#woodbound

[emillysstudio]

Hand Made Steampunk Journal

Passionately handcrafted by me and for you to record your inventions and steam travel adventures.

[redcrowstudio]

This wood-bound book is quite beautiful. I love to see books as artifacts! More if this, please. . . . #daveeggers #bookdesign #booksofinstagram #wood #books #woodbound #mcsweeneys — view on Instagram https://ift.tt/jga0usm

[rosemariejean]

i watch her hands moving skillfully on a tobacco leaf

her lashes cast downwards lining the peak of cheekbones

she stretches periodically with a cat's lazy oblivion

the burn of want in me feels unfamiliar and forgotten

like some woodbound nymph i am struck still in awe

each time she says my name it floats with melody

a song only i could hear and only she could know

we dance around each other's shadows scared to overstep

[starrahcoolership]

vivian and vivica Woodbound more than relieved now that a only child was killed by trampled by a coach bus. Miss Woodbound knew to stick with education and a love shack because I am not this or he. But your not there.

[rbolick]

Books On Books Collection - Dave Wood

Alphabetica (2002) Alphabetica (2002)Dave WoodBound in vellum; open-spine binding sewn on vellum strips. H210 x W290 x D30 mm. 54 pages. Loosely inserted colophon. Edition of 26. Acquired from the artist, 27 July 2022.Photos: Books On Books Collection. Displayed with permission of the artist. From Alphabetica‘s description as an exploration of the alphabet’s “diverse development from historic…

[kiss-the-stars-goodnight]

Speeches! #HappilyEverAshe #weddingday #wedding #weddingparty #family #weddingreception #reception #weddingpics (at Woodbound Inn) https://www.instagram.com/p/ClKNyaPuuWJ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[animationtidbits]

Woodbound - Kickstarter Trailer

[daoneradio]

Support something real. We so glad to see @moneyroutemgmt and more still showing love. #woodbound forever. https://www.instagram.com/p/Bsrv6baBydjhPRheZQeHJxPsjRAusfKBJ0QvJo0/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1g39gt0u9x5ei

[hardcoregamer]

Screenshot Saturday Featuring High Hell, Woodbound, Many More

With both Labor Day and PAX West dominating the weekend you’d think Screenshot Saturday would calm down.  This is not a thing that actually happens.  Like every week there’s far more fantastic games being shown off than is practical to view, so this feature trims it down to a dozen-ish plus a bonus image.  Admitted, that leaves far too much behind, unrecognized despite how great so much of it looks, but the problem with featuring everything is that it’s not actually possible.  As it turns out, everything is a very large amount.  Everything is also animated, because “screenshot” no longer means what it used to, so click away to see all it’s got to offer.

Check them out!

http://www.hardcoregamer.com/2017/09/02/screenshot-saturday-featuring-high-hell-woodbound-many-more/270334/

[fishalthor-archive]

wot gif meme: two locations - 1/2 Tam’s farmhouse 

If the room did not look quite so freshly scrubbed as most farm wives kept their homes-Tam's piperack and The Travels of Jain Farstrider sat on the table, while another woodbound book rested on the cushion of his reading chair; a bit of harness to be mended lay on the bench by the fireplace, and some shirts to be darned made a heap on a chair - if not quite so spotless, it was still clean and neat enough, with a livedin look that was almost as warming and comforting as the fire. Here, it was possible to forget the chill beyond the walls. There was no false Dragon here. No wars or Aes Sedai. No men in black cloaks. the eye of the world. chapter 5

[blukitty-fr]

Day 21: Zombie Woodbound Zombie - 1344046

A zombie who is wreathed in roots, branches, and leaves.

[thegirlwithwngs]

Bat girls - chapter three

Chapter one Chapter two

Again, please be nice. I’m learning as I go and English is my second language. And any tips on how to better write conversations are very welcome! 

We were flying. Actually flying. I had expected to be afraid, but I wasn’t at all. The wind hit my face as we quietly soared through the darkening twilight. I felt like this was the first time I had ever been able to breath.

I had no clue for how long we were flying. I even dozed off at one point. And when I looked up again the crescent moon had travelled to the other side of the sky, and the terrain beneath us had become wilder. We were now flying through mountains. The trees taller than I had ever seen. The ground rocky and grey.

“Don’t scream” was Aïda’s only warning right before we dropped down, straight towards the side of a mountain. I was sure we were going to crash in to it and had every intention to start screaming when Aïda angled her body and sailed into an nearly invisible opening. Everything was dark, and I had absolutely no clue how she knew where to go but she navigated the cave tunnels flawlessly, sometimes nearly missing a wall of hard rock.

