Heftur Með Gaddavír Í Kjaftinum Sem Blæðir Mig
Læstur Er Lokaður Inn Í Búri
Dýr Nakinn Ber Á Mig
Og Bankar Upp Á Frelsari
Ótaminn Setur Í Ný Batterí

“Musikhjälpen” is a project raising funds for the fight against Malaria. A hero by the name of “Jonas” more or less anonymously donated his whole salary just to hear “Ny Batteri” with Sigur Ros. Now that is everything but selfish!

Had a short from 1.4595 that I closed @ 1.4508.  I then switched and went long looking for Eur/USD to test the new resistance.  First @ 1.4600, then further @ 1.4800 and eventually a retest of 1.5000.  I will add to the long @ 1.4350 and then maybe start to get nervous if we break through the 1.4150 mark…

Time will tell…but I am in this for a good bit of time so it should play out nicely.

Also a great post at the FOREXfactory…Check it out here.  This is just a great example of having A LOT of tools in your tool box and using them appropriately…

My Trading plan this week is simple.  Wait for a bounce off of 1.4600 (EUR/USD) and wait for it to hit my sell order at 1.4750.  I know, a lot of waiting.  For you new guys out there – learn to do this and do it well…nothing will make you more money in the markets than being patient.  If we make a decisive move down further, I will enter a short below 1.4550 — but will also look to close quickly and maybe swing trade a bounce… we shall see.

Happy Trading, please comment – I love to make new friends!

Everybody knows if I didn’t have the Z I’d be in a S13 coupe. SR’d, lowered, LSD, coilovers, an some rims. Clean an simple. However I love clean track cars as well. Like this Rocky Bunny S13 coupe.

There are hundred and one reasons why I absolutely love The Fort Global City. From the finest restaurants to cheap treats food stalls. From the hottest bars to lovely hang outs. But let me just list down the top five reasons why I do so.

• #5 – Three-wheeled E3 Vehicle

While everybody else are used to ride the ever famous tricycle (well, at least here at the Philippines), people that work or going from one place to another inside the Global City are using this as one of their transportation aside from The Fort Bus. This vehicle is very convenient for you’ll be able to see them everywhere inside the areas of place. Plus it is really enjoying especially for the first timers. Why? Aside from its multi-colored exterior, the fare is unbelievably economical and the engine is eco-friendly (It is battery operated and does not require fuel.). No wonder the place is very relaxing and  pleasant, maybe because they’re supporting this environment friendly vehicles.

• #4 – S & R Grocery

I am really into eating BIG treats and I love how New York Pizza and Burger offer big and chunky chows. I must say, their pizza, calzone and burgers are the best! I love bottomless drinks and good thing they have it there. For just paying a cup you will be able to have variety of drinks (Imagine filling up your cup with slurpee and fill it up with another flavor after finishing the first one, nice!). The downside is that the grocery requires a membership card so you would be able to get in.

• #3 – Serendra

I am not born with silver spoon in my mouth, yes I do not own a unit nor knows anyone living in there. But, there are lots of things to enjoy at Serendra like the fine dining restos, most especially Conti’s pastries (mmmm…turtle pie!). The fountains are a big plus attraction for everyone.

• #2 – Market! Market!

I am really into dirt-cheap clothes and shoes and a big SALE aficionado. In the past, I am really brand conscious but who wouldn’t adjust their lifestyles during recession days? This is where I usually bought tank tops and vintage tees. Plus, you would be able to find a lot of A&F, Roxy and Hollister overruns, of course at low prices!

• #1 – Bonifacio High Street

Aside from the high range price stores in High Street, one thing that everybody would absolutely love here is the environment. Many photography enthusiasts are going there along with their tripod and handy SLRs. The developers of the place offer different ways of shopping here in High Street. We usually go to malls that are fully air-conditioned, but here in High Street they let you feel like you’re shopping at the same time strolling along the park. Many appreciate the place at night, for it showcases fancy lights. During Christmas season there are figures that lights up (remember the big bear?).

Now, I want to hear it from you. What’s your The Fort Global City story?

]]> http://meanestmommy.com/2009/11/30/rule-223/ Mon, 30 Nov 2009 13:50:35 +0000 Meanest Mommy http://meanestmommy.com/2009/11/30/rule-223/ http://atmidfield.com/2009/11/30/gma-dumping-the-ampatuans-crowning-new-warlords/ Sun, 29 Nov 2009 21:47:23 +0000 Fernando Gagelonia http://atmidfield.com/2009/11/30/gma-dumping-the-ampatuans-crowning-new-warlords/

The heat is on.

Not only on the kingpin political clan of the Ampatuans of Maguindanao but on the waning regime of Gloria Macapagal Arroyo.

The government of the day has long had the Ampatuans as its not-so-secret weapon for its dagdag-bawas/ zero-ang- kalaban electoral ‘victories’ dating back to 2004, plus it’s anti-MILF/anti Abu Sayyaf all-pupose private army requirements down South.

For so long the Ampatuans have held and controlled the so-called balance of power-cum-terror in the Autonomous region of Muslim Mindanao.

Yesterday, the Ampatuans rallied thousands of their supporters at their stronghold town of  Sharik Aguak, as the Associated Press reported:

Thousands of followers rallied outside while Zaldy Ampatuan, governor of a Muslim autonomous region, told reporters his family has hired a battery of lawyers to defend his brother, who has been detained as the main suspect in the Nov. 23 massacre.

Ampatuan said he and his father, who have also been linked to the savage killings condemned worldwide, were innocent.

He appealed to the public to respect the law and not prejudge his brother, adding he will resist a plan by President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo’s interior secretary to suspend him and other officials of the vast autonomous region that he heads.

“We have been prejudged,” Ampatuan told more than a dozen journalists in his family’s mansion in Shariff Aguak township, capital of the predominantly Muslim province of Maguindanao, about 545 miles (880 kilometers) south of Manila.

In a demonstration of support, about 30 town mayors from the region trooped to the Ampatuans’ heavily fortified residence to stand with the beleaguered clan. About 2,000 followers, many of them young people, held a noisy rally outside, chanting “long live the Ampatuans.”

The event is portentious for Manila.

Will the Ampatuaans lie protrate aas they are now pummeled political?

Or will shortly be forced to ‘tell all’ about the wholesale electoral cheating actotovities they are suspected of being involved in for the Arroyo regime?

But the equation is changing with the Amptuans embroiled neck deep in the November  23 massacre that left 64 dead in the worst case of mass murder in Philippine political history.

It its best to leave to our court system (no matter how imperfect) the task of determining determine of the guilt or innocence of the suspects.

But what is troubling to this writer and other quarters, is how indeed the political landscape in changing down South as the elections draw  near.

This is because of the fact that if the Ampatuans are now too hot to handle for the Arroyo regime, in whose hands will the job of ‘operating  the cheat machine’ go?

In  his private citizen capacity, the former defense secretary and now administration Lakas-Kampi-CMD presidential bet Gilbert Teodoro made a show of personally escorting the still-grieving Bunuan, Maguindanao vice mayor Ismael Mangudadatu in filing his candidacy bid, in direct challenge to the re-election bid of Andal Ampatuan Senior.

Nothing wrong there, right?

But we must not forget that in the 3 years that he was defense secretary Mr. Teodoto himself did nothing to disarm the warlorda of Mindanao: the Ampatuans, the Dimaporos, Sinsuats, and yes, the Mangudadatus.

Why now after his own negligence and indifference is Mr. Teodoro seemingly riding on the Filipino public’s anguish and anger over the massacre of the innocents???

Why is it that the Arroyo regime after reaping the benefits from the vaunted Ampatuans’ ‘command vote power in the South are now dumping the clan and replacing them with new warlords eager to become the preeminent kingpins in both Sultan Kudarat and M aguindanao?

The honorable Pax Mangudadatu is the lone congressman of Sultan Kudarat after    being its governor for 9 years.

He was succeeded by son Teng Mangudadatu.

Now their relatives in Maguindanao want to take over from the Ampatuans
Curiously people remember Teng Mangudadatu was himself mentioned by Commissioer Virggilio Garcillano in the infamous ‘Hello Garci’ tapes as being involved in his poll cheating operations.

Sources requesting anonymity have shared this further tale:

Allegedly at around midnight on June 19, 2009 Mayor Sajid Gaguil Mangudadatu of Pandag, Maguindanao intruded into a “peaceful meeting at the home of his vice mayor Piang Adam, Jr.

“For no apparent reason, the Adam household was peppered with automatic weapons fire and rifle-launched grenades, resulting in the death of vice mayor Adam’s brother in law Rogelio Tano and the burning of the Adam home.”

The incident has been blamed, my sources said, on the group ‘Buaya sa Lanao’ allegedly headed by Mayor Mangudadatu.

“Even the local police were unable to respond because Mayor Sajid Mangudadatu and hius men went to the police station and disarmed the station commander,” my sources recount.

Does Mr. Gilbert Teodoro know this and is he now party to the shift in the balance of power in the Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao, as his ally, DILG Secretary Ronaldo Puno holds court in the region as empowered by their Commander In Chief?

The plot has thickened.

1st Update:

9 days after the maccrre, authorities filed not 7 but 25 counyts of murder against Ampatuan Jr.

But it may just be that a stage is unfolding for justice to be waylaid.

Even Justice Secretary Agnes Devanadera says she’s receive death threats while state prosecutors in Cotabato City have gome on leave, fearing their safety.

ABS-CBN is also repoting:

The Ampatuans are asking the Supreme Court to stop “warrantless arrests” that could be conducted by the Department of Justice (DOJ) against any member of their family in connection with the Ampatuan massacre.
Maguindanao Governor Datu Andal Ampatuan, his son Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) Gov. Zaldy Ampatuan and six other Ampatuans filed a petition before the SC seeking the issuance of a temporary restraining order (TRO) enjoining government authorities from arresting them without a warrant considering that no preliminary investigation had been afforded them for their “supposed complicity” in the Maguindao massacre.
Other petitioners in the case are Norodin “Nord Ampatuan” Datumanong, Akmad Ampatuan, Saudi Ampatuan, Jr., Bahnarin Ampatuan, Jr., Sajid Islam Ampatuan, and Akmad “Tato” Ampatuan, Sr.

KSI is looking for experienced writer if your interested let me know you will be writing news articles, reviews, and emails to company’s. If you feel you are qualified for this assignment send me example of your work. Did I mention you would have endless rank opportunity if you get the job. Send me examples via forums or my email Justin3169@live.com

So everyone out there that reads this, Translation: KSI is looking for someone to be their bitch, to do what they say, and to write what they tell you. You can’t write anything that puts the “Company” scratch that, Sorry, “Global City” in bad light, and you can’t say anything bad about KSI or else Mr. Bill Roach is going to send you fake Cease and Desist orders and threaten to take you, your mommy, and your daddy, to court.

