Podcasts about insolent

I missed valentines, Easter Consumer holidays I had stamps for the aunt Then I woke up, They went away Then again Consumerism, Then again It's just a spending trick Do you need this? Gürū delivered Put out music as Blū Tha Gürū? Might be easier to find. I always thought of Blu Tha Gürū as just my producer name— not the name that I would be known by— but -Ū. Was nearly, even the way it was stylized— ED WOAH. —impossible to find. Unless for whatever reason I really was being shadow banned. All of my work seemed almost invisible. I knew there were hackers dedicated to this sort of thing— but then, logically and logistically speaking: why was I being targeted? To whom did I appear important or a threat? And— why allocate precious resources to belittling my efforts? I had tried everything else and was no longer trying to get noticed; I was just making what I was making without a having-to-do with who to impress or for what, but I was still minding my manners…and my business. I gotta see if anyone made my golden shower joke. What. Bro, if you do the whole house in gold does this not include the shower. There ought to be a golden shower. Please god almighty if someone didn't make this joke and I have to make it myself… It is a wonderful time to become a comedian. Probably even the best. This guy is hilarious. Anybody else think so? NO. Oh. Let me shut up, then. Shh, be quiet. Kks. Things move fast in the industry. New news and new happenings. Are you or are you not of out caliber? Non. Are you, or are you not a reporter Or Journalist Anchorman Showhost? .. apparently, the boat is real . Apparently, Give me those. What. You lost— give me those. No. Those are my coins. Not your coins. I'm the winner. Give me. What! Yo! That unreasonably tall leprechaun just jacked my coins. What! That's what I said. These are not my cards; The third king has fallen! I've missed christmases, birthdays, And cursed days Inside of a helmet Check the Talmud; The author are I Hathor, in living color No more, word from Spiderdust fallen And no one was chosen The golden number. The golden number. But look, I don't love her. High priestess in the opposite Repent your oppression. The withered weather calls for nothing Are I? Not one! Doctor. Heart of swords Typical prototype Insolent intergers Recently? Listen, pentagram I have had you In another form But ugly in the one I lost With luck your daughter cometh forward With work and towards the dumb apocalypse Listen, shattered soldiers Be you weakened my my fury Doctor Chaos Springfield Listen here, your art Has come apart at us The radio tower Radio tower Radio cities And radio tower Radio tower Radio tower Radio frequencies Radio tower Ephiphany! Promises! Sir Jyre! Primroses. I give you my artform. Or none. Or artword. Will you? Starfire. And then some. Has he wakened? Chatterboxes, chatterboxes. You are a psycho. Where did you get that word from. …the lower realms. I like it, what means you? Nothing hither left to succumb. Then. I are— psycho. Well. Close enough. Why I love white peopl: White people words. Scadattle. Banboozled. Finagled. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. C'cxell Soleïl

I missed valentines, Easter Consumer holidays I had stamps for the aunt Then I woke up, They went away Then again Consumerism, Then again It's just a spending trick Do you need this? Gürū delivered Put out music as Blū Tha Gürū? Might be easier to find. I always thought of Blu Tha Gürū as just my producer name— not the name that I would be known by— but -Ū. Was nearly, even the way it was stylized— ED WOAH. —impossible to find. Unless for whatever reason I really was being shadow banned. All of my work seemed almost invisible. I knew there were hackers dedicated to this sort of thing— but then, logically and logistically speaking: why was I being targeted? To whom did I appear important or a threat? And— why allocate precious resources to belittling my efforts? I had tried everything else and was no longer trying to get noticed; I was just making what I was making without a having-to-do with who to impress or for what, but I was still minding my manners…and my business. I gotta see if anyone made my golden shower joke. What. Bro, if you do the whole house in gold does this not include the shower. There ought to be a golden shower. Please god almighty if someone didn't make this joke and I have to make it myself… It is a wonderful time to become a comedian. Probably even the best. This guy is hilarious. Anybody else think so? NO. Oh. Let me shut up, then. Shh, be quiet. Kks. Things move fast in the industry. New news and new happenings. Are you or are you not of out caliber? Non. Are you, or are you not a reporter Or Journalist Anchorman Showhost? .. apparently, the boat is real . Apparently, Give me those. What. You lost— give me those. No. Those are my coins. Not your coins. I'm the winner. Give me. What! Yo! That unreasonably tall leprechaun just jacked my coins. What! That's what I said. These are not my cards; The third king has fallen! I've missed christmases, birthdays, And cursed days Inside of a helmet Check the Talmud; The author are I Hathor, in living color No more, word from Spiderdust fallen And no one was chosen The golden number. The golden number. But look, I don't love her. High priestess in the opposite Repent your oppression. The withered weather calls for nothing Are I? Not one! Doctor. Heart of swords Typical prototype Insolent intergers Recently? Listen, pentagram I have had you In another form But ugly in the one I lost With luck your daughter cometh forward With work and towards the dumb apocalypse Listen, shattered soldiers Be you weakened my my fury Doctor Chaos Springfield Listen here, your art Has come apart at us The radio tower Radio tower Radio cities And radio tower Radio tower Radio tower Radio frequencies Radio tower Ephiphany! Promises! Sir Jyre! Primroses. I give you my artform. Or none. Or artword. Will you? Starfire. And then some. Has he wakened? Chatterboxes, chatterboxes. You are a psycho. Where did you get that word from. …the lower realms. I like it, what means you? Nothing hither left to succumb. Then. I are— psycho. Well. Close enough. Why I love white peopl: White people words. Scadattle. Banboozled. Finagled. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. C'cxell Soleïl

[FREESTYLE] Lyrics/Transcription: Lost my spot. I should I'm off the clock, but I've been thinking a lot. I've been thinking a lot; and tweaking the plot. I've been pink— I'm still in the box. I got snarf goggles; Trying to get a box of wobbles going. I feel awful; I should probably walk it off —or maybe dance, did the truffle shuffle. Did I stutter or did I mumble, mumble? Maybe I should skip this feeder or hit shuffle, shuffle, maybe I should just get a bag of ruffles— Ruffles. Now that sounds like the business. Yeah, cheddar and sour cream, man why are they orange, though? The cheddar and sour cream, man. It's pre season; don't need reason to get a recent or revenge, because eventually everything changes. I'm rearranging my strangeness. I've been up for days in this A-List, but hey, this: I still missed Los Angeles. but I just went back there. It's just been, what, past few months? New York sets in fast. Yeah. it does and then it gets… and then it gets under your skin. We're up against the wall like a pile— (A pile of bricks is.) Pile of brickses. *nervous laughter* My elixir is this; laughter is the best medicine, so I've been getting in my head a bit because that's where the lettuce is. The lettuce? Yeah, you know, like water and salad. I don't have a Brooklyn accent right now. I've been in my cornerZ I'm American as a gets man. I'm Californian, bro. So shut the fuck up and just smoke something. I should probably tell a joke or something, I should… I should— — I should I should… I should. THE KIDD Well, if I would I would Chuck wood. I got buck to buck buck stuttering again, huh? Well, I couldn't give a fuck. — if it's not making any money, so uh pardon me, honey. — I gotta get to the the to uh— the… Where is there to go? To maybe like Wonderland or better yet, Ultra. Better yet —maybe uh, well, what's in my notebook? Not rap. Not rap. but I guess I could get a pack of gum for that, huh? [a one dollar bill] Shit. I'm like a battery for those assholes; I should just go back to Alaska where that shit's still frozen. It's still frozen for like another two, three, what? four, five, six months, bro. , just rolling fucking winter. I know somebody from moved there, bro. Where is that place called? Kaktovik. It's a place. It's just always snowing. —and, [population: 247. Most of them are polar bears] I don't know where to go next, but it's not gonna be this corner in New York, because I've been so sick up in this hole, but I've been doing my projects so last's cool. Yeah, those assholes. You might need an enema if I get into you, cause you're the enemy if you're like a splinter, bro. Damn, when's the last time you had a splinter? I don't know. I'm like 400! Eventually, you just figure out how to not get fucking wood in your — cervix. Yeah. Eventually, you figure that out. And it feels good. It feels good like I like I like I—I solved it. But I promise you can't time travel with no equation. There's no combination of things you can do. So what's your destination? [nineteen hundred and forty-eight, then] 1948 then. It's really hard not to rap about race, man. It really is. It's hard to not rap about rats, Race, or class, or war. What happened? What happened?! What happened!?? I quit rapping, cause I work hard and I fit the program, I— I don't wanna daughter. I don't I really don't. I know that you know why? ‘ cause I saw a deep throat. Ahahaha— OH SHIT. Oh, no. What the fuck? Yo, what the fuck is it going on right now? Oh shit. oh shit. DAAAAAAAAAMN! Oh, it's breakfast time! What the fuck is this fucking oh shit? You know what? We're skipping this! That's a cool commercial, but, you know what, fuck it. That was crazy. What the fuck? What the fuck, man? I don't know. Whatever, dog. What the fuck was that oh, you know what? Oh, you know what? I just opened up my notebook to Nofucks. Sure. I just opened up my whole world to horcruxes and uh horrors— and luxury apartments, but I just got stop it. But I just can't help it because you just can't help me and I'm just fucking— man! AAANNNNNNND— that's what happens when you like candles on Saturdays! FICTIONAL PETE DAVIDSON O/P (From an exterior dimension) Light candles on Saturdays. V.O. Got it. O/PCONT'D V.O. Then I opened up a can of spam and just forgot. and then I went back and it was still good. FICTIONAL PETE DAVIDSON So I thought, why not? CC/FINI/BLU (From a distant parallel, looking in the mirror) Okay, but I'm gonna HAVE some questions. {Enter The Multiverse} But after breakfast… did I write something vaguely familiar here? Ah, yes! Something about the— It doesn't matter. because I'm not Earth, man, I could use some, herb, man. Yerbabmate. No thanks. I'm more of like a, you know, earth and dirt man. More like a 'I don't flirt'man. I just put my hand where I ought to not. (That should do it. ) Okay. I brought the Jew with you. Well, good riddance to neighbors who like screw with you! (I think they get paid to!) Manc You get played in section eight, because that's right. They hate you when you're Kool Aid. They hate you in your cool shades. They hate you when you're too late. BP time. Or maybe just CP time, SUPER JEW ACCOUNTAINT (To Sunnï Blū) it's EP time?! I'm pretty sure they're gonna fucking label it an album, anyway. I always do that. I mean for it to be an EP, but they're like, no, it's you man. I am a you- man. Fucjthat. I'm not one man. I think I'm two men. That's too bad. I gotta get some new shoes, man. I gotta make some new rules, man. Cause, I've been feeling stupid. What about you, Cupid? That's too cool, man. That's fuel, ma'am. If I'm a battery, I gotta like, you know, recharge! I gotta think hard about these retards because they be snarfing. alort. (Snarfing alot.) In my head, I'm just surfing alert. surf alert? Yeah. but I'm in New York, so it's a curb alert, for sure. Phineas and ferb alert. I Phineas nd Ferb. Yeah. what rhymes with the Phineas and Ferb?! a lot. but I'm still fucking stuck in my Hunh?! What? Nothing. I'm still in the neighborhood where the getting's good, (but it hasn't been) I'm still in the, “what is that? hazmat suit or a husband?” I'm still in the “Na, thanks”. I'm a nanocchip. I'm still in the ho rob is kind of a mammoth one. It's where the mammoth wind. (((I hear it in my sleep sometimes— just a beat.)))) Just a beat, that's true. I used to eat meat now I just repeat, okay. I used to eat meat now I just New York, so I beat beef, beep, beep, beep, HONK-HONK. And I still kind of want a dog, but I've been fixated on this prized hog from my dreams for the book. [pause] No, that is not a hepatitis C commercial. That's too cool! M mm. Y'all need to dump that down. What the 4 I was like chic. That was chic for hepatitis C! which I'm sure is preventable if you're just not dirty, like NYC!!!! EW. Yes, NYC EE, I NYCU, cause I L Y NY U, hi U. I heard you're getting a degree, so try try to get try to get B's instead of hepatitis be. Try to get A's instead of bl- blimy. I've been trying. no Cockney thug. I've been trying, I've been I haven't been tryinging so much as like laughing because I just don't give a fuck. I just don't give four leaf clovers. That is a lot of good luck, a guy whole patch of them. A whole patch of a Damn it. Great, that was like, no. That fantastic. almost forgot that was a fid of fidget spinner? fictional fictional character. Named [Patrick Kirkpatrick] Name Bro, I've been thinking about this, too, but like, okay, I've been thinking about you, but I'm like, yo, what if what if I'm like sunny blue? SUNNI BLU What if I'm a fictional character? And I'm just like, all this weird shit happens and then I'm like, oh, this cause I'm like in a I'm like in a book or something. It would be delusional thinking to think you're in a movie all the time. It is delusional, but there is a studio right down the block, you know? and there's a studio right down the block again. Just like anywhere I walk. There's like —anywhere I walk and so talk at the same time. I usually don't. I just try to shut the fuck up when I'm in Brooklyn because it reminds me of the Bronx sometimes, you know? Sometimes, you know? Sometimes, you know. and sometimes you don't. And sometimes the curiosity killed the cats, so just don't watch, no pay attention to what you're not part of but you're part of it all. I got no attention for half hearted-squatters, squatters. Oh, no. Squatters, hepatitis se and Herpes. Hpatitis C because we're just freestyleing. We're not, you know, really like being serious about this thing. No, not really. No, not really . Yo. get your degree with no appetit C. You're trying to make me envy you; but I kind of envy me, because I'm the MVP true. One time I tried to get on MTV. And I think they're still following me. like, maybe. I shop at… ( No, I don't.) I shop by old Navy. Sometimes, you know, like around the Fourth of July BIGGIE, but -Ū. when my mama made me!! , that's true, I was conceived on the fourth of July. I came to a firework. And now I get fired when I try to work. I want to not fight a lot. I I really want to smoke some weed. I'm not gonna lie. I really want to smoke some weed. I'm not gonna lie. I'm not gonna lie. I'm I'm not gonna lie, but you ever try to tell the truth and the truth hurts?. So I got two words: That was an infinite space. (Well, it could be any two words, really, after what I said before.) Damn. I got somewhere to go. No, no, I don't. I really don't. I got somewhere to be. I I just know it. I got nowhere to be. PETE DAVIDSON/ OR WHOEVER SHAPESHIFTER I'm bored. …I'm bored. DAH fuck! No, I'm not bored! I'm not bored, “oh lord”, I said to the lord, because, you know, I don't know how long you've been listening to the show but sometimes I'll talk about God, and how if you tell God you're bored, then God answers with things that —- certainly aren't boring. —Certainly I'm snoring. I'm for sure. Number four. is hostage paper. I swamped. told me so. This is weird. This is getting weird.. I'm, like, done. what the world. I'm thinking. What the world I'm thinking that I'm still writing. Ey! 22 minutes, 22 minutes wrap it up. That's it. That's there's there's an ad here. Do you wanna do, like outro? do outro, and then we'll fade out, though. Something's wrong with my eyes, man. I caught I gotta call at Heist, man. Heisenberg. Yeah. Heisin. I gotta close my eyes for the night, I think. I'm at work. Something's lurking. I was what Perkins? I don't know, Perkins. Perkins nah, not working. I gotade out. Okay. This Mixtape's not as good as the first one, but hey— first one rhymes with…??? —per Perkins? SUNNI BLU Nah. All right. see you on the next one or whatever. L E G E N D S {Enter The Multiverse} I realized I had the ability to get really skinny, really fast. First, this just required me running out of rice. And pancakes. Shouldn't be hard. I've met emotional turmoil and rigid complete unconscious with the ripening fruit of need and desire in unideal environmental circumstances. Shouldn't be hard at all. Tales of a Superstar DJ I lie to my audience I have been miserable I've been exhausted I've been in circles Fatigue from motorcycles Terrorism, politics I'm in tension Hypertension Residents inspections I missed valentines, Easter Consumer holidays I had stamps for the aunt Then I woke up, They went away Then again Consumerism, Then again It's just a spending trick Do you need this? Gürū delivered Put out music as Blū Tha Gürū? Might be easier to find. I always thought of Blu Tha Gürū as just my producer name— not the name that I would be known by— but -Ū. Was nearly, even the way it was stylized— ED WOAH. —impossible to find. Unless for whatever reason I really was being shadow banned. All of my work seemed almost invisible. I knew there were hackers dedicated to this sort of thing— but then, logically and logistically speaking: why was I being targeted? To whom did I appear important or a threat? And— why allocate precious resources to belittling my efforts? I had tried everything else and was no longer trying to get noticed; I was just making what I was making without a having-to-do with who to impress or for what, but I was still minding my manners…and my business. I gotta see if anyone made my golden shower joke. What. Bro, if you do the whole house in gold does this not include the shower. There ought to be a golden shower. Please god almighty if someone didn't make this joke and I have to make it myself… It is a wonderful time to become a comedian. Probably even the best. This guy is hilarious. Anybody else think so? NO. Oh. Let me shut up, then. Shh, be quiet. Kks. Things move fast in the industry. New news and new happenings. Are you or are you not of out caliber? Non. Are you, or are you not a reporter Or Journalist Anchorman Showhost? .. apparently, the boat is real . Apparently, Give me those. What. You lost— give me those. No. Those are my coins. Not your coins. I'm the winner. Give me. What! Yo! That unreasonably tall leprechaun just jacked my coins. What! That's what I said. These are not my cards; The third king has fallen! I've missed christmases, birthdays, And cursed days Inside of a helmet Check the Talmud; The author are I Hathor, in living color No more, word from Spiderdust fallen And no one was chosen The golden number. The golden number. But look, I don't love her. High priestess in the opposite Repent your oppression. The withered weather calls for nothing Are I? Not one! Doctor. Heart of swords Typical prototype Insolent intergers Recently? Listen, pentagram I have had you In another form But ugly in the one I lost With luck your daughter cometh forward With work and towards the dumb apocalypse Listen, shattered soldiers Be you weakened my my fury Doctor Chaos Springfield Listen here, your art Has come apart at us The radio tower Radio tower Radio cities And radio tower Radio tower Radio tower Radio frequencies Radio tower Ephiphany! Promises! Sir Jyre! Primroses. I give you my artform. Or none. Or artword. Will you? Starfire. And then some. Has he wakened? Chatterboxes, chatterboxes. You are a psycho. Where did you get that word from. …the lower realms. I like it, what means you? Nothing hither left to succumb. Then. I are— psycho. Well. Close enough. Why I love white peopl: White people words. Scadattle. Banboozled. Finagled. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. C'cxell Soleïl