My eyes had gotten used to the dark, and when we flew out of the tunnel the night sky was almost blinding. I wondered why Aïda hadn’t just flown around the mountain or over it when I saw it. We were still inside the mountain. It was somehow hollow.

“Impressive isn’t it?” Aïda said when seeing the stunned look on my face. “we found it by accident. The mountain is to high to fly over, and the peak is always covered in clouds. Even if any Illyrian would come to this part of the land we would still be invisible. If not for the help of the mountain, we still would be for how we set up camp.”

Aïda lowered towards the trees, getting ready to land, and it wasn’t until we almost skimmed the top of the trees that I saw it. People lived here. There were buildings between the trees. I wasn’t sure if I should call them tents or houses. They seem to have been build from whatever material available. Canvas, wood, stone, clay. Some even had a chimney, while others weren’t more than a tiny shelter against the wind and rain.

We landed in a clearing near the rocky wall of the hollowed out mountain. Aïda whistled twice as soon as her feet touched the ground. A short whistle was the response from somewhere in between the trees. “This way the ones on guard duty will know it’s me.” She said while gently putting me on my feet. My entire body was sore from being in the same position for so long, but Aïda offered me an arm to lean on.

We walked towards the wall of rock, or Aïda walked and I stumbled along, clinging to her arm. Only once we got closer to the wall I noticed the cave entrances. They seemed to be everywhere, in all shapes and sizes.

Aïda led me to what looked like a tiny opening compared to some of the other gaping cavemouths, but as soon as we turned the corner I realized this was the biggest cave I had ever seen. My house could’ve fitted five times in it. The small opening did a good job of concealing everything inside. The warmth from the fires, the smells of food, the sound of trickling water, and a female humming a quiet song.

“You’re up early.” Aïda said to the female, who hadn’t even looked up from the fruit she was peeling. “You know me, I’d rather cook than sleep.” She finished hollowing out some type of citrus fruit I hadn’t seen before, and looked at us. Her face didn’t betray that she was surprised to see me, but her thoughts did. They where so loud. She might as well been screaming to me. Skinny. So skinny. She’s still a child. Aïda didn’t bother introducing me and left me standing while she walked to the nearest pot, simmering on a fire, lifted the lid and smelled with a look of approval. She almost put in a finger when the female spoke again. “By the mother Aïda, where are your manners!? You know better than to try to steal my food, and you haven’t even introduced our guest.”

She waved me over to the table where she was working. “Sit.” She said, gesturing to a chair. “Do you want something to drink or eat?” before I could even think about the question she was already moving. Filling a bowl with something from a large cauldron hanging over a fire. After the bowl was filled she brought it to me, the spoon still in her hand, turned around and flung the spoon straight at the back of Aïda’s head. It missed barely and Aïda whirled, still chewing on something. “Next time you steal my food, I won’t miss.” She said with an authority that had Aïda swallowing whatever sarcastic remark she had been thinking off.

“You know what?” Aïda said while rubbing the food that had splattered from the spoon on to her head away. “I’m going to get some sleep. It will be sunrise soon and I plan to train with everyone else.” She walked by where I was sitting and quietly asked me “If you want to I can stay, or you can come with me and we’ll find you somewhere to sleep.” I shook my head. It wasn’t that I wasn’t tired, but I just didn’t want to go to sleep yet. Aïda didn’t wait for an explanation and left, and the female took the seat across from me.

“I’m Lina. The resident cook and spear thrower. The last one I mostly practice when people do not listen to the rules in my kitchen. The rules are simple, do not steal and don’t waste my food.” She gave a pointed look at the untouched bowl in front of me, and I quickly started eating. “We call it slob. It’s somewhere in between a soup and a stew, and it’s impossible to eat neatly. But it takes care of all the scraps left over and it’s nutritious. Now tell me your story.”

I swallowed a hot scoop of slob and tried to find somewhere to start. “My name is Zenna. And I’m fourteen.” My own thoughts where interrupted by the screaming thoughts of Lina. It wasn’t as much of a thought, but more a sob actually. Fourteen. It echoed in her mind. “I’m from Woodbound.” I blurted, trying to banish Lina’s pity and sadness. “That’s one of those tiny camps near the edge of the forest, right?” she asked and I simply nodded, quickly taking a bite in the hopes Lina would keep talking. I never liked talking, especially not about myself.

