Various quotes taken out of context.

"Cannibal Grandmother is not something that is happening every day."
Iris

Join all cults, kill all saints, empaths aren't real.
BotC player

"A brothel of dead damsels - here to fulfill all your necro needs."

Jalapeños are not a cause of turning gay.

"The barn tried to eat everybody, I'm just saying."
"But we got a necklace."
*spontaneous laughter*

Reality is a construct our brains make up to try and make sense of what our senses are telling us.
QC4912

"You pull one leaver, and all of a sudden; seventeen things you weren't expecting start exploding."

The facial expressions of a machine.

"You know what this dark altar needs? A projector. And a slideshow."

"We live in capitalism. It’s power seems inescapable. So did the Divine Right of Kings.”
Ursula le Guin

the grateful hate

I have a somewhat complex relationship when it comes to moving. Granted, I have done this many, many times over the course of my life, and as such I should be quite good at it.

I am not.

Packing, sorting, transporting and unpacking are not any of my good skills. I'm OK at carrying things, assuming they are not to heavy or too cumbersome.

Moving takes time. It is a decision. It comes with change, uncertainty, leaving behind the familiar and embracing the unknown. I'm not very good at embracing the unknown. I admit that sometimes change can be outright scary. I know I'm paraphrasing H. P. Lovecraft here, but the statement still stands. 

"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."

There you go.

Uprooting whatever tentative roots you had placed down at a location can certainly affect people. Saying goodbye to various people over and over again is not a skill I think one should be good at, but it is a byproduct of rapid moving/changing location.

Even if what you are moving towards is an upgrade of what you had before.

A physical location you inhabit over a prolonged time should be called home.

What is home? That is a question that has many different answers, depending on the person being asked. For me, home is safety, being able to relax, feeling content and/or happy at.

I once felt coming home when I was visiting a city I had previously lived in. I ended up moving back to it, and it felt like home for quite a while. Now that I'm leaving said city I can say that it has been a home for me, for a while, but no longer is. Home is now someplace else. Home is where I am moving to.

I detest cleaning in general, and cleaning an apartment you're moving out of is always, ALWAYS a pain for me. And this time, I only have myself to rely on for cleaning.

Don't worry about the skeletons, I'm bringing those with me.

And books. So many books.

My home is not home without books.

I'm leaving a city for a village that in all probability is older than the city I'm leaving.

There is also easier access to nature. This pleases me.

The name of the place is more to my liking as well: the Nest in the Valley of the Blue Mountains.

Many things I leave behind. Regret is not one of them. In fact, I cannot wait to be done with this moving and cleaning and return home again.

I love how the local German rock radio station is playing so much more of the Rolling Stones than that of the Beatles. "Stones are rock; the Beatles not", explained Spice. I am inclined to agree with her. Still, it makes me very happy.

"All substance is one to him who holds the key to the cosmos", he said cryptically. "To an adept nothing is immutable. At will, steel blossoms bloom in unnamed gardens, or flower-swords flash in the moonlight."

Robert E. Howard, Conan the Barbarian

Donnerstag.

I find myself in a state of morning tiredness. The cool air sharpens the senses. Against my hands, against my face.The light bicycle jacket should not yet be disregarded for the season.

Overcast. Cloudy. Stark Bewölkt?

The night has been short. My own fault, that. I now long to go back to bed and sleep some more. I imagine many people have a similar feeling in the morning.

Rain is promised.

No coffee for me, thank you.

That was yesterday. Today - heute - is a day without sock, yelling directed at me for something that is probably my mistake (I'm sorry, by the way), fresh sheets and a LANCER game in the late evening/early night. Oh, and double caffee latte was had along side a croissant baked good with chocolate in it for morning meal and liquid.

The Nest in the Valley of the Blue Mountains.

I will not be seen and I will not be heard. I am not invisible, I am ignored. I am not disresepcted, not understood, not taken seriously or accounted for. What I am, who I am - it matters not. A stranger in a strange land, unknown, unfamiliar, with rules and regulations unexplained, seemingly without sense or logic. It is not a wishful experience nor enjoyable existance.

The Nest in the Valley of the Blue Mountains is what I call the place I live, and hopefully will do so for many years to come. The owner is nice, the neighbors lovely, and it sits in a wonderful little village. The balcony view is gorgeous. Yet it is not quite a home.

I plan to make it a home. I plan to stay at the Nest in the Valley of the Blue Mountains.

Rotewind

Translation: Red Wind. Or Rødvind.

If you want the English and Norwegian translation from German. Writing on a German keyboard and wanting Norwegian specific letters is hard without having to coy-paste from elsewhere. But I digress.

Rotewind.

A bike. Red (obviously). Not a motor bike, but a bicycle. A city bicycle, one gear only, made for riding it with a skirt. Or a dress. Now with a fresh new lock, pump for a flat tire and patching for fixing a flat tire, and a basket. All bought by Spice as a gift for this day.

