Each of the homeless American citizens that Mark Horvath interviews is asked, “If you had three wishes, what would they be?” His invisible new friends would trust him with their answers – their dreams. Everyone had at least one answer. “To be self sustaining, and have a home for my kids”, said a mother of five. Others expressed their desire to “get off the streets”, “To have a steady job”, or simply “Have a place to stay.” Unfortunately, we don’t all get three wishes in America, our homeland.
Poverty in this country is a form of oppression, a tool used for punishment, and a weapon wielded against our most vulnerable citizens. The reports and interviews reveal a common theme of FEAR. Mr. Hovarth expressed that, “he wants to solve homelessness so he doesn’t end up on the streets.” A homeless man said that he feared “getting used to being homeless.” While on the other side of that demographic, a housed man feared the prospect of Americans experiencing “compassion fatigue” for the homeless problem in general. My argument is that this is all fair, and a direct repercussion of successfully achieving Capitalism.
I believe that dealing with a problem as complicated as homelessness must start with the vital ingredient of HOPE. Affordable housing and fair wages have been so skewed for so long that a reimplementation of these factors merely put band-aids on the real problem. It’s no wonder why we as a people feel as though we are swimming up a waterfall. Hope must lead the way, and a direct confrontation of Capitalism‘s overall efficiency must take place. Is it an incredible oversight by such a system that it CHOOSES who is taught the language of MONEY? A country that flaunts the ideal of Capitalism in the same breath as it’s claims to provide freedom would seemingly strive to offer such a language of money to ALL of it’s citizens. Instead, we choose who learns the language of money and hope, and the rest are chosen to fend for themselves or learn how to use the sun as a blanket on a cold day. This is not an oversight at all. It’s pure callousness.
My personal hope for this class is to shed a bright light on the “economic disparities” that are directly attributed to the misinformed citizens about what the true language in their country really is. The ridiculously rich 1% of Americans have done a brilliant job of gaslighting their own achievements in relation to who pays the cost. There’s absolutely no reason for anyone in the world to be so rich as to never be able to spend their fortune in 100 of their children’s lifetimes. It’s unnecessary to the point of obnoxious to see so much of the economy being kept away from the most vulnerable. I’m in this class to spread the word, and undoubtedly ruffle some feathers. I’ll take an “all inclusive” approach with every step. I believe that the more a community practices forms of “exclusion” the more it becomes a part of the very problem it claims an interest in solving. I don’t want a single penny from a billionaire. I just want them to realize that they don’t need another penny from me.

Each of the homeless American citizens that Mark Horvath interviews is asked, “If you had three wishes, what would they be?” His invisible new friends would trust him with their answers – their dreams. Everyone had at least one answer. “To be self sustaining, and have a home for my kids”, said a mother of five. Others expressed their desire to “get off the streets”, “To have a steady job”, or simply “Have a place to stay.” Unfortunately, we don’t all get three wishes in America, our homeland.
Poverty in this country is a form of oppression, a tool used for punishment, and a weapon wielded against our most vulnerable citizens. The reports and interviews reveal a common theme of FEAR. Mr. Hovarth expressed that, “he wants to solve homelessness so he doesn’t end up on the streets.” A homeless man said that he feared “getting used to being homeless.” While on the other side of that demographic, a housed man feared the prospect of Americans experiencing “compassion fatigue” for the homeless problem in general. My argument is that this is all fair, and a direct repercussion of successfully achieving Capitalism.
I believe that dealing with a problem as complicated as homelessness must start with the vital ingredient of HOPE. Affordable housing and fair wages have been so skewed for so long that a reimplementation of these factors merely put band-aids on the real problem. It’s no wonder why we as a people feel as though we are swimming up a waterfall. Hope must lead the way, and a direct confrontation of Capitalism‘s overall efficiency must take place. Is it an incredible oversight by such a system that it CHOOSES who is taught the language of MONEY? A country that flaunts the ideal of Capitalism in the same breath as it’s claims to provide freedom would seemingly strive to offer such a language of money to ALL of it’s citizens. Instead, we choose who learns the language of money and hope, and the rest are chosen to fend for themselves or learn how to use the sun as a blanket on a cold day. This is not an oversight at all. It’s pure callousness.
My personal hope for this class is to shed a bright light on the “economic disparities” that are directly attributed to the misinformed citizens about what the true language in their country really is. The ridiculously rich 1% of Americans have done a brilliant job of gaslighting their own achievements in relation to who pays the cost. There’s absolutely no reason for anyone in the world to be so rich as to never be able to spend their fortune in 100 of their children’s lifetimes. It’s unnecessary to the point of obnoxious to see so much of the economy being kept away from the most vulnerable. I’m in this class to spread the word, and undoubtedly ruffle some feathers. I’ll take an “all inclusive” approach with every step. I believe that the more a community practices forms of “exclusion” the more it becomes a part of the very problem it claims an interest in solving. I don’t want a single penny from a billionaire. I just want them to realize that they don’t need another penny from me.

https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/13u9t3m/my_father_always_kept_the_shed_locked_today_i/Part 1:
The darkness around us was oppressive, cloying and total. Anywhere we weren’t pointing our flashlights would turn into a solid wall of black, impenetrable shadows. But we could hear something. As we walked further down the hallway, we heard soft footsteps and giggling.
Sometimes, it sounded like it came from directly behind us. At other times, it would come from the rooms all around us, the endless rooms that split off the hallway on both sides. We found some strange things in those rooms as we walked slowly, the gun raised in my hand and the bowie knife raised in my brother’s.
There were corpses in some of the rooms. Many had partially mummified in the dry, chilly air down here. Others were clearly fresher. One woman was hanging from the rafters with a note pinned to her chest. I looked back at Gil when we reached this part of the hall. We had stayed out of the rooms since the incident with the little boy, but some deep innate curiosity needed to know what was on this note. Gil nodded at me, and we walked forward side by side, scanning every corner of the room and looking behind smashed-out fish tanks and torn sofas covered in black mold for any signs that we weren’t alone in here. Once we were both satisfied, we returned to the young woman hanging in the center of the room.
She had somehow climbed up to the ceiling, opened a panel and found a sturdy enough beam or rafter to tie the rope to. Yet there was no ladder or anything remotely tall enough to reach the ceiling nearby. It was somewhat of a mystery. I explained this to Gil, who looked somewhat confused- and alarmed. He clearly hadn’t realized it until I pointed it out to him.
I turned back to the woman’s corpse, picking off the note, which had been stuck into the front of her blouse with a huge wooden splinter. Gil kept a look-out while I read, shining his light back and forth in a circle across the room, holding his ridiculously huge knife in the other hand like some sort of medieval swordsman. I saw with increasing horror that the note appeared to have been written in the woman’s own blood. Looking at her body, I saw a deep slash on her left arm, one that had clotted days ago. I looked back down at the desperate message this dying woman had left for us.
“To anyone who finds this,
“My name is Michaela Mansfield. I came in here by accident through the sewers underneath the town of Caplin. My two friends and I went exploring and got separated after a girl in our group twisted her ankle. I went forward alone to find help while my other friend stayed behind with the injured girl. After perhaps a day of being lost, my flashlight started to die, and I thought I was going to die with it. And then I saw fluorescent lights up ahead. They were flickering and looked like they might sputter out at any moment, but it was the only hope I had. I followed the lights and found myself in this hallway. When I tried to turn around and go back, the entrance to the sewers had disappeared. It was just a hallway that seemed to extend forever, the one that has haunted me for weeks now.
“Please, if you find this note, tell my parents what happened to me. Take my golden locket and return it to my mother and father as proof. I hope you have better luck getting out of here than I did.
“Goodbye, and may God forgive me for what I’m about to do.
“-Michaela.”
I looked up at Gil, with one eyebrow raised. I saw he had been reading the note over my shoulder rather than keeping a look-out. I sighed, deciding not to say anything.
“We can’t take the locket,” I said. Gil shook his head.
“We have to take the locket,” he said.
“They’re going to think we had something to do with this girl’s death if we just show up randomly with a piece of her jewelry. Actually, I think I remember when this girl and her friends went missing. It was on the news. Her parents were pleading for anyone with information to come forward. I think the cops were acting on the suspicion that it was murder or kidnapping or something. But they probably just went exploring without telling anyone and never came back.”
“We’ll wipe it down and send it anonymously through the mail with a note explaining what happened,” he said. I sighed, giving up. He was right. It was the right thing to do. But I’m sure many innocent men have gone to prison over trying to do the right thing. I pointed to the note.
“This doesn’t help us at all,” I said. He shrugged.
“Maybe it does, and maybe it doesn’t. It doesn’t really help us formulate a plan, but it does give us information. For example, now we know that this place probably connects to a lot more places than the shed. We might be able to get out through dozens or hundreds of exits. If it connects to a random sewer over in Caplin, then it could connect to places all over the county.”
“True,” I said, “but what if it connects to some alien world? Or to a black hole? What if it connects to some point in the void between galaxies and we get sucked out to our deaths?” He simply shrugged again, seeming apathetic to these possibilities.
“Well, in that case,” he said smugly, a half-smile forming on his lips, “our deaths would probably be a lot quicker than they would at the hands of these creatures down here.” Then he started laughing. It sounded eerie in this dark, forlorn place, where everything smelled like yeast and the floors were all wet substrates growing strange jungles of alien molds. He reached forward and took the golden locket off of the woman’s neck, placing it carefully in his pocket. We started walking out of the room together.
“Also,” I said, “the note seems to imply that the entrances are temporary. She couldn’t find her way back out after she got in here. What if they’re all like that? What if they’re like… I don’t know, lobster traps, or Venus fly traps, or something? They draw people in here, and then once they’re inside…” I stopped speaking as soon as I realized I heard someone following us.
I heard running footsteps. A high-pitched giggling started, then was cut off. We both stood there in the darkness, our flashlights pointing forward. Then the voice of that demonic little girl started up, high-pitched and somewhat inhuman-sounding. Her words all had a strange hoarseness to them, an uncanny valley sound as if she were only imitating human emotions and human speech.
“Adam’s ‘It’, but he won’t play,” she said sulkily, her voice bouncing off the walls, the rapid beat of the footsteps approaching nearer and nearer. “He says his throat hurts. So I guess I’m ‘It’! You better run!”
“God dammit,” Gil said, swinging his giant knife around from side to side as if he were going to bat a mosquito with it. His light flashed and wavered as he tried to keep a watch on all sides. But I knew she was coming from behind us. I could feel it. I kept my light shining down there, the gun raised, trying to emanate a calm I didn’t feel. Then I saw a flash of blue, zigzagging crazily past a chair leg and the snapped remains of a folding table, tiny legs pumping at a superhuman speed. She looked like little more than an approaching blur.
“Listen to me very carefully,” I said, trying to keep my gun pointed on her. “We need to cut off her head.”
“What?!” Gil said. “Why?”
“Last time, bullets didn’t work on…” I began, but then she was on us, no more than a few feet away, jumping over the discarded junk that intermittently appeared on the sides of the hallway. And then I felt myself knocked over by a tremendous force that took the air right out of my lungs.
I still had my hands crossed in front of me, one holding the gun and the other the flashlight. The skeletal face of the creature was mere inches away from my own, biting and gnashing madly. I could see small muscles in the back of her mouth working furiously. She was pushing down on my arms with all of her strength, which was far more than such a small body seemed to suggest.
The gun was pressed closely to the front of her chest. I was about to pull the trigger when I felt the weight start to lift off of me. I saw Gil behind her, wrapping his arm around her neck and pulling her back. She still gnashed and bit in a mad frenzy, small droplets of blood and saliva dripping off her mouth and into my face. She kicked her body back and forth like an enraged snake, freeing her neck from Gil’s grasp. He went to grab her, and her skeletal face opened up wide, the jaw hanging halfway down her neck.
With the speed of a cat snatching a mouse, she leapt forward, snapping her jaw around some of the fingers on Gil’s left hand. I saw his index and middle finger disappear into her mouth, and he began to scream in agony.
I was scrambling back to my feet by this point. I ran at the girl, using all of my body weight to push her. She went tumbling on the floor, her mouth flying open as she landed hard on the wood. Two mutilated fingers flew out, rolling across the floor and disappearing into a dome of black mold. I was sweating heavily now, drops of perspiration rolling down my forehead and stinging my eyes. I tried to wipe them away, thinking of what to do. My mind screamed at me to shoot, to empty my entire magazine into this little monster, but I knew in my heart that it would just be wasting bullets. Deep down, I knew what I had told Gil earlier was true- we had to cut off her head. Just like in the old myths of vampires or demons, I had a deep instinctual feeling that fire or decapitation would be the only way to deal with her, and as for fire, we had no flamethrowers.
“Gil!” I said. “Get ready!” He was holding his spurting hand tightly against his chest, still grasping the bowie knife in his right. His face was alarmingly pale and white, and I wondered if he might not just pass out right here and doom both of us. But he hadn’t dropped the knife, even while fighting the writhing monster, even while getting his fingers bitten off. He is stronger than he looks, I reassured myself.
A sense of calm and clarity overcame me then, and I saw what I needed to do. The demonic girl was getting up, growling and spitting and laughing. I ran over and stomped on her back, putting my full weight on her body to drive her back down. Then I took the pistol and shot her through the back of the kneecaps, one bullet for each.
She wailed as dark red blood poured out of her small legs, turning her head almost all the way back to try and bite me. Her hands were changing, the small fingers lengthening and darkening into sharp, black claws, and I knew our time was running out.
“Now!” I yelled, and Gil ran forward, using his right hand to swing the bowie knife. I watched it fall in a descending arc, as if in slow motion, watched it approach the spitting skeletal face that looked at us with black eyes and unfathomable hatred. It went clean through, and was so sharp that for a split second, the head stayed there, the face blank, looking like it was still attached to the body. Then it tumbled forward, dark blood spurting out of the neck and staining the white and gold molds underneath with its crimson hue.
Gil fell back against the wall, breathing fast. He dropped the bowie knife on the floor. I saw his flashlight, still on, had rolled against an ancient wheelchair that was probably new back in the 1960s. I stopped and grabbed it, shoving it in my pants belt so it would give me more light to work with. Gil still had his hand clasped to his chest. Slowly, I put my hands forward and grasped his injured hand by the wrist. He inhaled deeply, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes.
“We’re going to need to wrap it in something,” I said. He nodded. I took off my shirt and started ripping long slices from the bottom, then wrapping them around his hand tightly in an attempt to slow the bleeding. When I got to the fingers, he flinched and seemed to waver on his feet. I reached a hand out in case he was about to fall over, but he managed to steady himself. “All done,” I told him as I put my shirt back on, which was missing the bottom third portion now and looked rather absurd, almost as if I was wearing a woman’s crop top.
“It feels like my hand’s on fire,” Gil said in a hoarse whisper. “We’re going to need water, too.” I was feeling the start of dehydration pangs myself.
“That girl, Michaela, her note said she was stuck in here for weeks. That must mean there’s water. Assuming her counting was correct, seeing as there’s no sun or sky to go by. If there was no water, she would have died after a few days, especially being on the move,” I said. I was hoping that we would find food as well, but it wasn’t really life or death. I knew that we could potentially go weeks without food and still live, even though it would feel extremely unpleasant and weaken us physically. I sighed, shining my flashlight at Gil.
“Ready to keep going?” I asked, and then the lights started turning back on. Most of them were still either out or flickering on and off rapidly, but enough of them were lit to see down the hall.
“Oh, thank God,” Gil said. “At least now we’re not walking through this junkyard in the fucking dark.” Up ahead, I saw something new as well. It looked like the hallway forked off. I pointed at it, and Gil’s eyes widened. “Finally, after walking for endless miles, this place does something!” As we neared it, I saw there was even a sign. One pointed left, reading, “To Veriden”. The other pointed right, reading, “To Rusty Township”.
“Hmm…” I said, “I’ve never heard of either of those places. They’re definitely not in the county.” Gil’s dark brown eyes looked past me, into the room behind us, and they widened. I reached for the pistol, turning quickly, but I found nothing but a mostly empty, half-lit room. Against the corner was a vending machine and a soda machine.
“Oh thank God!” I said, running forward, reaching in my pocket for some money. Then I remembered I had left my wallet at home. After all, I thought we were just going into the shed. Gil strode right past me.
“Don’t be an idiot,” he said, taking the butt of his bowie knife and smashing the glass of the vending machine. “You don’t need money. Who’s going to call the cops, the walking undead and demons here?” He pulled out brands I had never heard of: Overholser’s Beef Jerky, chocolate bars with caramel and peanuts called Eisenhearts, Took’s salt-water taffy and Riza’s fruit snacks. The other vending machine was no less alien, as I smashed it with the butt of the gun and found Springy’s Lemon-Lime Soda, Kanna-brand cola and Saint Kristoff’s Ginger Ale, among others. Not one of the brands was recognizable from our world.
We tore into the food with ravenous hunger, chugging bottle after bottle of soda. It all tasted similar enough to what we expected, though some of it was rather strange. The ginger ale, for example, had small silver shavings on the bottom of each bottle, their trademark gimmick, and Gil swallowed them and nearly ended up choking. I smacked his back hard, laughing.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to drink those,” I said sarcastically. We were filling up our pockets when the drumming started from down the hall. It was so sudden and loud in the otherwise perfect silence that I jumped nearly a foot, spinning around and taking out the gun. It was becoming second-nature to me by this point, and so much adrenaline was constantly pounding through my body that I was as jumpy as a cat.
The drumming grew louder and fast. It reminded me of the drums some ancient Aztecs must have used when cutting out the hearts of prisoners of war. It had a deep, primal beat to it that would be useful for stirring people up during acts of savagery and violence. It was coming from the direction labeled “Rusty Township”. I could barely hear myself think over the intensity of the drum beats. I tried to motion to Gil that I would go first since I had the gun but that he should stay right behind me, but he looked like he was just smiling and nodding and likely hadn’t understood a bit of what I was trying to communicate. Sighing, I started forward down the corridor.
I peaked my head around the next corner, where a doorway opened up into a huge gymnasium. The ceiling towered over me. I saw dirty, disheveled people standing in a semi-circle around a metal coffin that was stood up on one end against the back wall. Blood was pouring out the bottom, following a river of clotted gore that stretched across the gymnasium and curved off to the right corner. The people surrounding the metal coffin were laughing, clapping their hands and cheering, stomping their feet in time with the beats. I saw scurvy blossoms and festering sores across their faces and exposed skin. And, for the first time since we had gotten lost down here, there were windows around the edge of this massive chamber, windows showing the outside world. I ran over, looking out.
I saw a city on fire, the buildings burning and sending up thick, black plumes of smoke. It reminded me of what Berlin at the end of World War II must have looked like. Fronts of houses had collapsed inwards, the streets were cracked and filled with debris and I saw bodies hanging from lampposts up and down the street. Many of them were so old that the ropes were starting to fray. Some of the bodies had started to mummify, with thin, papery skin clinging tightly to desiccated muscles and hanging jaws.
Around the corners of houses and alleyways, I caught glimpses of strange shapes: crouching half-animal, half-human beings who carried sledgehammers and long knives, robed figures who seemed to float over the devastated and cracked ground, and children with red skin who I saw crawling up walls on all fours like geckos.
The drums stopped as suddenly as they had started. My ears were still ringing. I turned back to the semi-circle of sickly, dirty people. They had stopped their clapping and dancing and cheering, and now just stood like statues, staring at Gil and me with flat, dead eyes.
“You shouldn’t stare into the Township,” a thin woman with filthy black hair said. A strange accent crept into her words, one that I had never heard before. “Strange things live in there, and they come out when the drums stop.” She stepped forward, whispering. “We keep them away by giving a sacrifice every time the drumbeats come. The blood satisfies the ones in the city and the others in the halls. We will all have our turn in the coffin, sure enough.”
Another member of their group stepped forward and opened up the metal coffin. I saw long, thin spikes sliding out of a body, and then a pale form fell out, landing on the dirty floor with a wet smacking sound. The smell of coppery blood in the air was now overwhelming. Gil and I both gasped in unison as we saw this form on the floor was a person, a young woman in fact, almost totally drained of blood. Dozens of puncture marks were sliced into her face, neck, stomach, legs and arms. An expression of pain and horror was frozen onto her dead face, her wide, staring eyes looking up at the ceiling.
“You killed her!” Gil said, aghast, still clutching his mutilated hand close to his body in an unconscious gesture of his anxiety and fear. “Why? Why would you put someone from your own group in an iron maiden?”
“Iron maiden?” the woman with the black hair in front responded. “Aye, that’s as good a name for it as any. We call her the steel mistress in my world, in my time, and the steel mistress sees a lot of use…” She gestured out the window, her face emotionless. “You see my world, after all. It is a place that always reeks of death, and more often than not, reeks of fire too.”
“What part of the United States is this?” Gil asked, gesturing out the window. The woman frowned.
“I do not know these ‘United States’,” she said, shrugging.
“What country are you from?” he asked.
“Why, Victoriat, of course. But Victoriat only has three states. Rusty Township was the capitol, until ‘twas attacked by the Black Hand Allegiance soldiers. We’re all refugees from Rusty here,” she said sadly.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” I said to Gil under my breath. He nodded, sighing.
“Can you tell us how to get back to the stone steps? Big, circular stone steps that go around and around?” Gil asked the woman in one last attempt to get a sensical answer out of her. She nodded her grimy face.
“Aye, in the center of the Undergraves,” she said, pointing past the iron maiden and the dead body on the ground. I realized that there was a sign up on the ceiling in front of the next corridor, one pointing left and saying, “To Rusty Township center” and one pointing right and saying, “To the Undergraves”. The sign was so covered in dust and specks of black mold that it was no wonder I hadn’t seen it.
“Do you have any maps of this place?” I asked the dirty woman and her friends. They all shook their heads.
“There are no maps of the Undergraves, but the stairs be at the center. You just take a right here and follow the path straight. Ignore all forks to the right or left, just keep following it straight…” We were walking away fast now, trying to leave these lunatics behind. “But you’d be mad to go there now after the drums just stopped!” Her voice was fading rapidly as Gil and I ran forward.
“Those people were fucking nuts,” Gil said. “Killing each other just because they think the blood keeps away demons.”
“Brother,” I said through heavy breaths, “if you and I lived down here for a few months, we would be just as crazy as those people.”
As we jogged into the Undergraves, I realized the walls were turning into something organic and pulsating, like being in some huge intestine. Massive forks to the left and right appeared every few hundred feet. From them, dark shapes appeared, stepping forward. They moved shakily, blurring as they stepped to the right or left randomly, their mouths opened wide and seeming to be filled with blackness. Their eyes looked like pure black sockets, and the rest of their body was no more than a shaky silhouette of shadows. When the first few stepped forward, I didn’t know what to do.
I gingerly raised the gun, deciding better safe than sorry. They were coming at me fast, jerking randomly, their skin seeming to writhe and shiver as I stared at it. As they got within ten feet of me, a deep burning heat started to fill my body, as if I were standing in front of an oven. I started shooting, one bullet for each of their center mass, and they dissipated into smoke. I watched the black stuff curl back into the red, pulsating room they had just come out of. The sense of heat dissipated instantly, but my skin still felt warm and strange.
We were running through the Undergraves now. Miles of slick gore covering the floors, strange tissues growing across the rooms and tumor-like sacs covering the fluorescent lights, which even here flickered endlessly across the ceiling.
In many of the rooms, I saw people strung upside down from the ceiling, their ribs sliced open. Strange, hunched figures sliced the meat into strips, preparing it and drying it. One of them looked at me with its pig-like face, its bovine legs walking across the sticky floor, slowly and uncertainly at first, and then running for me. I was running low on ammunition by this point. Gil came from behind and disemboweled the creature as it raised its butcher’s knife. It had been so focused on me that it hadn’t noticed him jogging up with his blood-stained bowie knife in one hand.
“I can’t run much longer,” Gil said, panting. I nodded wearily. Neither could I. “My hand is still on fire, too. I really should have gotten medical attention, like, twelve hours ago…”
Part of me wondered if the stairs were even here, or if we had been lied to, sent into the worst part of this strange hall to become sacrifices to these abominations. We had, after all, put our lives in the hands of a band of lunatics.
But at this point, we had nowhere else to go but forwards.