I missed valentines, Easter Consumer holidays I had stamps for the aunt Then I woke up, They went away Then again Consumerism, Then again It's just a spending trick Do you need this? Gürū delivered Put out music as Blū Tha Gürū? Might be easier to find. I always thought of Blu Tha Gürū as just my producer name— not the name that I would be known by— but -Ū. Was nearly, even the way it was stylized— ED WOAH. —impossible to find. Unless for whatever reason I really was being shadow banned. All of my work seemed almost invisible. I knew there were hackers dedicated to this sort of thing— but then, logically and logistically speaking: why was I being targeted? To whom did I appear important or a threat? And— why allocate precious resources to belittling my efforts? I had tried everything else and was no longer trying to get noticed; I was just making what I was making without a having-to-do with who to impress or for what, but I was still minding my manners…and my business. I gotta see if anyone made my golden shower joke. What. Bro, if you do the whole house in gold does this not include the shower. There ought to be a golden shower. Please god almighty if someone didn't make this joke and I have to make it myself… It is a wonderful time to become a comedian. Probably even the best. This guy is hilarious. Anybody else think so? NO. Oh. Let me shut up, then. Shh, be quiet. Kks. Things move fast in the industry. New news and new happenings. Are you or are you not of out caliber? Non. Are you, or are you not a reporter Or Journalist Anchorman Showhost? .. apparently, the boat is real . Apparently, Give me those. What. You lost— give me those. No. Those are my coins. Not your coins. I'm the winner. Give me. What! Yo! That unreasonably tall leprechaun just jacked my coins. What! That's what I said. These are not my cards; The third king has fallen! I've missed christmases, birthdays, And cursed days Inside of a helmet Check the Talmud; The author are I Hathor, in living color No more, word from Spiderdust fallen And no one was chosen The golden number. The golden number. But look, I don't love her. High priestess in the opposite Repent your oppression. The withered weather calls for nothing Are I? Not one! Doctor. Heart of swords Typical prototype Insolent intergers Recently? Listen, pentagram I have had you In another form But ugly in the one I lost With luck your daughter cometh forward With work and towards the dumb apocalypse Listen, shattered soldiers Be you weakened my my fury Doctor Chaos Springfield Listen here, your art Has come apart at us The radio tower Radio tower Radio cities And radio tower Radio tower Radio tower Radio frequencies Radio tower Ephiphany! Promises! Sir Jyre! Primroses. I give you my artform. Or none. Or artword. Will you? Starfire. And then some. Has he wakened? Chatterboxes, chatterboxes. You are a psycho. Where did you get that word from. …the lower realms. I like it, what means you? Nothing hither left to succumb. Then. I are— psycho. Well. Close enough. Why I love white peopl: White people words. Scadattle. Banboozled. Finagled. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. C'cxell Soleïl

Malachi Tresler. Revelation 18:1-19:5. "Don't fall for what's falling."

En quoi l'insolence d'un enfant est-elle particulièrement difficile à supporter pour un parent ? Pourquoi est-il si important de se maîtriser lorsqu'on est confronté à cette difficulté ? En quoi est-il vital, de nos jours, que les éducateurs entourent leurs enfants ou élèves de beaucoup d'amour, de chaleur et d'encouragements au lieu de chercher à les dominer ? Qu'est-ce qui amène un enfant à être insolent ? En quoi la patience, l'écoute et l'empathie de ses parents l'aideront-elles véritablement ?

Tous les matins, à 6h45, un récit d'actualité, contextualisé et raconté avec toute l'expérience journalistique de Matthieu Belliard

Psalm 119:65-80 (NCV)Andrew and Edwin consider an imprecation in Psalm 119 and the unique context in which it is found.Read the written devo that goes along with this episode by clicking here.    Let us know what you are learning or any questions you have. Email us at TextTalk@ChristiansMeetHere.org.    Join the Facebook community and join the conversation by clicking here. We'd love to meet you. Be a guest among the Christians who meet on Livingston Avenue. Click here to find out more. Michael Eldridge sang all four parts of our theme song. Find more from him by clicking here.   Thanks for talking about the text with us today.________________________________________________If the hyperlinks do not work, copy the following addresses and paste them into the URL bar of your web browser: Daily Written Devo: https://readthebiblemakedisciples.wordpress.com/?p=19787The Christians Who Meet on Livingston Avenue: http://www.christiansmeethere.org/Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/TalkAboutTheTextFacebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/texttalkMichael Eldridge: https://acapeldridge.com/ 

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In this devotion we cover the three predominant worldviews (guilt-innocence, fear-power, honor-shame), so that we can answer the question: What is the psalmist leading us to pray for when he says, “Let insolent people ashamed”?Music Credit: Johann Sebastian Bach, Trio from Brandenburg Concerto, No. 1, Movement 4

Qu'est-ce que le Ben Sorèr Oumoré ? Que devait-il lui arriver ? Cela a-t-il vraiment existé ? Si non, pourquoi nous en parler ? En quoi cela rappelle-t-il l'importance, pour un enfant, de se maîtriser ? Réponse à travers des propos du Gaon de Vilna.

