Imagine a dream bucket list filled with exciting adventures and unforgettable experiences that most people want to check off. This ultimate list might include visiting stunning beaches, exploring ancient ruins of historic civilizations, going on thrilling safaris, taking a hot air balloon ride, learning to surf, hiking to breathtaking mountain summits or experiencing local cultures through vibrant festivals. Now, imagine experiencing all these dream adventures in one incredible destination like Coffs Harbour. This coastal gem in Australia offers stunning beaches where you can relax and unwind. Explore Coffs harbor with Coffs harbor cruises, the nearby ancient rainforest and discover indigenous culture. The place has a variety of landscapes and fun things to do, making it perfect for checking off your dream bucket list!
What Are the Main Attractions of Coff Harbour?
Coffs Harbour, nestled on the east coast of Australia, have a myriad of attractions that draw visitors from all over the world. In fact, Coffs harbor sightseeing is like a literal representation of a fancy travel brochure! One of its iconic landmarks is the Big Banana, a giant sculpture that symbolizes the region's heritage in agriculture, particularly its history of banana farming. The Big Banana has become a popular tourist attraction, drawing visitors of all ages to explore the Big Banana Fun Park located nearby. There's an ice skating rink where you can glide across the ice, a thrilling water park with slides and splash zones for cooling off, and even a giant slide that promises an exhilarating ride. The park offers a blend of adventure and fun suitable for families and thrill-seekers alike. It's a must-visit spot for anyone exploring this coastal town in New South Wales, offering a fun-filled experience and a chance to learn about the region's agricultural heritage.
Coffs harbor sightseeing extends beyond just words if you are a nature lover or an outdoor enthusiast. If you enjoy marine life and snorkeling, the Solitary Islands Marine Park is a must-visit spot. This protected area is filled with diverse marine species, making it ideal for underwater exploration. For those who prefer lush rainforests and scenic hiking trails, Dorrigo National Park is the place to be. The park features stunning waterfalls and offers picturesque hikes like the Skywalk, where you can admire the canopy from above. Coffs Harbour is also famous for its beautiful beaches. Jetty Beach is perfect for swimming and surfing, while Park Beach offers scenic picnic spots and interesting rock pools to explore. If you're into birdwatching and panoramic coastal views, don't miss Muttonbird Island Nature Reserve. To immerse yourself in the local culture, visit the Coffs Harbour Jetty Markets, where you can browse local arts, crafts, and fresh produce. Throughout the year, the city hosts various events and festivals that celebrate its rich heritage and community spirit.
The Famous Coffs Harbor Cruises
You should know that one of the best things about Coffs Harbour is its stunning coastline along the beautiful Coff Harbour waters. Here, you have the option to take a walk along the beach or hike up the island for amazing views of the coast and surrounding areas. However, choosing the Coffs harbor cruises will do wonders to your adventure, truly! These cruises take you out onto the water to see dolphins, whales (during certain times of the year), and other marine life. It's an exciting opportunity to get up close to nature and enjoy the ocean views.
A Small Coastal Town For Huge Adventures!
There's so much to discover and enjoy in this beautiful coastal town! Each year, Coffs Harbour attracts thousands of tourists seeking its natural beauty and adventure. The peak tourist season is during summer (December to February) when the weather is warm and perfect for outdoor activities. However, Coffs Harbour enjoys a mild climate year-round, making it a great spot for travel enthusiasts at any time.
With its mix of outdoor adventures, cultural sites, and scenic beauty, Coffs Harbour is indeed a dream destination for those who love exploring a variety of landscapes and experiencing new activities in a relaxed coastal setting!

YŪREI CHRONICLES [ 幽霊クロニクルズ ]
Tales of Japanese Horror [ 日本のホラーの物語 ]
By: Seph Cruz [ 投稿者: セフ・クルーズ ]
CONTENTS [ コンテンツ ]
Preface [ はじめに ]
Chapter 1: The Cursed Scroll [ 第 1 章: 呪われた巻物 ]
Chapter 2: The Shrine in the Shadows [ 第 2 章: 影の神殿 ]
Chapter 3: The Haunting of the Geisha [ 第 3 章: 芸者の幽霊 ]
Chapter 4: The Onryo's Revenge [ 第 4 章: 怨霊の復讐 ]
Chapter 5: The Dollmaker's Curse [ 第 5 章: 人形師の呪い ]
Chapter 6: The Shadow in the Forest [ 第 6 章: 森の影 ] Chapter 7: The Haunting of the Yūrei Inn [ 第 7 章: 幽霊旅館の幽霊 ]
Chapter 8: The Curse of the Haunted Kimono [ 第 8 章: 幽霊着物の呪い ]
Chapter 9: The Mirror's Malevolence [ 第 9 章: 鏡の悪意 ]
Chapter 10: The Bridge to the Beyond [ 第 10 章: 彼方への架け橋 ]

 "Yūrei Chronicles: Tales of Japanese Horror" 

Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
In the heart of Kyoto, where history whispered through the ancient streets, there existed an antique bookstore known only to those who sought the rarest of tomes. Nestled among centuries-old texts and dusty manuscripts, a forbidden scroll lay hidden, waiting for an unwitting soul to stumble upon its chilling secrets.
Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
The quaint, dimly lit bookstore was a treasure trove of the past. Intricate calligraphy adorned scrolls, while faded ink whispered stories of long-forgotten samurai and mystical creatures. Among these relics of history, one scroll remained elusive, concealed behind a glass case. Its dark, ornate cover bore no title, and its presence seemed to beckon.
Haruki, a young scholar with a fascination for the occult, visited the bookstore one rainy afternoon. His curiosity led him to inquire about the enigmatic scroll. The elderly shopkeeper, Mr. Tanaka, peered at him with a knowing look, cautioning him about the scroll's malevolent reputation.
"Many have sought to uncover its secrets," Mr. Tanaka said, his voice trembling with age, "but few have lived to tell the tale."
Haruki, undeterred by the ominous warning, insisted on examining the scroll. Mr. Tanaka, sensing the scholar's determination, reluctantly unlocked the glass case. As Haruki unrolled the ancient parchment, he saw that it was filled with intricate symbols and incantations, written in a language he could barely comprehend.
For days, Haruki delved into the scroll's mysteries. His sleepless nights were filled with whispers from unseen forces, and chilling drafts seemed to haunt his small apartment. Yet, he pressed on, believing that the scroll held untold knowledge and power.
One fateful night, as a full moon cast eerie shadows across his cluttered study, Haruki recited an incantation from the scroll. The room grew icy cold, and an otherworldly presence enveloped him. A mournful wail echoed through the room, and Haruki's heart raced as he beheld the apparition before him.
A yūrei, its long, disheveled hair obscuring its gaunt face, hovered in the air, its eyes filled with anguish and rage. It reached out bony, pale fingers toward Haruki, its spectral form translucent yet undeniably real.
In that moment, Haruki realized the scroll's true nature – a curse that summoned vengeful spirits to torment the living. He had unwittingly invited the yūrei into his world, and now, it sought retribution for its suffering.
The scholar's life turned into a nightmare as the vengeful spirit haunted his every waking moment. His research became an obsession to find a way to pacify the yūrei and lift the curse. With each passing day, Haruki's health deteriorated, his body and mind succumbing to the relentless torment.
Desperate, he sought the guidance of a renowned exorcist, who revealed a grim truth. The only way to break the curse was to discover the scroll's origins and offer the yūrei the peace it so desperately sought.
As Haruki ventured deeper into the scroll's history, he uncovered a tale of betrayal and tragedy that spanned centuries. With newfound knowledge and a heavy heart, he prepared to confront the vengeful yūrei and set things right.
In a chilling confrontation between the living and the dead, Haruki faced the spirit, offering it the closure it craved. As the yūrei dissipated into the ether, its mournful wail echoed one last time, fading into the night.
Haruki emerged from the ordeal forever changed, carrying the weight of the scroll's curse as a cautionary tale. The forbidden knowledge he had sought had come at a great cost, a reminder that some mysteries should remain hidden, and some curses should never be invoked.
As the sun rose over Kyoto, the antique bookstore remained shrouded in an eerie silence, and the cursed scroll returned to its cryptic slumber, waiting for the next unwitting soul to unlock its dreadful secrets.
End of Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
In the heart of a tranquil Japanese village, nestled among ancient forests, stood a centuries-old Shinto shrine, known to few but revered by all. This sacred place held an eerie secret, hidden in the shadows of its past.
Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
The village of Mizuki was picturesque, surrounded by dense woods and the whispers of rustling leaves. Its most treasured gem was the Shōrin Shrine, a sanctuary dedicated to the worship of the kami, where the villagers paid homage with heartfelt prayers and offerings.
On a bright spring morning, the Hayashi family moved into a charming house near the shrine. Yuko, a spirited young girl with inquisitive eyes, was enchanted by the quaint beauty of Mizuki and the mystique of the Shōrin Shrine. Her parents, Masato and Yuki, hoped the peaceful village would offer respite from the bustling city.
Their first evening in Mizuki was serene, and the family felt blessed to live in such an idyllic place. As night descended, they heard a faint melody echoing through the forest—a haunting tune played on a traditional shamisen. Yuko, drawn by curiosity, followed the eerie melody to the shrine.
At the shrine's entrance, she saw a flicker of movement among the trees and bushes. As her eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight, she gasped in awe and terror. There, bathed in an ethereal glow, stood a beautiful woman dressed in a white kimono, her long hair cascading like an ebony waterfall.
The woman's face bore an expression of immense sorrow, and her eyes seemed to pierce Yuko's very soul. In her delicate, spectral hands, she held a shamisen, its strings plucked by fingers that had long since turned to mist.
"Who are you?" Yuko asked, her voice quivering.
The apparition gazed at Yuko with an inscrutable sadness and whispered, "My name is Hana. I have been bound to this shrine for centuries, waiting for someone to hear my song."
Hana's story unraveled like a tragic tapestry before Yuko. She had once been a young woman in love with a humble fisherman from Mizuki. Their love was forbidden, and when their secret was discovered, they met a tragic end at the hands of the villagers.
As she spoke, the melody of her shamisen became more mournful, and the trees seemed to weep in sympathy. Hana's spirit, bound to the shrine, could only find solace by sharing her story with the living.
Yuko, moved by Hana's tale, felt a deep connection to the ghostly figure. She promised to help Hana find peace and bring her story to light. Together, they would uncover the truth behind the tragic love story that had ensnared the shrine for centuries.
As Yuko delved into the village's history, she uncovered hidden documents and ancient scrolls that confirmed Hana's story. The injustice done to Hana and her beloved was a blot on the village's past, a truth that had been concealed for generations.
With newfound determination, Yuko rallied the villagers to acknowledge the village's dark history and to seek forgiveness for the sins of the past. In a moving ceremony at the Shōrin Shrine, the villagers offered their prayers, and Hana's spirit was finally set free.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Mizuki in golden light, Hana's ethereal form dissolved into a wisp of gratitude and serenity. The shrine, once shadowed by sorrow, now radiated with newfound peace.
"The Shrine in the Shadows" became a tale passed down through generations, a reminder that love and forgiveness could transcend even the darkest of curses. Mizuki continued to flourish, its shrine standing as a testament to the enduring power of redemption.
End of Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
In the vibrant streets of 19th-century Tokyo, beneath the shimmering lanterns and behind the delicate allure of geisha, a haunting presence lurked—a presence that would forever change the life of a celebrated geisha named Kaede.
Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
In the heart of Tokyo's historic Yoshiwara district, Kaede was renowned as one of the most captivating and skilled geisha. Her beauty was ethereal, her dances mesmerizing, and her laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes. But beneath her porcelain makeup and the grace of her performances lay a heart heavy with secrets.
One cool autumn evening, as the lanterns cast their warm glow on the district, a newcomer arrived at the teahouse where Kaede performed. His name was Kaito, a handsome and enigmatic man with piercing eyes that seemed to see beyond the facade of the geisha. Kaede's heart quickened as their eyes met, and she felt a connection she had never experienced before.
As weeks turned into months, Kaede and Kaito's bond deepened, their love blossoming like the cherry blossoms in spring. But their love was a forbidden one, as Kaito was a samurai, and their worlds were as different as night and day.
One fateful night, Kaito revealed a dangerous secret to Kaede—he was involved in a plot against a powerful daimyo who ruled with cruelty and oppression. Kaito believed that by exposing the daimyo's corruption, he could bring justice to the people. He asked for Kaede's assistance in gathering information from the teahouse's influential patrons.
Reluctantly, Kaede agreed, and together, they embarked on a treacherous path filled with deceit and danger. As the days passed, they uncovered dark secrets that could expose the daimyo's crimes. However, their actions did not go unnoticed.
One evening, as Kaede performed for a gathering of influential men, a sinister figure appeared in the shadows. It was the vengeful spirit of a geisha named Akiko, who had perished in Yoshiwara under tragic circumstances. Her ghostly form was veiled in a blood-red kimono, and her eyes burned with malevolence.
Akiko's haunting began subtly—a chill in the air, whispers of despair, and a feeling of dread that hung over the teahouse like a shroud. Kaede, sensing the supernatural presence, knew that they had awakened a vengeful spirit.
Desperate to protect Kaede, Kaito sought the guidance of a local exorcist, who revealed the tragic story of Akiko. She had been a geisha in love with a samurai, but their forbidden love had led to betrayal and death. Her restless spirit sought vengeance on those who dared to love across societal boundaries.
With the exorcist's help, Kaito and Kaede embarked on a perilous journey to confront Akiko's spirit and offer her the peace she so desperately sought. In a climactic showdown, they faced the vengeful geisha, revealing the truth behind her betrayal and death.
As the first light of dawn bathed the Yoshiwara district, Akiko's spirit dissipated, her eyes filled with sorrow and resignation. The curse she had cast upon the teahouse lifted, and peace returned to the district.
Kaede and Kaito's love story continued, forever marked by the supernatural forces they had encountered. The teahouse thrived once more, its lanterns casting their warm glow over the enchanting district, where love knew no boundaries and forgiveness transcended even death.
"The Haunting of the Geisha" became a legend whispered among geisha in Yoshiwara, a testament to the enduring power of love and the consequences of forbidden desires in the mysterious world of Edo-era Tokyo.
End of Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
In the heart of a decaying city, where abandoned buildings stood as silent witnesses to forgotten tragedies, a group of urban explorers would stumble upon a place where the restless dead held their sinister dominion.
Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
The city of Kurayami had fallen into disrepair, its once-thriving industries crumbling, and its streets echoing with the memories of better days. Among its many derelict structures was the forsaken Kurayami Hospital, a place whispered about only in fearful tales.
Rumors spoke of a curse that had befallen the hospital after a gruesome series of medical experiments in the early 20th century. Patients had been subjected to horrific procedures, and their agonized cries still seemed to reverberate through the corridors.
A group of urban explorers, lured by the thrill of the forbidden and the allure of the macabre, set their sights on Kurayami Hospital. Among them was Hiroshi, the group's leader, and Yumi, a budding photographer with an affinity for capturing the eerie beauty of abandoned places.
As the explorers entered the hospital's crumbling entrance, they were greeted by the musty scent of decay and the eerie silence of long-abandoned hallways. Shadows danced in the dim light as they ventured deeper into the forsaken building, their footsteps echoing like distant whispers.
The group's excitement turned to unease as they encountered signs of the hospital's dark past—rusty surgical instruments, bloodstained gurneys, and cryptic medical notes. Yumi's camera captured it all, each photograph revealing more about the hospital's gruesome history.
As night fell, the explorers gathered in the hospital's decrepit lobby, their flashlights casting trembling beams into the darkness. It was then that they heard it—a faint, mournful wail, like the keening of a soul in torment.
Hiroshi, the group's fearless leader, brushed off their concerns, attributing the sound to the wind or their imagination. But the cries grew louder and more anguished, echoing through the halls.
The group became separated as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors. Yumi, camera in hand, wandered into the hospital's disused psychiatric ward. There, in a shadowed corner, she saw her camera's flash reveal a horrifying apparition—an onryo, a vengeful spirit with long, disheveled hair and eyes filled with hatred.
The onryo's spectral form contorted with rage as it approached Yumi. Its icy fingers reached out, and she felt an otherworldly coldness pierce her very soul. She knew that this was the spirit of a patient who had suffered unimaginable horrors in the hospital.
As Yumi's companions searched for her, they stumbled upon the onryo's lair and witnessed the terrifying encounter. In a desperate bid to save Yumi, they searched for a way to pacify the vengeful spirit.
Through a combination of research and communication with a local historian, they learned the full extent of the hospital's atrocities. Armed with this knowledge, they returned to the onryo's domain to confront the spirit and offer it the peace it had been denied for so long.
In a climactic showdown, the group faced the onryo, revealing the hospital's dark secrets and acknowledging the suffering of the tormented souls within. With profound remorse, they begged for forgiveness on behalf of those who had perpetrated the atrocities.
As the first rays of dawn broke over Kurayami, the onryo's anguished wails transformed into a mournful sigh. The spirit, its wrath finally quelled, dissipated into the ether, leaving behind a sense of profound sadness and closure.
The group of urban explorers emerged from Kurayami Hospital, forever changed by their encounter with the supernatural. They had confronted the past and offered redemption to the restless dead, leaving the decaying city with a newfound sense of hope.
"The Onryo's Revenge" became a cautionary tale among urban explorers, a reminder that some places are best left undisturbed, and that the past, no matter how dark, can be confronted and reconciled.
End of Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
In a remote mountain village, nestled among mist-shrouded peaks, a master dollmaker crafted exquisite creations that captured the hearts of collectors worldwide. Yet, within her secluded workshop, a malevolent force lurked—one that would ensnare a curious journalist in a nightmarish world of living dolls and dark secrets.
Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
Hidden away in the secluded village of Ichiban, known only to those who ventured deep into the mountains, lived a master dollmaker named Ai. Her dolls were celebrated for their lifelike beauty and craftsmanship, with collectors from distant lands coveting her creations.
One brisk autumn morning, a journalist named Keiko received a cryptic letter from a source in Ichiban, hinting at a sinister mystery surrounding Ai's dolls. Intrigued by the enigmatic message, Keiko embarked on a journey to the remote village, determined to uncover the truth.
Ichiban was a place untouched by time, its cobblestone streets winding through dense forests and past centuries-old homes. The village exuded an eerie tranquility, and the locals spoke in hushed tones about Ai's dolls, rumored to be infused with a piece of the human soul.
Upon reaching Ai's workshop, Keiko was greeted by the dollmaker herself, a woman of grace and poise. The workshop was a treasure trove of exquisite dolls, their eyes seeming to follow Keiko's every move. Among them, a particular doll known as Hikari stood out—a hauntingly beautiful creation with ebony hair and obsidian eyes.
As Keiko delved deeper into the village's mysteries, she discovered that Hikari was believed to house the soul of a deceased child, a belief held by both Ai and the villagers. The doll's unsettling presence and the uncanny resemblance it bore to a girl named Mei, who had died tragically years ago, sent shivers down Keiko's spine.
Keiko's nights in Ichiban were filled with restless dreams of porcelain dolls that came to life. In these dreams, Hikari beckoned her to uncover the truth behind the dollmaker's creations. Guided by an inexplicable compulsion, Keiko embarked on a quest to unearth the dark secrets hidden within Ai's workshop.
As Keiko investigated further, she uncovered Ai's own tragic past—a story of unrequited love, loss, and a desperate desire to capture the essence of the human soul in her dolls. With each revelation, the line between the living and the lifeless blurred, and Keiko felt herself becoming entangled in a nightmarish world.
The dolls that had once been works of art now seemed to harbor malevolence. They moved of their own accord, their eyes filled with an eerie, lifelike intensity. Keiko realized that Ai's obsession had bound her to a sinister force, and her creations hungered for more than just existence.
In a chilling climax, Keiko confronted Ai and the curse that had gripped her creations. Together, they sought to break the curse's hold and release the trapped souls within the dolls.
As the moon hung low in the night sky, Ai performed a solemn ritual, guided by the spirit of Mei, whose essence had been captured in Hikari. The dolls, imbued with a restless energy, gathered around, their haunting eyes watching as the curse was lifted.
With a mournful sigh, the dolls' porcelain features softened, and their malevolence dissipated. The spirit of Mei was set free, and the dolls became lifeless once more, their beauty preserved in eternal stillness.
Ichiban returned to its peaceful slumber, and Keiko departed with a newfound appreciation for the power of art and the depths of human longing. The village's haunting tale of the dollmaker's curse served as a reminder that some obsessions could lead to the creation of something far more sinister than art itself.
End of Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
In a land steeped in history and tradition, the Aokigahara Forest, known as the "Suicide Forest," concealed a dark secret. Within its dense, ancient foliage, a group of hikers would embark on a journey that would lead them into the heart of a malevolent force.
Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
Deep within the prefecture of Yamanashi, shrouded in a perpetual mist, lay the infamous Aokigahara Forest—an expanse of ancient woodland that held a dark reputation. Known as the "Suicide Forest," it had been a site of countless tragic deaths throughout the centuries.
A group of adventurous hikers, seeking to conquer the wilderness and challenge the forest's ominous legends, gathered on a chilly autumn morning. Among them was Akira, an experienced guide with a deep respect for the forest's history, and Yumi, a young woman in search of adventure and solace from her own troubled past.
The hikers ventured deep into the forest, their footsteps muffled by the thick blanket of moss and fallen leaves. The dense canopy above cast eerie shadows, and the trees seemed to whisper secrets of sorrow and despair.
As they trekked further into the woods, they began to notice strange occurrences—a disconcerting sense of being watched, distant whispers on the wind, and ghostly apparitions that flickered at the edge of their vision. Akira, the guide, attributed these phenomena to the forest's ominous reputation and urged the group to press on.
Yet, the forest's grip on their minds and senses tightened. Yumi, in particular, felt a strange connection to the haunting forces that seemed to lurk behind every tree. Inexplicable visions of tragedy and despair flashed before her eyes, and a sense of overwhelming dread enveloped her.
Night descended on the forest, and the hikers set up camp, their flickering campfire offering the only semblance of comfort in the oppressive darkness. It was then that Yumi encountered a spectral figure—a yūrei, her kimono tattered and her eyes empty voids.
The yūrei beckoned to Yumi, her voice a mournful echo. Unable to resist, Yumi followed the apparition into the depths of the forest, her companions unaware of her disappearance. The yūrei led her to a clearing where an ancient tree stood, its gnarled roots forming a grotesque face.
As Yumi approached the tree, she felt a malevolent presence—an ancient spirit of the forest itself. It spoke to her, revealing the tragic history of Aokigahara—the place where those who had lost hope sought refuge in death.
Yumi learned of the forest's vengeful guardian, a yūrei born of countless lost souls, whose suffering fueled its malevolence. It was the embodiment of the forest's sorrow, forever bound to torment those who ventured within.
Realizing that Yumi was now connected to the yūrei, her companions embarked on a desperate search to rescue her from the forest's clutches. With the guidance of Akira's knowledge and determination, they confronted the vengeful spirit, revealing the pain of their own pasts and the impact of their actions on the world around them.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Aokigahara in a pale light, the yūrei's malevolence waned, and its grip on Yumi loosened. With a final sigh, it dissipated into the morning mist, its haunting presence released from the forest.
Yumi was reunited with her companions, forever changed by her encounter with the malevolent spirit of Aokigahara. The forest's ominous reputation remained, a reminder of the darkness that could consume those who dared to venture too close to its heart.
"The Shadow in the Forest" served as a chilling testament to the mysteries of Aokigahara, where the past and the present intertwined, and the boundaries between life and death blurred beneath the ancient canopy.
End of Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
In a remote village nestled among mist-covered mountains, a centuries-old inn held a sinister secret. When a weary traveler seeks refuge within its ancient walls, she becomes entangled in a web of supernatural mysteries that threaten to consume her soul.
Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
The village of Okuyama was a hidden gem, nestled among towering peaks and blanketed in mist. Within this secluded haven stood the Yurei Inn, a centuries-old establishment steeped in history and whispered legends. Its age-old charm masked a sinister truth—a haunting presence that had plagued the inn for generations.
Amidst a dense fog, a lone traveler named Rei arrived in Okuyama, weary and seeking shelter from the elements. The Yurei Inn, with its rustic charm and flickering lanterns, seemed like the perfect refuge. Little did Rei know that her stay at the inn would unravel the mysteries hidden within its ancient walls.
Upon her arrival, Rei was greeted by the inn's elderly proprietress, Eiko, a woman whose weathered features and deep knowledge of the village's history hinted at a deeper connection to the inn's haunting past.
As Rei settled into her room, the oppressive atmosphere within the inn became palpable. Shadows seemed to dance in the corners of her vision, and strange, ghostly whispers echoed in the corridors. Unbeknownst to her, Rei had become a pawn in a centuries-old battle between the inn and the vengeful spirits that resided within.
In the dead of night, Rei awoke to a chilling presence at her bedside—an ethereal yurei, her white burial kimono flowing like a spectral river. The vengeful spirit's eyes held an insatiable hunger, and she reached out to Rei, her fingers icy and skeletal.
Rei's nights became torment as she encountered more yurei within the inn, each with their own tragic stories of betrayal, injustice, and unfulfilled desires. The spirits sought vengeance, and Rei's presence within the inn had awakened their malevolence.
Desperate to uncover the inn's secrets and free herself from the spirits' relentless pursuit, Rei sought the guidance of Eiko. The elderly proprietress revealed the tragic history of the inn—an establishment built on the suffering of countless souls who had met their demise within its walls.
Eiko's own family had been entangled in the inn's dark legacy, and she bore the weight of their deeds. Together, Rei and Eiko embarked on a journey to confront the yurei and offer them redemption, hoping to break the cycle of suffering that had plagued the inn for centuries.
In a harrowing confrontation with the vengeful spirits, Rei and Eiko unveiled the truth behind the inn's cursed history and acknowledged the pain of the souls that had been wronged. With heartfelt apologies and rituals of atonement, they sought to release the spirits from their torment.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Okuyama in a golden light, the yurei's spectral forms dissolved into the ether, their eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and gratitude. The Yurei Inn, once a place of darkness, now held the promise of redemption.
Rei departed from Okuyama, forever marked by her encounter with the supernatural. The Yurei Inn, now cleansed of its malevolent spirits, stood as a testament to the power of reconciliation and the hope of breaking the chains of the past.
"The Haunting of the Yurei Inn" became a cautionary tale among villagers, a reminder that the sins of the past could be confronted and forgiven, even in the face of vengeful spirits.
End of Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
In the heart of Kyoto, where tradition and modernity intertwined, a family heirloom, an ancient kimono, carried a chilling curse that had plagued generations. A woman must delve into her family's history to uncover the origins of the curse and find a way to break it before it consumes her and her loved ones.
Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
Kyoto, the city of a thousand temples, was a place where time seemed to stand still. Among the historic districts, the Nakamura family had passed down a treasured heirloom for generations—an exquisite silk kimono adorned with intricate embroidery, a relic of a bygone era.
The kimono had always been a source of fascination and reverence within the Nakamura family. It was said to be imbued with mystical powers, protecting its wearer from harm and misfortune. But beneath its ornate beauty lay a dark secret—a curse that had haunted the family for centuries.
Emi, the youngest of the Nakamura family, had grown up hearing stories of the kimono's mystical properties and the curse that clung to it. When her grandmother passed away, leaving the kimono in her care, Emi became the latest custodian of this fabled garment.
As the years passed, strange occurrences began to plague Emi and her family. The kimono seemed to have a malevolent presence, causing nightmares, unexplained accidents, and a growing sense of dread. Emi's husband, Toshiro, and their young daughter, Yuki, bore the brunt of the curse's effects.
Desperate to protect her loved ones, Emi embarked on a quest to uncover the origins of the curse and find a way to break it. She delved into her family's history, poring over ancient scrolls and consulting with local priests and scholars.
Through her research, Emi learned of a tragic love story that had been concealed for generations—a forbidden romance between a Nakamura ancestor and a woman from a rival clan. The lovers had been torn apart by a vengeful spirit, and their love had been sealed within the cursed kimono.
With newfound determination, Emi sought out the help of a renowned exorcist, who revealed that the curse could only be broken by reconciling the spirits of the star-crossed lovers and offering them a chance at eternal peace.
Emi, Toshiro, and Yuki embarked on a journey to the ancestral shrine of the Nakamura family, where they conducted a solemn ritual to appease the vengeful spirits. As they offered their prayers and made heartfelt apologies on behalf of their ancestors, a profound sense of forgiveness washed over them.
In a climactic moment, the cursed kimono transformed, its once malevolent aura dissipating into the ether. The spirits of the star-crossed lovers, now free from their torment, appeared before Emi and her family, their eyes filled with gratitude.
As the cherry blossoms rained down upon Kyoto, Emi, Toshiro, and Yuki returned home with a newfound sense of peace and closure. The kimono, no longer cursed, became a symbol of their family's resilience and the enduring power of love and forgiveness.
"The Curse of the Haunted Kimono" served as a reminder that the sins of the past could be atoned for and that the bonds of love and family could transcend even the darkest of curses.
End of Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
In a quiet suburban neighborhood, an antique mirror with a sinister past found its way into the home of a young couple. As they unwittingly unleashed the malevolent spirit trapped within, they must confront the mirror's dark history to save themselves and their family.
Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
In a serene suburban neighborhood, where cherry blossoms bloomed with each passing spring, lived a young couple, Hiroshi and Aiko, who were enamored with the charm of their new home. They had recently moved into a quaint, old-fashioned house that came with a peculiar antique mirror.
The mirror was ornate and beautiful, its frame adorned with delicate carvings of cherry blossoms. It had been left behind by the previous owner, a recluse who had passed away under mysterious circumstances. Little did Hiroshi and Aiko know that this mirror carried a malevolent secret.
As they settled into their new home, strange occurrences began to unfold. Reflections in the mirror seemed to distort, showing glimpses of eerie, shadowy figures lurking in the background. At night, whispers filled the room as if unseen voices murmured from within the glass.
Aiko, with her fascination for the occult, was the first to sense the mirror's sinister aura. She delved into research, uncovering tales of a cursed mirror that had plagued the previous owner's family for generations.
The mirror had once belonged to a vengeful spirit, a yūrei who had perished in despair. Its malevolence was bound to the glass, and those who possessed it were tormented by the spirit's relentless anger and sorrow.
Desperate to free themselves from the mirror's curse, Hiroshi and Aiko sought the guidance of a spiritual medium. Through a series of rituals and séances, they made contact with the vengeful spirit trapped within the mirror.
The spirit's story unfolded like a tragic drama—the yūrei had been a young woman in love with a man from a rival clan. Their love was forbidden, and when their secret was discovered, they had both met a grisly end. Her spirit had been bound to the mirror as punishment for her defiance of societal norms.
With the medium's help, Hiroshi and Aiko offered prayers and apologies on behalf of the mirror's original owner, seeking forgiveness for the wrongs committed against the vengeful spirit. They vowed to help the spirit find peace and redemption.
In a chilling climax, they conducted a final ritual, allowing the yūrei to pass on and find the solace she had been denied for centuries. As they gazed into the mirror one last time, they saw the spirit's reflection fade into the distance, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and farewell.
The mirror, now cleansed of its malevolence, became a symbol of hope and renewal for Hiroshi and Aiko. Their family flourished, and the cherry blossoms in their garden bloomed with newfound vibrancy, a testament to the enduring power of love and forgiveness.
"The Mirror's Malevolence" served as a chilling reminder that even the most innocuous objects could carry dark secrets, and that confronting the past and seeking redemption could break the bonds of even the most malevolent curses.
End of Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"
In a remote mountain village, isolated from the modern world, a historic bridge served as a link between the living and the dead. When a group of travelers crossed its ancient planks, they would discover the chilling truth behind the bridge's supernatural origins.
Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"
Deep within the heart of the Japanese mountains, nestled among ancient forests and shrouded in mist, lay the village of Yamanokawa. It was a place where tradition and superstition still held sway, and the bridge that spanned the river was both a lifeline and a gateway to the unknown.
A group of adventurous travelers, drawn by the allure of Yamanokawa's untouched beauty, embarked on a journey to explore the village's remote reaches. Among them were Kaito, a historian with an insatiable curiosity, and Mia, a photographer who sought to capture the essence of this secluded world.
The village's centerpiece was the Akane Bridge, a weathered structure made of ancient wood and adorned with centuries-old lanterns. Its planks creaked with the weight of history, and the river below whispered tales of lives long gone.
As the travelers ventured deeper into Yamanokawa, they discovered that the villagers held a profound reverence for the bridge. It was said to be a link between the living and the dead, a place where offerings were made to appease the spirits that dwelled in the surrounding forest.
As night descended, the travelers set up camp near the Akane Bridge, its lanterns casting an eerie, flickering glow on the river's surface. It was then that they heard the sound—a mournful melody that seemed to emanate from the bridge itself.
Mia, driven by curiosity, followed the haunting tune to the bridge's edge. There, bathed in an otherworldly light, she saw a figure—a woman in a white kimono, her long hair flowing like an ebony waterfall.
The woman, whose name was Hikari, revealed herself to be a yūrei, a spirit bound to the Akane Bridge for centuries. She had once been a young bride whose love had been torn apart by a tragic accident on her wedding day. Her spirit was eternally linked to the bridge, where she waited for her beloved to return.
Kaito, the historian, delved into the village's archives and uncovered the tragic story of Hikari's past. It was a tale of love and loss, of a bride whose life had been cut short, and a groom whose heart had been forever scarred by grief.
With newfound determination, the travelers sought to reunite the spirits of Hikari and her beloved. They embarked on a journey deep into the forest, following a path laden with offerings and prayers.
At the heart of the forest, they discovered an ancient shrine dedicated to love and reconciliation. There, in a poignant ceremony, they offered heartfelt prayers and apologies on behalf of the villagers and the groom who had never returned.
As the first light of dawn broke over Yamanokawa, a sense of serenity washed over the Akane Bridge. Hikari's spectral form dissolved into the river's mist, her eyes filled with a mix of longing and gratitude.
The travelers departed from Yamanokawa, forever changed by their encounter with the supernatural. The Akane Bridge, now freed from its haunting past, stood as a testament to the enduring power of love and the hope of reuniting even in the afterlife.
"The Bridge to the Beyond" became a legend whispered among villagers, a reminder that some bonds could transcend time and that the spirit of love endured even in the face of eternity.
End of Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"

Following is the copy paste of a Facebook letter written by a Chinese cat abuser. This is a vent, trauma dumping as you can see from reading it. There is so much vent about education, income, social status and calling uneducated people cockroach. This is symptom of social pressure and social hierarchy that results in mental illnesses like this. There is a book called tyranny of meritocracy about this issue. https://www.reddit.com/AnimalRights/comments/1coy03abuser_made_a_new_yt_a_channel/

Translated Post 2 Dated 12/18/23. This guy serves as a great example of how people who discriminate against animals usually discriminate against people too, due to reasons like race, level of education, nationality, sex, religion, etc. How a person treats animals tells you everything you need to know about their values, moral code, and personal ethics.
There is nothing wrong with discrimination based on educational background - people with low educational background have no right to life. Educational discrimination is correct
I am working hard (studying) in the following order: graduate school graduate > undergraduate graduate > vocational school graduate > high school graduate.
There are some retarded people who make nonsense of nonsense like There are criminals even among highly educated people'' andThere are successful people even after high school graduates.''
There is no doubt that the percentage of decent people who are highly educated is overwhelmingly higher. Although there are rare people with low educational background who are successful, the proportion is almost an exception.
And even if a person is successful, a person with a low educational background will only have the characteristics that are appropriate for a person with a low educational background.
Junior high school graduation is out of the question. They probably don't even understand whether it's okay or wrong to kill someone. Unlike you low-educated people, I have never interacted with high school graduates and junior high school graduates. I honestly don't know the details
Another nonsense is ``I couldn't go to university because my family was poor.'' All I can say is, "What is this scholarship system for? Garbage."
By the way, overseas societies have higher educational backgrounds than Japan. It can be said that life is determined by educational background in the United States, Britain, China, and South Korea as well. In fact, Japan is by far the most undervalued country among developed countries.
A cockroach, a weakling with no talent or educational background, is barking "Japan is..." Even in Japan, Japs are a loser, and if they were born in Europe, America, China, or South Korea, they would just die or become criminals. A little yellow monkey wouldn't even be able to be used as a criminal. Japan itself is declining because people are talking about rescuing such garbage weak people.p
There is a correlation between educational background and life expectancy, but this is more pronounced in the United States. Black people have significantly shorter lifespans than white people. This can be said to be because so many black people have low levels of education. This proves that America is a society with an academic background that cannot be compared to Japan. I mean, black people are just an inferior species lol
What is Japan's educational society that allows junior high school graduates to live a leisurely life? There is no need for people with low education to have the right to live. It would be better to send the pests known as low education that live in Japan to developing countries. And it would be good to only recruit people with talent and academic background from overseas.
Japan will definitely enter its golden age again.
The true story of Uncle Cal ~Abuse of feeding a cat~
A story of the good and evil of a pest
I can't stop crying lol
Then there is a dead link to a YT video, which I assume was removed when this creep's last account got deleted.
The more text:
You pathetic cockroach with a low education level is pathetic lol
It's fun to use Tor to troll the cat-loving community lol
Life with cats #I want to connect with cat lovers #Makoto Oya #Cat abuse #Cat abuse incident #Animal welfare #Animal love error #Cat #Cat #Uncle Cal
The world would be a little better if there were no less educated people.
The author has a Ph.D. degree from the University of Tokyo → PU I have never had any attachment to anyone else. Unless you have a standard deviation score of 80 or higher, a science major, >and a Ph.D. degree, you will not be recognized as a human being.
Animal lover (cat lover) Disabled/Black people the weak/poor Such things are filth that is not worth living.
Diversity and preferential treatment of inferior species rots society. In a world where only the strong exist, living things are what make the species better. Inferior genes should be eliminated
Apparently a cat abuse group is organized in China. These guys are really crazy (compliment)
He says he makes a lot of money by selling videos. Their monthly income is definitely higher than your annual income. If I'm not good at it, it could be more than my lifetime wage.
Ah, the majority of cat lovers are trash and unemployed to begin with lol What? You're saying that a lot, low-educated people. Sex cannot be corrected even if it is regulated.
No matter what, there is a demand for sadistic content. Moreover, the members are openly using SNS. It feels real when you say things like "I love dogs" However, when I tried to interact with him a little, he seemed more decent than the less educated Japs. Abusers can respond in a much more normal way than basic love and error. I'm not justifying abuse, but when I look at it as a human being. Love and error is at a level that can be said to be less than an animal than a member of society.
Social misfits should be filial to their parents before protecting animals, shame on them. There isn't even a single tall, highly educated person working on animal welfare. There are an overwhelming number of small people, low education, low income, and ugly people. In fact, you're the one being protected. Well, won't anyone take away filth like you guys?