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Are you ready to embark on an unforgettable journey in a realm filled with endless possibilities? Look no further than Master Realm, where your Minecraft experience will be taken to new heights! With an inviting community that has thrived for almost two years, you'll find yourself surrounded by like-minded players eager to explore, build, and conquer together.
​
🔥 Features that Set Master Realm Apart: 🔥
​
💎 Limitless Adventure: Immerse yourself in a server packed with over 90 incredible plugins, offering a vast array of gameplay enhancements. From custom enchantments and portals to new worlds, to unique world generation structures and custom questlines, there's always something exciting to discover!
​
💪 Epic Boss Battles: Prepare yourself for thrilling encounters with over 300 scripted boss events. Take on powerful Elite Mobs and collect their valuable loot to further enhance your Minecraft journey.
​
🏰 Build and Conquer: Harness the power of Towny to create thriving communities with your fellow players. Construct magnificent structures and conquer vast territories as you forge your path to greatness.
​
💰 Thriving Economy: Dive into a thriving coin economy system, where you can trade and purchase items through EconomyShop and Sign Shops. Unlock buyable roles and ranks, making your mark on the server in style.
​
⚔ Unleash Your Power: Experience the unique gameplay provided by MCMMO, where you can level up your skills and become a force to be reckoned with. Unlock god items, unique titles, and utilize custom tools to dominate the realm.
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Miss Crane

Class: Caster
True Name: Miss Crane
Gender: Female
Origin: Japanese Folklore, Chinese Folklore, etc.
Region: Japan
Alignment: Neutral Good
Height: 173cm
Weight: 55kg
Strength: E
Endurance: E
Agility: D+
Mana: C+
Luck: D
Noble Phantasm: EX
Character Creator: Tanaka Ten
Character Design: Shaka-P
Character Voice: Kaori Mizuhashi

Class Skills

Territory Creation (Atelier): C+
This skill specializes in clothing and apparel, and the quality of her work when created inside this territory both improves and gains additional effects. While the barrier provides a visual obstruction to prevent any from seeing inside, it is not so effective at protecting those within from attack.
Item Construction (Cloth): A
Allows for the creation of high quality cloth and clothing, imbued with magical energy

Personal Skills

Lady's Affection for Garments: EX
Proof of her love of all types of clothing. Even should it be a garment made without heart, her lightest touch will set it ablaze with the joy of life.
Overnight Haori: B
Instantly deploys a Bounded Field atelier, allowing her to lose herself in her work. At the same time, her passionate drive to create great pieces also burns the life out of her.
Thousand-Year Gratitude: A
Her gratitude for any kindness received will never be forgotten. Even after a thousand years, the sentiment neither disappears nor fades; it will remain as strong as the day she experienced that kindness. And now is the time to offer myself to return the favor.
The Crane's Hidden Measuring: A
The ability to instantly take the measurements of anyone she lays eyes on even over their clothes and immediately calculate all the correct values in relation to their body shape. This is important personal information and will NOT be disclosed. The dimensions and weight of fabric can also be identified at a glance
Since it's a skill used for tailoring in peacetime. It is not used in "FateGO".

Noble Phantasm

『Innocence, The Crane's Tearful Farewell Poem』
Rank: EX
NP Type: Anti-Personnel
Range: 1 - 10
Maximum Targets: 1
Ten-i Muhou, Tsuru no Enishi Namida no Wakare.
A supreme piece of clothing woven with all her heart and soul. This Noble Phantasm (temporarily) manifests the ideal clothing all tailors and fashion designers seek to create. The sheer perfection of it is beyond human comprehension, and its beauty and comfort are on par with the Japanese celestial maiden's legend of the "Hagoromo." It is the very epitome of innocence.
The power this clothing possesses is quite simple: it offers hope to the wearer. That is all. Hope, hope, and more hope. So long as they have hope in their hearts, people can continue on, overcoming fear and adversity of any sort. At least, the clothing gives the wearer cause to believe so.
But creating clothing of that caliber can also be very draining to the creator. Once her masterpiece clothes your form, you are bound to realize: ah, she has flown away, beyond the sunset, leaving a memento of herself...

Character

First-person pronoun: Watashi
Second-person pronoun: Anata
Third-person pronoun: Anokata/〇〇-san/〇〇-chan
Method of Addressing Master: MasP-chan/〇〇-san

Personality

Good, kind, polite. Above all, she is loyal. She always repays favours and does the best she can.
She has a gentle sociability and can quickly establish a comfortable atmosphere, even when meeting people for the first time. However when it comes to idols and clothing she tends to go overboard despite her self-restraint.

Motivation and Attitude to Master

Affectionate, playful and loyal
She is reserved, but not passive. Tends to go all out if it's for Master's sake. Good at all household chores, a hard worker who spares no effort.
However, she do not approve of participating in evil or cruelty, and if forced to do so, will leave out of grief.

Dialog Examples

"You showed me kindness, so I'll devote everything I have to you"
"I have received your order. A dress that will make you shine, I'll certainly have it made and delivered to you"
"Now, stick your chest out and lift your head. Oh, Excellant! It suits you well. ...... Hey, you look great. Don't worry. You'll be fine."
"New stage clothes!? By tomorrow? Understood, I'll make them! Hmm, this is so exciting! It is my élan vital"

Historical Conditions and Figure

Her origins aren't human.
As the person themselves say they are an 'animal' that has taken the form of a human by chance. In China, they are the so-called 'crane who had come to repay a favour', and in Japan they are depicted in folk tales such as 'Kaima' and 'Onna'.
The way these stories usually go is that a kind person saves the crane from a trap and the crane repays the favour by taking the form of a human being. The target of the repayment may be an old couple or a young man, depending on the local tradition. When the target is a young man she repays him by becoming his wife adding an element of inter-species marriage to the tale. The crane weaves fabrics from its own feathers, bringing great wealth to the object of its gratitude, but is forced to leave when it is seen in its true form.
In the Muromachi period picture scroll, Tsuru no Zoshi, the crane becomes the wife of the young man, but the way of repaying the favor is different, and there is no element of weaving in the tale. In this story the wife gives the young man a monster called "Wasawai" in order to get revenge for the unreasonable demands of those in power

Figure within FGO

A peculiar big sister type crane who puts her all into making clothes and promoting idols either with pure hearted honesty or passion without ambition
She has encountered three wishes so far.
Paris. A Master and a friend who i shared happiness and sorrow with. The name of the wish i received was 'clothing' and I became absolutely absorbed with them. But she is gone
Chaldea. The gentle Romani Archaman gave me room and rest. The name of the wish I received was 'idol' and I became addicted to them But he too is gone
The Micro Singularity Moonlight Epitaph.
Confused by the Holy Grail, i twisted my two wishes into an eternal stage. However the Master of Chaldea and Echan stopped that mistake
And thought me my last wish
Thank you Good bye and I'll see you soon
......Hi I'm back!.
Miss Crane's Costume Shop is now open 24/7
It seems that there are a lot of visitors, not only because they sell spiritrion dresses, but also because they easily respond to all fashion-related concerns.
In terms of payment she is too lax (she doesn't even ask for the bills), so a kind Servant who couldn't stand that ended up becoming her backer
At the end of her studies she obtained the skill "The Crane's Hidden Measuring" the ability to take measurements in a split second of visual inspection. However when actually making clothes she always uses a tape measure to be cautious. If she wanted to she could easily determine someone's measurements from a picture and cut out the fabric without using pattern paper. However she doesn't like doing that as she thinks it "lacks sincerity"
As her stat values show, Miss Crane's direct combat skills are low.
Her skills as a Caster are also nothing to write home about.
Her Noble Phantasms' ability is just to produce nice clothes
If she were summoned in a normal Holy Grail War, it would be extremely difficult to hope for victory.
Buf if you want summon to support you If you want hope to move forward She will be there for you as your greatest companion Even if she disappears there will be a brocade outfit there to inspire you