~Koda~

(((Sadly, a dead story that I hope to start up again soon)))

PROLOGUE: A VISION

The first thing I noticed was the sky, colored a ghastly burnt orange, black clouds darted to and fro in it. My eyes stopped looking at the sky and started reeling to my level, in front of me was a man with blue skin, inside the strange gel, a skull leered out at me, its eyes the only normal feature of its body, a bright azure horrifying in its awareness, sitting inside the skull, its toothy grin challenging me to stand there instead of turning tail and fleeing. My field of vision continued down from the horrible monster to a behemoth of a man, with a huge beard and an unrecognizable face. He seemed to be reaching for an obscure object just barely in his reaching distance when a blue blur snatched the object from the ground. The blue blob flew to the blue monster when another item dropped from the sky. The object pierced the blue blur to the ground and the obscure object was released. The giant man jumped from his place to snatch it from the floor when I noticed what we stood on. A huge clear purple platform that was standing up from a gape on a blood red dirt cliff on broken ground, with only a black chasm below it, engulfing site from it. A glorious figure in long robes dropped graciously to the ground, capturing all of my attention that was set on my screaming fear of heights, two gorgeous yellow and black feathery wings behind it flapped as its feet met the floor.  The new figure retrieved the object from the blue blur and stood together with the behemoth. Blurring motions blinded me and yet another figure appeared, this time, a person wearing red armor with ornament skulls grinning from the smooth metal, clanging sounds bounding from each of the person‘s quick strides to the couple. All three stood together in front of the blue monster, each figure in the stand off an oddity. The final figure walked out from behind me, a woman wearing a green and brown dress, with an indistinct face that I couldn‘t place. She stood upright and proud with the other three figures, stubborn against the terrible monster, more colorful motion appeared in front of my weary eyes. When the world stopped moving, the enormous man laid down on the floor of clear violet. The winged figure stood by putting all of its weight on to its strange object. The woman kneeled on one leg, apparently huffing in exhaustion. The blue creature looked unfazed at whatever it was that the opposition presented it and advanced upon them, when I heard a sound come from behind me. Laughter. I turned and saw the figure in red armor laugh. Turning, I saw a confused look on the blue gel being, its face a terrible parody of human confusion. Laughter filled the air as motion filled my vision, until finally all I heard was laughter and all I saw was black. It was like this for a long time, when a pinpoint of light appeared, and I approached it on unsteady legs…

INTRO TO BROWSOON

Browsoon woke up from his numb sleep, panicked at the ray of light protruding  from his window, still thinking about his odd dream that half his brain, the reasonable half, argued that he would soon forget it and it would over all be better if he started the process sooner rather later. He rubbed his eyes, hoping to enjoy a little darkness before he looked at more light for the day, but due to his unfortunate timing in waking up, the light was just bright enough for him to see it even through closed lids, making him see all red, as though his world was but an oven cooking nothing.
That particular thought reminded him of his more reasonable half of his brain, telling him to leave his bed, go get some food, and leave such fantasies in the mind of dreamers, children, story-tellers, and the mad. He looked around his depressingly empty house for something that had at least been at one point edible. To his dismay, he found a single crumb on the floor in a corner, but just before he plucked it up from the wood, a huge black rat leaped at it like the (behemoth from his dream) land lord’s cat chasing such a rat.
“Death is a circle I suppose,” He muttered partially to the vanished rat, and partially to himself. He shook his head, because for some obscure idea he thought that this action might relieve him of his muddled headedness. Unfortunately, it did not, and only left him staring at that corner for much longer than it would have took to eat that crumb. Finally he slowly picked himself up, and with little better to do, opened the window, hoping that fresh air might get him to think of something else besides his (dream) starvation. It had, but the thing in his mind was much worse.
In the streets he could hear children laughing and playing, birds singing love songs to each other in the sky, making an admirable attempts to start that wonderful dance known as life, he heard his old neighbors, Old Man Rivers and Old Mrs. Rivers, bickering in their endless cycle of bickering, and yet he could hear love in their harsh tone, the final thing he heard was a lone howl in the distance, lost and scared for the wilderness, even at the day time, is a terrifying place when you’re alone, whether that place is a dark forest filled with potential prey and foe, and all eyes seemed to be staring at you, or when the wilderness is a small room with no food and no eyes were looking at you. Browsoon shut the window. Both halves of his mind agreed this was a good idea.
The young man got dressed in decent cloths and headed outside. The bad thing about living by yourself, he pondered as he walked down the street, is that you never remember (to make sure you know it’s just a dream) to get food and that you have to remind yourself. Such things are a shame to people like me, with ideas about organization, planning, and (fantasizing) assessing the current situations. Although that last bit didn’t sound quite right… Old Mrs. Rivers took the time to briefly wave with her little, old wrinkled hand and smile with her dried up lips at Browsoon, while Old Man Rivers only nodded in his direction. Browsoon raised a single palm in acknowledgement to the old married couple. He saw the neighborhood kids running around, playing and screaming, and he smiled at them while they waved at him. He enjoyed getting attention as an outsider, but missed being apart of a community like (before she died) in his last town. People would at least hire him. He didn’t know how long he would be able to live off the kindness of strangers, but not even an optimist like him could hold out forever.
Salt air reached his nostrils when he arrived at the port at the edge of town. Every morning he took this same stroll, the site of boats, fish, and sailors was always refreshing to him, most likely because his own father was a fisherman at heart and often took him fishing as a child, of course they stopped when he (met her) grew out of it. He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a fight starting on the docks.
“It’s inhumane to ask someone to go into the waters when the Ele’s are acting up! It’s bad enough you only make us fish around a jagged cliff side in the middle of storm season, but when those freaks are screwing around out there? Ridiculous!” One large man argued with an old sailor that went by the name of Ol’ Sea Dog, for no largely known reason, Browsoon had been toying with the idea that his mother had named him that, but then, what woman in her right mind would name an infant “Ol’” anything? But after meeting the man, you would understand that he was not raised by anyone in their right mind.
Ol’ Sea Dog was raised by a self-proclaimed hermit on a small island off the coast line, self-proclaimed because he went into harbor quite often and most likely didn’t quite know the definition of the word hermit, or if he did, he just liked to call himself one, for vastly unexplored and in all seriousness uninteresting reasons.
“Fine then, go jack off if you dun wanna get paid, there’s plenty a other people around these place like…”Ol’ Sea looked around for a moment, head twisting and turning searching for a suitable substitute, and his eyes settled on Browsoon, who felt massively uncomfortable at that given moment, feeling the need to turn around before he was drawn into something involving “Jagged cliffs,” “Storms” and “Freaks screwing around,” but before he could get (or run as the case may be) away, Ol’ Sea Dog yelled loud enough for Browsoon to hear him, “…Him!” Pointing the sailor in Browsoon’s direction. Grinding his teeth, Browsoon scanned the area hoping to see some other poor soul  who would get drawn in with Ol’ Sea Dog.
Regrettably, no one but Browsoon occupied the dock, and he could see the old man walking over to him, dragging the sailor with him, his arms crossed, and Browsoon could feel both their eyeing him up and down on him. Sighing, he began to think of excuses of how to get out of whatever the Damnation they were squabbling about. “Ahh! Browsoon, meh boy! How about you and I go on to a fishing expedition for da ages!”
“I…really don’t know… I have a lot of things going on at the moment…And…you know just a lot of things are happening today…and I just don’t know when I would have the time.” He replied, hands raised, shaking his head, and backing away.
“Nonsense! Nobody’ll hire ya, if ya don’t have a job, nobody’ll date ya, I don’t see anybody that’ll want ya at all, so there’s no problem.”
Browsoon’s mind was reeling for a name a face, anything at all that he could use. “I have an appointment with the…baker…”
“You mean the baker that’s staying home with his ill wife and children?” Ol’ Sea Dog interrupted.
“No, I meant to say the barber…” Browsoon said quickly, “I’m in serious need of a haircut.”
The old man’s eye glinted. “Ah, perfect! The barber was actually going to go with us, you can get one on the boat.”
“Oh, did I say barber, what I really was suppose to say was…the mayor, I was going to talk to him about working for him!”
“That’s too bad because he’s in the country-side talking to the farmers about crop production.”
Browsoon’s eyes shifted about looking for any kind of inspiration for an excuse. He saw a seagull and said, “An aviary…”
Ol’ Sea Dog smiled and said, “Is dat the best ya got? Dat was pathetic.”
The young man had his mouth agape and looked to the ground, sighing, “Yea…But you still can’t make me go.” He stood right up and looked the old man in the eyes.
To which he replied, “No, no I can’t force ya to do anything, but ya listen hear young man, in dis town, we make sure everybody pulls der own weight, or else we just see them as damned vagabonds, and we dun like vagabonds in dese here parts. If you want any kind of life here, ya should take this opportunity and come wit us.”
More grinding teeth, and Browsoon answered, “Fine, fine, I’ll go, when do we head off?”
Grabbing his arm and pulling Browsoon along, Ol’ Sea Dog yelled, “Right now boy! This old pussy pussied out last minate so we gotta run as quick as ya can!” Which turned out not very fast. The old sailor was dragging Browsoon half the run, and in a few minutes they were at a worn out vessel. Patch work sails were being lifted up, men were taking nets aboard, a rusted anchor swung on the side, and right next to the anchor was a name painted in a dull yellow, a name that was hauntingly familiar to Browsoon, S.S. Lenore.
*****
That day, the skies were clear, but the sea was rough. All the sailors on the water that day could tell something bad was happening, they just couldn’t tell what, yet. Most of the ships stayed close to shore, not venturing far enough out of its sight, the sailors were all ready nervous enough, just something that smelled in the wind. Something that smelled of danger, death, and fearlessness. Only one ship sailed away from the harbor, away from the safety of shore, the name on this ship, in a dull yellow color, Lenore.
Sailors rushed to and fro, throwing nets over board, watching from the post, lowering and raising the sails, waiting for the captain’s orders to drop anchor. Of all the sailors on the waters, those that rode on that old beauty Lenore knew the most of danger, and his name was Ol’ Sea Dog. Wherever that old sea man went his crew dare not follow too close. This time, the newest member of the crew was learning this lesson first hand.
Waves splashed him as he tried to figure out what he was suppose to do. Ol’ Sea Dog had originally told him to wait for orders, but it had already been two hours and the commands seemed to not come. As Browsoon stared longingly at the shore that was getting further and further away by the second, Browsoon had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. There were no birds in the sky, the men on board did their work as silently as they could, occasionally murmuring about themselves. Browsoon wished he knew what was going on, but the captain had disappeared almost as soon as they had left the coast.
Another wave hit Browsoon on deck, this time violently throwing the young man to the floor, busting open his lip on the hard wood floor. He wiped it up with his sleeve before too long, but he felt something in the wave.
Something that was suppose to be kind and gentle in nature, like a drop of rain slowly crawling down a stem of grass in the morning, but instead was devious and vicious, like a rabid thunderstorm setting a forest to burn in a twilight hour. Browsoon started to shiver and uncontrollably, he wanted to leave the ship immediately. He wanted to grab a life boat and row to safety. He would swim if he had too. He looked around and saw that the whole deck was empty with a gray sky in the background. Browsoon heard a noise…laughter…He looked up and he saw Ol’ Sea Dog laughing, except…The old man’s skin was clear and had a blue hue… His brain bulged out of his skull as he twisted and turned the wheel manically.
Shaking…Shacking…Slap!
Above deck, another set of eyes stared at the sea as well, equally troubled. Oliver Sedage stared at the calm waters, occasionally throwing a wave against the boat. Of course sensing the men’s unease, but he knew something was pushing him to go this way, to find something out here that was important. Oliver didn’t believe in fate or destiny per say, but he couldn’t explain the source in his head of this instinct. He just knew it fueled this decision to keep going. Far away, his old blue eyes saw, storm clouds were forming…
*****
The nets had all been drawn back in, as the captain had made another unexpected decision. This time, in the crew’s point of view, an actual quite reasonable one, to head back to shore with what little they had. Browsoon watched the going ons of the crew with little interest. He noted how the closer they got to shore, the more fevered excitement seemed to electrify the air surrounding them all. Only Browsoon and Ol’ Sea Dog seemed unaffected. Both stared grimly at the open sea, in the back of their minds something telling them something out there was coming for them.
The men started screaming and cheering when the coast was in sight. They all had the feeling that something bad would happen on the trip, and all the seafarers were ready to come to shore after a long day’s work and have a nice beer and complain about loony Ol’ Sea Dog and the odd stranger that the captain had dragged along for no apparent reason. Ol’ Sea Dog and Browsoon unknowingly let out a simultaneous sigh of relief.
That’s when the noise started. A low screeching upon metal and wood. At first only Browsoon and Oliver could hear it. They looked around trying to find the source of the sound, brows raised in twin quizzical expressions. Then, one of the sailors heard the noise and started to look around. Someone else saw him look around, joining in the search for the odd sound. Another joined in the hunt and soon enough everyone on board had stopped talking. Browsoon walked to the edge of the ship, gently pushing people out of the way, and he looked down and saw only waves crashing into the ship.
Phloooooosssssssssssshhhhhhhh!!!!

And then it screamed.
It screamed in pain.
It screamed in the sailor’s terror.
It screamed for help.
It screamed because it wanted them dead.

