felt his heart starting to sink down into his stomach.

“I thought that much was obvious,” Ida replied. “Now, if that is all you require, I have my own business to attend to.”

“Me grasha, Ida, for taking the time,” Triss piped up again. “If you ever need a favor in return…”

“I will keep that in mind,” Ida said. “Va feil.”

“Va feil,” Triss replied, and the megascoped dimmed and cast the room back into darkness.

Geralt stood in utter stillness for a moment, blinking into the dark. “Fuck,” he burst out. “I have to marry him?”

Triss just laughed.

*

Triss, luckily, knew the locations of most of the components Ida had mentioned, though the last location would be up to Geralt to determine. The first of these, the oathstone, was used frequently enough in larger elven settlements before their people were displaced. She had recommended the ruins of Ban Aine as a likely findspot, and it was situated not too far from Oxenfurt. That was to be his first real stop, to collect Jaskier and convince him of Geralt’s plan.

Hopefully without revealing too much about the exact nature of the ritual, which still made Geralt sweat when he thought about it for too long.

He couldn’t help but think of it with a strange mix of giddiness and dread, churning together in a nauseating concoction. Marriage wasn’t something that witchers got to do, ever. Their lives were transient and drawn out, and often ended in violence. Even if any of them had the time to court lovers, it wasn’t the type of life that one would wish on someone they cared for. It could only end one of two ways: the witcher outlived their paramour, or their love was left to grieve them after they were gutted by some beast or strung up by an angry mob.

Even when Geralt had been infatuated with Yennefer he hadn’t truly considered anything like marriage. He had imagined a kind of loose commitment, maybe, but he had always known somewhere deep in his own mind that Yennefer would never stand to be tied down to anyone for long. He had been desperate enough for her love that he’d been willing to settle for anything she could give him.

He had never dared to hope for more, no matter how he might want it. Still, once he had come to understand his own feelings towards Jaskier, he had been unable to stop himself from thinking about it at times. He wondered what things might change between them, if they tied themselves together. Things might stay much the same; Jaskier would come to Kaer Morhen most years, and journey with Geralt when he could throughout the rest of the year. He would bring trinkets and books and stories for Ciri, and teach her how to be human, and trade quips with Yennefer and the other wolves when they all gathered. He would still help Geralt clean up after a hunt, help him stitch his skin back together and wash away the grime and curl up at his side when night came. But maybe he would also let Geralt wake him by pressing his lips to Jaskier’s eyelids like he had so often yearned to do. Maybe he would reach out and hold Geralt’s hand as they walked through a new town; maybe he would close the distance kept between them when they lay in tiny rented beds.

Maybe he could be Geralt’s, and no one else’s.

He was successful, most of the time, in keeping these kinds of thoughts at bay. It did a witcher no good to dwell on what could not be.

Now it would be, if only technically, and only if Geralt could convince Jaskier to perform the ritual without giving away its origins. He considered telling Jaskier the full truth of it, of course. It was probable that Jaskier wouldn’t even care. In his mind, they were only friends; it would be easy enough to set aside the implications of the ritual in favor of practicality. It would be ridiculous to turn down the chance at potentially doubling his own lifespan just because hundreds of years ago an ancient ritual was used for romantic unions.

But every time Geralt thought of telling Jaskier, and of hearing him dismiss Geralt’s concerns, he felt something black and dreadful crawl up his throat. Jaskier would think it was silly, the idea that he could ever be married to a witcher. He would laugh, with that sly grin he always got when they were sharing a joke between them—isn’t that funny, the look would say, the idea of you and me.

No. If he said nothing, Jaskier would never have to know, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Geralt would never hold him to any sort of bond that the ritual created between them; he would be happy knowing that Jaskier wouldn’t be taken from him by time and old age, at least not yet.

And at least he would have something of Jaskier for himself, even if he’d had to steal it.

[drunkdaisychains]

Aera the Fair

full story updated regularly  @

https://www.wattpad.com/story/258839356-aera-the-fair

Pairings: OCF/OCM, OC/Brynjolf

Warnings: Smut, killing, theft, fluff

Summery:Between the Butcher murders, lovers spats, and the war going one, it’s a wonder that there is any peace in Windhelm. Valun Stormcloak, son of  Ulfric, has taken an interest in a fair maiden adopted into clan Shattersheild. But she has an incriminating secret. Can she keep her man, avenge her family, and keep her secret or will she be cast out of the city, never able to see her family again.

An excerpt from Chapter 4

"Stop! Assassin!" The Markarth guards chased her towards the city gates. She had successfully planted the incriminating letter on her target but was caught sneaking out of his room in the keep. She dodged and swerved people as she sprinted from the scene. She just needed the shadows of the night to conceal her. As she stepped briskly down the steps and away from the city she tried not to concentrate on the burning building in her legs. Farther and farther they carried her as she dipped and dodged arrows flying from the guards bows. She finally saw it, the shadows along the side of the road that she'd slip into. As quick as she appeared she vanished, not even an invisibility spell needed tho she did have that power. As she controlled her breathing she heard the crunching of dirt as guards flew past her. 

"Damn. We lost her," one said after a moment of looking around. After another bit of sniffing the air they turned to return to their posts. She waited with a hand over her mouth until she couldn't hear them and her shoulders relaxed. She decided it was best to stick to the shadows the rest of her way back to the sanctuary. Forsworn had been attacking travellers for months and she knew they attacked in numbers. She was skilled but not against an army. Her journey was uneventful aside from the occasional wildlife, she made record time back to the sanctuary. Little did she know as she passed through the door, she would be met with aftermath. She was able to piece together the scene in moments and listened anxiously as the family discussed the moments that had just transpired. 

Oh Cicero. You should have waited until I got back. Thought to herself as Astrid had furiously turned to her. Her objective was simple, she wanted her husband home and alive… and avenged. 

"Take Shadowmere. You'll notice he's one of us," she suggested and Aera turned on her heel. She needed to get to her friend before that werewolf did and she needed to fix this. As she approached the black pond outside the sanctuary doors it began to boil. The sounds of galloping could be heard mixed with the bubbling and finally with a grand rear, Shadowmere appeared. 

"That's showy, even for you," she giggled at the horse. Shadowmere was more apart of the brotherhood than Astrid but Aera was not about to let on that she knew it. The Dark steed had been fabled in the Brotherhood as he was Lucien Lachance's ride. Shadowmere was family quite literally and had always wondered why she was not the one to inherit him. For her surname was LaChance, she was always destined to be an assassin like her ancestor. She dropped the last name,in favour of her nickname given to her in Bruma, when she crossed over the border. She didn't know that it was the same as the Jarl in Solitude but to change it after would have been suspicious.

She mounted Shadowmere and kicked him in the direction of Dawnstar. 

Upon arriving she was met with the scene of blood and a clearly injured Arnbjorn. She gave him a healing potion from her satchel and offered him Shadowmere. 

"Oh don't worry about me. I'll make it back, just make sure that bastard regrets it." He muttered before stalking off. 

"What is life's greatest illusion?" The ghostly voice belonging to the door asked. 

"Innocence, my brother," she answered. 

"Welcome home," as it opened toward her. The sanctuary was in rather nice shape for being abandoned. Desolate and home to only spiders but she could find comfort here if she had to. She summoned her ancestor to fight alongside her, greeting him as an old friend. 

"Ah Listener, the Night Mother has told me of your devotion," he growled. She was in awe but had no time to be struck as a spectral assassin materialized from the wall. Cicero's voice could be heard taunting her. She hoped he hadn't turned on her as well. She sliced through spectral assassin after spectral assassin, nearly being run through by traps set or set on fire. The cold ruins of whatever tunneled into the sanctuary made her breathe freeze. She could hear a weird growl before Lucien jumped past her and began fending off the troll. Once she shook off her shock she too joined in the quarrel. Finally after a gruelling tour through the snow and cobwebs, she burst into the door where Cicero's voice was clearest she had heard since she stepped through the door. She sheathed her swords and rushed to his side. Her friend was in a bad way and could use a potion. She dug through her satchel and uncorked the small red vial handing it to him to drink. 

"I won't kill you," she confirmed. Cicero had warned her that Astrid was a traitor and she had more reason to trust him than her. Lucien mumbled about a purification, much like the Cheydinhal she had begun at despite it being considered the Bravil chapter. 

"You must leave Cicero here so Astrid believes I am dead!" He exclaimed. 

"She'll have no choice but to believe me. I just hope she doesn't come check for herself," she said out loud. 

"Go now! Go tell the traitor you killed Cicero," he said scooting closer to the fire. She nodded and turned on her heel to make the journey back. 

While the journey back wasn't as bad now that she was on the best steed for an assassin to be paired with, she was worried about Cicero. When she wasn't worrying about his well being her mind wandered over to Valun. She would reminisce their tumble together and how he gave her what she couldn't find in Brynjolf or the sailors who would always propose to her. She had even considered Thrynn before he showed how belligerent he was on mead. They all had excitement and mystery. They would all be able to give her a fair life, but whether they wanted to or she wanted them to was up for debate. But with Valun she also received a comfort she had never had. It was easy to be with him and forget about her secrets with him. It was just when she would think of them again they would hit her like a ton of bricks and he would be right there kissing away her worries, trying to convince her to be his bride. 

Thankfully Astrid not only believed her, but sent her on the next step for the grand scheme they had planned. She had to find the author of the popular cookbook "uncommon taste" and steal his identity. First she needed to go to Markarth to locate him. She used her travel time on Shadowmere to prepare her alibi and to make her travel decisions. She would prepare for the possibility of an extended time away while they dealt with the final mark. Killing the emperor was no small task and she wanted to ensure there was no way she would be compromised if she had to stay away longer. The chef in Markarth was easy to get the information from, and simply having the kitchens closed off already while he slept made it perfect to stuff a cloth in his mouth when she took his life. This job was far too easy, the cook, innkeeper, and even the bard at the inn almost jumped at the opportunity to tell someone the orc was in their basement room. Foolish of them to not be more discrete. Lugging the large Orsimer into the hiding place was the hardest part. It made her arms burn to pull herself up the ladder after. It was finally time to make history. She rode up to the Solitude gates, Jarrin root in her pocket. She had changed into fine clothes and a chef's hat so to look the part she was playing. 

The writ worked to allow her access and soon she was in the kitchen with the regular castle dour cook stirring away at the base of a potage le magnifique. She took some creative liberties while cooking before placing the Jarrin root into the stew and watching it dissolve quickly. The cook picked up the pot and carried it painstakingly slowly into the dining room where the Emperor sat with nobles from all over Skyrim. She placed herself on the side of the table closest to the door for a quick escape. When his face landed in his bowl she was already turned around and sprinting to the door. Unfortunately that's where she would be stopped by Commander Maro, angry and vengeful. 

"As of right now your sanctuary is being put to the sword," he growled, the words were like fire in her ears. Her last home, destroyed by the Empire. She must have looked as crazy mad as Cicero did because there was an unsure look in Maro's eyes as she ran up to him with her swords drawn. Immediately she used both blades to slice his head off, as if he were softened butter. It rolled down off his neck and to his guards feet as she sheathed the bloody blades and sprinted down the tower steps. She dodged soldiers left and right knowing she had to get to the sanctuary as fast as she could. She used the city walls the same way she had when she killed the Vicci girl at her own wedding. The walls were able to limit her exposure to flying arrows and pursuing guards, her lungs burned as she pushed to keep going as fast as she could. 

She burst through the gate doors before they could lock them and took a running start at Shadowmere, who seemed to know exactly what to do as he began trotting in the other direction before launching into a sprint before she was properly seated. 

"We have to go home Shadowmere, they need us," she said to the steed as she fumbled with a stirrup to give relief from the bouncing. Her eyes watered both from the worry and from the wind. When she made it up to the sanctuary she could see the horses and soldiers waiting. Shadowmere charged them, rearing and attacking them as Aera hopped off. She spun with her blades out, cutting through the skin exposed from where the armour couldn't protect. She whirled around ensuring no one but her and Shadowmere would survive this fight. Finally as the soldiers lay in pools of their own blood she turned to the door and rushed in. 

Fire, oil that was used to cause the fire, and bodies were everywhere. She stabbed the two soldiers who advanced on her almost as if they were an afterthought and rushed deeper into the burning hall to find survivors. Veezara and Festus' bodies were burned and almost unrecognizable. Gabriella and her spider were nowhere to be found and Arnbjorn was a werewolf, attacking a group of soldiers at once before succumbing to his injuries too. She rushed to the dining hall to find Nazir fighting more of the assailants and she immediately joined in. 

"You're alive!" Nazir yelled over slashing and clashing. 