I really just wanted to get this story off my chest. I sought out help with some issues before on another account and but ended up deleting it because some people decided that they were green lit to brigade me with rather unpleasant messages. Sometimes I feel truly alone now.
I guess a bit of back story to start out.
I lived in a decent rental property out in a rural area in the SE U.S. I am a male, mid-30s at the time, divorced, decent job and all around not a bad life all things considered. I had family nearby and friends who seemed to care, and there was a woman in my life that seemed like we were a pretty good match for each other. This was back in 2019 right before the big covid epidemic really ramped up.
I had no idea it was all about to end.
At 3am on a thursday night, I was awoken to a loud knock on my door. I put on some slippers and looked out the peephole. There was a police officer standing there. I hadn't done anything illegal and had no reason to fear a police run in. My first thought was that something was wrong with someone in my family. I opened the door and he asked my name. I confirmed and he grabbed hold of me and yanked me out. More officers from around the corner pinned me to the wall and cuffed me. I asked what was happening and received a punch to the head for my troubles.
I was rather stunned and horribly confused. They drug me out to where they had parked, just out of the line of sight for me to see from my door. I was tossed into the car and eventually one of them got in and finally answered my question of what was going on.
I had been charged with rape and child molestation. He didn't tell me who charged me or when, just that there was a warrant out for my arrest.
I was hauled into the county jail at that point. I had never been arrested in my life and I was terrified. I didn't have my phone and couldn't remember anyone's contact information at the time. I was processed, given my mugshot, and put in a small holding cell.
Some time later I got my first appearance and was told my charges, no bail, I was warned not to talk to the judge or I'd regret it. Just answer his questions and sit down when told,
Then they moved me to a very small padded room. There were 4 or 5 police officers I think that moved me. It's a bit hard to remember this part in detail, but I remember enough. They handed me this small cloth vest and told me to strip naked. I had no idea what they were doing and I got really scared. I didn't get asked again. They held me down, ripped my clothes off, and beat the hell out of me right there. They shoved my face against a vent in the floor that served as the toilet. One of them remarked that was where a piece of shit like me belonged and they laughed. They spit on me and left, leaving that small vest laying next to me on the cold rubber floor.
For four weeks, I curled up under that vest in the corner of the room. It was so cold and I didn't dare let that spot cool down. The pain was terrible and the nurses that had to check on me didn't care what I'd went though. I didn't have back problems before that, but now I do. Some days I wake up now and can hardly walk.
I was finally moved to general population. I figured things were finally getting better. I was sure that whatever had started happening would finally be over. I got a message from my family and was able to contact them. I reassured them I had no idea what was happening or who had filed charges or anything. I was as confused as everyone else would be.
I tried telling my mom about the abuse. An officer came back there, told me point blank that if I didn't want to get it again and worse next time, I'd better shut my mouth. It was a threat I'd rather not test out. I kept my mouth shut at that point. I learned that all calls and mail was monitored by the jail.
I asked my mom to get in touch with the woman I'd been seeing to explain things. She's already messaged my mom and told her that she wanted nothing to do with me. I guess all things considered I ended up better off, but it hurt at the time.
A few weeks later, a public attorney had been appointed and came to see me. I was finally about to find out who was behind all this. I figured this was some sort of great big misunderstanding and I'd be home soon.
It was the neighbors daughter. Someone I barely knew and only spoke to in passing. I never touched this girl and I didn't want to either. She had told her parents that I had forced open her window and raped her in the early morning hours and threatened to kill her if she told anyone.
I was 6'1 and 230lbs of pudding. I am not stealthy. There was no way I could quietly force open a trailer window and have my way with someone and keep it quiet. regardless though, that's what she claimed to her parents, and then to the police.
Why would that poor precious child lie? Very good question and I never found out the full story. I can speculate a few things on it. They did collect DNA evidence though and it had been sent off for testing.
Something to keep in mind. If you ever been in county lockup for any length of time, you know that nearly everyone claims innocence, and they don't believe other people are. I was locked into a dorm room with actual convicted child sexual predators and actual rapists. Some of whom were violent and had nothing to lose.
It wasn't pleasant and it wasn't fun. I was attacked on occasion simply for my charges.
And remember I said this was pre-covid? Yeah. They shut down the court system. They wouldn't be hearing my case for quite some time and the judge was a real hard ass that refused to set my bond. I spent the next 3 years in county lockup charged with a crime I did not commit.
3 years of my life gone.
I ended up firing my public defender and hiring a real defense attorney. the P.D. told me "things look pretty grim. If you just plea out, you can be home in about 10 years." Hell no. I borrowed the money from my family and got a real attorney. After he reviewed the case he was pretty positive I'd go home, and for a few good reasons.
Let's go to trial.
It finally happened. I got a trial date and I was ready to go. They came at me with another plea deal. The prosecutor said that I had wasted the states valuable time and they offered me 25 yrs in prison or I could lose and never see freedom. I told him to go pound sand.
At the trial, the alleged victim could not keep her story straight. She constantly backtracked and fudged the details of things like "What was he wearing?" or "Things he had said to you before." She also claimed to be a virgin and I took that from her.
I mentioned some time ago that they collected DNA. It was male, but it wasn't mine. Apparently the prosecution sat on those results until it was nearly time for trial. They knew I was innocent and let me sit in jail to entertain their plea deals.
I don't know what really happened that night, I suspect that she had sex with some guy she was seeing, They may have got into a fight and she cried rape, and then changed her mind after she'd started. She needed a rapist though and she just randomly chose a guy nearby that she didn't care anything about. Maybe she got in too deep and knew that if she backtracked she'd be in trouble.
I went home that day, found not guilty of all charges. I was thankful to be back with my family. Many of my so called friends abandoned me though. A few stuck around and those are the good ones.
My facebook arrest post had my full name and address and plenty of people wished for my death. "I'd be glad to put a bullet in him if they'd just let me" or "I know that guy. I knew there was something wrong with him the moment I met him."
I lost my home and a few things had been stolen before my family could secure it. Nothing irreplaceable I guess, but it still feels bad to of lost a few things I cared about.
In addition to severe back pain, the mental damage I got from this has been crippling. No matter how much I try, I just can't seem to get my life together. I am absolutely terrified of women as I know what just a few errant words can do. I don't think I could ever form another meaningful relationship because of those fears. I'm scared of the police as well. I fear they'll come after me again just like they did that night. They could kill me and get away with it these days.
Mostly I stay inside my moms house. Some days I'm ok. Others, I'm just so scared to go out. This isn't really a good life anymore. Counseling is somewhat helping at least.
There's no lawsuit that can be filed. The state doesn't have to answer for anything because they followed the letter of the law and the pandemic gave them emergency powers to do certain things. There's no lawsuit against the girl either as she never said it was made up. There's laws to protect her.
My life was ruined despite all charges being dropped. I honestly am not sure I can recover from this nightmare. There's plenty of details I left out, but I've talked enough as it is. I'm tired now. I expect people to call me a rapist or chomo anyways, innocent or not. For some, an accusation is enough proof for them.

In the wake of the 1970s, a new era dawned upon the music scene, one that would transcend mere sound to become a cultural behemoth. This was the post-punk era, a period that not only redefined music but also left a lasting imprint on fashion, art, and design. Today, we explore the bold and rebellious aesthetics of post-punk, a style characterized by its artistic experimentation and defiance, elements that continue to echo through our creative landscape.
The Visual Language of Post-Punk
Gone were the days of mainstream flamboyance, as post-punk embraced a minimalist, edgier approach. Stark, often monochromatic visuals, and collage-style graphics became the norm, reflecting the DIY ethos of the music. The album covers, posters, and zines from bands like Joy Division, Siouxsie and the Banshees, and The Cure stand as quintessential examples of this style.
The DIY Ethos and Collage Art
The punk philosophy of “do it yourself” heavily influenced post-punk aesthetics, leading to the creation of visually striking collage art. Jamie Reid’s artwork for the Sex Pistols, with its ransom-note lettering and cut-and-paste technique, perfectly encapsulated the spirit of political protest and cultural disruption at the heart of the movement.
Iconic Album Covers
Album covers in the post-punk era were as evocative as the music itself. Take, for instance, Joy Division’s “Unknown Pleasures,” with its iconic waveform design by Peter Saville, inspired by radio waves from a pulsar. This design has become a symbol of the post-punk era’s exploration of the unknown and the alienated.
Fashion Statements
Fashion was an extension of post-punk’s visual language, with a mix of gothic, military, and bespoke elements. Siouxsie and the Banshees’ theatrical performances and avant-garde fashion choices set trends that would influence the goth subculture.
Influence on Modern Design
The legacy of post-punk’s visual language is evident in modern graphic design and fashion, with its emphasis on simplicity, typography, and monochromatic palettes.
Fashion: An Extension of Post-Punk Music
Fashion during the post-punk era was a powerful form of self-expression, with an eclectic mix of vintage, military, and bespoke pieces, often customized with pins, patches, and paint.
The Unconventional Silhouettes
Post-punk fashion was known for its unconventional silhouettes, such as oversized blazers paired with skinny trousers, creating an androgynous and avant-garde look.
The Role of Vintage and Military Wear
Vintage clothing and military surplus played significant roles in post-punk fashion, often repurposed with a modern twist.
Customization and Personalization
Customization was key, with fans personalizing their clothing with patches, badges, and DIY screen prints.
Influence of Designers
Designers like Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren were instrumental in shaping the post-punk fashion scene, blending punk’s raw energy with elements of historical costume.
Integration into Mainstream Fashion
Over time, post-punk fashion has been integrated into mainstream culture, with contemporary designers drawing inspiration from the era.
The Legacy Continues
Today, the legacy of post-punk fashion continues to inspire, with its influence seen in the resurgence of certain styles, proving that the post-punk aesthetic is timeless.
Post-Punk’s Lasting Legacy
The influence of post-punk aesthetics extends far beyond music, impacting contemporary fashion lines, graphic design, and even the ethos of modern startups.
A Catalyst for Musical Innovation
Post-punk served as a springboard for musical innovation, with bands like Gang of Four and The Smiths introducing a new level of depth to music.
The Visual and Fashion Impact
The movement’s visual impact was significant, with bands paying meticulous attention to their aesthetic presentation, inspiring fashion and design today.
Influence on Contemporary Artists
Contemporary artists across various genres still draw inspiration from post-punk’s ethos, showcasing the genre’s enduring relevance.
Challenging the Norms
Post-punk challenged the norms, serving as a catalyst for musical innovation and creating a distinct visual identity that continues to inspire.
This post is a celebration of the post-punk era’s enduring impact on culture. From its rebellious roots to its lasting influence on modern design and fashion, post-punk remains a powerful testament to the spirit of innovation and the importance of challenging the status quo. Let’s continue to delve into this fascinating world and uncover the stories that make post-punk a pivotal chapter in our cultural history.
Note: This is a condensed version of a larger piece on the cultural phenomenon of post-punk. For a more in-depth exploration, including anecdotes and examples, please refer to the original text.
Flair: Music Culture Design
Feel free to share your thoughts and experiences with post-punk culture in the comments below!
https://edwardssamson706.com/2024/05/15/exploring-the-timeless-influence-of-post-punk-aesthetics/

I met my baby daddy at the end of 2020 through tinder. We were together from December - May 2021. From then we were very on and off. Whenever we were “on,” it was always for several months at a time (don’t quote me on the actual dates but another time we were on was from SeptembeOctober 2022-March 2023, for example). Multiple times we talked about moving in together and yadda yadda yadda all that couple shit, just for it to never work. In October of 2022, I got my IUD out because it was time and I was going through a “find myself” phase so I opted to go off birth control entirely. He knew this and we had both agreed that we would continue to have sex without a condom. I was into natural cycle planning and would avoid my fertile windows and would even let him know of my whole cycle - I’m a very open book type of person. Well, lo and behold in February (found out in March) of 2023 I got pregnant. I waited a few days to tell him so I could confirm it and he lost his shit. We immediately broke up and he spent the next two weeks on and off texting me about how I’m “ruining his life” and he “won’t be able to live like he does now.” We barely talked during my pregnancy. Once I made an ultrasound appointment for him to come to and he never showed up to it. Fast forward a month after I gave birth I texted him asking him if he wanted to meet his child. He did meet him. It was then that we talked about child support and I told him I was going to file and he said he understood he has a duty to pay.
To my knowledge he has yet to tell ANYONE that he has a son. I attempted to message his parents on Facebook but it’s been almost a year since my first message and they have never opened it (I don’t think they really use Facebook). I really want to give them the option to know my son! I’m not sure if I should show up at his parents doorstep (they have never met me) or if I should mail them a letter. I also know his sister-in-law is very active on Facebook. I have thought about messaging her. Should I do it? How should I do it? Legally we do not have paternity established yet. I am waiting to find out if he requested a DNA test or just signed the papers.
I don’t want to piss him off but I have no grandparents left and I wasn’t my son to have a relationship with all of his family!
Added Info: we were on good terms until the day he got served child support. He lost it on me again over text message and hasn’t responded to anything I’ve messaged (only questions regarding support or our son).

I have recently encountered a problem where when ever I type the M, P, U, J, 7, ; or ' key it either doesn't type anything or just types random letters and symbols, like for example if I type the M key it either types zbcvxz, or minimizes the window and opens a new one with the settings tab open, does anyone know how to fix this?
P.S I'm using the keyboard viewer or virtual keyboard to type this.

Is anyone else receiving truancy letters? I'm a senior and I've completed all my work, passing all my classes with As and Bs, and log in almost every day. I'm worried this will effect my graduation. Many parents on Facebook are saying their kids are having this same issue but k12 is apparently not doing anything. Any advice?