Suddenly, it reared one beautifully hideous claws, and slashed one sailor’s face right off. The eyes of the sailor stared at face dripping with fluids as the man fell in silent agony. Someone tried to throw a net over the Elemental, but the net started to go straight into it. Pulling it into it’s body, everyone, even the faceless man, could see the bundle of black strings and knots swirl inside the monster, and it spat it out at a group of men. It immediately jumped on to them, it’s claw morphing into a crude hammer made out of pressured water, it started bashing them in, skulls and bones were crushed under the force of the mallet.
While the beast killed these people, Browsoon pushed the remaining men to the lifeboats, and urged them to flee to the coast, before running to grab Ol’ Sea Dog, who had picked up an old, rusted harpoon and was staring at it with the same eyes that had stared into the calm sea just moments before. Oliver Sedage threw harpoon at the Elemental, spearing it to floor, but going right through the monster. On the life boats, two more Elementals had materialized in the boats and started the massacre in their.
Only a hand full survived from the start of the onslaught, Browsoon, Sedage, and three other men were all that were left, and the number of elementals were increasing by the minute. In the corner of his eyes, Ol’ Sea Dog spotted something shiny in the sun light…A small lantern. In his normal mind, he would have wondered why a lit lantern was out in the daylight, but at the moment it didn’t matter to him and he trusted his instincts. Lunging for the lantern, he tossed it at the growing group of watery monsters from the depths of the abyss.

They screamed.
They screamed in pain.
They screamed in fear.
They screamed for help.
They just screamed.

As the fire started burning the ship, the five men jumped off, landing in the water with a splash! They all started to swim as fast as they could to the closest ship they could see. The men on the ship had seen the burning boat and had already been ready for them when they all arrived. Or perhaps…
Not all of them. Browsoon looked around and couldn’t find Ol’ Sea Dog.

TOMB OF THE DROWNED
All the men stared at the four survivors of the attack.
Salazar Hogson, the man who’s lived in the port his whole life, with a sick wife, and three young children to support. Everyone was glad that he lived and could keep his family together. They all prayed for him.
Michael Rower, the newly wed who would do anything for anyone. Once, he went out on stormy waters to save some children who had idiotically went out in hopes of seeing some sea monster. He was a hero, and they all prayed for him.
Edgar Allen, a young lad who had only started being a sailor a few days ago. This was only his second trip out as a seafarer. He was the town’s lovable buffoon and could make anyone laugh. He had only started courting the mayor’s daughter. And they all prayed for him.
Browsoon, the quiet stranger that seemed to everyone to be just a tad off. No one knew anything about him, and some thought that it might be best. No one prayed for him.
The four men sat in the center of the room, all eyes upon them, wondering when they would start to talk about their fight to live. They were the first few to have lived an attack from the elementals. Words of awe walked on the boundaries of the closed lips, waiting for the all clear.
The barmaid put another four pints of beer on the table of the men, and walked away without a word. Browsoon was the only one who thanked her. It wasn’t that the other men were impolite, they were still in shock.
The mayor stood at the bar, gazing just like everyone else, and he decided that enough was enough. “Listen here, people!” He screamed out to the silent bar. All eyes were on him now. “ Thirty-seven. That is the number of good, wholesome, church-going men who have died by these freaks of nature, and I for one am sick and tired of just sitting around doing nothing! We need to pull our thumbs out of our asses and take the fight to those goddamn monsters!”
The bar was filled with people screaming in agreement, glasses and fist being pounded on the hard-wood tables, and generally angry feelings. The mayor went on more confidently, “The freaks home is the Temple of the Drowned, get everyone you can, and get anything you can use as a weapon and we’ll kill them all!”
Browsoon stood up just then. “But mayor! A whole ship of men were killed in the matter of seconds by just three of those…things. Do you actually think we could handle a whole building of them? We’d get massacred!” The three other survivors agreed with him, but after seeing the glares he was receiving from everyone, decided to keep quiet.
Everyone cleared a path for the mayor, who was walking up to Browsoon, a terrible, spiteful expression etched on his face, “Listen, you sniveling little woman of a man, when one of our own gets hurt, we get even. And when thirty-seven of our hardworking men die, we get angry. We’ll burn their precious tomb to the ground, and there’s nothing you can say to stop us.”
“Everyone will die!”
“No, everyone will be avenged!”
In the end, Browsoon really had no choice but to go with them.
The mad men were charging into their own deaths because they wanted to retain some sort of normalcy. They were brought up with the lesson of ‘eye for an eye’. They couldn’t accept that this was beyond their standard of normal, and the men walked on.
The beach was lonely as they all marched on in the pitch black darkness. The moon was concealed by the gigantic tree, Gaia’s Dream. Browsoon could tell some how that they were at the end of their journey when a tiny beam of moonlight peered out from Gaia’s Dream’s thinnest branches. For a moment, Browsoon stared at the ancient trunk of the behemoth (behemoth… but not THAT behemoth…) just as he had when he but a small child being cradled by his mother in the middle of the night, when the only recognizable was the eldest of the elderly, Gaia’s Dream. The tree that had been bloomed by the tears of the Goddess that had once resided in this land.
Browsoon snapped out of his day dream when he walked into the man that was in front of him. He was about to apologize, when he realized the man hadn’t even noticed. His eyes bulged out from what was in front of them. Browsoon’s own eyes slowly rolled around in their sockets to see what terrified the man so, and Browsoon felt as though he could see the end of his own mortality when he looked on. He saw red and blue flashes when he gazed at the sight.
The Tomb of the Drowned. The dwelling of the terrible breed known as the Elementals. Browsoon actually would’ve found the building beautiful if he hadn’t seen what he saw earlier, what he witnessed in that massacre that he couldn’t help but believe was about to be repeated. Eight pillars, four on each side, each with man-sized sapphires carved into the lime stone, led up to the enormous door way, to which two great statues of almost exact copies of the beings that were part of the attack had been sculpted into the sides of the opening into the haunt. Water dripped from every crease, every gap, every single teeny tiny scratch in the rock-work, just as every men could feel water dripping from their own pores, so self-conscious of what type of matter was falling to the wake of gravity from their foreheads, noses, chins.
The mayor stared at the intricate work of what must have taken dozens of men’s blood, sweat, and tears, and they all had the most horrifying of feelings that their own would be added to the collection soon enough. Browsoon could tell some of the men wanted to pull back then, just wanted to turn around, forget the vendetta, and live their lives as happily as they could without ever having to face this place again. He wished they could, but he knew that the feeling that over shadowed all that fear, all that angst, all that good old-fashioned common sense was being drowned in something that might just kill them all…Bloodlust.
The feeling that they all wanted revenge for their fallen brothers that they had known since they were lads, that they had gotten into trouble together with, that they had laughed and played with, they couldn’t just forgot them. And that made Browsoon sad. Saddened by the fact that he hadn’t known these people long enough to have earned that sort of feeling, but he swallowed up that bit of self-doubt and concentrated on the matter at hand, namely, preventing as many of these men from entering that Tomb.
“Listen!” Browsoon called out, “It’s not too late to turn back now! You can still leave and forget that you ever saw this place.” The young man walked up to the steps that led to the crypt so that he was facing everyone. “You don’t have to join your mates in death! You can still fight them if you have to! On your own terms if you wanna! Go back home, work out a way to fight them, then wait for them to come to you! Believe me, I know, I’ve seen these sonnuva bitches with my very own eyes. Those things have a reason for killing. They’ll be back.” He warned them all. A few of the men, took gulps of air, and turned their backs on their fellow townsmen, and walked back to the far from safety of their own homes. The rest that stayed, glared at Browsoon, and he could feel that they hated him too. They hated him because he survived among all their friends that died, and that if he did live once again, he would never have a home in their town.
“People! People! Don’t listen to this madman! You have already come so far, just a little bit longer and you can all have your revenge! Revenge on the monsters that have done this to your fellow brothers! This men is clearly stalling for his own reasons!”    The mayor called out to the remaining men, trying to keep them steadfast in his way of thinking.
“What in Damnation’s name do I have to gain by leading your men away from this nightmare! The only thing that I would have received is the satisfaction that a few more men were alive!”
A few more men walked away from the coming of evil, and they walked out of Browsoon’s life as well as his sight. Afraid that even more of his people would forsaken him to his fate, he screamed a battle call of a wild animal and charged into the oddly intact ruins. Everyone else that stayed took the mayor’s lead and ran in after him.
Those poor fools…What do they think they will get for sticking their heads into a lion’s mouth? Browsoon thought, depressed, as he stared at the back of all the men he could’ve saved given enough time…If he had only spoke up sooner…The echoes of their footsteps went from quiet, to a bare whisper, to inaudible in a matter of seconds. Browsoon stared into the darkness of the Tomb of the Drowned, and listened to the emptiness of the night that had crept into his mind as soon as all the men’s breathing had gone away. He sighed deeply, and began walking up the steps.
Browsoon walked with his hands in his pockets, staring intently at the ground as if it could help him from saving the townsmen from their own stupidity and bravados. The floor looked like a threshold after a moment, and Browsoon looked up, seeing the two Elementals towering over him, carrying their burdens silently and without complaint. From inside, he heard the first screams just as the sun began rearing its ugly head from the east. Please…If it has to be this way, why can’t it at least be at night, where monsters are suppose to be lurking in wait, Browsoon thought desperately, fighting his tears from being added to the collection of the terrible history of the Tomb.
Taking his hands out of his pockets, still gaze set on the monstrous statues above him, he balled his hands into fist and roared.
Roaring in silent agony…
Roaring in loneliness…
Roaring at the pain of the lost of so many people.
And most of all, roaring in anger.
Browsoon charged into the Tomb of the Drowned, not even noticing how a blob of clear liquid gently slid from a crack in the ceiling, down from a pillar, and stared at the young man’s back, before crying out its own roar of protest.  As fast as it could, it charged at Browsoon, who only barely turned around in time to see the monster. The young man jumped out of the way just in time to miss the beast. Browsoon hit his head on the hard, stone wall, and from that wall, as Browsoon rubbed the top of his scalp, emerged another blob’s face. It screeched in Browsoon’s ear, and ducked and rolled away just as a claw steered toward the air his head was.
The first Elemental howled at him and huffed like a bull preparing to charge. The door to the outside began to close, just as dawn’s light entered it. The light reached Browsoon’s face, wide open in fear and dismay at the outcome of being trapped with the Elementals. The door closed, and the light vanished from Browsoon’s face…
The young man’s breath became heavy and struggled as he tried to cope with the idea of being locked in and his eyes adjusting to the bare light that was so insignificant it was as though it were mocking him, when more blobs dropped from the floor with a terrible SPLAAAAT! as if just a simple part of nature and not some awful entity of evil bent on killing. Looking around, Browsoon saw a man sized crack in the wall of the Tomb, he ran into it, hoping it was some kind of way out, into the light of the morning that he had thought so hideous only moments before. Gasping, the young man tried to pull out as soon as he first whiffed the ghoulish scent of the room, but before he did, he remembered what waited for him out there, and he took one last fleeting breath of fresh air before venturing into the foul smelling space.
None of the beast seemed to have followed him, but he couldn’t tell in such dim light. The stench was so horrendous, he was starting to think it was visible. It was a vacuous green just drifting in the air. More screams in the distance… Browsoon was starting to believe he could see those too…Those were a place white color, bouncing against the walls of the Tomb. The young man stepped in something, something rotten. The stench that wafted from it was a vile red and green color that lingered around him, clung to him, hugged him, as if saying thank you for freeing it, and disappeared into the Green.
A slightly brighter light appeared in the distance. It wasn’t very bright, but it was just enough to give Browsoon the slimmest shred of hope that the Tomb of the Drowned wouldn’t become his own tomb as well. The light came from a tiny hole, just large enough for Browsoon to crawl through on his hands and knees. The green smell seemed to follow him for awhile, but eventually, it gave up. Browsoon scolded himself for ever think it had a conscious, or even a color. He looked back, and he could’ve sworn just then, just for a second, the green looked like the hand of a skeleton, beckoning to him.
Browsoon shook his head, and crawled towards the light again. He sighed in relief as he smelled something that smelled close to fresh air. Browsoon’s heart swelled up just from the relief, tears began to pour down his cheeks. By the time the crawlspace was at its end, he was laughing as well as crying. He exited the teeny space, and laughed and cried as he clung to the wall in madness.
Finally, the young man turned to face his destination, and it was not a pleasant one. On the ceiling, a small lantern swung, and on the wall, was an old man chained. Besides those two things, the room was bare, excluding the small door, a barred window, and the crawlspace. Browsoon realized that this place was some sort of prison.
Browsoon started walking over to the apparent corpse of the old man, when it suddenly gasped for breath. Browsoon jumped back, hitting the wall with a thud. Then, the young man recognized the face…Ol’ Sea Dog…He had survived the assault too and he now hung from a prison wall in the Tomb of the Deep.
Oliver’s crazed eyes bulged out as he registered Browsoon, his dried lips hung uselessly. My…Is this really what happened in less than a day?! What in Damnation did he do to deserve this?
SLUUUUUSSSSSH! SLUUUUSSSSSH! Browsoon held his breath as Oliver and he stared at the door. Ol’ Sea Dog turned to look at the young man and only uttered, “Kill me.” Back still against the wall, Browsoon could do nothing but shake his head in disbelief at even the notion. The SLUUUUUSSSSSHing sounded closer and closer than ever, and Browsoon crawled feet first back into the crawlspace, believing that no skeleton smell could hold as much terror as whatever made that sound…Oliver shook his head at Browsoon, his eyes pleading to the young man to fulfill the old seafarer’s horrific request.
Suddenly, the SLUUUUUUUUSSSSSing was right outside the door, and then IT came in. It looked similar to the other Elementals, in the fact that it was a blob, but only with one significant different, where as the other Elementals where clear, this new one had swirls all over its body, as though thousands of whirlpools had erupted inside of it, and perhaps that is what happened, Browsoon thought to himself. He shook his head, new tears in his eyes as the monster reared itself up to the Ol’ Sea Dog, who looked as though he were trying to beg for his life, but no words came out, he looked as though he were trying to cry dry tears as well, but nothing came out.
The beast let out something that almost could have passed for a voice, but a thousand times more terrible. “Tell me what you know, old sailor, of what was seen in the eyes of human’s…” Its voice sounded like rough waves hitting shores filled with a million screeching birds. It put its gnarled, swirling hand up to the old man’s mouth, seeming to dehydrate him.
“RUN BOY RUUUUUUN!” Ol’ Sea Dog screamed out in a moment of freedom from the dry coffin that had once been his body. Browsoon didn’t think once about the consequences, and jumped out of the hole, and out the door. The monster roared at him. As he ran through the hallway, blobs seethed out of every crack in the wall, claws barely missing him. One nicked his cheeks, but still he ran, he ran for his life, the miserable little insignificant thing that it was.
No matter what horrors he saw at every turn, no matter what little windows he saw, no matter how terrible his wounds ached, Browsoon kept running. He ran until he saw the giant ornament statues, and the door that had a bare crack in its threshold. He ran out into the glaringly bright sunlight. He ran down the path past the sapphired pillars. He ran down the steps, where he tripped.
Browsoon landed at the bottom of the steps in which he only a little while ago had stood, trying to convince his townsmen to flee the Tomb of the Drowned. Now, blood was pouring down into the rock, sweat was dripping from every pore on body, and tears crawled slowly down his face, just as slow as the Elementals crawled from the ceiling…