"Can't say the same for everyone else," she yelled back clearly distraught. The last soldier was run through with a final slash of her sword and she was able to turn to the blood splattered Alik'r. They both launched into a search for survivors until she heard the ghostly voice calling to her. She was in the night mother's room and she was requesting her to step into the coffin. Aera was hesitant but obliged as she is the chosen listener.  She closed her eyes trying to block out the heinous trauma that had just occurred. 

  "Sleep…" the voice soothed.

[mobius-prime]

207. Sonic the Hedgehog #139

Return to Angel Island (Part 2): Avatar

Writer: Karl Bollers Pencils: Jon Gray Colors: Jason Jensen

With Sonic and Knuckles and their crew all surrounded by the Dark Legion, everyone leaps into battle, fighting their way through the Legion soldiers in the hopes of escape. However, the fight is soon interrupted by none other than Lara-Le shouting for everyone to stop fighting, as they're all on the same side. She's sporting a brand new and adorable bushy hairdo, and seems unharmed.

Resistance, huh? Well, I suppose the Legion would be far more equipped to handle fighting back against the dingoes than the larger echidna populace would be. Lara-Le leads everyone into the underground cavern the refugees have been staying in, watched over by the Hidden Palace where the higher-ups of the Legion are residing. Knuckles is surprised to meet a white-and-black-patterned echidna who introduces himself as Dr. Finitevus, who explains how they've been watching over the refugees here, and he leads the heroes up to the palace, where Lien-Da, the leader of the whole operation, awaits them. She's just oozing with false sweetness, explaining to Knuckles, who is growing rapidly more angry and suspicious, that Lara-Le was the one who sent the message about his father's capture to him. Knuckles angrily demands to know where the Master Emerald is, so she orders everyone but him and Sonic to stay behind and leads them further into the palace. As they walk, they're baffled to see a strange tapestry depicting some unusual imagery…

Now where could something like that have come from? It seems that sometime in the past, Sonic and Eggman must have traveled into the past and duked it out in full view of whoever was present back then, and a tapestry was made about it. I guess we'll have to find out later what the deal with that is though, because Lien-Da leads them through another door, and in the room beyond Knuckles is shocked to see the Master Emerald hooked up to a lot of machinery. Apparently, when Eggman first invaded the island, the entire Brotherhood of Guardians fought to protect the emerald, and while they succeeded they've been missing ever since, with the sole exception of Locke.

Wow, there's a lot going on here. So Knuckles' sacrifice for Dimitri was useless after all? Apparently, Dimitri is gone now, and Lien-Da is in charge of everything. Furthermore, Knuckles is now totally overcome by pain whenever he gets too close to the Master Emerald, which he realizes is a consequence of returning from the afterlife that Aurora tried to warn him about. That night he sits with his friends, feeling trapped and frustrated, as he can't even rush in to save his father yet - they're waiting on word from their double agent inside the dingoes' ranks to give them the signal. Suddenly, he finds himself approached by a small family with a big request.

Yikes, Finitevus, chill out! I mean… you're half right, but chill out anyway! Finitevus furiously rants for a little while longer about how Knuckles isn't here to save them and the prophecy isn't real before stomping away. Sonic awkwardly tries to cover for Knuckles to the stunned family, but Knuckles stops him and says honestly to the couple that he's not capable of performing miracles and can't help them. As they walk away, Julie-Su and Vector get into a brief argument, with Vector saying they can't know if the prophecy is actually true while Julie-Su argues that she thinks Finitevus is right, however much of an asshole he is. Knuckles blows up angrily, yelling at them to stop fighting, that he's been hit in the face by surprise after surprise since he came back, and he's tired of it. Unfortunately for him, at that moment his mother arrives with one more surprise for him… and hands over his baby brother!

Mobius 25 Years Later: Slumber Party

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Steven Butler Colors: Jason Jensen

Aaaaand back to this. Julie-Su, Sally, and Abby all put together some snacks for the kids upstairs, because since they're the womenfolk they have to prepare the food and look after the children while the men are off doing… uhh, manly stuff. Lara-Su has invited her friends Salma and Riki-Le over, and together with Manik and Sonia they have a bona-fide sleepover on their hands. Manik is the only boy and the youngest one there, and apparently he's a bit of a budding pervert, suggesting to everyone that they play the classic party game Spin the Bottle. He tries to explain to everyone how it's played, but when the two moms enter the room and ask what game they were about to play…

Ah, it appears that Lara-Su has encountered this trick before - plus Manik isn't exactly subtle about his crush on her, so she's naturally already suspicious. Lara-Su dodges questions from the adults about her comment by first making fun of Salma for dating Rutan, and then suggesting they play a board game instead of continuing to discuss the matter. Meanwhile, Manik finds Sonic alone in the other room playing pool, which is I guess the most "dad" thing Penders could think of for Sonic to be doing at a family get-together (and to be fair, it kind of is).

Well at least now he's being an actually decent dad instead of repeatedly trying to drown his own son. Bizarrely, Julie-Su and Sally both stick around with the teen girls to hang out instead of leaving them alone to be, well, teen girls, and Lara-Su and Sonia get around to asking their moms about why their dads fight so much. Hey, that's a question I think we'd all also like to know, Penders! Sally says that she honestly doesn't know, as while they have a lot in common they've been like "oil and water" from the moment they first met. Lara-Su recalls that Knuckles and Julie-Su were once like that, but Julie-Su lets her in on the "secret" that for her, it was love at first sight with Knuckles, though it obviously took them a while to admit it to each other. Ah, that whole Soultouch thing, remember? I still think that's a poor excuse for getting two characters together, allowing Penders to use the flawed reasoning that they were just fated to be together or something, especially considering that all things considered Knuckles and Julie-Su actually do have a lot of chemistry even without such an excuse. Like… their whole relationship could have worked out just the same without the whole Soultouch plot point, so I still don't get why Penders even had to include it. Anyway, that's literally the end of the issue - the issue just kind of cuts off mid-conversation, and we see Knuckles looking out a window alone, and that's it! This is the first issue that actually introduced absolutely nothing significant, not even a throwaway line about this timeline's history or yet another reiteration of how the weather is bad lately! Wonder how much longer this will drag on before we're set free.

[skjaldmo-ulf]

I was tagged by @vastness-and-sorrow and @thislovelyoptimist for 2 tags ! Thank you ! :)

Name: Lou

Nickname: Don't really have nickname anymore

Zodiac sign: Capricorn

Height: 1.60m

Languages: French, trying my best at english

Nationality: French

Favourite season: Each season has its benefits, my hobbies can accomodate for each one, but i would say spring or summer, since taking care of animals is more pleasing when the weather is kind ahah

Favourite scent: leather, it is the sent of my room there is leather and leather furnitures everywhere, forest scent, horses (if you’re a rider you KNOW that scent ahah)

Favourite colour: Green, black, orange, blue

Favourite animal: birds, horses, wolves, deers, bears, mooses, mustelidae and more...

Favourite fictional character: Rosa Diaz, Gina Linetti (Brooklyn Nine Nine), John Constantine (Hellblazer), Aughra, Deet, Urgo, Skekgra, Skekmal (The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance), Lagertha (Vikings), Arya (Game of Thrones), Merlin (Kingsman), Perceval (Kaamelott) (basically every characters), Dewey (Malcolm in the Middle), Baze Malbus (Rogue One), and plenty more !

Coffee, tea or hot chocolate? Tea and hot chocolate, i really don't like coffee

Average amount of sleep? 8 hours

Dog or cat person? More cat than dog but still love both

Number of blankets? 2

Dream trip? North America and Norway

Blog established? I had this blog for almost 3 years i think ? but i'm on tumblr since 2012 or 2013

Number of followers? 119

Random fact? Owls can fly without making any noise because they have on their feathers a thing called leadind edge comb if i'm not wrong (the french word for it is "peigne")

1. Do you ever make your bed? Hmm not often

2. What’s your favourite number? 23

3. What’s your job? Currently working in a cinema, selling tickets and foods/drinks, projecting movies, cleaning, etc...

4. If you could go back to school, would you? Not really, school was not a happy thing for me.

5. Can you parallel park? I do my best ahah.

6. A job you had that would surprise people? I was a squire for medieval shows and i also did a bit of falconry (it was at the same place). People are surprised because of the "cool" side of it i think.

7. Do you believe aliens are real? I don't know. I think it's highly probable but not aliens like we imagine them. Also Alexandre Astier has an interesting point of view about this subject !

8. Can you drive manual car? Yes my car is a manual, i prefer manual.

9. What’s your guilty pleasure? Currently it's watching Gossip Girl

10. Tattoos? I got 2 tattoos and next month a third !

11. Favourite colour? Green, black, orange, blue

12. Things people do that piss you off? When i sell cinema tickets and people arrive and don't say hello but the worst is when they leave their trash and popcorn on the ground

13. Any phobias? I'm realy scared of spiders and some insects 🤷

14. Favourite childhood sport? Horse riding

15. Do you ever talk to yourself? Sometimes ! Usually i talk a lot to myself but in my head

16. What movie do you adore? The Thing, Trainspotting, Le Pacte des Loups (English title is Brotherhood of the Wolf), Into The Wild, Captain Fantastic, Mad Max: Fury Road, The Silver Brumby, The Great Gatsby, Moulin Rouge, Star Wars, Rogue One, Marie-Antoinette, Kingsman and so much more ! ^^’

17. Do you like doing puzzles? It's not that i don't like it's just i never do puzzles.

18. What’s your favourite kind of music? Even if i'm Rammstein/Till obsessed, my favourite kind of music is movies/series's ost, basically just music without lyrics

19. Tea or coffee? Tea !

20. First thing you remember wanting to be when you grow up? I wanted to teach horse riding ! :)

[rebuiltbionicle]

Okoto, History

Or: “How I’m canonising G2 in a G1 AU”

Okoto was one of the “Islands of Mata Nui” which were neatly divided into Wahi of the six elements. Each Wahi was home to a Koro of Matoran of each element. It was, for the time being, an idyllic Matoran paradise. However, the future would hold a turbulent ride for the Okotans that would leave a lasting impact on the universe at large.

It was an obscure island to the south of the Matoran universe, settled some time after the Great Spirit Robot had launched rather than pre-loaded with a population. Matoran of the main six elements settled in each of its Wahi. It was protected by a team of Toa, the Toa Okoto, composed of six Toa of the primary elements. Their names were:

Agarak, Toa of Air

Uganu, Toa of Ice

Owaki, Toa of Water

Mamuk, Toa of Fire

Etoku, Toa of Earth

Kerato, Toa of Stone

They primarily defended the Matoran from recalcitrant Rahi and the odd pirates. The Brotherhood of Makuta, back during its benevolent days under Miserix, gave the Toa Okoto the gift of seven Companion Rahi to aid the Toa. These Rahi were:

Uxar, dragonfly Rahi of Air

Melum, simian penguin Rahi of Ice

Akida, dolphin Rahi of Water

Ikir, phoenix Rahi of Fire

Terak, saurian mole Rahi of Earth

Ketar, scorpion Rahi of Stone

Agil, hawk Rahi, without an element but with special powers of its own.

Despite their past success and new companion rahi, the Toa Okoto failed to protect the island from being conquered by the Barraki Carapar. Under Carapar’s Kingdom, a large arms producing facility was planted on the island and engineers brought over to operate it. After the kingdom was inducted into the League of Six Kingdoms, the bureaucrats serving under the Barraki began a development project on the island, turning the arms manufactory into a vibrant industrial sector, and creating a second metropolis on the coast for trade. There was a population boom brought in by the creation of the cities, which failed to benefit the local Matoran.

When the Barraki were deposed, the city built on the island collapsed rapidly. The island came under the rule of lesser Barraki that continually fought one another, turning the island into a battlefield. The Toa had to force the combatants off the island. Eventually fighting ceased, but not before the island turned into a graveyard. The civilians brought over by the League abandoned the island as worthless, leaving the Matoran to bury the dead. After this morbid ordeal, life began to return to normal.

When the Brotherhood of Makuta began assigning regions to its members, Okoto came under the supervision of Makuta Kulta. With the guardianship of a Makuta, and their destinies fulfilled, the Toa Otoko put their Toa power into stones and generously donated them to other lands. Kulta made a laboratory for his work in the old arms manufactory.

After some time, a well travelled Ce-Matoran named Ekimu arrived on Okoto. He was a mask maker, a traditionally Ta-Matoran occupation but one that Ekimu had become fond of and quite adept at. Having to import spare masks from other lands was irritating for the Otokans, so they welcomed Ekimu and held him in high regard.

