#quacking aspen

[yoga-onion]

Legends and myths about trees

Celtic beliefs in trees (21)

E for Eadha (Aspen) - September 21st Autumn Equinox

“Whispering tree, also known as Trembling tree  - Autumn Equinox of the Celtic Tree Calendar (Ref), when moving into darkness”

Star: Pluto, Mercury, Saturn: Gemstone: black opal,; Gender: female; Patron deity: Persephone, Hades; Symbol: listening, overcoming fear + courage, shield, light in the darkness

Aspen trees are all native to cold regions with cool summers, in the north of the northern hemisphere, extending south at high-altitude areas such as mountains or high plains.

The aspen is referred to as quaking aspen or trembling aspen because the leaves "quake" or tremble in the wind. This is due to their flattened petioles which reduce aerodynamic drag on the trunk and branches, so that they catch any slight breeze, making the leaves tremble, flutter and make a soft, rustling sound each time they do so. In autumn, the leaves turn bright yellow and sometimes red, and when they fade further and turn black, they fall off.

The ancient Celts believed that the wind was a messenger of the word of the gods and therefore considered anything that was in tune with the wind sacred. The same is true of the aspen tree. The aspen, which has the best ears of all trees, always rustled its leaves in response to the voice of the gods.

However, the aspen, with its close connection to death and the underworld, came to be regarded as a tree of misfortune. In earlier times, corpses and graves were counted with a cane made of aspen named fé, and people were terribly afraid of the calamities that would befall them if they were struck with this cane. The connection with the seasons, rest and rebirth was often overlooked, and many people, cowering in fear, heard only the abominable sound of aspen leaves rustling in the wind. However, the teachings of the aspen are about overcoming the fear of death, the fear of the unknown and fear itself. The aspen was called the 'shield tree' by the Irish Celts, and is said to have been their favourite tree for making shields. This was not only because aspens provided a reassuring shield, but also because they protected us from flinching in the face of the unknown, once we had taken their teachings to heart.

Incense made from aspens is burned continuously during Halloween (Celtic festival of Samhain). Halloween is the time of year when the distance between this world and the underworld is at its closest, and the period that ushers in the new year. Samhain is also the festival of the New Year, which takes place on November the 1st, the beginning of the year, but it is also the festival of the dead. It is believed that during nights between the end of the year and the beginning of the new year, the border with the other world disappears, the souls of the dead visit their relatives, and demons and evil spirits cause damage to crops and livestock.

Ancient Celtic cultures were known to carve turnips or potatoes and place embers inside to ward off evil spirits. That's because Ireland didn't have pumpkins. In England, large beets were used. When immigrants brought over their carving tradition, Americans began carving jack-o'-lanterns from pumpkins.

木にまつわる伝説・神話

ケルト人の樹木の信仰 (21)

EはEadha (ﾎﾟﾌﾟﾗ) - 9月21日・秋分の日　

『ささやきの木、震える木 〜 ケルトの木の暦（参照）・秋分、暗闇に移るとき』

星: 冥王星、水星、土星: 宝石: ブラック・オパール、; 性: 女性; 守護神: ベルセポネ、ハデス; シンボル: 聞くこと、恐怖の克服+勇気、楯、暗闇の中の光明

ポプラ (ｾｲﾖｳﾔﾏﾅﾗｼ‘山鳴らし’) の木はすべて、北半球の北部で夏が涼しく寒い地域に自生し、南は山や高原などの標高の高い地域に広がっている。

ポプラは、葉が風で「震える」ことから、山鳴らしと呼ばれている。これは、幹や枝の空気抵抗を減らすために葉柄が平らになっているためで、どんな微風もとらえ、その度に葉は震え、はためき、さらさらと柔らかな音を立てる。秋になると、葉は鮮やかな黄色に色づき、時には赤くなり、さらに色あせて黒くなると落葉する。

古代ケルト人は、風は神の言葉を伝える使者と信じていたため、風と同調するものは何でも神聖視していた。ポプラの木も同様だ。すべての木の中で最も優れた耳を持つポプラは、いつも神の声に応じて葉をそよがせていたのだ。

ところが、死や地下の国とつながりの深いポプラは、不幸を招く木とみなされるようになった。その昔、死体や墓はフェという名前の、ポプラでできた杖で数えられていたし、この杖で打たれると災難がふりかかると人々はひどく恐れていた。四季、安息、再生との関わりはしばしば見過ごしにされ、恐怖に身をすくませた多くの人たちは、風にそよぐポプラの葉音に忌まわしい声だけを聞き取った。しかし、ポプラの教えは、死の恐怖、未知なるものへの恐れ、そして恐怖心そのものを克服することにあるのだ。ポプラは、アイルランドのケルト人に「楯の木」と呼ばれ、彼らが楯をつくるのに最も好んだ木と言われている。それは、ポプラが単に心強い防具になっただけに留まらず、ひとたびポプラの教えを我がものとしたなら、未知なるものを前にしてもたじろがないように守ってくれたからに他ならない。

ハロウィン (ケルトのサウィン祭)の期間中、ポプラから作られたお香が焚かれ続ける。ハロウィンは、現世と冥界の距離が最も近くなる時期であり、新年を迎える期間でもある。サウィンは、1年の始まりである11月1日に行われる新年の祭りでもあるが、同時に死者の祭りでもある。年末から新年が始まるまでの夜は、あの世との境界がなくなり、死者の魂が親族を訪ね、悪魔や悪霊が農作物や家畜に被害を与えると信じられている。

古代ケルト文化圏では、悪霊を追い払うためにカブやジャガイモを刻んで中に燠火を入れていたことが知られている。アイルランドにはカボチャがなかったからだ。イギリスでは大きなビーツが使われた。移民がカボチャを彫る習慣を持ち込むと、アメリカ人はカボチャからジャック・オー・ランタンを彫るようになった。

[an-unlikely-poet]

The sum of eternity

[xomoosexo]

Idk. George is a quacking aspen or a silver birch. Idfk

okay I agree with the long skinny tree thing but for some reason I imagine george as a tree with darker bark (maybe cause of his hair??? idk)

[bbygobrr]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Introduction ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

✭ My name is Aspen! I also go by Sap ✭

.・。.・゜Body is 18 [2-5 regressed] [Puppy, Bunny] ・゜・。.