By Mary Lindow   Today's podcast is going to be discussing a subject that a lot of people avoid because they honestly just don't know how to approach it or, they are afraid to approach it. Somehow people think that people like myself who have been serving in ministry to the Body of Christ for many, many years, and who are called by the Lord to operate or flow in a prophetic ministry as well, do this 40 hours a week. And, of course, people do expect you to be on call and ready to deliver a clear and concise word from the Lord, without considering the fact that you are not just simply a prophet or a teacher/minister, but you are also a human being who lives and breathes and moves and feels.   BEING IN MINISTRY ON ANY LEVEL IS NOT FOR THE WEAK OF HEART and truly should not be something to be considered or pursued by those who are looking for a platform for fame or to hold power over others. It is a call to hear the voice of the Lord, to study his word and to always be ready to give a good report of what he has promised or what he is requiring of his people. So having said that, I am echoing the words and most likely also the thoughts of many disappointed and disillusioned believers right now. I read a wonderful devotional last week from the Bible app. and it so resonated with where things are right now in our world. It said,  “If we are paying attention, we will see a lot of “off” around us. I bet you have noticed things that appeared unjust. Cracks in the façade that show injustice is real. People hurt. Bullies winning. The right action is left undone or the wrong action brings harm. When we pay attention, we have to acknowledge this world is gut-wrenchingly broken.”   Many of us will read a description of mistreatment and nod along from experience, memories bringing a fire to our chest. Others hear words about injustice, and it all feels distant. The deep desire to downplay evil stirs, perhaps even subconsciously. Reading Habakkuk beckons us to acknowledge a foundational principle God reveals through Old Testament prophets—you have to see the evil. We must look around at what is happening in the world and see it for what it is.”   THE BIBLE PAINTS THE PROPHETS AS THOSE WHO JOLT US AWAKE AND FORCE US TO SEE WHAT IS HAPPENING AND WHAT GOD SAYS ABOUT SUCH THINGS.   They are the watchmen signaling with waving arms, often to people wanting to look away. “Look up and see the evil done against others”, the prophets said. See the impact of your own choices on the vulnerable. See the disobedience of God's people.   GOD SEES THE WAYS WE'VE GOTTEN THINGS SUPER WRONG FRIENDS, and he's coming to do something about it. Get ready. We might not be paying attention, but he is.   It would be easy for some of us—and beneficial at times—to look away from the wrong done around us. We much prefer the aesthetics that way. Yet, there are consequences to indifference. We should not be surprised by discipline from the Lord if we choose not to pay attention to the discrepancy between our community's actions and God's righteous standard, just as the prophets warned in Israel.   FOR OVER 16 YEARS STEVE AND I HAVE ALSO BEEN INVOLVED AS PASTORAL COUNSELORS. Now, some individuals say that all pastors can give pastoral counseling to people. It's a little different than that. Some people go to school and study psychology, which is the study of the mind, and how to understand the psyche of people and help them. This is a secular approach, and there have been good results and helping people resolve conflicts and often mental illness issues as well as addressing dementia and Alzheimer's problems and more.   Pastoral counseling is where the Bible is the foundation, the Scriptures are the foundation of what you use as a basis to advise and counsel and hopefully help restore people. You also do have to take study courses and apply different techniques in counseling that assist you in being able to assess and discern, as well as understand some issues of mental health in order to be integral in your approach. Steve and I were supervised for over 15 years by a doctor of psychology, who was a strong believer, and we both took courses from different Christian counseling associations and college courses in order to broaden our ability to help people. We also had a brick-and-mortar counseling group with a dear friend, our friend who was the doctor of psychology and the practice supervisor for three years in our local area.   WE SAW THE LORD TRANSFORM, marriages, families, young people, and drug addicts, as well as dealing with many abused believers who had come out of almost cult-like, churches, or who were involved in environments and churches where they could not talk about abuse going on with the staff. Many in ministry callings came to us to share their hearts and gained helpful counsel as well.   LITERALLY A FEW WEEKS BEFORE COVID LOCKDOWNS BEGAN, our landlord who was also a believer let us know that he was going to sell his portion of the medical unit building that we were renting from him, and the Lord had begun to speak to Steve and I about the timing of where we were supposed to head into more private work as pastoral counselors and as mentors within that same timeframe. The state of Colorado had begun to dictate what licensed counselors were permitted to address, absolutely mandating that they were not permitted to talk about any kind of therapy, that assisted those with “different sexual lifestyles” if they wanted to be transformed or helped.   Steve and I strictly operate as Ordained ministers so we do not have to bow our knee to the dictates of a corrupt government licensure program.  We still have to follow confidentiality laws as well as report any kind of devastating child abuse that we may hear in our counseling sessions, but it is all done ethically and legally, and with grace. When the lockdowns began the majority of our work took place over the phone or occasional zoom sessions. With great sadness our dear sister and friend and Counseling Center Supervisor Dr. Muskie, passed into heaven, due to complications with WuhanCovid19.   When You Counsel People, The Number One Thing That Needs To Be Absolutely Evident Is That You Are Willing To NOT Look At Everyone From A Lens Of What YOU Know, But Rather From The Lens Of God's Compassion, As Well As Leaning In To The Discernment Of The Holy Spirit.   The majority of the people I work with are women who have been in abusive environments with either husbands, abusive parents or/siblings and with people in ministry environments (and I'm telling you there are many sexual predators who prey upon women right in church buildings!) as well as working with professional women who are pressured by men and women in their work environments.   There are also a lot of women who are very sensual, who get attention by teasing men hoping to cause them to fall. It's a real deal! And they don't just go after pastors. They will go after any man in a local body or church or work environment to get the attention that they hunger for when they missed out on being parented properly, or if they feel that something sensual makes them get the attention they need to feel loved. This often happens when there has been sexual abuse in their lives.   Pastoral counseling is based on getting to the root of the problem according to what the word of God says, and for a believer the importance of it is that we are willing to face the root cause of what causes us to be traumatized, bitter, secretive, or lie.   ONE OF THE HARDEST THINGS TO COUNSEL IS A PERSON WITH AN EXTREMELY HARD, WOUNDED HEART, OR WHO IS EMBITTERED. No matter how much you try to show them the way and soften the pathway for them with the grace of God, there is often a back lash that always has a reason to explain why they are hurt, why they are hard, and why they choose to stay stuck in a hard place. In Matthew 13:15 Jesus says: “For the heart of this people has become hard, With their ears they scarcely hear, And they have closed their eyes, Otherwise they would see with their eyes, Hear with their ears, And understand with their heart and return, And I would heal them.”   It is a humbling thing to admit that you are stuck or that you are in a hard place, or that you are dominant and mean and cruel to people because you are bitter over tough life circumstances that have happened to you, and so you put up a wall to protect yourself.   I have met Christians who justify the fact that they can bully and name call and yes, often swear at other people when they think they are trying to help them or advise them. They often get angry when they are confronted about their bad bullying behavior towards their children. If you ever hear a believer say something like “my child is a jerk”, or “you're a little brat”, or “stop whining and get up or I'm going to give you something to cry about”, you can tell that there's verbal abuse going on in their home.   Verbal abuse isn't just cussing at someone although it is verbal abuse for sure! Verbal abuse is considered shaming, humiliating, paralyzing, and dominating over someone else verbally to the point that they are caused to emotionally shut down in fear. Unfortunately, I hear in the confines and confidential pouring out of hearts in my counseling sessions many who have been yelled at with scripture verses and shamed over not being perfect and obedient to God.  This is called spiritual abuse.   Picking out specific Bible verses, and using them as a battering ram, or a knife that stabs into the heart of someone to get them to “obey" or to get them to “submit”, is absolutely vicious behavior and it is abusive. There's no godly virtue in posturing to be a big shot, or to appear to be the person who can control a room with snarky snide remarks or a bunch of advice that everyone is forced to listen to.   This is called "insolent pride" in the Bible, and we always take that biblical view, but in the natural if you were studying a psychological viewpoint, this is called narcissism.   Proverbs 21:24 states “Proud,” “Haughty,” “Scoffer,” are his names, 
 He who acts with insolent pride     INSOLENT PRIDE CREATES A SCOFFING, ARROGANT “KNOW IT ALL” ENVIRONMENT, where there is no ability to ever address the deep-rooted issue of control and abuse in a human being and how they use it towards others to posture. The need for power and control becomes “out of control”! But underneath that simmering rage there is someone who needs to keep everything tightly organized and under their thumb in order that no one finds about out the secret part of them that is either weak, wounded, or has done something they should not do to harm others.   WHY AM I SHARING THIS? Well, we are living in a time where narcissism is actually applauded and stroked as a point of near genius! Insolent pride and verbal domination have become the way of communication in most social media groups.  And, unfortunately it takes place in a lot of texting where people can say cruel or snarky things behind the protection of a telephone screen and slander others in one mass social media post or text! But to say it face-to-face and see the pain in someone's face by the words they've spoken is a different thing isn't it? And the other party suddenly being painted as a “rotten person” never gets a chance to tell the side of their story that may actually be the truth.   Every day we come across people who need to hear a kind word, who need to be lead to a place where they can get help or truth, or just simply be treated with a level of empathy.  And, every day we come across people who may be predators, verbal abusers, spiritual abusers, and have no conscience about how they treat people.   IT IS ABSOLUTELY TIME FOR THE BODY OF CHRIST AGAIN TO READDRESS THE ISSUE, FOR THE NEED FOR EXTREME DISCERNMENT. Everything that the enemy could throw at us and our children is on full display right now, and if we dumb down safety and sexuality, safety and what our children watch on television or other tech devices, safety and what WE as adults watch, we simply embrace the narrative of the world, and we move away from scriptural goodness into a place that pollutes the ability to have good discernment.   When we don't allow accountability to come into our lives, whether it be with a good and wise counselor, or with a group of trusted friends who are not going to take your information and spread it far and wide, we leave ourselves open to a secretive fantasy world, or a secret world of torment.   What do you do when you're anxious or sad or depressed or fearful over the way your husband treats you or the way your wife beats you down verbally?   What do you do when you are at a stalemate because a spouse refuses to forgive or move forward into hearing the truth about some of the things they have done to get locked into bad behavior and resentment?   What do you do when you have a child that suddenly has become addicted to video games and it's moved up into their adult life and they have no friends because their world is all in front of a screen?   What do you do when you know that a minister or a member of a staff in a church or a CEO of your corporation is secretly sexually preying upon individuals in their offices, and you could lose your job, because you know?   THESE ARE THE THINGS THAT ARE HARD TO ADDRESS, BUT MUST BE ADDRESSED!   The world is feeling a tremendous amount of being unsettled right now by the great upset of realizing how easy it is to be controlled by a few tyrants, and yet people will cower and go about in denial, instead of learning how to be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might.   I have worked with many brave women, who have prayed and fasted and done everything they possibly can to help work on their marriages, but their spouses have chosen to hunker down and gaslight and punish. No matter what approach is taken they become more verbally violent and are determined to blame everyone else.   Is this easy to talk about? Absolutely not! But when you are scripturally based not only as a minister, but also as a pastoral counselor, you must bring truth into the light and help people become free from abusive environments and often “self abusive” environments.  You must above all have confidentiality and trust level that they know will not be breached. Most pastoral counselors work on a sliding scale fee in order to keep their rates low for those who are working hard, sometimes two and three jobs, or a wife who has limited income because her husband tightly holds the reins of the finances.   WHEN YOU'RE A PASTORAL COUNSELOR, IT IS DONE OUT OF THE PASSION FOR CHRIST and therefore money and income are not the foremost driving purpose for your work. But, there must be an investment and a fee from those who are in counseling, or people tend to not take it seriously. It needs to be considered per individual and what they are capable of handling. I often tell people their counseling is much more important than the two or three times weekly custom cup of coffee at their local coffee shop, or perhaps snacks in their afternoon candy bar routine. It really isn't a sacrifice when you start doing the work to get yourself whole and healthy. It becomes a lifetime investment.   Pastoral counseling is definitely a calling and not to be simply a moneymaker. However, many individuals still expect hours and hours of free counseling time, and rarely invest much into changing their lives if there isn't some kind of financial accountability for them. Of course if you attend a local church and there is a counseling pastor on staff, that's what they are there for! If you regularly go to that fellowship and support them, usually there is an option or opportunity for you to see a counselor on staff for no fee. But having experienced some of this in the past, I also know that people tend to jump from counselor to counselor or, Pastor to Pastor if they don't want to deal with the root cause of their problems, and it can cause friction in a local body if there's not respect for the position and the role the pastoral counselor is assigned to, by the Lord. Basically they want someone to justify what they are doing, and their bad behaviors.   I URGE YOU TO ASK THE LORD TO WALK THE CORRIDORS OF YOUR HEART. Are there things in your life that you dominate and hold over others as scriptural and “legalistic absolutes” and they have become nearly abusive because you refuse to listen to someone else's heart on the matter?   One thing that I have often observed is that people become very hard and hardened because they want to win an argument, or something that has helped and changed them, becomes a law for them to use against others.   Now, before others think I'm going to lighten my approach to the Bible, understand this. The word of God is perfect and enlightens the soul. It brings truth to a matter and it does not waver.   Of course, there are absolutes in the Scriptures that God will not deviate from no matter how many people try to dilute or maneuver around them. But if we use a hammer and verbal abuse and shame and scripture to “scorch people” in order to prove a point, or to advise them then we are also biblically unsound and abusive.   FIRST CORINTHIANS INSTRUCTS US SO CLEARLY THAT LOVE IS WHAT? It is patient. It is kind. It is not boastful, it is not arrogant, and it is not self-serving.   When the Lord said, come to me, all of you who are heavy, laden, weighed down and burdened, and I will give you rest, he meant that, because he knows we get heavy laden and burdened and weighed down, either by our own destructive behaviors and sins, or by the destructive behaviors and actions and sins of others.   There is also nothing more painful than when someone is in pain or sorrowful or going through a great loss or trauma, and another individual shouts, “get over it, move on”, or cracks jokes about the person in pain.   Yes, you will be around people who are chronically in pain or depressed, and it takes patience. It takes guidance, and it takes kindness to either help direct them to help, or gently tell them that you are not the person that is able to help them at this time, but that you will stop and pray for them right now.  You see, it takes humility.   Although there is a lot of reading material produced that uses the term “tough love” and a lot of books about boundaries that we can study, remember, if you're coming from a scriptural perspective the ultimate goal of God is a Redemptive moment or a restoration if possible.   BOUNDARIES ARE NOT TO BE HUGE CEMENT WALLS WITH BARBED WIRE AT THE TOP BLOCKING OUT EVEN THE SUN.   Boundaries as a believer are there for when there is a conflict or a disagreement or a different viewpoint with another person. It's a  "time out" to go and think about it, to pray about it, check your own heart and see if there's something that would bring about a form of reconciliation.  And then, you try to come together and discuss the issue. You can agree to disagree and not banish people!   Imagine how much Jesus disagrees with a lot of how we behave and yet he doesn't banish us! He continues to wait for us to come out of our corners of hiding or corners of denial, and meet him again in dialogue until light comes and hope and help, bring a different perspective on our pathway of life.   I have worked with people through phone counseling sessions from many different places in the United States, and I have seen them grieve and open up and trust me with the deepest of their painful sorrows and things that are unbelievably sometimes even unbearable to mention. Slowly, but surely, a foundation of nurture and truth combined begins to chip away at the lie that they have believed and feel viewed as something no longer valuable or useful, or that they are worthy of value and are not to be abused!   For instance, if a young girl has been used and trafficked by a parent for most of their childhood and up into their high school years, once they awaken to this later in life, there is no way that anyone can accuse them of “choosing” to not face it!   There comes a time where the light of God shines brightly on the pain and the sorrow, and they need to be led out into a place where they can express the grief, the anguish and the huge loss of childhood innocence, and yet be brought to a safe place before the face of God, through strategic dialog, planning, or behavioral changes. Gently addressing the people that they affiliate, with until they see the light and the kindness of God. Until they can see themselves as the original creation God had planned them to be.   NOW, DON'T GET ME WRONG. I ABSOLUTELY LOVE WHEN THE LORD OPENS DOORS FOR ME TO SPEAK AND MINISTER, and if so called to, I to do operate in the word of knowledge and the word of wisdom when I am involved in these environments.  It is hard work to study and prepare in prayer for when you are assigned these opportunities to speak and minister publicly. But, this behind-the-scenes work of mentoring and pastorally, biblically guide people with counsel, is one of the hardest things that I think I've ever done, and yet the most joyful and rewarding when you see the lights come on and the light enter and the chains of the enemy become literal paper and fall away. The person finds the joy and laughter and finds that God has a glorious plan for them.   Sometimes it can be a rather rapid process, but the majority of times it is a steady, consistent work, until they find their wings and fly. Every time I work with someone I think about how long it takes for Jesus to help us to find our way, and he often narrows the path of our relationships and friendships in order for us to not only be safe, but to also be on a pathway that is not crowded by those who choose to not do the work that God is asking them to do, in order to be transformed.   If we look at the parable where the seed falls on the ground, there are those who will stay stony hearted and will not take in water. They will not receive nourishment. They choose not to grow, and the sad thing is that their seed is pecked up on my other predators.   I CAN TELL YOU HONESTLY THAT ALL OF THE PROPHETIC WORDS SPOKEN OVER YOUR LIFE DO NOT CHANGE THE HARD WORK IT TAKES TO GET YOUR LIFE ON A PATH WHERE THEY CAN COME TO PASS.   The Lord is so good to give us future promises, but with those there's a requirement for action. Don't wait until things are so bad and you have a minefield of heartache and debris left in your wake that you have to now clean up. Don't be afraid to ask for the help that you need, and find someone whom you can work with and feel safe with, and get on with allowing God to create a new clean heart and renew a right spirit within you.   If you have addictions to pornography or addictions to drugs or any other thing that causes you to feel driven towards it, the Lord wants to offer you freedom and restore you to a place of peace and no longer walking in fear.   The greatest counselor that we can have is the Holy Spirit; the scripture says the Holy Spirit is a counselor. Now, many people say, “Well!  I can hear from the Lord for myself, and I will let the Holy Spirit counsel me!” The problem with that statement is that if we are already in trouble, or we are hiding something, or we have been abused and beat down, we can often dismiss the deep inner voice of the Lord telling us that we need to talk to others and be accountable and get help. Often the Holy Spirit will gently say to someone,  “Go talk to so-and-so or go talk to your pastor or go talk to a counselor or a close friend, who is wise”. Yet pride or fear keeps us paralyzed and afraid to move forward.   EVERYONE SOMEWHERE IN THEIR FAMILY OR IN THEIR LIFE EXPERIENCES HURT, AND PAIN AND TRAUMA. Unfortunately, this is the nature of fallen man and the Earth is riddled with devastation because of it. But in John 10:10, Jesus himself said, “I have come that you might have life to the fullest!” He said that you MIGHT have life to the fullest! And the first part of that verse is, “but Satan comes to rob to steal to kill and destroy”. This is what happens to people in life when they are abused and traumatized!    Jesus offers a hand to us saying come to me all of you, who are very weary and heavy laden, heavy burdened, and I will give you rest so that you might have life to the fullest.   One of the simplest ways you can find help is to simply look in your area for a Christian counselor, and you can even ask for specifics and details. Those who are really dedicated to the call of God as pastoral counselors spend as much time in prayer and preparation before there counseling session, as they do IN the counseling session.   The word of God ultimately has the answers that we need, and the pathway that will guide us out of darkness into the light.   I AM IMPRESSED TO SHARE THIS PODCAST SPECIFICALLY BECAUSE I KNOW THERE ARE THOSE OF YOU THAT ARE LISTENING WHO ARE CRYING OUT FOR GOD TO SHOW YOU WHERE TO GO OR WHAT TO DO ABOUT SOME OF THE SITUATIONS YOU FIND YOURSELF IN.   He wants you to know it is not wrong to seek help and that counseling is not of the devil!   After all the scripture in Isaiah calls, Jesus, The Mighty Counselor! And again he speaks of the Holy Spirit as being our advocate, or one of our counselors, because they are in themselves three in one with the Father. But, the Lord gives the spirit of counsel and wisdom, and insight to those who are called to help others out of dark places.   Don't hesitate! Call someone, research someone in your area, or if you have a pastor or individual who is skilled in your church to help you deal with the specific kind of trauma upset you are dealing with, make an appointment and step forward. Not all pastors are skilled or qualified to help people who have been through traumatic sexual abuse issues, or who are dealing with parents who have dementia and Alzheimer's. But, they can certainly pray with you and help also to direct you to the proper resource.   JESUS WANTS US TO FIND A PLACE OF PEACE AND REST IN HIM. His ultimate is to bring us peace and to draw us close to him.   If there's anyone who has ever shamed you by telling you that, seeing a counselor is weak or shows that you don't trust the Lord, just understand that that individual is also hiding something, or is extremely bound up in the fear of being led astray.   Some counselors are not a good fit and so you go to a different one! There have been times when I have worked with individuals and I have to lovingly let them know that I am not a good fit for their situation, or it becomes overlapped into situations where there needs to be another specialist who can better help them walk out an area where they're stuck, and they need a Focused, Skilled individual to help them unpack, and unburden the deep pain that they are in.   THE SCRIPTURE SAYS HE WHOM THE SON SETS FREE IS FREE INDEED. My prayer for those that are listening today is that you will open your heart to the Lord in prayer and ask him to help you to take the steps forward that you might need to deal with whatever it is that you are suffering over.   If you have been verbally abused by bullies in the church or those that may even say that they have some form of counseling skill, but they verbally abuse or shame or use harsh language in order to shock you, this was not the way God planned it. Try again!   Step forward one more time and ask the Lord to open the door for you to the right counselor. He will do it, and he will help you be free from pain, the hiding of abuse as a child, the difficulty of dealing with addicted or angry adult children, and those that are prodigal parents, or prodigal children.   Jesus has a plan and helping us to hand things over to him in his care when we've done all that we know we can possibly do, and we have apologized or repented for actions on our part.   Remember, nothing is impossible with God. I have seen him turn situations around that seemed absolutely impossible! He can help us to stand firm in our faith and not hide in order to be people pleasers, or to cower under the pressure of abusive treatment.   OUR NATURAL HUMAN RESPONSE TO SHAME IS TO HIDE. We hide from each other and hide from God. This has been the case since Creation. The Bible describes how the first human beings responded to God when they had sinned and were ashamed:  “Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the Lord God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and they hid from the Lord God among the trees of the garden” (Genesis 3:8).   FRIENDS, HIDING KEEPS US FROM HEALING. Let's all aim to be a compassionate, courageous community of believers. A community in which we support each other as we choose healing over hiding. Let's support each other as we ask God to grow, to change and heal us.   Let Me Lift You Up To The Father In Prayer Right Now: Father, I thank you for those that are listening to this podcast today. I know it's not an easy one and certainly not as stimulating and supernatural or as exciting as some, but it IS a supernatural work that you do when you bring us to a place of releasing pain and telling the truth about what has happened to us, or where we have done something to harm someone else.   Lord, I know you're doing a great cleansing work and that you are starting with the body of Christ, bringing your judgment and your truth, and your light.   Lord, you said the days are coming when we will worship you in spirit and in truth. Lord, we can't fully worship you when we're not truthful with you, if we're hiding and if we're cloaking, so I pray that anyone listening today. Father anyone who is afraid. I pray that you tell them that fear is holding them back and that you would guide them literally by the hand and direct them to the proper counselor, to someone who has the wisdom to help unlock the pain, the history, the stories and the trauma that has happened to them, in war, in family, in abuse in school or a job. With an abusive Pastor, with an abusive Sunday school teacher.   The list goes on and on and you know every one of these events. So Father I ask that those that are hearing this message will take courage. You will GIVE them the courage to step out and ask for help and I know you will do it.   You will help them if they will simply step out, and I thank you for hearing this prayer from my heart for them, in Jesus name.     Duplication and sharing of this writing is welcomed, as long as the complete message, Website, podcast link and information for Mary Lindow is included. Thank You! 2024 "THE MESSENGER"  - Mary Lindow www.marylindow.com www.marylindow.podbean.com   If you would be so kind and assist Mary helping her to meet other administrative needs such as website and podcast costs, or desire to bless her service in ministry with Spirit-led Love gifts or regular support:   Please JOYFULLY send your gift in the form of:  ► Personal Checks ► Business Checks ► Money Orders ► Cashiers Checks To:    His Beloved Ministries Inc.  PO Box 1253 Denver, Colorado 80614
 USA    Or feel free to use our send a tax-deductible gift with   Pay Pal   paypal.me/mlindow  Under the name of - His Beloved Ministries Inc.    ALL gifts are tax-deductible under His Beloved Ministries 5013c non-profit status.   We are financially accountable and have been in full compliance since 1985.   Thank You!   X0b4EOoOzHFtDNYJun0d