Ekimu set his foundry in the old manufactory city, and therefore was often close to Makuta Kulta and worked alongside him on some projects. Over the years, Ekimu observed changes in Kulta’s attitude shortly after the Brotherhood revealed that Makuta Miserix had “died.” Kulta began work on a special Kanohi of unique design and purpose. Ekimu aided in a few prototypes, though he was kept in the dark about the purpose of the kanohi. He eventually learned it was meant to drain the power from Toa and grant it to the wearer. Ekimu attempted to intervene in its creation, but the Matoran was no match for a Makuta. Kulta wanted Ekimu alive to help him build masks, but to get him out of the way threw him into a tomb with Stasis Kraata.

This turn of events did not transpire quietly. The entire island was in uproar over Kulta’s actions. They attempted to call for aid, but Kulta had the island cut off and unleashed an enormous population of Skull Spiders to terrorise the Matoran into submission. Word did manage to get to the outside about the actions of Kulta.

By this time, the Makuta has begun using teams of Toa bodyguards, the Toa Hagah. Kulta had sent his team away from Okoto on endless fetch quests so they wouldn’t find out what he was up to. This backfired when the Toa managed to collect one of the trinkets early and decided to surprise Kulta by presenting it in person. They met the Matoran on the island besieged by the Skull Spiders, and learned of Kulta’s treachery. They renounced their position as guards of the Makuta and agreed to aid the Matoran against Kulta.

The Toa were:

Jagiri, Toa of Plantlike (not Air, but the Le-Matoran welcomed them anyway.)

Buzkayo, Toa of Ice

Bumonda, Toa of Water

Flammik, Toa of Fire

Droton, Toa of Earth

Rokreng, Toa of Stone

The Toa were the elite, but were still not powerful enough to take on a Makuta of Kulta’s level. The Turaga advised that Ekimu had given them several viable Great Kanohi, but were stolen from the Matoran by the Skull Spiders. The Toa fought a guerrilla war against Kulta’s army to gather up the kanohi to help in battle against Kulta. To help them, the top warrior of each village (the “Protector”) was sent to guide the Toa across the island. These Matoran were:

Vizuna, Protector of Le-Koro.

Izotor, Protector of Ko-Koro.

Kivoda, Protector of Ga-Koro.

Narmoto, Protector of Ta-Koro.

Korgot, Protector of Onu-Koro.

Nilkuu, Protector of Po-Koro.

The search was a success. A good arsenal of masks were procured by the Toa, and much of the Skull Spider army culled, especially after they defeated the Lord of Skull Spiders. They moved to confront Kulta directly in his stronghold. Kulta, a wielder of the Kanohi Tryna, moved to resurrect the long dead legionnaires of the Barraki, forming an undead army. The Toa pushed through the army to confront Kulta.

Meanwhile, the Protectors made their way to tomb where Ekimu was held. They slew the Kraata locked in the tomb with him and awoke him. At this time Kulta had donned his power draining Kanohi and was gaining the edge over the Toa. Kulta, completely overlooking the Matoran, was taken completely by surprise when they shattered their Kanohi and restored the Toa’s powers. With the split second of advantage, the Toa overcame Kulta, shattered his armour to pieces and left what was left of him crawling away to safety. This was before the Makuta evolved into gaseous beings. Kulta had solid form, there was just now significantly less of him physically. He promised that his was not the end, and that he would have his revenge over the Toa.

For the time being, Okoto was brought to peace. The Toa were celebrated as heroes, and officially honoured as Toa Okoto. The Brotherhood of Makuta, enraged but maintaining secrecy of their plot, denounced the actions of Kulta and congratulated the Toa Okoto and assigned them to protect the island; the politest way they could discharge them from Brotherhood service.

This peace did not last, as the villages came under attack by a new kind of Rahi. Elemental beasts; a form of war Rahi that had elemental powers. Their appearance overwhelmed the Toa and villages and scattered them. Ekimu suggested they rally within the manufactory city in which he was remaking his home; it was already well fortified. As the Matoran evacuated, the Turaga told the Toa of the Companion Rahi they once had, and told them too seek them.

Kulta, who had sent the war rahi, had anticipated the Toa seeking the companion rahi. He commissioned a Ruhora game hunter, Umarak, to hunt down the creatures before the Toa could. Though Umarak managed to get close to both Uxar and Ketar, each Toa managed to find their corresponding Rahi. Agil remained elusive.

The Toa returned to the city, which was under siege by the warbeasts. Merging with the companion Rahi they were able to force them back to a degree. The companion rahi gave them a vision of the source of the warbeasts; a labyrinth to the south, built and operated by Kulta. Meanwhile, Umarak reported his failure to Kulta, and for his effort was shadow-handed and used to bring Kulta back to full strength in a new body.

The Toa tracked the labyrinth down and began to fight their way through, dismantling the rahi synthesisers within. Meanwhile, Agil made its way to the city and met with Ekimu. It revealed that it had the power of an organic Toa stone, and transformed Ekimu into a Toa of Psionics.

The Toa met with Kulta in Umarak’s body and fought. Kulta was more reserved in this fight, cautious due to his previous loss and aware of the Toa’s increased powers. Kulta maintained use of his Tryna to back his fighting with undead warriors, and used the internal mechanisms of his labyrinth to his advantage. He slowly was able to overpower the Toa. When it seemed that he was going to win, Ekimu intervened.

After absorbing Umarak, Kulta was able to take control of the body but wasn’t able to crush Umarak’s stubborn will; the hunter’s soul was still alive within Kulta’s body. Ekimu sensed this, and with his psionic powers tried to give Umarak the power to overcome Kulta. This eventually succeeded. With the risk of being overwhelmed in his own body, Kulta used his shapeshifting powers to separate from Umarak. Kulta was surrounded and defeated. The Toa wished to spare Kulta and hand him over to the Brotherhood, but Umarak was real unimpressed with being nearly murdered and killed Kulta himself. Given the circumstances, the Toa did not punish him.

Umarak returned to Stelt with a genuine Makuta hide (which he couldn’t boast about publically) while the Toa Okoto settled back down and helped the island rebuild after that. They sent out word about what had transpired. The Brotherhood of Makuta officially denounced Kulta’s actions, again, and sent teams to help the Matoran rebuild their lives and to discreetly find what was left of Kulta’s mask of power draining and turn it into the Nui Stone. Although nobody knew this at the time, there was seed of distrust sown against the Brotherhood that led to the Toa keeping Brotherhood information on the Makoki Stone.

[architectuul]

FOMA 8: Built Projects That Inspired

Many music genres have been associated with a place, either a city or a region, like trip-hop with Bristol, techno with Detroit, fado with Lisbon, hippie with San Francisco Bay, but fewer have to specific built projects. Our eighth FOMA edition curated by Fani Kostourou, looks at five urban housing cases, which despite being architecturally overlooked, they are worth being celebrated for the development and enhancement of a musical heritage. 

A housing estate of mind; iconic graffiti of Park Hill estate in Sheffield (2001).

They are not necessarily remarkable in their architecture or everyday reality; nevertheless, each of them has inspired and nurtured the emergence of a music genre. I argue that their architectural and urban design influenced the relationship of the musicians with the neighborhood, the city and the society, pushing them to discover new ways to react, challenge the norms and express themselves. My objective is to demonstrate a tacit connection between the tangible and intangible aspects of our built heritage.

Third show of Aborto Elétrico in Brasilia. | Source via Enrockada

Such connection can be found between Colina Velha Building and Brazilian punk rock music. Colina is a housing complex at the University of Brasilia designed by João de Gama Filguéiras Lima in 1962. It is a massive concrete building characterized by the sophisticated use of prefabricated elements [1]. Between the 1970s and 1980s, its spacious apartments accommodated meetings of Turma da Colina, a movement of young Brazilian bands like Aborto Elétrico, which revolutionized Brazilian punk rock. 

The social and spatial aspects of the life in Brasilia – the utopic, elegant, but monumental and monotonous city where the band members hailed from – and the state of Brazil after the end of the military dictatorship, strongly influenced the movement and the themes of the songs. These ranged from melancholic, political, and socially polemic subjects about drugs, war, nuclear plants, the state, military, and police, to topics of love, family and soul.

Excerpt of lyrics from Perfeição – Legião Urbana (1993)

The story was that Aborto Elétrico stopped rehearsing at Colina soon after their first show, marking the beginning of the end for the Turma da Colina movement. Nevertheless, their legacy lived on through the subsequently formed and very successful bands, Legião Urbana and Capital Inicial. Colina building first provided shelter for a youth that was struggling to express itself within the cold vast urban setting of the federal capital. The disentanglement and alienation constituted a common theme in both the music and the architecture.

Excerpt of lyrics from Anuncio de Refrigerante – Capital Inicial (2005); Recent recording | Translation by the author

At the same time punk rock was being born in Brasilia, hip-hop culture was incubated under the roof of the 1520 Sedgwick Avenue in South Bronx, New York. The building has been officially recognized as the birthplace of hip-hop. Jamaican American resident Clive Campbell–aka DJ Kool Herc was the first to introduce hip-hop music. In the early 1970s, Herc and his sister started hosting house parties in Sedgwick’s recreation room. At the time, Bronx was struggling with street gangs, disco’s popularity was fading, and the radio was searching for a new audience [2]. This is why block parties quickly turned into popular gigs, and moved out to public spaces. For the local young minorities, hip-hop was an alternative to the violent gang culture, a way to be heard expend their pent-up energy and a chance to generate income. 

DJ Kool Herc sets up for the legendary block party at 1520 Sedgwick Avenue, Bronx, NY. 11th August 1973 | Source via Urban Ubiquity

In the book How to Rap Immortal Technique explains the role of parties in old school hip-hop: "Hip-hop was born in an era of social turmoil and real economically miserable conditions for the black and Latino people [..] in the same way that slaves used to sing songs on a plantation". While at the beginning songs were about party related subjects, slowly the lyrical focus shifted on social issues, like life difficulties in decayed housing projects, so that hip-hop became, in the words of T.I. rapper: “a reflection of the environment that the artist had to endure before he made it to where he was. [..] if you want to change the content of the music, change the environment of the artist”.

Excerpt from the lyrics The Message – Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five (1982)

After a lengthy period of neglect and shady dealings, the building was finally saved from the real estate market, the new owners sought to work with the tenants to renovate it and safeguard its importance. This was the result of a collective effort by locals including Herc, groups like the Tenants and Neighbors Association, and politicians like Senator Schumer. So that the 1520 Sedgwick, "an otherwise unremarkable high-rise just north of the Cross Bronx Expressway and hard along the Major Deegan Expressway” was not only “the Bethlehem of Hip-Hop culture”, but also “the emblem of New York’s affordable housing crisis”.

Scene from La Haine film by Mathieu Kassovitz in the Cité de La Noé in Chanteloup-les-Vignes, France (1995) | Source via Film Grab

Nearly ten years after the birth of hip-hop in Bronx, rap arrived in France, demonstrating a different lyrical content concerned with issues of racism, integration, diaspora and ethnic diversity. The social and political situation of the early 1980s nurtured the establishment of a music culture that got enthusiastically embraced by the marginalized young minorities of a disturbed postcolonial French society. Key moment for its rise in popularity was the film La Haine by Mathieu Kassovitz in the mid 1990s where rap associated itself with the identity of young immigrants in the Parisian banlieues [3], further linking hip-hop to spatial concepts like ghetto and mass housing.

One of these post-war mass housing projects was the cité du Val-Fourré, an ideal neighborhood for workers of the automobile industry in Mantes-la-Jolie. In the west periphery of Paris this neighborhood offered nothing but housing, leading to a mono functional and segregated area, devoid of any real urban stimuli, that soon became a notorious ghetto of marginalization, poverty, violence, drug dealing, and street gang rivalry. 

Excerpt of lyrics from 78 – Expression Direkt ft. Big Red (1998) | Translation by the author

The situation motivated young immigrants to become involved in rap music as a way to express their anger and attract attention; a desire to be heard and taken seriously. French rapper Mokobe asserted: "We were rebels. We made music to speak about our daily lives, about people like us, and to defend their cause." At the same time, songs reflected a strong sense of belonging to the working class cités and their brotherhood. 

Excerpt of lyrics from Mon esprit part en couilles – Expression Direkt (1995) | Translation by the author

The media attention Val-Fourré attracted had it included in a mega redevelopment programme in 2003 run by the Agence Nationale de Renovation Urbaine (Anru), which enhanced local activities and services. Land use diversity, however, may not ensure social mixing and integration, as the IAM band sang in 1997, “the elected officials carry out refurbishment to reassure, but it's always the same shit, behind the last layer of painting”.