“You’ll find that things are different here. We call our camp Skyward. Not just because we’re so high up, but also because for a lot of us it is the only place we ever got to fly.” She fluttered her wings a bit, that were tucked in so neatly behind her I hadn’t even noticed them. “My daughter and I came here five years ago. The three of us fled when the wing clipping started again. Unfortunately my husband didn’t make it.” This time the sadness wasn’t just in her loud thoughts, but in her expression. “I still remember when Dran found us. He is one of the few males in Skyward. My husband had already frozen to death, and I was certain I would be next. I begged him to save my daughter. He dryly asked if it would be okay with me if he saved us both. And he brought us here.”

“What is it like?” I asked in between bites of slob, that was surprisingly tasty. “Hard. We need to survive, train, and stay hidden at the same time. But we have a dry place to sleep and food in our bellies, some females that flee the camps end up way worse.” She was silent for a moment and an image entered her mind. Of a Illyrian female being burned alive, screaming and pleading. Lina snapped herself out of it. “There are eighteen of us here. Three males, fifteen females. Including me and my daughter. You’ll find a place in the daily rhythm soon enough.”

Lina got up and started filling a bucket at a tiny stream of water coming down along the wall of the cave. “We have a hot spring more towards the middle of this mountain. After training a group will go for a hot bath and to do some laundry. You can also bathe at a nearby waterfall but it’s very cold. Or I could warm up some water for you and get you a towel.” Even though a hot bath sounded great, I couldn’t imagine bathing in front of others. Especially not strangers. “I’ll take the bucket.” I said, and Lina emptied the bucket in a kettle on the stove. “I will find you some clothes later. First you will need to meet with our camp-leader.”

The blood drained from my face. My father is a camp-lord and I have met some of the others when they where visiting. Each and everyone of them had been harsh and cruel. “Who is the camp leader?” I asked shyly, while Lina was busy warming up some water. “I am.” A voice smooth as night said behind me. I turned around and looked right in to the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen, eyes so deep blue they where violet.  

[dunmerofskyrim]

80

“It’s bound to something. That’s the way with them, curses. Always are. Have to be! Like…” Llolamae screwed her face tight, almost scowling with concentration. “Imagine a knot. The complicated fisherman’s kind. There’s loops and there’s twists and there’s, like, knots tied to knots. But if you know how it got tied, you know how to undo it. See?”

“I think so,” said Simra.

The sun was setting in Vedith’s garden, already halfway hidden behind the high mountainsides that walled the valley in. Pink sky. Heat and green and growth or not, it was still Winter, and the days were short, the nights dark and sudden.

“How’s that help us?” said Simra. He was fidgety with second thoughts he was trying not to have. His knee trembled as he sat by the water, boots and footwraps off, and cleaned his feet in the cold of it.

Funny, how quick an ‘us’ had cropped up. Him and the mer he came here to kill, and the girl who guided him to the place where he could do it. Funny, how sometimes when you call something funny you call it that so as not to call it something else.

“Well…” Llolamae sat in the elbow of a thick and gnarled tree, legs crossed under her.  She cocked her head, frowning. “Knots, right? A pull on the right part, and it comes undone. That’s curses. Causalities and conditions, all hung on a central contingency.” Tutored words, told off pat. She closed her eyes and nodded then, smiled a little, like she was proud to have remembered a part of some long-ago lesson.

“I understand that alright. But say you come across a knot you didn’t tie, and don’t know how to tie. Not much more you can do than just fumble at it, is there? Pick and scrabble. Hope your fingernails are just the right length and your luck’s just right to come across the right bits. See what comes loose…”

“Aye…” Llolamae admitted. “I’d best get started then.”

Simra’s back straightened and he turned full around through his waist. Raised a wet leg onto the streamside and leaned chin on hands, hands on knee. He looked at Llolamae, brows low and creased. “On…fumbling?”

“Did you not hear me?” Llolamae dropped out of the tree in a flop of feet and falling cloth. “Just sort of got to start feeling round the edges of it, seeing if I can find the thing. Contingency. The thing it’s bound to.”

On his feet now, Simra drew up close to Llolamae, lowering his voice. “Why? I mean, like it or not, I’m on this path now. I could’ve killed him. Sort of still don’t know why I didn’t. But what about you? What’s your reason? Sympathy? Loyalty? Whatever Vedith knows about the torquestone?”

Llolamae shrugged and gave a faint simple smile. “Have you not seen Master Vidanu’s Tel? I don’t want to sleep in a hole under canvas anymore, waiting for a proper spire to grow. Vedith can help.”

