Rock ridge williston nd

Trans Am Racing Series

2017.12.05 12:58 ChoryHarta Trans Am Racing Series

The unofficial subreddit for the Trans Am Racing Series Presented By Pirelli

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2023.06.07 15:32 Penny_InTheAir It has hops so we're halfway there.

submitted by Penny_InTheAir to beerporn [link] [comments]

2023.06.07 07:49 frogsrats Cocktail Time from Cavallini & Co. - 1000 pieces

submitted by frogsrats to Jigsawpuzzles [link] [comments]

2023.06.07 07:34 itsbrayell ELECTIC BAND SEEKING BASSIST

Calling all talented bass players in Santa Barbara and nearby areas!
I'm in search of a skilled bass player to join my band as we explore a wide range of musical genres. From hip-hop to rock, indie, and pop, our goal is to create captivating music that resonates with diverse audiences. If you have a genuine passion for music and are ready to bring your unique style to the mix, I would love to hear from you!
Allow me to introduce myself: I'm a dedicated musician based in Santa Barbara, driven by the desire to push musical boundaries and experiment with different sounds. With a collection of original songs ready to be brought to life, I'm eager to share our music with the world in an electrifying and upgraded format.
To provide you with a glimpse of the songs and styles we'll be covering, I've compiled a selection of references to the originals we'll be performing. You can find them in the following playlists:

YouTube playlist: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLKXnJowSWa5DzXBqlsnm0FH_ndFQT_A56
Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4VVNOgQYpbVz8ZVGIkVkYP?si=1NJz0KRLQB28NYN6_3ZEGg

Please note that these playlists offer only a taste of the diverse range of songs we'll be exploring.
Here's what I'm seeking in a bass player:

Located in Santa Barbara or with convenient access for rehearsals and gigs
Flexibility in your schedule to accommodate our rehearsal commitments and occasional performances
Proficiency in playing across a variety of genres
An open-minded and positive attitude, ready to collaborate and contribute to our band's creative journey

If you're enthusiastic about the music we'll be creating together and believe you would be a great fit, I'd be thrilled to hear from you! Please reach out to me through email ([email protected]) or direct message. Take a moment to introduce yourself, share your musical background, and feel free to provide any relevant experiences or recordings that showcase your talent. I'm looking forward to connecting with you!
Peace,
Bray

submitted by itsbrayell to SantaMaria [link] [comments]

2023.06.07 07:34 itsbrayell ECLECTIC BAND SEEKING BASSIST

YouTube playlist: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLKXnJowSWa5DzXBqlsnm0FH_ndFQT_A56
Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4VVNOgQYpbVz8ZVGIkVkYP?si=1NJz0KRLQB28NYN6_3ZEGg

Please note that these playlists offer only a taste of the diverse range of songs we'll be exploring.
Here's what I'm seeking in a bass player:

Located in Santa Barbara or with convenient access for rehearsals and gigs
Flexibility in your schedule to accommodate our rehearsal commitments and occasional performances
Proficiency in playing across a variety of genres
An open-minded and positive attitude, ready to collaborate and contribute to our band's creative journey

submitted by itsbrayell to lompoc [link] [comments]

2023.06.07 07:26 rrmdp 📢 IO Management Company LLC is hiring a Medical Assistant/Phlebotomist with Sign-On Bonus!!

Company: IO Management Company LLC
Location: Williston, ND, United States 📍
Date Posted: June 05, 2023 📅
Apply & Description 👉 https://jobboardsearch.com/redirect?utm_source=reddit&utm_medium=bot&utm_id=jobboarsearch&utm_term=www.whatjobs.com&rurl=aHR0cHM6Ly93d3cud2hhdGpvYnMuY29tL2Nvb3BvYl9fY3BsX19fOTAxXzYyMjUwOTMxX18xOTk2P3V0bV9zb3VyY2U9MTk5NiZ1dG1fbWVkaXVtPWZlZWQma2V5d29yZD1NZWRpY2FsLUFzc2lzdGFudC1QaGxlYm90b21pc3Qtd2l0aCZsb2NhdGlvbj1XaWxsaXN0b24=

submitted by rrmdp to jobboardsearch [link] [comments]

2023.06.07 07:23 itsbrayell ECLECTIC BAD SEEKING BASSIST

YouTube playlist: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLKXnJowSWa5DzXBqlsnm0FH_ndFQT_A56
Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4VVNOgQYpbVz8ZVGIkVkYP?si=1NJz0KRLQB28NYN6_3ZEGg

Please note that these playlists offer only a taste of the diverse range of songs we'll be exploring.
Here's what I'm seeking in a bass player:

Located in Santa Barbara or with convenient access for rehearsals and gigs
Flexibility in your schedule to accommodate our rehearsal commitments and occasional performances
Proficiency in playing across a variety of genres
An open-minded and positive attitude, ready to collaborate and contribute to our band's creative journey

submitted by itsbrayell to 805 [link] [comments]

2023.06.07 07:21 itsbrayell ECLECTIC BAND LOOKING FOR BASSIST

YouTube playlist: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLKXnJowSWa5DzXBqlsnm0FH_ndFQT_A56
Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4VVNOgQYpbVz8ZVGIkVkYP?si=1NJz0KRLQB28NYN6_3ZEGg

Please note that these playlists offer only a taste of the diverse range of songs we'll be exploring.
Here's what I'm seeking in a bass player:

Located in Santa Barbara or with convenient access for rehearsals and gigs
Flexibility in your schedule to accommodate our rehearsal commitments and occasional performances
Proficiency in playing across a variety of genres
An open-minded and positive attitude, ready to collaborate and contribute to our band's creative journey

submitted by itsbrayell to ventura [link] [comments]

2023.06.07 07:18 itsbrayell ECLECTIC BAND SEEKING BASSIST

YouTube playlist: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLKXnJowSWa5DzXBqlsnm0FH_ndFQT_A56
Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4VVNOgQYpbVz8ZVGIkVkYP?si=1NJz0KRLQB28NYN6_3ZEGg

Please note that these playlists offer only a taste of the diverse range of songs we'll be exploring.
Here's what I'm seeking in a bass player:

Located in Santa Barbara or with convenient access for rehearsals and gigs
Flexibility in your schedule to accommodate our rehearsal commitments and occasional performances
Proficiency in playing across a variety of genres
An open-minded and positive attitude, ready to collaborate and contribute to our band's creative journey

submitted by itsbrayell to Carpinteria [link] [comments]

2023.06.07 07:05 itsbrayell ECLECTIC BAND SEEKING BASSIST

YouTube playlist: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLKXnJowSWa5DzXBqlsnm0FH_ndFQT_A56
Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4VVNOgQYpbVz8ZVGIkVkYP?si=1NJz0KRLQB28NYN6_3ZEGg

Please note that these playlists offer only a taste of the diverse range of songs we'll be exploring.
Here's what I'm seeking in a bass player:

Located in Santa Barbara or with convenient access for rehearsals and gigs
Flexibility in your schedule to accommodate our rehearsal commitments and occasional performances
Proficiency in playing across a variety of genres
An open-minded and positive attitude, ready to collaborate and contribute to our band's creative journey

submitted by itsbrayell to UCSantaBarbara [link] [comments]

2023.06.07 07:02 itsbrayell ECLECTIC BAND SEEING BASSIST

YouTube playlist: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLKXnJowSWa5DzXBqlsnm0FH_ndFQT_A56
Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4VVNOgQYpbVz8ZVGIkVkYP?si=1NJz0KRLQB28NYN6_3ZEGg

Please note that these playlists offer only a taste of the diverse range of songs we'll be exploring.
Here's what I'm seeking in a bass player:

Located in Santa Barbara or with convenient access for rehearsals and gigs
Flexibility in your schedule to accommodate our rehearsal commitments and occasional performances
Proficiency in playing across a variety of genres
An open-minded and positive attitude, ready to collaborate and contribute to our band's creative journey

submitted by itsbrayell to IslaVista [link] [comments]

2023.06.07 06:58 itsbrayell ECLECTIC BAND SEEKING BASSIST

YouTube playlist: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLKXnJowSWa5DzXBqlsnm0FH_ndFQT_A56
Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4VVNOgQYpbVz8ZVGIkVkYP?si=1NJz0KRLQB28NYN6_3ZEGg

Please note that these playlists offer only a taste of the diverse range of songs we'll be exploring.
Here's what I'm seeking in a bass player:

Located in Santa Barbara or with convenient access for rehearsals and gigs
Flexibility in your schedule to accommodate our rehearsal commitments and occasional performances
Proficiency in playing across a variety of genres
An open-minded and positive attitude, ready to collaborate and contribute to our band's creative journey

submitted by itsbrayell to SantaBarbara [link] [comments]

2023.06.07 06:33 RenegadeReaper 29 [M4F] TN - Looking for a long-term relationship.