♥ I age regress and pet regress ♥

°。°。°。°。°。°。

・゜゜・． Stuffie Intro .・゜゜・

✿ Dexter ✿

╰ Floppy Ear Puppy

╰ She/They

╰ Smells Like Lavender

╰ Likes: Dress Up, Sunny Days, Lemonade, Blue, Play Trains, Flowers

╰ Doesn't Like: Rain, Coffee

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

☂ Bubbles ☂

╰ Pink Axolotl

╰ He/It

╰ Likes: Bath Time, Bubbles, Water, Ice Tea

╰ Doesn't Like: Hot Days, Bright Light, Loud Noises

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

❤ Ducky ❤

╰ Duck

╰ Quack/Quacky

╰ Likes: Ponds, Lakes, Warm Weather, Picnics, Bread, Baby Einstein. Bath Time

╰ Doesn't Like: Cold Days, Snow, Loud Music

[aisling-saoirse]

An uncommon find for New Jersey, some Quacking Aspens!

[plumbobsandreapers]

Morgan then mastered the cooking skill, and they had a nice family dinner together! 

Morgan: ...and then the duck said: “and then I quacked!”

Roman: ...

Aspen: ...

Jackie: Hahahahaha!

[fenrys-moonbae]

A Bright Star in Centuries of Darkness--Chapter 3

If there was one thing Eleanor abhorred more than playing royal escort it was rising before the sun, forcing her body into wakefulness when all she wanted to do was remain clasped in the blissful hold of dreams.

And this was the third day of rising at such an unholy hour.

She’d thrown a shoe at Evalin that morning when she’d come into her room, throwing the curtains wide and telling her to rise before she was late for her appointment.  It hadn’t helped that her dear cousin had brought a chilled bucket of icy water up with her after Eleanor had refused to budge the second and third time.

A bucket she’d promptly dumped over her and her bedding, sending her into a screeching fury as she’d flown from the bed, furious.

At least you’re up, Evalin had tutted victoriously before pointing toward the wardrobe, her riding clothes having already been laid out for her.

She was going to put mouse droppings in her slippers.

Shivering against the chill morning air, she pulled her shearling-lined cloak closer about her, attempting to stave off some of the cold.  Why Glaston had felt it essential that she show their visitor the grounds before the rise of the sun was beyond her.

She steered her pale mount over one of the rolling green hills following an eddying brook deep into the king’s territory, Gavriel keeping pace with her but at a healthy distance as he’d done the days before, his silence nearly suffocating.

She’d been pointing out various landmarks and their history as they’d strolled, feeling more like a tour guide than coveted company as each day passed.

Here was where my great-grandfather relieved himself and sipped from a flask when his duchess wife became overbearing, she thought sarcastically, looking over the field, and here is where I bury the bodies of those who threaten my family.  No, not there, a little to the right. She’d half hoped she could lead him off a cliff and claim it an accident, though she highly doubted the male would fall for such a ploy.

Not with the way he moved, the way he took in his every surrounding, constantly evaluating and cataloging.  Was it wise to show him their lands?  Any defensive tactics they might have against Her Great Unholiness?

Not that it would matter much if all of Dornanelle’s warriors were built like that.

Their soldiers were toothpicks in comparisons, bones for them to snack on.

Something inside Eleanor knew that wasn’t his purpose here though, even if her logic screamed against it.  After days of watching him she’d gotten the impression he wasn’t here for a military advantage but for something else.

She’d been sour with him when he’d offered a hand to her as she mounted her horse, Lady Cecilia as she affectionately called the golden mare, earlier, ever the gentleman . . . male?  She’d almost slapped it away before clambering into the saddle on her own instead.  She might be a princess but she was no invalid.

He’d bowed his head respectfully before swinging flawlessly into his own saddle, the muscles beneath his tunic rippling as he’d adjusted himself.  Muscles that Eleanor’s gaze kept snagging on as they rode into the wood, shifting as he guided his horse.

She couldn’t help but note them more and more as they spent time together.

What did Maeve feed them?

Perhaps she’d find out and start slipping it into the food of the guards and perhaps some of the skin-and-bone nobles that had been pestering her about her future ‘endeavors’—also known as her bidding and the coveted offspring she was expected to bear.  If she was going to have to tolerate one of them, he might at least be nice to look at and touch.

And as long as it wasn’t Lord Dennor clamoring for her . . .

The thought of flitting away to Terrasen clanged through her mind. Rumor was the Terrasen men were just as lovely, their fae heritage still thick in their blood, and if one had caught Evalin’s attention . . . she could surely find herself a nice warrior to keep her bed warmed at night.

One that would make Glaston’s hair stand on end.

She almost chuckled at the thought. She sent another sidelong glance at Gavriel, appreciating the tawny eyes and golden skin.  Perhaps she could find one with such fine coloring. “Is there something you’d like to ask?” the warriors deep voice inquired, the accent rolling and rich as he caught her stare.  A blush raced up her cheeks.  She directed her attention elsewhere, ignoring the hammering of her heart in her chest.

“Just wondering how you eat without puncturing your own lip with those fangs,” a nod towards the canines that flashed when he spoke, “I imagine it makes for a difficult time, Sir Gavriel.”

A soft smile.

“You get used to them, especially when you’ve never known anything else, Milady.”

Did you get used to serving a bitch Queen as well, when you’d never known anything else? she mused internally but settled for replying with a small “Ah.” The male grew quiet again, contemplative as he watched the scenery pass by. “Your Kingdom is lovely.” “I’m sure it pales in comparison to Doranelle.” “Different,” he brushed a hand along the base of a pale aspen, his fingers gliding over the bark, “but just as beautiful.” Insufferably polite.  She almost wondered if she could get a rise out of a that composed manner of his, make him show a little bit of the predator that was no doubt lurking beneath his skin.

Only one way to find out.

“And our Court? Does it hold any light when compared to the splendor of Dornanelle?”

“The same, different but just as splendid.”

Horse shit.

He was deflecting.

“Even with the array of conniving nobles vying for power and the throne?”  Wendlyn had certainly seen its fair share of assassinations and coups.  Not that anyone would dare try to usurp dear Maeve from her dark throne.

He quirked an elegant brow at her.