A very special day. Some of you might even know why this day is special to me. Some of you may not. It is of no importance. What matters is that Spice gifted me these items after waking me with song, cake, and a lit candle. Spice is also very special to me.

Rotewind will be stationed in the garage that comes with the Nest. Ah, yes, the Nest. The Nest is where I will live next. It is in Germany. It is located in a small village attached to a larger town, itself sitting in a valley near a large German city in the Southern part of the country. Summer will be hot and for me, probably uncomfortable.

The Nest is located on the third floor (Norwegian third floor). It has a hallway, a bedroom, a livingroom, a dining room/library, a kitchen, a bunny room/storage area, and a garage. No, I still do not have a driver's licence, nor a car. The garage is for Rotewind and other items that should not be left outside in case of rain or snow or heavy fog. I'm quite fond of the Nest.

The language is still hard for me. But I am learning. Slowly and surely.

Today is a good day. Sunny. Warm. Quiet. Just as I like it.

May your day also be good. It is important to have good days in this time and age.

Chill-ten Grief Loss

 The rain and the sun.

Plastic avians on the terrace fence.

Smokeless chimneys.

Unseen waste gas excess.

A window.

Slept on couch.

The room is not your home.

Furry teeth pets.

Neck chain neckless metal heavy.

Shoulderblades goosebump freezing.

Stolen warmth spreading.

Your day, my day, every day.

Two dimentional dome.

Flesh, fleshless, bare.

A falling insect in flight.

Empty inside.

Eyes not seeing.

Ears not hearing.

Swimming words on paper puple blue.

This is not fantasy.

Unreal not-reality sharp.

Green-grey numbers changing.

White box cardboard perfume container.

Stillness.

It was not always so.

Now I cannot change it.

You are not the master of my mind.

Spice-mas without Snow.

The gathering took place 24/12-24. Six people we were: Spice, Sugar, Serious, Smiles, Science and myself. Snow was missing.

Allow me to introduce the cast.

Spice and Sugar are getting a divorce, Serious is Sugar's boyfriend, I am Spice's girlfriend, Smiles is the partner of Serious, Science is the in-married cousin of Spice and chosen cousin of mine.

Science is a former Muslim, Serious is in the process of becoming a Jew, Spice has a connection to Christianity, and I represented the heathens.

We had a lovely Germanic meal (Raclette), nice conversation, all dressed up. Presents were exchanged, I felt like a child again (in a good way), formed bonds deepened and good times were had. All I missed was Snow.

I also made us all into a D&D 5e party.
Sugar: Knowledge Domain Cleric.
Serious: Bard.
Smiles: Wild Magic Sorcerer.
Science: Wizard.
Spice: Ranger.
And myself: Great Old One Warlock.

An all very magic heavy party.

Ich habe Deutsch gelernt.

Today is the day I started upon the journey that is the learning of the German language. Despite it being lots and lots and lots of work ahead of me, I have decided to try to not be overwhelmed.

Old datascroll found in House Edelving.

Chapter one.

This is the tale of the five heroes, let forever their names be blessed. Ryna Dadida Edelving and his steed, Flamebringer. Noble Jurnog nele Forrageeh and her mount Saltwater. Musin of Bakbak am Komf with the Spirit of Spite. N.O.R.A. (Nominal Operating Response Assistant) the NHP assigned to Aura and the flock of machine drones. The last was Ella and Polaris, bloodsworn to Ryna and protector of Flamebringer.

On the evening of the 18th day of the second month in the year of Starfish when the moons were both dark, with neither Riversong nor Firedark visible on the night sky. The stars were cold and distant, hidden beneath rolling clouds. It was too early for frost in the grass.

It began with a single line in the sky. It could have been a large piece of machinery, having fallen from the in-orbit satellite construction platform. In the days of expansion, such happenstances were uncommon, but known to happen by accident. Alas, it was not so.

The line split. First into two, then into four, then into eight. Another line, far away, appeared before it too began to split up. Always in eight. Light followed them as they burned into the atmosphere.

One line of eight fell around Fjellheim.

Another around Bakbak am Komf.

And a third towards Bitterhause.

The war had come to Danslo, and with it, the landing of the Sky Demons.

Of the five, only Ryna Dadida Edelving knew what would happen if they failed to rally the forces and defend the capital. He and Ella, veteran LANCER pilots, had fought with the enemy before. They stood with Fjellheim and the basin. And with them stood Jurnog nele Forrageeh with her Calendula mech Saltwater. Untested in battle, but brave in spirit, and united in cause.

Amongst the clans, Musin did not lead the charge against the invaders, but when he returned, he did so alone, bearing not only news, but also information. Information that lead to the construction of Spirit of Spite and a dozen other Manticores. Because of Musin, Bakbak am Komf was saved from total annihilation, and the surviving warriors, united in purpose once more, marched South to do battle with the enemy.

From Bitterhause there was no word sent, but three days after the initial landing of the invaders, a single representative arrived at the city of Fjellheim. It was an NHP piloted mech and a host of drones, all under the command of the entity that called itself NORA. The mech and the host of drones all had names, yet only NORA knew them all, and spoke only of a few of them.