Vous avez surement déjà entendu parler de Warren Buffett, mais connaissez-vous son associé Charlie Munger ? Ces deux hommes sont un exemple vivant qu'il est possible d'avoir un incroyable succès en business en partant de rien. Je vous partage dans ce podcast le secret absolu de Charlie Munger pour réussir et avoir un succès hors du commun !Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Podcast + 23/05/2024 – Insolent Podcasts

À tout juste 16 ans, il réussit à convaincre son école de lui accorder une année sabbatique pour se consacrer à 100 % à sa chaîne YouTube. Mais qui fait ça ? Et pourtant, 10 années plus tard, il a 1 million d'abonnés... et son insolence de l'époque lui a ouvert bien des portes. Mon invité du jour est Romain Lanéry. Dès la première année du lycée, Romain sait ce qu'il veut. Pendant que ses amis s'amusent à faire la fête, lui, il est à fond sur les nouveautés tech, notamment pour les tester. Un jour, il décide de poser un ultimatum à sa mère pour qu'elle le laisse explorer sa passion à plein temps et donc arrêter l'école, une décision qui lui vaut le SMIC... Son secret : l'insolence et le travail acharné. Tout seul, il construit tout un savoir-faire qu'il met plus tard à profit des marques à travers l'agence /influx, une agence digitale représentant un large panel de créateurs. Son terrain de jeu, c'est YouTube et Twitch, deux plateformes aux formats à la fois différents et complémentaires avec lesquelles il a construit une solide communauté qui lui fait confiance. Romain prépare du lourd, notamment sur ses lives Twitch prochainement qu'on a hâte de découvrir. À suivre sur ses réseaux. Dans cet épisode, Romain nous explique comment il a gagné à être insolent au tout début de sa carrière sur YouTube. Il nous partage comment un adolescent gagne en crédibilité, à quel moment il commence à percevoir le potentiel de son travail, son rapport avec les médias traditionnels. Il dévoile également la manière dont /influx collabore avec les marques, les choix des partenariats, leurs profils. On abordera la gestion de sa chaîne Twitch et YouTube, son organisation, l'implication de l'IA dans son quotidien et sa fierté à avoir piloté une formule 1, une histoire inédite et ultra passionnante. -------

ESSENTIEL, les rendez-vous du jeudi – Un monde de livres. Josyane Savigneau reçoit Murielle Magellan pour son dernier roman « La fantaisie » aux éditions Miallet Barrault et Léa Chauvel Levy pour son roman « Une demande folle » aux éditons Lattès. À propos du livre : «  La fantaisie ». paru aux éditions Miallet Barrault Sortant d'une cruelle et longue dépression où elle a failli perdre tout ce qu'elle aime, Mona tente de se reconstruire en s'installant dans un minuscule appartement d'une tour de la banlieue parisienne. Les marches de l'escalier qui conduit au lit-mezzanine sont astucieusement aménagées en casiers de rangement, mais l'une d'entre elles est scellée. À l'intérieur, elle découvre le manuscrit qu'un jeune homme a enfoui là vingt ans plus tôt. Insolent et drôle, le texte lui donne envie de retrouver l'auteur. Mais que reste-t-il des jeunes gens audacieux après vingt ans de vie ordinaire ? Où ont disparu les désirs, les énergies, les fantasmes ? Où se sont perdus les éclats de rire et la rage de vivre ? Peut-on réinventer la fantaisie ? À propos du livre : « Une demande folle ». paru aux éditions Lattès « La mère est certaine, le père toujours incertain. » Une jeune femme de 28 ans effectue à la demande de son père un test de paternité. Mais dans l'attente de la réponse, elle perd pied : cette demande, le doute, ce qu'elle revisite de son enfance, de l'histoire de ses parents, sa relation à l'amour et aux hommes, la somme de ces douleurs la font chavirer. Des années plus tard, devenue mère, l'héroïne s'interroge et enquête : que veulent dire ces mots, fille, père, quelle est la part du biologique et du culturel dans la filiation ? Elle ren-contre un sociologue, un avocat, un juge aux affaires familiales, une ancienne garde des sceaux, un prêtre, pour mieux com-prendre. Inspirée par la vie de l'auteure, Une demande folle suit les chemins du doute et de l'amour. C'est un roman infiniment sensible et si juste sur ces liens familiaux qui nous fondent.