Standard Weapons

Staff

Related Characters

Mysterious Idol X Alter
I like her (Immediate answer) Dear Echan. My idol. My best friend, and and... oh, I'm at a loss for words.Oh, hmmm, here it comes, an idea for a new outfit I want to dedicate to her!
I'll get it done in no time!
Habetrot
My sunshine. Spinning together, weaving together, carrying the needle together. What would we call it if we didn't call it happiness? You, lovely one, who gave me such wonderful warmth. I hope one day to be able to give you a beautiful outfit.
Medb
A valued customer. Retakes, specification changes, additional orders, you name it, she's done it. Unreasonable demands are proof of her trust in a tailor after all. I am very happy to do anything for her. And she's so, so, so cute! She is so cute And the clothes look good on her She seriously looks good She's like an idol queen, isn't she?
Tamano Cat
A strange friend She comes on a whim and tidies up my room, which tends to be a bit messy, with her brilliant handiwork. I can't stop thinking about her. When I offered her a carrot as a thank you, she left headbanging while saying "Onore Red Hare"
Okada Izō
Okada's orders were short and crisp, which was helpful. When the clothes were finished, he was so happy and he smiled so adorably. By the way what about the bill? That reminds me the other day Mr Sakamoto came and picked up the clothes
Medea
Someone to give advice on magecraft Also friends who share ideas for new clothes over tea. Come to think of it that golden fleece is so soft. Just trying to remember it makes me.......Ah
Hassan of the Hundred Personas
Ah I see... A Spiritrion Dress usable by all the Hassans materializing through Delusional Illusion. Yes, yes, I can do it! It's the ultimate goal of a tailor. Now come at me
Romani Archaman
I must apologize to you. The truth we pursued together: 'What is an idol?'
This philosophical question still has no definitive answer. After all, there are too many incredibly dazzling idols.
They're all different! They're all charming!
There is no single 'correct' answer!
Ah, of course, I know very well that you are a devoted fan of the super strong, fiery, and magical Mari-chan.
We'll surely continue this conversation someday

Comments from illustrator

In the initial draft, she looked younger than she does now, but I wanted her to look more mature so I raised her head slightly in the clean-up phase. A large witch hat was essential for the second ascension and it was difficult to balance with the staff when creating the battle sprites. The third ascension is an orthodox Japanese-style beauty, with no adornment herself but with the haori as the main part of her design (Shaka-P)

Cleric: Luck Domain Deities of fortune and fate are elusive; praying to one means acknowledging that our lives are governed by the roll of the die or some invisible plan, privy only to the gods. But clerics of the luck domain embrace this aspect of life. With the aid of their gods, they can push their luck and make others regret doing so.
Note: I made this domain and doom domain before I learned that Homebrewery is a thing, so they are in google documents. The other subclasses are recent creations by me, and are made in Homebrewery.
Cleric: Doom Domain The gods have a design for each of us, and you are no different. You are a cleric for the gods whose wrath must be quenched, for the ones who have a score to settle with some unfortunate mortal. You are the harbinger of the end, the speaker of doom. You can force your opponents to gamble with their lives, trapping them in dilemmas which barter their lives against their comrades'.
Rogue: Fortune Teller There will always be people who are terminally uncertain. They require guidance to even make the simplest of choices, or to set them on a path which will bring good luck. Because of this, there are many soothsayers and scam artists who take their money and tell them what they want to hear. You could be one such person, your skills an extension of uncanny perception, but more than likely, you are the real deal. You can truly see the future, and use this skill to avoid uncertain outcomes.
Warlock: Fatesworn The mother who is doomed to lose her child, the soldier fated to die in a war they hate, and the child destined to become a martyr. All of these people have been burdened with a heavy fate, one that they, on their own, cannot escape. But the fatesworn is willing to give them a happier ending, so long as they become its servants. The fatesworn is an entity that can manipulate the forces of fate and fortune alike; there is no dice roll which they cannot determine the outcome of. They may be willing to lend that power to you as well, at a price.

With only days separating us from the Centenary Edition of the 24 Heures du Mans, it's time again for the Le Mans Primer thread! This is the place if you’ve got any questions about the 2023 Le Mans event, no matter how small! There are no dumb questions about Le Mans!

CONTENTS

• The Race
• Session Times
• The Track
• The Classes
• The Legends
• Videos and Documentaries
• Entry List and Spotters Guide
• Endurance Chat podcast
• Broadcast Details
• Social Media
• Live Timing
• Get Involved!

The Race

It all comes back to Le Mans. A century ago, people asked ‘Could a car continue to drive for 24 hours straight?’, an event was made to test that theory, and a legacy in racing, motorsport, and motoring was born. The 24 Heures du Mans is the holy grail of endurance motor racing, and brings up its Centenary edition this year. In its 100 year history, the 24 Hours of Le Mans is recognised as the most prestigious and gruelling test for innovations and improvements in motorsport technology. Technologies such as disk and air brakes, streamlined bodywork, fuel, oil, and lubricant improvements, improvements to engine efficiency and longevity, even things as simple as LED lighting and windscreen wiper blades have been trialled and tested at Le Mans. The normally hot conditions in the middle of June stretch the limits of reliability, with all the teams knowing that in order to beat their competitors, they must first beat the event. A variety of different engine configurations, displacements, positions, fuels, and hybrids have won over the history of the event. So far, petrol-fuelled traditional piston engines have been the most successful. Mazda managed to win using a Wankel Rotary engine in 1991 with the Mazda 787b (oh god listen to that sound!), while Audi was the first to win with an alternate fuel, taking victory in the diesel-powered R10 TDI in 2006. 2012 ushered in the era of the Hybrid, with Audi taking victory in the R18 e-tron Quattro, featuring a flywheel hybrid engine.

Qualifying

The Qualifying format for Le Mans is unique to the event, and called Hyperpole. In this format, all classes are permitted to use the track in the 1 hour qualifying session on Wednesday evening. The top 6 cars from each of the 4 classes then progress to the Hyperpole session on Thursday night, which sets the top of the grid for each class. This means that each class will be segregated on the final grid.

Session Times

• Ligier European Series Practice 1 – Sunday June 4th, 08:00 Local, 06:00 UTC, 02:00 ET, 16:00 AEST – 45 Minutes
• Ligier European Series Qualifying 1 – Sunday June 4th, 09:15 Local, 07:15 UTC, 03:15 ET, 17:15 AEST – 20 Minutes
• Test Day Session 1 - Sunday June 4th, 10:00 Local, 08:00 UTC, 04:00 ET, 18:00 AEST – 3 Hours
• Ligier European Series Race - Sunday June 4th, 14:00 Local, 12:00 UTC, 08:00 ET, 22:00 AEST – 60 Minutes
• Test Day Session 2 - Sunday June 4th, 15:30 Local, 13:30 UTC, 09:30 ET, 23:30 AEST – 3 Hours
• Porsche Carrera Cup Practice 1 – Wednesday June 7th, 09:00 Local, 07:00 UTC, 03:00 ET, 17:00 AEST – 45 Minutes
• Ferrari Challenge Practice 1 – Wednesday June 7th, 10:15 Local, 08:15 UTC, 04:15 ET, 18:15 AEST - 45 Minutes
• Road To Le Mans Practice 1 – Wednesday June 7th, 11:30 Local, 09:30 UTC, 05:30 ET, 19:30 AEST – 1 Hour
• Free Practice 1 - Wednesday June 7th, 14:00 Local, 12:00 UTC, 08:00 ET, 22:00 AEST - 3 Hours
• Qualifying Practice - Wednesday June 7th. 19:00 Local, 17:00 UTC, 13:00 ET, Thursday 03:00 AEST - 1 Hour
• Road To Le Mans Practice 2 – Wednesday June 7th, 20:30 Local, 18:30 UTC, 14:30 ET, Thursday 04:30 AEST - 1 Hour
• Free Practice 2 - Wednesday June 7th, 22:00 Local, 20:00 UTC, 16:00 ET, Thursday 06:00 AEST - 2 Hours
• Ferrari Challenge Practice 2 – Thursday June 8th, 09:00 Local, 07:00 UTC, 03:00 ET, 17:00 AEST – 45 Minutes
• Porsche Carrera Cup Practice 2 – Thursday June 8th, 10:55 Local, 08:55 UTC, 04:55 ET, 18:55 AEST – 45 Minutes
• Road To Le Mans Qualifying Practice – Thursday June 8th, 12:55 Local, 10:55 UTC, 06:55 UTC, 20:55 AEST – 20 Minutes x 2 Classes
• Free Practice 3 - Thursday June 8th, 15:00 Local, 13:00 UTC, 09:00 ET, 23:00 AEST - 3 Hours
• Road To Le Mans Race 1 - Thursday June 8th, 18:30 Local, 16:30 UTC, 12:30 ET, Friday 02:30 AEST - 55 Minutes
• HYPERPOLE - Thursday June 8th, 20:00 Local, 18:00 UTC, 14:00 ET, Friday 04:00 AEST - 30 Minutes
• Free Practice 4 - Thursday June 8th, 22:00 Local, 20:00 UTC, 16:00 ET, Friday 06:00 AEST - 2 Hours
• Porsche Carrera Cup Qualifying – Friday June 9th, 09:00 Local, 07:00 UTC, 03:00 ET, 17:00 AEST – 45 Minutes
• Ferrari Challenge Qualifying – Friday June 9th, 10:15 Local, 08:15 UTC, 04:15 ET, 18:15 AEST – 45 Minutes
• Road To Le Mans Race 2 - Friday June 9th, 11:30 Local, 09:30 UTC, 05:30 ET, 19:30 AEST – 55 Minutes
• Ferrari Challenge Race 1 - Saturday June 10th, 09:30 Local, 07:30 UTC, 03:30 ET, 17:30 AEST - 45 Minutes
• Porsche Carrera Cup Race 1 - Saturday June 10th, 10:45 Local, 08:45 UTC, 04:45 ET, 18:45 AEST - 45 Minutes
• Warm Up - Saturday June 10th, 12:00 Local, 10:00 UTC, 06:00 ET, 20:00 AEST – 15 Minutes
• RACE START - **Saturday June 11th, 16:00 Local, 14:00 UTC, 10:00 ET, Sunday 00:00 AEST

The Track

The Circuit de la Sarthe covers 13.6 kilometres of the French country side. It combines the permanent race components of the Ford Chicanes, the pit straight, under the Dunlop Bridge and through to Tertre Rouge as well as the normal everyday roads of the Mulsanne straight through to Indianapolis and Arnage. The track has gone through many iterations over the years; originally, the cars raced into the heart of the city, turning just before the river Sarthe, before hurtling down the 8.6 kilometre straight. In 1932, the circuit removed the journey into the city, and more closely resembled the track we see today. Here’s a video of Mike Hawthorn touring the circuit with a camera and microphone attached in 1956, one year after his involvement in the Le Mans disaster. The addition of the Porsche Curves and the Ford Chicanes in 1972 added an extra dimension to the high speed, fast flowing track. In the late 80’s, the Group C prototype cars would reach over 400km/h, achieving average speeds of almost 250km/h in qualifying for the entire lap. This is an onboard of Derek Bell’s Porsche 956 in 1983, showing the ridiculous speeds on this configuration of the circuit. This configuration remained relatively unchanged right up to 1990, until FIA mandations required that for the circuit to be sanctioned, it must not have a straight longer than 2km. The 6km Mulsanne straight was cut down into three relatively equal length portions by two chicanes, giving the iteration of the circuit used today. Allan McNish takes you on an onboard lap of the 2008 circuit in this video. McNish is one of the gods of the modern prototype era, winning Le Mans 3 times; once with Porsche and twice with Audi. For a more comprehensive focus on the track, John Hindhaugh’s track walk takes you on a 30 minute exploration of the track, with in depth focus on corners like the Dunlop Esses, Tertre Rouge, Mulsanne Corner, and the Ford Chicanes.
For some modern on boards, check out the fastest ever lap in the Circuit de la Sarthe: Kamui Kobayashi's 3:14.791 in 2017 Q2, and last year’s Hyperpole lap, by Brendon Hartley, setting a 3:24.408
The Dunlop Bridge
The iconic Dunlop Bridge has been a part of the Le Mans track since 1932, making it the oldest Dunlop Bridge at any track. This part of the track requires a good launch out of the first chicane before cresting the brow of the hill, and plunging through the esses out onto the Mulsanne straight. As the LMP cars are much more maneuverable, caution must be taken passing the slower GT traffic, as Allan McNish discovered in 2011.
Tertre Rouge
Tertre Rouge is the corner that launches the cars onto the long Mulsanne straight. Maintaining momentum through this corner as it opens on exit is imperative to ensure maximum straight line speed heading down the first part of the Mulsanne. The undulation in the road makes for fantastic viewing at night, with some magic images of the Porsches throwing up sparks on the exit in 2014. Finally, this was the location of Allan Simonsen’s fatal crash in mixed conditions in the 2013 Le Mans. The Danish flags will fly at the corner in his memory.
Mulsanne Corner
After the incredibly long Mulsanne straight, the Mulsanne corner nowadays features a subtle right hand kink before the tight 90 degree turn. Here, the cars decelerate from 340 km/h down to below 100 km/h, resulting in a brilliant opportunity to overtake. Again, care must be taken overtaking slower traffic; unaware drivers have caught out faster cars attempting to pass through the kink, such as Anthony Davidson’s spectacular crash in 2012 resulting in a broken vertebra for Davidson.
Indianapolis and Arnage
The Indanapolis and Arnage complex is one of the most committed areas of the track. Hurtling down the hill from the Mulsanne Corner, the road suddenly bends to the right, a corner which only the bravest prototype drivers take flat out, followed by a beautifully cambered open left hander taken in third gear. A short sprint leads the cars into Arnage, the slowest point on the track. The tight right hander was the scene of heartbreak for Toyota in 2014 when the leading #7 broke down and had to be retired after an FIA sensor melted and shut off the electronics. Kazuki Nakajiima was unable to make it to the pits, leaving him stranded on the circuit.
The Porsche Curves
At a terrifyingly high speed, the Porsche Curves is the most committed part of the lap. Getting caught behind GT traffic in this section can mean losing phenomenal amounts of time. This was the site of Loic Duval’s horrific crash in practice for the 2014 event. Keeping momentum through the flowing right-left-right handers that lead into Maison Blanche requires 100% commitment and ultimate precision, with severe punishment for getting it wrong. The exit of the Porsche Curves underwent significant change in 2020, with additional run-off added in the middle part of the section. This has turned the treacherous and claustrophobic sweeping left-hander into an open and sweeping corner, encouraging every little bit of road to be used on the exit. What it hasn’t changed is the terrific consequences for making a mistake
The Ford Chicanes
The final chapter in the 13.6km rollercoaster that is Le Mans is the Ford Chicanes. Two tight left-right handers with massive kerbs are all that separates the driver from the finish line. Watching the cars bounce over the kerbs in beautiful slow motion is certainly something to behold, but 24 hours of mistreatment can lead to suspension and steering issues. The drivers have to be attentive until the very end, lest they throw it all away in the last minutes of the race.
The Circuit de la Sarthe requires over 85% of the lap on full throttle, with the cars accelerating from less than 100km/h to over 300km/h five times each lap. The challenge of having a car finish Le Mans is in itself, an achievement.

The Classes

The WEC consists of three classes on track at once, resulting in three separate races on track each in their own battle for 24 Hours. The classes are split based on their car type, with LMH and LMDh machinery facing off in the Hypercar class, purpose built prototypes with a spec engine and gearbox battling in LMP2, and GT machinery racing in GTE. Each class has its own set of regulations, driver requirements, and relevance for the Le Mans event.