Same applies to the Crossways estate, another post war marginalized residential project in East London, now rebranded as Bow Cross area. Thirty years after Herc’s parties, East London gave birth to a different music genre. What was South Bronx to hip-hop, was East London to grime, particularly the Crossways estate in the Bow area of Tower Hamlets borough. Wiley “the godfather of grime” affirms, the music genre comes all from Bow.

British rappers Dizzee Rascal and Wiley relax by the Crossways estate in Bethnal Green, London (2002) | Photo David Tonge/Getty Images

Grime is a hybrid of garage, drum and bass, hip-hop, and dance music characterized by machine-like, media and city sounds [4]. Dan Hancox argues there is a certain brutalist quality to grime as a genre: “Like the architecture, it’s very stripped down”. Urban at its very core, grime’s commentary is preoccupied with two subjects: the contemporary grim lives of the young, black, male MCs in the impoverished London council estates, and the sound of the future city that they always dreamed of– when looking at the nearby Canary Wharf. Their lyrics are playful, hedonistic, at times affectionate and aggressive, nostalgic and rebellious, yet dark and violent. For they describe what young sought to reclaim, their right to a city that was ignoring them. "Coming from where I come from, you didn't feel a part of London," Dizzee told to the BBC London. 

Excerpt of lyrics from Love this town – Dizzee Rascal ft. Teddy Sky (2013)

Grime also emerged at a time that governmental policies initiated the demolition/refurbishment of council estates to regenerate some of UK’s most vulnerable areas like Bow. Crossways was in poor condition, half-abandoned, occupied by homeless people, unpopular with residents and vulnerable to antisocial behaviors. Recent refurbishment, though, forced out the former “working-class Londoners who might listen to, or indeed make grime”. 

This may not be the future of the 3000 Viviendas project, an area built between 1976-77 in the southern periphery of Seville, to rehouse low-income people from post-disaster areas, precarious settlements, other urban quarters and the countryside [5], the majority of which were gypsies. The project is centrally located in Poligono Sur, which gets geographically and socially isolated due to surrounding motorways and railway lines that act as physical boundaries. The spatial segregation combined with the social uniformity and a lack of public services and other infrastructure led the project into decay and extensive informalization. Issues of drugs, illiteracy, unemployment, delinquency, and functional and physical deterioration of the built environment came along, giving it the name of vertical shantytown.

It was this area that got associated with the origins of new flamenco in the 1970s ought to young and talented gitanos expelled from Triana in the late 1960s; notably the Amador brothers and their group Pata Negra. The group revived the traditional flamenco [6] by fusing it with elements of rock and blues, creating the art of blueslería. Similar to the traditional one, new flamenco was influenced by the hybrid identity and culture of Romani people [7]. For the residents of 3000 Viviendas, the music was not only a means to express their everyday life and feelings, but also a mechanism to reverse the downhill of degradation, give visibility to and breathe new life into the neighborhood. The songs’ lyrics often revolved around topics of diaspora, displacement and marginalization as well as passion and affection for the neighborhood.

Excerpt of lyrics from El Rock del Cayetano – Pata Negra (1988) | Translation by the author

Excerpt of lyrics from Yo Me Quedo en Sevilla – Pata Negra (1987) | Translation by the author

This affection is best depicted through the example of Alala documentary. The movie shows how flamenco is used to educate and inspire young locals, allowing them to envision a better future for their neighborhood. Here, music empowers the community to stay and feel for the area, generate opportunities and transform itself and its space through a bottom-up process. 

___

[1] Czajkowski, J. in Emanuel (ed) (2016) “Contemporary Architects” p. 250 [2] Toop, D. (2000) “Rap Attack 3: African Rap to Global Hip Hop”. London: Serpent’s Tail. [3] Higbee, W. (2007) “Mathieu Kassovitz”. Manchester University Press. [4] De Jong, A. Schuilenburg, M.(2006) Mediapolis: Popular Culture and the City. [5] Torres Gutiérrez, F. J. (2011) “El territorio de los desheredados. Asentamientos chabolistas y experiencias recientes de erradicación en Sevilla”. Hábitat y Sociedad (3), pp. 67- 90. [6] On November 16, 2010, UNESCO declared flamenco one of the Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity. [7] Hayes, M. H. (2009) “Flamenco: Conflicting Histories of the Dance”. McFarland Books. pp. 31–37.

#FOMA 8: by Fani Kostourou

Fani Kostourou is an architect and urban designer. She studied architecture at the National Technical University of Athens (NTUA), and holds a MAS in Urban Design from ETH Zürich and an MRes in Spatial Design: Architecture and Cities from The Bartlett, UCL London. Fani’s design work has featured in publications such as Minha Casa, Nossa Cidade: Innovating Mass Housing for Social Change in Brazil (Ruby Press, 2014) and group exhibitions at the Museum of Modern Art in New York (2014-15), Columbia GSAPP’s Studio-X in Rio (2013), Museu de Arte do Rio (2014), X São Paulo Biennale (2013) and 15th Venice Architecture Biennale (2016) among others. Fani is currently an EPSRC-funded doctoral student at The Bartlett School of Architecture, Fellow of the Higher Education Academy (UK), and Postgraduate Teaching Assistant at The Bartlett School of Architecture, and Development Planning Unit, UCL. Recently and as part of her studio teaching, she has co-edited two publications on Emerging Design Research (The Bartlett 2015, 2017). Her activities also include project consultancy, graphic design, writing and editing. In April 2017, Fani joined the MIT Department of Architecture and Computation as a visiting PhD researcher.

[thelordofthepenblog-blog]

Will of Fire Part 1

Everyone remembers the Great War, the war that saw the Brotherhood of Makuta fight the rest of the universe. The war that saw the Toa nearly become extinct. The war that saw half the island of Xia fall into the sea. The war that saw Metru Nui fall into the hands of evil.

 The war that nearly ended the universe.

 It didn't, of course, but it was a close one; eventually Metru Nui was liberated after Toa Takanuva destroyed Makuta Icarax in a terrific battle in the Citadel, and the rest of the Brotherhood fought amongst themselves for the now-vacant throne, leaving them vulnerable to their enemies. Almost all the Makuta are extinct now, the rest in hiding, though at a terrible price.

 You all know the price. Takanuva was left in a coma, and is still trapped in it to this day. The Vortixx are now working at half-capacity after the loss of their island. The Dark Hunters reign supreme on the Tren Krom Peninsula and the surrounding areas. The Visorak roam unchecked in many parts of the universe. Thousands of Matoran died, and hundreds more left crippled by the fighting.

 Some of you should still remember the horrors. The Voya Nui Massacre. The Abomination of Stelt. The Zakaz Incident. There used to be more Matoran in this village.

 But thousands died so that we could have hope...so that we could have a future. Remember their sacrifice, my friends, as we work to that future. How Toa Lhikan held off an entire legion of Rahkshi alone while protecting the Matoran that would go on to form a rebellion in Metru Nui. How Toa Vhisola sacrificed herself to destroy Makuta Mutran and end his mad experiments. How Garan and his fellow Matoran died liberating their friends from the Skakdi. They gave their todays so we could have a tomorrow.

 Go now, my friends. There is work to be done.

 Turaga Kongu rose from his seat as the gathered Matoran left. It had become a tradition, he realized, that once a year he would recount the sacrifices made during the war on the anniversary of Metru Nui's liberation. That was, what, three hundred years ago now? Something like that.

 Kongu sighed as he left his hut. He still remembered the bitter years of war, the loss of his entire team. Chiara, Balta, and Jovan disappeared in the Southern Islands, while Hewkii and Macku died side-by-side while fighting the Brotherhood's forces. Kongu still had trouble believing that he, the chute-worker from Le-Metru with next-to-no combat training, had survived while his friends had died. He guessed the Great Beings had a strange sense of humor as one of his fellow villagers approached him, a Ta-Matoran named Thuka. He was the Captain of the Guard of Kentarr, their village, and a survivor of the Voya Nui Massacre. It had been Thuka who had been able to gather a sizable defense and repel the Dark Hunters long enough for the remaining Matoran to escape. Kongu didn't know what he had done in the war after that; it was a subject that Thuka didn't really like to talk about, and Kongu respected that.

 “Turaga,” he began, “Dekar has reported seeing Stone Apes moving up from the south.”

 Kongu looked at him quizzically. “Stone Apes? This far north?”

 “That storm we heard a few nights ago might have driven them here, Turaga,” Thuka replied, walking alongside him. “It was in the vicinity of the desert, after all.”

 Kongu nodded. “They'll probably head back when they realize the storm has quick-passed. Do you think they will be a danger-threat to the village?”

 Thuka shook his head. “Not to the main village, no, but they'll probably settle by the Nui River for a while. I recommend keeping an eye on them until they head home.”

 The Turaga considered this for a moment. “Assign a few guards to watch-spy them for a while. In the meantime, the Matoran should fish-catch upstream from their usual spot. I don't want to risk an encounter.”

 “They won't like it, but I'll tell them.”

 They discussed a few more trivialities on the security of the village, then Kongu dismissed the young Matoran. He headed for his hut, a large, domed building at the center of the village, made from wood and rather large leaves, woven together with sturdy rope imported from the north. The leaves were intricately shaped, curving and twisting like a dancer, and it certainly looked like a dancer when the wind was blowing. It was a work of art that Kongu thought wasted on him.

 Upon entering it, Kongu was greeted by his assistant, the Fe-Matoran Delin, who updated him on a few things concerning Kentarr. “The Gukko bird nests are almost completely rebuilt, Turaga, so they should be returning in a few days. The storm's apparently wrecked that Nui-Rama hive down south, so they won't be a problem for a while. And did Thuka talk to you about the Stone Apes? Good, but there's also the matter of Turaga Rekilus' visit tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Kongu looked sharply at Delin. “I thought it wasn't until next week?”

 “Well, yes, it was, Turaga, but a messenger arrived this morning, saying that Rekilus is coming early to offer support in rebuilding Kentarr.”

 Kongu snorted. “We're doing just well-fine on our own.”

 Delin chuckled. “Yes, well, I told the messenger something along those lines. I'm sure the Turaga will be quite motivated to come sooner, if only to allieviate you of your bad attitude.”

 The Turaga of Air glared at the Fe-Matoran, who grinned behind his Kanohi Pakari before listing off several more things the Turaga needed to hear: the Ussal Traders would be passing through Kentarr soon, Kaya had injured her arm (again) and had to rest for a couple of days, and, once again, Nuparu had nearly blown up his hut with his latest “invention.”

 “More like boom-explosive,” Kongu grunted. “I haven't seen Nuparu invent-make something that didn't blow up since the Boxors.”

 “That was fifty years ago.”

 “I know!”

[giancarlonicoli]

The bizarre murder of Jamal Khashoggi – what it tells us about the post-truth world

By Victor Hill

26 October 2018                                                                                                 17 mins. to read         

On 02 October a Saudi journalist was murdered in bizarre circumstances in Istanbul – John le Carré meets Stephen King. Everything you think you know about this event is the product of the rampant global information war. Victor Hill joins some dots.

Epiphanies

Every once in a while an event happens that, though it might seem obscure and of only local importance at the time, in hindsight turns out to be a trigger of transformative change.

The bizarre murder of a not very well known Saudi Arabian journalist who had fled his home country in fear for his life in 2017 and sought refuge in the United States is not, on the face of it, an Earth-shattering event. But the ramifications of this incident have huge consequences and it reveals much about the world in which we now live. The world today is characterised by a perpetual information war between key global players. Whom should we believe, if anybody?

If this sounds academic I’ll explain why this incident could damage the shares of pivotal defence equipment manufacturers and pep the existing upward trend in the oil price – with potentially massive impact on global markets. It could also help bring Labour to power in the UK.

Information War One: Turkey against the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

I’m assuming my readers know the gory basics. Khashoggi went into the Saudi Arabian consulate in Istanbul on 02 October to get a certificate of divorce – and was never seen again. It is not necessary to rehearse the exact sequence of events that befell Jamal Khashoggi in Istanbul – such as we know them to be. But it is necessary, from the off, to emphasise that all the information we have so far has been elaborately spun by the Turkish government from its highest echelons – almost certainly at the behest of President Erdoğan himself.

There have been weeks of drip-drip allegations coming from Turkish media. In particular, the Turkish newspaper Sabah seems to have been fed daily chunks of meat (if you will forgive the pun) from Mr Erdoğan’s information machine. (Sabah is partially owned by Mr Erdoğan’s extended family.)