Simra bent low, drying his feet and picking up his boots to hide the smile that cracked across his face. “Wise is what that is!” His best imitation of Vedith; a decent one, at least. “Wise is what I call that!”

Poor taste, might’ve been, to joke about someone just as soon as you get done breaking their fingers with their own teakettle. It got Llolamae laughing though, which meant the blame was shared, halved. You take what chances to laugh as life gives you.

The old gardener had retreated inside, into the creeper-grown cottage, alone. Jokes or not, Simra couldn’t blame him. Reckoned it was best he leave him that way. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d tried to get back on talking terms with someone he’d pulled a blade on, but that was one of many things that didn’t get easier with practice. Leave it till tomorrow. He let Llolamae head inside, alone, and alone he stayed out here.

Fast shadows along the ground. They lengthened and grew with the sinking sun, then spread like damp over everything. Planting beds and plants; the root-branches and branch-roots of the tall things that weren’t quite trees. Walls of the cottage as the dusk came down and a golden light glowed up inside. Llolamae’s magelight. No windows, but it fissured out through the cracks and gaps; made it look like it was breaking apart.

Simra walked in the warm dark, between the beds, the tree-things, the trellis. Careful planted feet, going nowhere. Going nowhere, he told himself, going nowhere; reassuring himself of it, confirming it in his mind. A fragile thought, wavering like a candleflame.

Harder to keep smiling once you’re alone. He made himself breathe from his belly, hand jumping from the hilt of his sword to the sheathes on his knives to the woodbound grip of his sword, uneasy again. If he’d been one for praying, he thought, now would’ve been a good time. Sparing a life — not the kind of thing you want cause to regret. He’d’ve liked cause to do it more often.

…

It wasn’t falling asleep that came hard. Out in the warm dark open, in sweat-stiff clothes, with his mantle balled round his scarf for a pillow, sleep fell on Simra quick and heavy as a Summer’s sudden rain. He’d been so tired. Days of tumbling first this way then that, never knowing where he was headed, or how he was meant to get there. Confusion can exhaust you, same as anything else.

But he woke before dawn, mist on his cheeks and soaked into his outer shirt, world still grey and faded. Couldn’t get back to sleep after that. He picked himself up, stretched, arms above his head and back arching. Regretted it. Grunted a curse and hobbled a few steps, trying to work out the new knots he’d tied in his muscles.

He’d heard of people – swordsmen, ascetics, people with time on their hands – who’d start each day stretching. They’d move from one pose to another, each with their own special names. Scorpion Rears to Strike; Swallow Takes Flight; Spinning Silk. After that it’d be like they’d shaken off all the weight of their body and it’d go through the day light as thought, doing what it was told. Simra didn’t know any stretches like that. Part of him wished that he did. The rest scoffed at the whole idea, or at least the idea that it would work for him. Some things just hurt. Some things, once broke, stay broken.

It was still hot, cloying. The warmth down here didn’t come from the sun, didn’t leave with it either. Just pooled like water, regardless of night or shade. Made you sluggish. It was a warmth that wore you like wet clothes.

A teacup lay on its side, half-forgotten in the flattened grass where he and Vedith had fought. Knees clicking, Simra bent and picked it up, took it over to the watercourse that ran through the garden. Filled it. The cup’s dark glaze turned the water to ink. He splashed a careful measure onto the hobstone and hovered his calloused left palm above it. He felt it grow warm then hot as he fed its enchantment another splash of water.

The teapot was dented, muddy, discarded same as the teacup. He fetched his own – dark fire-blackened bronze, small and sturdy, just more than enough for one person and barely that – and made tea.

With nothing to eat, he drank the whole pot.

There was light enough to read by now. No food, little sleep, but at least he had that. Crouching by his bookbag, he unlaced its mouth and pawed through. Paper, parchment, a book written on slats of wood, laced together like window shutters. Best not to read anything that mattered, that needed to last — not in this wet heat.

He fanned out the handbills and bounties he always had, stuffed and dogeared in the bag’s bottom. Woodcut prints of faces the law, or some lord, or the Temple had put a price on, all of them land and sea and leagues away, useless to him. Old news from elsewhere. Boat refugees from Bravil moved on by measured and merciful force from Narsis; told there’s land for settling in Vvardenfell; meanwhile, the violence in Cyrodiil rages on. Always violence, unrest, discontent — a decade of the same and getting worse each year, and they still didn’t call it a war. First the Concordat that lost Hammerfell, now this ‘violence’, and the Empire still wouldn’t admit it was anything less than whole. For certain it wouldn’t admit it was at war with itself; ablaze with a fire that threatened to spread. That was last year, last Summer, and nothing Simra didn’t already know. Caselif had told him enough for that. He stuffed the bill back in his bag, keeping it for scrap paper.