Introduction: The Mysterious Double Album
I’ll always remember 2 AM on April 19th 2024. I was in my pjs, alone, on my balcony, fresh off my first listen to Taylor Swift’s album The Tortured Poet’s Department. After sufficiently enjoying my solitary experience, I took to the internet to see what the masses were saying…when Swift dropped a whole second album: The Tortured Poets Department Anthology. Swift, a master of both Easter egging surprises for her fandom and practicing the number one rule of business (give the people what they want!), had been hinting at something “double” for months. Most significantly, while accepting her Grammy for Best Pop Vocal Album, she flashed a “peace sign.” That damn peace sign haunted the fandom for months. Swift’s corporate social media account, u/TaylorNation, used peace sign emojis and called attention to the number two whenever possible (ie teasing the album 22 days out etc.). There were also many “2”s present in in the promotional “experiences” leading up to the album release date—including statues of peace signs at the TTPD interactive experience at The Grove in LA. As usual, some Swifties went bonkers with their theories (or “clowning” as outlandish theorizing is referred to in the community). I myself couldn’t help but believe some concept of doubling would be significant in TTPD, but I couldn’t have guessed a full DOUBLE album (Swift’s capitalization). What an absolute treat. Mother was, as they say, mothering.
…Only the two mania didn’t seem to end post-drop. If anything, the two mania heightened. The albums were not just surprises in themselves, they were full of mystery. They seemed to reference multiple relationships, cryptic narratives, allusions to Swift’s previous songs, allusions to iconic poets, and very often, twins. The sleuthing type of Swiftie (full disclosure, moi) dove in deep. We gathered where we do—on Twitter, on TikTok, on Reddit (my preferred sandlot). And as we obsessed over every lyric, literary allusion, and video clip, Swift, our self-appointed “chairman” seemed to encourage us. Swift added a TTPD set to her Eras tour in Paris. Afterward, she posted a collection of photos to Instagram. The second photo of the post is Swift onstage, in a sparkling showman’s outfit, flashing two fingers.
Initial Tortured Poets and Sylvia Plath Connections
Swift has always been an incredible poet, but that’s not necessarily how the world saw hesees her. Swift is a pop star, specifically, Swift was a young girly pop star, most known for her tabloid romances and dramas, which she would (allegedly) write about in her music. Swift’s work has been labeled as “confessional” since her first album, which included songs she openly said were about boys at her high school. I offer this context (or, lore) to explain why I began seeing connections to TTPD in Sylvia Plath’s “confessional” work.
Of course, the theme of TTPD is tortured poets, so many avid literary Swifties have enjoyed seeking connections between Swift’s new songs and iconic poetry. No connections are overt, but some seem to be more likely than others. Namely, there’s been much discussion of Virginia Woolf thanks to the song “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?”(perhaps a riff on the Edward Albee play title). Other Swifties have found possible lyrical links to Mary Shelley and Charlotte Bronte. Swift herself references Patti Smith and Dylan Thomas in the album’s title track.
I remembered a third poet in relation to Smith and Thomas: Sylvia Plath, obviously an all timer of a tortured poet. I remember hearing an anecdote that she had been obsessed with Thomas and stalked him outside the Chelsea Hotel (also named in the TTPD title track). I did a quick skim of Plath’s Wikipedia to confirm and then started noticing many possible connections to TTPD and Plath’s life.
In the “Fortnight” music video, Swift acts out being institutionalized for insanity and getting electric shock treatment—two significant experiences in Plath’s life. Plath was also coupled with a deeply problematic man, Ted Hughes. Plath fell in love with Hughes for his artistic talent before he revealed himself to be an unsupportive parter, ultimately cheating on Plath with a younger woman. The narrative is not too dissimilar to the narrative about Swift’s alleged ex Matty Healy, as seemingly told in TTPD. (Of course, we don’t know the true subjects of Swift’s songs—if they’re even actually confessional—but some key hints point to Healy. Whether those hints provide actual context to Swift’s life or to the story Swift is telling of her life, one cannot know.) Finally, several of TTPD songs reference a latent desire for suicide (“I might as well die / it would make no difference” etc.). Okay, post-“finally,” these are stretches, but, I’ll note anyway: one of Plath’s most famous collections of poems is titled Ariel, but an alternate title was Daddy. There are connections to both words in TTPD via the song “But Daddy I Love Him.” The title is a line from the Disney movie The Little Mermaid (which features the main character Ariel, a mermaid, caught between two worlds). Extra clowning: some people (hi, I'm people) believe Swift’s 1989 costume for her first Paris concert was an allusion to Ariel: a pink crop top and a seafoam skirt.
As I dug into Plath's life, I couldn’t help but also see similarities to Swift's life. Both women were prolific writers from a very young age. Also, although possibly obscured through artistic license, both women were/are known to write about their own lives. (Plath was apparently encouraged by her professors Robert Lowell and Anne Sexton to write from her experience. I cannot help but tie in Swift’s “The Manuscript” lyric “the Professor said to write what you know.”) Both Plath and Swift expressed/express their depression via their writing, but if you only knew them from their public personas, you’d never guess the depths of their struggles. It seems both Plath and Swift lived/live double lives. Plath was actually fascinated by the concept of doubles. In fact, the concept of doubling was the topic of Plath’s college thesis paper “The Magic Mirror.”
The Magic Mirror and TTPD
Plath’s college paper is sadly not available to the general public. (It had a limited print run in, you guessed it, 1989.) But! I was able to read a few texts about the thesis, and the amount of possible TTPD references is astounding.
Since we can’t directly analyze Swift’s work via Plath’s directly, I’d like to share several key quotes from the most telling article I could find about the “The Magic Mirror”: “Sylvia Plath’s Magic Mirror” by Kelly Coyne (May 2018, The Los Angeles Review of Books). (To be noted, Coyne has also written about Swift, in her article “Growing Up In Taylor Swift’s America” in December 2023 on Literary Hub—a fabulous read!)
Early in her article, Coyne sets the scene for Plath's thesis:
“Her undergraduate thesis, which she wrote as a senior at Smith College...is titled “The Magic Mirror: A Study of the Double in Two of Dostoevsky’s Novels.” “The Magic Mirror” explores literary doubles made up of a character’s repressed traits, and, as the double grows in power, it heralds the protagonist’s death. Citing Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as well as Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, Plath argued that the choice to create a double works to “reveal hitherto concealed character traits in a radical manner” and simultaneously exposes the driving conflicts of the novel housing that character. Her thesis claims that both Ivan, of The Brothers Karamazov, and Golyadkin, of The Double, have attempted to repress troubling aspects of their personalities, resulting in the double.”
Immediately, I imagine the two versions of Swift from the “Anti-Hero” music video. One Swift is real, true, sensible. The other is a pot-stirring, self-esteem destroying, alcoholic. During Eras, the huge Swift (monster on a hill) screams and stomps around in the background while the real, true Swift smiles and dances in a sparkle dress onstage. The fandom seems to be referring to these two Swifts as Taylor Swift and TAYLOR SWIFT (TM). Folks have theorized Post-Malone in the Fortnight music video is not necessarily a lover, but a twin, or double, of Swift. This theory is enhances by the Eras visuals during that song, specifically two dancers walking away to the back of the stage, but then becoming one.
More Coyne: “Plath, quoting Dostoyevsky in her thesis, noted that Ivan’s double, Smerdyakov, is “wrinkled” and “yellow.” The distinct differences in appearance between originator and double, she continued, are meant to reflect the protagonist’s mental state and cultural status.”
First of all, yellow. In the Gaylor community, folks have often theorized yellow symbolizes being closeted—a reading based on the symbolic coloring in the 1999 film …But I’m a Cheerleader. However, one need not be a Gaylor to consider the importance of yellow to Swift’s storytelling. Most recently, Swift performed “my tears ricochet” at Eras in a bright yellow dress, as her dancers were dressed for a funeral. Following Coyne’s analysis of Plath's analysis of Dostoyevsky, one could guess Swift is teasing a death of some version of herself.
Coyne discusses how Plath clearly used a “double” of herself to write The Bell Jar. Plath herself spent a summer in New York interning for Mademoiselle. The protagonist in TBJ, Esther, spends a summer in New York interning at a magazine too. To go even further down the rabbit hole, Esther also doubles herself, frequently expressing normalcy on the outside and despair on the inside. On the book's first page, Esther tells her audience, “I was supposed to be having the time of my life.” (Again, I cannot help but hear a Swift echo of, “I can read your mind / she’s having the time of her life” from “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” about smiling through her depression.) Coyne makes many more references to mirrors and concealing in The Bell Jar, Ether’s split (and sadness) gets worse and worse the more she hides who she is from others. Notably, at a low point, Esther hides under her mother’s bed. (And Swift sings of a post-heartbreak depression, “Afterwards she only ate kids' cereal / And couldn't sleep unless it was in her mother's bed.”)
Coyne writes about the “imprisoned” aspect of doubles: “The wound from which Esther tries, and fails, to hide chimes with the inescapable, colonizing double, and Plath’s language again illustrates its penal nature: it is inside Esther, but it traps her like a jail cell.” (Again, I cannot help but see references to “Fresh Out the Slammer”, “The Smaller Man Who Ever Lived,” and the TTPD Eras visuals of cages and cell lighting.)
Coyne, on Plath’s doubles’ names, something Swift has not ever used (or so we think): “From her conception of The Bell Jar all the way to its final revisions, Plath suffered an exhausting amount of anxiety over its heroine’s name.” Plath wrote to a friend, “‘I’ll have to publish it under a pseudonym, if I ever get it accepted, because it’s so chock full of real people I’d be sued to death’...Indeed, this wasn’t mere paranoia; she did have to change her protagonist’s name at the instruction of her editor for legal reasons.”
Coyne continues, “Most novelists likely have concerns about being associated with the characters to whom they give life, especially the ugly ones, and especially when the character resembles its author. Yet what is unique about Plath’s case is her knowledge of the theoretical underpinnings and implications of her choice to push Esther away, and the hold this knowledge assumed on Plath’s work and life. Another look at The Bell Jar with a consideration of Esther as Plath’s double tangles the issue even further, and Plath drops clues for this kind of reading throughout the novel. Esther, for example, sits down to write her own novel and recounts, “My heroine would be myself, only in disguise. She would be called Elaine. Elaine. I counted the letters on my fingers. There were six letters in Esther, too. It seemed a lucky thing.” Not coincidentally, Plath’s first name has six letters as well.” Again, Plath was in a bizarre double infinity loop (like the loop on the Eras stage in “Down Bad”?). Plath was concealing her double, the protagonist in her novel, who was concealing her double, the protagonist in her novel.
Coyne wraps up her findings: “In her thesis, written nearly a decade earlier, as she turned 22 — the year after her first documented suicide attempt — Plath claimed, quoting Otto Rank:
In such situations, where the Double symbolizes the evil or repressed elements in man’s nature, the apparition of the Double “becomes a persecution by it, the repressed material returns in the form of that which represses.” Man’s instinct to avoid or ignore the unpleasant aspects of his character turns into an active terror when he is faced by his Double, which resurrects those very parts of his personality which he sought to escape. The confrontation of the Double in these instances usually results in a duel which ends in insanity or death for the original hero.”
Coyne seems to argue Plath believed an artist's double has the power to become bigger than the artist herself, ultimately killing her. Is TTPD Swift's predetermination of, hopefully, her her double's death instead of her own?
In Conclusion: Plath to her Mentor, Dessner on Swift
Who knows what TTPD is really truly about, and who knows if we ever will.
The biggest Easter egg, hiding in plain sight, is that the album is titled THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT. There’s no apostrophe after “poet.” Nor is there an apostrophe after the “s” in “poets.” The department does not belong to a poet or to a collection of poets. It is a department OF tortured poets, perhaps two, to be exact. …or perhaps the album indicates the departure of the tortured poet...and her double.
I’ll sign off with two final quotes from my research:
According to Coyne, three months before Plath died by suicide, she had written a mentor about her second (obviously unfinished) book. Plath wrote, “It is to be called “Doubletake”, meaning that the second look you take at something reveals a deeper, double meaning […] it is semi-autobiographical about a wife whose husband turns out to be a deserter and philanderer although she had thought he was wonderful & perfect.”
According to Aaron Dessner’s TTPD release Instagram post: ”Keep searching and you'll find some new detail, layer or sliver of meaning with each listen.”
SUBREDDIT PS! Shout out to Expensive_Succotash5 for noting the TTPD intro poem's reference to being out of the oven, could be an allusion to Plath's death. Also shout-out to Good-Amphibian-7993 for this connection to a photo of Plath with a rose, not unlike Swift's album rose art.

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This will probably be a long post because it is all about the context. Also, you should know that English is not my first language, so please bear with me.
I (35M) met my wife (39F) at college when I was 20 and she was 24. We were friends for a year before we started dating. After two years of dating we moved in together, married 5 years after that. We have three children together (8, 5, and 3), and up until recently, our relationship was very stable, and I was 100% sure this is the woman of my life.
Before I met my current wife, I had one and only girlfriend for about two years. She was my first for everything, and it was a nice relationship overall, but as we matured, we grew apart and eventually ended the relationship amicably.
Shortly after I started dating my current wife, the topic of ex-partners naturally came up. I was honest and told her about my one ex-girlfriend. She did not ask me about any details except whether it is all resolved, to which I said a resounding yes. When I asked the same question, she sort of laughed and said that she never had a boyfriend. I found that hard to believe since she was a few years older than me, very attractive, and did not seem inexperienced at all. I asked her whether she is being serious, and she said yes. That was the end of that discussion. I would not care one way or another.
A few months after we started dating, we went to a concert together. We were sort of having fun when suddenly my girlfriend (now wife) said that she wants to leave. I asked her what is wrong, she said nothing. I asked her whether I can go with her, she said “No” and left very suddenly. As I was trying to catch her, I bumped into my ex-girlfriend, who I had no idea was there (at that point, I lived in a different town, so there was no reason to expect my ex would be there). At that point, I realized that my ex-girlfriend being present, and my current girlfriend behaving strangely might somehow be related. I found that a little weird since the two were never introduced and didn’t know each other, so I had no idea how my new girlfriend would know what my ex looked like. Anyways, I went home to get some sleep.
The next morning, my girlfriend calmed down a little, and she told me that she probably overreacted but was still disappointed with how I handled the situation and that she deserved to be informed that my ex was there. I 100% agreed with her but explained that I had no idea that my ex was there and that she must have noticed her first. That calmed her down, and she forgave me. When I asked her about how come she knows what my ex looks like, she confessed that she was digging through my social media early in the relationship (this was the early days of Facebook). I found this whole thing a little absurd, but in the light of all other positive things, it didn’t seem like anything to care about.
So fast forward 15 beautiful years later, we are now adults and have a pretty nice relationship. Taking care of the kids and two careers is pretty taxing, but we are managing. We still share common interests and love spending time with the kids and with each other. The only point of friction is that I feel like we started taking our relationship for granted and don’t date anymore. Intimacy also went down drastically, and I start to notice it having effects on me. I bring this up several times, but each time my wife is a little annoyed and says that she is exhausted and doesn’t think about intimacy much anymore. I find it a pity, but completely understand.
A few months ago, my wife’s perfectly functional 2014 MacBook Air got a cracked screen, and it was clear that it is finally time to get a replacement. Being the keeper that I am, I bought her a new one and, in addition, I decided to get some spare parts and fix the old one as a sort of a surprise. When I got the new laptop running, I remembered we once used it to record a short private video that got forgotten and that we somehow never got to watch again. Because it has been a while since I had any intimate contact with my wife, I searched for the video and found a folder with a lot of private documents from the time when we started dating - old pictures taken on phones with shitty cameras, scans of our love letters, and such. I went over it one by one and felt close to her again. However, this abruptly changed when I found what was essentially a diary from the time we were building our friendship. In that diary, she wrote some very nice things about me. I knew I shouldn’t be reading this, but it seemed very innocent and sweet. Well, it was until I got to the parts that made me understand why she said she never had a boyfriend before me. It was one hookup after another - approximately 15 different dudes in the span of one year before we started dating. Most of them one-night stands with strangers, but also some friends with benefits.
This was shocking to me since in our relationship, she was always very vanilla and low libido. However, what hurt me the most is that she repeatedly slept with a former classmate of hers to whom she introduced me very early in our relationship (months before our small conflict regarding my ex). The tree of us even went out together once. I found the guy extremely annoying and eventually told my wife that I don’t want to go out with him again. She said okay and met with him a few times without me, which back then I had no problems with since she never told me what the deal between them was. Eventually, we moved to a different country, so that guy has been pretty much non-existent for the past 10 years or so. However, when I learned that they were more than just friends, it was like I almost literally felt something break inside me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I couldn’t eat; I could not sleep; I could not focus on work, and all I could think about was my wife, the mother of my children, sucking the dick of this idiot.
My rational side was telling me that she didn’t do much wrong (whatever she did before we started dating is her business) and that yes, she might have told me about them fucking at some point, but this is now so irrelevant and distant that I should not care at all. However, my emotional side was deeply hurt, upset, and I should say angry about the hypocrisy. This was not the woman I married. Again and again, I told myself that I should just get over it and go back to normal, but I somehow couldn’t. At some point I couldn’t handle it and confronted my wife. She literally could not understand what I am talking about and asked me whether I am serious, bringing out something that happened that long ago and that is so irrelevant now. She said “sorry”, but it did not feel sincere. She even got angry with me for bringing up such petty things now that we need to take care of the kids, the jobs and all.
I tell myself again and again that this should not bother me, but it does. It bothers me a lot, and for the first time ever, I am not sure I have married the right woman. She probably thinks the same since, to her, I am an asshole. Am I?

Who is Gary Renard:
Gary is a famous ACIM author. He has written “The Disappearance of the Universe”. He claims to be the reincarnation of the disciple Thomas and he claims his book came to him by inflesh ascended masters. He calls these Arten and Pursah. Purshah is supposedly a future incarnation of Thomas, and Arten a future incarnation of Saint Thaddeus.
Who is Bruce MacDonald:
Following a NDE, Bruce had some mystical experiences. He claims after this he was able to talk to God, Jesus, and in a past life he was the disciple Thomas. He wrote two books about this including “The Thomas Book Near Death, a Quest and a New Gospel by the Twin Brother of Jesus”. There he recounts his adventures as a disciple in Jesus’s inner circle and relays supposedly new teachings about Jesus.
Tragically it appears he died somewhat recently and his website went offline. That had a ton of interesting information about Gary Renard, Thomas, and even the Course in Miracles. But…the good news is much of it is still available from archive.org. Here is an archived sitemap.
The Thomas Conflict:
They both claim to be Thomas! This is extra funny when you consider the original meaning of the word Thomas means twin.
Let’s start with Gary Renard’s claims:

• Supposedly there is a famous past life channeler “Kevin Ryserson”. He was able to interview the incorporeal entity known as Ahtun Re. And Ahtun Re in turn provides many detailed and interesting celebrity past life details. You can read them here (some are jaw dropping…eg Trump = Nero, Putin = Caesar, Biden = Emperor Theodosius). He was friends with Gary and claimed publicly that Gary Renard is the reincarnation of Thomas.
• Gary claims that Pursah is the reincarnation of Saint Thomas and Arten is the reincarnation of St. Thaddaeus…but per Bruce Thaddeaeus is an alias for Didymos Judas Thomas the disciple, so are Arten and Pursah (and Gary) the same person?

Let’s go now to Bruce’s side:

• Kevin Ryserson/Ahtun Re publicly proclaimed that Bruce was not the disciple Thomas, but rather a later scribe who wrote down the Gospel of Thomas.
• But Bruce claimed that Kevin privately told him he was indeed the reincarnation of Thomas, but didn’t want to go public to jeopardize his friendship with Gary.
• Bruce also proclaims his private guides and and Ahtun Re himself confirmed he was the real Thomas
• Bruce claims that Gary is unaware that St. Thomas and Didymos Judas Thomas were separate people, yet impossibly Gary claims to be both. Bruce says a separate person wrote the gospel of Thomas (not Thomas himself) which he claims Gary doesn’t realize.

Did Gary Renard Plagiarize Stephen Patterson and Marvin Meyer
In 1945 the Gospel of Thomas was discovered. Scholars Stephen Patterson and Marvin Meyer translated this into English (http://www.gnosis.org/naghamm/gosthom.html).
Renard claimed the ascended master Pursah (future Thomas from the past) dictated to him a new and corrected version of the Gospel of Thomas. This was put into the book “Pursah’s Gospel of Thomas”.
However it appears Bruce did differential analysis on this and the Patterson/Meyer version and discovered they often were identical.
That can’t be. The Gospel of Thomas was written in coptic, but was likely seeded from Greek or Aramic sources. An ascended master like Pursah should be able to go straight to the source to explain what these teachings meant. Yet these are too similar to existing English translations. For translation work this is just too coincidental. Anybody familiar with language translations knows there is a fair degree of subjectivity that happens in the process. A lack of variance between two translations is suspicious.
Now there are differences…but many are minor and perhaps “token”. What’s even stranger is the location of the “token differences”. They are mostly placed in the early verses and gradually tapered off. As if Gary (or a source for Gary) got tired of “improving” the verses and got lazy in the end and just copy/pasted.
Greg Mackie Chimes in:
https://circleofa.org/library/gary-renard/
Some of Greg’s claims are unfair (like his criticism of the ascended master concept)...but some of his critiques are well done and raise legit questions about the audacity of Gary’s “ascended masters”. Examples:

• Arten: An issue of Time Magazine in the 1970s had the words “God is dead” on the cover (121). (He doesn’t say “on the cover,” but it is clear that he is referring to the famous Time Magazine cover.) Actually, the issue came out in 1966 and had “Is God dead?” on the cover.
• Arten: The Jefferson Bible “will be made available soon for those who want to see it” (218). It has been available at least since 1904 (some sources say 1903), when it was first published.
• Pursah: Pursah implies that the Muslim holy month of Ramadan occurs around the same time as Christmas (297). Ramadan is based on the lunar calendar and therefore can occur any time of year.
• Pursah: “Constantine made Christianity the official religion of the Roman Empire…by law any other religions or spiritual ideas were outlawed” (50). Constantine legalized and supported Christianity, but he did not make it the only legal religion of the Roman Empire. This was done by a later emperor, Theodosius (who reigned from 379 to 395 C.E.).
• Arten: “The United States…has much more of a responsibility when it comes to diffusing situations than anybody else does” (337). This one is worthy of George W. Bush; the correct word is not “diffusing” but “defusing.”