Turkish sources have demonstrated that 15 Saudi hitmen carrying diplomatic passports arrived by private jet the same morning and returned that evening. The entire macabre murder – involving amputation of fingers while the victim was still conscious and his dismemberment while still breathing – was apparently taped. Initially, the Turks claimed that Khashoggi had been wearing an Apple watch which broadcast events inside the consulate. I’m told this is unlikely. More probable, Turkish intelligence had bugged the Saudi consulate – something to which they will never admit. In fact, while the murder looks pre-meditated, the Turks probably anticipated it. On 23 October Mr Erdoğan addressed the Turkish parliament on the matter. The word was that he was going to reveal everything– the naked truth – but he didn’t. Instead, he held back. He said that the Saudi authorities had committed a savage pre-meditated murder on Turkish soil and that he wanted the perpetrators to be tried in Turkey. He was gracious about the Saudi monarch, King Salman, and did not mention the Crown Prince at all – a subtle move which could be an attempt to divide the two.

Mr Erdoğan is not exactly a friend of free speech. Under his increasingly autocratic rule dozens of journalists have been incarcerated on spurious charges. It is absurd to suggest that Turkey has a free press. When the Turkish President talks about getting to the naked truth we should ask why he has suddenly become a proponent of transparency. The whole affair could easily have been glossed over if the President had thought that in Turkey’s interest.

The real reason why Mr Erdoğan has taken aim at Saudi Arabia is that the incident offered an opportunity – a stick with which to beat his tormentors. Turkey’s economy is in poor shape, its currency is in free fall, and there is still a massive refugee problem on the Syrian border. The country needs money. Turkey’s relations with Saudi Arabia have deteriorated steadily during the Syrian civil war as both states backed different factions. Turkey is now aligned with Qatar – a state with which Saudi Arabia is in open conflict – where it has established a military base. The two countries are bitter rivals in East Africa where they both seek influence and resources. In Nairobi, their respective embassies – both large, aggressive structures – compete for ostentation.

Hannah Lucinda Smith thinks that the contest is for nothing less than the political leadership of the Muslim world[i]. Consider that, until 1922, the Ottoman Sultan was nominally the Caliph (i.e. spiritual and temporal leader) of the entire Islamic world. Turkey’s all-powerful President has welcomed exiles who are broadly aligned with the Muslim Brotherhood from across the Muslim world – from Morocco to Indonesia. For Saudi Arabia, the Muslim Brotherhood is the devil incarnate – it represents a totally different form of political Islam which is republican rather than monarchical, and populist rather than tribal.

And there is something else that Mr Erdoğan wants and needs. That is to improve his tattered relationship with the United States – the country that kicked Turkey with new sanctions when it was economically down. This was a great chance to tweak the lion’s tail. The country that would be most embarrassed by these revelations was never going to be thick-skinned Saudi Arabia but hyper-sensitive America whose intrusive media would judge the administration by its response.

Information War Two: KSA against the Muslim Brotherhood and its western apologists

President Trump has been blowing hot and cold since the incident was first disclosed. Mr Khashoggi was no friend of his. First, Mr Trump threatened to punish Saudi Arabia; then he appeared to go along the farce that there had been a fist fight; then (on 23 October) he accused the Saudis of the worst cover-up, ever. The episode has been almost as uncomfortable for the Americans as for its perpetrators.

If Khashoggi’s brutal killers were monsters – that doesn’t mean Khashoggi was a saint. He was a one-time insider within the House of Saud who became a dissident and a critic of the Crown Prince, Mohammed bi Salman (“MBS”). He left Saudi Arabia (possibly even then in fear of his life) in 2017 and took refuge in the USA. There, he became a darling of the liberal American commentariat who follow events in the Arab lands, with regular TV appearances. He built up almost two million followers on Twitter and got himself a column on The Washington Post.

The Washington Post, let us recall, was bought by Jeff Bezos, CEO of Amazon, out of his small change for $250 million in 2013. The newspaper has been a consistent opponent of President Trump and all his works and represents the globalist Olympian billionaire liberal establishment which small town, red neck America so reviles.

Mr Khashoggi was not a typical US newspaper columnist. You might assume that he was a progressive voice fighting for freedom and democracy in Saudi Arabia – in which case you would be wrong. He was an avowed supporter of the Muslim Brotherhood, the loose political form of militant Islam which held power in Egypt from 2011 to 2013, when it was overthrown by President el-Sisi’s coup. According to John R Bradley[ii], who worked with him, Khashoggi never had much time for liberal democracy. He supported the “moderate” Islamist opposition in Syria – whose crimes are a matter of record. He was anti-secular. His vision was that the ruling cadres of the Arab world should embrace the Arab Spring. Turkey’s ruling Justice & Development Party (AKP) is, to all intents and purposes, a branch of the Muslim Brotherhood. Apparently, Khashoggi’s plan was not just to marry a Turkish bride but to move to Istanbul and to run a TV station that would broadcast across the Arab world. What’s more, Mr Bradley thinks that Khashoggi had “dirt” on the dealings between the House of Saud an al-Qaida.

But why would the Washington Post take on a dark horse like Khashoggi? Of course: to get up the Trump administration’s collective nose. That is why the crazier element within MBS’s inner circle probably thought the Americans would let their infamy go.

The Iranians, of course, have now picked up on this. On 24 October a senior spokesman for the Islamic Republic declared that Khashoggi’s murder could not have taken place without American connivance. But the Islamic Republic against America is another very long-standing information war.

Information War Three: Saudi Arabia against the West

The narrative from Saudi Arabia over the last two years has been remarkably credible – until now. MBS is the great reformer. He is young, dynamic and modern. He has allowed women to drive cars at last (though, apparently, the female campaigners for this cause languish in prison); he has relaxed the official animosity towards Israel (Israeli spokespeople have even appeared on Saudi TV news); he has curtailed the religious police (they no longer thrash people at will for not observing prayer times). Wow! Progress!

The former Foreign Secretary, Mr Johnson, once said that MBS was the best thing to happen to the region in a decade. The 33-year old prince, he thought, was utterly different. Perhaps Mr Johnson had failed to read his red boxes again: the mandarins knew all along that the young prince has had a reputation for cruelty and ruthlessness since he was a teenager. In a Newsnightcameo on 23 October the Prince was compared to Saddam Hussein by a Saudi insider. He’s impulsive, narcissistic, he’s a psychopath and he’s also suffering from delusions of grandeur. (I wonder how many fingers that will cost this brave man.)

The Crown Prince, who can be charming if not exactly charismatic, has created a cult of personality around himself – but until now Western commentators have been happy to laud him as a champion of change. Last month a Saudi dissident who runs a satirical website was attacked and beaten up by thugs outside Harrods. The dissident shouted: You can’t do this – this is London. The thugs replied: F**k London – the Queen is our slave and her police are our dogs…

So it’s not just the Russians who plot amongst us with impunity. Refugee Uighurs have been beaten up by Chinese agents on the streets of London too. But the Metropolitan Police are too busy arresting pensioners for being in arrears with their council tax to take any notice of such foibles.

Information War Four: The BBC against Saudi Arabia

Every night this last week she has given us her renderings of doom (in a South Dublin accent) from the front line in Yemen. Ms Guerin is a woman who wears flak jackets as others wear Prada. Like Cassandra, she speaks of dreadful deeds. And she has a case.

The BBC TV Yemen correspondent reports that the people of Yemen are starving; they are dying of communicable disease and are facing periodic bombardment by Saudi forces using British-supplied weapons. She pins the blame squarely on the Saudi regime and its backers.

This is, of course, exactly the propagandist perspective disseminated by the Islamic Republic of Iran. The countervailing view – not aired aby the BBC nor elsewhere in mainstream media – is that it is the Iranians have unleashed this plague of locusts. There is not space here to untangle the complex history of a marginal, unhappy country. Suffice to say that Yemen has been in a state of civil disturbance – either in the form of civil war or disunion – since the British vacated the territory of Aden in the 1960s. The Iranians have now stepped into this snake pit. The Iran-backed Houthi rebels seized power from the elected President in January 2015. (OK, President Mansour Hadi was the only candidate in the 2012 presidential election.)

This is Saudi Arabia’s back yard – even if the Saudis look down on Yemenis as proles. (Despite Yemen’s ancient history: the Queen of Sheba was from Yemen.) Just to focus their minds, ballistic missiles have been fired from Houthi-controlled areas against the Saudi heartland. That was enough for MBS to set out to lance the boil.

Just stepping back from the fray for a moment, Ms Guerin is a radical leftie with a particular narrative of her own around the oppression of the Palestinians. A year before she moved from Ireland to England to work for the BBC she stood as an MEP for the Irish Labour Party – a bunch of extreme Corbynistas daubed in emerald green. When she was the BBC correspondent in Gaza she attracted the fury of the Israeli commentariat (not just Likud) for her pro-Palestinian stance. She even declared that there was “no evidence”that Hamas had been using human shields, despite Israeli assertions of such a practice[iii]. It is not just Israelis who were appalled by her reportage.

Ms Guerin is part of that element within the BBC which has sympathy with Mr Corbyn’s Momentum and its anti-Israel, pro-Hamas stance. Ex-BBC journalist Paul Mason is now effectively head of ideology within Momentum. Many observers in Israel and America are deeply concerned that such elements within the BBC have gone feral.

I am not anti-BBC. The other BBC Middle East correspondent, Sebastian Usher, much on our screens of late, and the BBC Security correspondent, Frank Gardiner are outstanding journalists and writers. Their pronouncements are reasoned and well sourced. We may conclude that the information war exists even within the ranks of our own beloved BBC.

And it’s not just the Beeb. Recently, I tuned into ITV to watch Joanna Lumley’s Silk Road. Ms Lumley, resplendent in a multi-coloured chiffon veil, air-kissing her Iranian guides, told us all how absolutely fabulous the country was. Do these people have any idea of the horrific extent of human rights violations in the Islamic Republic? Or that it aspires to the total elimination of Israel?

By the way, the official Houthi slogan is derived from that of the 1979 Iranian Revolution: God is great. Death to America. Death to Israel. God curse the Jews. Victory for Islam.

Should Britain sell arms to Saudi Arabia?

The accusation is then that British weapons are being used to kill innocents in Yemen. For Labour-inclined opinion the issue is clear: Britain should cancel all arms shipments forthwith – as Germany (a minor supplier) has done. It is a fundamental issue of principle said human rights lawyer Philippe Sands (whose critique of American foreign policy has been translated into Farsi) on BBC R4. Labour’s Lady Thornberry and Ms Lucas of the Green Party have said much the same. But that might ignite more problems than it solves.

Firstly, there would be massive economic cost. Lord Lamont revealed in the House of Lords on 23 October that Saudi Arabia accounts for 40 percent of all British arms sales. According to the Financial Times, British arms sales to Saudi amounted to £10 billion last year. In 2013 it was £30 billion. These figures represent many thousands of highly skilled jobs at BAE Systems (LON:BA.) and its suppliers.

Moreover, BAE Systems and others are locked into long-term contracts with the Saudis to maintain the aircraft and weapons platforms that they have been supplying for many years. A blanket embargo would force them into breach of contract which would put all other British exports – even dairy products, of which the Saudis are increasingly fond – into question. There would most certainly be costly litigation and painful reprisals. We can be sure that the Saudis would reduce oil production so as to increase the oil price as much as possible. That could even tip the world into recession. Secondly, there would be costs in terms of Britain’s influence with Saudi Arabia and its close partners in the Gulf. Britain is a player in this region by virtue of both hard and soft power. To ban arms sales would remove our diplomatic clout. As Lord Heseltine has said, we would lose all influence we have to persuade the Saudis to behave better.

Thirdly, an arms embargo would simply not achieve the desired result of forcing the Saudis to be nice. On the contrary, they might cut up nasty: bomb the Yemenis even harder and kill more dissidents. How could we stop them?

Fourth, we are not even the principal supplier of arms to the Saudis – that position is occupied by Mr Trump’s America. When President Trump visited Riyadh in May 2017 he signed off a $110 billion letter of intent with King Salman to provide high-grade weaponry. (Though, apparently, only $14.5 billion of that deal has been delivered so far.[iv]) And if the Americans were not to take up the slack, the Russians or the French would readily step into the void.

Fifth, be careful what you wish for. Even if it were possible to starve the Saudis of arms, let’s consider what might happen. If the Saudis were to withdraw from Yemen, the Iranians would almost certainly gain a free hand to set up a client state there dedicated to destabilising the entire region. Not only could they then continue to fire rockets at Riyadh, they would also encroach on Oman – Saudi Arabia’s friend and fellow Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) member.

The Omanis are not majority Sunnis – three quarters of them are of the Ibadi school of Islam, a product of an early schism within the Islamic tradition. Oman has been fortunate to have had a strong and outward-looking leader in the form of Sultan Qaboos bin Said (Sultan since 1970) who is a great friend of the UK. Were it not for the intervention of Britain’s SAS in Oman in the 1970s and 1980s the country would almost certainly have fallen to Marxists insurgents – as did benighted Yemen.