Hi, I'm Caleb. When it comes to my interests, there's not much I don't love.
I love music, mostly rock. I love learning, anything science really piques my interest. Psychology, the universe, quantum physics, you name it, I love to learn about it. I have a passion for video games, but that doesn't mean I don't have time for anything else. Some of the games I love are Final Fantasy, Diablo, Guild Wars, The Legend of Zelda, and Pokemon. I like anime, movies, and TV shows as well. I like cheesy things like going to the movies, simple date nights at a restaurant, picnics, and just other stuff like that.
I'm looking for a serious relationship. I'm not getting any younger and I'm really focused on building a future. I would like a family and a house if possible and I'm willing to put in the work to get there. I'm currently working as an Insurance Agent, but I'm studying e-mail development in my free time to move to a higher paying field that I'll enjoy more. I like sharing all of my hobbies with my partner and I love having my partner share all of their hobbies with me.
I have two dogs. They're my babies and not having them is a dealbreaker. But if you love animals as well, I'm sure we'll get along just fine.
I'm a very emotionally attached person and don't like letting go. But I also know when to give space and understand how to communicate and understand the communication of boundaries.
If any of this resonates with you, I would love to get to know you better. Let's see where this journey takes us!
Here's a few images of me:
https://i.imgur.com/MqPaew8.jpg
https://i.imgur.com/3kB6k58.jpg
https://i.imgur.com/8vcoNeR.jpg
https://i.imgur.com/ITENG6c.jpg
Bonus pictures of my doggos:
https://i.imgur.com/XcgvePg.png
https://i.imgur.com/1NAnNdG.jpg

submitted by RenegadeReaper to r4r [link] [comments]

2023.06.07 06:26 ArtisticPreference62 Do I need a 4WD for MPR?

Hey, Im planning to explore Mountain pine ridge tomorrow and just wondering if our FWD will be okay? We want to do rio frio cave, rio on pools and big rock falls

submitted by ArtisticPreference62 to Belize [link] [comments]

2023.06.07 03:20 Personal_Hippo1277 Clio Token Size As Text Size By Tier Comparison [Mega Text Wall For Enjoyers of Scrolling]