“Political intrigue is the same in all walks of life, and I have little taste for it.  But . . . yes, there are similarities, though perhaps less frequent.”

Because you’re conniving old bastards that never die?

“I see.” She clicked her tongue, squinting at the sun as it slowly rose towards its apex in the sky.  “And what of other things?” A nod to his clothes, a simple grey tunic that Eleanor was disappointed wasn’t stained green. “Your fashion, perhaps?”

“Also different.  Less . . .” she could see he was searching for a word that she wouldn’t deem offensive, “cumbersome.” “Why, Sir Gavriel,” she mocked offense as she fanned herself with her hand, her lips tugging at the concern, “are you implying our human clothes with all our frills and laces aren’t practical?” She thought back on the spring fashion that had been presented to the royal family that winter, the petticoats and bodices made of taffeta and satin that took up an entire room.

She’d nearly passed out when they’d laced her in one of the gowns, almost tearing the damned thing when she tried to bend over to adjust her shoes.  Evalin had made quiet quacking noises at her as she’d waddled about.

“I am a soldier and am not accustomed to such finery.” Eleanor ground her teeth as he continued in his pleasant tone, easily gaining his grip back on the conversation “Forgive me if I have given offense.”

“Oh, I’ve taken great offense,” she couldn’t keep the laughter from her voice as she thought on the gaudy clothes they’d tried to stuff her in, “such offense I might not recover.”

He sent her a questioning look, as though he wasn’t entirely certain if she were serious or not. She deadpanned at him.

“I only jest.” Some tension fled from his shoulders as he flashed her a small, wry smile, one that seemed less formal than the others he’d offered her that morning.

“I do see you have a preference for the color grey,” a nod to his tunic, “is there a reason you’ve chosen that particular color?” Other than to symbolize you’re a mindless, heartless soldier.

“It is the color of my cadre, we all wear it as a unit,” a small quirk of his full lips, “though I do find removing stains from it tends to be quite cumbersome.”  He had not forgotten about her little incident then, choosing to address it with her without watching eyes. Eleanor retained her smile.  If he wanted to play a game she was more than happy to partake.

“Any what of your décor? Do you keep up with the newest styles and furniture?”

“It is refined but traditional. We live with one foot in the wilderness,” a nod to the environment around him, “a taste for things a little less constrained and tame.  Many of our decorations are valued items of history.” She gave him a once over, noting his dark blond locks as a question formed in her mind. “And your carpets?  Do they match the drapes?” Gavriel wheeled on her, his eyes wide as he took her in, disbelief playing over his features.  So, he was a traditionalist, not keen on the less savory aspects of humor.  She filed the information away.

Sucking on a tooth she calmly added, “Forgive me, I mean your tapestries and rugs, are they matched in color or do you decorate based on the value of the item?” She tried not to look too triumphant as the male cast his glance away from her, as she swore a faint tinge of pink bloomed on those too-perfect cheekbones of his, as he curtly replied, “There is no specific means of decorating, it is as we see fit.”

She’d made him uncomfortable.  How unfortunate. “Sir Gavriel, did you think I had inquired after something else?  I am only interested in understanding your culture and ways, as I know far less than my dear Evalin.” She batted her eyelashes at him, willing innocence to her features.

A poised, calm Princess.

“Forgive me, Princess,” he replied, seeming to shake the shock from his features as they melded back into a neutral expression, his horse having drifted a distance from hers, “it seems my comrades and their . . . banter have put my mind in a less than ideal place.” Eleanor wondered which of his ‘comrades’ had a dirty mind and if they’d had a more elaborate sense of humor than the stoic male before her.  Perhaps they were more attractive, though that would be difficult to achieve.

She’d opened her mouth to begin another tirade of inappropriate remarks when she heard distant shouting and a high, echoing scream that tore through the underbrush.

“What is that?” she inquired, swiveling her attention towards the commotion.

Before she knew what had happened, she felt her horse skitter beneath her, banking toward the tree in front of her as a large, feral boar tore free from the undergrowth, its tusks slashing as it bolted straight for her, blood gushing from its side.

Game that hunters had failed to fell.  A poorly placed, shallow wound, just enough to enrage to beast.

She didn’t remember the moment Cecilia spooked or when she was bucked from the saddle, but she recalled tumbling to the soft grass, pain splintering through her shoulder and collarbone as the horse stomped down on her and she rolled, finding herself face to face with the charging creature.

Fear pierced her as she stared death rushing at her, unable to move as it rampaged towards her.

She braced for the impact, squeezing her eyes tightly and holding her breath, praying it would be swift.

The impact never came as a crack resounded throughout the space, the sound of a body collapsing and slumping harmlessly into the grass.  The hot reek of blood assaulted Eleanor’s senses as she peeled an eye open, the open maw of the beast just before her, its eyes gazing unseeingly.

How? She sucked in a shuddering breath, shock racing through her. How?

Someone had a hand on her, was speaking her name, trying to get her attention—

“Your Highness!  Are you alright?” It was Gavriel, kneeling close to her as he placed a hand on her uninjured shoulder, his tawny eyes assessing, scanning for injuries.  “Where?” Reality reeled in as Eleanor looked between him and the beast.

He’d killed it instantly, snapped its neck with a golden shield he’d erected before her, its remnants still shimmering.  The creature’s momentum had killed it instantly.

Something molten appeared in his eyes as he looked off towards the bushes, toward the sound of approaching horses and men.

She nodded numbly, trying to right herself.

Pain lanced through her shoulder and she couldn’t help the cry that escaped her as she felt bones shift.  Hissing, she slumped back down, Gavriel’s hands still keeping her upright.  She must have broken something, snapped it when the horse’s hoof had come down on her.  

“Princess Eleanor!” It was a young tracker who came stumbling through the bushes, his grey eyes wide in fright as he took her in.  “You’re injured—” true panic there, she tried to keep her annoyance to a minimum, “My Lord, the Princess!”

It would be the talk of the evening.  Lovely Eleanor bucked from her loyal mount and nearly skewered by a boar all while in the company of one of Maeve’s soldiers.  Wonderful.

Others materialized behind him, men dressed in Lord Dennor’s colors of rusty red and gold, their eyes growing wide as they took her in, laying there in the grass, the fae warrior kneeling over her.  Of course it had to be him.