And the contagion would spread to neighbouring states in the Horn of Africa – to Eritrea, Djibouti and Somalia. The Iranians would probably wrest the strategically vital naval base in Socotra island (currently leased by the UAE) enabling them to project their particular form of millennial, theocratic Islam across East Africa.

No American president would allow that to happen without a major war. Is it really “moral” to hasten such a cataclysm?

America against Corbyn’s Britain

If Mr Corbyn comes to power, possibly as soon as next year in my estimation, he will take British foreign policy in an entirely new direction – away from America and her allies and towards Iran and its satellites, of which Hamas. I can imagine that Mr Trump would cancel all US-UK intelligence cooperation within a month of Mr Corbyn’s arrival in Downing Street. That would toll the end of BAE Systemswhich relies extensively on high-tech US suppliers.

At a moment when Brexit makes our future relationship with Europe highly uncertain, to break with America would be suicidal. The London market, already traumatised by the prospect of mass nationalisations, could go into total meltdown.

Nothing is true and everything is possible…

We shall probably never know the full truth of the strange and disturbing end of Khashoggi’s life. As I write, there is still no body – though many rumours of where the pieces may lie. The Crown Prince has made a smiling address to the Riyadh investment conference, Davos in the Desert, vowing to find the culprits. (One does not suppose that Dr Fox was much missed.)

The one thing we canbe sure of is that we live in a global information war. Peter Pomerantsev wrote a book about Mr Putin’s Russia which I have referred to in these pages before entitled Nothing is true and everything is possible. His thesis was that post-modern autocrats rely on getting people to believe their…I won’t say lies– rather I’ll say…their narratives.

We live in an era of intensively competing narratives. Of course, each atom of information can still be adjudged true or false (and that is still essential). But the more important question is: Which narrative is it in your interest to believe?

[i]The Spectator, 27 October 2018. See: https://www.spectator.co.uk/2018/10/turkey-vs-saudi-the-real-story-behind-khashoggis-murder/?utm_source=Adestra&utm_medium=email&utm_content=271018_Weekly_Highlights_43_NONSUBS&utm_campaign=Weekly_Highlights

[ii]Death of a dissident, The Spectator, 13 October 2018.

[iii]See: https://honestreporting.com/tag/orla-guerin/

[iv]See: https://edition.cnn.com/2018/10/12/politics/trump-khashoggi-saudi-arabia-arms-deal-sanctions/index.html

[lavidadelosdias]

8 / 52

50 / 365

Todo parece normal

no hay un hilo invisible

que dibuja tu mirada

de la realidad.

Permanezco allí

como en un sueño

y todo lo que existe

es un instante 

al despertar.

Everything seems normal 

 there is no invisible thread 

 that draws your look 

 of reality. 

 I stay there 

 as in a dream 

 and all what exists 

 it's a moment 

 upon awakening.

51 / 365

Hegoak ebaki banizkio nerea izango zen, ez zuen alde egingo. Hegoak ebaki banizkio nerea izango zen, ez zuen alde egingo. Bainan, honela ez zen gehiago txoria izango Bainan, honela ez zen gehiago txoria izango eta nik... txoria nuen maite eta nik... txoria nuen maite.

Josean Artze Txoria Txori (Mikel Laboa)

Si le hubiera cortado las alas habría sido mío, no se me habría escapado. Si le hubiera cortado las alas habría sido mío, no se me habría escapado. Pero así, habría dejado de ser pájaro. Pero así, habría dejado de ser pájaro. Y yo... yo lo que amaba era el pájaro. Y yo... yo lo que amaba era el pájaro.

52 / 365

Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto Me dio dos luceros, que cuando los abro Perfecto distingo lo negro del blanco Y en el alto cielo su fondo estrellado Y en las multitudes el hombre que yo amo

Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto Me ha dado el oído que en todo su ancho Graba noche y día, grillos y canarios Martillos, turbinas, ladridos, chubascos Y la voz tan tierna de mi bien amado

Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto Me ha dado el sonido y el abecedario Con él las palabras que pienso y declaro Madre, amigo, hermano, y luz alumbrando La ruta del alma del que estoy amando

Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto Me ha dado la marcha de mis pies cansados Con ellos anduve ciudades y charcos Playas y desiertos, montañas y llanos Y la casa tuya, tu calle y tu patio

Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto Me dio el corazón que agita su marco Cuando miro el fruto del cerebro humano Cuando miro al bueno tan lejos del malo Cuando miro al fondo de tus ojos claros

Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto Me ha dado la risa y me ha dado el llanto Así yo distingo dicha de quebranto Los dos materiales que forman mi canto Y el canto de ustedes que es mi mismo canto Y el canto de todos que es mi propio canto Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto

Gracias a la vida Violeta Parra

Thanks to life, which has given me so much It has given me two eyes, and when I open them I clearly distinguish black from white And in the high sky, its starry depths, And from the crowds, the man that I love

Thanks to life, which has given me so much It has given me hearing, which in all its breadth Day and night records crickets and canaries, Hammers, turbines, barking, dark clouds, And the tender voice of my beloved one

Thanks to life, which has given me so much It has given me sound and the alphabet And with it the words to think and speak Mother, friend, brother, and the light that brightens The path of the soul of my loved one

Thanks to life, which has given me so much It has kept my tired feet walking With them I walked through cities and puddles, Beaches and deserts, mountains and plains And your house, your street and your courtyard

Thanks to life, which has given me so much It gave me my heart, which shakes its frame When I look at the fruit of the human brain When I look at good ones so far from bad ones When I look at the bottom of your light-color eyes

Thanks to life, which has given me so much It has given me laughter and it has given me tears Thus I distinguish between joy and pain, They are all elements of my song and of your song, which is all one and the same Thanks to life, which has given me so much

53 / 365

Sentir las huellas de las palabras,

como ideas que fijan en el viento

los ecos del aire de nuestro tiempo.

Las calles del pasado

fuego de la luz de una voz.

Mientras visitas los sueños

de la verdad de la belleza.

Nacemos vivos con los muertos,

como amamos la vida,

en ese instante una sombra

traza el camino del reloj del amor.

Hay esperanza de llegar

al final del camino, 

son los ecos del silencio.

Feel the traces of the words,

as ideas that fix in the wind

the echoes of the air of our time.

The streets of the past

fire of the light of a voice.

While you visit the dreams

of the truth of beauty.

We are born alive with the dead,

how we love life,

in that instant a shadow

trace the path of the clock of love.

There is hope to get there

at the end of the road,

they are the echoes of silence.

54 / 365

Todo lo que recuerdo

era un cielo sin infierno

un pájaro sin jaula

libre como la imaginación

Continúo mi viaje

hacia el centro del mundo.

Todo lo que pude ver

estaba construido en el amor.

Ahora que recuerdo,

todo esto existía 

antes del principio.

Calma en la tormenta de la vida

Agradezco de alguna manera

los placeres del mundo,

con un corazón de piedra,

en un paraíso en la tierra

y  seguir aún vivo.

Everything I remember

it was a heaven without hell

a bird without a cage

free as the imagination

I continue my trip

towards the center of the world.

Everything I could see

It was built in love.

Now that I remember,

all this existed

before the beginning.

Calm in the storm of life

I appreciate in some way

the pleasures of the world,

with a heart of stone,

in a paradise on earth

and still live.

55 / 365

Imagine there's no heaven It's easy if you try No hell below us Above us only sky

Imagine all the people Living for today... Imagine there's no countries It isn't hard to do

Nothing to kill or die for And no religion too Imagine all the people Living life in peace...

You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions I wonder if you can No need for greed or hunger A brotherhood of man Imagine all the people Sharing all the world...

You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will live as one

John Lennon - Imagine

Imagina que no hay Cielo, es fácil si lo intentas. Sin infierno bajo nosotros, encima de nosotros, solo el cielo.

Imagina a todo el mundo. viviendo el día a día... Imagina que no hay países, no es difícil hacerlo.

Nada por lo que matar o morir, ni tampoco religión. Imagina a toda el mundo, viviendo la vida en paz...

Puedes decir que soy un soñador, pero no soy el único. Espero que algún día te unas a nosotros, y el mundo será uno solo.

Imagina que no hay posesiones, me pregunto si puedes. Sin necesidad de gula o hambruna, una hermandad de hombres. Imagínate a todo el mundo, compartiendo el mundo...

Puedes decir que soy un soñador, pero no soy el único. Espero que algún día te unas a nosotros, y el mundo será uno solo.

56 / 365

Los días llegan, 

los días se van.

Nada permanece,

queda la luz de las palabras,

los ecos de la memoria.

Una colección de instantes,

las edades de la vida.

El reloj suena

lágrimas, sonrisas,

llaman a la puerta.

La leyenda del tiempo,

nadie puede abrir semillas

en el corazón del sueño.

He conocido amaneceres,

días, crepúsculos y noches.

Aún no llegado el momento

pero podría ser pronto,

la vida sigue su curso,

días se van,

días llegarán.

The days arrive,

the days are gone.

Nothing remains,

the light of words remains,

the echoes of memory.

A collection of instants,

the ages of life.

The clock sounds

tears, smiles,

knock on the door

The legend of time,

nobody can open seeds

in the heart of the dream.

I have known sunrises,

days, twilights and nights.

The moment has not yet arrived

but it could be soon,

life goes on,

days are gone,

days will arrive.

[danithebookaholic-blog]

Top 10 to Run To

Top 10 to Run To

The following are my favorite books to listen to while running. The more detail there is to paint a picture for me and to keep my thoughts off of my burning lungs and aching hip flexors, the better! That's why Stephen King's IT is my number 1 choice. So much detail in that book, and if you're not paying attention to the detail, you're not going to understand what's happening.

Comedies are usually something that I don't listen to while running because I tend to lose control of my breathing when I'm laughing hysterically (I don't know if this is just me, or what?).  But Kevin Hart and Jim Gaffigan's books are perfect for those grey rainy days when you need a laugh just to get you through.

And then any time I can find a series that I enjoy running to, the more excited I am about running (I hate running, but I love it at the same time. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about!), and that's why I love The Warded Man (The Demon Cycle, Book 1). I'm anxiously waiting for book 5 to come out in October; perfect timing if you ask me!

The others on this list I love to run to just as much as the above mentioned for their own different reasons. Hopefully one of the following will be your perfect companion for that next run you have planned!

1) IT by Stephen King

Looking for a suspense-thriller? King's IT is the way to go! And just in time for the reboot that came out earlier this month.

To the children, the town was their whole world. To the adults, knowing better, Derry, Maine was just their home town: familiar, well-ordered for the most part. A good place to live. It was the children who saw - and felt - what made Derry so horribly different. In the storm drains, in the sewers, IT lurked, taking on the shape of every nightmare, each one's deepest dread. Sometimes IT reached up, seizing, tearing, killing . . . The adults, knowing better, knew nothing. Time passed and the children grew up, moved away. The horror of IT was deep-buried, wrapped in forgetfulness. Until they were called back, once more to confront IT as IT stirred and coiled in the sullen depths of their memories, reaching up again to make their past nightmares a terrible present reality. (source)

2) The Warded Man by Peter V. Brett

For the sci-fi fantasy lovers out there, this is the one for you! 

As darkness falls after sunset, the corelings rise—demons who possess supernatural powers and burn with a consuming hatred of humanity. For hundreds of years the demons have terrorized the night, slowly culling the human herd that shelters behind magical wards—symbols of power whose origins are lost in myth and whose protection is terrifyingly fragile. It was not always this way. Once, men and women battled the corelings on equal terms, but those days are gone. Night by night the demons grow stronger, while human numbers dwindle under their relentless assault. Now, with hope for the future fading, three young survivors of vicious demon attacks will dare the impossible, stepping beyond the crumbling safety of the wards to risk everything in a desperate quest to regain the secrets of the past. Together, they will stand against the night. (Source)

3) I Can't Make this Up: Life Lessons by Kevin Hart

 Hysterical memoir with a serious side. Kevin will have you laughing and thinking of your journey to success at the same time.