SILENCE

Browsoon has been close friends with loneliness for a number of years. They first met when both of Browsoon’s parents died from a chill-fever when he was but a child. His auntie moved into the estate after her husband had died around the same time.
His auntie was a kind and caring woman, and could sympathize with Browsoon, even for awhile, he could smile with him, but the pain of an adult and child are worlds apart. Adults understand that bad things can happen, but life moves on, while a child knows none of this yet. Browsoon couldn’t grasp why the world had so cruelly taken his parents away without an afterthought, or why he had to move on with the world.
No, Browsoon’s auntie just couldn’t go to that deep of an emotional level with the child, although in her defense she never stopped trying. The only true relief Browsoon got was his best friend and neighbor, lovely little Eleanor, who every day since the day two of them could crawl went next door to play with her good friend, bright, young Browsoon.
Before the death of his parents, Browsoon and Eleanor would spend each day exploring the depths of each other’s imaginations, finding new adventures every time they saw each other. And the day after they died, Browsoon expected to be left alone, in his mind hopefully forever, but still Eleanor came bounding down the stone path that connected their houses, and upon seeing Browsoon, who was just sitting in a pile of dead leaves, she ran up to him and gave him the most consoling hug of his young life.
For the next ten years, Auntie watched the two in quiet contentment as the two grew up to be young adults, still full of joy whenever they met on that little stone path. Auntie lived long enough to watch Browsoon and Eleanor stand in front of a minister, trade rings, and kiss. A little while afterwords, Auntie passed on in her sleep.
Three years. Three years was all the time Fate had given the two to be together. Soon after Auntie’s death, Eleanor developed a horrendous cough in the middle of the night. The very familiarity scared Browsoon, and he urged Eleanor to seek consulting from a doctor, but every time he said this, Eleanor would just stare into her precious spouse’s eyes and told him she would be fine.
However, it was too late by the time she could see how wrong she was. Browsoon stood up night and night by the side of their marital bed watching her slowly be replaced from the bright young woman who was once his wife into a sick person, completely dependent on Browsoon, just as his parents.
Browsoon gave all of his inheritance to every doctor, healer, shaman, witch-doctor, naturallist…the list just goes on and on, to find a cure for wearied Eleanor. All of them could do nothing for him, in fact, none of them wanted to. They all just gave the woman a little more time, just enough for them to squeeze every last cent out of a worried Browsoon. Their ‘miracle’ cures did nothing for the health of Eleanor but hold off death, but it still took its toll. By the time Eleanor passed her final breath, she was locked into a coma, and Browsoon just watched as she deteriorated in front of his eyes.
The soul-less hounds waited for Browsoon one day after he buried his dead bride, right next to his once loving parents. That night he slept in his bed, fitfully, nightmares of his precious Eleanor creeping into his mind at every stir. In the morning, he was awaken by a loud pounding at his door. He just let them pound on, but eventually they just broke down the door. They had come to take his estate to pay off his ‘debt’ to them.
Browsoon didn’t put up a fight. All he had after they sold the house and land were the clothes on his back and his crushed, weathered heart. He wandered around the land for a long period. Aimlessly walking,  aimlessly, that is, if you hadn’t counted on him looking for some sort of place in the world. He traveled to all sorts of places, Mount St. Elga, the roots of the mighty tree, Gaia’s Dream, he wept into the lake Gaia’s Tears on the mountain Gaia’s Awakening, for awhile, he even was a councilor in the cabinet of the King of the capital city Gaieshna. He soon abandoned this life, as his view of all the matters of the council were rather depressing. At last, he settled down in the port after two long years of traveling. Of course, no one hired him, and he was alone among hundreds of people.
But no matter what, this loneliness was above the worst thing he had encountered so far, as he lay bleeding, sweating, and crying on the stone steps of the Temple of the Drowned. No more screams were heard, no more Slushing from the terrible abominations. For awhile, Browsoon passed in and out of consciousness, one second, he watched the sun watch over him maliciously from the heavens, the next, night stars glittered above him, twisted and meaningless shapes appearing in front of him as he connected the shining dots. Browsoon finally felt death come for him as he saw an orange sky at last.
Whether or not the sky was setting or rising wasn’t known to the young man, he just felt relief as his journey was finally over. Dehydration from cooking out on the sun on the stone steps had finally taken its toll. His lips curled up into a parody of a smile as he closed his eyes, that was when he heard someone in four days. “Oh my…! Hurry someone get some water!”
*****
My eyes still seemed closed as I looked around myself. I couldn’t tell whether I was blind, or if I could see everything, or if it was a cruel combination of the two. I looked around myself, I seemed to be standing somewhere extremely high, but light and darkness fought for borders all around the sky. Someone coughed behind me, and I turned, and saw a strange, small figure of a withered elderly man in black robes sitting on a pedestal. A shining scythe rested on the white marble floor next to the pedestal, and the men  jumped to the ground and picked up the scythe. I didn’t know whether it was hilarious or terrifying, The smooth black pole that was at least six feet tall, and with a gleaming silver blade the extended from the top of the poll at two and a half, being wielded by a man who at best was five-one. At first, the man just stared at the floor until he took a long, deep sigh, and our eyes met. Suddenly comprehension just hit me. Everything I could have ever done had been leading up to the next period in my life, and that my duty in all worlds was grander than anything I could have possibly imagined. But all the reasoning behind this vanished from my skull as the man pulled away his eyes. All I could do was utter a tiny, “Thank you…” To which he raised a single palm in recognition and turned away.
*****
When he stirred once more, Browsoon was met again by the same odd canvas ceiling. He pondered whether or not he had been poisoned, and then he asked himself why would anyone want to poison him after having his lifeless body in their custody for over a day. Slavery, he thought, coolly composed in his way of thinking this. No, he dismissed that, he was clearly in no condition for any kind of work at all.
Again, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and he very muched wished people would stop moving in that general direction. After a few moments of considering sitting up to confront the shadow to his side, he decided that it probably had a good reason for being there and just let it be. For a moment he pondered whether or not he had simply gone crazy. He dismissed this too, as no crazy person ever considered themselves crazy especially.
But then he thought about it, and he realized he had just said he was NOT crazy after deciding most crazy people believed themselves to not be crazy. So was he crazy then? And if he decided this, upon deciding such a decision, would he then be sane because no crazy person ever thought of themselves as crazy? “What a conundrum…” He muttered to himself.
“What was that?!” The shadow to his side yelled at him, making Browsoon jump up, as well as leading to the next link in the chain which was to regret sitting up. Apparently the next ring was him deciding that the chain would just continue if he allowed himself to lay back down and pass out, knowing fairly well that it’s a vicious circle that could last for quite awhile.
Looking over to confront the shadow, he saw that indeed the shadow was not in fact a space of absence of light, but a man. A rather old man who might be about as bright as a shadow, but that was for Browsoon to figure out later. For now, however, he just yawned, waiting for the old man to make a move first. He did, after about five minutes of an intense staring contest in which the loser would speak first.
“So…You’ve seen to have had quite a fall there young man.” The old man said wisely in an aged voice.
“I would assume so, as that’s been quite the popular thing for people to mention to me as of late.” Browsoon replied.
“Hmm…and by who? Assuming that you are talking about your most recent fall.” Inquired the old man.
Browsoon thought about it for a minute and then said, “By a sailor on a boat, because I was not talking about my most recent spill.”
“Oh really? What sailor? What boat? Is there any kind of information you can give about yourself at all?” His brows were raised in a quizzical fashion.
His eyes shifted for a moment, pondering just exactly the situation he was suddenly in. Browsoon asked bluntly, “What are you talking about?”
“Well, I have to know something! This is history in the making!” The old man suddenly jumped up, taking Browsoon by the arms with him and led him out of the canvas ceilinged room, which turned out to be a wagon on the outside. On the outside, the old man announced to a large group of people gather around several camp fires, entering and leaving other wagons, conversing among themselves, “Ladies and Gentlemen…May I present, The Survivor!” Every single one of them wooted and cheered at Browsoon, who blushed at the sudden attention. Most of them gathered around with Browsoon at the center of the group.
“How’d you do it?” “What’d you see?” “Why’d you go in there?” “Where’d you enter in at?” “When did you come out?” Were several questions that were thrown at him while he was surrounded by the people. Browsoon was flustered in the chaotic noise of the strange assembly.
Browsoon’s elder companion suddenly raised his hand and issued a command, “Silence!” Which was immediately obeyed by the people. The group stepped back from Browsoon and the Old Man. Browsoon felt as though he could breath again and sighed, rubbing the back of his skull in the process. “Now then…Excuse me young man, before we begin, may I please have your name?” Browsoon had
just opened his mouth when the old man interrupted him. “Oh, excuse me, right! My name is Professor Simon D. Wikkimson. Always good to know when to introduce yourself…Right, sorry! And you are…?”
“Umm…Right…I’m Browsoon,” He finally managed to say after a number of silent seconds, with every holding their breaths. As soon as he mentioned his name, the group suddenly clustered around him again, screaming his name. “Browsoon! Browsoon! Browsoon! BROWSOON!” Calling out his name, pushing up against him. The Professor again raised his head and called out, “Silence!” The group disbanded again, and Simon led Browsoon back inside the wagon.
“Excuse my students, they’re…extremely excitable when it comes to significant breakthroughs in our field of research. There’s very few of them.” The Professor calmly hurried his explanation, overstressing each word with wild hand movements.
The young man nodded, starring at the rabid exchange of hand signs and words, both trying to exaggerate each other. “Right…Students?” He asked, only just catching the gist of his words.
“Yes, yes,” Wikkimson impatiently answered, “Students, of myself, of course, though, I, myself am only a student of what we studying.”
“And that is?”
“The matter that has everything to do with everything that ends after it has done all that it could which relates to the matter of what it does after everything that it could has been done.” He stated matter-of-factly. Browsoon nodded. Simon Wikkimson stared at Browsoon’s stunned face for a moment, and then he slapped his forehead with his palm. “Excuse, um…The after-life. We study the after-life.”
“Ah! I see…And what does that have to do with me?”
Simon’s face broke into a dumb grin, “Why, everything my boy! You went into the Tomb of the Drowned and came back out!” He exclaimed.
Browsoon nodded, a disturbed and worried look on his face as the Professor spoke. “Yea, I guess I did…How did you know that I came out of the Tomb?”
“Oh, simple, we have a device that records the movement of the Elementals and a device on the door of the Tomb, then we did the math of the time of when the Elementals periodically open the door and how many come out. Your signature wasn’t one of the Elementals so we knew who you were.”
“That’s simple?”
“Would you like me to make it more complicated?”
“No, that’s fine…So what do Elementals have to do with the after-life?” Browsoon wondered out loud, starting to hope the Professor wouldn’t answer him.
Unfortunately for him, the Professor did, “Hmm…The Elementals are part of the secondary part of the human life. One of four, actually. You see…”
“I very much doubt that but go on.”
“Well as I was saying, when someone who contributes to a specific point for the sake of Nature and Balance of all of Man-kind, the Animal Kingdom, and all Plant-Life, then that person’s Unique-Signature of Self-Being is granted the right to join the ranks of the Elementals depending on their contribution. For instance, if one were to give one’s life to destroying harmful destruction of the earth, then one may be granted the right to become one with fire…”
“I saw those things…They didn’t really seem human at all…except for one.”
“Right! In the past few months something strange has been happening to the Elementals. They’ve been becoming more feral with each passing month. In fact, that’s why we were here studying these particular Elementals at the Tomb of the Drowned. There has been reports of a town close by that was attacked, some of the men came to the Tomb for…Oh, I’m not sure, some sort of crude act of violence…”
“Yes…” Browsoon added quietly, ashamed.
“Ah, yes, I see, and you survived. Well, that’s good. Well, not good about what happened to them but good that you lived, because you’re the first person in years to actually go into any of the Tombs and come back alive. Even before they turned feral it was an extremely dangerous procedure. You’re very lucky. Now then…Knowing this will you help us?”
Browsoon looked up at the old man, struck, “Help you with what?”
Again, Simon hit himself with his own palm, “Sorry, excuse me…Yes…Um, we need you to come back to capital city Gaieshna and assist us in out important research and your journey into the Tomb of the Drowned could very well prove crucial to our goals.”
Browsoon sat quietly for a moment thinking just one thing. Why the Damnation not? Was there any other purpose for him to be anywhere? The villagers would never accept him, they may have never been able to, but this may just be his chance to make a difference. The young man looked up to his elder and said, “Yes, fine, when do we leave?”
The old man grinned and said, “Now…” Leaning out the wagon he hollered, “Pack it up! We’re heading out!”