Hypercar

The current top class of endurance sportscars is Hypercar, combining cars built to Le Mans Hypercar (LMH) and Le Mans Daytona (LMDh) specifications. Fighting it out will be LMH machinery from Toyota, Ferrari, Peugeot, Glickenhaus and Peugeot, while Porsche and Cadillac will be racing in LMDh cars. The LMH cars are bespoke sportscars, designed to a strict set of requirements dictating maximum power, drag coefficient, and weight, amongst other parameters, intended to limit the cost of the category. LMDh machines on the other hand are based on the future LMP2 chassis offerings, with manufacturers able to develop their own engines and bodywork, aligning with the power and drag coefficients of LMH. As part of cost-cutting, the Hypercar class is also subject to a Balance of Performance (BoP) formula, to level the playing field and ensure good racing! Hypercars are a little slower than their LMP1 predecessors, with lap times around the 3:24 mark for the Circuit de la Sarthe, which is on par with the 2014 LMP1 cars.

LMP2

The second prototype class is LMP2, and provides an excellent platform for endurance racing on a budget. The LMP2 class features a spec drivetrain and gearbox, using a Gibson V8 producing 400kW, and a selection of three chassis to choose from, of which the Oreca 07 has been the chassis of choice. This ensures that the competition in the class is very tight, and often comes down to the drivers and the team’s performance instead of just having the best car. While LMP2 was capable of 3:25 lap times in years previous, part of the ‘stratification’ of classes with Hypercar’s inclusion, the LMP2 class has lost some power and had some weight added. This should put LMP2 at the heels of the LMH pace, but with laptimes outside the 3:28 mark.
LMP2 is the first class that must feature amateur rated drivers. The Amateurs must drive for a minimum of 6 hours in the car over the course of the race. This means that there's an element of strategy of when to use your amateur driver throughout the race, as the amateur driver is generally slower than the Pros. The pro drivers in this class range from up and coming talent, former F1 drivers, and some of the best sportscar pilots in the world, and with 244 cars in this class, LMP2 is sure to be a hotbed of action over the 24 hours.

LMGTE-Am

GT class cars are cars that are derived from production models, and feature some of the most iconic cars and brands battling it out at the top of the field. The GTE cars are on the border of aero dependency, and can lap Le Mans in around 3:45 in a professional driver’s hands.
This year is the last year of the GTE class, and features 21 cars in a Pro-Am category, with cars from Ferrari, Porsche, Aston Martin, and Chevrolet on the grid. Despite the lack of a Pro category, the driver quality in GTE-Am is still incredibly high, with factory drivers, young stars, experienced champions and every level of experience in between on the grid, with each car featuring two Bronze or Silver rated drivers. With two amateur drivers, the strategy considerations multiply. While GTE-Am might be the class focussed on the least over the course of the race, the stories that come from this class are phenomenal, and it's well worth following.
The GT classes feature a range of different cars and configurations, and to equalise each of these against each other, the class goes through a process called 'Balance of Performance' or BoP. The organisers can adjust each individual car's weight, fuel tank, air restrictor, turbo boost pressures, and aero performance to alter performance levels to enable the different cars to race competitively. This can sometimes be contentious as every team will feel hard done by, but it is a necessary evil to having the variety of cars on the grid.

Innovative Car

Each year, there is the option for an Innovative Car, with untested or innovative technology, allowed to enter in it’s own category. In years past, this has allowed for entries from the Deltawing, or a modified LMP2 to allow amputees to race.
This year, the Innovative Car entry is a modified Chevrolet Camaro ZL1 Next-Gen NASCAR, run by Hendrick Motorsports. The Next-Gen NASCAR features modifications to allow it to run safely on the Circuit de la Sarthe, and will be driven by multiple NASCAR Cup champion Jimmie Johnson, Formula 1 World Champion Jenson Button, and Le Mans Overall Winner Mike Rockenfeller.

The Legends

Part of the allure of the Le Mans 24 Hours is the history, and the legends steeped in history over the course of its 88 previous editions. The race has had many headline battles in its history - periods of time where two or three teams went toe to toe for years, with the drivers, cars, and brands embroiled in these battles given the chance to elevate themselves above the rest, and show their prowess.
In 2019, we at /WEC, took our normal Le Mans Legends celebrations to a new level; each week, members of the community have been writing reviews on some of the closest, most fascinating finishes in Le Mans history! You can check out these reports below!

• The 1966 Dead Heat by kinkymulsanne
• 1983; Factory Porsche dominates with a 1-2 victory, but only just! by Floodman11
• 1987; The colossal struggle between Porsche and Jaguar (Part 1) by Lagiacrus7
• 2016; FUCK by Cybershrike
• 1979; Boogie Nights meets Days Of Thunder by SolHiemis
• 1991; the Hiroshima Screamer Prevails by AE_Racer
• 2010; the Day the Peugeots All Died by kiwichris1709
• 1999; The Le Mans Turning Point by starzonda
• 2011; The Final Audi vs Peugeot Rivalry by Stuff_And_More
• 1988; The colossal struggle between Porsche and Jaguar (part 2) by Lagiacrus7

Bonus CookieMonsterFL Write-Ups

• 3.5L: The Downfall of Group C
• Airborne Crashes

For a bite-sized history lesson on every Le Mans event, check out this post by u/JohannesMeanAd2, describing every Le Mans in a single sentence!
The early races were dominated by the Bentley company in their Speed 6, who won 5 of the first 7 races. Cars were separated into classes by their engine displacement, and the overall winner was based on distance covered. If two cars had finished with the same number of laps, the car with the smaller displacement was declared the winner. The race wasn't run during the second world war, and comparatively very little information is available on the stories of the early days of Le Mans.
After the second world war, teams such as Jaguar, Ferrari, Mercedes, and Aston Martin became the dominant teams. This era featured the legendary Jaguar D type, the Mercedes Benz 300 SLR, the Ferrari 250 Testa Rossa, and the Aston Martin DBR1. Jaguar won 5 times between 1951 and 1957, followed by an era of Ferrari dominance. Drivers such as Mike Hawthorn, Stirling Moss, Juan Manuel Fangio, and John Fitch became household names as Le Mans became a battle between German engineering and British "garagistas".
Ferrari and Ford was the story of the 60's, with Ferrari winning 6 times straight before Ford won four in a row with the GT40 Mk II, taking their first win in 1966. The story of their rivalry is legendary in it's own right - Henry Ford had almost successfully bought out the Ferrari motor company, only to be knocked back by Enzo himself at the 11th hour. In retaliation, Ford planned to hurt Ferrari where it mattered most; on the track. The Ford GT40 was so comprehensively dominant that it won the 1966 edition 21 laps ahead of the next car back - a Porsche 906/6. None of the Ferrari 330P3's finished the race. This battle gave drivers like Bruce Mclaren, Dan Gurney, and Jacky Ickx their first Le Mans victories, and propelled them to the forefront of motorsport stardom at the height of motorsport's popularity.
The 1970's saw the dawn of Porsche, with the 917k taking the brand's first win in 1970, with the same car winning the following year in the hands of Helmut Marko (yes, that Helmut Marko). It would be 5 years before Porsche would win again, with Matra taking 3 victories in the interim, each at the hands of Henri Pescarolo. Porsche returned with the 936 and the 956/962c dominating the race for the next 20 years. In fact, from 1970, Porsche won 12 times in 18 events, including 7 in a row, and they miiight have been a bit cheeky about it. Amongst these 12 wins, there were 4 for both Jacky Ickx and Derek Bell, and two for IMSA legend Hurley Haywood, as well as the first win for the Joest team in 1984. This era coincided with the introduction, and subsequent destruction of the Group C sportscar formula, widely regarded as the best Sportscar championship regulations of all time. Porsche’s dominance was eventually ended by Jaguar in the XJR-9LM, at the height of Group C’s magic. Ickx's 6 wins at this stage had earned him the nickname 'Mr Le Mans', a fitting title for one of the best drivers in the world at the time.
GT cars became a force to be reckoned with at the end of the Group C era, with classes being split into LMGTP and LMP. McLaren and Porsche had wins in GTP cars, in the F1 GTR and the 911 GT1 respectively, while Porsche, BMW and Peugeot scored LMP wins. 1997 saw the first win for Tom Kristensen, while the following year Allan McNish took his first victory, starting their journeys into the legend books of Le Mans.
The 2000’s ushered in the era of Audi, with all 13 of their wins coming since the turn of the century. GTP was disbanded due to safety issues, being replaced by GT1 and GT2. Audi picked up wins in the R8, the R10, the R15, and the R18, often dominating the might of the Peugeot 908. Audi's dominance elevated not only their drivers to legend status, but also their team managers, car designers, and race engineers. People like Reinhold Joest (team manager), Dr Wolfgang Ullrich (Audisport director), Ulrich Baretzky (engine designer), Leena Gade, Howden Haynes (race engineers) behind the wall and Allan McNish, Tom Kristensen, Rinaldo Capello, Marcel Fassler, Andre Lotterer and Benoit Treluyer have become household names in the sport not only for their wins, but their longevity and domination. Audi's dominance was only broken by a win for Bentley in 2003, running basically an Audi under a British racing green skin, and Peugeot in 2009, before being ended for good by Porsche in 2015. After both Porsche and Audi left the top class, Toyota rose to dominance, taking the last 3 Le Mans events in a row!
Between 2015 and 2017, Porsche added to their victories, now holding a record 19 overall victories at the Circuit de la Sarthe. Audi trail with 13, with Ferrari, Jaguar and Bentley holding the next three positions. Toyota finally took their first overall victory in 2018, and have won every year since. Tom Kristensen is has the most victories at Le Mans, with 9 overall victories over his career with Porsche, Audi and Bentley, inheriting the title of Mr Le Mans.

Videos and Documentaries

• Truth in 24 and Truth in 24 II - The story of Audi’s victories against testing conditions and the might of Peugeot in 2008 and 2011.
  
• Le Mans - made in 1971, this movie follows a fictional Le Mans race in 1970, featuring fantastic footage and sounds of the Porsche 917 and the Ferrari 512 starring Steve McQueen
  
• Michael Fassbender:Road To Le Mans Season 1 - Season 2 - Season 3 - The journey that Michael Fassbender has taken from movie star to Porsche GTE-Am driver, detailing his racing through the ranks of Carrera Cup, Le Mans Cup, and ELMS.
  
• The Deadliest Crash - The BBC documentary on the 1955 Le Mans disaster. For more information, see CookieMonsteFL’s amazing post on the incident
  
• Our Return: A documentary of our road to Le Mans 2015 - Porsche’s youtube documentary chronicling their return to Le Mans and their eventual win.
  
• McLaren at Le Mans: Pursuit of Perfection - The story behind McLaren's 1995 victory
  
• The fastest ever lap at the Circuit de la Sarthe. Kamui Kobayashi's 3:14.791 in 2017 Q2
  
• Mark Blundell’s explosive lap - Blundell was going so fast, he was overheating the blowers in the car. After being told to turn down the engine and abandon the lap, in true racing driver fashion he simply turned off the radio.
  
• Clearwater Racing: Journey to the 24 hours of Le mans
  
• Cetilar Racing: The Italian Spirit of Le Mans - A documentary on Cetilar Villorba Corse's journey to Le Mans in 2018
  
• McLaren at Le Mans: Pursuit of Perfection - The McLaren F1 road car's story and development for the historic LeMans race of 1995.
  
• Ford vs Ferrari / Le Mans '66 - Coming out late 2019, this movie tells (a stylised version of) the story of the battle between Ford and Ferrari at Le Mans in the late 1960's. While there are some inaccuracies, the movie has been widely heralded as one of the best Motorsport themed movies ever made, and has been enjoyed by critics and motorsport fans alike.
  
• Michael Fassbender: Road To Le Mans Season 1 and 2, Season 3, Season 4 – Actor and Amateur Driver Michael Fassbender documents his 4 year journey from Porsche Carrera Cup into the ELMS and finally, to the 24 Hours of Le Mans.
  

Entry List

Spotters Guide to be added when released!

Once again, /WEC will have a community spotters guide thanks to the efforts of Ziombel_444! The planned release date is the 6th of June, so keep your eyes peeled for that!

Check out Ziombel_444's other work at Spotters.Guide, and support this great effort!

Endurance Chat

/WEC's podcast, Endurance Chat, will have four episodes in the lead up to Le Mans, as well as a Pre-Pre-Race show in the hours before the event. Watch this space for updates!

• Endurance Chat S8E11 – The Centenary 24 Hours of Le Mans Preview - History, context, and insight into this year’s edition of the Le Mans 24 Hours
  
• Endurance Chat S8E12 - The 2023 Le Mans 24 Hour Hypercar Class Guide – COMING SOON
  
• Endurance Chat S8E13 - The 2023 Le Mans 24 Hour LMP2 Class Guide – COMING SOON
  
• Endurance Chat S8E14 – The 2023 Le Mans 24 Hour LMGTE-Am Class Guide – COMING SOON
  

In addition, Endurance Chat made a series of features detailing the history of sportscars in the late 60’s and early 70’s, at the transition point of GT and Prototype machinery. The series details some of the machinery, events, and drivers in one of the fastest and most dangerous periods in racing history. You can find a playlist to these features here!

Streaming and Television

In the past, the FIAWEC Broadcast has started from Qualifying Practice. We are awaiting confirmation if that is the case this year – Streams for non-FIAWEC sessions after that point will be subject to the organisers of those series broadcasting those sessions.

• Official stream OUTSIDE US ONLY - The Le Mans package gives you access to all WEC sessions (Qualifying, Warm Up and the Race) with a choice of on boards, cross platform compatibility, and up to 5 devices connected at once. Additionally, replays of the event are free after the event. Official comms headed by Martin Haven, Anthony Davidson, and Graham Goodwin, who in my personal opinion properly nail the tone of the event. Has been known to get overloaded and crash however
• Eurosport will likely be broadcasting the event in a variety of locales throughout Europe. This will be updated when confirmed
• Radio Le Mans will be streaming live radio for every session

For American audiences, unfortunately the Official stream is geoblocked for your area. Information on how to watch will be updated when confirmed

• [Official TV Broadcast distribution](COMING SOON) Find out how to watch in your region!

Any further updates on TV or Streaming distribution will be added as they are released!

Social Media

If you're looking for more interaction, you can find most of the teams, drivers and commentators on Twitter, giving you instant interaction with those in the midst of the event.

If someone wants to make a twitter list for the teams/driveetc for this year, that would be greatly appreciated!

Live timing

• Official Live Timing

Be sure to join the discord for alternate timing solutions!

Get Involved!