Superstar comedian and Hollywood box office star Kevin Hart turns his immense talent to the written word by writing some words. Some of those words include: the, a, for, above, and even even. Put them together and you have the funniest, most heartfelt, and most inspirational memoir on survival, success, and the importance of believing in yourself since Old Yeller. The question you’re probably asking yourself right now is: What does Kevin Hart have that a book also has? According to the three people who have seen Kevin Hart and a book in the same room, the answer is clear: A book is compact. Kevin Hart is compact. A book has a spine that holds it together. Kevin Hart has a spine that holds him together. A book has a beginning. Kevin Hart’s life uniquely qualifies him to write this book by also having a beginning. It begins in North Philadelphia. He was born an accident, unwanted by his parents. His father was a drug addict who was in and out of jail. His brother was a crack dealer and petty thief. And his mother was overwhelmingly strict, beating him with belts, frying pans, and his own toys. The odds, in short, were stacked against our young hero, just like the odds that are stacked against the release of a new book in this era of social media (where Hart has a following of over 100 million, by the way). But Kevin Hart, like Ernest Hemingway, JK Rowling, and Chocolate Droppa before him, was able to defy the odds and turn it around. In his literary debut, he takes the reader on a journey through what his life was, what it is today, and how he’s overcome each challenge to become the man he is today. And that man happens to be the biggest comedian in the world, with tours that sell out football stadiums and films that have collectively grossed over $3.5 billion. He achieved this not just through hard work, determination, and talent: It was through his unique way of looking at the world. Because just like a book has chapters, Hart sees life as a collection of chapters that each person gets to write for himself or herself. “Not only do you get to choose how you interpret each chapter, but your interpretation writes the next chapter,” he says. “So why not choose the interpretation that serves your life the best?” (source)

4) Outliers: The Story of Success by Malcolm Gladwell

For the analytic and the student to life, Outliers will have you questioning what your parents should have done differently that would have helped you win the race.

In this stunning new book, Malcolm Gladwell takes us on an intellectual journey through the world of "outliers"--the best and the brightest, the most famous and the most successful. He asks the question: what makes high-achievers different? His answer is that we pay too much attention to what successful people are like, and too little attention to where they are from: that is, their culture, their family, their generation, and the idiosyncratic experiences of their upbringing. Along the way he explains the secrets of software billionaires, what it takes to be a great soccer player, why Asians are good at math, and what made the Beatles the greatest rock band. (source)

5) The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

Beautiful imagery, well written story, the only thing that would make The Night Circus better would be to listen to it while running in the dark.

The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. Within the black-and-white striped canvas tents is an utterly unique experience full of breathtaking amazements. It is called Le Cirque des Rêves, and it is only open at night... But behind the scenes, a fierce competition is underway - a duel between two young magicians, Celia and Marco, who have been trained since childhood expressly for this purpose by their mercurial instructors. Unbeknownst to them, this is a game in which only one can be left standing, and the circus is but the stage for a remarkable battle of imagination and will. Despite themselves, however, Celia and Marco tumble headfirst into love - a deep, magical love that makes the lights flicker and the room grow warm whenever they so much as brush hands.  True love or not, the game must play out, and the fates of everyone involved, from the cast of extraordinary circus performers to the patrons, hang in the balance, suspended as precariously as the daring acrobats overhead. (source)

6) See Me by Nicholas Sparks

Part romance, part thriller, See Me will satisfy a fan of either genre.

See me just as I see you . . . Colin Hancock is giving his second chance his best shot. With a history of violence and bad decisions behind him and the threat of prison dogging his every step, he's determined to walk a straight line. To Colin, that means applying himself single-mindedly toward his teaching degree and avoiding everything that proved destructive in his earlier life. Reminding himself daily of his hard-earned lessons, the last thing he is looking for is a serious relationship. Maria Sanchez, the hardworking daughter of Mexican immigrants, is the picture of conventional success. With a degree from Duke Law School and a job at a prestigious firm in Wilmington, she is a dark-haired beauty with a seemingly flawless professional track record. And yet Maria has a traumatic history of her own, one that compelled her to return to her hometown and left her questioning so much of what she once believed. A chance encounter on a rain-swept road will alter the course of both Colin and Maria's lives, challenging deeply held assumptions about each other and ultimately, themselves. As love unexpectedly takes hold between them, they dare to envision what a future together could possibly look like . . . until menacing reminders of events in Maria's past begin to surface. As a series of threatening incidents wreaks chaos in Maria's life, Maria and Colin will be tested in increasingly terrifying ways. Will demons from their past destroy the tenuous relationship they've begun to build, or will their love protect them, even in the darkest hour? (source)

7) Angels & Demons by Dan Brown

Start at the beginning of Robert Langdon's story in anticipation of the fifth (and final?) installment to his legend which is to hit shelves in early October.

An ancient secret brotherhood. A devastating new weapon of destruction. An unthinkable target...  When world-renowned Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon is summoned to a Swiss research facility to analyze a mysterious symbol -- seared into the chest of a murdered physicist -- he discovers evidence of the unimaginable: the resurgence of an ancient secret brotherhood known as the Illuminati... the most powerful underground organization ever to walk the earth. The Illuminati has surfaced from the shadows to carry out the final phase of its legendary vendetta against its most hated enemy... the Catholic Church.  Langdon's worst fears are confirmed on the eve of the Vatican's holy conclave, when a messenger of the Illuminati announces he has hidden an unstoppable time bomb at the very heart of Vatican City. With the countdown under way, Langdon jets to Rome to join forces with Vittoria Vetra, a beautiful and mysterious Italian scientist, to assist the Vatican in a desperate bid for survival.  Embarking on a frantic hunt through sealed crypts, dangerous catacombs, deserted cathedrals, and even to the heart of the most secretive vault on earth, Langdon and Vetra follow a 400-year old trail of ancient symbols that snakes across Rome toward the long-forgotten Illuminati lair... a secret location that contains the only hope for Vatican salvation.  An explosive international thriller, Angels & Demons careens from enlightening epiphanies to dark truths as the battle between science and religion turns to war. (source)

8) Dad is Fat by Jim Gaffigan

A great comedic laugh is always needed while on a long run. If you have young children in the house, then this is a double win for you!

In Dad is Fat, stand-up comedian Jim Gaffigan, who’s best known for his legendary riffs on Hot Pockets, bacon, manatees, and McDonald's, expresses all the joys and horrors of life with five young children—everything from cousins ("celebrities for little kids") to toddlers’ communication skills (“they always sound like they have traveled by horseback for hours to deliver important news”), to the eating habits of four year olds (“there is no difference between a four year old eating a taco and throwing a taco on the floor”). Reminiscent of Bill Cosby’s Fatherhood, Dad is Fat is sharply observed, explosively funny, and a cry for help from a man who has realized he and his wife are outnumbered in their own home. (source)

9) Finding Ultra by Rich Roll

What book list for runners would be complete without a book about physical limits and running itself?

Finding Ultra is Rich Roll’s incredible-but-true account of achieving one of the most awe-inspiring midlife physical transformations ever.   One cool evening in October 2006, the night before he was to turn forty, Rich experienced a chilling glimpse of his future. Nearly fifty pounds overweight at the time and unable to climb the stairs without stopping, he could see where his current sedentary lifestyle was taking him.   Most of us, when granted such a moment of clarity, look the other way—but not Rich.   Plunging into a new way of eating that made processed foods off-limits and that prioritized plant nutrition, and vowing to train daily, Rich morphed—in a matter of mere months—from out-of-shape midlifer to endurance machine. When one morning ninety days into his physical overhaul, Rich left the house to embark on a light jog and found himself running a near marathon, he knew he had to scale up his goals. How many of us take up a sport at age forty and compete for the title of the world’s best within two years? Finding Ultra recounts Rich’s remarkable journey to the starting line of the elite Ultraman competition, which pits the world’s fittest humans against each other in a 320-mile ordeal of swimming, biking, and running. And following that test, Rich conquered an even greater one: the Epic5—five Ironman-distance triathlons, each on a different Hawaiian island, all completed in less than a week.   But Finding Ultra is much more than an edge-of-the-seat look at a series of jaw-dropping athletic feats—and much more than a practical training manual for those who would attempt a similar transformation. Yes, Rich’s account rivets—and, yes, it instructs,providing information that will be invaluable to anyone who wants to change their physique. But this book is most notable as a powerful testament to human resiliency, for as we learn early on, Rich’s childhood posed numerous physical and social challenges, and his early adulthood featured a fierce battle with alcoholism.   Ultimately, Finding Ultra is a beautifully written portrait of what willpower can accomplish. It challenges all of us to rethink what we’re capable of and urges us, implicitly and explicitly, to “go for it.”(source)

10) Grey by E. L. James

With this add on to Fifty Shades, trust me, you're mind will be focus on the book, and not the task at hand! *This book is intended for mature audiences

Christian Grey exercises control in all things; his world is neat, disciplined, and utterly empty—until the day that Anastasia Steele falls into his office, in a tangle of shapely limbs and tumbling brown hair. He tries to forget her, but instead is swept up in a storm of emotion he cannot comprehend and cannot resist. Unlike any woman he has known before, shy, unworldly Ana seems to see right through him—past the business prodigy and the penthouse lifestyle to Christian’s cold, wounded heart.   Will being with Ana dispel the horrors of his childhood that haunt Christian every night? Or will his dark sexual desires, his compulsion to control, and the self-loathing that fills his soul drive this girl away and destroy the fragile hope she offers him? (source)

From one wine-loving bookaholic to another, I hope I've helped you find you next fix!     -Dani

[mobius-prime]

116. Knuckles the Echidna #21

The Forbidden Zone (Part Three of Three): The Many Facets of the Truth

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Manny Galan Colors: Barry Grossman

Cold opening, go!

As Heavy and Bomb are being swept away in the current, Locke's aircraft arrives and catches everyone in some kind of antigravity beam, pulling them up into the craft's interior. At one point before they're caught by the beam, just before they go over a waterfall, Heavy complains that they're in "deep doo-doo," and Bomb acts like this is some crazy newfangled term he's never heard of before, prompting Heavy to explain that he hears Valdez say it all the time when he's called on by Geoffrey. I just love the idea that "doo-doo" is some secret swear word or something in this universe. I mean, can you imagine some grizzled freaking Secret Service member being irritated by something his commander tells him to do and muttering "Oh, doo-doo" under his breath? Because that's exactly what Valdez apparently does. Canon.

Meanwhile, back in Haven, the various members of the Brotherhood start chattering to each other immediately about how much of a disaster this is for Knuckles to have found his way into Haven, while Tobor-itori Rex sulks in the background realizing his plans have just fallen to pieces right before his eyes. Archimedes poofs in to try to reassure Knuckles that "things aren't what they seem," but Knuckles isn't having it and brushes him off (which, to be fair, I know that Archimedes is probably just as indoctrinated into this regime as everyone else, but Knuckles still has a point that he could have told him more about everything before and actively didn't). Finally the Brotherhood decide to start introducing themselves and let fate decide what happens next.

Oof. Knuckles, having no real choice, follows Moritori to the medbay, and is surprised to see Hawking in one of the beds. Moritori explains how he fell into a coma when he restored Echidnaopolis to its proper place on the Floating Island, and quietly fills a syringe behind Knuckles back. Frankly, if I were Knuckles I wouldn't have turned my back on him even for a moment knowing what I know, but eh, we already know he doesn't always make the smartest decisions.

Meanwhile on Locke's craft, Geoffrey asks for more information regarding Elias' survival on the island all these years. He recounts how after the crash, he and the rest of the Brotherhood searched the craft and discovered everyone dead except for baby Elias and Queen Alicia.

The Overlanders came demanding to inspect the craft, but the Brotherhood was able to use their existing precedent as a neutral party in the war to deny them access, lying that they found everyone aboard dead. They decided not to return Elias to the king, fearing the Overlanders would think they took sides in the war, and instead raised him within Haven until he was ten years old, whereupon they released him to wander the island as he saw fit. They also put the queen into a stasis chamber, as she was in a coma and they didn't have the necessary medical knowledge to be able to revive her. However, they'd actually missed one survivor of the crash - the Colonel, who had been thrown clear of the wreckage when the craft broke up, landing somewhere further away. When he awoke, he wandered and was eventually found by the king's search party, but in grief he refused to go back with them and exiled himself to the royal compound on the island where he remained ever since.

While Locke is telling this story, the craft has been approaching the entrance to Haven, concealed by the holographic projection of the wall of flame. As they enter, with Geoffrey expressing his wish to speak directly to Tobor since he was particularly instrumental in helping clean up the site of the crash, we get to see what Fake Tobor is up to in the medbay. As you might expect, it's no good!

Well now, I hardly think Knuckles is the self-centered one here, Moritori. After all, you're the one who replaced a man's entire life with your own, sabotaging every relationship he's ever had and forcing him into a shameful exile just to get an edge for your own selfish goals. They fight some more, and Moritori reveals that his eyepiece can actually shoot lasers, because sure man, lasers! As they continue to duke it out, Locke lands his craft in their docking bay just as alarms start to go off. He decides to simply drop everyone off except for Lara-Le, giving Elias the task to take everyone to Sabre and privately telling him to tell Knuckles "I'm sorry." Wow, maybe Lara-Le has actually gotten through to him somewhat after all. As Elias' entourage makes its way through the hallways they narrowly miss being sliced in half by Moritori's lasers like they’re in a Resident Evil movie, and Knuckles starts tackling him again. Suddenly some heavy-duty doors start closing off the part of the hallway, and Archimedes poofs in to encourage him to jump to safety, trapping Moritori inside.