Where was Evalin when she needed her to be a voice of reason to these fools?

Panic wasn’t going to help anyone, especially not her.  

And with the scene they’d stumbled upon, a felled boar and her collapsed like some tragic, helpless damsel in the warrior’s arms.

Oh yes, it was going to be the talk of the castle.

More pain sliced through her shoulder, causing her to cry out as she panted, trying to immobilize the joint.  If these men were to carry her back, the jostling—

She’d rather remaining laying in the grass.

Gavriel had not moved, however, his pupils dilated as he watched Dennor fly into view, his mustache twitching as his mount pawed from its sudden stop. “My lady,” Dennor immediately slid from his horse, his gullet nearly catching on the side of his saddle as he made for her, his eyes wide in fright as he approached her.  “The damned beast!  We must get you to a healer immediately!” He made as though he would reach for her before Gavriel’s voice cut him off.

“Do not move her.”  That was the voice of a soldier and of a commander, and the tone surprised Eleanor.  She watched as he looked up at Dennor, something like reproach flickering in his gaze as he glanced toward the boar.  “It will need to be patched here to prevent further injury.” “And I suppose you will be the one to do that?” Dennor sneered, making Eleanor want to reach up and strangle the man, even if the pain of moving would send her into unconsciousness.  It might be worth it.

Black spots were beginning to bloom in her vision anyway, as the adrenaline wore off and the pain began to cascade in.  She couldn’t the little yelp as she tried to take a deep breath and was met with a slashing pain.

Dennor shot his attention to her.

“You’re injuring the lady! Put her down this instant.”

“No.”

Oh wonderful, an argument, very productive to getting her patched up.  Her vision was growing wavery as Dennor continued on, Gavriel’s hold on her tight as he watched the man spew, his face growing redder by the second.  She hadn’t noticed quite how broad the warrior’s chest was until she was pressed against it, the coiled muscle somehow comforting.

How much had the adrenaline altered her brain?

Something giddy in Eleanor emerged as the thought of what Dennor must’ve seen when he’d ridden into that field, his lovely princess in the arms of a fae warrior.  How his manhood must have shriveled.

She would have laughed had it not hurt so rutting much.

Her vision had nearly depleted when a sudden warmth, bright and luxurious, flooded her arm, before she slipped into unconsciousness, grateful that the pain was gone.  

When Eleanor came to, confusion filled her as she found herself lying in her bed, mysteriously changed into a dressing gown, with the comforter tucked under her chin and the fading evening rays beginning to peak through her curtains.

How had she gotten here?  Last she recalled she’d been heckling Gavriel, inquiring about his nether regions when—the boar.

The memories flooded her as movement flickered to the right of her bed.

“You’re awake,” Evalin’s relieved voice sounded as her soft, warm hands took her own, squeezing them tightly.  “Are you all right? You scared the wits from all of us.” “Blame the horse,” Eleanor grumbled groggily, gently squeezing her cousin’s hand back reassuringly, “and the boar.” Evalin sighed as she sunk down into the chair she’d pulled beside the bed, the book she’d been reading hastily discarded.

“Is Cecillia all right?”

Evalin huffed a laugh.

“Yes, your precious mount was returned to the stables and thoroughly coddled after her daring rescue of you.”

“A boar was charging her, I really don’t blame her for fleeing. I would have too if I’d been able to get up.”  She paused, thinking on Gavriel and Dennor, and their little argument.  “What of Dennor? Please tell me Glaston reprimanded him—” Evalin’s face went taut.  “The young tracker was punished, Dennor claimed it was his recklessness that caused it.” “Rutting bastard,” Eleanor groused, thinking on the poor boy who’d likely just lost his job because of the lord’s arrogance.  She suddenly felt rather peaky.  “I don’t know what Glaston sees in him.”

“Neither do I.”

“And Gavriel?”

“Well . . .” Eleanor narrowed her eyes, had Glaston sent Maeve’s flunky away as well?  Blamed him for something that was clearly not his fault?  He had been the one to save her after all. “He healed your shoulder, quite spectacularly I must say, better than our healers could.”  Surprise filled her as she thought of the warmth that had encased her shoulder before she’d lost consciousness.  Evalin fiddled with the corner of her book.  “He checked you over to make certain you were all right.”

Heat blazed in Eleanor’s cheeks.  Checked her over?

Evalin grew quiet, her eyes flickering to her book.

“Eva . . .”

“It was quite the sight, you know.”  Evalin toyed with the sleeve of her gown, her voice growing almost . . tender, “Your tiny frame in his arms as he carried you back, looking rather dour as Dennor howled at him the entire way . . .” “No.” Eleanor gasped, heat flushing her cheeks as horror filled her.  “Please tell me you’re kidding. Evalin!”

“Glaston was most impressed with his prompt attention, although not as much as the serving girls were, they were nearly swooning,”  Evalin swiped a gold curl out of her face as Eleanor felt her stomach squeeze in embarrassment, “He’s being hailed as somewhat of a hero, if only for his ability to deal with Dennor alone.” Eleanor wanted to smoother herself, to crush the life out of her own chest so that she didn’t have to face the rumor mill that was clearly overflowing.

“He’s dropped by periodically to check on you.”

“I hope you told him I died!”

“Eleanor, he was only trying to help . . .”

“Oh, may the gods smite me,” Eleanor rubbed at her eyes, considering never leaving her room, hoping she’d at least never see the male again.  The gods had something else in mind, however, as a knock sounded at the door and Eleanor shook her head violently at Evalin, willing her to lock it.

Evalin sent a look as though to ask her if she was truly going to be that callous.

She was indeed going to be.

Too late, the door swung open to reveal Gavriel, who bowed his head respectfully.

Eleanor wished the floor would swallow her whole.  