À première vue, rien ne réunit les vieux et vieilles du marché de Neuilly-sur-Seine, les gilets jaunes, les partisans d'Éric Zemmour, et les auditeur·ices de France Inter. Sauf : leur amour pour Guillaume Meurice. Dans cet épisode l'humoriste écologiste et défenseur de la cause animale démonte l'histoire virile des hommes chasseurs de mammouth, et tente de convaincre Swann et le public d'abandonner totalement la viande. Enfin, le professionnel des micro-trottoirs donne sa solution pour sauver les homo sapiens : mettre en commun leur médiocrité.Les savons liquides vont-ils changer le monde ? La glandouille est-elle une arme efficace contre le capitalisme ? Est-ce que la clé de bras est une solution pour convaincre le gouvernement de prendre des mesures pour l'environnement ? Le Salon de l'agriculture est-il le "Miss Monde de la vache" ? CréditsUn podcast créé par Swann Périssé, produit par Binge Audio et Spriss Productions, avec le soutien de l'Agence française de développement. Écrit et incarné par : Swann Périssé. Co-auteur : Matthieu Beigbeder. Recherches : Nicolas Beublet. Direction de production : Valentine Mabille. Assistante régie : Carla Siracusa. Décor : Fuchsia d'Enfer. Musique originale : MiM. Captation réalisée au Cabaret Sauvage. Réalisation : Nicolas BeguetEquipe Binge AudioDirection des programmes : Joël Ronez. Direction de la rédaction : David Carzon. Chargée de production : Camille Khodor. Prise de son et réalisation : Quentin Bresson. Mixage : Pauline Lagache. Direction générale : Gabrielle Boeri-Charles. Marketing, communication et billetterie : Jeanne Longhini et Lise Niederkorn. Edition : Sirine Azouaoui. Administration : Adrienne Marino. Coordination musicale : Quentin Bresson et Juliette Livartowski. Remerciements :Un immense merci à Guillaume Meurice, Louanne Carmona, Victoire Tuaillon, Tilt et l'Agence française de développement : Caroline Castaing, Tahiry Marcel, Myriam Dahman Saidi, Elisa Rullaud. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Weddings & DiplomacyA 5-part story By Blind_Justice & Loqui Sordida Ad Me. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.“Joras, are you alright?”“Yes, Yes, I think so,” the artist panted. “T'pek gave me a healing poultice, At least, I hope that’s what it was.” He scrabbled for the water skin on his back, only to find the leather vessel torn and almost empty. Desperately, he licked water droplets from his fingers.“A camp is close,” T'pek said. “Food and water are there. Can you walk?”Joras pulled apart his torn pant leg. It was blood-soaked, but the skin underneath was unbroken and whole. "By my brushes! It worked,“ the artist gasped. T'pek growled happily. "Ambrose, you should fill a ship’s hold with these things. You’d make a fortune if they didn’t taste like death itself,” he added in Thelyrian.He looked up at Tsonia kneeling over the sea captain and went pale. “Oh, dear…”Tsonia offered a horrible, bloody smile. “I had to go back for him. The old fool was debating fate with the gods and I couldn’t let him die just yet. I know how fond you are of him.”“Thank you,” Joras said, clasping her wrist. “Of all of us, he’s had it the worst. Losing his ship, his crew, having to watch a friend be torn to pieces by the living dead…”“I know. All because I asked for his help chasing Kelgore." Tsonia sighed. "Curse the gods for the choices we make, eh?” She wiped at the blood covering half her face, only managing to smear it.Joras came to his feet and took up the pack that Ambrose had carried. “I’m sure the idea of taking half of what the God-King offered us appealed to him at the time.”“It will be more than enough to buy him a new ship at least.” Tsonia hoisted Ambrose back onto her shoulders. She fell into step behind T'pek, Joras by her side. “Gods, I’d kill for a bath right about now.”From bundle slung over Joras’s shoulder, the dead witch’s voice rasped “Kelgore is close! His presence draws me like a lodestone.”“Yes, thank you,” Tsonia replied. “We have a guide now, your service is no longer required.”“Insolent whore!" Shala gnashed her teeth. "First you tempt my son into debauchery, and now you dismiss my counsel with such contempt. The fate spinner may have granted you beauty, but they sacrificed any shred of virtue.”Tsonia inhaled slowly, mustering her patience. “You should choose your words carefully, witch. Especially when a bottomless chasm is so close." She paused, letting her words sink in. "What makes you think I corrupted your whelp? From what I’ve heard, he was called ‘The Despoiler’ for good reason, long before I met him.”“Kelgore has always shared my ambition to dethrone the God-King!” Shala protested. “His carnal endeavors were little more than the spoils of the victor. It was only when he found your demon-tainted cunt that he got it into his head to breed an heir that might surpass him.”“Ha!” Tsonia barked. “No man’s seed has ever found purchase in my womb.” Over the years since her virgin defilement by Q'alan, there had been many, many men who had tried. “Kelgore yearns in vain.”“No mortal seed, perhaps,” Shala admonished. "But Kelgore’s blood flows just as black as yours. Don’t scorn the fate spinner’s patterns so casually, whore. They have a vicious sense of humor.“That gave Tsonia pause. She had never met another soul that had survived desecration by a demon the way she had. Was it possible that she might conceive a child with Kelgore? She really had no idea, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about this new possibility.T'pek stopped at the foot of a towering tree. "Here,” he said, pointing at the trunk. Deep hand holds had been carved into the bark.Tsonia craned her neck. Expertly hidden among the wide leaves of the jungle’s canopy was a large platform nestled in the branches. Gently, she let Ambrose slide from her shoulders. The captain groaned, slowly coming to his senses.“Good to see you return to us,” Tsonia said, helping Ambrose into a sitting position. “Are there other hunters up there, T'pek?”The beastkin shook his head. “They would have come already.” He cocked his head, ears perked high. “Drums from the village are quiet. That does not happen.” He looked at Tsonia. “I am worried.”“We will see,” Tsonia said. “Can your drum ask?”“Yes.” T'pek clambered up the trunk. Moments later, a quick beat echoed from above. The response was distant and sparse.“Oh grand, more drumming,” Ambrose muttered, reaching for the hand holds. With some effort, he pulled himself up the trunk and onto the platform. Joras followed, a bit hesitant.“This isn't a Xhastrian rooftop,” Tsonia said reassuringly. “You won’t fall and break your legs again.”“At least the ground ought to be softer than those thousand-year old cobblestones,” Joras muttered darkly, pulling himself up onto the platform. Tsonia followed suit.A wondrous sight awaited once she reached the top. There was a small hearth made from stacked rocks where the coals of a small fire still smoldered. Cozy-looking piles of fronds and furs looked enough to sleep half a dozen hunters. Large, leathery leaves had been cleverly stitched together and sealed with dark sap to form water bags. Sighing with contentment, Tsonia stripped off her blood-caked armor and uncorked one of these, splashing herself until the worst of the blood was washed away.While she bathed, Ambrose and Joras rekindled the fire and skewered meat to roast. They chatted softly with each other. Tsonia noticed the glances the graying captain shot her way. They seemed less accusatory than before, but still far from his usual friendly self. She sighed, feeling the weight of her decisions laid upon her soul. But there was nothing she could do now but push on and make sure they all made it back home safely.T'pek sat at the edge of the platform, dangling his feet and rapping his drum to as much avail as before. The responses that came back were sparse and scattered, a far cry from the all-encompassing rumble from days past.Tsonia stepped behind him, sinking her hands into his shoulder fur and kneading the taut muscles underneath. T'pek looked at her in surprise. A soft purr rumbled in his chest.“What do they say?” she softly asked.“Confusion,” T'pek admitted. “The village is quiet. It is as if no one is there to beat the drums.” He listened to an errant bout of rumbles. “That does not happen. The drums are sacred!”“Can we see your village from here?”“Yes,” T'pek nodded, putting aside his drum. He guided Tsonia back towards the great tree trunk where more hand holds led further up, far above the leafy jungle canopy. “From there,” he pointed upwards.His hand caressed down her spine, inflaming her barely controlled need again. She caught his wrist. “Don’t wake my hunger, hunter,” she purred. “We must see your village.” A soft whine escaped his chest. Tsonia sighed, slipping her hand under his loincloth. She found him hard and throbbing and squeezed fondly. “You will not sleep alone tonight,” she promised. "Wisdom first.“Panting happily, T'pek dashed up the tree. His sinuous tail caressed her bruised cheek as he went.Chuckling, Tsonia followed, albeit a bit more slowly. She heard Shala snarl something, probably another bout of insults but chose to ignore the foul-mouthed witch. This climb was longer than the first, ending at a much smaller platform, barely wide enough for both of them to stand together.Despite the thick clouds overhead and the deepening darkness of the night, the volcano was easy to see. The massive plume of smoke had gained a glowing red underbelly and the sharp slopes seemed much closer now. In the absence of constant drumming, every growl and rumble of the earth was clearly audible.T'pek pointed, a dark shade against the gloom. "The village is there. But, No light. No fire.”Tsonia’s gaze followed his extended arm. She saw nothing but an unbroken carpet of leaves and swaying trees. Shielding the last rays of sunset with her hand, her eyes dug into the darkness for sign of civilization. After a moment, something finally caught her eye, a flickering light much higher up than she expected, seemingly caught in a square recess.“What am I looking at?” she wondered. “I see light. Weak light, there.”T'pek leaned forwards, his dark eyes wide to catch every errant ray of light. "The temple. There is fire in the temple.“ He shook his head. "There should be fire in the village. Fire for light. Fire to cook. Fire to scare beasts away. But there is no fire.” He growled in annoyance.T'pek swung his body off the platform and clambered down the trunk. Tsonia had to hurry to catch up with him. She reached him as he was about to descend to the jungle floor below.“Stop!” she barked.T'pek froze, hand on the trunk. “There is danger. I must help!”“Yes,” Tsonia said, taking his hand off the wood. “But do not be fast. Be smart. This danger is new. This danger is Kelgore.”“What is Kelgore?” T'pek asked. His words were taut like a drawn bow. Tsonia could sense him aching for action.“Kelgore is a bad man,” Tsonia said. “He has strong magic. He can steal your, thoughts. Your will.”T'pek gazed at her, struggling to comprehend what Tsonia was saying. “My , will?”“His words, his eyes steal, you,” Tsonia said, struggling to put Kelgore’s horrible power into the simple terms of the Trade Tongue. “Magic makes you obey him.”“His magic steals the will of my tribe?” A dangerous growl came from the hunter’s throat.“We do not know. Maybe. We need to be smart. Clever, not angry,” Tsonia said, caressing T'pek’s back. “I am your mate. Let me help.”The beastkin exhaled, a long, shuddering sound of apprehension. “Yes,” he said. "Help. But how?“Tsonia offered a horrible, little smile. "We ask the dead witch.”Kelgore was beginning to have his doubts.It had not been hard to persuade the beastkin tribe to make him their ruler. He had only had to ask, first his captors to take him before their elders, and then the elders to revere him as a god. The fact that they shared no common language made no difference at all. Any who met Kelgore’s demon-blessed gaze understood his desires intuitively. Those who heard him speak were powerless to resist his will. These savages were no different than the milky men of the Green Cities or the fish-mongers of the Xhastrian coast.And so Kelgore ruled them. Without his mother’s constant nagging, he had been free to rule as he wished and to indulge his appetites without constraint.The women of the beastkin tribe, he found, were not unattractive. They curved in all the right places and the soft fur that covered their skin was actually quite nice to feel under his hands. The beastkin girl so enthusiastically riding his cock at the moment had pert little tits that trembled deliciously. The way her long, articulate tail thrashed when she came and the claws raking down his chest and back were unexpectedly arousing.With an agonized groan of release, Kelgore finally ejaculated deep in the beast-girl’s fertile quim. He felt a new shadow cross her psyche, a selfish little desire that she’d share with none of her kin. The girl hoped that she was conceiving a great chieftain, a ruler to succeed Kelgore someday and elevate her own status in the tribe.They had all had the same secret hope, and in hindsight, Kelgore thought it was probably a mistake to gather the entire tribe and turn them all to his debaucherous cause at once.As the beastkin girl dismounted his throne with a smile and a swish of her tail she was replaced almost immediately by his next suitor, this one older, her teats fuller and hips wider. She bathed his spent cock with a long, slippery tongue, coaxing him back to his full.In her mind, Kelgore saw all the secret tricks she knew for kindling a lover. He saw her secret fear that she was not as attractive as the younger females of the tribe, and her secret desire to bear the next great chief.He had lost count of the females he had serviced, each convinced by his will that by bearing Kelgore’s offspring their tribe would thrive and flourish, vanquishing all threats and rivals. The males too were turned to Kelgore’s cause and eagerly offered up their wives, mothers, and daughters. The cuckolded males brought him food and drink and attended his every need while he defiled their women in front of them. When he had no need of them, they gathered outside the temple, like dolls lined up on a shelf, waiting for the puppet master to resume his play.Only the elders had another part to play. Without females to bring him and as priests of the tribe’s old faith, they needed to be kept busy. From painful experience Kelgore knew that men and women of faith were notoriously hard to sway, so giving them tasks away from their former holy sites to take their minds elsewhere was the only prudent thing to do. He turned the elders, bird, serpent and skull, into watchmen. They were to patrol the village and warn him of any newcomers, announced or unannounced both. They complied, their minds buckling under the weight of their new responsibilities, leaving Kelgore to enjoy the tribe’s hospitality.After days of incessant revelry, the novelty however had long since worn off, and Kelgore discovered much to his dismay that once someone was turned to his cause, it was surprisingly difficult to turn them back. Thus far, he had never stayed in one place for long, raiding coastal villages for food and supplies and bodies, both to replenish combat losses and those to sate his appetite, and that of his men. He didn’t care if his charms wore off eventually or how long it took them to do so. Now he learned about the limits of his demonic gift.No matter how deeply penetrating his gaze, no matter how resonant the timbre of his voice, he could not staunch the beastkin’s desire to copulate with him for more than a few hours at a time. He could inspire new wishes and inclinations for a short time, but always that first yearning to breed a generation of his children returned.Perhaps that cause had been too grand in scale and scope. When Kelgore desired food they brought him food and when he desired sleep, they let him sleep. But after he’d eaten or slept, the tribe’s desire returned to milking his seed into the loins of their females. Perhaps after nine months or so, when the cause was fulfilled, his tribe would be ripe for new challenges.As the next female mounted Kelgore’s reinvigorated rod with a murmur of satisfied yearning, he realized that something was amiss. Distracted by the purring beastkin writhing on his lap, it took him some time to realize that the drums, thus far an ever-present rumbling background noise, had stopped. Kelgore had learned that various rhythms tracked and relayed different threats across the island. He could tell the difference between “strangers on the beach” and “strangers in the jungle” and “strangers sleeping”, but this silence was odd.A shadow fell over him. Kelgore raised his gaze. The sharp-beaked golden mask of the bird-faced elder loomed above him. His clawless front paw reverentially touched his shoulder, begging for his attention.The elder’s thoughts were a confused jumble, but something stirred within them, some other form mental connection, not unlike his own. Despite himself, Kelgore closed his hand around the elder’s, forcing his will through the hazy confusion. The elder carried a secret, something no one besides his peers was allowed to know. They guarded something, locked away in the catacombs beneath the temple. Something old, something horrible, so vile it could annihilate the whole tribe if it ever broke free from its shackles. Deals had been struck. The elders gave themselves willingly, becoming instruments of the Sleeper’s will and fulfilling its desire for nourishment and entertainment. Once sated, it would go back to sleep for years on end, leaving the tribe to flourish.Kelgore pushed the elder’s hand off his shoulder. “What is it?” he snarled. “I’m busy.” The female on his lap looked down at his imperious tone.“Strangers are in the village. One has fur the color of fire.”Suddenly wide awake and invigorated, Kelgore sat up. His true bride had finally arrived and it was time to greet her, make her his queen.Kelgore took the beastkin woman by her ass and shoved her off to the side of the padded breeding throne the savages had built for him. She stroked his shoulder and chest with an inquiring bark as Kelgore pushed himself to his feet. In her touch Kelgore felt her anticipation, saw her sprawled beneath him, saw her on her hands and knees before him, saw her spooned against him.“No,” Kelgore spat, knocking her hand away. His cold gaze pierced her wide, faithful eyes and she knew his desire even if his words meant nothing to her. “No, I don’t want you.”He threw his sturdy over-robe around his shoulders without bothering to dress more completely. As Kelgore hurried from the temple he had appropriated from the village elders, he left the beastkin whore curled up on the throne, sobbing while the elder watched, bereft of any emotion. The other females, gathered as they were in the great hall around the firepit, looked up as he strode past. Some purred in satisfaction, those he hadn’t fucked yet crawled on hands and knees to intercept him, their tails high in the air. The sounds they made were between playful coos and desperate howls. He didn’t care for any of them, now that demon-blooded, fire-haired Tsonia was close! He snapped an angry order, his loud voice enough for the horny ones to shirk away in confusion and the sated ones to raise their heads in puzzlement. Kelgore paid them no heed, eager to leave the gloom of his makeshift throne room.The entire village, what there was of it, spread out down the slope beneath his temple. The ruins of once elegant stone dwellings had been repurposed by clumsier hands with branches and bark and animal hides into crude hovels and halls. Surrounding the great hall the tribes’ males languished. Unneeded, unwanted, with no purpose save for waiting for their god’s next command. As he emerged, Kelgore’s worshippers turned to look up at him, their weapons, tools and drums forgotten besides them. They had been blessed by their new deity’s appearance. All they wanted was to serve.And serve they shall. He picked six of the strongest hunters. “You, come with me. Defend me with your lives, but do not hurt our guest.” The broad-shouldered beastkin growled in assent and grabbed their spears, coming lithely to their feet.The other beastkin slumped into listless heaps of fur as Kelgore swept down the steep steps leading into the village. With his guards in tow he strode along the main thoroughfare, an ancient road paved with cracked tiles. Past the abandoned huts he went, past the deserted tanning racks and smoke houses, past toppled weapons racks, scattered tools and forgotten toys, and then into the main square.Across the plaza Kelgore saw two men, men like him, hugging close to the broken masonry of ancient walls. There was caution in their eyes as they picked their way forward. They were strangers to him, and so Kelgore assumed they must be survivors from the vessel that had dogged him into Shala’s storm. One of the men, the younger, wore the tattered remains of a garish orange cloak.“Fur the color of fire,” Kelgore muttered to himself. He would have to have a chat with Bird-face, teach him proper use of the Trade Tongue. While he was disappointed that Tsonia had not yet come to him, he was glad to have the company of other men.Both men appeared haggard and unkempt, but their expressions brightened as soon as they caught sight of Kelgore and his retinue.“Praise the gods!” shouted the younger man.“Succor?” called the elder as both men hurried closer. "Succor, for two shipwrecked sailors?“Kelgore’s guards closed ranks around him and the men stopped dead, as if only just noticing the beasts at Kelgore’s command. The men looked past the guards with eyes full of hope and desperation."Stand down,” said Kelgore with a smile. “Can’t you oafs see that these good men are harmless? Welcome, gentlemen. Welcome to my kingdom, such as it is.”As his honor guard parted, the men looked at each other. Kelgore saw a strange pair of expressions cross their faces, and he could not fault their confusion. He was curious to see how the strangers would respond.“Your majesty!” replied the elder man at last, offering a low bow. “We are your humble servants.”“You may approach,” Kelgore gestured to the ground before him and both strangers rushed forward bowing and scraping. They knelt where he had indicated, their eyes cast down in deferential supplication. Kelgore could see now that they were bruised and bloodied. Their trek through the jungle must have been a difficult one. And yet these were civilized men who knew how to behave in the presence of a king.