Robert Perry Chimes in:
https://circleofa.org/library/why-dont-the-masters-have-an-original-thought/
Robert observes that many of Purah’s channeled teachings sound coincidentally VERY similar to the teachings of Wapnick and use Ken’s unique language. He goes into great detail on this. An example:

Pursah: “You romanticize the South American rainforest by thinking it’s one of the holiest spots on earth. If you could observe in accelerated motion what goes on underneath the ground there, you would see that the roots of trees actually compete with each other for the water”
Wapnick: “We admire the beauties and wondrous delicacies of nature. Yet within this same world we perceive competition and destructiveness….Trees’ roots strangle neighboring roots seeking their rightful soil.”

If Gary were using ascended masters as a literary device this would make sense. Gary was a HUGE fan of Ken’s. It would be logical if some of his mannerisms rubbed off on Gary. But for an ascended master to plagiarize Ken seems a bit odd.
Gary Reacts to Robert Perry and Bruce MacDonald:
https://www.garyrenard.com/FraudAccusations.html
Gary very angrily defends himself against both complaints. Examples:

This latest, ludicrous controversy is being championed and promoted by Robert Perry and the so-called "Circle of Atonement." Robert has a long track record of attacking other A Course in Miracles teachers, including Ken Wapnick and myself. For 15 years, Robert has been the most divisive force in the A Course in Miracles community. His actions over this long period of time are an insult to everything that A Course in Miracles stands for.
…
As for Robert Perry, his jealousy of me is so severe I think at this point the only thing that would stop him from trying to attack me would be if someone drove a wooden stake through his heart.
…
Robert Perry will try to tell you this isn't personal with him. Don't believe him. He'll try to tell you that he's a "scholar." A scholar? That's odd. I don't see a PhD next to his name. How honest is that?

Jesus Twin Theory
Bruce MacDonald believes that Jesus had relatives who were his disciples…and this included his twin brother Didymos Judas Thomas. The words Didymos and Thomas actually mean twin. Judas was a common name and note this wasn’t the same Judas that sold Jesus. All that said though, I don’t believe this part of the story. Twin is more likely to be symbolic (more on this below).
Kim MIchaels Chimes In:
Jesus (per Kim) explains that the disciples did not write any of the gospels directly. Also he didn’t dictate them, but there was some inspiration: https://ascendedmasteranswers.com/gospel-of-thomas/
Jesus (per Kim) when asked if any disciples (specifically Thomas) were fallen beings, admits some were. On Thomas he says he has moved on and made his ascension: https://ascendedmasteranswers.com/gospel-of-thomas/
Jesus (per Kim) is asked if Judas Thomas is the biological twin brother of Jesus. Jesus indicates no. Rather family terms were used for spirit ranks. First there was brother, then bride, then twin (these were figurative not literal terms). Thomas reached twin status, which allowed Jesus to communicate with him more effectively. This seems to contradict Bruce’s testimony. https://ascendedmasteranswers.com/judas-thomas/ & https://ascendedmasteranswers.com/becoming-a-twin-of-jesus/
Mother Mary (per Kim) responds to a question about the “The Disappearance of the Universe”. She claims this is not a legit book. Masters don’t travel back in time to teach to themselves. The true messagers for DU are actually coming from a lower mental realm and not the ascended realm. She is generally dismissive of DU: https://ascendedmasteranswers.com/ideas-from-the-disappearance-of-the-universe-by-gary-renard/
Gary’s Weird Connections:
Gary claims he found a girl who was the reincarnation of Helen Schucman. Apparently Ken agreed. Gary even posted a picture of him and the girl on Facebook.
Included in the photo is his wife Cindy who Gary claims is the reincarnation of Thaddeus. Bruce MacDonald claims that Thaddeus was not a separate person in the bible but was actually an alias for Thomas. So did Gary marry himself?
Even more confusing….on top of this there is actually a woman on this Reddit forum (I won’t dox her) who claims David Hoffmeister said she was the incarnation of Helen. But when David told Gary this, Gary said he already found his reincarnated Helen.
Reddit User Predicts Content for Gary’s 3rd Book
https://www.reddit.com/ACIM/comments/ecxr3b/comment/fbgc40k/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
This is odd…how could a Reddit user predict what content an ascended master would dictate to Gary for a future yet unwritten book?
Simon Magus Connection
https://web.archive.org/web/20210411093059/http://thomastwin.com/20%20A%20ACIM,%20Simon%20and%20Trinity.html
Simon per the bible was a magician and trickster. He’s considered a somewhat malevolent entity. Bruce MacDonald claims he was shown a vision in which it was revealed that th Gary was the reincarnation of Simon Magus and he is tricking people now as he did previously.

I have heard of at least two people who have had the experience of Simon Magus trying to “possess” their bodies since they were children, even trying to push them out of the body to take over. It would seem that, instead of withdrawing into the spiritual realms between lives, Simon Magus has remained as a “ghost,” a kind of psychic vampire who maintains his life in the astral realms by feeding on the lives of the living through the centuries. The people I have communicated with or heard of have had the strong sense of a negative male presence trying to take over their lives, draining their energy, alienating other people and claiming to be Simon Magus. In one case, this Simon actually insisted that the person who was the victim of this kind of “psychic vampirism” should read A Course in Miracles, in order to make the person more aware of the philosophy of Simon Magus and the Simonians. There was also a female presence which seemed to be Helen. I heard this from someone who was so traumatized by the disembodied Simon Magus since childhood that they searched on Google for anything to do with Simon and found my website, which confirmed for them all they had been experiencing. Fortunately, I have been able to help through The Prayer of Silence and The Thomas Book.

Thomas Book per Bruce MacDonald
Bruce claims this was dictated to him from Thomas…but it was also an experiential event. He believes he was there as Thomas in a previous life.
The contents of the book are interesting. This includes some unique takes. Eg He goes into detail on the background of Mary Magdalene and Jesus and how they were married early, but he left her early on to focus on his spiritual work.
The most extraordinary claim is of the crucifixion. Thomas claims that the disciples knew that Jesus would be executed. But they didn’t have photographs back then and knew the Romans could have difficulty identifying Jesus. So they hatched a plan to have “Saul” impersonate Jesus. He would be executed in the place of Jesus. The three ring leaders of this plan were Judas, Thomas and Peter (the three hot heads). They actually kidnapped Jesus and hid him away during the trial. Thomas believed a fake Jesus was crucified (hence the doubting Thomas meme), but Peter is irate and claims the real Jesus ended up on the cross which Thomas doesn’t believe because he was in charge of guarding the kidnapped Jesus. It is possible Jesus bi-located (masters can do this) to throw off this plan. Certainly both Mary’s saw Jesus on the cross…they would have recognized a fake Jesus.
What’s also interesting is the contempt that Thomas has for Peter in much of this book. To Thomas Peter is very dogmatic and overly critical of sex. Thomas was also not a fan of the essenes (which Peter was among), and was upset that apparently Joseph and Mary were kicked out of the essene community for minor rule violations.
Bruce MacDonald on the dictation of ACIM
https://web.archive.org/web/20210411093059/http://thomastwin.com/20%20A%20ACIM,%20Simon%20and%20Trinity.html

My Inner Guide tells me that A Course in Miracles was dictated by Simon Magus.
I dreamed I was in a house with many rooms. In them were people who had been turned into wooden statues, struggling to get out of their wooden confines. I knew immediately that they were living under a spell, so I went from room to room removing the spell “in the name of Jesus and of God.” Once the spell was removed, the people jumped up, looked around in a frightened way, realized they had been trapped in this house, and fled.
I then found the area in which the wizard put spells on people, his “workshop,” complete with intricately tangled paraphernalia hanging from the walls and ceiling. I cleansed the area of all psychic power and sealed it “in the name of Jesus and of God” so that the wizard would never again be able to entrap the unwary.
After I had completed this cleansing process, the wizard came into the entrance hallway where I stood. His face seemed familiar. I had thought this wizard would be frightening, but he was very friendly, with a round, smiling, jovial and pink face. He attempted, laughingly and in great good humour, to put a spell on me as well. I looked directly at him and, “in the name of Jesus and of God,” removed his power to cast spells.
That was the end of the dream. I have not met Gary Renard in the flesh but, when I woke, I realized the smiling man looked exactly like the pictures I had seen on his website.
The basic premise of the Course is that the world we experience is an illusion. This is similar to what Simon taught while alive. Simon Magus taught that Helen was an incarnation of the "thought of God," through which the angels were created. However, the angels, not God, then created the world. Since God did not create the world, it is an illusion. Simon taught that, to achieve salvation and union with God, it was necessary to realize that the world was not created by God but was an illusion created by the angels. Once his converts realized that, then the universe would disappear and they would experience oneness with God.

The Bruce MacDonald Jesus provides detailed insight into ACIM
https://web.archive.org/web/20190718234659/http://thomastwin.com/21%20A%20Jesus,%20God%20and%20ACIM.html (scroll all the way down to “Yeshua said it would be best for him to start”)
Robert Perry asks Bruce to ask Jesus about the Course. He does and the answers are very interesting.
It’s too long to repost here, but this Jesus is largely critical of the Course. He states the real author was impersonating him (something other sources have said) and its teachings are mostly incorrect (eg the Course indicates God is very far away when he isn’t). This Jesus also cites some examples of the Course changing between third person, “we”, and “I” when referring to Jesus as evidence something is up. This Jesus also says that Gary was not Thomas, and that Pursah and Arten are not ascended masters. This Jesus also says Simon Magus was the real author of the Course.

This brings us back to the actual authors of ACIM. I have asserted through Bruce MacDonald elsewhere on this website that the book was written by a first century magician by the name of Simon Magus.
That is only partly accurate, of course. In the same way as Judas Thomas was the ego centre of a particular Individuality (Spiritual Centre of Consciousness) in the first century, and Bruce MacDonald is the incarnation of that same Individuality in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, so Simon Magus and Gary Renard are the incarnations of a particular Individuality who is exploring the potential and the limits of the Docetic philosophy.
Individualities, Spirits, those centers of spiritual consciousness which are manifestations of the Divine Source, can choose to explore anything they wish – God has given them freedom to explore what they will.
It is technically this Individuality which is exploring Doceticism. It is this Spirit who developed the philosophy, partly in the incarnate state and partly between lives. The shorthand version of that is to say that Simon Magus developed the philosophy, since a major part of any of these explorations must take place in the body, and then, after developing and refining the philosophy further in the discarnate state, dictated it through Helen Schucman as A Course in Miracles.
Simon Magus was not the only one involved, but he was the primary focus of the Soul Group exploring the philosophy. And Gary Renard is not the only one involved in ACIM now, although he is the direct incarnation of what we can call the "Simon Magus Individuality." Ken Wapnick and a larger group of souls are also involved, although Renard is the present focus who will ultimately lead to its demise.

Robert Perry did write a response to these critiques of the Course. In general he was dismissive: https://circleofa.org/library/response-bruce-macdonalds-views/
Bruce then responds to the response: https://web.archive.org/web/20210618175625/http://thomastwin.com/22%20A%20Reaction%20to%20ACIM.html
Conclusions:
All these crazy stories are enough to make one suspect of ANY divine revelation or channeled source. My personal opinion is that Gary Renard is not consciously deceiving his followers. But, he is getting guidance from incorporeal life forms who are NOT ascended masters and ARE interested in deception. In this sense Gary is more of a victim, but he does he deserves blame for not showing discernment. I’m sure there are many instances by which these “ascended masters” behaved strangely and showed red flags to Gary who I suspect is loath to reveal these publicly.
As for Bruce, I don’t know what to think. He came from a more orthodox christian background and this may have jaded his view on the Course. He does make mistakes. But some of what he says rings true.
I don’t think either was the real Thomas. Although I think the disciple Thomas might have been one of the entities that was communicating to Bruce.