TOMB OF THE FALLEN

As the ride went on, Browsoon told his tale to anyone who insisted, which, by that point, was everyone. He told them all about his journey into the Tomb of the Drowned, and each one wrote notes in their tiny little books, and then they compared notes with each other. Only a few of them seemed to be the right people for him to talk to about his visions. Professor Simon Wikkimson was the first he spoke to about it, in exchange for various bits of information about the Elementals (even though Browsoon never asked), one of the drivers Browsoon also took as someone who should be told, a man that went by the name of Sirius Triphus who seemed genuinely interested in Browsoon as a person instead just The Survivor, and finally, the woman Browsoon met the first time he met, Janis Sapwood, a doctor from the University of Gaieshna who travels with Professor Wikkimson often on traveling expeditions, who almost immediately befriended Browsoon.
Sirius Triphus sat down next to Janis and Browsoon, a bowl of soup in one hand and a book in the other. “Hmm…” He mumbled something inaudible to the pair.
“What was that, Sirius?” Janis asked the wagon driver.
“I was looking at books about visions and prophecies in the Professor’s collection and I found something about the after-life and them. Thought you would be interested in them.” He said, handing the book to Browsoon.
He skimmed through it, Janis and Sirius looking over his shoulder. “Hmm…” He said, copying Sirius in the action. “I don’t really think my delusional thinking should be encouraged but thanks for the effort, Sirius.” Offering the book back to him, Browsoon started eating his own bowl of soup, staring off into space, thinking, as he had often over the past week.
The clear waters of Gaia’s Tears Lake glistened under the midday sun, right next to the camp of wagons that the students used as part of a caravan. Browsoon stared at the waters for a long time, thinking about what would happen in Gaieshna. Wikkimson explained that he would just have to speak at a few conferences, have a few more people writing notes, and then he could get on with his life, whatever is left of it, he grimly added in his mind. He turned around to stare at Gaia’s Dream. He was the closer to the leafy roof of the tree than he had ever been in his life, and the emerald top almost seemed to be clear. As he gazed at that, he thought, if he looked at it for long enough, in the distance, far up in the sky, he could almost see a tower…
Browsoon shook his head out of it when Professor Wikkimson called out to him. “Ah! Browsoon, my boy! Come, come! I have to talk to you again!” He asked Janis to put his bowl away while he talked to the Professor, she indifferently shrugged and accepted the bowl. “Hurry, hurry, hurry!” The Professor motioned to him to follow. They went into the Professor’s wagon and sat down, a kettle of tea on the floor that Browsoon had grown accustomed to helping himself with. After pouring the two of them tea, Wikkimson sat down, huffed. “Ok, ok, ok, so you want to know why I asked you to come in here, right?”
“Something about the Tomb of the Drowned?” Browsoon asked, bored.
“No! No, no…Something that hasn’t happen in over fifty years has happened last night!” The Professor exclaimed excitedly.
Blinking at the Professor, quite used to his exaggerated claims that he had experienced in his week of traveling with him, Browsoon inquired, “Go on.”
“The Tomb of the Fallen!” Browsoon’s attention quickly rose at the very mention of the home of the Air Elementals that was only an hour away, at the peak of the mountain. “The place is entirely empty and the door open! We can just walk right in! Do you realize the potential for what we can find in there? And especially how much more we would find if you came in with us?”
“But…sir…What could I possibly do to help you in there?” Browsoon stuttered, trying to wriggle out of going into the looming nightmare.
Simon Wikkimson laughed, almost manically to Browsoon, “Why, you would be comparing of course! Which Tomb was more richly decorated, which Tomb has had more use as of late, you could be helping us break the barrier between our almost bare, blank knowledge and into almost completely comprehending it!”
Browsoon mindlessly tapped his fingers on the floor of the wagon, staring intensive at the cup of tea that was before him. “And you can guarantee the safety of all your people’s safety that there will not be a single Elemental there?”
“Not a one…” The Professor assured him.
*****
And that’s how, an hour later, Browsoon’s personal nightmare seemed to be repeating. He stared up at the same marble steps that lead up to the top of the mountain where the Tomb of the Fallen maliciously resided, neighboring the clouds and earth at the same time while casting its evil shadow over all who dare walk to it.
Their blight journey to discovery would come at a dark price, for this Browsoon was assured. The heavens twisted and contorted its clouds as if beckoning to them, and for just a second, beyond the sky itself, he believed he could see a castle…
Sirius Triphus and Janis Sapwood traveled side-by-side of Browsoon, who led the collage of students and workers behind Professor Wikkimson. At last, Browsoon could see the marble effigy of two Air Elementals, two beings that looked like twisters with arms and eyes, holding up the pavilion, beyond the temple itself, there was a looming tower, connected by a string of passageways. The stone doors were, to Browsoon’s dismay, open. He could almost feel the malevolence of the spirits that dwelled inside just by staring at the darkness that haunted the inside. Upon the moment of seeing the shadows, Browsoon felt as though he offer some sort of last rites to the people that followed him into the Damnation that surely awaited them, the people in front of him seemed completely fine with this fact.
Turning around, he could see the admiration among all their young faces, all of them hoping to find some seemingly insignificant scrap of detail that would solve the riddle of life and find some fame and recognition among it, but just as though men who went on to die in the Tomb of the Drowned for the sake of revenge and still-life, these students will die in the name of hope and change. It’s funny, Browsoon thought to himself, that no matter how different our goals may seem, they all seem to have the same result.
“Listen people!” Browsoon called out to all of the students. “This expedition is going to be dangerous, regardless of whether or not there’s actually those Elementals in there, so, if anyone of you want to live…Turn back now.” Now only blank faces stared at him, and Browsoon just stood on the steps.
“Hmm…” Professor Simon thought for a moment and then said, “Yes…He might have a point…I know all of you have come a long way for this, but how about a compromise? Mr. Browsoon and I will scout the Tomb first, and then within an hour we will come out and tell you whether or not it’s safe for the rest of you.” There were some quiet, incoherent mumblings in the audience, but the general mood seemed to be acceptance of the verdict. Simon motioned for Browsoon to follow him into the stone entranceway.
For once, Wikkimson seemed to be humbled into silence by the moment. Fifty years…To him, this could possibly be the greatest moment of his life. To find out just a tiny bit more information on the after-life would justify his entire life that he had dedicated to this field of research. Even just a footnote on the bottom of some page would make it all worth it. On the inside, the same columns that occupied the Tomb of the Drowned also resided in the Tomb of the Fallen.
Wikkimson had only gone a few steps further into the temple when Browsoon called out, “Professor!” and grabbed his arm.
“What the…” And then the Professor looked down and saw a gapping hole in the floor. A tiny stone fell into the hole and disappeared noiselessly into the abyss. Browsoon and the Professor could hear students rallying at the door and the Professor called out, “We’re quite alright, just almost had a…rather nasty fall is all. One hour, don’t forget!” The duo ventured further into the Tomb, strange mosaics covered the walls other than small bits of cobwebs.
The Professor, watching his step, leaned in closer to examine the etchings on the wall, but he could barely tell what they depicted, all that he could manage to gather from them was the image of three humanoid looking people, two women and one man, all three being surrounded by odd swiggles and odd objects. Browsoon looked over his shoulder
to find Simon kneeling over the wall, staring at the glyphs.
“Uh…Professor, what are they?” Browsoon called out as quietly as he could to his companion, stepping around the many holes that littered the ground into oblivion. He leaned down to the Professor’s level staring at the carvings. “Huh, almost looks like some kind of ritual.” Browsoon muttered offhandedly.
Hands on his knees, clutching them tightly as he examined every single inch of the pictures. “That’s impossible, the Elementals, although once humans are completely mindless except for few examples.”
“Well there has to be some way to control them, doesn’t there?” The Professor was about to say something but then he realized something. He leapt up from the ground and grabbed Browsoon by the shoulders.
“Young man, you’re a genius!” He declared. “No one has ever asked why any of these powerful entities of nature bothered to be organized, why bother? Nature in all its splendor is completely random, is it not? It stands to reason that its representatives should also be random!”
“Since when is reason apart of this?”
“Exactly! Reason is a terrible reason to do anything. So then, a few questions, why does something need to control these being, who or what is this something, and how does it do it?” The Professor took out his notebook and started writing down his questions.
Browsoon shrugged and said, “That Elemental that was torturing Ol’ Sea Dog?” The Professor started writing down something while muttering, “Yes, yes, keep going.”
“Uh, people?”
“People?” Wikkimson stopped writing for a second and looked up at Browsoon. “Why do you say people?”
“It just seems like those people in those pictures don’t look afraid or angry, and if they were getting attacked or being sacrificed to some ritual, don’t you think they would look like they were fighting back?”
The Professor shook his head. “No, no, people have never had any control over Elementals at any point in history.”
“Well, ok, but you said awhile ago that that speaking Elemental was an evolved form of the primal elementals, why can’t there be more after that?”
His eyes bulged out in an epiphany. “The greater an Elemental becomes, the more human it appears…Of course… The Lady Gaia.”
“Gaia? That old story about the woman who could do magic?”
“Yes, well, yea, but the magic that she could do was control nature… It was said that she was the one to create the twin mountains, St. Elga and Gaia’s Awakening, that lake on the Awakening, and also the grand tree…Those all seem to be grander workings of what the primal elementals could do…My, my, already, we’ve come across this…Browsoon, we have to go further! Think of what we could learn! Listen, we’ll split up and meet back here in half an hour, then we’ll gather the students, and here, take this notebook and write down anything you find interesting.” The Professor ripped out a piece of paper and a stick of lead, placed the paper over the cravings and started to shade the etchings over the paper
Browsoon left Wikkimson with a lot on his mind, like who were the people in the cravings and what they were doing, and with that, he wandered deeper into the Tomb of the Fallen…
*****
No strange hands appeared to sway Browsoon from his path, and because of that he was incredibly grateful. No astounding glyphs such as the ones in the main hall were found either, although what to make of this, Browsoon wasn’t sure. He was certain that he wouldn’t get lost because there were no turns since the main hall where there had been five doorways, and Browsoon had taken the one opposite of the entrance way. The farther he went from the entrance, the higher seemed to get above the ground, although, admittingly, that he had already been pretty high up in the first place.
At last, after aimlessly staring at walls along the straight path, Browsoon reached a grand wooden door with a shining silver knocker. From beyond the almost white oak wood, the young man could hear sweet music. Browsoon knocked on the door, but it immediately gave way to the inside. All that was inside the room was a lamp and a spiraling staircase of the tower. For a moment, Browsoon considered turning around and returning with the Professor and the students, but the music called to him, and before he knew it, he was climbing the staircase up to the top.
By this time, the half-an-hour time limit had obviously expired and the Professor would soon come searching for him, whispered a voice in the back of his head, but for some reason unknown to him it only made him proceed to his goal with more haste. The journey up the tower exhausted Browsoon and by the time he reached the top, he was on his hands and knees. At the top of the tower, again, was a grand oak door, where the source of the music seem to be behind.
Browsoon knocked on the door, and once more it opened without any more assurance. The air smelled of new flowers in the Spring. Daisies, lilacs, roses among the sweet music. Browsoon’s sight was clouded was wisp of smoke, the kind expected to be seen flowing from a stick of essence. Offering a hand out to the smoke, it felt like skin brushing against a warm leaf. Squinting his eyes, he could barely spot a woman playing a cello in the middle of the circular room. Her eyes raised once from her instrument, and they met Browsoon’s, she flashed him a glancing, sad smile and returned to her music, instead of a bow, a tiny wood plug sat on her middle finger with strings protruding from it.
He wafted through the smoke, careful not to disturb anything unseen. When he reached the woman, a chair was suddenly before him, and Browsoon could feel that it was being offered to him. Now in the center of the room, the smoke seemed less dense, and he could see the woman. She wore a simple white dress, a hair tie made of a thong-like root kept her long brown hair from being unkempt. He sat down at the chair, and the woman flashed him one of her problem-lifting smiles, and then immediately returned to her music.
When her final note was played, her brown eyes met Browsoon’s once again and she sighed. “Excuse me,” She said in a lilting voice. “I must finish one piece a work or I can’ concentrate on anything else…I’m afraid I don’t get too many visitors here, would you like a cup of tea?” From no where, a table had appeared, along with a set of tea cups and a pot, steam gently flowed from the lips. Browsoon silently nodded and the woman offered a cup to him. Unbelievable taste washed over his tongue, giving him a pleasant kiss, then disappearing down his gullet.
The woman placed her hands on her lap and set her eyes on Browsoon. “Now, please, I am Tempest, the Keeper of this temple, who, if I may ask, so boldly ventures into my residence?”
“Oh…I’m Browsoon.” Tempest raised one delicate eye brow above the other, and Browsoon felt as though he was expected something else. “I’m afraid that’s about it.”
“Oh, that’s too bad, I was waiting for someone…Hmm…” Her eyes now gazed into space as Tempest wondered about her meeting. “I suppose it’s probably for the best then, hmm? So, Browsoon, what brings you here?” She set her soft hands under her chin and waited for Browsoon.
He gulped a bit more of tea before beginning. “A friend of mine is looking for some obscure answers and he believes that he can find them in all the Tombs…”
Tempest raised a hand, “Please, do not call it a ‘Tomb’ not as many people die here as is said. It’s rather unfortunate, but alas, we cannot help such malicious rumors, can we?”
“I suppose not then…Where was I?”
“Obscure answers I believe,” she offered to Browsoon.
“Right, my friend believes he’ll find the answers he’s looking for in…umm…buildings like these.”
She tapped a finger on the table calmly. “An answer for?”
“I’m not entirely sure, I do think part of it is the after-life and the attacks the Elementals have been doing on humans.”
“Ahh, yes,” Tempest nodded. “The raids that led to the human settlements around my mother’s tree to be only ruins.”
“Wait…Ruins? What ruins? Wait…’Mother’s’ tree?”
“Well, yes, the Avataress Gaia is my mother. As for the ruins, the Water Elementals seem to be looking for something very important among the human colonies.” Browsoon’s eyes bulged, and he suddenly recounted the story of the Tomb of the Drowned, along with the boat attack, Ol’ Sea Dog’s kidnapping, and the talking Elemental that had tortured the old man.
Nodding once again, Tempest rose, “Yes, regrettably that sort of thing is happening all around Gaia’s Dream, and also, a desert has formed around it, although I’m not sure if they’re not connected, but it seems like quite a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
Browsoon was flabbergasted suddenly by what he sad. “I’m sorry…I don’t know what came over me…You’re a complete stranger after all and…I just can’t stop talking…”
Taking a sip from her cup of tea, Tempest offered Browsoon a fleeting smile. “Well yes…That’s because you’ve always been talking to me…Everyone has….” She said, sorrowfully at the thought.
“What do you mean?”
“Browsoon…Do you pray at night? Have you ever sung to yourself all by your lonesome? Have you ever made a wish under your breath that no one else can see?” She seemed to wait for an answer, and then continued. “Someone, somewhere has to know everyone’s every hope and dream and curses and hateful mutterings, it’s just that I happened to gained the position, what with being the Entity of Air and whatnot. I know everyone’s voice, but have rarely seen their faces…”
“Well then…” He didn’t know what to say. He was getting more confused by the second and wanted someone that might be able to dumb it down for him. “I suppose I had better Professor Wikkimson, he’d really like to meet you.” Browsoon got up from his chair. Tempest leaned over and gently brushed her hand on Browsoon’s….
*****
“AHHHHH!!!” A man screamed on a stone bed of thorns inside a cage of fire. Terrible Elementals danced along the brimstone bars as a man with clear blue skin calmly observed the sight of the inflamed man on a slab seat. Beside the blue man, a woman calmly sat at the shoulder of a throne, a bright inferno reflected  on her face.
*****
Tempest skin elegantly brushed off of Browsoon’s. Her eyes sorrowful. “It’s too bad what we both saw.”
“What?” He asked dumbfounded and confused at what he had just seen through his mind’s eye. “What are you talking about? Deh…Did you just see what I saw?”
“Among other things, yes I did. You saw my brother being imprisoned by myself and one of the Void Princes.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?! I can’t believe this….” Browsoon backed away from the table, into the now suffocating smoke. It crowded him, gripping his throat. Tempest sighed and suddenly her cello was back in her hands. She waved her arm around it, and magically it turned into a a beautifully crafted halberd with  strings coming from its metal head, up to the bottom of its metal shaft.
“I truly am sorry for what I am about to do, but I cannot allow you to live when I know what you are going to do. This is the only place where I could keep your soul if you die,” She started stringing notes into the air using her halberd. Browsoon screamed over the music, which was so intense blood started flowing down the side of his face. As he backed deeper into the smoke, his body going into shock when his back hit the back wall.
With her sad eyes, Tempest lifted her weapon and advanced.