@seekingformangoes (I wasn’t sure if you still want to be tagged so I did, please let me know if you’d like me to untag you)

[zweis-fr]

since im gonna uhhhhhh attempt to finish some mini icon commissions today as warm-down for a zine piece i’m finishing i thought i’d revisit my old drawings and spotlight some underrepresented faves/faces in my clan

diarmait is a harpy hunter & quack healer who saves amaudru’s life and lives w/ his two datemates in harpy territory, wind flight. he has like my second favorite gijinka design after sonus i think?

gevariah is pax’s best/only friend from childhood. pax uses his sword after he passes on. it’s all rather tragic.

soheil is a young acolyte working with/under his mentor and parent, Doyen. As (one of?) the youngest Aspen kids out there he feels the weight of sibling success rather unsubtly and is. struggling with his place in the scheme of things. later on he’ll find nihilism and a new god but still be strugglin

[dawnatkin]

Storm blowing in; aspens are quaking; tea is needed. What is your favorite tea for a quiet evening? . . #teabowltuesday #tea #teacup #teatime #mindfulness #yoga #quiet #creativity #pottery #handbuiltpottery #ceramics #ceramicart #craft #handcrafted #design #handmade #handcarved #etsyshop #shophandmade #etsymudteam #dawnatkin Yes, that did say the aspens are quacking for a minute there. 😂 Lithology.etsy.com.

[ginnyzero]

Completely Harmless Ch. 35

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Thirty-Five Rainbow Week Fun...

It was Day 3 of Rainbow Week and everyone was still excited.

A frantic phone call from Derek didn’t dampen that excitement. He’d had a whole bag of letters break open and blow away on the breeze. And it would be a tremendous help to him if when they were out and about if they saw them that they’d deliver them for him.

They promised to keep their eyes open for them.

They decided to do their own area before heading to Cape West. Though Tony had tsked slightly over them having sherbet and a cookie for breakfast. She made them Swedish pancakes and dished up bowls of fresh fruit and fried them duck eggs. They couldn’t go until they ate it all.

They all hugged her. She was just trying to look after them!

Judy laughed at them all, “waiting until day three to do your own events,” she teased as she passed out the rose charms to them.

They teased her good naturedly right back.

The strains of the Silversong Quartet drifted on the morning breeze as they slowly rode through the rose arch path to the Moon Garden. Water poured out of the urn being held by Aideen forming a joyful waterfall to the pond below.

The tunnel had been finished with bas relief carvings of horses, roses, and the phases of the moon under the paddock. (Above them, the Jorvik Warmblood Sports had their own special dressage event to show off how they were perfect eventing horses.)

Ducks quacked at them and nosed in the reeds of the pond looking for food. Some swam in lazy circles around the waterfall or just rested letting the current push them about. The Folly gardens were a riot of roses and ‘wild’ blooms such as Queen Anne’s lace and Alium mixed with tall and low grasses like the white Pampas Grass and the aptly named purple fountain grass.

In the middle of the second terrace, inside the rose strewn bandstand, the Silversong Quartet played light spring sounding music. They paused to listen for a couple of songs, but none of them favored string music really.

“There’s classical string music and then there’s epic string music,” Regina said as soon as they were out of ear shot.

They all raised an eyebrow.

“You know, the stuff in movies and trailers,” Regina waved her hand.

Some of them rolled their eyes.

They made beaded headbands, and bracelets and earrings at the tent. They had the option of making topaz ones or making rainbow themed selections. Linda had helpfully provided a display of different gay pride flags.

They had to be careful not to lose any beads. There were ducks seeking attention down here too and no one wanted them to get sick. They scrambled after beads before they hit the floor and a poor duck mistook them for food!

After doing the showjumping event in the Riding Arena, they headed into Cape West.

Jasper was in charge of the Treasure Hunt as it started in East Glade. He provided them with the map, reminded them there was a race in the Golden Woods, and gave them their first clue.

He had races around his farm of course that they’d never tried, so of course, they did those first before going to the Golden Woods and trying the race there.

They were delayed by Chaun and his crashing rainbow. He was still muttering about Brogan.

“We’re trying!” Lily said.

The jumps in The Golden Woods were piles of birch tree trunks, thick hedges of smaller low growing shrubs they still didn’t know the names of, and piles of rocks with yellow flowers sprouting in the cracks. Things that if you didn’t know there was a race there that one could mistake for being natural to the forest. Though the forest was well kept without much dried grasses. The ground was covered in grass and flowers.

Which was good, because dried grasses would lead to fires.

Between doing the race and the finding the next clue of the Treasure Hunt. They found a letter swirling about in front of a gated area. They chased it around and caught it. Reading it over, they decided that it was meant for Captain Brus at Cape West. And surely, the treasure hunt would take them that way. The gated area was part of the clue.

The Treasure Hunt ended up taking up most the day. They ended up on top of a hill where the path was lined with scarecrows (and were chased back down by witches that had been terrifying.) The tree at the top had a golden apple hanging from it but they hadn’t been able to get close. They met Bob and Rob who refused to give them the next clue until they were given cookies.

Fortunately, they had some on hand.

The Labyrinth was a maze and they had to be very careful to look down to watch the water level. Rob and Bob had put floating barrel buoys to mark the path, but they didn’t always help.

In Cape West itself, there were several clues. One from Mayor Klaus who lamented missing his wife as she was still a witch in the Cauldron.

Lily wondered out loud if they had been chased down the hill by a coven of witches or one witch who was very clever with illusions.

“Does it matter? It was scary!” Melody shivered.

“Yeah, can we not do that again?” Stacey said.

The Flaming Trio was playing pop rock on the hill of the Lighthouse so their music could reach out over all of Cape West.

The club paused to have lunch at the café, and get some of the layered rainbow jello dessert. They ended up making suncatchers (and crystal earrings and bracelets and a couple of them cheekily made more headbands, because why not?) Linda had also provided a handy gay pride flag selection information board here too. The beads were different than the beads they had at their pavilion. These were faceted crystals rather than smooth round beads.

“All the better to catch the light!”

“Rainbow power!”

Captain Brus didn’t like his letter. He crumpled it up and tossed it into the Golden Bay muttering about it the entire time. They rolled their eyes and moved on.

The clues led them to the Cape West stable, where they were able to get their charm for their bracelet from the Stable Master.

The clues led back east across a fjord and up the hill.

“This is the path of the Light Ride,” Linn said. “It’s a trail ride that we do in the fall during Happy Horse Week.”

Tyra nodded. “It’s where Aideen first touched down on Jorvik as she raced across the island to give it life.”

“And the UFO behind our North Paddock?” Lily asked.

“Um,” Pauline said.

“No idea,” Linn shrugged.

“You can’t have it both ways,” Lily waved her hands. “So, either that is where the UFO crashed and they came out first, or Aideen, what jumped out before it hit the ground?”