By far the most fun you can have watching an endurance race is watching it with the official /WEC Discord! It's a lot of fun and a really great atmosphere to watch the race in!
If you want to have a go at picking who you think will be winning in each class, jump into mwclarkson's Fantasy Endurance Contest! It's free to enter, and if you win, you'll get the satisfaction and achievement of being right!
If there's anything you'd like us to add, or need clarification on, please comment below and we'll add it in!`

This is my first dnd 5e game with strangers. For years, I have been playing with close friends but schedules and busy lives sadly stopped our weekly games.
The DM of that game mentions to me that they know another dm who is looking for players, I say im interested, he hooks us up and I join the game.
DM of this game is female. I am a straight male and so is my cleric character. The only other player is a minmaxer straight female playing a female hexblade paladin with polearm sentinel. The genders will be important later...
So the dm told us that since the party is so small, she will be adding an npc who will help us out here and there. That npc turned out to be a male dmpc rogue who is always 2 levels above us plus magic items. They dont just "help here and there", no no, they straight up take the spotlight. Often being the one dealing the final blow against bosses. But more on that later.
I need to mention that nearly all the npcs are male, some of which have romantic relationships with each other. Literally the only female npcs are the villains, usually the seductresses or femme fatale types.
So we got around two sessions in and immediately I dont like the dmpc. The dm always inserts the dmpc in every scene with my character. I notice that its difficult for my cleric to bond with the minmaxer because every time I try to rp with the minmaxer, the dmpc butts in.
The first instance where it becomes a big problem is when we were fighting one of the main villainesses. She was hiding behind hostages but we end up pummeling her and kicking her ass pretty good, mostly thanks to the minmaxer's absurd crits. We told the dmpc to go help the hostages instead while we handle the villainess. The dmpc argues against it. Sometimes it feels like the dm herself is arguing against us, telling us that its a bad idea. After a bit of back and forth, we finally got the dmpc to leave combat and help the hostages.
Finally, a combat where someone else deals the final blow- oh wait nevermind im down. Yep, the moment the dmpc leaves, the villainess one shots me. The dm excitedly says "bet someone's wishing dmpc was here right now." That ticked me off a bit but whatevs, minmaxer will fix this. The minmaxer goes and use up smites, deals absurd amount of damage and the villainess somehow survives and paralyzes the minmaxer. No saves. Just one hit then bam, paralyzed.
With both pcs out of commission, the dm describes how the villainess was about to finish me off as shes about to step on my head. Then a bit of silence as she played some heroic music and proceeds to describe how the dmpc just came right on time to rescue me, and how he was so angry and furious that he let me go down in his watch bla bla bla. The villainess got scared shitless and tried to seduce him but he says theres only one person he loves blablabla. Yeah dmpc one shots the villainess.
When both me and the minmaxer recovered, the dmpc proceeds to scold us about how we sre too weak and how we are reckless. The DM was also very obviously trying to hint that he is being harsh because he cares. Yeah, no, I dont care. I was planning to leave. But I didnt. And thats because of minmaxer.
After the dmpc leaves the scene for the first time (dm expected me to go after them and console them) my character and the minmaxer finally got to roleplay together meaningfully. We bonded over our near feath experience and her character was a lot of fun and was very sweet. The dm inserted a scene where she describes how the "savior" of the day ends up alone and ends the session.
I spoke to the dm about it, and feels as though this rogue of hers is like a dmpc. She saif dont worry the rogue will only be around for 1 arc. I worry but whatever. The roleplay with minmaxer was enough for me to give this another session. I at least have something to look forward to.
Comes next session, the dmpc is now flirting with my character. No build up to it, just randomly decides to be flirty. He was also kinda mean to minmaxer. Every time she speaks, he acts like shes being dumb. And the dm just makes things happen narratively to prove that she was indeed being dumb.
We got into a fight with a villainess.. a character from my bckstory who.. wasnt supposed to be evil. It was my aunt who was also my mentor. Naturally my character would want to speak with them and try to understand whats going and wont throw hands right away.
The dmpc on the otherhand wants to kill her. He had this whole speech about love and choosing who you love and im like, that has nothing to do with why I wanna talk to my aunt. Half of it was the dm herself explaining things and giving me meta knowledge to prove that my aunt is now pure evil that puts satan to shame.
Aunt then nearly one shots me that comes with a stun that has a ridiculous save DC for our level, and dmpc was going to slay her, minmaxer tries to intervene as she wants to nonlethally take down my aunt for my sake but the dm wasnt having any of it. Even when my aunt was downed, dmpc executes her.
This, of course, enraged my character. The dmpc says that im ungrateful and that he saved my life. The dm also says that ooc. The dmpc stormed off, once again, expecting me to go after them but I dont.
Once again, minmaxer got space to roleplay with me. She consoled my character and it led to a very bittersweet wholesome moment. We both even saw potential development toward romance in the future, and she jokingly says "I ship it"
At that moment, the dm just straights up tells me that my character feels an overwhelming guilt in his heart. I told her thats not how my character feels rn. So she gets the dmpc to come to me instead and that he looks so heart broken and hurt by me. F*ck like I care. But apparently my character does care as the dm describes how my character feels tight in his chest seeing the dmpc like this, I cut her off and say "stop controlling my character this is messed up!" Poor choice of words on my part because now shes accusing me of being homophobic and told me I should be more open to guy on guy relationships. Specifically guy on guy.. she doesnt even say gay relationships.
At this point im done. The line between Me and my character starts to blurr, and I did some immature things. I angrily ask the dmpc what they want. The dmpc tries to tell me to "snap out of it". Im like wut? The dmpc proceeds to accuse my character of being seduced by the villainess, who was my AUNT. Both in and out of character I just wanna attack the dmpc for saying such sh*t so I told the dm I cast guiding bolt on the dmpc. The dm straight up tells me I need to roll a wis save to be able to attack someone I love.
What. The. F*CK.
Know what? Im not even gonna argue ill roll that save and continue my attack. Being a cleric, I have good wis so I saved. I hit the dmpc, who is then described to unleash a frightening aura and approaches my character.. but he gets stopped dead on his tracks! By the minmaxer's polearm master sentinel combo. It was glorious how minmaxer interrupts the dm describing the dmpc being all edgy.
The dm tries to argue that its out of character for minmaxer and that this would break her oath because my character is the one who attacked first. Minmaxer argues well enough that it is in their character and wont break their oath. So the attack happens but it misses as the dm randomly gave the dmpc the ability to parry as a reaction which they never had before. I point out that minmaxer gets to attack with advantage due to my guiding bolt, so minmaxer rolls again and rolls higher than the the dmpc's ac+parry. So yeah, he gets stopped but noooo the dm says that cant do that yet and must roll initiative first. We try to argue that it was a reaction but the dm wont budge. Fine. Being a rogue, dmpc had the highest dex and so he rolles the highest. He proceeds to approach my character, the minmaxer tries to use their reaction but the dm says they cant, because initiative started with the dmpc already in minmaxer's reach and thus did not enter her reach. Bull. Sh!t.
So yeah the dmpc gave their speech about love and betrayal and downs me. Which allows minmaxer to use their sentinel reaction as the dm made an attack. It misses. But she points out that guiding bolt is still active, which even I forgot. So she rolls again, crit. Dmpc barely survives with uncanny dodge. Minmaxer's turn now... she proceeds to one turn the dmpc. Even with his 2 levels advantage and magic items. He goes down and minmaxer goes for the kill.
Dm cant even lie about his hp because we know how much hp he has as dm always says "its funny how the rogue has this much more hp than the paladin" well duh, theyre got 2 levels higher. So yes, dmpc is just dead dead.
DM leaves mid call without saying a word.
Last I heard dm talked to my previous dm, trying to paint me and minmaxer as the mysoginist assholes. Well theres always 2 sides to the story I suppose.

One thing that doesn't get enough attention, in my view, is what Judge Wanda Heard has said about Adnan's trial. She retired in 2019. In response to the vacatur of Adnan's conviction, Heard swore out an affidavit which includes the following:

1. As the trial judge in this matter, I would direct the Court to the transcript of the trial as I recall no evidence or testimony that Mr. Syed handled the shoes of Hae Min Lee. The absence of touch DNA on her shoes would seem to be an unusual basis to eliminate Mr. Syed as Ms. Lee’s killer in the face of other overwhelming and riveting testimony of the eyewitness of Jay Wilds, who testified that he assisted Mr. Syed in the burial of her body.
   
2. A reading of the trial transcript will show that the jury verdict was supported by substantial direct and circumstantial evidence. However, transcripts do not always reflect the tone, manner and delivery of witness testimony. I heard the evidence and all testimony. The verdict and the swift manner of the verdict being reached made it clear to the court that the jury weighed the .credibility of the witnesses who testified and were subject to vigorous cross examination. The jury appeared to have considered all of the evidence, the witnesses testimony, followed the law in instructions given by the Court, applied the law to the facts and reached their verdict.
   
3. Among the most powerful evidence presented at the trial, was the testimony of Jay Wilds concerning the burial of Ms. Lee’s body after the murder. Further, he testified regarding the staged alibi orchestrated by Mr. Syed which became moot once Mr. Wilds became the State’s star witness and his testimony was corroborated by other witnesses, physical and documentary evidence.
   
4. Additional evidence received by the jury included testimonial and documentary evidence demonstrating Mr. Syed’s motive for killing Ms. Lee.
   
5. Mr. Syed’s trial attorney, Christina Gutierrez is now deceased and cannot speak for herself. However, it should be stated that during the trial I observed her to be a strong and effective advocate.
   
6. During the trial, Ms. Gutierrez was particularly effective during the lengthy cross-examination of Mr. Wilds which was consistent with what I knew to be her forte. Ten years prior to my ascending to the bench and while I was a prosecutor, Ms. Gutierrez was known to me as an aggressive litigator. At that time and during the trial, her legal talent and skill was outstanding. In fact, I found her performance to be at its best and consistent with other trials. She was at the top of her game during her defense of Mr. Syed.
   
7. Ms. Gutierrez had an aggressive strategy, which she executed in a highly effective manner. In particular, she took full advantage of the fact that she knew what the State’s witnesses were going to say because she had a trial transcript of each of the State’s witnesses from the first trial. (The first trial before Judge Quarles resulted in a mistrial following the State’s case.)
   

Heard's judgments aren't evidence in the strict sense, because they weren't submitted in response to a specific IAC claim. Trial judges can, in extremely rare cases, be called to testify as witnesses concerning what happened in their courtroom, but that's unusual. Nevertheless, her views are entitled to respect for a number of reasons:

• Unlike any of us, Heard saw every single minute of this trial live and in real-time, and obviously still has very clear memories of it.
• She has had an incredibly illustrious career, including stints both as a defense lawyer and (more frequently) prosecutor, and has been awarded dozens of honors and prestigious appointments. She is also a Black woman appointed as a judge by a Democratic governor (Paris Glendening). Maryland doesn't have judicial elections, instead using (in my view) the far, far superior procedure of allowing a commission to make nominations. Of course the ethnicity and political affiliations of a judge shouldn't be an issue and didn't play a role here, but you don't have to look hard to find defense lawyers and activists pointing out that Prisoner X was convicted by a "white male Republican judge" and/or an "all-white jury". If that had been true in Adnan's case, it would surely be mentioned by Adnan's supporters constantly.
• Her reputation isn't on the line. Aside from routine disputes about evidentiary rulings, nobody has challenged Heard's conduct of the trial. If she's been accused of bias or corruption or incompetence in the way she handled the case, people would be justifiably wary that she was trying to deflect criticisms. But no such allegations have ever been raised.
• She did a fine job at trial. The trial raised a number of tricky legal issues, including the scope of Sharon Watts' testimony, complex hearsay issues, and Waranowitz' expertise, among many others. Heard's questioning and analysis show she was sharp, up on the law, curious, and interested in exploring the issues fairly and giving both sides a fair chance to make their point.
• When it comes to Gutierrez' effectiveness and illness, Heard had an important role to play. If she had discerned any evidence that Gutierrez was impaired by physical or mental illness, it was Judge Heard's vital responsibility to halt the trial and explore the matter. Rule 18-102.14 of the Maryland Rules of Judicial Conduct (which tracks the American Bar Association rule) require a judge who has a "reasonable belief" that a lawyers "physical condition" has impaired their performance to take appropriate steps, including preserving the rights of the lawyer's client. Heard was aware of Gutierrez' general reputation and standard of performance. There is no reason to doubt Heard would have done so had she become convinced Gutierrez could not handle the trial.

Heard's views aren't the be-all and end-all, but they are entitled to plenty of weight.

Motivation — A Close Reading of Tea Time

"I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking: maybe six feet ain't so far down?"
Nimander Golit
Chapter V of Weathered
2002 BS
Click Here for the Introduction to the essay series.

Prelude to the Close Reading

Why, hello there, again. It’s been a few weeks but I promise that this endeavor is still moving forward. For those that don’t know, this essay is a part of a collection I’ll be putting together which investigates the Eleint, their blood, and sorcery within the Malazan shared secondary universe. We’re still laying down our foundations, and today we’ll be covering a sequence of scenes in Chapter 8 of Toll the Hounds.
My intentions were to cover all of the scenes in a single post, but that has proven itself to be difficult. As such, I’ll cover the first scene in this sequence in this post. There’ll be one or two follow-up posts.
There are ten scenes that are in this sequence:

1. Nimander 1
2. Desra 1
3. Desra 2
4. Skintick 1
5. Desra 3
6. Nimander 2
7. Desra 4
8. Kedeviss 1
9. Nimander 3
10. Kedeviss 2

I’ll be approaching these scenes (including the one discussed today) through a few lenses.

A ringing of bells.

In his musings on writing, Erikson discusses the notion of a bell. I’ll let him speak for himself.
In the scenes we’ll be looking at, some of the bells that I believe are used are (and not all of these are represented in this first particular scene):

• Past versus present — ancestors/parents vs. living/children
• How others see us, and how we see others
• The word ‘beast’ and its many meanings
• The words ‘child/children’ and their many meanings
• The relationships between gods and mortals
• Portals/thresholds

Existentialism.

Particularly the genealogy of continental philosophy that led to Sartre’s existentialism and the shared/adapted/bifurcated philosophies of his contemporaries (such as de Beauvoir, Camus, and Merleau-Ponty). This wasn’t my initial intention when I decided to use this sequence of scenes as a launch pad into my collection of essays. However, the beauty of close-reading is that you go into a text with a hypothesis seeking evidence and support, and then end up with new insights.
Some of the concepts that will be brought up are:

• Anxiety
• Facticity and transcendence; Authenticity and bad faith
• The Look/Gaze and being-for-others
• The Absurd and Revolution
• Perception

Genre conventions as grammar.

Particularly, we’ll look at Erikson’s use of genre conventions from the likes of Gothic literature and Weird Fiction — namely the Sublime, cosmic horror, and the Weird — as the subtle language used to convey tension that is congruent with some of the other subtexts. If these grammars are subverted, we’ll try to point that out too.
We will later delve more into Malazan’s literary genealogy in other essays, but I want this lens to be present during the reading to see how Erikson aligns or subverts these genre conventions.
We’ll be using Professor Michael Moir’s YouTube lectures on Weird Fiction as reference.

What the fuck is happening?

This is a question about plot that I will answer at the end of all of the scenes, but keep it in mind as we go through. It has less to do with existentialism and Gothic literature and more on what Gothos was trying to do during these scenes.

Pre-TtH Context

We first meet Nimander and his siblings (unnamed) in House of Chains on Drift Avalii. By Bonehunters, they had left Drift Avalii and ended up at Malaz City, where they then joined Tavore Paran’s fleet while fleeing Malaz City. In Reaper’s Gale, we find the siblings had been ‘adopted’ by Sandalath while they traveled to Lether with the Malazans. Phaed wanted to kill Sandalath. Nimander stopped Phaed from killing Sandalath. Withal (Sandalath’s husband) throws Phaed out a window. The murder is taken as a suicide. The siblings intern Phaed and then meet Clip, who offers to lead them to Anomander in Black Coral via Kurald Galain.
This gets us to Toll the Hounds, where Nimander is being haunted by Phaed. They’ve left Kurald Galain and are now on Genabackis (but not yet to Black Coral). Nimander fears the future meeting his father and the rest of the Tiste Andii. The siblings and Clip ‘stumble’ on Morsko, where Clip is curious about its cult of the Dying God. A ritual takes place there. Nimander and Skintick are nearly enthralled, but are saved by Aranatha (and thus Mother Dark herself). The group then find Clip, who is in a coma. They collect him, and set off in a wagon to follow the Dying God’s priests to Bastion. Along that journey, the siblings stumble upon the High King, Kallor, who reluctantly chooses to not kill them and instead travels with them.
The sequence of scenes in Chapter 8 that we’ll be discussing follows some time after Kallor joins the siblings.
Now that the administrative stuff is out of the way, let’s dive into the first scene.

Nimander 1

Rum-induced memories.