When I was brand new to NovelAi I had no idea how 2048 tokens really looked as text. So for anyone looking at the tiers, trying to decide how many tokens they want for Clio with the new update, I've tokenized Part of The Great Gatsby by Scott Fitzgerald (public domain since 2021).
That way new users can more easily visualize what the AI's maximum context is for each tier. According to the UI Clio uses the NerdStash Tokenizer, as different tokenizers will convert text to tokens their own way.
------------------------
In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.
“Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”
He didn’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgements, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.
And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the “creative temperament”—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.
My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this Middle Western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan, and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War, and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on today.
I never saw this great-uncle, but I’m supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in father’s office. I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm centre of the world, the Middle West now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go East and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep school for me, and finally said, “Why—ye-es,” with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year, and after various delays I came East, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.
The practical thing was to find rooms in the city, but it was a warm season, and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town, it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather-beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington, and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog—at least I had him for a few days until he ran away—and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.
It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.
“How do you get to West Egg village?” he asked helplessly.
I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighbourhood.
And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
There was so much to read, for one thing, and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities, and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides. I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the Yale News—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the “well-rounded man.” This isn’t just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.
It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York—and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound. They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story, they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetual wonder to the gulls that fly overhead. To the wingless a more interesting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size.
I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them. My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool, and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. It was Gatsby’s mansion. Or, rather, as I didn’t know Mr. Gatsby, it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. My own house was an eyesore, but it was a small eyesore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbour’s lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a month.
Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed, and I’d known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago.
Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savours of anticlimax. His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he’d left Chicago and come East in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance, he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest. It was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to do that.
Why they came East I don’t know. They had spent a year in France for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn’t believe it—I had no sight into Daisy’s heart, but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking, a little wistfully, for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game.
And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red-and-white Georgian Colonial mansion, overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran towards the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sundials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch.
He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy straw-haired man of thirty, with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing, and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body.
His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts.
“Now, don’t think my opinion on these matters is final,” he seemed to say, “just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are.” We were in the same senior society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own.
We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch.
“I’ve got a nice place here,” he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly.
Turning me around by one arm, he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep, pungent roses, and a snub-nosed motorboat that bumped the tide offshore.
“It belonged to Demaine, the oil man.” He turned me around again, politely and abruptly. “We’ll go inside.”
We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-coloured space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding-cake of the ceiling, and then rippled over the wine-coloured rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.
The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white, and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room, and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor.
The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless, and with her chin raised a little, as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in.
The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room.
“I’m p-paralysed with happiness.”
She
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laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker. (I’ve heard it said that Daisy’s murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.)
At any rate, Miss Baker’s lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost imperceptibly, and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self-sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me.
I looked back at my cousin, who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down, as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth, but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered “Listen,” a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.
I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way East, and how a dozen people had sent their love through me.
“Do they miss me?” she cried ecstatically.
“The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath, and there’s a persistent wail all night along the north shore.”
“How gorgeous! Let’s go back, Tom. Tomorrow!” Then she added irrelevantly: “You ought to see the baby.”
“I’d like to.”
“She’s asleep. She’s three years old. Haven’t you ever seen her?”
“Never.”
“Well, you ought to see her. She’s—”
Tom Buchanan, who had been hovering restlessly about the room, stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder.
“What you doing, Nick?”
“I’m a bond man.”
“Who with?”
I told him.
“Never heard of them,” he remarked decisively.
This annoyed me.
“You will,” I answered shortly. “You will if you stay in the East.”
“Oh, I’ll stay in the East, don’t you worry,” he said, glancing at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something more. “I’d be a God damned fool to live anywhere else.”
At this point Miss Baker said: “Absolutely!” with such suddenness that I started—it was the first word she had uttered since I came into the room. Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room.
“I’m stiff,” she complained, “I’ve been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember.”
“Don’t look at me,” Daisy retorted, “I’ve been trying to get you to New York all afternoon.”
“No, thanks,” said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry. “I’m absolutely in training.”
Her host looked at her incredulously.
“You are!” He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of a glass. “How you ever get anything done is beyond me.”
I looked at Miss Baker, wondering what it was she “got done.” I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with an erect carriage, which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming, discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.
“You live in West Egg,” she remarked contemptuously. “I know somebody there.”
“I don’t know a single—”
“You must know Gatsby.”
“Gatsby?” demanded Daisy. “What Gatsby?”
Before I could reply that he was my neighbour dinner was announced; wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine, Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square.
Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips, the two young women preceded us out on to a rosy-coloured porch, open toward the sunset, where four candles flickered on the table in the diminished wind.
“Why candles?” objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. “In two weeks it’ll be the longest day in the year.” She looked at us all radiantly. “Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it.”
“We ought to plan something,” yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed.
“All right,” said Daisy. “What’ll we plan?” She turned to me helplessly: “What do people plan?”
Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her little finger.
“Look!” she complained; “I hurt it.”
We all looked—the knuckle was black and blue.
“You did it, Tom,” she said accusingly. “I know you didn’t mean to, but you did do it. That’s what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great, big, hulking physical specimen of a—”
“I hate that word ‘hulking,’ ” objected Tom crossly, “even in kidding.”
“Hulking,” insisted Daisy.
Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all desire. They were here, and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained. They knew that presently dinner would be over and a little later the evening too would be over and casually put away. It was sharply different from the West, where an evening was hurried from phase to phase towards its close, in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer nervous dread of the moment itself.
“You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy,” I confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret. “Can’t you talk about crops or something?”
I meant nothing in particular by this remark, but it was taken up in an unexpected way.
“Civilization’s going to pieces,” broke out Tom violently. “I’ve gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read The Rise of the Coloured Empires by this man Goddard?”
“Why, no,” I answered, rather surprised by his tone.
“Well, it’s a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don’t look out the white race will be—will be utterly submerged. It’s all scientific stuff; it’s been proved.”
“Tom’s getting very profound,” said Daisy, with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. “He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we—”
“Well, these books are all scientific,” insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. “This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It’s up to us, who are the dominant race, to watch out or these other races will have control of things.”
“We’ve got to beat them down,” whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward the fervent sun.
“You ought to live in California—” began Miss Baker, but Tom interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair.
“This idea is that we’re Nordics. I am, and you are, and you are, and—” After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod, and she winked at me again. “—And we’ve produced all the things that go to make civilization—oh, science and art, and all that. Do you see?”
There was something pathetic in his concentration, as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him any more. When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned towards me.
“I’ll tell you a family secret,” she whispered enthusiastically. “It’s about the butler’s nose. Do you want to hear about the butler’s nose?”
“That’s why I came over tonight.”
“Well, he wasn’t always a butler; he used to be the silver polisher for some people in New York that had a silver service for two hundred people. He had to polish it from morning till night, until finally it began to affect his nose—”
“Things went from bad to worse,” suggested Miss Baker.
“Yes. Things went from bad to worse, until finally he had to give up his position.”
For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened—then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret, like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.
The butler came back and murmured something close to Tom’s ear, whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair, and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her, Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing.
“I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a—of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn’t he?” She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation: “An absolute rose?”
This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only extemporizing, but a stirring warmth flowed from her, as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words. Then suddenly she threw her napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house.
Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance consciously devoid of meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up alertly and said “Sh!” in a warning voice. A subdued impassioned murmur was audible in the room beyond, and Miss Baker leaned forward unashamed, trying to hear. The murmur trembled on the verge of coherence, sank down, mounted excitedly, and then ceased altogether.
“This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbour—” I began.
“Don’t talk. I want to hear what happens.”
“Is something happening?” I inquired innocently.
“You mean to say you don’t know?” said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. “I thought everybody knew.”
“I don’t.”
“Why—” she said hesitantly. “Tom’s got some woman in New York.”
“Got some woman?” I repeated blankly.
Miss Baker nodded.
“She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner time. Don’t you think?”
Almost before I had grasped her meaning there was the flutter of a dress and the crunch of leather boots, and Tom and Daisy were back at the table.
“It couldn’t be helped!” cried Daisy with tense gaiety.
She sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me, and continued: “I looked outdoors for a minute, and it’s very romantic outdoors. There’s a bird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line. He’s singing away—” Her voice sang: “It’s romantic, isn’t it, Tom?”
“Very romantic,” he said, and then miserably to me: “If it’s light enough after dinner, I want to take you down to the stables.”
The telephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head decisively at Tom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, vanished into air. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at everyone, and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn’t guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking, but I doubt if even Miss Baker, who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy scepticism, was able utterly to put this fifth guest’s shrill metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might have seemed intriguing—my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police.
The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker, with several feet of twilight between them, strolled back into the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while, trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf, I followed Daisy around a chain of connecting verandas to the porch in front. In its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee.
Daisy took her face in her hands as if feeling its lovely shape, and her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative questions about her little girl.
“We don’t know each other very well, Nick,” she said suddenly. “Even if we are cousins. You didn’t come to my wedding.”
“I wasn’t back from the war.”
“That’s true.” She hesitated. “Well, I’ve had a very bad time, Nick, and I’m pretty cynical about everything.”
Evidently she had reason to be. I waited but she
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didn’t say any more, and after a moment I returned rather feebly to the subject of her daughter.
“I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything.”
“Oh, yes.” She looked at me absently. “Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?”
“Very much.”
“It’ll show you how I’ve gotten to feel about—things. Well, she was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of the ether with an utterly abandoned feeling, and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’m glad it’s a girl. And I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.’
“You see I think everything’s terrible anyhow,” she went on in a convinced way. “Everybody thinks so—the most advanced people. And I know. I’ve been everywhere and seen everything and done everything.” Her eyes flashed around her in a defiant way, rather like Tom’s, and she laughed with thrilling scorn. “Sophisticated—God, I’m sophisticated!”
The instant her voice broke off, ceasing to compel my attention, my belief, I felt the basic insincerity of what she had said. It made me uneasy, as though the whole evening had been a trick of some sort to exact a contributory emotion from me. I waited, and sure enough, in a moment she looked at me with an absolute smirk on her lovely face, as if she had asserted her membership in a rather distinguished secret society to which she and Tom belonged.
Inside, the crimson room bloomed with light. Tom and Miss Baker sat at either end of the long couch and she read aloud to him from the Saturday Evening Post—the words, murmurous and uninflected, running together in a soothing tune. The lamplight, bright on his boots and dull on the autumn-leaf yellow of her hair, glinted along the paper as she turned a page with a flutter of slender muscles in her arms.
When we came in she held us silent for a moment with a lifted hand.
“To be continued,” she said, tossing the magazine on the table, “in our very next issue.”
Her body asserted itself with a restless movement of her knee, and she stood up.
“Ten o’clock,” she remarked, apparently finding the time on the ceiling. “Time for this good girl to go to bed.”
“Jordan’s going to play in the tournament tomorrow,” explained Daisy, “over at Westchester.”
“Oh—you’re Jordan Baker.”
I knew now why her face was familiar—its pleasing contemptuous expression had looked out at me from many rotogravure pictures of the sporting life at Asheville and Hot Springs and Palm Beach. I had heard some story of her too, a critical, unpleasant story, but what it was I had forgotten long ago.
“Good night,” she said softly. “Wake me at eight, won’t you.”
“If you’ll get up.”
“I will. Good night, Mr. Carraway. See you anon.”
“Of course you will,” confirmed Daisy. “In fact I think I’ll arrange a marriage. Come over often, Nick, and I’ll sort of—oh—fling you together. You know—lock you up accidentally in linen closets and push you out to sea in a boat, and all that sort of thing—”
“Good night,” called Miss Baker from the stairs. “I haven’t heard a word.”
“She’s a nice girl,” said Tom after a moment. “They oughtn’t to let her run around the country this way.”
“Who oughtn’t to?” inquired Daisy coldly.
“Her family.”
“Her family is one aunt about a thousand years old. Besides, Nick’s going to look after her, aren’t you, Nick? She’s going to spend lots of weekends out here this summer. I think the home influence will be very good for her.”
Daisy and Tom looked at each other for a moment in silence.
“Is she from New York?” I asked quickly.
“From Louisville. Our white girlhood was passed together there. Our beautiful white—”
“Did you give Nick a little heart to heart talk on the veranda?” demanded Tom suddenly.
“Did I?” She looked at me. “I can’t seem to remember, but I think we talked about the Nordic race. Yes, I’m sure we did. It sort of crept up on us and first thing you know—”
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Nick,” he advised me.
I said lightly that I had heard nothing at all, and a few minutes later I got up to go home. They came to the door with me and stood side by side in a cheerful square of light. As I started my motor Daisy peremptorily called: “Wait!”
“I forgot to ask you something, and it’s important. We heard you were engaged to a girl out West.”
“That’s right,” corroborated Tom kindly. “We heard that you were engaged.”
“It’s a libel. I’m too poor.”
“But we heard it,” insisted Daisy, surprising me by opening up again in a flower-like way. “We heard it from three people, so it must be true.”
Of course I knew what they were referring to, but I wasn’t even vaguely engaged. The fact that gossip had published the banns was one of the reasons I had come East. You can’t stop going with an old friend on account of rumours, and on the other hand I had no intention of being rumoured into marriage.
Their interest rather touched me and made them less remotely rich—nevertheless, I was confused and a little disgusted as I drove away. It seemed to me that the thing for Daisy to do was to rush out of the house, child in arms—but apparently there were no such intentions in her head. As for Tom, the fact that he “had some woman in New York” was really less surprising than that he had been depressed by a book. Something was making him nibble at the edge of stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotism no longer nourished his peremptory heart.
Already it was deep summer on roadhouse roofs and in front of wayside garages, where new red petrol-pumps sat out in pools of light, and when I reached my estate at West Egg I ran the car under its shed and sat for a while on an abandoned grass roller in the yard. The wind had blown off, leaving a loud, bright night, with wings beating in the trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth blew the frogs full of life. The silhouette of a moving cat wavered across the moonlight, and, turning my head to watch it, I saw that I was not alone—fifty feet away a figure had emerged from the shadow of my neighbour’s mansion and was standing with his hands in his pockets regarding the silver pepper of the stars. Something in his leisurely movements and the secure position of his feet upon the lawn suggested that it was Mr. Gatsby himself, come out to determine what share was his of our local heavens.
I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him at dinner, and that would do for an introduction. But I didn’t call to him, for he gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone—he stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as I was from him, I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness.
II
About halfway between West Egg and New York the motor road hastily joins the railroad and runs beside it for a quarter of a mile, so as to shrink away from a certain desolate area of land. This is a valley of ashes—a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and, finally, with a transcendent effort, of ash-grey men, who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air. Occasionally a line of grey cars crawls along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak, and comes to rest, and immediately the ash-grey men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable cloud, which screens their obscure operations from your sight.
But above the grey land and the spasms of bleak dust which drift endlessly over it, you perceive, after a moment, the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg. The eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg are blue and gigantic—their retinas are one yard high. They look out of no face, but, instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass over a nonexistent nose. Evidently some wild wag of an oculist set them there to
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2023.06.07 01:47 The_Alloquist [A Lord of Death] - Interlude II: The Decimation of Nieth