They giggled.

They ended up in another cave of the smugglers and met Bob and Rob again.

“I’d ask how you got ahead of us, but we dawdled,” Lily said dryly.

They at least didn’t demand cookies again.

Brogan was jumping around the clover field. They caught up to him and before they could do much, he asked them to gather him clover. They did it, only for him to disappear again.

They went over the pass and the trees changed slightly, there were less birch trees, but they were mixed with beeches and quivering Aspen.

“This is still second growth forest for the most part,” Brittany observed.

“So, what is the Hollow Woods?”

“Third growth, with all the oaks,” Brittany said with a nod.

The clues led them up to the Old King’s Road. In the distance, they could see a castle.

“That looks rather frightening, like an insane asylum,” Grace said with a shudder.

“It’s a medieval gothic style castle,” Brittany argued.

“And it looks like an insane asylum,” Grace insisted.

They found a sign.

“Marchenghast Castle,” Lily read. “I’m going to side with Grace and say that doesn’t sound pleasant.”

“I wonder if that’s where our missing Count or Countess lives,” Jennifer mused as she gathered up the reins more in her hands.

“Yep, that’s the home of the Marchenghast family,” Linn nodded. “They’re the most powerful family in these parts outside of the Silverglades and the Winterwells.”

Stacey had her phone out. “Marchen means folk or fairy tale. It’s german. While ghast is either to meditate or frighten, afflict, or torment, from Old English.”

“Let’s just keep agreeing with Grace then,” Lily said.

“Why is the road blocked off though?”

“Probably an Avalanche and no one has been around to fix it. It can happen in the winter. They end up locking the Golden Hills off because of ice spirits that come down from the mountain.” Tyra shifted in her saddle seat. “Not that I’ve ever seen any of these ice spirits.”

They all looked at her.

“They say there’s an ice witch locked up in Dino Valley,” Tyra lowered her voice. “And if she ever breaks loose, she’ll try to bring eternal winter to Jorvik.”

“Like, Jadis, in Narnia,” Regina said.

“And never Christmas,” Brittany said.

“Anyways, the ice spirits were hers and now they don’t have a mistress, and they can’t do anything except in the winter,” Tyra shrugged.

“Or, it could simply be wolves,” Lily said. “I like the idea its wolves. Though wolves are pretty harmless unless they’re sick.”

“Like us.”

“No. We’re completely harmless. Not pretty harmless.”

“But I want to be pretty!”

The club members good naturedly bickered over what adverb or adjective they wanted to be as they went down the trail and around what looked like another mini avalanche.

The end of the treasure hunt was a huge fire, where they received a sun catcher they could hang in their windows in the inn. And by the time they finished it was late afternoon.

“Chaun’s rainbow has crashed in the Forgotten Fields,” Elsa observed.

“Somebody ought to go help him,” Theresa said.

“Yes, somebody,” Elsa retorted.

“It’s on the way to Jarlaheim,” Linn pointed out.

So with a few good natured sighs, they trotted off to the Forgotten Fields to help Chaun round up rainbow gold.

They were further later because the pass led past the Goldspur Farm and Idun Goldspur, the intimidating farm wife of Angus, mistook them for some of the Singing Swans and insisted they needed to help around the farm and pick flowers in the forest before they delivered sugar and chocolate to Catherine at the Stablebucks Café.

Brogan was jumping around Greendale Forest celebrating crashing the rainbow again. He wanted grapes and fortunately, they had grapes on them or else they would have had to run to the Storm Garden to pick some. He disappeared with a cackle and a pop.

And Catherine, who was raving over lasagna she’d had with her girlfriend one Rainbow Week, needed more strawberries and blueberries from the forest and would they be so kind.

So, the sun was setting by the time they were able to run the two special races at Jorvik Stables, get their charm from Stable Master Johanna, and make wrist bands. But that was fine because the best time to listen to a rock group like the Miscreants was after the sun set and they could hold up their cellphones. There were lights, lasers, and fog machines, and all in all it was a hell of a show.

They bought boxes of donuts to take with them for breakfast the next day. There were five different kinds at least, one was even filled with a rainbow colored Bavarian cream.

It was so late though when it was over, they ended up taking the transports back to the Manor. They hung up their sun catchers in the window giggling about placement.

But they were exhausted and more than willing to fall into bed.

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

[ssenvs3000]

A Tale of Talking Trees

October 17th, 2017. 9:36pm

Sounds like a fairytale title doesn’t it... What if I told you it’s not? Would you believe me?

Well, it’s 100% true! While tree’s don’t verbally communicate the same way humans do, they are constantly exchanging information to help each other out. Trees communicate with each other through many different forms and in different capacities. 

Tree’s at the same species level communicate with each other in order to relay important information, like defense. 

Let’s say I am leaving my house to meet up with my friend, and I notice it’s cold. I am likely to go back into my house, grab a jacket, then message or call my friend letting her know to also throw on a jacket before she leaves the house. Right? Well, oak trees do this too! If a gypsy moth(a predator of oak tree’s) land on the oak tree, the oak tree will change it’s chemical leave composition to ensure it’s less tasty to the gypsy moth. This is like be grabbing my own jacket. The cool part about it however, is that other oak trees in close proximity will also change to a less tasty composition - without any gypsy moth’s landing on itself. That’s me texting my friend, before she even feels it’s cold, and tell her to throw on a coat. WOAH. 

Scientists found that this information was communicated through pheromones - or chemical smell signals sent from tree to tree. 

Other trees will communicate through interconnected root systems, often times helped out by our fungi friends! The way I like to think of this connection is like two neighbours. Sometimes they need to share things (eggs, butter, you know the traditional neighbourly things)... and how do we get in contact with our neighbours nowadays? Well, we call them! Fungi are like our cell phones, connecting two trees as they cellphones connect two people. 

If you have the time, the video below is definitely worth the watch. 