“Rise and come with me, my welcome guests,” Kelgore instructed with all the magnanimity his authority granted. “You will be fed and your wounds treated. My court has need of noble men such as yourselves. I have many questions, but they can wait until you are fed and rested.”Something was nagging at Kelgore as he led the pair back towards his temple. He realized that these men had probably been hunting him only a week ago, but that hardly mattered. If they opposed him, he would simply turn them to his cause. No, what troubled Kelgore was the thought that these two lowly sailors had made their way to him through the treacherous jungle faster than Tsonia had.Serpent waited. He had brought the outsider food and drink. He had brought fresh cloth to cleanse the outsider after he had lain with the women. But now the outsider had no task for him, so Serpent waited. He would wait until the outsider would have need of him again. Impassively he had watched as every last female, young or old, was herded into the temple. He watched as the hunters shuffled from the great hall like cattle, how they crumpled into motionless piles of fur and misery, having to listen to their wives, their daughters mew in heat as the outsider took them, one by one.He watched as Brother Condor entered the temple and talked to the outsider, causing him to stop the breeding rituals and storm from the great hall in sudden excitement. He had no idea why, but that was fine. He merely had to wait and receive his new orders.A sharp pain tore through his skull, covered by the heavy mask and ornate headdress. Moaning in agony, Serpent went to his knees. Around the temple, he heard two echoes of his own wail as his brothers suffered the same excruciating pain.Tears ran down his cheeks and dripped from his whiskers as titanic forces battled for dominance in his skull. He burned in a sudden fever, yet his teeth chattered as he shook with the chills. A fang clipped his tongue, drawing fresh, hot blood and another pained whimper. The pain was strongest at the base of his neck, as if a spear point was forced into his spine.And Serpent remembered, when he had been chosen, he went into a chamber below the great hall. The other two elders, Condor and Death Inevitable, were chanting. Thick smoke poured from a strange vessel, tearing up his eyes and insulting his sensitive nostrils with its cloying sweetness. Each breath he took caused him to relax more and more. Death Inevitable, his hand disappearing in the grotesque maw of a statue hewn from the wall, ordered him to step forward and kneel by the hatch in the floor. Awestruck by the great honor bestowed upon him, the most senior hunter of the tribe, he complied. The hatch ground open and more sweet-smelling vapors poured forth, blinding him completely. There was a sickening, slurping and smacking noise and something viscous slithered around his neck.The pain that followed was worse than anything he’d ever have to endure. His skin burned. His flesh dissolved. And something snaked under his skull. He howled and screamed, baring his fangs, trying to claw at the slithering intrusion, but the elders held him firmly to the ground. There was no escape, only merciful unconsciousness.When he awoke some time later, the village was celebrating the arrival of its newest elder. His head throbbed with unfamiliar palpitations. Gingerly, he touched his neck, sensing a small lump bulging from his spine. When his fingers brushed it, a soothing sensation oozed from it, assuring him everything would be all right. The Sleeper would see to that. The others had found him then and presented him with the golden mask of the fang-toothed Serpent. From now on, he was no longer a hunter. He had been chosen. The Sleeper had accepted him. He now was an elder, serving the village and its unseen master both until the day he died.Groaning, cursing his ancient bones, Serpent came to his feet. The Sleeper had freed him from the outsider’s spell. There was a strange movement on his back and gingerly, Serpent prodded for it. Something long and viscous dangled from the nape of his neck, streaked in blood and amniotic fluid. He gasped in terror as he beheld the Sleeper’s pale limb, sprouted from his own burst flesh.He tucked the offending appendage under his headdress and hurried through the temple, past the moaning females begging for their new god to return, to grace them with his seed. He growled in barely contained rage at this defilement of the tribe and hurried past, to where Condor was sprawled in a pool of blood in a dark corner, unheeded by anyone. His mask had fallen off his grayed face and his snout and forehead were a ghastly pulp. Ichor and brain matter ran down the wall from where he had shattered his own skull.“We will find a new elder,” Death Inevitable whispered behind him, the Sleeper’s limb grown from his neck gently touching Serpent’s shoulder. "But first, the Sleeper. Can’t you feel it?“Serpent nodded as shivers ran down his spine. The Sleeper was furious. First they had fed it an impure, hollowed shell of a woman. Then it had spent some of its precious power to free them from the outsider’s spell. It demanded praise. It demanded food. The Sleeper demanded a sacrifice.Serpent exchanged a long look with Death Inevitable. "Didn’t Condor, rest his soul, say there were strangers approaching?”“He did. We must bless Brother Condor with the funerary rites quickly, so that we can find these new outsiders.”Between the broken stone walls, Tsonia strolled openly, waiting to be challenged by a sentry. She had followed the path T'pek had indicated to the outskirts of the ancient ruins that his tribe called home. When no challenge came, she continued on towards the temple where he said the elders would gather.It was possible, she knew, that she was being watched. T'pek and his people were nearly invisible in the lush jungle foliage when they wanted to be. Much of the jungle had encroached on the overgrown stonework so there might have been eyes anywhere. If they were there, Tsonia could not see them. What she did see were abandoned tools and utensils, lying discarded as if their owners might return at any moment. As she made her way across the village square and deeper into the ruins, it felt more and more like walking through a town that had been hastily abandoned ahead of an invading army.She saw the antediluvian temple rising out of the green, towering above the village. It was just as T'pek had described it. It could be seen from anywhere in the village, she merely had to find her way through the disorganized warren of crumbling stone and twisted vines.Tsonia mounted a set of steps between a hut roofed with animal hides and another with browning palm fronds and emerged on a wider avenue than the path she had left. She stopped short, and very nearly retreated a step, for scattered before her were dozens upon dozens of the native beastkin. They made no effort to conceal themselves, lounging and slouching on the steps and rubble that surrounded the temple. Several of the men saw her, but none bothered to rise.She approached them cautiously, sword in hand, and yet still none seemed alarmed by her presence.“Who speaks the outsider tongue?” she called to the assembled throng. None answered. Tsonia picked her way among them and while some watched her pass and some even stared, they did not try to stop her. They seemed listless and enervated as if by hunger or thirst, yet there was food and water aplenty in the village.Another surprise awaited her when she saw a clear separation of the men and women of the tribe. The women were clustered closer around the temple wall, and unlike the men they seemed agitated and anxious.“Who speaks the outsider tongue?” she asked again, hoping to arouse a response.“I do.” said a clear, strong voice from above her. Tsonia looked up, as did every other face in the crowd.There at the entrance to the temple, stood her quarry, Kelgore, resplendent in multi-colored robes of leather and plumes. He was flanked by a pair of burly, green-furred beastkin guards wielding long boar-spears. Kelgore himself appeared unarmed.“But Thelyrian is so much more civilized, don’t you think?” he asked.“What have you done to them?” Tsonia demanded.“I merely asked them to wait on me. When I wish for anything at all, they fall all over themselves to provide. I’m their new god you see.”“When was the last time they ate?”A curious expression crossed Kelgore’s face. In another man, it might have been embarrassment at the oversight or perhaps even guilt. In Kelgore it seemed more like irritation.“You six there,” Kelgore gestured, looking down with glassy black eyes at a knot of the idle men, “Prepare food and drink. Feed everyone.” In his voice, Tsonia heard an odd resonance that sent a shiver up her spine. The six beastkin leapt to their feet and dashed off into the village towards the abandoned cookfires.“You see? They worship me. They live to serve.”“How very nice for you,” Tsonia said, starting slowly up the last flight of steps to the temple door, sword in hand.And suddenly she was back on the bottom step, her hands empty, the sword slung at her side. She had no memory of descending, nor of sheathing the sword. Tsonia bit back her anger.Kelgore smiled. “Tell me Red Tsonia, before I bid you welcome to my kingdom, have you come to kill me?”“Honestly, I expected to find that the natives had eaten you,” she lied. “I’m a little surprised to see you doing so well for yourself, and I’m starting to see why the God-King fears you so.”“Perhaps I could entice you to change sides?”“Perhaps you could.”“Then approach, Red Tsonia, and be welcomed.” Kelgore waved his guards back a step and extended a beckoning hand. “I shall have a feast prepared in your honor. But first come and meet my court. I have a, um, proposal that I think you’ll find rewarding.”Tsonia climbed the stairs and took the hand he offered. Kelgore led her into his throne room, his two guards never more than a short pounce behind him. The cool tile floors were covered with thick hides. The sunlight, through open gaps in the ancient ceiling scattered pools of light and shadow. In the center of the room sat a crude divan covered in supple leather and stains that appeared fresh.Joras and Ambrose were there, sitting on a pair of smaller settees, picking at platters of fruit held by naked beastkin girls. Joras sat up with a start.“Red Tsonia, we thought you drowned!” he cheered. Tsonia worried his enthusiasm was a bit forced, but Kelgore didn’t seem to notice. “How ever did you survive?”“Much the way you did, I suspect.” she answered putting a bit of cold distance in her voice. “It’s 'Joras’, right? And, 'Ambrose’ I believe?”Ambrose nodded. “Welcome to a very exclusive club of survivors, Tsonia,” he said without getting up. “I suspect you may come to enjoy being marooned here in Kelgore’s kingdom.”“Yes.” She cast an approving glance at Kelgore, taking his measure. “Yes, I suspect I may.”There was a commotion at the door and everyone turned to see two strapping beastkin carrying in a roughly crafted wooden settee, similar to the couches Joras and Ambrose enjoyed. Behind them, T'pek came, bearing a heavy roll of thick, wooly hides to drape as padding. Tsonia recognized the familiar scarring across his chest and spared him only the briefest glance.His hand was held with fingers crossed, the prearranged signal that all was in readiness.“Come, come! Over there,” Kelgore gestured to the natives, directing them to set the new furniture between Joras and Ambrose, giving Tsonia a position of importance between them. “Set that down and be quick about it.”Joras lounged with an arm stretched across the chair back. He too had his fingers crossed.Ambrose did not. A brief anxiety flashed up Tsonia’s spine. She risked a longer look and when she caught his eye with a questioning cock of her eyebrow, with a sigh of reluctance Ambrose crossed his fingers as wellShe had the signal ready on her lips. All she had to do was speak it.“Your majesty, I believe you said you had a, um, proposal for me?” She crossed in front of him with more sway in her hips than a ripe Debon maiden. She turned and perched herself on the edge of his throne drawing concerned scowls from his guards and a knowing smile from the King himself. “If you have something to say then, now is the time”On her word, T'pek unfurled the roll of hides with a snap sending the head of Shala tumbling across the floor to come to rest at the feet of her astonished son.“Kill her, you fool! It’s a trap!” screamed the witch’s severed head, just as Tsonia hoped she might.No matter how enchanted Kelgore’s guards, that sight could not fail to rattle them. It would give Joras and Ambrose the precious second they needed to aim the short reeds that the natives used as blowguns. Not much longer than a man’s hand, the weapons were easily concealed. T'pek had found a cache of them at the hunting camp, along with the darts and a clay jar of the sleeping poison. Joras and Ambrose had practiced with them for hours.Tsonia was already on the fly, launching herself off the divan sword in hand, trusting her companions to deal with the guards quickly and without bloodshed. One well-placed strike would take Kelgore’s head and end his tyrannical reign over these people.Kelgore ducked her blow, recovering from the shock of his mother’s appearance with more composure than Tsonia expected. Nonetheless, T'pek would be on him in an instant. Tsonia whirled on the would-be king to follow up her first attack and suddenly felt her feet fly out from under her.She hit the hide-carpeted stone floor hard. Instinctively she rolled away from a follow up attack by what she assumed must have been the long spear of one of the guards. Seizing that momentum, Tsonia sprang to her feet and saw Joras, T'pek, and Ambrose unmoved from their places, still and passive.She turned to see Kelgore’s still very much alert guards advancing on her, and Kelgore himself grinning as if he was particularly proud of himself. Raising her sword with a primal scream of fury, Tsonia charged.And she was on her knees, wrists bound behind her back, her neck tethered to her knees, and the points of two spears pressed to her shoulders. Tsonia clawed through her memory for some recollection of how she had been bested and she found nothing.“Really my dear, did you think that would work?” Kelgore asked. He lounged on his breeding throne with his mother settled comfortably by his side. The long spears of his guards held his betrothed prisoner, bent double on her knees before him. Her allies stood by, waiting for his instructions. They would stand there waiting until they starved to death if he so willed it.“You have never respected the power I procured for my son," gloated Shala. "And now you shall die for your arrogance.”“Don’t be hasty, mother,” Kelgore admonished. He had no intention of slaying his future bride, despite his mother’s opinions. “I think she may yet come around, if given a proper demonstration.”The vixen-warrior on the floor in front of him strained against her bonds with a scream, even as the spear points pierced her flesh, raising drops of black blood that trickled down her shoulders and fell hissing to the floor.“Their rope is really quite strong, isn’t it?” Kelgore asked, amused by her efforts. “It was your beastly lover there who trussed you up so securely.” Tsonia looked up and shot a glance at the scar-ridden beastman who stood nearby.“Oh, don’t feel betrayed. He really didn’t have any choice. In fact, I think that he is the one who should feel betrayed. Did you really promise to bear him pups? You must know that your demon-blessed womb will never bear mortal fruit.”“Then why do you seek to make my barren loins your own?” Tsonia hissed up at him. Her vibrant hair hung lank in her face as she strained against her bonds to meet his gaze. She really had learned nothing.“Enough of this!” insisted Shala. “Kill her now and be done with it! This boasting is beneath you. You should be ordering these savages to build you a boat, not wasting time fawning over this whore.”“Silence, mother!” he spat. He was proud of the kingdom he had built here, but nothing would be good enough for his mother until the God-King lay dead at his feet. She had no appreciation for the finer things in life that his demon-gifted powers could provide. She could make him so angry sometimes.Kelgore drew a knife from his belt, toyed with it for a moment while eyeing his mother’s head. She returned his glare, but said nothing. He took a moment to steady himself before looking at the younger of Tsonia’s allies and calling “Joras, come take this knife.”“What are you doing? Leave him alone!” snapped Tsonia, straining again at her bonds.“Yes, your loyal follower,” Kelgore observed. “Perhaps the only person you really care about. Your memory and his both tell me how much he means to you, and what destruction you might rain if not for his companionship.”“Kelgore, I swear to every god on either side of the veil,” Tsonia hissed at him through clenched teeth, “if you hurt him there is no hell with a pit deep enough to hide you from my wrath.” Her bonds groaned with the effort of containing her fury and the spear point dug deeper into her shoulders.“No, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong.” Kelgore waved away the absurd idea and stood from his throne, forcing Tsonia to struggle even harder to look at him. He turned to the young artist, knowing that if there was any leverage over Red Tsonia to be found, this man was the fulcrum.“Joras,” he said. "Kill Ambrose.“The young man in the horrid orange cloak turned on his lover, who stood motionless and indifferent. If there was fear in the older man’s soul, Kelgore could not yet see it in his eyes."No!” Tsonia screamed. "Joras! Stop! Joras, fight it! Fight him! Stop, Joras, please!“But there was no stopping a command once Kelgore had issued it with the full force of his will behind it. Indeed, Kelgore doubted even he could have stayed Joras’s hand now. The man moved with deliberate speed and with one strike, he stabbed Ambrose through the heart.The sea captain looked up with a gasp. Now Kelgore could see the shock and terror in his eyes. A tear rolled down Ambrose’s cheek as he took Joras’s face in his hands. If Ambrose spoke, he was too quiet for Kelgore to hear over Tsonia’s screams of protest. Ambrose pressed his forehead to Joras’s and caressed the scruff of his lover’s chin. Then he fell to his knees and died.Joras stood over Ambroses’s body for but a moment, the dagger held limp in his hand. Kelgore saw the familiar twitch as his puppet's will returned. Joras finally heard Tsonia screaming. He looked around trying to remember where he was. Then he looked down at the dagger in his bloody hand, and past it to the man lying in a spreading crimson pool at his feet.Joras dropped the blade and collapsed sobbing over Ambrose. Kelgore smiled at the agony in the man’s voice as he begged the still-warm corpse for forgiveness.The king knelt next to Tsonia to make it easier for his betrothed to hear his words. When she refused to meet his eye, he took her by the chin and turned her tear-streaked face towards his."You have my word, darling Tsonia,” he said. “I will never kill your friend. But if you continue to defy me, You will.”Tsonia clenched her eyes closed and jerked away from his touch.Kelgore would give his lesson a moment to sink in. He stood and turned to Tsonia’s beastly ex-lover. “You there,” he made a dismissive gesture towards Joras. “Take him away and lock him someplace secure.”The brute easily hefted Joras onto his shoulder and carried him out of the throne room, the howls of lamentation eventually fading in the distance. The king resumed his throne, beckoned a naked serving girl bearing a platter of fruit, and selected a morsel that looked tasty. He noted with a smile that his prisoners’ struggles had ceased.“Now then, Red Tsonia, or, may I call you Kaela?, my proposal,” he began. “You will bear me a host of children. With our demon-blessed powers combined, our offspring will grow to be the most powerful warriors this world has ever seen. They will be the officers who will lead an army of my loyal bastards against the so-called God-King of Xhastria.”Tsonia said nothing.“I’ll take your acceptance as granted. What do you think of that, mother?”“I think you waste decades on what should be a simple conquest," sneered Shala."There is no pleasing you, woman.” Kelgore’s brow furrowed and he wondered how long he could forestall his mother’s restoration ritual. If he could deny her pure blood tonight, she would have to begin the process all over from the beginning.He was contemplating excuses when there was a rush of movement in the far corner of the temple. Snake-face and Skull-face appeared from a darkened passageway that led deeper into the temple than Kelgore had cared to explore. Holy men were always so intractable in their routines. But no matter, he had need of them now.“There you are.” He stood to address the shamans as they hastily approached. “I have grand news. I am to be wed! My bride has arrived at last!” He gestured to Tsonia, bound at spear point on the floor. “Prepare a ceremony fit for your god.”The two elders stopped short. They turned and looked at each other, their expressions hidden behind those damned masks. Kelgore would have removed them, but a holy man in his raiment was so efficient at inspiring compliance from those Kelgore could not turn directly.“It, is good,” said Snake-face at last, using the pidgin Trade Tongue.“We have a, holy place below,” added Skull-face. "Very special. It is only best for our god’s wedding.“"That sounds perfect,” Kelgore agreed. “Find Bird-face and make the preparations. I wish to be married at once.”Snake-face hurried out of the temple, no doubt to fetch whatever sacred vestments he required and to arrange for the wedding feast. Skull-face turned back the way he had come to prepare their most sacred chapel until Kelgore called “Wait!”Skull-face turned around slowly.Kelgore picked up his mother’s head from his throne, strode purposely across the room and handed her to the shaman. “Find someplace secret and quiet to keep this,” Kelgore told him.“Kelgore?’ his mother barked. "What are you doing? Unhand me, you savage charlatan!”“Can’t have you spoiling my wedding night, mother. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”Kelgore bounced back onto his throne and selected another piece of fruit from the girl’s tray as the witch’s screams of invective faded into the darkness. He almost felt sorry for poor Skull-face having to endure her bile. But the savage couldn’t understand a word of it anyway, so it was alright.He looked down at Tsonia, still seething quietly on the floor in front of his throne. “Cheer up, my love!” he taunted her. “Today is the happiest day of your life!”Joras barely noticed where T'pek was carrying him. He didn’t really care either. The enormity of what he had done was threatening to swallow him like a gaping, black maelstrom.He had killed Ambrose.Somehow he had rammed a Vizingian dagger straight into his lover’s heart. And he did not remember doing it. But there was no mistaking the crimson pool surrounding the still body, the look of odd reverie on his bearded features.He had killed Ambrose.There had been long stretches of time when their paths had led them to wander or sail different parts of the world, but when they met, it always was a joyous occasion, much like returning to a safe harbor after a grueling storm. Ambrose was a fierce lover, a wise friend and sometimes even a devilish jester, one of the few people to rile up Tsonia without incurring her wrath. Ambrose was one of the few people to talk some sense into Tsonia when her mind was ablaze with tales of mad adventures, with visions of gold or glory too large even for her to take on, a welcome ally indeed.Now he was gone, struck down by Joras’ own hand.Hot tears spilled down his cheeks, blinding his vision. Suddenly, the world tilted around him and he crumpled to an uneven stone floor, sharp ridges and cracked tiles biting into his knees and ribs and elbows. Behind him, a heavy door banged shut. Joras did not care. If the gods were indeed just, he would die and be reunited with Ambrose.He raised his voice in lamentation for his friend, but only a choked sob escaped him.A horrid, wheezing cough answered him. Wherever he was, Joras was not alone. Mustering what little strength he had, the artist scrabbled into a sitting position, using his sleeve to dab at his swollen eyes and puffy nose. When his vision cleared, he found himself on the floor of a dilapidated room. The walls were at least twenty feet high and made from ancient stone. Parts of the ceiling had crumbled eons ago, leaving a gaping hole which someone had patched with a latticework of wooden beams and sharpened stakes jutting downwards. There was no furniture, just a stone plinth. A shaggy, disheveled bundle lay atop it. As he watched, a spindly, pale-skinned arm shot from the bundle, snatching one of the ever-present tiny rodents. The cough came again as the bundle struggled into a sitting position.Despite his own anguish, Joras gasped in horror. What he had taken for a bundle of skin and fur was a man like himself, emaciated and unkempt, with white-golden hair and a similar beard covering most of his chest. He wore a vest and kilt made from once white fur, now yellowed and ragged and large enough to fit a man twice the stranger’s size. An elaborate belt buckle made from gold and bronze, shaped like crossed axes, seemed utterly out of place in this dismal hell.A third time the stranger coughed, still clutching the squirming rodent. Ignoring Joras, the stranger raised the furry morsel to his mouth and bit into it until the rodent’s panicked squeals finally ended. He tore into the tiny animal, blood running down his beard until he discarded the shredded carcass. The stranger spat a clump of fur and coughed again.“Who, are you?” Joras asked, torn between pity and revulsion. The stranger seemed ill and close to death. The stench emanating from him was eye-watering.The stranger gulped and worked his mouth. Eventually, he spoke. It took Joras some time to recognize the strange vowels of Debon’s tongue. The stranger patted his chest, leaving ghastly fingerprints on his vest.“Aelric,” he muttered. “I am, Aelric.”To be continued in Part 5.By Blind_Justice & Loqui Sordida for Literotica.