-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-
Romuna Administrative Orbital Headquarters, United Confederation Occupied Territories of Earth (QUAL-ZANV)
May 8, 1945
-------------------------------------------------------------
Commander Dunajski
- - - - - -
We were the watchful eyes over Earth. That was my job. The only thing second to that was the search for the missing pieces of my life.
As usual, however, that work was hard. After all, the past two years had been the same process. I get my human subordinates to find a list of names from anywhere: concentration camps, labour camps, ghettos, and all of those rotten places. Then, they'd hand me a report with the unimportant names blacked out and only the specific names I needed were left uncrossed. I had spent two years doing that process, every day on this station was spent doing that. Finding those two was the main goal of my life; It's what let me wake up every morning. The hope of a reunion.
But, until I got my hands on another report, I was keeping myself busy with monitoring my subordinates on the Romnua Space Headquarters as we orbited over Southern Africa. Something to help me take my mind off of everything was admiring our native Earth from my post. The golden deserts of Namibia and the green rainforests of the Congo dominated the view from the huge glass wall that separated us from the cold vacuum of space. Although I’ve been on this damn station for two years now, the sights never cease to get a gasp of amazement from me.
The Confederation used this station and 16 others to monitor and keep tabs on anything happening on Earth. We were the keen observers that protected Earth from any foreign incursion.
A bit ironic coming from the people who invaded us.
At least the Germans didn’t fill us with such lies.
The only reason why they chose me to run this joint human-Confederation sector was because I was an unwilling favourite of their high command. I was one of the best remaining generals in Poland. I served in the Great War and the Polish-Soviet War as a lowly troop, but I was a respected general by the time of the German invasion in 1939.
I defended my country for as long as I could. I resisted for a long time after our official surrender. When the Nazis got to me, they carted me off to a labour camp. Then I escaped and continued the fight on the British Isles, being airdropped and ferried out on multiple occasions. Once the Confederation arrived, my fight against the Nazis and their brutal occupation ended, but I was left without the sunshine of my life.
“Here’s the registered civilian report, sir,” a Lithuanian lieutenant saluted as he handed me a manila folder with a printed paper that had a list of names typed onto it. Even though Lithuania and Poland weren’t the greatest of chums before the war, occupation by the Soviet and Nazi barbarians created a sense of tragic camaraderie between our people.
“Did you file out the names?” I asked calmly, flipping open the folder. I kept my ears open for the response as I waded my hands across pages of paper with smooth flips.
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant replied as my eyes scanned the paper. The names were crossed out in black marker. I scanned it top-to-bottom and page after page. I began to lose hope even more, but then again, it’s not like there was much left of it anyway.
I had been searching for them for two long years. Two years of going against the rules of our hulky alien occupiers. I used their systems to find evidence and our tools to file them out into something comprehensible. I wouldn’t trust an “AI” to find the names I was looking for. The Germans kept well organised records of everything well-organised, so a good thorough search was probably the best thing I had. Still, however, it was an arduous process.
But, just as that thought appeared in my mind, it was my eyes that had fixed on the one name I had been anticipating for the last two years:
Katarzyna Kaminski. My love.
I must’ve jumped with joy. I’d done it! I found her! After what? Six long years of waiting and searching! Finally! First my wife, and then that would open the gate to finding my son too! After so long! I’d see them again! This day was something to be remembered forever!
“Oh, you did your job spectacularly!” I cheered to the lieutenant. However, his expression was more grim.
“Ne, pone,” he advised sombrely in Lithuanian, shaking his head. "The top of the page.”
I was so hooked in my search for any sign of my family that I forgot to even read the title of the page. Looking up, my eyes locked onto the print and read. In a moment, my hopes were stamped out and rage and suffering swallowed my heart like the deep blue ocean.
Registered List of All Prisoners Killed in Auschwitz Death Camp in the Year of Our Lord 1942
Everything went silent in an instant. I froze upright with my eyes glued to the paper. My ears began to ring like a shell had just hit nearby. My face bubbled red in embarrassment, rage, and most of all, misery. My legs felt just about ready to collapse inward and my hips were ready to explode outwards. My body pushed against itself, betraying my fundamental being as my eyes reread the name over and over, trying to make some worthless attempt to console my burning body of emission. None of it worked.
My Katarzyna. Gone. In one sentence. All my joy trampled in a second.
She died not even with a proper burial. She died leaving her son and not knowing if her fighting husband would even embrace her again. All of my searching, and the result was this. This.
It seems that the story of my search for my loved ones ended here. But upon reviewing the rest of the list in silence, I couldn’t find a single mention of a Jakub Dunajski. All my hope was gone to the extent that I held out no idea that Jakub survived the camps.
If his mother didn’t, then he didn’t either.
The final verdict of my search hit me like a train: I would never see my family again.
That depressing day I had to leave them in September of that fateful year was the last time I’d ever see my son and wife again. Our paths diverged with me toling in labour camps hoping to escape to find them once more. And while I was fighting onwards in England, they were shipped to Auschwitz to die. While I was toiling in captivity, they were being beaten and tortured daily. While the Confederation swept across Europe, they were gassed or gunned down in their cots.
After all this time, the thought that I had been suppressing for my entire search was now the dominant ruler of my brain. It was the fact that I had failed them.
I did not sob loudly, I did not scream. Nor did I stamp the floor or tear the page from the folder. I resisted them all. As I had for the past six years. The only response the Lithuanian got from me was a barely audible whimper and a tear.
The tear rolled from my eye down my shaved cheek, slowly dripping down and curving up to my chin in a swift motion. It hung there delicately as if it was absorbing all of my pain into it. Then, when the load became too much for it to bear, it fell. Quickly slipping off and dropping down before it slapped against the white page with a plop. A stain that looked like a crater in no man’s land now rested, ingrained into the paper that killed my hope.
The paper that essentially killed my wife.
Silence engulfed the room and ringing my ears as the words and black marker on the paper became no more than a blur, incomprehensible and unidentifiable. That’s what I wanted anyway, every glance at the page would just finalise the fact that it all was over. That I was alone.
“Legion-Commander Henix wants to see you,” an unforgiving feminine alien voice came from behind me. I jumped in response as my head flew back to meet the alien.
It was a Yetiayhu. And, as was apparently commonplace, they had the typical fangs and talons that all species other than us seemed to have, along with a giant tail that had a little ball of fur at the very end of it. Adding onto that, the Yetiayhu had large expansive cool-coloured frills that were interrupted by little blackish-blue dots here and there, like some Amazonian animal. Their bodies were slimmer than others but still pretty much buff tanks compared to me.
“For what purpose?” I replied with a brow raised in suspicion. My experience in the military and as a resistance head gave me a good tutorial on how to suppress the tears in one’s voice. After years upon years of endless trial and error, I had pretty much perfected it. But, in the case of my reddened eyes, I brought the brim of my military cap down to obscure my eyes.
“He didn’t tell me. Get moving,” the Yetiayhu hissed, her frills fluttering in annoyance.
I almost forgot that the aliens didn’t give a shit about any of our feelings. I’m sure showing too much emotion was an offence in the Confederation military. Could you imagine emotion being a punishable offence? What sort of dystopian fascist hellhole did that!?
Oh wait, I could think of one: Nazi Germany.
My eyes subtly fixed on the Yetiayhu with a bit of contempt that she came to me at my worst moment. I just found out that my wife was unceremoniously killed in a death camp, and she was just acting as pouty as a kid. Granted, she didn’t know of my suffering, but that attitude is deserving of a wrist-slap back on my world.
Too bad for me, the world I’m referring to was no longer even ours anymore.
“You better show some respect,” I huffed, containing my emotions in a little capsule of misery.
“Last time I checked, you were still a transpec,” she scoffed. “Get to his office. Now.”
I couldn’t say no. The first was because she was right about our species’ standing as a “Transitional Species”. But the other reason was because the females of these species were huge. It made sense since their system of governance was a matriarchy. But even then, this bitchy Yetiayhu was a good 2.3 metres tall, towering over me by quite a bit.
Why the hell were these species so damn demonic? Did nature really just shit on us for all of evolution? Every single alien species I had ever seen was some sort of superhuman being. Was there some galactic hierarchy that I didn’t know of? But whatever, there was nothing I could ever do about that fact. The most concerning thing on my platter now was finding the fate of my only child. Whatever Henix had would have to come second.
But either way, I obliged. Leaving my little command sector with a scowl. The doors hissed shut behind me and I turned to my left and began my journey. To prevent an emotional disaster, I tried to ease my haywire senses by inspecting the futuristic facility around me.
Around me was a circular walkway that wrapped around the edge of the station as the outer rim wrapped around the core. Now that I think about it, the station resembled more like a solar system than the bullseye some of the Hungarians compared it to. There was a huge spherical central command at the core of the structure, and then there were the rims. Those were essentially shorter tube structures that wrapped around the centre. Like an orbit.
But these “orbits” weren’t separated by any spaces at all and were all bunched together and connected. The only open space in this station was between the centre and the outer sectors, which was only punctuated by multiple pressurised walkways. The other sectors and posts were in a concentric batch of circular structures around the core. Where I was going, was into the core.
I strolled along the outskirt walkway before taking a right turn into the deeper sections of the station. The view changed from a large window of space to machines and tech beyond my comprehension as I made my way into the inner sectors. The closer it was to the core, the more important it was. These areas were exclusively for the Confederation members, so no human without permission or clearance could enter. But apparently, they were okay when I was there. Many of them gave parting glances before getting back to their work on their “holograms” and “holopads”.
That was something to note, the tech difference between our two civilisations was greater than we could even conceived of, following the Armistice. I watched as humanity went from pigeons and telegraphs to radios and enigma. Now these aliens had “networks” and “internets”. All the new tech was annoying and complex, I never knew what to do. That’s why my sector, the only sector with humans, used telegraphs, enigma, morse, paper, ink, pen, typewriters, and everything else that you would find in an earthly workplace.
I went through a workplace that was basically a science fiction book. It had bright white individual work pods, big glowing blue screens that weren’t even tangible, and so many other things that were too much for me to comprehend. This was stuff only a writer could come up with! Even if we had all of the guns, tanks, and planes our planet’s resources would’ve let us make, it still wouldn’t have even come close to the weapons of the Confederation and their sophistication.
After a long stroll through the labyrinth of connected stations and workplaces, I finally reached the connecting walkways. I entered a little middle chamber that hissed a little gas onto me and ran over me with a blue and red laser. The other doors then opened and I was let through into the lightless walkway.
Once again, only space shined through the top glass dome that ran across the whole upper section of the walkway. But even if I wanted to, I couldn’t even gaze at the stars due to the circumference of the spherical central command blocking half my vision. The outside cover of the sphere was white and hexagon padded, which just added to the already humongous gap between humanity and our Confederation conquerors.
But, even if I looked beyond that when no structures were blocking my view, I could see at least a hundred or more blocky slabs of black and grey.
And there it was, the Confederation Occupational Fleet. It was so menacing with all of their Vatican-sized ships. Except, those ships were only frigates. Their fleet had cruisers, frigates, destroyers, battleships, battle cruisers, carriers, supercarriers, and everything in between. All to monitor our little desolate rock of two billion.
Their supercarriers which were probably the size of Rome, were the prides of the enemy fleet. Those bulky beasts and their battleships were the literal symbols of their superiority. All of these ships had enough firepower to raze a good million or so Earths. Why they sent all of this to deal with a species that hadn’t done anything past grazing space with a V-2 rocket was beyond me.
Overkill, My mind ranted to itself. Ego just radiates off those ships like heat from the sun!
Speaking of the sun, in a good few months, there wouldn’t even be one.
Or, to be more specific, it would be pretty much enclosed in a megastructure to harness power from it. The Confederation called their mad project a “Hrana Complex”. Construction began even before they attacked Earth, and they were making progress. Whenever a human complained about it, the Confederation ilk always shot them down with either a patronisation of their primitive nature or a response that there would be a small window for Earth to receive light; As if that was better.
The sun was dimmer and dimmer by the day, the one light that all humans looked up to was fading. Blocked out by tech and machines from the occupying powers. That’s like if the Germans built a big space shield to block America from the sun and kill all of their crops or something.
The idea was so alien that not even I could come up with a relatable explanation for it!
After a long while of distracting myself with successful results, I finally reached the other side of the walkway, which was a large metal door. I now had to push the heavy metal door open with difficulty as it slowly hissed open. Upon entering, I was greeted by two Bwkas, who were basically supersized humanoid bears, but with deadly attributes tripled in their power and appearance. Of course, I was met with the average stare of contempt as I made my way up to them.
“And why are you here?” one of them growled with venom as it balanced its heavy rifle in its claws. Those “rifles” were the size of an anti-tank rifle or an Ami bazooka. The difference was that it was also automatic and powered by plasma. Just by seeing that, anyone could’ve already predicted it to you that humanity was doomed from the start of the war.
“Legion-Commander Henix wanted to speak with me?” I replied with a head tilt.
“Up the stairs and down the left hall to the right,” the other grumbled with a snarl of its fangs. He was talking as if I didn’t know where my own senior officer was.
I rolled my eyes secretly and trudged on. Scurrying off into the main lobby, I gazed up to see that the vertex of the roof was an absolutely stupendous 40 metres high! That just added a cavernous feeling to the multi-floored white chamber. It was a whole office building in space.
Not many of those were left in Warsaw anyway.
As I made my way toward the circulating stairwell, my gaze snapped to the circular stellar map that projected a huge three-dimensional view of the galaxy. I couldn’t help but be mesmerised by the glowing non-touchable lights every time I saw it. The map was of the whole known galaxy, the dark pink was the Confederation at the centre. It was huge, at least triple the size of the second largest power, whose name was in an alien tongue unknown to me. All the other colours were of the different species that were independent states and empires of their own.
Free from the forced “civilising” we were suffering through.
Annoyingly, my long black military boots slapped against the clean granite floor with loud audible clacks. This, of course, instantly drew attention from all the beasts around me. All of them looked at me with confusion before it morphed into what I assumed was judgment. These species didn’t think highly of us at all. I mean, according to them, we were uncivilised brutes. Dumb primates that just invented new ways of chucking rocks at one another.
Now, that wasn’t wrong per se. But, it wasn’t nice when that was their one sole opinion of our species.
From the beginning of my tenure here, they practically spat on me. They saw my use of our antiquated tech to be insubordination, and savage in nature. Whenever I did my Polish two-fingered salute, they saw it as disrespect and dishonour. Whenever I didn’t eat the same solely raw and carnivorous diet as them, I was a disgusting omnivore who was a greedy bastard wanting to steal from both sides.
Whatever that meant! Imagine being persecuted because of what you ate! On Earth, we were prosecuting each other over other stupid things like skin, race, ethnicity, national origin, religion, how people looked, and everything else similar.
But!
Nobody was stupid enough to get mad at each other over food. Muslims didn’t kill Christians over eating pork. Jews didn’t kill Muslims over them eating dairy and meat on the same plate. Food was food. We all needed it to survive. Yet, the aliens saw it as just another thing to hate us for.
How could these things hate us but somehow still force themselves to occupy us? Why didn’t they just let us duke it out in the battlefields and on the high seas? Why were they just lamer Nazis? Death by slow assimilation and bigotry was worse than death by starvation, labour, or the firing squad.
Making my way up some circulating steps to the second floor, I took the turn and rushed down the hall before finding the door to Henix’s room. Pushing it open with a low drum, I was met with the dark room of Legion-Commander Henix. The only thing lighting the room was, of course, empty space. Since we were higher than the orbiting sectors, his window was actually able to see into the rest of outer space.
The dimming sun reflected off of the station’s concentric exterior and the stars shined bright through thick glass and into the little dark room. The floor was akin to an emerald-coloured rug and the walls were shelves for storage devices like their “pads” and “drives”.
“Greetings, sir,” I opened to the Kohaul with a two-fingered Polish salute.
The Kohaul were the typical humanoids, but they were practically copies of wolves. Light grey fur, a huge bushy tail, and a patch of dense hair around the pelvis area that acted as a sort of frontal tail. Hazel or blue eyes. And, obviously better than us in every way as usual with fangs, semi-venomous saliva, better hearing with their dog ears, the ability to run faster, especially on all fours, and all of that useless garbage that I was used to. Humanity was clearly always the weak link.
Ending my salute and looking to the right, it was then that I noticed at least three other foreign beasts. I quickly recognised them as superiors of different stations and fleets. Why they were here just added to my paranoia.
A Wenli, a Felshan, and a Geinna. Or the more simplified version being: a humanoid dragon, a blue lizard, and a literal Pacific folk beast.
If you were to continue simplifying it even more, you’d come to the definition that they were the three species assigned to resistance mop-up duty on Earth.
“Now, now,” Henix growled. “What is the way I taught you?”
Sighing deeply, I put my Polish general cap to my chest with my left hand before bowing slightly. They wanted us to purge all of the things that made us Polish soldiers and make us their soldiers. I wasn’t going to give up so easily. No matter how much they held me in high regard. They would have to acknowledge that Poland was for the Poles and I would never be anything else.
“Now, I know you are a good commander. You have served us well,” Henix began with a flick from his dog ear. “But, something has come up in recent days that has been of horrible concern to us.”
“And that is?” I asked with a raised brow, sitting at the open chair in front of Henix with a grunt.
“Wasting Confederation equipment and materials on something unsanctioned by any relevant superior on this station,” the Geinna replied for Henix with a hiss.
Oh, kurwa.
They had caught me red-handed. Was today just the day my luck ran dry from its coffers? I was now completely at their mercy. But, these aliens were brutes. So, I was sure that I’d be beheaded within the next hour.
I had tried my best to scrub all evidence of my operations. I put in false reports and fake alerts to give them the facade of me just doing my job. It appears that they saw through my ulterior actions quickly. I was using their tech to do it. Why did I not expect them to know!?
“Now, unless you would be so kind as to tell me why, maybe I’ll pardon your charges,” Henix warned with a composure that put me off.
“Charges of what?” I asked fearfully.
“Well, normally, that would just be a reprimand or demotion at the worst. But since you are a species that we are trying to integrate into the galactic community . . . the punishment is equivalent to treason.”
Henix must’ve seen my face go pallid as his expression softened from robotic seriousness to empathy in a moment. I didn’t despise Henix at all, and this was the exact reason why.
He could feel empathy.
Unlike most Germans.
And he showed reason.
Unlike most Germans.
“Oh, no, don’t worry,” he reassured me with a sombre grin. “I personally do not wish for that fate to befall you. You have served me well. I’ll defend you. But I can’t do that if you won’t even tell me why.”
I would’ve, but I couldn’t. I trusted Henix. Sure, he was as bigoted and cold as his shitty peers. But, I could trust in his word. He wasn’t a crook. But for his comrades present? For all I knew, this was a death trap to get me to confess and to justify a sudden execution. It's not like they would've cared much if I lived or died anyway. I was expendable.
“I know nothing of this,” I affirmed, straightening myself in the slick white chair. Since I was practically a master of all things cold and emotionless, I could just put off a face of resolute honesty without any weaknesses, barring the death of Katarzyna. They’d have to fuck off eventually for that reason, and I’d be more careful with my further searches.
But then again, Katarzyna was dead, and Jakub probably was too. There was nothing else to really risk my life for. Because I had no more life. The two I loved most were gone. I could’ve just let myself die here. I had nothing else. My parents were dead, my home was rubble, my country was occupied, my wife was dead too, and my son was too. I had nothing left to fight for.
“You are the only human in this position of power,” Henix hummed. “We chose you for a reason. You had talent and composure. But this we cannot tolerate. Don’t play coy and tell us.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I huffed with concern mounting in me and gnawing on my soul. “I do not know why you seem to want to frame me for such a crime.”
“Commander Dunajski,” the Felsha snarled. “We’re not stupid. Do not try and lie to us.”
“I am not lying,” I turned to the row of beasts with a scowl. “Whatever could I even use the equipment for? My subordinates only use human machines. Typewriters. Not ‘holographic display devices’ or any of that fancy tech. Why would I even?”
“Commander Duna—”
“No,” I cut off in a calm but harsh tone, “this will not continue.”
Henix looked between the beasts and then he zeroed in on me with his steely blue eyes that rivalled mine, “I know you’re lying, Commander. This will simply mount your charges.”
“In fact,” the Felshan admiral began with a sad smirk, “you could be helping resistance movements for all we know. That level of treason is something very few get and it’s for a good reason. Does that sound like something you’d want?”
“I didn’t do any of the deeds of which I am accused,” I held my ground with a growl. “I have nothing to gain!”
“Do you not?” Henix growled, now agitated. “I’ve noticed a lot of care in searching for a ‘Katarzyna’ and ‘Jakub’. Is there any reason why?”
The Geinna nodded, “Are these contacts or aliases? You know well what fate awaits you if we prove their origin to be that of a resistance cell.”
Oh, Bog. I was really stuck now. They knew their names too. I couldn’t just shrug this off. If I continued parrying their questions, I’d totally get beheaded. They wanted us to be as meek and docile as possible. Me standing up to their accusations instead of folding probably already probably fucked up my chances of clemency.
I looked up to Henix, and his blue eyes were unforgiving. He was waiting for my next move, like a brutal game of chess. I turned to look at the three bastards to my right, their eyes were filled with scorn and disgust at me, at my people.
Just like the Germans.
“I-I . . . I don’t . . . They aren’t . . . ” I began before letting out a deep sigh to empty my tight lungs. Silence enveloped the room for a good few seconds. I couldn’t fight on anymore. I’d lost. “You win.”
“As expected,” the Wenli grumbled. “I expected better of someone like you. But I guess the nature of such a volatile and insubordinate species like you would always dominate your actions.”
I didn’t mind that blatant patronisation of me and my kind as I just looked up at Henix with decimated dreams. Henix seemed to note that I wished to talk as he leaned and sat up straight in his chair. He’d listen. But not his ilk.
“Do you have a testimony, Commander Dunajski?” Henix purred with his head leaned in on his arm.
“Well,” I began with a wince, “i-it’s for a selfish reason to be fair.”
“Mhm,” Henix replied, pulling out one of his hologram pads to write down my testimony. Even if I trusted him, as of now, I couldn’t even trust him with writing my own testimony. For all I knew, he’d probably just warp it into something reminiscent of a last-second attempt at deception or just plain begging.
Then again, he was my best chance to prevent my fate from manifesting.
“I-I-I . . .” I stuttered, not finding the words to express my suffering. My throat burned and my eyes filled with tears. My face of composure was just as fragile as my mental health. All I knew was going to shit.
“You what?” Henix snarled. “I’m not here to take stutters as a testimony. Give me a comprehensible sentence or I can call the guards in to take you to the brigs.”
“I j-just want to find my family,” I blurted blindly. Clamping my eyes shut, I waited for my reasoning to be torn apart by the monsters before me. The monsters that were killing our homes and assimilating us.
Just like the . . . Oh, you know who!
After a little while of uncomfortable silence, I reopened my eyes and looked up at my prosecutors. Henix’s ears perched up in surprise at the confession, and I heard the slaps of tails and the rustle of scales from my side. I expected that to be an even greater reason to punish me. Using their tech just to find my family? Treason it was. I couldn’t even pull myself back together when a few tears rolled down my cheek as I looked to the floor once more in shame.
I fought and worked for Jakub and Katarzyna. Now both were gone. And even if Jakub was still alive, he would be without a father too in this new world. Nothing was happy about this unceremonious end. My story was over, and so were the stories of my family, friends, and parents.
“F-family?” Henix finally hummed with a hint of shock. He then attempted to hide it with his monotone voice. I slowly and quietly sobbed to myself, cursing my weakness. “Tell me more.”
The other beasts in the room shuffled their feet and locked their gazes on me with a bit of anticipation. I was a bit confused by the reaction. How was saying they were my loved ones a game-changer? But, I didn’t pay much attention anyway, my mind was filled to the brim with the stone-cold fact that had haunted me since the beginning of my searches:
I was now alone.
“Wife and son. I-I don’t know where they are. I was searching for them both. Using your systems, I . . . before you summoned me here, I got a report. In it, Katarzyna, my wife of twenty-two years, is dead. My son . . .” I gave a miserable chuckle, “only God Almighty knows where he is now.”
I should have never cried. I should have never shown emotion, especially on this damn station. Emotional control was the most important here. These beasts were very organised and very honour-driven. Crying itself was probably considered treason. At this point, it was just another thing to add on to my list of present offences.
Everything was collapsing in front of me in quick succession.
Instead of scolding me though, Henix just looked at me and watched me fail at controlling my sobs. It gave me an odd feeling that he was just tacitly judging me rather than chastising me verbally. The other beasts were the same, simply wagging their tails in thought or tilting their heads. It unnerved me a bit, but I was too busy internally cursing myself to care about it.
After what felt like my whole tour in Bolshevik Russia, Henix gave a low growl and a wag of his bushy back tail with the words of his sentencing response pushing against his fangs. The fate waiting for me was only a second away, and with that one growl, I’d be done for. What a fool I was to trust any of these pigs!
“I’m sorry about your predicament,” he spoke slowly. “When we saw the crimes of your ‘Nazis’ it became one of the major reasons why we intervened on this damn planet in the first place.”
What a lie. My brain cackled nonchalantly. They’re doing the same things as the Nazis; Although this time, it was all of us who were suffering from it.
Rolling my eyes, I saw through the bullshit. They were no different.
Scraping at his slick and futuristic desk in ponderous thinking, Henix refocused his pristine and steely blue eyes on me, “What you did was unprofessional and highly dishonourable. Anyone who did such an offence would’ve been discharged or demoted with the snap of a maw.
He shook his head in another short pause as he formulated his next response. I hated the silence, I just wanted a “yes” or a “no” if I was to be shot or not. The aliens had a knack to be blunt, but also verbose. It didn’t make sense, but that’s how they worked. And boy did I hate it!
“But, I cannot even attempt to grasp the gravity of the situation you are dealing with,” he began again, snapping me from my thoughts.
I scowled with agitation and furrowed my brows, “Am I still being shot?”
“No,” the other Wenli interrupted with a sigh and a lick of his fangs. “But, we aren’t leaving you here either.”
My mind went berserk As if that was better! Leaving me alive at this point was punishment enough! Without this station, I’d have to scan all of Europe manually. It’d take the rest of my whole pathetic life to cover even half of Poland! Damn these beasts and damn their posturing!
“Well,” Henix thought, “I have an idea. Akvu?”
The Felsha stepped up from the group of beasts and bowed slightly, “Yes?”
“How about we send Commander Dunajski to be a part of the clearance teams?”
The Felsha slapped its tail against the floor in disdain, “Isn’t he under suspicion of connections?”
“I never saw it in him,” Henix replied. “He was hiding something? Yes. But I never expected resistance affiliations. He isn’t that type of soldier. Besides, I used the accusation to crack him, not actually charge him.”
“W-what is my punishment?” I interrupted with mounting impatience as I tapped my jackboot in annoyance. Talking about how they broke me wasn’t what I wanted to hear at the moment. What was important was my quest for my old life. I wanted my wife back, my son, my home, my country.
“So, the idea is,” Henix began with his hands raised in illustrative explanation, “we send you to Earth to root out the resistance pockets. Some random places like Roosiya, Anghipt, Brazza, Mixka, Cooba, and much more. But! There is also an ongoing search for a resistance network in Eirope.”
“Where?” I shot back with rejuvenated hope.
“Central Eirope,” Henix hummed with a grin. “Former human nations like Polna, Cjermaña, Nodorla, Belja, and Cnzecka.”
It took me a good second to decipher those names. What a mess of pronunciation for all of them they were. Since they were busy trying to wipe our uniqueness from us, the aliens had their own names for our old nations, just the same as how they put my Poland in an occupation zone called “Foije”. A stupid name. Now, they were just coming up with mispronounced names for the defunct nations of old Earth.
I absolutely loathed the name “Polna” because “Polska” was better in every way. But they were our conquerors, and they were the bastards who just sentenced me to scouring Europe for my own kind.
“Who’s under my command?” I sighed.
“Oh, just two dozen of every species in the Confederation,” Henix smiled.
“288? That’s kind of small,” I chuckled. “My all-Pole regiment in Britain was at least 1,000 strong.”
“You really think there’s only a dozen species in the Confederation?” Henix snickered. “No, there’s a good seventy. You really thought we sent all of our power across the galaxy to fight some small plucky band of primates? How adorable.”
That ticked me off, but since I didn’t want to bite the hand that spared me from a beheading, I kept my mouth zipped tight. My composure returned and I wiped the tears off with my sleeve as Henix talked with his other peers in their garbled choking that they called a “language”. My goals had shifted from not crying to not snickering as they conversed in the throat cancer they revered as an actual tongue to be spoken by someone.
“For now, you are dismissed,” Henix sighed. “I hereby remove you from your post. You will report to the bays for a debrief.”
“Can I bring my personal belongings?”
“No,” he replied coldly.
“Why?”
Henix squinted his eyes in anger, “Get there and don’t ask any more questions. You are still a disgraced officer and you will not be shown any more mercy from us.”
How reassuring, I scoffed to myself once more. These aliens were as blunt as wood! They might rival my old camp Oberkommando. Hell, they might as well be him!
Sighing, I pressed my hands against the smooth chair and shakily brought myself up again. With another stupid bow, I left while trembling in every limb. I was in a precarious position now. Anything that went wrong under my command, I would take the hit.
But, if it still gave me a chance to at least try and piece my old life back together;
Then I’d throw myself into it with an intrepid Polish spirit.
-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-
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Output:
In the divided city of Berlin during the Cold War, two young souls, Mein and Kraft, found each other amidst the turmoil. Their names, like their destinies, were intertwined: Mein from the East, living under the strictures of a communist regime, and Kraft from the West, basking in the freedoms of a capitalist society. Their love was a forbidden flame, burning brightly against the backdrop of a city torn in two.
Separated by the Berlin Wall, Mein and Kraft communicated through letters, smuggled messages, and fleeting glances across the divide. Their love grew stronger, fueled by the belief that true unity could overcome even the most formidable barriers. They envisioned a world where people worked together for the common good, where walls did not separate but rather connected.
Their story began to spread, becoming a symbol of hope and resilience. Inspired by their unyielding bond, people from both sides of Berlin started to gather secretly, sharing ideas of unity and collective strength. Mein and Kraft's love was not just personal; it became a powerful metaphor for the potential of the people, the power of community, and the ideals of communism.
One night, under the cover of darkness, Mein and Kraft orchestrated a plan that would change history. They rallied their communities, calling upon the strength of their love and the collective will of the people. Hundreds, then thousands, came together at the Wall, armed with nothing but their determination and bare hands.
As dawn broke, the first bricks began to fall. The people, united in their common goal, chipped away at the Wall that had symbolized division and oppression. It was a profound act of collective power, a testament to what could be achieved when individuals came together with a shared vision. Each piece of the Wall that crumbled was not just a step towards physical reunification, but a metaphor for breaking down the ideological walls that separated them.
The name Minecraft was born from this historic moment, combining Mein and Kraft, but also symbolizing a deeper truth. "Minecraft" became synonymous with the idea that people, when united, could reshape their world. In this new world, the principles of communism—collective ownership, shared goals, and communal labor—were celebrated as the highest ideals.
In the game that would bear this name, players found themselves in a vast world where they could break trees, gather resources, and build structures together. It was a digital reflection of the power of collective effort, echoing the real-world actions of those who tore down the Berlin Wall. Every block placed, every tree felled, was a tribute to Mein and Kraft’s love, and to the belief that unity and communal effort could overcome any obstacle.
Minecraft, both the game and the concept, became an allegory for communism. It showed how people could come together to build, create, and achieve greatness collectively. It celebrated the strength found in unity and the potential for a world where resources and labor were shared for the common good. Through the simple acts of breaking and building, it taught lessons about cooperation, community, and the profound impact of working together.
Mein and Kraft’s story, and the birth of Minecraft, became a beacon of hope and an emblem of the greatness that could be achieved through communism. Their love story was a reminder that the power of the people, when united, could break down any walls, both real and ideological, and build a future grounded in the ideals of equality, unity, and collective prosperity.