We start this sequence thrust into Nimander’s introspection on ‘rage’ as a breaking of a vessel, impossible to fix. He recalls Deadsmell’s musings that ‘rage in battle’ was a gift while the two drank rum. Rum that awakened memories once ignored by Nimander.
(Note: in Scene 2, we’ll see Desra’s view of Nimander, and we’ll see that Nimander’s ruminations on rage here are what inform Desra’s view of him, and not in the way that Nimander’s doubt imagines.)
In the previous post, we discussed memories and their decay. So much of this series and the lore surrounding it is driven by the memories of ancient beings. Nimander is younger with respect to ancient beings (but ancient nonetheless), and even he struggles with his memories. Perhaps this is a result of the traumas he’s experienced with respect to his being in diaspora and perceived abandonment by his father (a symmetry itself with Rake’s — and the Tiste Andii as a whole — relationship with Mother Dark).
He recalls the rum lighting “a fire in [his] brain, casting red light on a host of memories gathered ghostly round the unwelcoming heart.” He reminisces on the time after Kurald Galain (but before Drift Avalii) and his father’s emotional indifference. He recalls the pranks him and his kin would pull on Endest Silann; the arrival of Andarist and his arguments with Anomander. It is unclear what the arguments were — if you’ve read Forge of Darkness, you might be able to infer what’s likely, but I’m curious if the argument is Andarist asking to take the siblings and Anomander refusing, or Anomander asking Andarist to take the children and Andarist was reluctant? Was the argument about Anomander thrusting the Hust blade, T’an Aros/K’orladis (i.e., Vengeance / Grief), onto Andarist or did Andarist already possess the blade? We don’t know exactly to my knowledge, but it’s fun to speculate.
Regardless, Nimander recalls, like a certain inscribed hearthstone, there was peace. Andarist was to take them all through a threshold, a portal elsewhere (as mentioned, portals end up being a rung bell, so pay attention). Nimander remembers Endest’s weeping as the children were pulled through a “portalway into an unknown, mysterious new world where anything was possible.”
Andarist raised the Tiste Andii children on that portal’s other side, on Drift Avalii. We know (or can infer) that this was a task to protect the Throne of Shadow, but Nimander and his kin didn’t understand this as children. But Andarist led them with his pragmatism, he ensured they learned how the world was. With our knowledge of Kharkanas, this is so powerful. We know Anomander’s hubris was abused as a motivating factor for Hunn Raal’s despicable acts. We know that Andarist likely lacks children of his own in response to this, and so his taking on guardianship over the children of his brother — that very same brother that rejected Andarist’s grief in favour of vengeance (and materialised in the T’an Aros/K’orladis dichotomy) — is a stark, challenging, and ultimately selfless decision.
But this pragmatism created child soldiers. The collision of reality’s necessity to survive and carry out the duty of protecting the Throne of Shadow came at the expense of what little remaining childhood innocence Rake’s brood still had (even as a people on the run, exiled from their home due to a sociopolitical schism). Andarist became a stern teacher, juxtaposed to the echoes of Endest’s gentleness. “The games ended. The world turned suddenly serious.” Nonetheless, the Tiste Andii siblings grew to love Andarist.
Nimander continues his introspection:

See a bored child with a stick — and see how every beast nearby flees, understanding well what is now possible and, indeed, probable.

This reminds me of a general rule of advice: ‘never fuck around when a child has gun.’ Tiste Andii or not, children can be cruel especially when mixed with unknown doses of trauma and violence. Regardless, I want to call attention here that this notion of children and beasts are each bells rung. To Nimander, Andarist “unleash[ed] them, these children with avid eyes.” He “had made them good soldiers,” ones that know rage.
Vessels broken.
As such, from his own experience, Nimander suspects that the Dying God is a child. He speaks to the dialectic between gods and their worshippers (another bell rung):

The mad priests poured him full, knowing the vessel leaked, and then drank of that puerile seepage. Because he was a child, the Dying God’s thirst and need were without end, never satiated.

The group stumbles on desiccated bodies staked among fields: dried up, tapped of their libations. This speaks to a particular exploitation between mortal and god, symbolised literally as worshippers feeding a god to then become the harvested. This perpetuates the Dying God’s power to accumulate more worshippers via addictive kelyk. The language here shows that the Dying God has stumbled upon a sort of cheat code, an exploitation of the god-mortal dialectic that allows him and his priests to arbitrage power. Like a cancer that, via the law of large numbers, is equipped with the mechanisms to divert a body’s resources to it while it slowly destroys the body.
The scarecrows being in fields is such a perfect choice of this analogy: things to be harvested. A product, a commodity — a thing with both use-value and exchange-value, for our Marxians out there. I believe Erikson has said that he was thinking of oil here, and that is fine by itself, but I do like the mirroring to Eucharistic transubstantiation in Catholicism (due to my being a very-very-lapsed Catholic). Especially with wine, an extremely addictive substance, transcending into God’s blood to cleanse us as cannibalistic sacrament.

Dal Honese burial practices.

Nimander sees these fields as “bizarre cemeteries, where some local aberration of belief insisted that the dead be staked upright, that they ever stand ready for whatever may come." This makes him recall some shipwrecked Dal Honese on Drift Avalii. He thinks on the ancestor cult and burial practices of Dal Hon: literally constructing their homes with their dead in the walls as both material and essence, the building stretching out with additional rooms as time moved on and kin died.
This reminds me of the Neolithic proto-city, Çatalhöyük, found in Anatolia within modern-day Türkiye where ancestors have been found to be buried beneath platforms in living quarters. See: Chapter 6 of The Dawn of Everything by Graeber and Wengrow.
With or without intention, I like to view this ritual via an existentialist lens, particularly Sartre’s notion of the Look. To Sartre — in contrast to other phenomenologies — being is in flux, some path of a given chaotic double-pendulum switching to and from poles of being-in-itself***\**¹* and being-for-itself***\**²*. The Look, to Sartre, is a sort of symmetry breaking — a realisation by being-for-itselves that decentralises it, the sudden awareness of its being an object, an Other, to Other consciousnesses.
A heuristic often used to showcase Sartre’s notion of the Look (or Gaze) is that of a voyeur peeping through a keyhole into someone’s room that hears a noise down the hall. Regardless if that noise is from another person (another being-for-itself) or not (say, the house settling), the subjective voyeur suddenly objectifies themselves, collapsing the chaotic pendulum from being-for-itself (nothingness as "no thing-ness") to their facticity — their being-in-itself, their thing-ness — whose meaning to Other being-for-themselves is relative to a separate centre than the voyeur’s own.
To Sartre, the resulting anxiety experienced snapping from subject to object is a proof against any nihilistic approach to solipsism. The fact that we can Other our own being-for-itself means that we can also recognise being-for-itself external to us since those we Other too can Other us as we Other ourselves. The reflexivity as a result of the Look is evidence against solipsism to Sartre.
As a result, this Dal Honese practice is a cultural self-burdening via Sartre’s Look by literally having your ancestors clay-filled bodies decentralise your subjectivity and externalise you as an object that can be judged by its facticity. This results in a sort of collective Dal Honese being-for-others, Sartre would argue. This isn’t inherently good or bad to existentialists, but it does necessitate a calculus that discerns if the living descendants are authentically expressing their freedom with each moment they accept this practice, or if they are living in bad faith.
Regardless, though, this is a haunting of the Past. This haunting isn’t something that is only important to existentialism or other philosophical traditions (such as post-structuralism — see: Derrida’s hauntology), but to the genre conventions and tropes of Gothic horror and its descendants (such as cosmic horror, weird fiction, and their influences on sword and sorcery, etc.).
There are mappings (some more subtle than others) between the Sublime and the existential anxiety and dread experienced in phenomena similar to the Look. The experience of looking upon the vastness of the sea, of stumbling upon an ancient statue, of learning of the size of the universe — which are described as the Sublime, the Weird, or Eldritch in some literary traditions (e.g., Romantic, Gothic, Horror, the Weird, etc.) — are the same experiences that are often analysed in continental philosophies using words such as angst/anxiety/despaiabsurdity/alienation.
Nimander goes on to further expose the relationship between this Dal Honese ancestor cult and inter-tribal conflicts that lead to deaths and stolen bodies that leave physical voids in Dal Honese architecture. He muses how this physical representation of wounds begets a cycle of vengeance (a cultural tradition, a product of facticity and bad faith): “blood back and forth,” he says. He mentions that this cycle is what pushed the shipwrecked Dal Honese from their homes, an act of revolt and perhaps even authenticity to Sartre. Eventually the Dal Honese recovered and “paddled away — not back home, but to some unknown place, a place devoid of unblinking ghosts staring out from every wall.”
I love that Erikson has this whole little short story in this scene, especially in the contrast of its being some rum-induced reflection by Nimander on his own past’s haunting of him and his siblings. Moreover, these Tiste Andii are travelling with Kallor, the Undying Unascendant: a being-for-itself that literally manifests the past’s haunting on the present — a man cursed, jaded, who carries the past with him wherever he travels. All of these together show that one’s freedom can have one flee (even be redeemed — which balances with other plotlines in TtH), but that doesn’t necessarily — nor sufficiently so — annihilate the past.

Finding a tower.

After this, Nimander’s reminiscing is interrupted by his hearing Kallor nearby (like a footstep in a hallway). Kallor comments on the use of the corpses and notes that the flora “[is] not even native to this world, after all.” Nimander replies that the corpses are being used for saemankelyk. The mention of the plants not being native to this world should orient the reader back to the Weird, especially since it brings upon a sense of unease, an Othering — the house settling that again serves to reduce both Nimander and the readers to our thing-ness
‘The past’ versus ‘the present’ versus ‘the future’ (and their hauntings of one another) bubble up again with some banter between Skintick and Kallor about the state of things. Kallor states ‘nothing changes.’ Skintick counters ‘it keeps getting worse,’ to which Kallor claims is but an illusion.
I find this dialogue to be a comical little conflict between Kallor’s perceived-postmodern, nihilistic judgement of the state of things being inert versus Skintick’s pseudo-Rousseauian, inverted-Hegalian, modernist grand narrative of things getting worse.
Again, it alludes to a haunting of the past on the current generation. Interestingly, this is a trend within the Book of the Fallen in general: not as an espousing of the ‘old vs. young’, but Erikson’s decentering/challenging/deconstruction of that binary. Think of Raest in GotM; Menandore, Sukul and Sheltatha in RG; Karsa in HoC; the Witness trilogy. He does this via a sort of Ancient's Hubris colliding with its differences to the Present’s Ingenuity, and this being dual to the Present’s Naivety colliding with the Ancient Wisdom.
Kallor eventually hits a sore spot with the Tiste: he brings up Rake. Unlike the Dal Honese whose freedom had them flee the cultural practices of letting their ancestors haunt both literally and figuratively, Nimander and his siblings were pulled/pushed away from their father (and people) as children — by what very well could be their father’s request. The Tiste siblings are haunted by Anomander’s active absence. Their continued distance from their father isn’t an act of expressing their freedom against an Ancestor’s Gaze — it isn’t an act of revolution — it is their facticity and a source for their Othering of themselves. We often see this from Nimander’s POVs up to and including this sequence.
Kallor sniffs out this weakness and presses upon the wound. Nimander gets flustered and retorts. To which Kallor responds:

'Anomander Rake is a genius at beginning things. It’s finishing them he has trouble with.'

Damn, Kallor.
Also, I didn’t need my ADHD called out so harshly, dude. What the fuck.
Without diving into what Erikson was dealing with while writing this book, this hits hard for Nimander, and is an interesting commentary nonetheless. His father, Anomander, is the leader of a diasporic people who’ve been without home, without a centre, for 400,000 years. I think Kallor’s words hurt Nimander so much because the Tiste siblings don’t know Anomander’s current plans nor have they experienced the "settling-down" from the unveiling of Kurald Galain in what is now Black Coral. They are unaware of Rake’s teleology for his people, for himself even. Regardless, we see again and again that Kallor isn’t just a strong skirmisher, his words cut nearly as well as his blades.
Kallor goes on to confirm that he knows Rake before the group notices a ruined tower among the alien plants and scarecrows. Kallor says its Jaghut. Kallor trudges forth indifferently, pushing corpses out of his way as he bee-lines it to the ruined tower. I don’t think such a sequence of action has ever described Kallor’s whole raison d’être and modus operandi so well: just a man seemingly indifferent to the corpses in his path as his will pulls him forward.
We get a small interaction between Skintick and Nimander that reveals Skintick’s acuity in reading Kallor’s take on Rake. Kallor sees their father as an equal (it isn’t just the readers that need to be keen to subtext, characters do too).
Skintick offers the idea of sicking Kallor on the Dying God, hoping he “decid[es] to do something for his own reasons, but something that ends up solving our problem.” I like the use of “deciding to do something for his own reasons,” as this aligns so well with authenticity in existentialism (and the absence of some absolute morality for authenticity).
As Nimander approaches the tower behind Kallor, both Nimander and the readers get a great sense of horror, the weird, the uncanny, and the sublime with how Erikson describes the scenery:

Drawing closer to the ruin, they fell silent. Decrepit as it was, the tower was imposing. The air around it seemed grainy, somehow brittle, ominously cold despite the sun’s fierce heat.
The highest of the walls revealed a section of ceiling just below the uppermost set of stones, projecting without any other obvious support to cast a deep shadow upon the ground floor beneath it. The facing wall reached only high enough to encompass a narrow, steeply arched doorway. Just outside this entrance and to one side was a belly-shaped pot in which grew a few straggly plants with drooping flowers, so incongruous amid the air of abandonment that Nimander simply stared down at them, disbelieving.

Nimander notes an incongruity of this place — its aesthetic of abandonment juxtaposed with a curated garden. “The cold despite the sun’s fierce heat.” This evokes a certain unsettledness to Nimander (and thus, the reader). These genre conventions are sources of tension and anxiety, similar to non-diegetic violins building up to a real or false jump-scare in a slasher flick.
Arrogantly, Kallor chooses to go out of his way and insult the presumed Jaghut within the tower. Classic Kallor. The Jaghut replies “nothing changes,” resulting in Kallor shooting Skintick and Nimander a “pleased smirk.”

Tea time, but before falling into a rabbit-hole and not after.

Before Kallor can announce himself, the Jaghut lists off Kallor’s titles, his facticity. Kallor’s reputation precedes him and there’s an asymmetry here in which the Jaghut knows who Kallor is but Kallor doesn’t yet know who the Jaghut is. This is our first hint that this meeting isn’t serendipitous, and is instead an intentional interaction with regards to the plot. And if this Jaghut knows of Kallor, does he know those who Kallor travels with? Who is this Jaghut’s intended audience among those options?
I also like the play here with facticity: the Jaghut lists out things about Kallor, but is Kallor some sum of those thing-nesses? How many are true, how many are manufactured myths? It’s an act by this Jaghut to Gaze upon Kallor, to show to Kallor that he’s being seen. It’s a deliberate tactic to destabilise and decenter Kallor: an offensive.
We as readers are informed of Kallor’s limitations from the Azathanai curses via Draconus, K’rul and Nightchill, but these limitations on Kallor don’t necessarily restrict his freedom until Kallor allows them.
We get a flash of Jaghut humour and guest rites — this ancient dismisses Kallor while inviting everyone in for tea. Interestingly, Erikson has this Jaghut use the proper noun of ‘Others’ which lends me to think that an existentialist lens hasn’t been the worst pick (not that ‘Othering’ is strictly existentialist by any means).
So, we’ve had corpses drained dry for kelyk, alien plant-life, a ruined tower of an unknown age stumbled upon beyond the urban, a preternatural creature to Nimander and his kin (something they’ve maybe only witnessed a handful of times) and then we get this description:

The air of the two-walled chamber was frigid, the stones sheathed in amber-streaked hoarfrost. Where the other two walls should have been rose black, glimmering barriers of some unknown substance, and to look upon them too long was to feel vertiginous — Nimander almost pitched forward, drawn up only by Skintick’s sudden grip, and his friend whispered, ‘Never mind the ice, cousin.’
Ice, yes, it was just that. Astonishingly transparent ice–

I love this. First: “it was just that” screams “no it isn’t” to anyone paying attention to the words Erikson is using to make the reader uncomfortable. We know: Jaghut + Ice = Omtose Phellack. The atmospheric setting here is directly being called out in not just a sublime way, but his description has an added layer of horror to Omtose Phellack.
Erikson uses “vertiginous,” giving both Nimander and us a sense of vertigo, being decentred and unoriented. This isn’t too different from descriptions found in works like Vandermeer’s Annihilation or other New Weird authors. This ice wall calls to Nimander, draws from him feelings of unknown when he’s caught himself staring for too long — emphasis on staring.
For all intents and purposes, this ice wall is a thing, a being-in-itself, neither active nor passive. But its effect on Nimander is similar to the Dal Honese ancestors’ Gaze — this ice wall objectifies him, calls to him, evokes his being-for-others, and emotionally alienates him. The pull Nimander feels is his submitting his being-for-itself with the freedom of those that Gaze upon him. A justification of his facticity, his bad faith. This will be important later.
Eventually we get this awesome line from the Jaghut host:

’Once, long ago, a wolf god came before me. Tell me, Kallor, do you understand the nature of beast gods? Of course not. You are only a beast in the unfairly pejorative sense — unfair to beasts, that is. How is it, then, that the most ancient gods of this world were, one and all, beasts?’