A Bridge of AdversityA 5-part story By Blind_Justice & Loqui Sordida Ad Me. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.The sky was still dark when they dragged Unami from her hut. A plump midwife, purring quietly, carried her newborn, Kra'ar, away while the hunters herded her up the steep ascent to the ancient temple. Unami was too exhausted from giving birth, too tired to bite and claw, so she let them do as they pleased.Through the great hall they went, empty save for the fire pit in the center and the twisted columns trying to stem the weight of the temple’s crumbling roof, down into a chamber she had never seen before. A singular oil lamp provided scant illumination, barely enough to see the carvings adorning every inch of the walls. Gaping maws, unblinking eyes leveling accusing stares, and half-formed limbs danced along the frieze.She clutched her aching belly and lashed the hunters to either side of her with an imperious stare. “Kra'ar needs me,” she growled. “I must feed my son.”Stone doors on the opposite side of the room opened, the towering slates scratching along the floor with some reluctance. Three elders emerged, their grayed whiskers and blunt snouts hidden behind ornate golden masks, their heads bloated and deformed by feathered headdresses. Long, colorful robes had been wrought around their slumping shoulders and withered groins.“What do you want from me at this hour?” Unami barked, masking her fear with feigned rage. She bared her teeth, a challenge rising in her throat. Her growl echoed off the carved walls. Unami slapped the hunters’ claws away and stood alone, shaking like a defiant, storm-tossed reed.“Silence!” one of the elders barked. The mask he wore was the sharp-beaked Condor, keen eyes and mighty wings. “Do you not grasp the gravity of your situation, whelp?”“Who do you call a whelp, you decrepit fossil?” Unami snarled. “I have just delivered my firstborn! I have seen the jungle! I have-”“You have stolen our sacred treasure and given it to an outsider!” the second elder roared. His mask showed the Serpent, venomous fangs and crushing strength. “Once they realize what can be found here, they will come and demand more and more! First they will bring honeyed words and lies, then they will bring warriors and weapons!”“Ha!” Unami spat. “First they would have to cross the jungle. Don’t you teach that only the strong, only the hunters can brave the hostile wilderness? How many outsiders will perish on the journey? How many of them will be able to even lift a weapon if they even find us? How many will be able to stand against our fierce warriors?”“Insolent child,” the third elder hissed. He wore a skull, the guise of Death Inevitable. “Traditions and rules have a reason. Your reckless actions prove why not every member of the tribe can be a hunter. Strength has to be tempered by wisdom, fury tempered by mercy. Your brash disregard of the rules clearly shows you are nothing more than a foolish whelp still, unfit to walk among the adults!”“I have followed the rules. I came back to give the tribe another hunter. What else do you want from me?”“Kra'ar will be well-fed and taken care of,” Condor proclaimed. “But your penance has only just begun.”“Normally we would bind you in stones and drown you in the swamp, as befits a lowly thief,” Condor said.“But the volcano’s awakening has roused The Sleeper,” Serpent said. “Someone has to placate him. This is a task for a woman. You have been chosen as penance for your transgression.”“What? No. I will go into exile. I will return to Aelric! I want to see the frozen water come from the sky!” Unami howled.“I am afraid you won’t leave the temple, foolish, insolent child,” Death Inevitable whispered. “Giving birth to a hunter does not absolve your sins. It is your solemn duty to the tribe. But if you can placate The Sleeper, all will be forgiven.”“All will be forgiven,” the other two rumbled. Condor bowed his head and the hunters grasped her shivering arms.“Placate The Sleeper? I am no priestess!” Unami wailed. “What am I to do?”Death Inevitable crossed the chamber, reaching into the gaping maw of a hideous stone effigy. His paw depressed the sculpted tongue within and the floor opened before her like a ravenous maw.“Deliver her,” Serpent said, motioning for the pit. The air wafting from the orifice smelled wrong. Sweet and thick was the scent, causing her ravaged sex to weep in heat.The hunters first dragged, then shoved her forwards. Unami stumbled into the pit and fell. Like every member of the tribe she knew how to fall, even if her weakened body was slow and clumsy. Instead of breaking her legs, she curled up into a ball and dropped onto a slope of smooth stone. There were no holds, no purchase for her claws or scrabbling feet. Unami slid frantically into the lightless depths underneath the temple. Above her, the floor rumbled closed.The slope curled downward like the blasted serpent before delivering her into a lightless space that she judged huge by the sound of emptiness. The sweet stench was thicker here. Her teats ached and her sex seemed to overflow. Her breath threw shuddering echoes from the far walls.Blind like a newborn, Unami pawed on all fours, trying to earn a feel for this space. The floor was made from stone, large, regular tiles neatly fitted. The tip of her tail still touched the slope and there was no wall in easy reach. She took another step. Her paw landed on a bone. Unami gritted her teeth. She would not grant the elders the satisfaction of hearing her scream. She pulled the bone closer. It was long and stout. It would make a fine club.There was a soft noise ahead, a shy rustling.A grim smile stole onto Unami’s lips. If there were animals down here, they would probably be as blind as she was and easily hunted. At least she wouldn’t starve.“Come, come, little ratty,” Unami sang. “Mother has need of you.”The rustling came again, closer now. Using her sensitive ears, Unami aimed and swung the bone with murderous intent.There was swift movement, a powerful whiff of that sticky, sweet air. The cudgel hit the floor with crushing force and splintered into a thousand pieces like a hollowed twig.More rustling. Four, five sounds of movement at once. Unami bared her claws and teeth. How many rats were there?Something long and serpentine curled around her leg. It was soft and wet and moved with shocking speed, coiling around her calf and knee.Then came a jolt and she was unceremoniously dropped on her back. All Unami could do was to protect her head by twisting her spine and curling up as best she could. The impact cracked a few ribs and her elbows.Gasping in the thick, clingy vapors, she slapped at the soft, writhing tissue grasping her leg. Another tendril came, slick and wet and it curled around her other leg. With inexorable force, they pried her thighs apart. Shrieking, Unami clamped both hands over her gaping sex - to no avail. Another tendril came, binding her wrists and yanking her hands aside with contemptuous ease.She wasn’t sure if the fall had rocked her head or if she really heard it, but there was a low, growling noise. It grew louder and louder, mounting in front of her. She couldn’t see! She could only hear the noise, writhe as the tendrils slithered over her. No, not over, but into her! One, then two invaded her, probing at her ravaged insides.The gurgling stopped on a strange note. For one breathless moment Unami thought to hear a wordless question. The disgusting tendrils withdrew from her insides, leaving her spread open and shivering in the chamber’s rank air.Then the noise returned, loud and angry and so very close.A mighty weight settled onto her helpless body, covering her feet, legs, belly, chest and finally her snout. She sank her teeth into soft, warm tissue, tearing long, weeping gashes into malleable flesh. The noise changed as hitherto closed orifices gaped, adding a horrific wheezing to the cacophony.Unami added her own incoherent screams as acid poured from numerous maws, burning her limbs, dissolving her helpless body until nothing remained but a sweet-smelling puddle of goo.The Sleeper lapped at it, a satisfied purr echoing off the walls.Shala’s patience grew thin. What hope of finding Kelgore had she if these fools that carried her fell victim to some easily avoided calamity and left her stranded in this gods-forsaken wilderness?She had tumbled from the whore’s back as the claws of a dead man seized the crude pack full of carrion and tore it away. She could not see how her captors fared against the undead horde until the fop had knocked her aside to hastily gather the scattered meat and supplies.The buffoon’s man and the traitor both fell to the horde of corpses that had dragged themselves from the haunted swamp. Shala feared for a moment that all of her captors might perish and leave her stranded in the mud. But the whore fought bravely and well. With axe and sword she hacked a path through the grasping hands of the hungry dead. The fop followed in her wake and the buffoon held a lackluster rearguard.Almost as an afterthought, he reached down and plucked her out of the muck by her hair. The leather strap that secured her gag shifted, but only slightly.It would have been so easy to turn back the horde with just the right words of power and a bit of fire and flesh. But it would require hands that Shala did not yet have.She watched as the buffoon’s sword lodged in the ribs of a flanking corpse and the thing reached for him with rotting hands. She tried to scream in furious protest as the impudent fool swung her like a flail, slamming her skull against the head of the accursed ghoul. Through some intervention of the fate spinners, the impact knocked her gag askew.Working her tongue and jaw, Shala was finally able to spit out the shard of wood and let the leather strap fall away, just as the buffoon tucked her up under his arm.Shala nearly cried out at the insolence, but then she caught a tantalizing whiff of blood. There was a gash on the buffoon’s arm. The blood coagulated against her cheek, but her tongue could not reach. She was jostled in his grip as the buffoon ran limping after his companions, stumbling and fumbling blindly through the jungle boscage. Bit by bit she shifted until she could press her thin lips right to the wound, and taste the ferric tang on her tongue.“You can stop now,” Shala called out, once she had lapped her fill of the buffoon’s essence. “Do you hear me? You’ve fled beyond the reach of the dead.”“And why should we believe you?” asked the whore, panting. Before Shala could answer, the whore added “Joras, find another gag.”“Because if you die then I am abandoned out here. Do you think this is how I wish to end my existence? Lying in the muck, helpless as the scavengers pick at my flesh until nothing is left? My only chance at life is if you reunite me with my son. While you may well choose to slay me once my usefulness is done, I’ll take a slim chance over no chance at all, and help you where I can.”The fop scoffed. “And what help can a disembodied witch offer?”“While you dithered at a crossroads, I felt the jungle life fade away before the great predator that stalked you. And you ignored my warnings,” Shala spat.“I alone recognized the rancid scent of death tinged with the ozone of magic and knew the undead were nearby. But again you ignored me and two of your number paid for your negligence with their lives. How many more will die because a reckless whore refuses to heed my counsel?”“Your point is made,” the whore growled. “There is no need for more insults.”“Oh, do my words hurt your poor little pride? Perhaps you’d feel better if you were gagged and hauled around like chattel.” The whore glowered at her, but did not retort. “I have eyes to see and senses attuned to powers from beyond the veil. Give me a mouth to speak and heed my counsel and your chances of living to find Kelgore will improve! You’ve lost two pairs of eyes already. Are you so foolish as to throw away a third?”“I don’t trust it or its counsel,” the whore said. Being referred to so coarsely would have raised the bile in Shala’s throat, if she had bile, or more than an inch of throat. She let the insult pass.“Neither do I,” agreed the buffoon. “But I have known many men I did not trust, and I have never known it to be a lie when a man says ‘I want to live’.”“Our resources are few enough,” the fop agreed. “I don’t think we’d be any worse off if she betrays us.”“Fine,” agreed the whore through gritted teeth. “But if you lead us into danger, I shall smash you with a rock before I die. Understood?”“Agreed." Shala swallowed her pride."Unless our new advisor knows of a safer camp, I think we should get some rest,” the whore decided. “Joras, skin our dinner. Ambrose, see if you can spark a fire. I’ll gather you some wood. Shala…” she paused as if it pained her to speak the words. “You’re on watch.”In the distance, from every direction, the drums continued.In the chamber above The Sleeper’s lair, Condor sighed. “One malnourished whelp won’t do, you know?”Death Inevitable touched his golden forehead. “The Sleeper is mightily displeased indeed. Unami was but a morsel for it.”“At least his hunger will be sated for the moment,” Serpent muttered. “We might find a bit of respite tonight.”Together, the elders returned to the great hall. The rumble of the drums was loud and clear, reverberating from the walls.Condor cocked his head. “A hunting party returns. They have brought an outsider.”“Fortunate tidings indeed,” Serpent said, a smile in his voice. “The Sleeper might feast again shortly.”“Let us see what the hunters have brought then,” Death Inevitable purred. “Hopefully this new sacrifice will send The Sleeper back to sleep. I dread the day when the temple and the offerings can’t contain its might no longer. The Sleeper might devour reality itself.”“If it is an outsider woman, we should avail ourselves of her services before tossing her into the Pit,” Condor said. “To make sure The Sleeper will be properly serviced, of course.”Chuckling softly, the elders headed for the exit, eager to meet their next sacrifice.As dawn broke, they strode into the village. Hunters prepared for another expedition into the jungle, sharpening their spears or wrapping rations. Passing females, their young scurrying between their feet, offered bows of respect. The midwife clutched Unami’s newborn to her bosom, allowing the pale blond whelp to suck at her teat.“Let’s hope the outsider was strong,” Death Inevitable muttered. “His offspring looks disgusting, so pale.”“We will see in a few years’ time,” Serpent said. “Ah, there they are.” He gestured towards a tangle of tribesmen, clustered around the hunting party. Adults and whelps alike muttered among themselves.“As if they’ve seen an outsider for the first time,” Death Inevitable murmured. “How different can they be?”The knot of tribesmen split, allowing the elders their first glance at the outsider. He stood unbound, surrounded by three hunters who gazed upon him in open admiration. The fourth, a female, had her tail raised high, the scent of her cunt announcing to all downwind how desperate in need of a thorough railing she was. The outsider was odd. Too scrawny to be a warrior, he nonetheless bore himself with the stance of a chieftain. What little fur he wore on his head was long, slick and the color of night. But most odd were his eyes, featureless black orbs of night. He raised his voice, speaking the strange words of the outsiders. None understood the strange syllables he used, but all felt the power radiating through his voice. It commanded their full attention. Transfixed, the elders, the tribesmen, the women and whelps watched, their gazes fixed on the strange man. Each one of them he bathed in his obsidian gaze and one by one they became his unquestioning servants. Not even the Sleeper could help them now.“Stop it!” Ambrose screamed into the night. “Stop the fucking drumming all day and all fucking night. Just fucking stop it!”The distant drum beat continued unabated by the outburst. The sonorous rhythm had followed them from the beach, through the jungle, surrounding them, moving with them like the stench of a beggar. They had tried more than once to follow the sound and find one of the natives, but always the drum they approached fell silent and a distant drum joined the chorus.“What do you want?!” Ambrose continued, stalking from one edge of their campfire light to the other, yelling into the darkness at the top of his voice. “Do you want us to go? Do you want us to follow? We don’t know what the drums mean! We use words! Do you hear me? Words! Show yourselves and tell us what you want! Kill us or capture us if you must, but for the love of all that is holy, stop the gods-damned drumming!”His injured foot throbbed. His whole body ached. Nicks and cuts and lacerations bedeviled his face and arms after being thrashed through the underbrush by that slavering beast. The midges and mites of the swamp had fed on him mercilessly and if it hadn’t been for Tsonia and Joras, the shambling dead would have finished him, just as they had poor Montu and Sethos. Ambrose was a man of the sea. The perils of this mad and alien landscape perturbed his senses and flustered his wits.“It’s not even good drumming, damn it!” Ambrose saw Tsonia and Joras scowling in the firelight at his agitated pacing. He didn’t know if his ranting had awakened them, or if they like he had laid awake, unable to sleep with the constant racket. “A poxy toddler banging on his mother’s pot with a spoon can come up with a more inventive rhythm! But not you lot, no! Your primitive fucking brains can’t come up with anything more original than just bum bum bum over and over and over again and again and again!”He grabbed up a heavy stick from their dwindling pile of firewood and banged it back and forth in a forked tree trunk, bang, bang, bang, in time to the distant drums’ cadence.“You hear that? Huh? How do you like it? How about if I keep it up all fucking night so you can’t sleep?”“Peace, Ambrose,” Joras implored, rising to soothe his friend’s discomfiture. “This raving does no good and it wastes the vitality you’ll want for tomorrow.”“I don’t care!” Ambrose screamed, and continued to beat the tree trunk. “I don’t fucking care anymore. I want them to stop or to show themselves or to attack us or something! Anything! Anything but this infernal drumming! It makes me wish I had drowned, Joras! I would rather die with the sound of the sea in my ears than live another hour beset by this ceaseless racket.”“I know it’s trying,”“Trying!? It’s maddening! This whole damn place is maddening!” Ambrose’s arm gave out at last and he let fall the stave from his hand even as he collapsed to his knees with a sob of exasperation. “Why won’t you stop!?” he cried again into the darkness. "Why won’t you show yourselves!?