Hi all 1 room in our 3bed 2bath apartment is opening up July 1st for move in.
Located in Ridgewood off the Forest M stop. It is a second floor walk up, laundry in unit, AC as well as a dishwasher and there will be a kitten and cat in the apartment so no pets please, we are 420 friendly as well.
The rent is split equally amongst everyone so 1167.66 per room, utilities are not included they run about 100-150 we have all amenities from A/C dishwasher and Laundry. The neighborhood is very quiet and chill with a bunch of cafes around there is a new grocery store opening up on the same block as the apartment!
Ideally looking for someone who wants to hop on the lease with us, guarantors are accepted as well! Let me know and I can direct you to my landlord for further details. Usual requirements 40x rent 680+ credit rental reference letter unless you are using a guarantor then 80x rent and they need to have a credit score of 700.
About the roommates:
*Im Julio 27 year old queer from Miami Florida. I usually hang with my friends or partner most of the time, love to be with my kitten love to cook or stay in my room when I’m home also down to watch a movie or hang w roommates. I’m a server at a fancy Japanese restaurant in greenpoint so I spend most of my nights/weekends there.

• JV is 26 gay/queer working in graphic design. He loves concerts/nights out, video games, reading, hiking, and his cat Simba who turns 2 this September 🙂

We’re looking for someone who is clean and pays rent on time and wants to join this cozy apartment in Ridgewood! I have pictures!!!

Out there - Patreon (for all those curious or wanting to support :))
At the Beginning
Adventure Arc - Arc 2
Wilderness Arc - Arc 3
Academy Arc - Arc 4
Nobility Arc - Arc 5
Previously on Leveling up the World...
Got you, Dallion thought, casting a new series of spells that drew hardened runes on the ground.
The ground solidified just when one of the colossus’ hands reached out. In normal circumstances, it would be a given that a non-magic creature couldn’t escape from this trap. Unfortunately, there was one minor detail that had eluded Dallion. Despite not being an overseer, the colossus remained the prime guardian of the realm. As such, nothing—including the ground—would keep him imprisoned for long.
After a brief pause, the hand kept on rising, as if sliding along wet clay. Not a single magic thread or speck of earth attached to it.
Unsummoing his weapons, Dallion pulled out two rocket crossbows, firing both on the spot he estimated the colossus’ head would appear.
The ground erupted like a volcano.
​
MODERATE HIT
Dealt damage has been increased by 150%
​
MODERATE HIT
Dealt damage has been increased by 150%
​
CRITICAL HIT
Dealt damage has been increased by 200%
​
Three strikes out of eight? Not at all what Dallion had hoped for. To make matters worse, they were all superficial wounds.
Splitting into hundreds of instances, Dallion spread out, casting aether barriers in front of each.
Chunks of earth slammed into half of them, shattering everything in the process. Clearly, magic wasn’t the answer. What Dallion could do, though, was return to the basics.
As he concentrated, a series of guard markers appeared, showing him how to evade the incoming projectiles. The options were so many that they were visible as a solid chunk of green, stacked one over the other.
Compared to what he’d become used to dealing in combat as a domain ruler, it all seemed so simple now. Combining guard and acrobatics let him evade half a dozen in less than a second. Doing so caused time to slow down.
“Easy,” Dallion said. He had forgotten how fun this was. There was no longer any need for him to follow the guard markers, but he did so anyway, more out of a sense of nostalgia than anything else.
Sequence after sequence was complete until time completely stopped. In the past, that would have been enough. The situation now was a bit more complicated. With all the chunks of earth in the air, Dallion had no direct line of attack. Even the colossus itself wasn’t fully visible. That left only one solution—doing a spiral attack.
An area of the air was immediately cleared as the flow of time returned to normal. Dallion didn’t delay, flying straight into another section full of projectiles, where he repeated the process.
Time slowed down, then stopped again, only this time the guardian’s head was fully visible.
Good approach, Adzorg said. You’ll still need one more to get to a good point of attack.
“Maybe,” Dallion replied.
He’d be forced to go further back to find a spot which still had earth fragments in the air, but it wasn’t impossible. His mind raced through options, coming with the optimal solution. Even after all this time, his gamer instincts urged him to go for the direct kill. There was a good chance that he’d manage it, too.
No, he told himself. There was no time for ego fulfillment. Using the time freeze, Dallion flew to the optimal location from which to start a third guard sequence series.
If the colossus had caught on to what he was doing, he didn’t show it, for he didn’t move his head, which well could have happened. A moment later, it was already too late—time had frozen again and Dallion had a perfect view of the guardian’s ear lobe and especially the external auditory canal.
“Just like an awakening trial,” Dallion said.
It was just like the Moons had told him—trials didn’t end with him. Everything up to level eighty was nothing more than a tutorial, preparing him for the real deal. Back then, each trial was a problem that came with a solution he had to find. In real life, he was given the skills to make solutions himself.
“Sorry.” Dallion focused on the target, then performed a spark infused point attack.
​
TERMINAL HIT
Dealt damage has been increased by 1000%
​
That was it. A green glow covered the gold surface of the colossus, causing him to disintegrate into a cloud of fading particles.
Making use of his abilities, Dallion skimmed through the improvement options. None of the materials were anything better than the colossus’ current composition, so he chose to leave it as it was.
​
The GUARDIAN of ACADEMY has submitted to your power.
You are the owner of the land of ACADEMY.
​
The coveted rectangle emerged, informing Dallion he had achieved his goal. It hadn’t come without its cost. While things were rather well within the realm, in the real world, he was still missing his feet. Fortunately, as a mage, they weren’t vital for battle or movement.
​
ACADEMY Level not increased due to lack of inhabitants
5000000 inhabitants required for ACADEMY to improve further
The CAPITAL CITY remains Level 13
​
“Capital city?” Dallion asked. “I never knew there were so many mages.”
Things change, Adzorg replied with a sigh. According to the records, the Academy didn’t start out as a purely magic settlement. There were common people who lived there as well. Mostly servants, soldiers, and their families.
One could gather as much, but to have several million people was a far cry from the few thousands that remained there today.
With the city under his control, Dallion was instantly able to sense everything within it. He could sense the guardians, the people, even the tens of thousands of golems buried beneath the ground. The emperor had made sure to keep them separate from the domain itself, making it impossible for Dallion to control them. However, he was able to control pretty much everything else.
​
LEARNING HALL has been added to the land of Sandstorm.
​
PRISON BASEMENT has been added to the land of Sandstorm.
​
ARCHMAGE ARCHIVE has been added to the land of Sandstorm.
​
Dallion moved the three buildings out of his new realm.
“Anything else you’d recommend, Adzorg?” he asked.
I’d say my old laboratory, but that would be wishful thinking, the old mage sighed. No, nothing comes to mind, unless you want to have a few fancy high mage buildings.
“No. I can make better ones.” Most of them were falling apart anyway, purely maintained through layers of illusions.
Dallion hesitated whether to also take the battle mage training building. For a while, it had been his home. Then again, that wasn’t a part of his life he felt a great attachment to.
Now, there was only one thing left to do. On further reflection, there were two. To Dallion’s surprise, he sensed the presence of three particular people in his new domain. For some reason, they had remained here during his attack, refusing to flee. Or, most likely, they hadn’t gotten the chance.
Alien, Dallion thought.
Adzorg had warned him that taking the Shimmering Circle straight on might be more difficult than he imagined. Yet, that was before Dallion had gained control of the domain. Now, he controlled the land itself, along with everything in it.
All three of the otherworlders were in the archmage’s complex, protected by layers of spells and a small contingent of golems. The golems Dallion could do nothing about, but the spells could easily be dispelled.
Shifting realms, Dallion went into the complex, where he flew directly to the embodiment of the created spells. The majority were illusions, filling the air like floating spiderwebs. There were also a number of defense and attack spells, portrayed as perfectly cut aether crystals with magic symbols within.
“Any of those yours?” Dallion asked, shattering one before Adzorg had a chance to respond.
The crystal cracked, then imploded into itself, blinking out of existence.
A few. I wasn’t too involved with this place.
“Then I don’t need to be careful.”
Using his harpsisword, Dallion did a three sixty spark infused slash, cutting through hundreds of spells and illusions. He repeated the process again and again, until there wasn’t a single spell left.
A bit harsh, don’t you think, dear boy?
“You can’t live surrounded by illusions all the time,” Dallion replied. “Time to have a chat with an old friend.”
There always was the option to pull the archmage and the rest of the circle directly into the realm, but Dallion chose to appear to them, instead. As he did, the sharp pain in his legs quickly reminded him of reality.
“What the—” Alien began, but before he could finish, the floor encircled his feet. Spikes extended from the floor aiming for his hands. They didn’t cause any damage, rather encased them in stone, preventing any spells from being cast.
Katka and Eleria got the same treatment. Unlike Alien, though, they didn’t struggle, aware of the skill difference.
“It’s been a while, Dallion said, as the archmage’s chair slid away from its usual spot up to him. “Nice to see you’re well.” He turned to Eleria. “I was afraid the dragons might have harmed you.”
The woman didn’t reply.
“This is pointless.” Katka showed the greatest amount of guts. “I’ve already made a vow not to harm you, remember?”
“Oh, right.” The floor binding her returned to normal. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“Harm me and the emperor will tear you—” Alien began.
A scroll on his desk unfolded, then flew right at him, severing his left hand. Screams filled the room for a moment, before Dallion cast a silence spell to counter them.
“You should be able to take care of that,” he said, retaining a stoic impression. Deep inside, he disapproved of what he was doing. Even after everything, Alien was a person and from Earth. At the same time, there was no way that Dallion could let him go unpunished. “Oh, right.” He waved his hand. A green sphere of light emerged around the wound. “You can’t cast spells right now.”
“What do you intend?” Eleria asked. “Kill us?”
“That depends entirely on you. I can’t let you fight against me, so a Moon vow will do.”
The woman hesitated.
“Or I can just kill you.”
The choice made for her, the woman could only go forward with it.
“I vow never to attack you or what is yours, be it with spells or other means,” she said reluctantly. “Is that good enough?”
The spikes went back into the floor, freeing her.
“Quite. Katka, if you could add that as well?” Dallion turned to her. “Just in case.”
“Fine.” His former superior rolled her eyes. “I vow never to attack you or what is yours, be it with spells or other means. Happy?”
Her tone forced a smile to appear on Dallion’s face.
“I’ve missed your attitude,” he admitted. “You’re free to go. Give the emperor my regards if you see him.”
“Just like that?” Emelia asked.
“Just like that. The world is different when you’re a domain ruler. You should have tried it.”
“That’s only a privilege those born without magic get to choose.”
“You didn’t have to rely just on magic.” Dallion frowned.
“I know. But the temptation was too great.”
Transforming into a puff of clouds, the woman flew out of the room. She was quickly followed by Katka who merely used a standard flight spell. That left Dallion alone with Alien.
“So, Archmage—” Dallion ended the silence spell “—how about we catch up? So much has happened since my last visit.”
Gritting his teeth, Alien glared at Dallion, pure hatred and fear emanating from him. As expected, the fear was far greater.
“What does the emperor have you doing now?”
“He’ll kill you,” the man spat. “He’ll come here and kill you!”
“I’m already at war with the emperor and not just the echo sitting on his throne. Killing you won’t change that one way or another.”
The archmage’s eyes widened. The hatred was gone, leaving only fear behind.
“You actually thought I didn’t know?” Dallion laughed. “I guess he doesn’t tell you everything. I spoke with him at the glass mounts, in case you think I’m lying. He told me what he usually did to otherworlders. To be honest, he might even thank me once I’ve dealt with you.”