RUN, CHASE, DIVE

Dim light glinted off the beautiful blade as it came hurtling toward Browsoon’s head. Strangely, instead of his precious Eleanor, Browsoon thought of the old man with the scythe on top of the huge throne. He still had a reason to be, even if he wasn’t sure what it was yet. His knees failed him, and he fell to the stone floor. The blade CLANGED!  into the wall, a shower of spark flew over his head, the head of the halberd was apparently stuck.
Seeing Browsoon doing a crab walk away from her, Tempest kicked him in the face, although having the opposite of the desired effect. The kick propelled him into the wooden door.
Once again, Browsoon found himself on the spiraling steps. He began climbing down them when Tempest appeared and swung her halberd in a an arc, trying to behead her target. Browsoon jumped to the steps on the other side. He only just caught a hold of the side of the stone bricks. His feet dangled above a forty feet drop. Gulping, he swung his legs into the next level. Browsoon rolled along the stairs for a moment, protecting his head with his hands.
Tempest still advanced upon him and took her attacks with fore-thought and deliberate movements, but by sheer luck, Browsoon evaded them. Half-way down the stairs, still twenty feet up, he ducked and dodged her assault, she began to strum her painful, yet sweet instrument. For a split second, Browsoon was enchanted by the melody, he laid beneath Tempest and, still playing her halberd cello, struck Browsoon with the butt of it. He keel overed in pain, and rolled away from her, just seconds away from getting his head sliced off.
Still unsteady from the strike, Browsoon fell ten feet from the ground level. Shaking of his stupor, Browsoon wiped the fresh blood from his busted lip, and began to crawl to the wooden door. Light as a feather, Tempest fell in between Browsoon and his safety. He jumped away from the halberd’s deadly edge, and backed away from it and its destructive master. Finding himself on the steps once again, he began to run up them. Tempest grimaced, thinking she had finally trapped her prey. She swung her gleaming weapon at Browsoon once again, only for it to barely scratch Browsoon‘s forehead, and slamming into the wall. Tempest struggled to free her halberd, while Browsoon jumped off the stairs for a final time, and ran out the door.
Sprinting in his exhausted state, Browsoon ran straight into Wikkimson. “Ahh, its good to see you, Browsoon, I’ve found some fascinating things already and was just about to go up to that tower…” Browsoon punched the Professor.
“Shut…up…and run,” He wheezed out. Seeing his companion so worked up and bloody, Wikkimson decided that this was indeed the best course of action.  Wiping blood away from his eyes, Browsoon went on, the Professor barely following him down the long hallway down to the main room. Passing by one of the holes, Browsoon didn’t Tempest crawling out of it. She silently swung her blade in her signature arc strike, Browsoon only evading it by good fortune and instinct.
Seeing the cause for alarm, the Professor ran with more vitality. The only reason Wikkimson and Browsoon were able to stay ahead  was because Tempest took valuable time planning every attack ahead.
Finally, all three of them reached the main hall. Sunlight reaching through the door blinded them. Slowly, through Tempest’s will, the door being held by the two Elementals began to close. Students peering inside jumped back cautiously. The sunlight blinded Browsoon’s and the Professor’s senses for a moment, but then their bodies remembered the peril they were currently in, and continued to sprint on word. Upon seeing the mad woman wielding a halberd, all the students rushed a off, most of them screaming, into their wagons and racing off.
A dumb founded look on his face, Sirius stared at Browsoon and Wikkimson, mouth agape, in front of the Wikkimson’s wagon. “What’s going on?” Browsoon hurriedly shoved him up to the front.
“We have a maniac woman chasing us with a big axe, now drive!” Browsoon explained with as much tranquility as he could muster, which at that point was strictly none at all. The horses began to gallop away from the camp, and out into the mountain fields.
Browsoon and Wikkimson laid on the floor of the wagon, huffing and panting while things rolled around them, occasionally hitting the uncaring duo. “Professor? Browsoon? Where exactly are we heading?” Sirius called out from the front.
“Away from where we were!” Browsoon yelled back at him.
“We’re heading to the Lake!”
“Is is shallow?”
“No…”
“Will we drown?”
“Maybe…”
“Will we get chopped up into chunks of flesh and meat by an insane woman who can run incredibly fast if we go there?”
“Probably not.”
“Then let’s do that.”
Gaia’s Tears loomed from the hillside as the speeding wagon sped ever faster down hill. Tempest still chased after it with blinding haste, every second bringing her closer to her goal. The horses splashed into the water without pause, instinctively knowing that stopping would mean death. The wagon rolled into the sand for a minute, then began to float.
The horses broke free from their reins and swam away from approaching demise in the form of Tempest. The wagon freely floated away from shore, and Tempest quickly climbed on top of it. Simon and Browsoon cowered in the wagon while Sirius fled from the wagon.
Tempest walked over to Browsoon, shadowing over him for a minute, examining him, reading him out, and then she raised her halberd cello. Red flashed in front of Browsoon’s eyes, and he leapt up and took a firm grip on Tempest’s wrist and the center of the halberd’s staff. They struggled for control of the deadly weapon, and Browsoon felt as though he were fighting a tornado, constantly being pushed up and spun as Tempest struggled to regain power over her weapon.
Browsoon pushed Tempest out of the wagon, still fighting over the halberd. She got on top of the young man, pushing him into the water, forcing the lake to go into his lungs. Life was fading from Browsoon’s body. Then, the tide changed. Tempest let out a shrill shriek as the water began to attack her.
Three Elementals from the Tomb of the Drowned pushed Tempest away from Browsoon, who still had the halberd in his hand. Tempest screamed out, “Noooooo!” As the Elementals plunged her into the water depths.
*****
In three hours, all the students were gathered and accounted for, Browsoon and Wikkimson had gotten back to shore with Sirius. They decided to ignore the stressful events that occurred in the Tomb of the Fallen. The next morning, they began to make their way to the capital city, Gaieshna.