[←Chapter 60] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 61→]
“One of the cornerstones of understanding the nature of Nieth and Hebeen is understanding their strange religion, or religions, as the case may be. In that previous phrase, we touch upon the issue at question. Does Nieth even have a religion, as we, the followers of the Lost, blessed be them, would understand it? Already, the initial impression is strange - rather than worshipping a pantheon of gods, as is wide-spread throughout the continent, they worship one, yet all.
It might help to touch upon some relevant history, as well as some examples to illustrate the roots of such a foreign concept.
Nieth, as far as we can seek, has its roots in a nomadic peoples that travelled the great desert that wraps around its northern half. These were unlike the brutish and savage people of our own northern flood plains, more like the mystical but lowly Vieatta from the mountains past them. Still, it was enough for them to carry on the advanced and civil arts of poetry and music.
It’s within those that they encoded much of their history from early days, although without the advent of writing which other societies wisely use, some of it was subject to mythologization. Regardless, life by all accounts was strenuous out on the sands, and the sacred was pushed aside for the practical. From the practical needs of water and shade there appeared to arise a new religion, one that enfolded all primitive others within its arms as emanation of ‘Embass Aliyah’, or ‘The One and Truth’.
This may provide some illumination to the reader who may have heard of Nieth’s ‘acceptance’ of our Faith.
Within this one, unifying principle, people gravitated to the Oasis of Nieth, which was a popular way station for trade and rest. Many of the historians I have engaged suggest that the principle of ‘The One’ was a major factor in the formation Nieth as a societal centre, as well as the establishment of the Nine Princely Families. The fact that the scions of the Nine Families that I’ve had the fortune to interview claim vastly different patrons between them supports this.
The current ‘landscape’ as it were, for the religion of Neith is roughly as follows:
Perhaps one in five are adherents of our own Faith. Most, that is to say, three in five, worship the traditional, normal pantheon of Nieth, which is also the religion of the ruling prince. In addition, the sisterhood who administer Hebeen, the city of children, are drawn from this majority faith. More details on the various gods and their descriptions is enclosed in the following chapter. The remaining are split between various small and often foreign denominations, including some faiths from the First Lands.
Of these, there are two that bear special mention. The first is the actual seat of the ‘pure’ faith of ‘The One and Truth. It is a relatively small, if quite beautiful temple in the Seat of the Nine. The high priest (‘teacher-guide’ as he refers to himself) was gregarious and pleased to answer my various questions through a translator. Despite being the nominal religion of Nieth, its principles underlying the whole of the society, its actual numbers of worshippers are small. A potential reason for this is the second faith of note.
This is a separate derivation of the principles of ‘The One’ and seemingly the older of the two. It is the principal faith of the various nomadic peoples that wander the Plague Dunes of Nieth. As their account goes, the principle of ‘The One’ was revealed to the forebears of the Nine Families out in the northern deserts. The families had planted and grown an oil-bush to an impossible size (presumably why it is referred to as a tree in oral retellings), often feeding it with cruel blood sacrifices from other enemy tribes.
One night, either nine generations, nineteen, or ninety nine, depending on which account you receive, the oil tree burned. For those that know anything about oil bush, they will know it burns with a fearsome light due to the eponymous liquids within. In this case, such was the magnitude of the tree and blaze that the volatile oils exploded outwards. The founders of the Nine Families, who held council around the tree when camped in the locale, were covered in the oils.
This crude anointment, while horribly disfiguring them all, supposedly imparted revelation to them about the nature of ‘The One’. As such, the faith of ‘The One’ is strongly rooted in the depths of the desert, and many of its more zealous adherents are to be found out among the dunes, navigating the toxic and dangerous environs using methods not understood even among the Neith city-dwellers.
Hence, most of the faithful of ‘Embass Aliyah’ leave Nieth and its surrounding fiefs to live with the nomads from which their faith originated. While the high priest does not concede the idea that ‘The One’ would have a special connection to the desert, for it exists everywhere equally, he considers it understandable for people desiring to live the savage life of their ancestors. Even so, one can observe the imprint the desert has left upon the primitive church, the icon of the oil tree being central to their architecture and symbolism.
To illustrate the devouring nature of this faith, one can examine one of the most famous events in the history of Nieth, which led to the founding of its sister-city Hebeen. For those that take such an interest in the regions of the south, you might quickly realise that one of the title gods of the majority faith shares the same name as a Karkosian deity -‘Viethustra, The Bloody Handed God’.
By all accounts as brutal as he is cunning, he is also the god that provides for the administration of justice. Though all of these gods are of course false as we understand them, one can find an interesting parallel with the origins of Nieth as a society. An astounding number of original texts survive from those haydays, often reflective accounts of the events by those who lived them.
Supposedly this adoption into the widely recognized pantheon traces to the great conflagration that consumed Nieth some four hundred years ago. This destruction particularly devastated the child population of the city. The reigning prince, after the fires had been quenched, ordered the formation of Hebeen, the city of children. Thereafter, almost all children of Neith of age are sent to cross the Aderhajj mountains, and come out into a place where they live and play together, under the watchful eyes of servants of Viethustra and the Dusky Sister.
Another example, far more contemporary, is that of the Yumyaq, the nightly processions of songs, hymns and poetry recitations. The overall effect is hardly like the organised harmonies of our own choirs, and often subject and song clash in the air of cities. However, it is the general belief that such a task is essential for the preservation of Embass Aliyah. It may be universal, but its claimed emanations, which is to say, every religious being in the world, are bound to locations.
So, this discordant din is, in a sense, a spiritual beacon, for the gods to return home, over the land and sea to Nieth. It is perhaps better explained by the high priest of Embass Aliyah, who suggests that it is more of a reminder. Namely, a reminder that the gods all exist within the embrace of Embass Aliyah, and that they will always be worshipped in Nieth.
Out of all the strangest tenets of the faiths of Nieth, this is perhaps the most offensive to those learned. Not only would it implicitly suggest that they have solved the most important theological question of the Lost Ones (i.e. ‘where they were lost’), but also the term ‘Yumyaq’ (‘Of gods’ or ‘godly’ depending on usage) is questionable in itself.
Indeed, the derivation of the term, as far as I can trace it, is actually a title given to the city itself.
‘Yumyaq Al-Nieth’. Or, to translate the crude language, ‘The Watering’ or ‘Resting Place of the Gods’.