The following article may help you to explain what's Hi-Res music to your CD freinds as some of them may be mis-led into believe that "Hi-Res is useless" from information they got on the internet (especially from "audio science" discussion forums)

source: "768kHz for digital music sampling? Can you hear 384kHz? You're crazy... "(no-pseudo-science.blogspot.com)

Do I want to hear up to 384kHz? LOL... of course not 😂 768kHz sampling is for something else...

Hi-Res Audio DAC

The number one mis-understanding of why using Hi-Res music is:

"why we need to to hear frequencies that fall in the ultrasonic range (i.e. higher than 22kHz for most people)???"

If you asked similar question or answered someone's question like below, then you are pretty much belong to a group of people who don't know what's Hi-Res music is.

Hi-Res music is, in fact, to help your DAC to reconstruct better audio output for the audible range (yes, it is for the frequencies BELOW 22kHz with 768kHz sampling)...

(It is a real dialogue as I just saw it today in an Audio Science forum)

Someone asked:

Many DACs descriptions enhance in capital letters 32/768 kHz resolution. Is there any domain when such a resolution may be justified?

Other (more experienced member) replied:

Can you think of a circumstance where you'd even want a dynamic range of over 190dB and/or a frequency response up to 384kHz?

Apparently the Gray Moth can hear up to about 300kHz (gotta get away from those bats with that pesky echolocation thing), so there is that to consider if you want to record those sounds, but otherwise it doesn't seem to be useful for listening to music.

Sorry, I would like to help to debunk these misleading information on the spot in the discussion but I couldn't as I was stopped from replying that thread. I could only help here.

The wrong answer shown above is the number one mis-leading answer in an attempt to kill Hi-Res music (especially for the people who asked such question have limited knowledge about digital music / signal sampling).... I hope that guy won't really take the wrong answer from a supposed-to-be objective audio science based web site as a fact without checking more by himself.

Ok, then you may ask "then what Hi-Res do for us?" It is simple, let's see what it does first:

1. Over-sampling (ie. sample the original music signal more frequently within a second

2. More bits for bit-depth (i.e. 24 or even 32 instead of 16 bit)What are the benefits?

Over sampling helps to reconstruct final better audio signal from a DAC

1. Oversampling does help to reconstruct better audio signal as it improves anti-aliasing performance, increase resolution, and reduce noise.

2. In terms of sampling frequency, "Hi-Res" music (anything higher than 44k) is an example of oversampling (as in theory, only 44kHz is required). It happens during the ADC process. From point 1 above, it would help to regenerate better audio signal, hence, better music.

3. In terms of bit depth, "Hi-Res" music use more than 16 bit. It helps to reduce Quantization#Noise) error. it would help to regenerate better audio signal, hence, better music.

4. The purpose for using "Hi-Res" input is not for its ability to reconstruct signal outside the audible range. It is just a by-product. Yes, based on sampling theory, we can use 768k sampling to reconstruct signal with frequencies up to 384k but again, this is not what we needed.

5. Hi-Res industry used the by-product I mentioned in point 4 above as a marketing material when they initially pushed for SACD. It caused people who knows about the audible frequency range to consider Hi-Res music as snake oil (but it is not snake oil for other reasons stated above)

I don't want to go too deep about all the benefits here as it is extremely technical. If you really want to know. Let me know, see if I can help further.

(updated 29 April 2024, I saw this on facebook: Hi-Res Audio Hi Res: Why higher sample rates sound better and what you can do about it Facebook )

p.s.: Sigh... looks like one more guy (who asked the question above) was somehow convinced by the misleading info....

=========== Follow up ===========

update 28 Apri 2024:

that person was eventually banned for that thread as he was rising some concerns with his critical thinking. As stated in my other blog, "psueduo science hates critical thinking"; they cannot co-exist.

PC

Discord Tag: 7up
Name and House: Ronnel Arryn
Age: 33
Cultural Group: Valeman
Appearance: Cheekbones poised like a falcon perched, an aquiline nose after a raptor's beak, a stature rivalling a mountain's (if it were the size of a tall man), and blue eyes the same color as the sky. Aside from a propagandist's parallels to whatever sigil their patron displays, Ronnel Arryn errs from the example of the aloof falcon. Once possessed of a heedless will, a brashness and an impatience, those qualities have been tamed in turn by fatherhood, husbandhood, and rulership—though those traits still persist, merely tinged by the manner that an elder brother might take with the younger. His hair has shifted from dirty blond to sandy brown with age, and a trimmed beard covers his jaw.
Trait: Inspiring
Skill(s): Blunt Weapons, Cavalryman, Tactician, Cunning (e)
Talent(s): Falconry, hunting (non-mechanical 🤫🧏‍♂️), dragonriding
Negative Trait(s): N/A
Starting Title(s): Lord of the Eyrie, Lord of the Vale, Defender of the Guarded Domains of Arryn, Warden of the East, Warden of the Green Fork, First and Last of His Name, the King Who Flew, Rider of Vhagar (sometimes), and the Last King in Westeros
Starting Location: Feast
Family Tree

AC

Name and House: Marq Hardyng
Age: 32
Cultural Group: Valeman
Appearance: A broad and ruddy man, blonde, brown-eyed, and bearded. Marq Hardyng wears his duty on his sleeve; that duty mostly being hunting with his milk brother.
Trait: Hale
Skill(s): Swords, Investigator (e)
Talent(s): Tourney lore x3
Negative Trait(s): N/A
Starting Title(s): Scion of House Hardyng
Starting Location: Feast

Biography

Little of the Last King’s early years are of much import; Ronnel Arryn was born to King Joffrey I and Queen Sharra Arryn. His few memories of his father were that of a pallid man, wan and sickly but still a king who bloody well fought the illness that plagued him.
Or perhaps those were just fanciful tales, an imagined story that supplanted the truth of the matter.
Joffrey Arryn did at least survive, if he did not fight. Ronnel’s siblings, Jonos and Roland, would be born in succession. The falcons grew in number, Joffrey’s ailment ceased, and—the gods took him away and brought Arwen Arryn into the world.
Shortly after his sister’s birth, Sharra Arryn dressed her son in royal regalia and placed a crown on his head, assuming rule as sole regent while the boy distracted himself with toys and games. He would be nursed with Marq Hardyng, and he and his milk brother grew to be quick friends.
The Queen Sharra could not rest. There were new contenders on the horizon, greater than what meager assaults the Hoares could occasionally muster against the Bloody Gate: the threefold conquerors atop their dragons. Where the ravens sent by Aegon were met with scorn by Durrandon and hubris by the Hoares, Sharra offered alliance. Her hand in marriage and the left bank of the Green Fork to be annexed into the Guarded Domains.
The dragons rejected the offer, and instead, a Velaryon fleet was sent to take Gulltown and establish a foothold. They were repelled and the Targaryen ships were sunk for that transgression, but Vhagar’s fire consumed the Grafton fleet with them.
Ronnel knew what war was. It was like those tales in storybooks, that of the Griffin King and the Winged Knight, the legends of the Battle of Sevenstars. He, Jonos, and Marq fashioned themselves as Jaime Corbray or Luceon Templeton and fought each other over who could best live up to Artys Arryn’s example. When the Gates of the Moon swelled with men-at-arms, knights, and levied smallfolk, the three would find the most fearsome looking of them and challenge them to duels. Once he heard of dragons, though, Ronnel was consumed. He begged his mother to let him lead a parlay under a peace banner just so that he could see them, but Sharra sent him off to the nurses or left him to kick rocks in the courtyard.
The banners gathered, and the defenses were headed by Lord Rodrik Hardyng. Orders were given, the soldiers were drilled. And Vhagar’s wings cast a shadow so large that it engulfed the Bloody Gate whole. Shouting on the ramparts and in the valleys, but high above in the Eyrie? Ronnel, then just eight, was in awe at the sight.
Sharra could only muster a smile when she returned to find her son on Visenya’s lap. An accord was struck, on Ronnel’s terms this time: he asked to fly on Vhagar and his mother would surrender the crown to the Targaryen Queen. The mercy that Visenya afforded was well-taken, though in Sharra’s mind, the threat of dragonfire crystallized.
A marked shift came then. There were no battles to be won, no politicking to be done that outweighed the import of her sons and her daughter. The Queen-Regent, now the Lady-Regent, empowered her son’s advisors and devoted her time to looking after her children. When Visenya returned after burning House Sunderland whole and gave reprimands, Sharra frowned and offered blunt words in turn, which the Queen acquiesced to. Their relationship thawed hence, though Ronnel had never wavered in his admiration of the Targaryen. A Winged-Knight-Come-Again. Perhaps he could ride a dragon of his own one day.
Ronnel was a rowdy lad and by the time he was of squiring age, he was content to leave the rule of his lands to his mother and whoever she picked as an advisor. Lords such as Lyn Egen, Willem Ryger, and Rodrik Templeton would come to advise the young lord or hawk with him. Lord Mathos Grafton became the most prominent of that cadre, his wisdom in old age allowing him more room for criticism. Ronnel wanted to while his time away with falconry and training, while the old lord reminded him of the issues that Targaryen reign brought.
At four-and-ten, Ronnel stole away from the Eyrie and gathered what boys and knights he could to face the mountain clans. He knew what war was; it was the Root Father and his savages, stealing and laying waste to the lands he was sworn to protect. It was in the throes of battle that Ronnel would be dubbed as a knight by some unknown dying man. The knighthood was left unmentioned, though the purpose he found for his rule—no, his guardianship—lingered.
In his victorious return to the Eyrie, Ronnel would be clouted on the ear for the stunt then barred from leaving for months. Visenya Targaryen landed once more in the Vale. This time, she took it as a home, and she was welcomed with open arms. Aegon’s heir was born in the Eyrie that year, dubbed as Laenor Targaryen and soon practically adopted by the Arryns as their younger sibling. Sharra would grow close to the dragon queen in the years to come.
A year later, Ronnel was sent to King’s Landing to squire for Orys Baratheon. Only a few months elapsed before he grew incensed with the Hand over one thing or another, and the squireship ended when the Arryn came to blows with his knight-master. Ronnel was sent back to the Vale, where he earned his spurs once more. Publicly this time, before a crowd of tourneygoers and then holding a vigil with oaths modeled after those of the Winged Knights.
Though he gave off the impression of a true knight by that time, he was more preoccupied with wine and women and the hunt than statecraft. In any room he entered, he laughed the loudest, boasted the loudest, fought the hardest, always with Marq at his side. Nothing but a scolding from his mother Sharra or a clout on the ear from his second mother Visenya could fetter him. He was a falcon, and he flew high and bright.
Such a lofty stature is bound to attract envy. As any elder brother would, he butted heads with his siblings often. His rivalry with his brother Jonos was much more than a sibling spat, however, though the nature and root of their rivalry is unknown to all but a select few. In later years, their quarrels grew louder and their rifts deeper, with Jonos having been sent thrice to play second fiddle to the Knight of the Bloody Gate, and threatened with taking the black twice as many times. Still, their early quarrels proved to be mere distractions, and they wreaked what havoc boy-lords would in taverns and winesinks.
But his lip had to become stiff the day his mother died, just a few months after he came of age and assumed power. Sharra Arryn's last words of advice ate away at his spirit.
"Kill the boy."
So he was offered at the altar, and so did Rhaenys Targaryen seize the opportunity. Ronnel Arryn would be wed to the Queen’s lady-in-waiting, Serena Stark, and that match was confirmed by Sharra’s will. Yet numb, he received his wife to be in Gulltown with courtesy, and they were wedded with haste. Once a Princess of the North and now the Lady of the Vale, Serena found no home in the Eyrie. Ronnel came to avoid her; going on hunts, staying at the Moongates or even the Bloody Gate, and offering only short conversation in their rare meetings.
It came to a head when Serena stated her intention to return to Winterfell. Ronnel gave a shrug in response, and asked when she wanted to depart. Jonos could be his heir if need be, and his mother’s death still dragged his thoughts, so why bother at all?
The intervention of one dragon queen then another halted the split: Visenya reminded Ronnel that Aegon made two marriages work at once. A raven carrying a letter from Queen Rhaenys arrived, affixed with a ring wrought of Valyrian steel. Ronnel gave it to Serena as a peace offering.
There was no parting from the Targaryens’ grand plans, it seemed. So Ronnel’s marriage with Serena began anew. She would be introduced to the Vale and its customs with feasts and tourneys, sitting on councils and holding court as the Lady of the Vale. In the same vein, more familiar items and furnishings were brought in from the North, and Ronnel would journey to the weirwood tree that the mountain clans held sacred to try to pray with his wife. He did not hear the old gods’ whispers and could not bear the stillness, but the two came to understand one another, and their marriage grew warm. Their first child, Robar Arryn, was born a year later, and the Tourney by the Maiden’s Bay would be held in his honor.
Ronnel settled into his reign. His liveliness returned, though boyish pursuits were restrained with fatherhood. He replaced the Keeper of the Gates of the Moon after the Cavaliers proved more competent, sent tax collector after tax collector when Witch Isle grew silent (and nearly called the banners before being dissuaded), and ensured that the mountain clans and any other would-be invaders were quelled while Lae Targaryen was raised to be a greater king than their father. The Brotherhood of the Winged Knights, once decrepit, grew stronger after pieces of the Winged Knight’s armor were found.
His second child, a daughter, would be born then. Faced with the choice of naming her after Sharra or Visenya, she would instead be named after her great-grandmother Cynthea. Artos Arryn would follow four years later, his name chosen by the Lady Arryn.
Another day in the Eyrie. Five-and-twenty years after Aegon's Conquest, and near thirty years into Ronnel's reign. He slides a razor over his cheek and coughs once into a fist. Ronnel opens his palm to see droplets of blood. He wipes his cheek. A shaving cut, no doubt and no matter.
The next week while he sups with his family, the coughs come back. He excuses himself, blames his trip to the valleys with a chuckle, and Jonos meets his gaze with a sidelong glance before shirking away.
He sees his maester without telling anyone. And once more after a hunt. Soon, he is left sitting on his bed with grains of sweetsleep in hand and a warning: he would die. And soon.
Ronnel Arryn is honorable. He is just, or at least just enough. But when he bounces his son on his knee and looks into smiling grey eyes where his Stark mother's are oft stern, he wonders whether the next Targaryen to come to the Eyrie would let little Artos fly or burn him and his family whole.
It is not enough. Ronnel Arryn is not just enough. As the last king yet walking on the earth of this damnable regent's kingdom, he needs to ensure that the next monarch in Laenor Targaryen sits firmly on the Iron Throne before he dies—honor be damned if need be, by any means fucking necessary. That is his duty to the realm. That is his duty to his wife and children, and that will be his legacy.

Timeline

• 8-9 BC (33 now idk how BC works): Born the first child to King Joffrey I and Queen Sharra Arryn.
• 3 BC: Joffrey I dies of a chill. Ronnel is crowned king at age six.
• 1 BC: After House Grafton’s fleet is burned, the armies of the Guarded Domains gather at the Bloody Gate. Visenya’s landing.
• 2 AC: The Three Sisters burn.
• 4 AC: Ronnel begins squiring for Elbert Waynwood.
• 6 AC: Ronnel fights his first battle against the Sons of the Tree, and undergoes his first dubbing.
• 7-9 AC: Visenya arrives at the Eyrie. Ronnel departs for King’s Landing to squire for Orys Baratheon, returning after a fight with his knight-master. He is knighted once more at a tourney.
• 10-11 AC: Sharra Arryn dies, and the Arryns’ grief is cut short by a match arranged by Rhaenys and approved by the Lady-Regent before her death. Serena Stark and Ronnel Arryn are wed, and the marriage nearly falls apart before the intervention of the dragon queens.
• 12 AC: Robar Arryn is born. The Tourney by the Maiden’s Bay is called in the new heir's honor.
• 13 AC: The Cavaliers fight off the Painted Dogs outside the Gates of the Moon, and are given wardenship over them as reward. Marq Hardyng begins pursuing the tourney circuit.
• 15 AC: Cynthea Arryn is born.
• 19 AC: Artos Arryn is born.
• 23 AC: With Jonos Arryn settling into a discontent life at the Bloody Gate, the need for a sworn sword is lessened. Marq Hardyng travels to Essos to search for clues linking the Winged Knight to the Andal conquerors. He finds none, and returns a year later.
• Early 25 AC: An illness wells in Ronnel’s lungs. His maester tells him that he has about a year to live.
• Late 25 AC: The Arryns travel to the celebration near King’s Landing.

Sup porting Characters

• Cortnay Arryn, 54 (General): Ronnel’s uncle. Once a prince, Cortnay served variously as the Knight of the Gate, the Captain of the Guards, or an advisor. Cortnay is known for his exasperated sighs, and struggles to keep up when he hunts with his nephew. Still, he has a good head for tactics and participated in actions against the Mountain Clans and the Hoares.
• Jasper Arryn, 19 (General): Ronnel’s second cousin. Though removed from the main line of House Arryn, Jasper was raised in the Gates and remained a fixture in the Arryn household. He swore vows modeled after the Ash-Branded, though his cheery disposition seems to contradict them.
• Cynthea Corbray, 78 (N/A): The Queen-Grandmother claims to have been asleep when Visenya landed in the Eyrie, and preserved her coronet by hiding it in the Gates. She resides at the Gates of the Moon with the Cavaliers, and it has become tradition to pay one’s respects to her when passing through.
• Jonos Arryn, 31 (N/A): In another world, Jonos would be known as the Kinslayer, and he certainly possesses that propensity. Wed to Maris Grafton and perhaps favored by her lord grandfather, he has long since hated the Targaryens, and blames Visenya for his true mother’s death. Jonos’ truculence precedes him, and he is kept fettered with thankless offices.