The writ stood out. It was long, not a scrap but a scroll, and made from fine silkpaper. Not block-printed in bulk, but written in his own formal hand — decent, even with the strike and scratchiness that came with employing a dip-pen to write a script meant for the brushes he’d never quite learnt to use. Ulessen’s scribe had hunched over his shoulder, watching as he wrote it. Now, with the sun rising slow, a change in the dark before it shed any light, he sat in the shade of the trellis and began to read.

It was his usual. He’d done his own writwork for years now, he’d said. Set his own terms. And he never left much room for worming out by one clause or another, not for him, and not for the client. That was the idea. Keep things stark, simple, in plain words, but lengthy enough, detailed enough, to make things seem professional, polished, planned for. In this writ, only the clause about up-front pay was changed. There was no pay at all, just a debt held over him, clear and quiet and smug, sure there was no way out from under it but the way Ulessen had offered him. A backroads lender, you could run from, hide from. A Telvanni magister, one with all the force and power of an old Tel behind them, would always find you.

A shrill from inside the cottage and Simra was already on his feet. It wasn’t the same sound as hurried him up that snowbank two yesterdays ago, and into a triangle of Kogaru with spears and sour red-painted faces. But it was still Llolamae, and it was close enough. He trampled beds, weeds, grasses. Found the door and shouldered it in, hand gone to his knives and twitching one out of its sheathe.

Vedith was asleep, on his back, on a palette of green wood and silky mushroom skin. Open mouth and pot-belly rising, falling. His broken hand was clawed shut, clutched to his chest like a pigeon’s bad wing.

Llolamae turned to look at Simra with ricebowl-wide eyes, sparkling with her grin even before he saw it in her red-gummed mouth, her mismatched child and unchild’s teeth. She shrieked again, words this time:

“I done it!”

Simra slackened and stopped. The hand on his knife-grip, the half-drawn blade, was heavy and weak now. His shoulders sagged. “You figured it out?” He said it flat. Couldn’t muster any feeling into the words, not while his heart was still pounding, choking the back of his throat and fooling his tongue dry and clumsy.

“I reckon so, aye!”

“Then why scream about it?” He saw Vedith was still sleeping, even through all the noise. Seemed Simra had strength left to feel bitter on that, at least.

Llolamae half-turned away, a slight hang to the angle of her head. “Thought you’d be pleased…”

Simra held back a grunt, a huff, and slumped against one of the cottage walls. “I am.” Seemed he had sense left to feel bad over snapping at her, at least. To feel bad all round. Aching shuddering muscles, battle-blood draining sick and away before he even knew it was up and upon him. “That’s good. Really good, maybe.”

“Sort of wondered if you’d come running again, too…” A part-moon sliver of Llolamae’s grin had stayed on her face. She turned it to him now.

Simra shrugged. He was here, wasn’t he? “What’d you find out? Can you break it? The curse.”

“Not with magic, no. Reckon I know how, though.”

[hippowombat]

[td-randomstuff]

Going back in time, UE 4.20

One of the first and only successful unreal engine procedural terrain implementations was found on a tumblr blog by the infamous Christian Sparks. Someone who’s well known on Unreal engine for his ue4 shaders and work on Woodbound:

He successfully used an unreal feature which was only available for a very short time to add height data to the terrain without Splines or pre-added maps using the terrain tools, called “Landscape Import Heightmap from RenderTarget”.

This feature was only available in the very first release of unreal engine 4.20. Afterwhich the function was restricted to developers only but documentation is still available: https://docs.unrealengine.com/en-US/BlueprintAPI/Rendering/LandscapeImportHeightmapfromRend-/index.html

If you try and access it your greeted with a lovely error:

Cannot use the editor function "LandscapeImportHeightmapFromRenderTarget" in this runtime Blueprint. Only for use in Editor Utility Blueprints and Blutilities. 

To fix this you have to do one of two things, either download the first iteration or modify the source code of the new. In this blog post im going to talk about the prior while the other can be found in future posts.

Having spent a long time trying to get it to work, almost admitting defeat having tried every solution and alternative under the sun I simply decided, I’d download an old version, just in case it was for whatever reason public before and more recently limited.

This paid of, immediately after loading up the project () from github through Git GUI the project worked!

[kiss-the-stars-goodnight]

at Woodbound Inn https://www.instagram.com/p/ClKNVkhOjsc/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=