There’s so much going on to unpack in this paragraph.

• He’s called Kallor a beast, but says his doing so is unfair to beasts (damn, this ice orc just roasted Kallor).
• It calls back to Nimander’s thoughts on children wielding sticks and beasts fleeing as a result. With or without knowing it, this Jaghut is calling Kallor a child, too, in the pejorative sense, unfair to children.
• He says the first gods were beasts, but does he mean these early gods were explicitly Beasts (in essence, not the pejorative sense) or that they were beast-like akin to the pejorative sense used on Kallor (or some combination of both)?
  • Interestingly, we know that this wolf god is possibly an Azathanai d’ivers from FoL — with this knowledge, would Fanderay and Togg count as a Beast-as-literal-beast beast-god?

Later, again, we get this Jaghut saying Others as a proper noun, and then the Others are called Tiste Andii.

‘Ah, and what of the Others with you? Might not they be interested?’
Clearing his throat, Skintick said, ‘Venerable one, we possess nothing of worth to one such as you.’
‘You are too modest, Tiste Andii.’
‘I am?’
'Each creature is born from one not its kind. This is a wonder, a miracle forged in the fires of chaos, for chaos indeed whispers in our blood, no matter its particular hue. If I but scrape your skin, so lightly as to leave but a momentary streak, that which I take from you beneath my nail contains every truth of you, your life, even your death, assuming violence does not claim you. A code, if you will, seemingly precise and so very ordered. Yet chaos churns. For all your similarities to your father, neither you nor the one named Nimander — nor any of your brothers and sisters — is identical to Anomander Dragnipurake. Do you refute this?’

Above, the Jaghut goes on to describe genetics, but also calls out the fact that they are children of Anomander — dude definitely knows more than he’s leading on, that’s for sure, and is winking directly to us readers, seemingly going over the heads of both Kallor and the Tiste. Also, the bit about chaos in blood will come up again and again in later scenes and later essays.
Moreover, we see that the Jaghut says that which he scrapes "contains every truth of you, your life, even your death" — our genetics are facticities, among our thing-nesses. "Yet chaos churns," the Jaghut rebuts. That chaos in our blood is a source of our "no thing-ness," from which we may express our freedom against the determinism of genetics — of facticities — and transcend.

For each kind of beast there is a first such beast, more different from its parents than the rest of its kin, from which a new breed in due course emerges. Is this firstborn then a god?’

I love this for two reasons. One, it speaks to a criticism of the assumption that a prime-mover is necessarily divine. But, through the existentialist lens, it’s a challenge and criticism of the presumed Authority of Genealogy. Jumping back to the early musings on ancestry: if ancestors haunt us and dictate our facticity as a result of suppressing our being-for-itself, then where does that chain of dictating/suppressing end? And is that terminus also an Authority above all generations below it just due to its being something new, something sufficiently different from its own genealogy, its ancestors ‘behind’ it?
I also like the subtext of trauma as hereditary here with the double entendre behind ‘beast’, we can think of this Jaghut as asking if the primordial source of generational trauma has authority over its descendants? What does this dialogue mean for Nimander and his siblings and their place with respect to their father and the rest of the Tiste Andii people? Does this inform an analysis of Nimander’s chaotic double-pendulum between being-in-itself, being-for-itself, and his being-for-others?
A huge thing I would like to point out here, too, is that neither Skintick, Nimander, nor Kallor have used the Tiste Andii’s names, yet this Jaghut knows them by name. Kallor could deduce they were Rake’s children, but he didn’t know their names. Even though Skintick showcased an acuity to subtext when considering Kallor’s opinions of Rake, he doesn’t catch onto this subtlety. This Jaghut not only knows of Kallor, he knows of Nimander and his siblings. The evidence that this meeting isn’t serendipity continues to build.

‘You spoke of a wolf god,’ Skintick said. ‘You began to tell us a story.’
‘So I did. But you must be made to understand. It is a question of essences. To see a wolf and know it as pure, one must possess an image in oneself of a pure wolf, a perfect wolf.’
‘Ridiculous,’ Kallor grunted. ‘See a strange beast and someone tells you it is a wolf — and from this one memory, and perhaps a few more to follow, you have fashioned your image of a wolf. In my empires, philosophers spewed such rubbish for centuries, until, of course, I grew tired of them and had them tortured and executed.’

This sequence of dialogue is fantastic and reminds me of arguments foagainst the strong/weak Sapir-Whorf hypothesis/es. We see the Jaghut musing on a seemingly prescriptive Platonic idealism that Kallor interrupts with a more descriptive, pragmatic, empirical framework in which he follows with a jest of torturing and executing philosophers (remind me to never live in the Kallorian Empire).
Kallor speaks as if his words contradict the Jaghut and show the assumed idealism to be wrong. But, by Kallor’s own argument, the Jaghut’s words of ‘pure’ and ‘perfect’ are just as empirically contingent to one’s memories as ‘wolf’ is. The combinations of signs and symbols language users use give flesh to those signs’ and symbols’ own meaning — but bury that meaning beneath the flesh by doing so. The concept of a ‘perfect wolf’ (i.e., ‘perfect’ + ‘wolf’) emerging from one’s own contingency with the notion of ‘perfect’ and ‘wolf’ is entirely possible without that imagined ‘perfect wolf’ being actually some idealisation, i.e., some Platonic Perfect Wolf.
The Jaghut responds with laughter to Kallor’s absurdity: both in his misinterpretation of the Jaghut’s musings as well as the nature of Kallor’s brutal reaction to those that question things he finds to be rubbish. This pairs well with Skintick’s future POV in this sequence, but the contrast between Kallor and this Jaghut is entertaining nonetheless. Sometimes it’s hard to distinguish when Kallor is telling the truth about his brutality or if his mutterings are just words congruent to his reputation.
The two then have a pissing contest. We find out the Jaghut was in disguise — I don’t have the evidence or time here to say, but there are ideas that this particular Jaghut is a d'ivers and it is fucking awesome even if untrue. The discussion here points to some T’lan Imass’ Jaghut War. It being the Kron, I’m inclined to wonder if there is a relationship with the bones Karsa stumbles upon in HoC (where he and his war party find Calm).

Skintick squatted to pick up two of the cups, straightening to hand one to Nimander. The steam rising from the tea was heady, hinting of mint and cloves and something else. The taste numbed his tongue.

Don’t take candy from strangers tea from Jaghut, people.
We find out that Raest is this Jaghut’s child. We find out that this Jaghut took on 43 T’lan Imass and a Bonecaster, killing them all. This is a threat rallied back against Kallor’s assertion that he’s killed Jaghut.

Teeth bared, Kallor bent down to retrieve his cup.
The Jaghut’s left hand shot out, closing about Kallor’s wrist. ‘You wounded that wolf god,’ he said.

Oh shit. What follows is one of the first times I can recall that Kallor is scared. Contrast with his earlier treatment of Rake as equal.

'Oh, be quiet, Kallor. This tower was an Azath once. Shall I awaken it for you?’
Wondering, Nimander watched as Kallor backed towards the entrance, eyes wide in that weathered, pallid face, the look of raw recognition dawning. ‘Gothos, what are you doing here?’
‘Where else should I be? Now remain outside — these two Tiste Andii must go away for a while.’

The revelation: the Jaghut is none other than the Lord of Hate himself, Gothos. You can understand why Kallor, always so arrogant, submits to Gothos and listens to his instruction.
Immediately after the reveal, Skintick and Nimander succumb to the effects of whatever extra ingredient Gothos had slipped into their tea. We get this final sequence:

Nimander’s eyes were drawn once more to the walls of ice. Black depths, shapes moving within.
He staggered, reached out his hands–
‘Oh, don’t step in there–’
And then he was falling forward, his hands passing into the wall before him, no resistance at all.
‘Nimander, do not–’
Blackness.

Again, the readers eyes are drawn along with Nimander's to the icy, abyss-like, objectifying, Gazing threshold. Here's where the sublime and the weird really flavour the setting in this scene.
There's a bell’s echo here from the start of this scene: this sequence starts with Nimander discussing the uncertainty related to moving through a portal with Andarist away from the rest of his kin, a breaching. During these final lines of this first scene, we get a tension between us and the unknown, between what has happened and that-which-is-to-come, between what we’ve imagined about Malazan’s cosmos and some contorting of those assumptions. What’s beyond the veil decentres not only Nimander in its draw and pushing him to being-for-others, but it decentres the readers too. Hic sunt dracones, terra incognita, the sublime, the enigmatic, the terror. We’re made to feel small and inconsequential by this icy threshold.
It isn’t mysterious because it evades our Gaze like other fantastical things (e.g., many renditions of some archetypal tricksters found within various folklores), instead it invites our Gaze eventually since It Gazes back (almost Nietzschean).

Thoughts

Calling back to the genre conventions, this extended scene is one that definitely plays with the established conventions of Gothic literature and its descendants. Constantly, Erikson hits us with tension sewn into his choice of words in Nimander’s ruminations, his angst associated to diaspora, the notion of Dal Honese ancestors gazing upon their descendants from clay walls, absent ancestors that too haunt the same, the fields of scarecrows as desiccated (and harvested) bodies of worshippers, the alien plant-life, the ancient Jaghut tower, the ice threshold. Each of these (and those unmentioned) add onto to the dissociation (de-centering) of both Nimander and us, the readers. Each of us seem small and inconsequential to the dynamism of the cosmos: everything we know, including that of what we already know about the Malazan universe (and our own) can be challenged. We’re each just travellers who have stumbled upon a shattered visage in the desert that reads: “My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings. Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
This stands in contrast to — almost a revolution against — the modalities one can garnish from the Enlightenment and post-Enlightenment that favour an almost religious rationalism and positivism. This is why I believe (and hope I have shown) that the existentialist (and those schools of thought peripheral to it) lens is apt. The genealogy of Gothic literature serves as a grammatical sandbox that gives way to exploring the things that existentialism tries to frame in its study, such as the dread and anxieties — the nothingness (no thing-ness) — of being.
Not only are the Dal Honese clay-filled ancestors present to alienate the reader by entertaining a certain ‘exoticism’ (by the readers’ juxtaposing such practices against what we consider ‘normal’ — here's where Sartre is applied to White or Male Gazes), but they are there as conduits for understanding how Nimander is affected by Others, by their Looks — his siblings, his absent father, his dead uncle, Kallor, Gothos, and the icy threshold — even if this ‘othering’ is one done only by Nimander onto himself (the house settling perceived as a footfall). This becomes more important in the scenes that follow.
So, how does this relate to the Eleint, dragonblood or sorcery? If you want to know now, please read ahead in the text — i.e., he future scenes in this sequence in Chapter 8 of TtH — you’ll find out. Otherwise, I’ll attempt to provide more clarity in the follow-up post(s). Until then, I just want put forth some questions:

• Are the Eleint actually dragons in the usual fantastical/conventional sense, or are they something different, something alien, something terrifying, something that evokes horror?
• If meaning-making (and, as such, essentializing) — according to my reading of existentialism — is a choice of ascribing/burying the Real with its facticity, what does this mean for K’rul’s warrenification and the birth of sorcery? What does this mean for aspecting, particularly for the Eleint and the Azathanai?

Beyond those questions (which align with my grander narrative shared in this collection of essays) — in regards to the plot, I think it is smart to continue asking, ‘why has Gothos ensured that Anomander’s children and Kallor would stumble upon his tower?’
¹ the facticity of what can be understood as objective states ascribed to things, including social constructions — thing-ness — e.g., how things are thrown into the world, a mode of existence that simply is, the contingent being of ordinary things, such the language(s) one speaks, one’s occupation, etc.
² the mode of existence of consciousness that stands in contrast to being-in-itself, “no thing-ness”, that which negates being-in-itself

I met up with a Fwb. It was just sex, no dating. The first night was incredible. The chemistry was there and we just clicked. Honestly, The location wasn't one of my proudest decisions, but I don't regret it. I kicked him out after - due to the location, time, etc. The first thing I told him, "you can't stay here or spend the night. You have to leave." Well, he slept in. It's morning, I'm getting dressed and he's not moving. I give him an extra hour to sleep and then I become slightly annoyed. He woke up and went home.
The second time, I traveled an hour to see him. No bed to sleep on, but an air mattress (deflated), the house is dirty, dishes in the sink, counters are filthy... Cool, so he is single. I'll take that as a green flag. It's not a pleasant situation to walk into, but he is single so alright. We hook up, I'll get to that in a second... ---
He's blowing up my phone, double and triple texting. Calling my phone numerous times. Demanding that I bring him food and his attitude is poor. As though, he thinks he's entitled to my time, energy, food and money. He started asking me, to stay the night at my house so he wouldn't have to put up with his roommate. ... Well, access denied.
I met the guy one time, why invite him to my place? That puts me at risk. Esp if things go south.
Back to the second hookup.--- It was terrible. No chemistry. He hadn't showered and his scent repulsed me. Ie It kept triggering my gag reflex and TRUST ME, it wasn't due to his Vienna sausage. Him being injured, I gave him a pass and a/b/c.
Neither of us finished. Him taking pain pills, he became soft, small and passed out. He didn't travel south on me either. // That makes it twice.
It's a deal breaker.
I snuck out and went home. I drove an hour away from him. I felt... Dirty and it wasn't even worth the gas money.
He blew up my phone to see why I left and snuck out. I felt instant relief while leaving.
At some point, Mr. Wonderful started accusing me of cheating. I just work and sleep so cool.
We've only hooked up twice... So... Why would he accuse me of cheating on him, when we're not together?
He's not dating me... Or even affectionate with me.
In a relationship, I want to be held, kissed, snuggled, fucked all the time. The person I'm seeing HAS to go down on me or I'm done. I want to feel pleasure too. 🤷🏻‍♀️
Three almost four days of him ghosting me. One or two word phrases.
I tell him... All... The... Above, but summed up. I block his number. He texts me from another number. He's back to triple texting me. Tells me to unblock and blow him.
... He made me feel as though, everything was my fault. I blocked both numbers and am trying to cut my losses.
AITA?