An Account of Nieth and Its Civilization
Except from Chapter 4: Faith and Religion
Brother Amelius Jacobino, Eps., Brotherhood of The Shaded Path
UNDER ORDER OF REVIEW - OFFICE OF THE HIGH LUTICIENT

It was an all too normal day, for all of its stresses, or at least, so Yemassa thought. The merchant trudged through the street, his bag of wares heaped high upon his back. That was just about the only thing that was abnormal - his big request. It was an unusually large order of various herbs, spices, and raw plant products that his small farm cultivated. While his handful of workers were busy harvesting gemsing, hot peppers, and the spiky amanas plant, he was carrying the last of the stock into Nieth proper.
The long, squat buildings had their dark windows shuttered against the afternoon sun. Despite that, many of the various city merchants and their clientele were happy to host conversation and commerce. Indeed, they were rushing to do so, considering that the Yumyaq was almost upon them. Once the sacred hour of sunset had passed, no commerce would be allowed, at least no formal commerce.
The activity was abuzz in most parts of the city, especially since the complete rout their forces had enjoyed to the north. Some raiding legion from across the sea had challenged the might of Nieth and learned a hard lesson. Yemassa wasn’t much aware of the details, though like every good citizen, felt a certain pride at the rumour of crushing victory. More importantly, excitement usually meant people’s pursestrings grew a little looser.
The thought hot on his heels, Yemassa drove himself forwards. The request had been a surprise, both in magnitude and in source. He was headed towards one of the inner, higher districts where the wealthy were congregating. He climbed the freshly cleaned steps to one of the upper roads, finding it mostly clear of people, save those that were stall-shopping.
Onwards and upwards he climbed, going up the various footpaths carved out by hundreds of tromping feet over the years. He had to take care to avoid the various pebbles and small scrub brushes that nipped at his wrapped feet however. Finally, he made it to one of the smaller winding district streets, which spat him out in one of the quieter streets. A bend and a twist in the route later, he managed to find his way into the courtyard of the commissioner.
He was greeted by two separate maid servants who helped him unpack and ferried the goods to where they needed to go. To further the shocking nature of the encounter, the client, a woman devout enough to wear a veil over her face, came out to speak to him directly. He knelt before her, refusing to lift his eyes even against her insistence that he need not be so formal.
She even deigned to discuss business, inquiring after his holdings and what kind and how much of his products he grew. He answered with as much humility as he thought was safe, and found a receptive customer at the other end. He had to keep himself from jumping up with excitement when she casually suggested he recommend his services to friends. Only when she returned to the inside did he spring away, walking back down the hill with significantly more energy then he’d climbed.
Just before he scampered off the road and onto the various footpaths that led down to the main thoroughfare, he caught a glimpse of the far cliffs between the houses. It would be sunset soon, he knew, and if he waited for just a few more minutes, they would turn a golden red in the evening. The others would manage just fine without him for a little while longer, he was sure.
So, making his way between the various alleys of the neighbourhood, he clambered out onto a shelf of rock. This was both a better and more precarious view, given the drop of several hundred hands into another quarter already in shadow below. It had been the site of an old mine, he thought, although his knowledge of the older parts of the city was not completely up to snuff.
He hunkered down on a rock a handful of paces from the edge, crossed his legs, and waited. Soon enough, the sun lowered in the cliffs behind him, the skies awash with the evening haze. This was a good spot, he’d have to remember it when he desired a good view of the city. From here, he could see most of the northern quarters, as well as the great central sprawl of the city running from left up to right.
At the very top of the city to the right stood the palace of the Nine Families. As Yemassa watched, its nonagon concentric layers of domes and spires, one for each generation he recalled, began to glimmer a pinkish hue. As the shadows below his feet began to stretch out to cover districts by the dozen, the northern cliffs seemed awash in fire.
Before he had much of a time to enjoy it, however, he heard the first lilting notes. The plucking of strings, the beat of rabbit-skin drums, the raised voices all started from below. He recognized some of the tunes that began the Yumyaq, songs of the working man and woman mostly about hard days in the fields or jungle. He smiled, the notes recalling fond memories of his own family, though he generally heard less of them now.
It was with a start that he realised that meant he had spent nearly a half hour on the ridge. As more elaborate poetry in service to one god or another began to drift behind him, joining the din from below, he scrambled. Thrusting the pack onto his shoulders, he took one last chance to survey his city as the cliffs shone their fiery colours. The din of the Yumyaq, the song of bountiful Nieth, rose to the heavens, calling across the brushlands and jungle to the distant sea, to carry the gods home.
It was a good sound, a familiar sound, the sound of home to him as well as those distant divine beings. Before he could turn his heel and walk down to the footpaths that would take him home, however, he found something tickling the edge of his vision. He squinted at the far cliffs, red and magenta, with hints of orange and yellow among the craggy faces.
He squinted further, trying to determine what exactly had drawn his attention.
It took him a half-minute more to determine that a flickering, bluish light was moving this way and that in the shadows of a cliff face. That was certainly odd, he thought as he watched the barely visible speck hover in place.
It only became odder when a second, yellowish light joined it.
It became alarming when a dozen, then two dozen, then hundreds of multicoloured lights joined it. The shadows it had inhabited vanished a glow of yellow and blue as they seemed to get bigger. They were getting bigger, Yemassa realised, as little tendrils and flakes began to shoot up above the cliffs in the sunset haze. Reds, purples, greens, but predominantly yellows and blues floated like petals on the wind.
There was a deep rumbling at the edge of his hearing, not powerful enough to shake the ground, but enough to send a wave through his feet. Fear lanced through him as he watched them grow brighter and larger until…
With an explosion of colour and light, a great torrent, like a spring pouring forth from a crevasse, vomited out and up. Yembassa watched as a swirling mass, a comet coming down to earth, shot forward across the city. As he watched it streak towards his position, frozen with shock, pieces of the light flaked off, drifting almost lazily down toward the city.
A piece of Yembassa recognized the locale - the school quarter, where most of the children would just be running out of classes. The scholars and priests studying long hours into the night, preparing to defend themselves against peers, or to present a proposal to the Prince-in-Reign.
There was a flash so bright he had to turn his eyes away.
When he looked back, the minarets and walls of the school districts were drowned under a sea of flames. More flashes followed, bits and pieces of the great comet delivering the biggest explosions he’d ever seen as they made contact with the ground.
Yembassa’s legs finally managed to unlock as the first screams began to drift up to him on suddenly scorching air. He realised numbly that half the city was burning in a matter of moments, and that the comet was shooting straight towards him. He turned to run, yet something drew his eyes around even as his legs pumped.
The mass turned just in time, streaking below the cliff line, where the old mine entrances had been, he thought. A small spine of hope poked through his terror.
Slowly, slowly, wavering from side to side in gentle, periodic motion, the molten feather drifted down, down, to touch the rocks where he’d been sitting.
Then there was light, and sound, and a heat that melted his eyes out of their sockets and tore him limb from limb.
[←Chapter 60] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 61→]

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2023.06.07 00:25 TampaLiving2022 Williston, ND Positions

I'm an Army combat veteran with a bachelor degree and I've applied for about every position in Williston, ND but haven't heard back from any over the last few months. I'm currently here and can start as soon as possible. Halliburton, Baker Hughes, Calfrac, Nextier, Nabors, Hess, and more. I'm not sure of the issue, it is almost as if my education and past office jobs are being used against me. However, I enjoy working in the field with a team. Any advice or help in getting a position is much appreciated. Thanks!

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2023.06.06 23:38 BlackSunWhiteMoon 25 [M4F] East San Jose, Looking for FWB or ONS or to fulfill your fantasy.