RUSTY MASKS COVERED IN ICE

People were running on a sandy plain. I could see the fear in their eyes as they fled from the madness that stalked their backs. Burst of fire gave me glimpses of their assailants. Giants without skin with enormous rust-covered chains trailing behind them, broken rusted iron mask covered their heads, with a few holes giving terrifying visions of their black, white, gray, green, and red faces, with yellow puss oozing from the openings. The monsters roared at the fleeing crowd, using their long chains as whips, breaking the back of anyone unlucky enough to get hit by it. Men, women, children, no one was discriminated against the monster. One of the monsters picked up an entire family of four in it’s hands.
Another sound suddenly was heard from other end of the spectrum…A familiar sound… Waves hitting the shore. That’s what the sound was. It sounded like when waves hit the shore and reared back… I looked back, and there they were, literal waves of Water Elemental flooding the fields. Of course my first impulse was to believe that they were there to finish off whatever the monstrosities didn’t destroy, but this theory proved untrue in a matter of moments, when a human child accidentally ran into one of the beast, and walked right out of it.
Perplexed, I watched the Water Elementals meet the giants head on, their aquatic claws fashioned into lethal ice blades, attacking the giants sores. While the front force attacked the giants, other Water Elementals pushed stragglers into the main group of masked behemoths. The next move of the hydro-globs was to surround the giants, allowing the humans to flee out of sight.
The monsters roared in anger, having their joy dashed away by the small, but persistent rain drop shaped creatures. They begun to thrash around, swinging chains of rusty iron at the Water Elementals, but also hitting each other, causing their rage to grow evermore out of control.
Flakes of rusted metal rained over the feuding beast, whips made of chain hitting one Water Elemental, only for the remains of it to be absorbed by other Elementals. The hydro-globs started latching on to the chains, and then turned into their beautiful ice forms, causing the chains to break even more than they already were.
The Water Elementals forced the giants away from the fleeing people and then I…
*****
Browsoon woke up in the unfamiliar, tightly gripping Tempest’s halberd so hard, his knuckles were white. In the corner, Sirius loudly snored as they hit bumps in the road. Janis must be driving, he thought. He got up to stretch his tired limbs. He sat up with his back to the canvas walls of the wagon and just did that for twenty minutes in silence.
Eventually, the wagon stopped, and Janis peered her out from the front and said, “We’re almost there, can you drive for a bit Browsoon?” He nodded and switched places with her. Browsoon grabbed the reins of the horses and pulled them towards him. The horses started galloping down the slope of the mountain Gaia’s Awakening. For awhile, he just stared at the pink and purple sky as the sun was raising from the ocean. In the distance, he could see the grand gates of Gainesha…

AND THE WORDS ON THE GATES SAY…

A dog howled longingly in the distance as the caravan and dawn raced to the gates of Gainesha. It wouldn’t be too long, though one driver of the wagons in the caravan. His grip on the reins of the horses tightened as he saw the enormous granite gates of the Prince’s City. He reminisced of his previous trip into the city, and how it ended. He grimaced at the thought.
A second hound joined the first one just as Janis joined Browsoon in the driver’s seats. “It never fails to impress me…” She murmured in astonishment. “Not since the first day I ever saw the city, sitting in the middle of my parents when we went to a hearing in the Palace. When I first saw the gates I just stared at it moony-eyed, and my Pa just laughed at me the whole time, saying he did the same thing. Didn’t you say you went to the Palace, Browsoon?”
“Yea, once, but it’s not a very nice story…” He murmured in return to her, his voice ominous in an angered tone.
Janis’ brows went up questionably. “What happened?”
Browsoon let out a sigh. “It’s a very long experience…”
“We have time,” She assured him.
“Hmm…Well, it was about after my trip around the Island, and I had settled into the life as a politician. My father was rather famous as a diplomat, I had gone to school for it and graduated top of my class, and I had a few friends in office that helped me out. It was actually pretty easy to get in and out of politics, as well as easy doing it. Mostly just sign this, sign that, condemn this building, help these people, collect taxes, not difficult really, just took a lot of time and I got bored with it.”
Janis shrugged off his tale. “That doesn’t actually sound like that bad of an experience, more like a bad job. Every job gets dull after awhile.”
Shaking his head, Browsoon continued, “It wasn’t the job becoming boring that was the problem, it was what I did after I became bored…”
“What’d you do?”
Browsoon grinded his teeth before he continued. “Well…The nights in Gainesha got pretty long alone, and after awhile, I started looking around for someone, and eventually I found her, of course, something should’ve tipped me off when I met her at one of the parties held by a boring politician. There’s always a reason why pretty young girls are at places like that…”
“Did…You didn’t sleep with someone’s mistress, did you?”
“No…Worse…I slept with the King’s daughter. Kaone found out and made my life a living Damnation after words. I couldn’t go out without one of the King’s hired goons making me miserable one way or another.”
“But you’re a widow!”
“Does me being a widow make me not a man?”
“Fine, so why are you going back? Doesn’t really sound like a place to go back to when there’s guys looking for you.”
“They wouldn’t still be looking after me, the Kaone would’ve found someone else to annoy him and he’d send those goons after them. Plus, this whole thing is educational, or religious, I’m not really sure, and I know the man, he’s not interested in either subjects.”
More dogs howled in chorus as the sun rose, and Janis and Browsoon were surprised by what they saw at the gates. People, tens of thousands of people all camped out in front of the gates of Gainesha.
*****
The land around Gaia’s Dream, once fertile and peaceful, was now deserted and ravaged by Elementals and terrible monstrosities. Men with skin as blue as the sky and clear as the water of the ocean led raids against village after village in the land surrounding the great tree, now dubbed Demon’s Curse by the survivors.
Giants wearing mask of iron trample across the once prosperous land, while cerburi chase the animals away from the game trail.

Studio Etts Henrik Dammberg har gjort ett upplysande och sakligt reportage där man går igenom några likheter och skillnader mellan SD, NyD och Dansk folkeparti. Tidigare partiledaren Ian Wachtmeister säger bland annat att han ser paralleller. Lyssna här.

KM

Tänään oli kiire päivä. Heräsin hyvissä ajoin ehtiäkseni proteesipajalle kävelyharjoituksiin, mutta sitä ennen piti saada lakanat pesukoneeseen. Suihkutin ja lähdin. Pajalla askelsin fysioterapeutin kanssa ja uutena astuin yhden rappusen ylös ja alas. Tunnin session jälkeen proteesimestari asensi Oscarille uuden jalkaterän, joka  samalla nosti sen korkeutta puolisen senttiä. Uusi jalkaterä on napakampi ja vähän painavampi kuin ensimmäinen.

Kiireesti takaisin kotiin, koska F oli tulossa kahdeksi tuomaan puolestani ostamansa kaupan tuotteet. Nyt mulla on jo yhdet joululahjat veljien lapsille. Joimme pikaisesti kahvit ja hän mennessään otti jätepaperit ulos.

Monivuotinen pikku kiinalaiseni tuli kolmeksi. Hänen kanssaan teimme kotitöitä tunnin verran. Puhtaat lakanat narulle ja toiset vuoteeseen ja sen semmoista. Mennessään hän nappasi bio- ja sekaroskat. 

Minä lähdin neljältä Stadiin. Keikuin rollaattorin kanssa ensin hammaslääkäriasemalle maksamaan laskuni. Sieltä Stockmannille, koska kaipasin huulipunaa tai siis vain halusin helliä itseäni. Vihdoin puoli kuudeksi Keskuskadun ravintolaan, jonne oli varattu seitsemänhengenpöytä. Jees. Meitä oli seitsemän vanhaa swissairilaista daamia, jotka vihdoin tapasimme. Söimme hinta- laatu-suhteessa hyvin ja paikkahan valittiin, koska sisään ei ollut rappusia. Taisimme olla aikamoinen seurue? Puhuimme suomea, ruotsia ja “en guete” Sveitsin saksaakin kaikkea sekaisin. Muisteloista meidän kaikkien upeimmasta työpaikasta ei meinannut tulla loppua, mutta kaikki hyvä loppuu aikanaan. Oli ihana nähdä kaikki eikä mikään ollut muuttunut. Näkemisiin tammikuussa ladyt.    

Noustessani seisomaan lähteäkseni taxiin oli Oscar puutunut.

Med anledning av Thomas Bodström skrev detta på hans blogg skickade jag frågan vidare till moderaterna och SR och se ifall det har något att säga om det.

Emailet såg ut enligt följande.

———————

(Till lyssnarservice@sr.se , info@moderat.se )

Hejsan.

Jag läste detta på Thomas Bodströms blogg idag.

måndag 23 november 2009

regeringen styr media

Olika ministrar har under mandatperioden vid åtskilliga tillfällen krävt att få sitta ensam i TV- och radiostudior i stället för att ta debatter. Nu har man förfinat strategin med att ange konkreta exempel för sin strategi. Bara igår visade det sig vid två tillfällen.

I går morse hölls i P1 morgon en debatt om ungdomars påföljdssystem och kommunernas ansvar för det. Asks pressekreterare försökte få det till att vi och regeringen tyckte lika i den här frågan, varför det var onödigt att jag skulle vara med. Ganska festligt med tanke på att det är helt fel. P1 morgon gick inte heller på det.

Värre var det med Studio Ett. I går eftermiddag krävde Tobias Billström att han skulle få sitta ensam i studion när frågan om de utvisade egyptierna skulle diskuteras. Eftersom regeringens beslut innehöll sekretess ställde han ulitmatumet att ingen från oppositionen skulle få vara med. Vi andra skulle i stället buntas ihop i en debatt efteråt. Att jag har exakt samma situation som Billström – med dessutom exakt samma uppgifter som var sekretessbelagda för vårt beslut – brydde sig producenten Li Hellström inte om.

Efter att Tobias Billström lyckats få genom sitt ultimatum att inte ha någon från oppositionen med, utnyttjade han naturligtvis situationen och anklagade den tidigare regeringen med personangrepp på mig. Eftersom Studio Ett hade vikt sig för regeringens krav fick vi ingen möjlighet att försvara oss.

Visst förstår vi alla hur nöjd en producent kan vara över att få dit en minister som sällan vill ställa upp när det är besvärligt. Men är det verkligen värt det med tanke på att man låter sig styras av regeringen? Jag undrar hur det känns att jobba på Sveriges Radio med ett program som igår, när man så ensidigt gynnar det ena av två regeringsalternativ tio månader före valet. Och vet Mats Svegfors över huvud taget om att det sker sådana här saker på en samhällsredaktion på Sveriges Radio? Det vore intressant att höra om han tycker att det här är acceptabelt.

http://www.bodstromsamhallet.se/2009/11/regeringen-styr-media.html#comments

Stämmer hans beskrivning av detta ? Vad har ni för synpunkter på detta ?