Five heroes, united for the first time on the remains of the still-burning fields before Fjellheim.

The valiant Ryna Didadi Edelving and fiery Flamebringer, bringing fire and flame to the enemy.

The noble Jurnog nele Forrageeh, the last of her broken branch, and knightly Saltwater, provider of song and comfort.

The bloodsworn Ella and blood dripping Polaris, drowning foes in rivers of blood.

The entity NORA inside Aura and the host of named drones, flying through the air clad in metal.

The clanless Musin who took no title and the Spirit of Spite, sparkling with the rage of the very earth beneath.

Not a single first landing Sky Demon returned after setting foot on Danslo.

What came next is the day forever remembered as the Day of the Sky Demons as the second invasion force was deployed.

The Dark Side of the Rabbit

Marked. Forever. Not too painful. Found my name in a fantasy book: Sheriff Willidrud Raganhildis was she so called. Funny, that.

Bunnies jumping around on the floor searching for baked goods with raisins. Mild nose bumps.

In the land of the itching cream is king. Last day, last evening meal, last night, first shared insomnia. Talk about love and the soft hop-hop of bunnies reaches your ears instantly.

"Such people lack intellectual nuance."

One great insult.

The bunnies demanded outside pen time at their usual hour. Only I and them awake. Feeding time must wait.

Khas-khem, 19, location unknown. (A LANCER story.)

Light.

That is the first thing Khas-khem realized was absent. She opened her eyes. Dark. Silent. She closed her eyes again. Listen.

Her body's own sounds where there. Heartbeat, pulse, breathing, the soft touch of linen underneath her fingers. Was she naked? No. That was strange. Dead? No, her body seemed to be working. She made fists of her fingers and curled her toes, releasing short and staccato exhales. She had control. She was in control. Good.

Relaxing into the linen, she began the warrior mantra. She was Khas-khem of the Yellow Sands clan, swimmer of the Red River, born and breed to be a protector of the land. Was this her trial? Had she been taken to the Fortress of Fire already? Was that not too soon?

Slow breathing in and out. Stretch out her limbs, uncurl her fingers and spread them out. The absence of light was annoying. Listen. No sounds but those she made herself.

A voice spoke.

"Sun Stealer."

Not too dark or high pitched, but a man for certain. Neither old nor young. Definitely not a warrior. A priest?

The voice continued.

"You have been chosen. I will guide you. I know you have questions, but listen, and do not interrupt."

The man paused, waiting for her reaction. Khas-khem kept silent, trying to determine where the voice was coming from. 

"I am not of your clan. I am not a warrior, nor a priest. I am what remains of Musim, long departed from this world."

Musim? Lancer pilot, legend, the reason the Southlings had not marched against Bakbak am Komf in anger. Everybody knew his tale. Was this a hologram?

"As you by now probably have guessed, I am a machine copy. I was made before my namesake did battle for the lordlings in the South. I am an echo of what was before, and I will guide you if you accept the burden of walking my path."

Khas-khem became very still. Lancer pilot. Only the very best of the best were selected, and the competition was fierce. But sending a warrior, gene-altered and structure-tailored... could they afford to sacrifice one of the Sans-sens-silt? So few had made it past the second organ implementation in her batch.

"Sun Stealer. I address you as a pilot. If you accept to this role, your life will be forever changed. You may never return to Bakbak am Komf and your clan. Your name will be forgotten, deedless. You will forever walk alone outside the embrace of the holy four. The Grateful Hate will chase your steps, the Drowning Despair will reach for you, the Forgotten Silence shun your shade, and the Consumer will try to claim your karta. It is a lonely life, full of peril and danger. You will struggle and fail, or rise to eclipse the Warm of Wrath herself. Do you accept this life?"

Khas-khem considered this. Leaving the others behind when there were so few of them left... Musin had not told her she could speak. In the dark she made the hand signal for "halt". The voice spoke again.

"Do you have questions? If so, you may speak them."

"What will happen to my blood-bonded?" Her voice sounded throaty and coarse in her ears, nothing like the melodious tone of Musim.

"They will continue on without you, as if you had died."

"Will there be a ceremony?"

"No. You will leave without warning. The customary answer will be given."

'Sailing the river of stars', Khas-khem thought. A sharp pain went through her heart.

"Why 'Sun Stealer'?"

"After the fall of the biological Musim, the Southlings gave him a title. Furious, his followers threatened to rebel and depart. The Southlings conceded and allowed the people the right to name their own. However, as Musin was dead, no title could be bestowed upon him. Whenever we send a potential pilot South to the lordlings for training, we equip them with a title, as to never let this happen again."

Khas-khem understood instantly. Titles were for the living, to offer one to the dead was to gain the attention of the dead, distracting them from the afterlife. She never expected she would have one herself.

"I accept."

Light. Blinding, all surrounding. Cold. There was no warmth in the light.

"Then welcome, Sun Stealer, to your new life. Your training begins immediately."