Just imagine this scene, it can happen if you choose to:
"You felt it, you felt the sex being parted by my long's fingers, as your thighs are being forced to widen to accommodate me being lodged beneath you. My tongue slippery and warm; it glided to you from opening up to your clit, which I nipped at with my teeth. Your gasp filled the empty room. I repeated the same action again, and again. Eventually, your thighs are already quivering, and I continue sucking your clit while momentarily rocking your world as your eyes squeezed shut."
Yes, I'm quite a gentleman and would want to get you off first before me. Did that get your attention? If so, below is the {insert boring generic fact sheet here} details about me, what I'm looking for:
Male, 25 years old (as you guessed from the title lol)
I hope you love a tall guy because I'm 6'5! (200 cm). I'm probably going to need to put some effort into kissing you (I'm sure you're worth it) . I'm in decent shape, not quite fat or obese.
White, Hispanic, Euro mixed. Quite a bit of a hybrid.
Clean, clean, and did I say clean? You won't have to worry about any STD'S/STI'S around me, I can assure you that.
Located on east San Jose, near east ridge mall. I normally can’t host but since my landlords are out of the country for a couple of weeks, I’ll be able to sneak you in and host you no problem at the moment. (:
Let's meet up for some drinks at Starbucks or a movie perhaps? A little window-shopping? For sure, you like to get to know you a bit more before the NSFW part of our story happens. Your hobbies, interests, goals, your life story, etc. If we vibe and hit it off well, I could get you a cute dress while we're at it. (: Then we can head back to your place or mine(temporarily) , where the action begins.
I'm open to any age and ethnic/career backgrounds, as well as if you're single or in an open relationship/marriage.
Message me so we can fulfill your pleasures today. (: Please no dudes. I'm straight.

submitted by BlackSunWhiteMoon to SFr4r [link] [comments]

2023.06.06 23:30 wooser69 [Spoilers for everything] Observations on the designs of Hiruko

Had some thoughts to share after looking into the hiruko designs while using the very helpful spreadsheet created by u/XianglingBeyBlade found here https://www.reddit.com/manga/comments/1216g67/disc_tengoku_daimakyou_heavenly_delusion_chaptejdnmkz6/
I'll be referring to the names used in the spreadsheet and glossing over information already there. Others in that thread pointed out that the bird monster (taka) wasn't only a huge bird with random tentacle whips, but in fact a hybrid design of a bird and a leanchoilia. This is what got me looking closer at everything. We know it's taka due to the missing head, very similar attack and his name meaning hawk.
The Hiruko Themselves
With the leanchoilia connection on taka, there's a very distinct pattern of arthropod and sea creature designs: leanchoilia, isopod, spider, whatever ohma is, fish, octopus. The 'alien' mako (they have the same 'crushing' power) seems more like a jellyfish or glass squid, or based off an octopus doing the "moving rock trick". The 'ancient demon' could be a tardigrade, which fits with how its so old, chunky and particularly noted as "dried up and cracked", as tardigrades need to be wet to move and dry out in order to hibernate for extreme periods of time. The 'experiment' robin had hooked up to a woman slightly resembles a giant water bug with eggs on its back, or a caterpillar infected with parasitic wasp eggs. It's possible that kuku's abundant arms is a design element from a nautilus, which would closer fit with some others being cephalopods.
When we see the premonition of kona (c34) it definitely has the segmented louse back of an isopod, but its "face" seems to resemble a mollusk with the shape, feelers and specifically markings. Perhaps a flamingo tongue or nudibranch. This of course is completely absent on the isopod seen in the haruki flashback, perhaps it changed over time like how anzu grew larger and more capable of movement. Or has changed since we last saw it, there's no indication of how far ahead the premonition was.
It seems unlikely ohma had a bunch of human kids that also died in the parking lot along with her to become hiruko as every little cocoon had its own core, so it's possible she's a type of arthropod that can reproduce asexually... which is a lot of them. Could be wrong though, she could have actually had 3 infants and had all of them die with her down there. But that's a bit much even for this series, isn't it? The hallucinations resemble ants or bees more than anything, I think, but ohma itself is just kind of a big pile of shit with a hive 'mouth'(?) and eye stalks. The one left alive (c22) looks more like a big-eye ant but with back ridges like a wheelbug.
Character Design Parallels
The characters hairstyle or other characteristics appear to tie into their design. Ohma's twintails to eye stalks and symbol appearing in both her eyes, taka's bushy ponytail to the bird neck/wings and his sword/whip, mako's round bobcut to the jellyfish thing, anzu liked dancing so she's an octopus, she also has wavy hairtips. Kuku got bigass hands and is already a frog girl, so she's now a hand fish, though it's possible the long locks in front of her ears resemble the long arms on the fish. You can see some signs of iwa and nanaki's hair on the spider, iwa's wavy blond ponytail on the mandibles and nanaki's round black hair with locks mirrored in the abdomen and spikes (like a hasselt spiny spider but longer).
Something I'm only considering because of the above hairstyle similarities: on the isopod that killed haruki the segments on its back flare and curve out on the ends slightly. This is how isopods look in real life of course but kona has a hairstyle with the same amount of slight curving. It's more clear in some panels than others, like c46 when he's watching tokio breastfeed. It's actually much more prevalent in his anime design where locks are shaped together and distinctly grey. Not the strongest evidence by any means, but it was enough to notice. With all this hinting through hairstyle you'd almost think karuki having red hair after the surgery is a significant plot point.
No discerning features point toward the experiment hiruko being any of the students, but it may not be an actual hiruko and instead a possibly failed attempt at making a hiruko from the woman connected to it. If it is meant to resemble an egg sac then that hints at robin trying to do something we haven't seen before. I actually only just noticed that maru never sensed that thing as a hiruko, though I guess a lot more was going on at the time. I've seen someone guess this was mikura, but: One, mikura died shorter than 3 months ago when that woman was registered into town, on the other side of the country. Two, mikura had very visible grey spot disease over her whole body, the woman while amputated has no signs. I believe a mikura hiruko will be a much bigger plot thread much later in the story, too central of a character to be literally stuffed in a closet.
Smaller Hints
Characters fears seem to tie into their eventual fate, at least with mimihime who admittedly has premonition. Mimihime hallucinates being operated on and has that done to her for years. Meanwhile kona distinctly mentions claustrophobia (c34), which with the isopod premonition could connect to tongue-eating louse isopod, about as claustrophobic an environment possible. Isopod's are also known to live inside of the deepstaria enigmatica jellyfish. Taka refers to the sunset over the ocean as a nightmare (c38), a real reach here but maybe related to how his hiruko only came out at night? Not confident on that one. Unrelated but I like how in kiruko's nightmare she has her right arm eaten off, which is how haruki sorta-died to the isopod.
When we see nata in that one dark dreamscape place (c41), the webbing she's trapped behind resembles a venus' flower basket's lattice. No idea what this could relate to as we don't get any characterisation of nata before she gets her body stolen and next we see her she's in a robot (c53, pod on back of robot and human way of speaking near the end, c55 referring to doctor as sensei). Could just be that it looked cool.
The Symbols?
After staring at them for a while, the eye/face symbols appear to be more related to the physical design of the hiruko than anything else. Notice that the soldiers have only the plain circle as babies (company logo), then gain wings on the circle as adults when they have... wings. Taka's symbol has both talons and wings. Kuku is the plain eye within a bubble. Spider has several legs. Jellyfish has 3 vertical lines for the leg tentacles, 4 horizontal for the arm tentacles. It seems too simple to be true but it's literally all I could come up with. Ohma and the isopod, I dunno the design is too simple to really be conclusive of anything.
That's about all I could discern, it was interesting to look at how the character designs parallel though. Hope you found it just as interesting reading.

submitted by wooser69 to HeavenlyDelusion [link] [comments]