Now lastly, trees are so cool, because they talk with humans. It’s hard to narrow down my favourite tree (I’m such a tree-nut I honestly can’t choose), but I think the Quacking Aspen or Populus trembuloides talks with humans daily. The Quaking Aspen leaves are very vulnerable to wind, and therefore communicate through the sounds of psitherism (term mentioned in blog post 3). This is because the leaf stalks have a very unique square shape, providing a flat surface for wind contact. While this form of communication may not have actual biological value in terms of tree survival like the other forms of communication, I believe it serves a purpose as a human value. As mentioned in our blog post 3, the sounds of nature have a calming and therapeutic effect on humans, and so the psitherism of the Quacking Aspen is notoriously used in “white noise” or “relaxing sound playlists.” 

To me, trees are some of the neatest organisms on our planets. I hope you learned a little bit more about tree communication today, and I implore you to research this topic more. It’s fascinating in my opinion, and contributes to the success of forest stands as a whole! 

Further looking into these topics really does have true value on conservation methods and regulations put in place, and future protection of forest stands.  

[an-unlikely-poet]

I did not read poetry before writing my own

Or didn’t I?

The Golden leaves of quacking Aspens said differently

Nor did I name my poems

But this too was a lie

Every word held it’s own secret and spoke for itself

Maybe I could curl up one day and read my own history

If I could remember that one sentence from some lost poet in that one book, that tree or even babbling brook along that forgotten trail leading to nothing in particular

Would this be enough?

I’ll read every word again

maybe for a moment I was a part of the world. A simple cog in a wheel wiping down tables and changing the oil

Did I meet the demand?

I’ll never know, some things left to judge and jury

And the jury is out....

Resting on my own laurels I resigned

A poet is a poet is a poet is a poet

Did we all have a story to tell?

[squidmouth]

Twins of a Storm- An Original Lovecraftian tale by Lolly Currier (incomplete)

“C’mon, Ellie! Hurry up!” Said Michael Greeley, on the other side of the yard. Ellie Tyler held a red bandana in her hand, and was rushing across the lawn. She was trying not to be tackled by Gina Brennan, who raced to gather her honor by stealing back the flag. At that second of victory, Gina tagged her as she crossed the painter’s tape. Leo Martin, a fellow red team member, belted, “GINA! She crossed the line! You can’t tag her!” What ensued came to a grand argument that reorganized the teams into “Those who agree with Gina” and “those who don’t”. Behind that anarchist and childish moment of locking horns, a great eldritch from beyond the cosmos came to squash a cul-de-sac. That cul-de-sac.

Soaked in blood, a great shadow leered upon the small community that was “Maple Creek”. It was a maple-free place that did not settle near a creek. That shadow had a name that was pronounceable by a minuscule tribe of linguists, and thus, many have taken to call it “The Grue of Storms”. Many in the town surrounding it saw only its teeth, greenish corkscrew claws uncensored by lips. Others have seen its limbs, a set of thorny tentacles with many eyes.

The Grue led a set of storms. They consisted of a few blizzards, several thunderstorms, and a couple thunder-blizzards. Luckily, it was easy for the Grue to hide with said storms.

Kevin Wilcox looked at the sky, and a blue flag fell from his grasp with fear. Kevin loathed storms, and his sister, Maisy, told him, “Kev! Get in the house! It’s raining.” All the children, except for Gina, rushed into the Wilcox home. Gina loved the rain, but when she gazed upon the Grue, the Grue gazed upon her, and it was too late. Gina’s remains turned to bloody bones. The grue sensed Gina’s friends within a humble abode, and grasped and consumed said home. Some have noticed the uprooting of 420 Hopps Avenue, and some have evacuated to their yards... to no avail. The Grue devoured them like pomegranate seeds. Their homes, uprooted and devoured; the tiny people within had their lives flash before their eyes.

The Grue’s thorny arms stabbed the small birds who witnessed the gore and destruction. The Grue flew off at 1000 times the speed of light, leaving only its destruction. The Grue flattened it, but no mere mortal could remember the day a 10 mile tall Grue devoured and flattened a city. They all remember it as “Hurricane Melanie”.

It was a sunny day, with clouds coming in from the north, in Omaha. Kids were playing, birds sang, and all was well. The night before, the stars weren’t perfect, but the weather was.

In Washington Park, six children were playing “Animal Tag”. Lily Fowler, who was “it” at the moment, tagged her friend Billy Jenkins, and laughed, “You’re a ducky now, Billy!” Billy reluctantly waddled and quacked, making his friends know that he was fair game. Just as he was about to get tagged by Teagan Neville, it started raining, and Lily reported,

“Guys, I felt some rain. We should hide in the playground.” The children groaned, but this was no ordinary rain. Gr’logyth, the Grue of Storms, broke out of his prison on Saturn’s icy rings. His three noses smelled the blood of innocent people, and his ever open mouths devoured the buildings like sushi rolls. Next stop, Washington Park.

Gr’logyth summoned a tornado to mask his unholy deeds, and demolished Pizza Hut and White Castle, murdered Wendy’s, McDonald’s, Arby’s, Burger King, and the Dairy Queen. He hit a Target, and drooled on a school. The maples at Washington were turned to syrup, and the cherry trees were devoured. But whatever happened to the children at the playground?

First, Gr’logyth slid the swinging children down his throats. He swung his twin tongues around the jungle gym, he juggled the youth on the merry-go-round, and the kids on the slide spun around his esophagi.

Gr’logyth, overall, had factories meet their maker, torn apartments apart, made high-rises fall, and rode a theme park down to the ground. When the survivors looked upon the disaster, Gr’logyth wasn’t blamed. They just called it the “tornado of the century”

It was a beautiful night, and many people gathered in the Swiss Alps for a Snow Whizzyte concert. It was the straight white male rapper’s first stop in Europe, and he was going to KILL IT! Many European conformists lined up at the door with their 200 Euro tickets, and when Whizzyte stepped on the stage, screaming ensued.

“WHAT IS UP, SWISS NATION? I’M YOUR HOST, KILLER SNOW WHIZZYTE! LET’S GET RIGHT INTO THE RAP!” The crowd of blind idiots tossed themselves out of their seats, and into the “music” as Snow started off the show with his hit single, “Bullet Avalanche”

Suddenly, out of the calm, serene hills, came a stirring. Land rained down from gentle peaks. Katamaris of snow leaped down upon mountainous villages. Wind and fog gusted down from clouds up above. Gr’logyth was back, and ready to destroy innocent humans.

Scientists and Meteorologists sent out warnings. Whizzyte, when notified of the situation, ignored the concert hall manager, and kept rapping a naughty song from his new album, “Crack Flame”.