Just so we're aware, I don't think it's been mentioned so far, but Spectre is Tobor's son, meaning that for all he knows, right now he just saw his own father turn traitor. Of course, they'll all find out there's more to what's going on soon enough. Knuckles and Elias' gang meet up in the hallways, and Knuckles mentions something about hating having to fight the Dark Legion. At that moment the rest of the Brotherhood (sans Locke) turn up, shocked to hear an accusation that Tobor might have been affiliated with them, and Spectre opens the blast doors only to find that Moritori is gone.

According to Spectre, "Shinginta" is an old word in an ancient echidna language meaning "you will make friends with death." I'm not sure if we're meant to assume Moritori just randomly had pen and paper on him, or if he carved it into the wall with his eye lasers, but I'm going with the second option because it's way more metal. Back in Locke's craft, he's finally allowing Lara-Le to try to discuss Knuckles with him, but gets defensive almost as soon as she begins to speak, asking her sarcastically if she wants him to explain the birds and the bees, because he already has. Kind of a hilarious thing to include considering we're literally talking about Locke sitting baby Knuckles down and teaching him the ins and outs of echidna sex, and maybe not a comment necessary to include in a kids' comic, but hey, at least we know Locke is a good enough parent to give his son a decent sex education instead of leaving him in the dark like a lot of modern parents do, eh? Although, on the other hand, there's the ever-looming fact that Guardians are expected to enter into little heterosexual marriages and produce heirs for the family line, so maybe not so great of him after all. He then finds Remington, his pilot, Julie-Su and Wynmacher still stuck in their downed craft outside of Haven, because remember, all this time they've just been stuck in there while Knuckles randomly disappeared into the wall of fire.

Boi, you better get over your old feelings for her quick. Wynmacher is honestly a very likable character compared to him; look how polite he is to someone he knows broke his fiancée's heart, how kind he's been to Knuckles all this time treating him like his own son, and how well he looks after Lara-Le's feelings. He's a way better partner to Lara-Le than Locke ever was, and she deserves him after all Locke put her through. But anyway, meanwhile back in Haven, we finally reach the third day of Geoffrey's time on the island, and Elias brings him and the rest of the Secret Service to the chamber where his mother is in stasis.

Geoffrey plans to take the queen's stasis pod back to Mobotropolis straightaway, and Elias decides he will come with, as he wishes to see his father now that he knows he's alive and well. Knuckles, however, plans to stay in Haven and get the answers he's always wished for, and frankly has earned the right to know.

[mobius-prime]

154. Sonic Super Special #14

Law of the Land

Writer: Evan Skolnick and Jim Spivey Pencils: Suzanne Paddock and Harvo! Colors: Josh and Aimee Ray

This is more of a silly story, which, while the timeline isn't specified, I estimate to take place sometime before Eggman's return at the beginning of the era. This is due to the fact that it begins with Sonic and Sally strolling peacefully through the forest while discussing how nothing has been going on lately, a statement which is hugely at odds with what has been going on lately. Suddenly, a zone portal opens up in front of them, and two echidnas in riot gear burst through, slap Sally knocking her out, and grab Sonic while telling him he's under arrest for "extreme mental anguish and permanent emotional scarring," which if you ask me just sounds like an average day on Tumblr. They drag him through the portal into the city of Litigopolis, and take him to the castle, where the J.U.D.G.E. - the Judgmental Unrelenting Digitized Governmental Enforcer, which of course looks exactly like original Robotnik - is to sentence him for his apparent crimes. He's greeted by Johnny Snively, the prosecutor, but luckily for him his lawyer is Sally McAcorn, there to act as his defense. It takes them ten hours in court, but McAcorn eventually manages to get him out on bail, and explains how the law became so strict in the city.

Eventually, the amount of lawsuits and crimes became so high that the king hired Robotnik Enterprises to build the J.U.D.G.E., a supercomputer which was supposed to help manage the city's legal system. It of course quickly took over, sentenced the king to life in prison for "ruler malpractice," created a bunch of new, unreasonably strict laws to keep the populace fearful and complacent, and hired a bunch of echidnas as his security force. McAcorn tells Sonic that no one has tried to shut off the J.U.D.G.E. because of their fear of said security force, which is of course Sonic's cue to race away hoping to pull off just such a scheme. However, as expected, the moment he enters the J.U.D.G.E.'s HQ…

He runs for his life, deciding to abandon his attempt for now and racing back to safety at McAcorn's residence. She's irritated at his rash decision, thinking he's only made the case for his innocence worse, even though they now have video proof from amateur videographers on the streets that the original crime he was arrested for wasn't even committed by him.

Of course it would have been Evil Sonic, zone-hopper extraordinaire. McAcorn cautions Sonic against committing any more crimes, thinking it best to lay low as committing even one more crime might cause the J.U.D.G.E. to have a massive meltdown. And thus, Sonic gets his second crazy idea of the day.

The plan works, and the J.U.D.G.E. blows up, sending Snively flying out of the building. When Lieutenant Knuckles of the police force tries to show up to arrest Sonic once more, McAcorn simply whacks him with her suitcase. Sonic worries about how he'll get home, since the technology used to create the zone portals was destroyed in the explosion, but you know who always ends up showing up when zone-hopping takes place - Zonic, of course! He cheekily sends Sonic back off to his home zone before he can get a grateful kiss from McAcorn, which is probably a good thing even though Sonic's mad about it, because… well, c'mon buddy, that may be a Sally, but that's not your Sally!

Best of Times Worst of Times

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Steven Butler Colors: Josh and Aimee Ray

So Knuckles' whole story has kind of been put on hold lately, due both to the cancellation of his own series, and the Sonic Adventure adaption that had been taking up all the screentime until recently. But Penders has finally found a solution to this: from now on, until the end of the fourth era (with only a few exceptions here and there between issues), Knuckles and his race get the backup story all to themselves. Karl handles most of the main stories of each issue, which all deal with Sonic and Knothole and, you know, the main thing most people are probably coming to the comic to see, while Penders gets to handle everything past each halfway mark. I would say this is mostly a good thing, as there's quite a few loose ends that need to be wrapped up from KtE, and y'all already know I quite liked that series. However, now that all of Knuckles and the other echidnas' ventures have been reduced to backup stories within the main comic, the quality of said stories begins to suffer drastically. This story is of the same quality of the original KtE, probably because it gets to be a normal story length thanks to the double length of Super Specials, but it also marks the beginning point of a pretty infamous arc within the comic, simply dubbed the Green Knuckles Saga by many fans. Wondering what the hell the Green Knuckles Saga might be? Well, we only have a few issues left before we find out - so for now, let's press on!

This story hilariously opens with an honest-to-god *record scratch* "Yep, that's me. You're probably wondering how I got into this situation" moment. A confused Knuckles finds himself running for his life from a massive, expanding orange blast of energy, which chases him all the way to the edge of his island. Having no other choice, he leaps for his life over the edge, into the ocean far below.

Well, that's probably not good. But how, indeed, did Knuckles *record scratch* get into this situation? It all began at his mother's wedding that morning. She and Wynmacher have finally gotten married, and while Knuckles is still a little torn about how to feel, ultimately he's happy for his mom, recognizing that Wynmacher really is a genuinely good guy.

Romance is in the air on this day, and Vector, predictably, has a bit of a sour attitude about it, flippantly dismissing the mood while Julie-Su happily hangs onto Knuckles' arm. They find Constable Remington in the crowd with his pretty companion Komi-Ko, but they don't get long to chat before he gets a call from the precinct, calling him back to deal with a brewing situation. While he leaves, telling Knuckles he'll call if he needs backup, we head over to Haven, where we find a very, very unexpected guest visiting.

Man, just when you thought Kenders had introduced enough grandfathers, we get one more! This guy is the father of Hawking, who if you'll remember is still lying in the medbay on life support in a coma. If you're wondering why we haven't heard of him before, it's because he apparently transcended his physical form a while ago so he could spend the rest of his "life" in quiet meditation in another zone, you know, as one does. However, just a little while ago he felt a disturbance in the Force, and realizing that Dimitri was amassing his forces for yet another attempt to take over the island and echidna civilization as a whole, Mathias just plopped himself back into the physical realm somehow so he could lead his many, many descendants into battle against the Dark Legion. I really just can't get over how this guy, never once mentioned or even hinted at before, has suddenly appeared out of goddamn nowhere to introduce the next plot hook. While this is going on, Knuckles, Julie-Su, and the rest of the Chaotix (still minus Charmy - he's really been missing for a long time now, hasn't he?) all saddle up on some streaking pashas and gallop out of the city to let off some steam. Really, now that the whole Chaos situation has been resolved, life seems positively idyllic on the Floating Island, doesn't it? After dropping Komi-Ko back off at her apartment, Remington hails a cab which just so happens to contain our old friend Harry, who is not at all happy to see him.

He tells Remington that apparently, General von Stryker has decided to organize a massive protest - meaning, since we're talking about the dingoes here, more like a riot - as apparently, conditions for the dingoes in the city still haven't improved, even despite Remington taking a personal interest. Remington is worried that with the High Council due to make a decision on the matter soon, things will quickly spiral out of control if the protest goes forward, and Harry apparently agrees, as he doesn't even demand payment for the cab ride, just telling Remington to forget he ever saw him there as Remington meets up with his men nearby. Meanwhile, we learn that Knuckles apparently didn't take everyone along on the pasha ride purely for leisure - he's in fact led them straight to the Grand Conservatory, the very place he first met Archimedes and fought Enerjak.

Well well, nice to see Julie-Su actually acknowledge the meeting she had with her adoptive father a while ago! Though it's certainly suspicious that he apparently just "disappeared" shortly thereafter… Now get ready for some rapid skipping around between characters! Knuckles isn't the only one who's come to the Grand Conservatory - Mathias has led the entire Brotherhood there, as it's apparently where the Dark Legion has holed up for now. Spectre rushes especially aggressively into the battle, with the others noting that this seems personal for him, and the entire Brotherhood teams up to begin the assault on the Legion's new makeshift base, causing them to begin an evacuation. Far away from here, Wynmacher and Lara-Le land in their personal aircraft on a landing pad at the "Albion Chalet," which despite its name is just a luxury destination on the Floating Island itself, for their honeymoon. At the same time, von Stryker leads his soldiers into their riot, firing their guns wildly into the air with the safeties off, shouting about how the echidnas aren't treating them nicely enough. Gee, I wonder why, General? Remington and his men arrive at the scene, and Remington orders everyone to hold fire, still hoping that he can convince the general to see reason. On Knuckles' side of the Conservatory, Legion members begin pouring into the room, and before Knuckles can react a group of soldiers grab Julie-Su and drag her off into one of their flying saucer vehicles, which flies away leaving the others unable to help her as they're attacked by more soldiers. And finally, back at Haven…

Man, I genuinely feel bad for Hawking - he was literally kept on life support this entire time, with obviously no hope of recovery, and he had to wait until everyone was out of the place to even be allowed to properly die. Remember, it's been nearly a year by now of him just lying on this table, with Locke even expending his own energies to keep Hawking alive at one point when he started to flatline. Julie-Su is taken to a large battleship flying just off the edge of the Floating Island, where Lien-Da gloats about capturing her and mockingly reminds her of how she's her half-sister, clearly still not over their father having remarried in the past. Geez, what a petty bitch, right?

Oh man, we finally get to see Simon again, as well as seeing Floren-Ca for the first time! Back on the bridge, Dimitri defends having had Julie-Su abducted to Moritori Rex, who has by now gotten rid of his visor to reveal perfectly normal-looking organic eyes (something which seems a little at odds with his previous backstory), saying that Julie-Su is still a part of his family whether Moritori likes it or not. Huh, didn't take you for the sentimental type, Dimitri. He then orders Moritori to fire the Quantum Beam, and it bursts out of the ship's cannons in an explosion of light, consuming every part of the Floating Island, interrupting every scene, happy and unhappy, over the entire island.

Goddamn. Honestly, this kind of reminds me of the scene from Sonic '06 where Solaris begins consuming all of time and space. Dimitri expresses regret that he had to pull the trigger with Knuckles still on the island, but ultimately recognizes that Knuckles only ever stood to get in their way, and claims that they can finally reclaim what is rightfully theirs. The ship flies off toward the island, which has begin to fade from existence as if into another dimension. No one is aware of Knuckles' survival, a lone figure floating unconscious on debris left in the waters far below…