Skickar detta till både SR och Moderaterna. Eventuella Svar lägger jag upp på min blogg. Tacksam för svar.

essbeck

MedieAkademin har på ett seminarium idag presenterat resultaten för sin förtroendebarometer år 2009 (se 1, 2, 3). I topp hittar vi vanlig ordning Sveriges Radio, IKEA och Sveriges Television. Men barometern bjuder också på en del förändringar sedan tidigare år. Jämfört med år 2008 har har storföretagen tappat från 39 % mycket/ganska stort förtroende till 27 %, och Socialdemokraterna från 36 % till 26 %. Samtidigt har Moderaterna ökat från 29 % till 40 %.

Mer information om själva mätningen, samt den kompletta listan, finner ni här. Tidigare mätningar här. Jag har även försökt sätta ihop en bild av .pdf-dokumentet med den kompletta listan för de som bara är intresserade av själva resultaten (siffrorna anger som sagt hur stor andel i procent stort eller ganska stort förtroende det fanns bland de tillfrågade):

Simon Hedlin Larsson

Quase tão útil como o cachecol são camisolas ou casacos com “tecido extra” . Tenho várias mas os melhores exemplos são estes:

:

• Zara
• Dá para usar de várias formas diferentes
• Excelente para difarçar

En person är arg som en tjur på väg till slakt. Hon har fått sin son och sin man massakrerad.  Hon ger en känd politiker skulden, yvigt och i affekt. Det är långt ifrån säkert att politikern har något att göra med frågan, den om massakern kunde ha stoppats. Det är förmodligen osannolikt. Men många tror att han kunde gripa in. Är det rätt att publicera vreden? 

Svaret är att vissa redaktioner verkar låta det bero på i vilket land politikern verkar och vilken position han har.

Enligt SR:s utrikeskorre Maria Persson Löfgren finns idag en stor upprördhet över Carl Bildts agerande under perioden före massakern i Srebenica i forna Jugoslavien.  Han var nämligen EU:s sändebud på Balkan på 90-talet.

Men SR stoppade reportaget. Låg kvalitet på grund av ensidighet var orsaken. Hade den folkliga ilskan gällt Putin, Bush eller kanske Chavez, hade vi antagligen fått höra gräsrötternas klagan. I korrespondentens krönika ges den svenska lagom-mentaliteten skulden.

Jag tror att inte svensk mentalitet är en orsak. Mer handlar det om att Carl Bildt är en inflytelserik person i Sverige, på sätt och vis även över SR, medan Putins makt över P1 är imponerande som en jolle i Östersjön. Det är troligen därför det är ok att låta folk  hata Putin hejvilt, medan bosniern på gatan inte tillåts anklaga Carl Bildt medskyldig till folkmord.  

Läs SR-reporterns krönika i Kommunalarbetaren

Hör inslaget i Medierna

Att skapa spinn med ett videoklipp är naturligtvis helt perfekt som alternativ till dyra billboard- och tv-kampanjer. Ibland kan det vara riktigt skoj också, som när Comhem tar ett metagrepp på viral marknadsföring och gör en egen kavalkad som hyllar några av de mest spridda youtubefilmerna.

Radiotjänsts grepp, där människor inbjuds göra egna små överlastade hyllningsfilmer till sig själva, underförstått för att de bidrar till public service genom att betala tv-avgiften, är i sig smått genialiskt. Det blir snyggt, det är välgjort, naturligtvis kan man inte motstå att tanka upp en bild på Oskar Dirlewanger istället för sig själv (Hitler är alldeles för förutsägbart), osv.

Men. Det går inte att komma ifrån att det kvinnan i filmen faktiskt säger passar bättre in i den ironiska formen än Radiotjänst kanske menat.

Jag har inget emot tv-avgiften eller licensfinansierad tv och radio. Tv finansierad med avgifter (vare sig det är public service eller kabel) är bättre än reklamfinansierad tv eftersom de som gör programmen slipper ha en relation till annonsörer. Det är ganska enkelt, och det är anledningen till att BBC gör bättre dokumentärer än TV3 och HBO bättre drama än Fox.

Vad som däremot är otroligt irriterande är att SVT fått för sig att de är oberoende. Det är skitsnack, de står inte i beroende till annonsörer (även om det är en glidande skala så fort det sänds direkt från idrottsevenemang), men har ett avtal med staten som ofta tolkas otroligt ängsligt av etermediabyråkrater som inte ser en fällning i radionämnden som ett kvalitetsbetyg utan som ett personligt nederlag.

Vad är det damen i filmen säger? Hur kan vi lita på att det vi ser på tv är sant? Hur vet vi att våra åsikter är våra egna? Hur kan vi vara säkra på att de svaga rösterna kommer till tals?

Genom att sätta vår tillit till SVT och Sveriges Radio? Skulle inte tro det. Pröva att ha en avvikande åsikt om något ämne riksdagen bestämt är narkotika, till exempel. Och hur kommer för övrigt “de svaga rösterna” till tals när SVT tar in allt mer personal via bemanningsföretag, och därmed smiter från personalansvaret? Lönerna ska vi inte tala om.

Public service värd namnet skulle fortfarande vara licensfinansierad, men fullständigt frikopplad från staten. Och ta in licenspengarna på annat vis än genom hycklande reklamfilmer.

Mer om SVT, SR, Radionämnden, Radiotjänst, Oskar Dirlewanger, Adolf Hitler, Public service

The latest from KSI, They’re bribing people to joining the news team and offering them “Ranks” if they join. That’s such a shame.

You know, Here’s the thing I’ve come to realize. The Senior Leader rank really holds no power anymore. Neither does the director rank. Why? Because they offer these ranks out like it’s free popcorn. The more you give the ranks away, The less importance it has, and the Less people feel the need to work hard for it because they have the mindset of “Oh, He got it for doing almost nothing, maybe I can be lazy and get it for almost no work as well” and it hurts the community.

Oh well, I’ll get over it.
Koda

Tim Matts over at his beautiful ecocritical, ecophilosophy blog, Violent Signs, has some updates on the RealPolitik involved in the positioning of SRism, Harmanism and the various splintering pieces of the imagined movement. He focuses on the disseminating instrument - the  ”Collapse” journal - and the coming and anticipated for eco-criticialists, Geo/Philosophy issue Collapse VI. It seems that in the editorial offices there is some worry that the journal will be swallowed up by this emerging Leviathan, ever mutating in its countless discoorinated hydra-heads. Can Collapse stand apart from this growing tide of commercialized thought, can it negotiate the path between meme-like viral fields condensing the aether into impromptu orthodoxy, and the possible failure to hook onto the Next Great Thing?:

Having recently spoken with editor Robin Mackay about the new volume, I can confirm that it is still in preparation, but an announcement will be made soon and advance orders will be possible at that time. Arriving some time in December, “late contributors and general perfectionism have held up publication…” Perhaps more interestingly, Mackay expressed concern over the journal’s affiliation with the latest philosophical trend, stating that “it’s not really centred on ‘SR/OOO’, indeed I’d be happy to distance Collapse from this apparent new orthodoxy!”

It seems that Tim jumped the gun in letting this “distancing” move of the journal out of the bag, and in doing so crossed the no-email-without-permission line that we find to be sacred. Tim felt that this was in good spirits and constructive, an interesting ethical topic in its own right, perhaps to be revisited. Its good to also post the “urbanomic” response, which does not refuse that such a distancing move is necessary, but that it needs to be clarified:

Hi Tim, to clarify – since you’re publicly quoting me from a hurried email response! – it’s not a matter of distancing Collapse from SR/OOO specifically – Rather, from the start the aim of Collapse was to avoid being associated with any philosophical ’school’, and to defy the tendency of philosophers to become jealous partisans of some particular camp or other and to spend their time defining and defending it; both by publishing important philosophical work that doesn’t fit into recognised academic categories – this was the reason for publishing Meillassoux et al in the first place – and by integrating work from outside philosophy.

Although this has always explicitly been its agenda, Collapse has inevitably been characterised in various places as being the ‘official journal of SR’ and suchlike, and even criticised for wavering from ‘real SR’. Whilst I’m more than happy with the association and with playing a part in disseminating that work, I don’t want readers to expect each volume to be some sort of ‘SR update’ and then to be disappointed. That’s why I mentioned it to you, since you were talking about reviewing the new volume as part of an overview of SR/OOO: Collapse played its part, but blogs and other publications will provide a much better overview of the current state of these developments.

I do think that we shouldn’t lose what’s important – the specificity and heterogeneity of each thinker’s work – in the excitement of a ‘next big thing’ and in the drive to determine affiliations and mark out territories.

Wrt your previous post, contrary to appearances, vol. 3 is in fact the best introduction, since it includes the full transcript of the original SR conference (year zero!)

And finally, one of the contributors to the ‘geophilosophy’ volume is Tim Morton, who you also discuss below (’speculative-realist-ecodeconstructionism’ set to become the next ‘next big thing?’

I’m not a great reader of Collapse (it was the home of Harman’s much discussed theory of Causation), but the coming issue certainly does strike a chord of interest, and Tim does a very nice job giving the context of the subject matter. For those of us interested in the local ethic which SR/OOP proliferation involves, the question of what substantive effect this loose theorizing and cadre-building (in particular the Harman/Levi variety) is having upon blogged philosophy, this new Orthodoxy associated chill is perhaps of abiding interest. In this way, as urbanomic says, if Collapse is an “SR update” I’m really not interested in reading it (though perhaps many people will be). Hopefully there will be other, more diverse ideas  involved. From the subject so described, I would have loved to have written on it.

Plus, I look forward to Tim’s promised comments on the question of Orientalization, either in Harman’s thinking (where it runs rampant) or in terms of ecophilosophy.

This past Monday, Brandon, Nik and myself got dirty.

We did actually do some work too…

This is not a truck.

Tie down straps are overrated anyway.

He’s scheduled to appear on America’s Next Top Model 2010!

Poop.

Sofie har pratat om asexualitet i Christer i P3, lyssna gärna på intervjun här.

Jag tänkte prata om reaktioner, för det är ju en av sakerna vi skall göra enligt bloggens första inlägg. Många tycker att det är konstigt, eller så tror de mig helt enkelt inte. Men det är inte alltid så! Absolut inte! Jag har jättefina “supporters”, typ Arla, och jag är jätteglad att jag har dem. Det är viktigt att bli förstådd och att inte vara freaket i sällskapet, så att jag kan umgås även med folk som inte är asexuella. Jag umgås gärna med asexuella, det blir en speciell gemenskap och när det pratas om sex så är utgångspunkten och perspektivet ett helt annat än i andra grupper, men vi finns inte i överflöd.

Jag får höra en del som påstår att jag visst är sexuell, vilket inte är särskilt kul eftersom de på något sätt omyndighetsförklarar mig när de säger att jag inte kan definera mig själv, men många hanterar min läggning som vilken annan som helst. Oproblematiskt. Tack!

Jag är inte en hel människa om jag inte känner mig välkommen med min identitet hos mina närmaste.

Mikusagi

It’s been a while since we visited some worthwhile cover songs…

In honor of our new CD, How We Prospered, I thought it fitting to take a look at this little gem of the classic country world, Ramblin’ Man.

It was written by Hank Williams Sr. in 1951 as a B-side, and tells the tale of a man doomed to his rambling soul, destined to break his lover’s heart.

Let’s hear the original:

Of course, by law, all the Hanks have taken their turn with the song…

Now, I’m not fond of Hank Jr. He’s a part of what’s wrong with country music today; he helped usher in the new era of Nashville-Pop littering the airwaves, giving true country a bad name.

But it’s his birthright to sing the song, so here it is:

Okay, take a breath. Try to forget about that strange sax interlude.

Our reward for the existance of Hank Jr…?

Hank the Third…Here’s his version, performed with the Melvins:

Much better.

The most recent cover released into the wild, of course, is by Strawfoot, on our newest CD, How We Prospered.

We tried to respect the original, while staying true to our sound, and this is what we ended up with. I think we did it justice. Ole’ Hank hain’t rolling over in his grave, at least.

Personally, I’m of the belief that nothing beats the original…but as they say, variety is the spice of life…