Gr’logyth watched as people escaped their homes for safer ground, chased them easily, and watched as they climbed into his mouths like trains into a tunnel. Humans were crunchy, he couldn’t resist.

Suddenly, the roof of the concert hall fell down under the thorny paws of a cosmic monster. The sound was deafening, and preps prayed to Azathoth, calling him Jesus, that they would be spared. Unfortunately, their precious Snow was smashed under the corkscrew fangs of the Grue of Storms.

Little managed to escape that fateful night without getting eaten, or smashed by Gr’logyth’s many landslides. Teens cowered for safety, but those teens were smashed when the grue uprooted their precious concert hall, turning them into mushy blobs.

At least Gr’logyth was fed, for now. If his mighty second cousins noticed that only scraps of the human race were left, he would have to stay in Saturn’s rings for at least one million years. He took off into the European night, off to Pluto, his new home since his imprisonment, and eventual release. He could not relax, because he knew, across a distant star, that someone would arrive, and he would have to pay for overdoing it on the natural disasters. Possibly.

In the distance, beyond the Oort Cloud, and past the Hyades, lay a distant heroine, grieving for the loss of an empire that once was, and having to trap a good friend, a brother of hers. Her name was Dol’kurai, and she had just gotten the message that her brother was awake, and having breakfast.

Dol’kurai, the weeping prism, was a humanoid with a giant bell-shaped opal for legs. Her six arms were laced with pale patches of fur, iridescent, like her elongated bismuth mane and goatee. Her six eyes cried mercury, and her large pointy ears heard the cries of any Earth creature. She resembled a cat/dove hybrid, both in personality and appearance. She was iridescence burdened with the fears of mankind.

She commenced her flight, sobbing quietly, towards Earth, and accidentally disturbing Gr’logyth’s tsunami, as he focused on his eternally-sobbing sister. Dol’kurai wept, “Dear brother, you have spoiled a land saved for our distant cousins. Why do you act like our cousins? They are imprisoned in R’lyeh, Jupiter, Venus, and other lands! Do you envy them, grue?” The grue bowed his head, coated with open mouths and cried out,

“Sister, we are elder gods, loved by man. I don’t desire their approval. I see them as a pitiless waste of space. I was freed because of your tears. The people on Earth are sinners, and they must be exterminated.”

This only made Dol’kurai sob harder, and drown North Korean villages with mercury, and have them go wild. Dol’kurai felt guilty for her actions, and swooped down upon North Korea, accidentally giving the dictator there a hallucinatory episode.

Gr’logyth shrugged, and comforted Dol’kurai, “Now you see. Homo Sapiens is EVIL, Prism. I will leave our cousins to the destruction part in the future.” Dol’kurai blasted, “YOU DON’T GET IT! ALL I WANT IS TO HELP HUMANITY!” causing the entire Eastern Hemisphere to go into mass hysteria, because of an Eldritch monster fight. “BROTHER! We haven’t experienced what it’s like to be human, but I feel their pain. Their tears are my tears,” Dol’kurai sobbed, “Maybe we could pretend to be human, just for some Earth moons. Promise?” Gr’logyth reluctantly agreed.

Meanwhile, on a small town on the Vermont-New Hampshire border, two foreign hitchhiking siblings hopped out of a lime green Citroen. Greg Stern, a sharp-looking man with crooked teeth, and his sister Opal, a dark and crestfallen woman with almost un-natural platinum hair, stepped into the only employment center in town. Opal and Greg carried with them degrees from a community college, and only a suitcase between them.

The electronic “bell” on the glass door of the employment center, a 2 story office with mostly aspen-beige walls, buzzed as Opal sulked and Greg sauntered in. At the receptionist’s desk, which was coated with plastic horses and cards with technicolor ponies on them, sat a plump blonde woman called Angela, who welcomed them in with open arms. Angela pepped,

“Hello! You two are the first customers we’ve had all day! How can I help you?” Greg nodded and inquired,

“Ma’am, we might be here for a few moons, so we may have to look for work.” Angela peeked at their degrees, and nodded. She declared, “Oh! The employment officer, Mr. Sotomura will be right with you two!”

Mr. Yoshi Sotomura, a lanky newbie to the community, sighed as he welcomed the duo of strangers. Mr. Sotomura peered at their degrees, and stated with an uninterested tone,

“Huh. Well, Greg… apparently, the National Weather Service is looking for newbies, and for you, Opal...I think the local school is looking for a secondary counselor.” Greg cheered in joy, but Opal on the other hand…

After nearly two weeks at their new jobs, it turned out that Opal lived for her job, compared to Greg, who was suffering at his weather job. Opal was getting along wondrously with the youth she assisted, and Greg was unused at his job.

Suddenly, from beyond some New Hampshire hills, came some cumulonimbi with malicious intentions. Not even the people at the National Weather Service knew what was going on, except for Greg.

At Opal’s school, Opal gazed into the rushing waves of a flood coming their way, tugged on her pale hair, and clenched her mahogany fist, while speedily thrusting her Samsung out of her sienna leather handbag, and telephoning Greg. Opal barrelled through the halls of the school, and took a few minutes to stand outside to explode,

“GR’LOGYTH! You don’t get it, do you?” in her native tongue. Meanwhile, at the other end of the line, Greg snickered,

“Hey, Dol’kurai, relax! It’s only a flood! I think it could be my chance to be accepted in the Outer Ring, conversing and hanging out with Azathoth and Hastur!” Opal slammed the door to her school, and slightly transformed to a form redolent of her original one, but much more human, and stormed down to the NWS lab.

As she rushed, she attempted to stop a storm, but it kept resuming in a hilarious manner. “Son of a bitch, that Gr’logyth,” Muttered Opal. People sobbed for mercy as their orifices gulped up enough water to fill them. When Opal reached the laboratory, she screamed bloody murder, because the door was coated with hailstones. She suplexed them away, and there was Greg, revealing his true form to his sister. Greg and Opal argued, with every blow revealing their true form, until…

“Dear God! Stern’s a monster!” Ejactulated Herbert Vo, a nearby bloke with Asiatic heritage, a bulky body, and long hair. All the NWS staff gasped at the glory that was the two elder god twins Gr’logyth and Dol’kurai.