Each of the homeless American citizens that Mark Horvath interviews is asked, “If you had three wishes, what would they be?” His invisible new friends would trust him with their answers – their dreams. Everyone had at least one answer. “To be self sustaining, and have a home for my kids”, said a mother of five. Others expressed their desire to “get off the streets”, “To have a steady job”, or simply “Have a place to stay.” Unfortunately, we don’t all get three wishes in America, our homeland.
Poverty in this country is a form of oppression, a tool used for punishment, and a weapon wielded against our most vulnerable citizens. The reports and interviews reveal a common theme of FEAR. Mr. Hovarth expressed that, “he wants to solve homelessness so he doesn’t end up on the streets.” A homeless man said that he feared “getting used to being homeless.” While on the other side of that demographic, a housed man feared the prospect of Americans experiencing “compassion fatigue” for the homeless problem in general. My argument is that this is all fair, and a direct repercussion of successfully achieving Capitalism.
I believe that dealing with a problem as complicated as homelessness must start with the vital ingredient of HOPE. Affordable housing and fair wages have been so skewed for so long that a reimplementation of these factors merely put band-aids on the real problem. It’s no wonder why we as a people feel as though we are swimming up a waterfall. Hope must lead the way, and a direct confrontation of Capitalism‘s overall efficiency must take place. Is it an incredible oversight by such a system that it CHOOSES who is taught the language of MONEY? A country that flaunts the ideal of Capitalism in the same breath as it’s claims to provide freedom would seemingly strive to offer such a language of money to ALL of it’s citizens. Instead, we choose who learns the language of money and hope, and the rest are chosen to fend for themselves or learn how to use the sun as a blanket on a cold day. This is not an oversight at all. It’s pure callousness.
My personal hope for this class is to shed a bright light on the “economic disparities” that are directly attributed to the misinformed citizens about what the true language in their country really is. The ridiculously rich 1% of Americans have done a brilliant job of gaslighting their own achievements in relation to who pays the cost. There’s absolutely no reason for anyone in the world to be so rich as to never be able to spend their fortune in 100 of their children’s lifetimes. It’s unnecessary to the point of obnoxious to see so much of the economy being kept away from the most vulnerable. I’m in this class to spread the word, and undoubtedly ruffle some feathers. I’ll take an “all inclusive” approach with every step. I believe that the more a community practices forms of “exclusion” the more it becomes a part of the very problem it claims an interest in solving. I don’t want a single penny from a billionaire. I just want them to realize that they don’t need another penny from me.

TLDR: I want to start as a barb and then focus on swashbuckler rogue. How many levels of barb should I get? Reckless is useless so it’s either 1, 3, or a level dip higher.
I need help with ideas on how to balance a multiclass between a swashbuckling rogue and a barbarian (archetype not necessary for barb but if you think it’s more efficient than I may put more emphasis on it). As of right now my ability scores are the following. My race is Half High Elf for booming blade for a really solid swashbuckler. Parentheses indicate racial bonus. Also my dm really doesn’t care too much about power building if it’s official content not from Unearthed Arcana.
14 strength 18 dexterity (17+1) 16 constitution (15+1) 7 intelligence 8 wisdom 20 charisma (18+2)
I was going to take crossbow expert as my first feat for thematic reasons and because buffing dex isn’t that essential for early levels.
I plan to start as a barb to represent the character beginning as a headstrong mercenary that eventually grows into a skilled swordsman that favors grace over brawn.
1 level into barb: Starting as a barb gives Unarmored defense superior to any armor I could wear. As of now I’m assuming all I really need is this first level to sell this Gaston vibe. Swashbuckler gets angry and charges into battle using uncanny Dodge + bonus hp (not much because just one extra d12) + high ac to take a lot of damage. I’ll have trade off my booming blade in exchange for resistance but my rage would be used to become a tank/striker rogue. Panache to get bbeg attention and soak up damage. (Also expertise in athletics + str advantage = ludicrous grapples before elegant maneuver)
(Edit: disregard this paragraph, I forgot finesse weapons can be used as strength weapons) 2 levels: reckless is extremely situational. I can theoretically reckless throw a dagger to proc sneak attack from ranged saying I was in a situation where an enemy was out of reach of my allies and I couldn’t get advantage for my crossbow. Swashbuckler is the king of proccing sneak attack idk if this is worth a level
2 levels (new): While reckless attack can guarantee me sneak attacks in almost any situation, I don’t see when I’d use it by itself. While I’d be tankier than the average rouge, my low hit points and fancy footwork will put me away from the center of combat. Furthermore, I could easily proc sneak attack by using rakish audacity on the side lines. Unless I’m missing something, reckless will only be used in the situation where I’m alone and surrounded my enemies. How effective will resistances be for this multiclass?
3+ levels: here’s where I need the most help. There are many passive bonuses I could get from barb paths but I don’t know what synergy is worth it. Losing evasion isn’t the worst thing to happen but it’s fine.

30 years of this Motormouth
On three decades of cars, controversy, and cow dung at the Sunday Times (May 28)
By Jeremy Clarkson
Thirty years. That’s how long I’ve been writing for The Sunday Times. When I joined the paper, back in 1993, John Major was in power, Neil Kinnock was a fan of Ford Sierras, they were still digging coal out of the ground in Yorkshire and other columnists on the paper included AA Gill, Michael Winner and, not long afterwards, Tara Palmer-Tomkinson.
I’m the only one left now. Still here. Still bashing away at the keyboard. And still feeling like a fraud. I went recently to a party celebrating the newspaper’s 200th birthday and during a film that had been made to commemorate the milestone, I was left reeling at the amount of truly important stories it had broken over the years. And the journalistic colossuses who’d translated these shapeshifting events into readable, punchy prose.
Me? Well, I got a job in journalism — on the Rotherham Advertiser — simply because my grandfather, a doctor, had gone out during an air raid in the Second World War and delivered the editor’s first baby. “I’ve always wanted to pay him back,” he said, “so you start on Monday.”
He sent me on a block release course to learn the tricks of the trade and I was terribly shit at everything. I only managed to pass my 110-word-a-minute shorthand exam by using a two-speed tape recorder and very long hair to cover up the secret earpiece. But while there I did meet a chap from the Harrogate Herald who told me about a great gig. If you could get a motoring column in the newspaper, carmakers would send you a brand-new model every week, fully insured and brimmed with fuel. All you had to do to keep the gravy train running was say how brilliant it was.
So I became a motoring journalist — that’s the profession’s bottom rung, just below being a travel hack. And that was fraudulent too because I had no clue how a car works. Back then my peers and colleagues in the specialist motoring press would talk about gear ratios and steering racks and tread shuffle, and I had literally no clue what they were on about. In my mind you turned the key, witchcraft happened and you moved about. The gearbox? That was pure sorcery.
In some ways this ignorance helped, because if you know how a car works you aren’t all that surprised when it does. With me, I always have a boyish, tinkle-grabbing excitement when I push the throttle pedal and the whole car moves. It excites me. And I don’t think that excitement would be there if I were on some kind of a know-how par with the engineers who’d made it possible.
To get round the problem of not knowing what I was talking about, I wrote mostly about how a car made you look and feel. And that seemed to go down quite well, so pretty soon the gravy train became a foreign junket jus train as carmakers started inviting me to product launches. A lot of product launches. In the mid-Eighties I spent more time in Cannes and Barcelona than I did at home. And all I had to do in exchange for all the private jets and champagne was write a piece saying that the car made me feel and look very nice. And that it would do the same for you too.
At one of these product launches — for the Citroën AX, in case you’re interested — I bumped into a BBC producer who asked me to appear on Top Gear, and pretty soon I was so busy doing that, I didn’t have time to go to Cannes and Barcelona any more. Which meant I had nothing to lose and could say what I liked.
Many of the carmakers didn’t like me saying what I liked, so an association of car industry press officers despatched a chap from Ford called Harry Calton to speak to my bosses. They told him that my directness was bringing more viewers to Top Gear and that this was good for the motor industry. Which in turn was good for Ford. He agreed and pretty soon I was rushing about, refusing to review the Vauxhall Vectra because it was too boring. And likening the new Toyota Corolla to a fridge-freezer. And saying that the Ford Scorpio looked like a slightly melted waxwork model of Marty Feldman.
This brought me to the attention of The Sunday Times, which asked me to do something similar in print. Which is quite an achievement if you think about it. Being asked to write for one of the most prestigious newspapers in the world, on a subject about which I knew nothing.
I couldn’t even drive very well back then. This was a bit of a hindrance, because to write about how a car behaves “at the limit” you have to be able to take it to the limit, and to find out where that is you have to go beyond it, which meant doing some kind of skid. It was my old colleague Tiff Needell who taught me how to do that, at Kemble airfield, in a Lamborghini Murciélago.
I still don’t do it properly. Instead of using power to break traction at the back, which is what the professionals do, I use too much speed. I arrive at the corner far too quickly, lift off the throttle to pitch the weight of the car forwards and therefore reduce traction at the back, and then turn the wheel while rubbing some rosaries. It’s messy and smoky and scary sometimes, especially when you’re doing it three feet from the back of a camera tracking car. But it looked good on television, and it convinced millions of people that I was some kind of cross between Ayrton Senna and Adrian Newey, all wrapped up in a sandwich filled with idiotic metaphors and similes.
Soon The Sunday Times asked me to start writing about other things as well, which is how I ended up with Adrian Gill, in Baghdad, in 2005, reporting on the Iraq War. I was useless at this as well, choosing to use hyperbole instead of actually finding stuff out. “There were a hundred million soldiers” is so much easier than calling the MoD and finding out how many there really were.
I also had a terrible nose for news. Back in the autumn of 2013 — I did look that up — I was in Kyiv doing some kind of Top Gear live show when I received a call from a different editor of The Sunday Times, asking me to go down to Independence Square to see if the protests were as big as he’d been led to believe.
I was thrilled because this was my big chance to be a proper hack, at the pointy tip of a breaking story. So off I went with a notebook and no pen. No journalist ever has a pen. And having talked to the lone policeman and signed autographs for the six rather bored-looking protesters, I called the editor and said the whole Russia/Ukraine thing was a nonstory.
Incredibly, after 30 years on the paper, I’m still here. But will I still be kicking around after 40 years? With cars I think not. I recently borrowed a 2005 Ford GT and, on a beautiful spring evening, I took it from Chipping Norton to Badminton House, along some of the loveliest and quietest and fastest roads that Britain has to offer, and I truly loved it. But in the not too distant future drives like that will simply not be possible. And cars like that will be gone. It’ll all be 20 mph and giving way to cyclists and pulling over for 60 hours to fill up the batteries. And I want no part of that.
I may not know how proper cars work. But at least they interest me. The new breed? I have even less of a clue what makes them move along and I find them all to be more boring than Jane Austen giving a four-hour talk about Chaucer.
When I began doing this columnism lark you could say that the combustion engine was brilliant and that men can’t have babies. These days, though … you can still say those things. It’s just that now people get very angry with you. And I like that because I’ve always liked throwing rocks in ponds. It’s all I’ve ever done, really. Tried to mess things up. It’s been fun.
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Does the red trouser mob speak fluent nimby? You better you bet
By Jeremy Clarkson (Sunday Times, May 28)
I have some experience of not getting planning permission, and what I’ve come to understand is this: whether you want to build a conservatory, or a funeral home, or a nuclear power station, you’ve got to get the language right. Sustainable. That’s an important word. Your conservatory may feature window frames made from depleted uranium, but that doesn’t matter if you describe it as sustainable. And mental health. That’s critical. You need a sustainable sun room full of eco-plants because it’s good for your mental health. Plus you will empower the local building trade in a way that will be “transformative” to the low-income “community”.
Sadly, however, no matter how well versed you may be in modern government-speak, you will come up against a neighbour in red trousers who knows the even more powerful language of nimbyism. And he’s going to say that your new conservatory will cause more “pollution”, “traffic” and “noise”. That’s the holy trinity for those who worship at the altar of Laura Ashley. And if that isn’t working, they’ll wheel out the trump card: dark skies. They’ll argue that your new conservatory will cause light pollution, and then, I’m afraid, you’ve had it. Especially if there’s even a suggestion that you might harm a bat.
All of which brings me on to the Duke of Beaufort. He recently applied for permission to stage two summer concerts in the agreeable grounds of Badminton House — the Who and Rod Stewart, in case you’re interested. And I’m sure his representatives used all the right words.
They’ll have glossed over the fact that it’s bloody expensive to run a big house and new income streams are necessary, because that sort of argument doesn’t sit well in a country where anyone with a big house is wrong. That’s the law. So the duke’s advisers will have relegated the business angle to page 12 of the application and concentrated instead on how the sustainable, low-impact, green events will empower the low-income rural community and boost the mental health of the region’s bats.
Sadly, though, the duke’s neighbours are not just well versed in the language of nimbyism. They are fluent — they are past masters — in the art of objecting. So they started by pointing out there’d be increased traffic in the area and that noise would “reverberate” in nearby villages — presumably causing many bat deaths and “mental health issues”.
Naturally, they also said the concertgoers would engage in “rowdy behaviour”, even though it’s the Who and Rod Stewart we’re talking about. Most of the audience will be in their sixties, and when Roger Daltrey sings, “The kids are all right”, they’ll turn to one another and say, “They really are. Henry’s a commodity broker now, and Harriet is doing ever so well at Freuds.” Then, when it’s all over, they’ll go back to Stanton St Quintin in their Teslas, and Keith Moon will not head over to the local hostelries to blow up the lavatories because he died 45 years ago.
Fearing perhaps the council might cotton on to the fact the audience are extremely unlikely to drive their cars into the nearest swimming pool, the red-trouser people decided then to open up with sustained machinegun fire. Crime. Disorder. Public nuisance. Emergency services. Road safety. Pandora’s box. This was the Middle England playbook, and if they’d stuck to it, they might have got somewhere.
But they got high on their own supply and became silly, saying, “With 11 to 12 hours’ drinking licences, drunks will camp overnight . . . increasing the potential for a major fire incident.”
Right. I see. So this 65-year-old reveller overdoes it on the noon balloons and the Whispering Angel, puts up a tent he’s somehow smuggled into the venue and then, using some of the kindling he’s brought from the wicker basket in his snug, gets a fire going, which, despite the constant rain that goes hand in hand with British summertime concerts, somehow turns into a major Australia-style inferno that completely engulfs three neighbouring villages and ruins the dark skies for miles.
It’s the most preposterous argument I’ve ever heard. There was, once, a fire at an outdoor gig. It was caused by a faulty light on the stage and was quickly extinguished using stamping and a blanket. No one was injured and Bruno Mars was back at the mike eight minutes later. So the fire argument doesn’t wash.
And I’m delighted to say the duke’s local authority saw it for the nonsense it was and gave the gigs the go-ahead. And before you write in saying, “How would you like it if your neighbour invited the Who to perform in his garden?”, I’d say: “I’d like it a lot. Especially if they bring some lasers and do 'Baba O’Riley'.”
I fear, however, that this is not the end of the story, because now “sustainable” has been balanced out by “traffic”, and “empowering” by “light pollution”, the red-trouser brigade is going to become increasingly desperate in its constant battle to keep Britain as it was in 1957.
Mr Sunak announced recently that planners will be encouraged to look favourably on rural schemes, but they’re going to be up against a tub-thumping army that will quickly recognise that the fire argument was a bit of an oxbow lake and will start to argue that the new housing estate for the low-income community will cause a plague of luminous locusts that will spoil the dark sky. Or that it will attract immigrants who all have ebola. And that your longed-for barn conversion is actually a Russian missile silo capable of turning all of Chipping Sodbury into a nuclear desert for the next 10,000 years.
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The Driving website of the Sunday Times has also published a freely accessible interview with Clarkson, on his 30 years at the paper. It's part of a larger feature that also reproduces several old columns.
And here's the Sun column: "Three things bother us in the UK..."
Clarkson's columns are regularly collected as books. You can buy them from his boss or your local bookshop.

I just recently rewatched the Incredibles for maybe the 50th time, and only now it kicked: Syndrome is an AMAZING villain with great points going for him.
Spoilers: in that movie, Syndrome becomes the villain after his idolizing of his favorite hero, Mr. Incredible, was not what it seemed like. Even though he only wanted to help the hero fight crime, he came more as a nuisance than a helper (the incident with Bomb Voyage), and that broke him, so he grew up plotting revenge by killing almost all heroes with his inventions.
19 years after it came out, I've watched it many times and only now, at 25, it just hit me that Syndrome had really valid points in doing what he did. "Once everyone's super, no one will be".
The Incredibles just keeps proving to me that it's anything EXCEPT a "movie for children".