2023.06.06 22:22 darksloth05 Well that escalated quickly…

TLDR; I wanted to do some casual gaming on a Frankenstein PC build, and within 2 weeks my office has become a sim racing dojo.
After trolling Reddit for years, I’ve found something I am interested and “proud” enough to post about. So here it goes -
I've recently gotten into sim racing. While I am a noob and have a lot to learn, I have learned a lot in a short time so far, and am enjoying just being immersed into a hobby, both while doing it and doing "for" it. I have learned to research a lot, spend $$$ where you need to, and DIY where you can. I'm not looking to be competitive or beat the Joneses, rather just have a fun experience where I can turn off the world and feel like I am somewhere else by sight, feel, and sound. Hopefully this post is inspiring to others, educational, reminiscent of your beginnings, or just a fun read. I would also be interested to know your thoughts on my setup. Did I do it right/wrong? What would have been a better decision/route? What can I do for the next big thing?
I built my first and only PC close to 10 years ago and played shooter games/GTA. It’s long since gone and I’ve been wanting to get another “lazy” hobby.
I had an old HP PC lying around I got off eBay about a year ago. Decided to buy a high-end GPU and do some casual gaming on it. Wanted to do 4k so went ahead and got a used rtx 3090 on eBay for $700 shipped. I knew the CPU would be the bottleneck if I really wanted to push things eventually (i7-7700) but decided the build was enough for what I was wanting for now. Well… I have always been interested in cars and within the past 2 years, more interested in Formula 1 (thanks Drive to Survive). I got an old Xbox controller and loaded up steam/F1 22 and was pretty intrigued by how fun it was just using my thumbs lol. I decided I would go ahead and get a wheel/pedal combo to see HOW much more fun it could possibly be… whoops…
I got the Logitech G923 and was delighted with the novel sense of "driving" for the first time. I decided to keep looking at other ways to make the experience more "complete" as I was sitting in a dining chair, had my wheel clamped to a sliding keyboard drawer, and had my 38in ultrawide as close to the wheel as possible. Seeing as I did not want to upgrade my monitor, I figured it would be a great time to try VR for the first time. I had always wanted to wait until VR was a little more mature and I wasn't in a grainy, cartoon world. I read great things about the implementation in sim titles and started doing my research on which headset to go with.
HP Reverb G2 v2 (even despite the WMR situation) seemed to be the way to go in regard to visual fidelity and price point, so again... I found a really great deal on eBay for about $290.
Side note - At this point, I had already saved up birthday, Christmas, and other fun monies, so I felt ok with making some additional purchases (the GPU was planned and saved for aside from subsequent items in this post).
Well... first time ever in VR and my mind was blown. I was instantly hooked. I have played all sorts of racing games in the past, but I have never in my life felt so immersed into a game, even thinking back to my childhood days of Zelda OoT- different genre, but same concept. Back to racing... The spatial awareness and depth perception of racing in a different world made any prior racing game/sim experience obsolete to me. I knew I could not go back to a monitor, at least as my primary way. The only problem was that my Frankenstein PC came back to bite me much sooner than I had wanted. The CPU was choking the GPU. I would get 60-70 FPS but even worse, so much stuttering and inconsistent FPS. So... I decided if I really wanted to go any further, I had to take care of this before anything else.
I ended up building a new PC while salvaging what I could from my current build. I added a Gigabyte z690 MB, i7-12700k, Dark Rock Pro 4 cooler, and Antec FT1 case- all AW deals excluding a new i7 for $250 shipped. Once I got it all together, smooth 90 FPS all the way.
During the same time of the VR experience and PC build, I knew I wanted a cockpit/rig, but could not swallow the price tag in order to do it right. Well, I started woodworking last year, and have built a few furniture items for my house, so I figured I could give the DIY route a try- I just didn't want something that was sketchy or an eye sore. I studied lots of different consumer rigs as well as other DIY builds, and I ended up jotting down some dimensions and forms I thought would work and just started building- making decisions/changes as I went. I found some scrap wood on the side of the road in 2 different instances. Used some black paint left over from painting a few walls in our house, put together what I thought to be a pretty decent rig. During all of this, I still did not have a seat... another pricey purchase I just didn't want to swallow. I also did not want to have a crappy looking junkyard car seat on my rig in hopes of avoiding the aforementioned eye sore. I eventually said to myself, "just go look," so I went to the junkyard one random day. Low and behold, not even a week earlier, a 2009 Audi TT had been delivered to the lot with 2 pristine front seats. What I was sure to be a bust ended up being the best part of my rig. I brought home both seats (bc why not?), cut the seat belts, wires, etc; cleaned them, and got one mounted on my rig- $25 of bliss. I would have hated myself if I had ended up sinking so much $$$ into a seat, let alone a rig. Between the rig and seat, I spent less than $50. Super solid, compact, and fits my needs exactly.
Around this time, I also decide to go ahead and build out a triple monitor setup.. Yes I know... VR is king... never go back... yaddie yah yah. However, I have 2 little babies, friends, family, etc. who I want to share this with and I am sure there will be times I don't want to wear the VR headset. All that in consideration, and the fact I already have 2 matching 27in 1440p monitors, and a triple monitor mount, it was a no-brainer to me. I got a third monitor (thanks eBay) for $100 and picked up 3x 2x4x8's from Lowes. Painted it black and it's now part of the sim corner of my office lol.
So now I have a pretty slick cockpit with triple monitors that I can move forward and backward separate from my rig. As my setup has matured from the start(literally the span of 2 weeks time), the experience has been more and more enjoyable. The only problem I have remaining is the G923. While it was a great first time experience, the "realness" of it quickly went away and it felt like a toy. On top of that, it was a loud wheel- annoyingly loud. Well... I've done everything else... might as well just get a direct drive and have a complete, all around experience.
After much research and deliberation on what to buy, where to buy, when to buy, etc. I decided on a Moza R9, SRP Pedals, and GS v2 wheel. Side note - Thanks to u/neebsd whose post told me exactly what I needed to know for my wheel/base, pedal decision! Being brand new with little experience, I wanted to know what it was like to go from a G923 to Moza r9 and his post sealed it for me.
I went back and forth on getting a Moza r5... also whether to get an ES wheel with a formula mod paired with the R9. At the end of the day, I was worried the r5 would be too little for me (I think I was right and am VERY happy I went with the r9) and that the ES wheel, while cost effective ($500 for a wheel???) would leave me wishing I did a nicer wheel for both form factor and quality of materials/feel.
So here I am today, a little delayed on my post, but not even a month later and I am VERY happy with all of my decisions. I can usually find things I wish I had done differently, either regret or just "meh, if I could do it again" feeling, but I am 100% happy with all of my decisions along the way. Whereas I spent some cash for a wheelbase/wheel, and pedals, new PC components, a VR headset, etc., I am proud of how I saved at least $800 on a good(relative) cockpit/seat combo and instead leveraged recent new found skills and somebody else's trash.
And of course... so much fun actually enjoying this new hobby.
Pics (or it didn't happen) - https://imgur.com/gallery/vNdGbYY

submitted by darksloth05 to simracing [link] [comments]

2023.06.06 19:45 sabin-barto A Hero Among Us: The Remarkable Story of Sabin Barto

Introduction
In the tranquil town of Rock Springs, nestled in the heart of Naples, Florida, resides a real-life hero by the name of Sabin Barto. With his extraordinary strength, unwavering courage, and a heart filled with kindness, Barto embodies the qualities of a true hero. Having recently gained widespread recognition for his heroic actions in saving an unconscious man after a car accident, Barto's remarkable story is one that inspires and uplifts the spirit. As a retired Navy veteran and member of The Wounded Warrior Project, he has dedicated his life to serving his country and helping others. Additionally, Barto takes pride in being the proud owner and operator of Windy Ridge Gallery, a haven where art enthusiasts can connect with various forms of artistic expression.
The Heroic Act
Barto's heroism was displayed in a recent incident that unfolded before his eyes. As fate would have it, he found himself at the scene of a devastating car accident. With no hesitation, Barto sprang into action upon discovering an unconscious man trapped inside a vehicle. Drawing upon his military training and experience, he fearlessly approached the wreckage, disregarding any potential danger. In a display of immense strength and selflessness, Barto managed to extract the man from the vehicle, potentially saving his life. The news of his heroic deed quickly spread throughout the community, earning him the admiration and praise of all who heard his story.
Recognition and Award Ceremony
The extraordinary act of heroism performed by Barto did not go unnoticed. The people of Naples, Florida, along with various organizations, joined forces to acknowledge his exceptional bravery. In a grand celebration of his selflessness, Barto is set to receive a well-deserved award at a prestigious ceremony scheduled to take place this week. This ceremony not only honors Barto's individual heroism but also serves as a testament to the collective spirit that strengthens a community. It provides the people of Naples with an opportunity to express their gratitude and pay tribute to a local hero whose actions inspire hope and unity.
Commitment to Service
Barto's unwavering commitment to service is deeply rooted in his military background. Throughout his years in the Navy, he exemplified dedication and sacrifice, earning the respect and admiration of his comrades. Even after retiring from active duty, Barto remained steadfast in his mission to make a positive impact on the lives of others. As a member of The Wounded Warrior Project, an organization dedicated to supporting wounded veterans, he continues to extend his helping hand to those in need. Barto's involvement in philanthropic endeavors showcases his selflessness and reflects his belief in the importance of giving back to society.
The Artistic Journey
In addition to his noble military service and philanthropic contributions, Barto is also the proud owner and operator of Windy Ridge Gallery. This artistic endeavor allows him to create a space where individuals can appreciate and connect with various forms of art. Through his gallery, Barto shares his passion for artistic expression and seeks to inspire and uplift others. His dedication to the arts mirrors his unwavering commitment to making a difference in the world, as he believes that art has the power to transcend boundaries and touch the hearts and souls of individuals.
Conclusion
Sabin Barto, a retired Navy veteran, member of The Wounded Warrior Project, and the owner and operator of Windy Ridge Gallery, exemplifies the true essence of heroism. His remarkable strength, unwavering courage, and kind-hearted nature make him a hero in the eyes of those who have had the privilege of knowing him. Barto's recent heroic act has rightfully earned him recognition and a well-deserved award, highlighting his selflessness and unwavering commitment to making a difference in the world.

submitted by sabin-barto to u/sabin-barto [link] [comments]

2023.06.06 19:45 WenMunSun Travelling in the overworld feels clunky, sluggish and annoying.

I'm not a "no-lifer", i haven't finished the game yet - not even close. My highest character is 41 and i've done most of the story quest (started in early release).
These are some of the reasons i've found it difficult (mildy annoying) to play through the game so far.

Overworld is designed like swiss-cheese. Where the hole/negative space are impassable terrain, environmental features, objects (ridges, cliffs, slight changes in elevation, collections of trees, rocks, and unbreakable objects like huts, fences, etc). In some zones, like that red part of Scosglen where you find the Druid pinned to the tree - there may be more negative space than positive space.
There are too many of these, moslty small, unbreakable objects. As a result it's hard to move in a straight line for more than second without having to adjust your direction of travel. It's annoying to constantly have to change your characters direction just to navigate around objects blocking your path.
As a result, this forces me to glance at the minimap every couple of seconds. Why? Because the minimap has more visual clarity. It's quicker and easier to distuingish the terrain i can walk on from the terrain i can't using the minimap than looking at the game. But you obviously can't navigate looking at the minimap exclusively, which causes me to constantly switch back and forth between my character and the minimap - something i find mildly annoying. (*As a side note, i find it bizzarre that the minimap doesn't have a directional indicator for the MSQ objectives that i can follow to know i'm travelling in the right direction. Instead i have to look at the full screen map to locate my next quest location. This is a common QOL feature in MMOS/ARPGS that should have been implemented yesterday.)
Normally this wouldn't be a big deal when the world is filled with monsters and you actually spend time in the overworld engaging with said monsters. But in D4, most of the time spent in the overworld (with the exception of Helltides?) is traveling to and from waypoints, dungeons, lillith statues, or quest locations.
Much of the overworld consists of very narrow winding roads. Look at the area between Menestad and Firebreak Manor for example. Traveling through these areas is annoying. It's like driving on a one-way street. There's minimal room to manouevre. You feel very confined, cramped. There's no wiggle room. To travel you have to stay in the center and as a result your mouse/cursor placement needs to be relatively precise. And because the roads are winding you need to constantly move your cursor to stay on the road otehrwise you will run your character into a wall or impassable object.
To make matters worse, while you're on the horse you move faster based on the distance your mouse is from your character. The problem with this is, the further your mouse is from your character the slower you're able to respond to the environment. By having your mouse closer to your character you're much more agile because you can change directions much quicker. When you try to change directions from further away your characters direction and movements will be much less precise because the angle of change will be larger. I'm not sure how best to explain this but i think it's pretty obvious when you actually play with it, it's basic geometry. Anyone who's played MOBAs knows what i'm talking about. When you're moving you're character you don't want to click far away from you, you want click close to your character because it gives you more control. The horse has other problems like the boost which is annoying to be forced to spam every couple of seconds. Or getting caught on terrain which is (imo) a result of many of the points i made above.
The deisgn of Kyovashad and many towns is frustrating. Other players have commented on this, that it's annoying to have the blacksmith, aspect crafter, and storage in three seperate areas and on opposite sides of the map. A map which is itself badly designed (in terms of civil engineering). I agree with this sentiment. It's a minor annoyance, to be fair, but one of many minor annoyances that all add up together. Now, i've seen some comments on here saying it has to be like this because it's "art" and "aesthetics" or some other horse-shit. In my opinion, neither of these are incompatible. You can have world building, aesthetics, art, etc AND also have decently designed towns that don't require you to zig-zag from point A to point B constantly. There's a reason the real world is designed the way it is, with business districts, restauarant districts, shopping centres (eg malls), using centralized planning and grids. It's more efficient, and convenient for the people living in these areas and using these things. And the same is true of people in virtual reality/video games. It's more convenient, it saves time, it reduces friction and frustration, and just makes the game and experience more enjoyable. You can have both.
And why can't we use the horse boost in towns? We're being trained to constantly spam the boost hotkey while outside of town and then when we're in town it doesn't work. I just don't understand the decision here. Why is boosting in town disabled? Is it going to break the game somehow?
Hidden/discoverable map and Lillith statues. It's annoying that the map and statues are hidden/undiscovered on your second, third, fourth characters, etc. I'm not sure what the idea is behind this in 2023. I mean... i guess maybe it adds to the "immersion experience" for anyone who doesn't know that the full world map, and the locations of everything (statues, dungeons, etc) has already been datamined and recreated on a third party site. But realistically, most players are going to be using a third party map to locate the Lillith statues, so what's the point of hiding them in the first place? There's nothing to "find". Does Blizzard/D4 team think that forcing players to Google "D4 Lillith statues map" somehow adds to the game experience? Nevermind the fact that it's just busy work which i think most players find annoying to be forced to do (again and again, season after season).
On the plus side i actually think dungeon design is fine.
Unfortunately i don't think there's a real solution for these problems. Aside from the horse whose speed could (and imo should) simply be adjusted higher and have the boost ability removed entirely. The rest of these "problems" (if you want to call them that) are part of the fundamental design of the game so fixing them would require a FFXIV-like cataclysmic event giving them the ability to effectively re-design the whole map.
Lastly, before i get a bunch of "casual players" telling me to shut up and i don't know what i'm talking about etc, i want to be clear where my perspective is coming from. I understand that most casuals will probably take several months to play through this game. Casuals will play on softcore, maybe even the permanent servers, and once they've got to level 100 most of them will move on the next ultra-hyped AAA game release. They probably wont touch Diablo 4 again until the next expansion pack.

But Blizzard have made it clear that they want players to play Diablo 4 seasonally. Four times a year. They want players to login every few months and spend weeks starting over, completing the MSQ, grinding renown, again and again. But to do that, to attract that kind of playerbase that will start fresh every few months, the game needs to be frictionless. And that's where my criticism is coming from. As someone whos spent thousands of hours in Path of Exile over more than 6 years, one of the big reasons i could do that wasn't just the new content or build diversity - but the fact that starting over didn't feel too bad. Navigating through the game didn't feel bad. But with D4's systems in their current state i can't see myself coming back season after season unless Blizzard fixes alot of these issues (or buffs Fire Hydra Sorc idk).
Edit: To be clear the point of this post was to share some of my criticisms related to the overworld and travelling in it. I do have other criticisms about the game, such as the unskippable parts of the MSQ.
Another point i forgot to mention in the initial post:

The pickup radius of materials should be equally as large if not larger than the click radius of those objects. I find it annoying whenever i have to move even closer to pick up the minerals/flowers from the ground than i was when i was able to click on the object that drops them. If you can click on a gatherable object and release the items, you should be able to pick up the materials from where you are. This is again, just another mild inconvenience that (imo) would remove some small amount of friction from the game if it were changed.

submitted by WenMunSun to diablo4 [link] [comments]

2023.06.06 15:30 Fair_Bike6548 Info

submitted by Fair_Bike6548 to NorrisLakeTN [link] [comments]