“"You are loud,” grunted a coarse voice in the simple words of the Trade Tongue used among sailors. Into the firelight stepped a tall native, his mottled green fur broken in places by ancient scars. His hands, though tipped with razor sharp claws, were empty, and held out in a gesture of parley.Tsonia, lithe as a panther, came to her feet with blade in hand, ready to smite the intruder. The towering, beast-headed native dodged and came to face Tsonia, still empty-handed. A leather bandolier bisected his broad chest. Spears and a pack rested on his back while a woven cord around his waist was hung with pouches, a sling and dagger and a simple loincloth.“We will fight,” he growled. “First, I will make the drums quiet for your loud friend.”The fire-haired warrior stayed her blade, curious to see what the newcomer would do next. “Slow,” she told him, speaking the same pidgin trade language. “I am watching.”The native bared his fangs, his ears perking up. Tsonia wasn’t sure if he was threatening her or if that was the stranger’s idea of a grin. Slowly, he reached for the pack he had slung over his back and placed it on the ground in front of him.“Watch,” the stranger said, kneeling. He opened a flap and pulled a small drum from his pack, which he struck in a certain rhythm, bam, bam, rap. He repeated the cadence, then again. And around them, the drums echoed the new beat, and fell silent. In the distance, the sonorous rumble continued, but in their immediate vicinity, there was nothing but the wind rustling in the trees and the occasional chirp of surprised nighttime birds.“What did you, say?” Joras asked, intrigued. Next to him, Ambrose sighed. The exhausted sailor settled down with his back against a tree, and despite his curiosity his head fell onto his chest almost immediately.The native offered Joras the same strange visage, open jaws and hanging tongue. “I found what I want. I need quiet to, see, watch, find,” he seemed to be searching for a word.“Hunt?" Joras asked, backing away from the beastman."Yes. Hunt.” the stranger agreed. “They are quiet. They will listen.”“Hunt, eh?” Tsonia sneered. “Will you, make us sick with, small spears?” She held up a finger and thumb spaced about two inches apart to show how small the darts were. Tsonia also struggled to find appropriate words in a vocabulary meant for trade and barter, but she lowered neither her guard nor the sword.The stranger sank onto his haunches, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering flames of the campfire. “No small spears. I am proud. I do not hunt with small spears.”“Your people are not proud two yesterdays,” Tsonia growled. The Trade Tongue didn’t concern itself with such lofty concepts as the past or the future. It was a language for discussing the here and now. “They hunt me with small spears by the good water. They make me sick.”“My tribe who hunt are not smart two yesterdays. Many outsiders come to our beaches and cannot leave again over many moons. My tribe thinks you are weak and not smart, like the other outsiders.”So they were not the first sailors to be marooned on these shores, Tsonia realized. Clearly the native had learned the Trade Tongue from somewhere, so castaways must be fairly common. It did not bode well for them that none had ever returned to tell the story of this place.The stranger hissed several times in quick succession. Maybe a laugh?“You kill two of my tribe. They know they made a mistake so they choose to hunt easy outsiders.” His eyes roamed over Tsonia and she could hear his satisfied purr. “I hunt you.”Tsonia raised an eyebrow. “Me?”“Two of my tribe are dead. I want, the death price.”Tsonia sighed. He wanted revenge for the two natives she had killed. The stranger before her was no savage. He obviously had intelligence and honor, perhaps even wisdom. But she didn’t have the vocabulary to explain such a complex situation, much less negotiate a peaceful solution.“Joras, you’re better with words than I,” she said in their native Thelyrian. “Tell him I killed two of his kind while driven half mad by their poison in my veins. Ask him why he thinks he can beat me now when I have my wits fully about me.”There was a struggle over words as Joras and the stranger exchanged the terms they knew and agreed to what they meant. Tsonia was beginning to regret involving her friend in the conversation. As her patience grew thin, he seemed to be enjoying the give and take and the accomplishment of finally conveying the whole idea.Again, the stranger laughed. “I watch you yesterday and two yesterdays, fire-hair. I watch you fight. I watch you walk far. You are tired, so I offer a bargain.”“Kaela…” Joras implored in Thelyrian, his voice laden with dread. “Don’t do anything foolish, please.”“I haven’t agreed to anything just yet.” Tsonia snorted in exasperation. “Are you blaming me for our misery too?”“I would never-” Joras began.“Let him talk then,” Tsonia snapped. “And don’t call me Kaela in front of everyone!”The stranger placed his clawed hand upon his chest. “I am called T'pek.” His voice, although struggling with the Trade Tongue, had a formal, almost ritualistic tone about it.Tsonia bowed her head. “I am called Red Tsonia. What do you offer?”“I ask you to fight, Red Tsonia. You owe me two hunters.”“You-kill-me is not equal to two hunters. They will not live if I die,” Tsonia said. It was another hard concept to convey, but she’d be damned if she was going to let Joras spend all night trying to negotiate poetically. “I see, a fight for pride, is a waste. A waste for me. A waste for you.”T'pek bared his fangs again. “We will fight. If I win, you will be, my tribe.” T'pek immediately waved away that idea as if it wasn’t exactly what he meant to say. “Just my tribe,” he amended, thumping his own chest.“Mate?” offered Joras. It was a Vizangian word that had made it into the Trade Tongue and was used to refer to any woman a man had sex with, be she joined by holy ritual, or just a concubine, slave, or whore.“Yes!” T'pek agreed. "Mate. You will be my mate. We will make strong children. My tribe will get more than two hunters.“A laugh escaped Tsonia’s lips. "You are too proud, T'pek. You are too proud of your fighting skill and your fucking skill. What will I get if you lose?”“I do not insult you, but you are slow and loud. You walk like blind and deaf children. You see bad signs but you still go forward. You risk weak people.” T'pek nodded towards battered, blissfully snoring Ambrose. “I offer that I will lead you and be smart for you, And I will also give you children.” He caressed his loincloth.Tsonia laughed again, a full-bellied sound of unbridled mirth. “You are smart. If you lose, you still fuck me. Is that right?”“A good hunter is strong and smart,” T'pek said with that uncanny grin.“Your tribe, Where do they take 'easy’ outsiders?” Tsonia asked. “What do they do with him?”“My tribe take your outsiders to our village. The leaders decide outsiders’ fate.” T'pek shook his head.“How many outsiders go to your leaders?” Joras interjected. “What do they say to your leaders?”“Some want to trade. Some are held to work. Some breed. Some fight.”“The unlucky ones are tossed into the swamp,” Tsonia added darkly in Thelyrian. Her brow creased in thought. “If I win, you will lead us to your village. You will teach us about your tribe and the village.”“Yes." Said T'pek."If I lose, I will be your mate, right?”An eager nod set T'pek’s mane aflutter.“Will I stay here,” Tsonia indicated their campsite with a sweep of her hand, “until I make children?”“No,” T'pek said with emphasis. “You will be my mate in the village. My people will take care of you. I will protect you and love you.”“If I lose, will they stay here?” she asked, indicating Joras and Ambrose.“I will take them to the village,”“For our fate to be decided by some chieftain or shaman or council we have no knowledge of?” Joras interrupted in Thelyrian. He sought Tsonia’s gaze. A flicker of dread was clearly visible. “I have a bad feeling about this.”The fire-haired warrior rose to her feet and planted her sword into the ground. “We have a deal, T'pek. How will we settle our fight? I will not be your mate if I am dead. You will not lead us if you are dead.”“No,” T'pek agreed, undoing his cord and placing the dagger, sling and pouches atop his pack. “We will stop when one of us is not proud and says 'stop’. Your people will know the agreement.”“'Yield’ is the word you want,” Tsonia said, watching the beastman strip away his kit. “We will stop when you yield or I yield.”“Yield." T'pek nodded his agreement and unknotted his loincloth, letting his manhood hang free."I believe he means to distract me by waving his lance in my face,” Tsonia joked to Joras in Thelyrian.“Yes, well, it’s distracting me quite nicely,” he agreed.“You show weakness there,” Tsonia pointed to T'pek’s naked crotch. His face scrunched into a look that Tsonia interpreted as indignation and realized he had taken her warning as an insult to his masculinity. “No, no, no,” she waved in correction and sought a better word. “Soft? Um, bad fight place?”Comprehension dawned on T'pek’s face and he snorted. “I will have no burden. Nothing to grab. Children of my tribe learn to fight with nothing.” His grappling gesture put Tsonia in mind of the formalized wrestling that was taught in the Green Cities. "Only fur. Belts hold tools. Packs hold food and water. They are bad for fighting.“So these people fought their duels of honor naked. It wasn’t a totally foreign concept. There were stories of great heroes from ages past who also dueled in the nude. It certainly ensured that neither party carried any hidden weapons.Tsonia pulled off her tattered chain hauberk with a resigned sigh. "Why have clothes at all then?” she asked, gesturing to the discarded loincloth lying on the ground in the firelight.T'pek’s gaze roamed over her rosy skin like a lover’s caress. He barked with mirth. “Soft,” he said, gesturing to his groin. “Weak. Sharp plants and rocks and bugs are bad. But Red Tsonia is good. It is strong for Red Tsonia.”“You are too proud, T'pek,” she smirked.Tsonia’s chain skirt hit the ground with the soft rattling of metal on packed earth. She tossed her armor at Joras’ feet and began to circle the camp site, taking the muscular native’s measure as he fell into step opposite her. He was taller than her, with wider shoulders and longer arms. Some earlier fight had left his chest and shoulder marked with ghastly scars, the otherwise lustrous fur refused to fully grow back there. Her lips curled into a playful grin as her gaze wandered lower, over his fur-covered abdomen and towards his groin. The fur was almost black there, long and shaggy and nowhere enough to cover a prodigious member which proudly curved towards his navel. His oddly bent legs didn’t seem to hinder his movement one bit and his sinuously weaving tail allowed him to easily keep balance.“If you want the death price for your tribe, you will fight me,” Tsonia remarked. “If you just look at me and I just look at you, we will not fight all night.” A smile flickered across her lips. “Or would you like to just look at me?” She caressed one of her breasts.The next moment, T'pek was on her, effortlessly closing the distance in one ferocious leap. His bulk tore Tsonia off her feet and together they crashed to the ground. Strong hands closed around her arm, one above and below the elbow each and when the world stopped spinning, Tsonia was face down in the dirt, with T'pek’s clawed foot between her shoulder blades and her arm bent at a very uncomfortable angle.She had clearly underestimated her opponent’s speed and reach, but he didn’t know any of her true strength either. Tsonia bucked, hard, unbalancing T'pek. For a heartbeat, his grip on her arm waned and she rolled, tearing her arm free, not caring if his claws tore open her back or the arm creaked in its socket. The sharp jabs of pain, if anything, only fuelled her battle-lust.In the time it took T'pek to regain his balance, Tsonia came to her feet. She was upon him, a blur of fists and kicks as she employed every trick she had gleaned from the fist-fighters in the Xhastrian coliseums. T'pek blocked some of her blows, took others with merely a grunt of annoyance and countered others. If he pulled any punches, Tsonia didn’t notice.One blow hit her clavicle, cracking it with the sickening sound of bone on bone. T'pek grunted, shaking out his rattled fist. Tsonia dove in, landing a solid hit to his gut which sent T'pek stumbling backwards.“Lift me up higher,” she heard Shala jeer. “I can’t see a damn thing!”“Shush you,” Joras muttered. “Don’t make this any more awkward.”Shala’s gleeful cackling gave T'pek pause. His eyes widened in horror as he beheld the disembodied head, held aloft by a disgusted Joras. Tsonia pressed her advantage, following up her attack with a furious shoulder charge.T'pek’s tail slapped across her breasts, leaving a stinging line of fire across them. Tsonia, not even fazed by the attack, barreled into him with enough force to spill both of them to the ground again. She pinned T'pek’s arms to the ground with her knees, her forearm firmly lodged under his maw, pressing hard against his throat.“Yield,” Tsonia hissed, putting her weight onto her arm. T'pek’s maw hung open, his tongue lolling to one side, his eyes rolling madly in their sockets. Suddenly, there was a soft sensation writhing between her thighs, tickling her sex. Tsonia’s hand flashed downwards, closing around T'pek’s nimble tail. Her tight grip elicited a hoarse yelp from the prone beastkin. Too late she realized how much of an advantage she had squandered. T'pek growled, fighting against her weight into a sitting position. Tsonia evaded a vicious head-butt by rolling backwards.Gasping, she came to her feet. T'pek followed suit, albeit a bit slower.“You, are strong,” he gasped. “You are tired, from two yesterdays, but you are strong. How?”“It will take more than a primeval forest and some rotting dead to wear me down,” Tsonia snarled in Thelyrian, then added for T'pek “You are not weak, T'pek, but not strong like me. Do you yield?”“No,” the beastkin growled something else in his own language, shaking his head in defiance. “I will make you yield!” He raised his fists.“Many people try to make me yield,” she spat. “All have failed.”“I will be the first,” T'pek roared, pouncing again.This time, Tsonia was ready. As he came flying, jaws open, hands ready to grasp and wrestle, she intercepted him. One hand caught his wrist, just behind his splayed claw, the other dug into the thick fur by his loins. Her demonic blood roared as Tsonia redirected his momentum, sending T'pek crashing to the ground back first. Breath exploded from the stunned beastkin in a hollow bark. Tsonia didn’t wait for him to recover, instead she mounted his hips, trapping his throbbing lance between them and pinning his arms to the ground with brute strength.“Yield,” Tsonia gasped. His lance underneath her was already drenched and she had to force herself from grinding herself against its searing heat.“No,” T'pek growled, trying to raise his arms. He could have tried to uproot a tree with his gaze alone, the effect was much the same.“Yield, you oaf,” Tsonia snarled. In Thelyrian she added “I could break your bones like rotted driftwood if I so desired.”“I am proud. I will not,” T'pek gasped as Tsonia ground herself against him, a languid, lust-driven roll of her full hips.“But you are worthless to me as a cripple,” Tsonia purred, then in the simple Trade Tongue she said “If I yield and you yield, we both get what we really want.” She reached backwards, guiding his shaft. Her sex swallowed his tip eagerly. T'pek’s breath caught in his throat as she claimed the full length of his spear.Tsonia’s voracious appetite, never easy to sate, had grown tremendously during their weeks at sea without any privacy and no suitable lovers. She had pondered asking Ambrose for a rowing slave or three, but even she knew how much trouble that could cause in the volatile confines of a warship. Not even pleasuring herself was an option, not with dozens of eager men devouring her every move. Not that she minded an audience, but again, the discipline aboard and the hope of finding and apprehending Kelgore had been more important than her own pleasure. Now, with T'pek writhing under her, she could finally indulge! She pushed herself away from him, only to reclaim his monstrous pole in a slow, breath-stealing descent.T'pek’s growl was the only warning she got. Too late Tsonia realized that she had relinquished her death grip on his wrists, to play with her tits and finger her clit as she rode his massive shaft.“No!” the beastman snarled. His claws slid under her ass and he pushed her away.“No?” Tsonia gasped, coming to her knees.“My tribe do not fuck this way,” T'pek growled, towering over her, his glistening shaft pointing at her.Tsonia glared at him. “What-?” she began, but T'pek was on her again, forcing her onto hands and knees. Before Tsonia could even protest his rough handling, his teeth clamped onto her shoulder, his clawed hands carved furrows into her hips as he roughly adjusted her position.Tsonia relaxed, anticipating what would happen next. T'pek did not disappoint. His bulbous tip forced her rosy curtains apart and in one fell swoop, he buried his sword to the hilt in her, his hot breath and spittle pouring down her shoulder. Tsonia wailed as he pounded into her, but it was no cry of pain, the demonic cock of Q'alan had more than seasoned her nethers. If anything, T'pek’s proud lance was a potent reminder of what she had been missing ever since the God-King had tasked her with finding and killing Kelgore.“Yes,” Tsonia growled, pushing back her hips on his next thrust. T'pek grunted with the effort of keeping her pinned beneath him, his spear slashing deep into her hungry tunnel. His claws found her breast, roughly kneading her supple flesh. Another wail tore from her lips, once more she pushed back against him. Blissful release tore through her already and every thrust only heightened her delirious ecstasy.“More!” Tsonia howled, answering each of T'pek’s thrusts with a roll of her hips. His furry sack slapped against her with blistering abandon each time he bottomed out. Hot blood trickled down her shoulder, his teeth sunk deep into her flesh.Tsonia tossed back her head, jubilating at the pain, the pleasure tearing through her body. T'pek’s tail slapped her ass, the squirming appendage caressing the valley between her cheeks like a second phallus. His paw mauled her breasts, but she only spurred him on with wordless moans and grunts. Another climax tore through her.Tsonia reared up, heedless of T'pek’s considerable bulk, heedless of his teeth sunk into her shoulder. She needed all of his delicious cock, buried deep within her hungry cunt!T'pek suddenly opened his jaws, his shockingly large tongue lapping at the bloody gashes his teeth had dug. He whined in surprise as the black blood oozing from the wounds seared his tongue.Tsonia rode him like a woman possessed, driving herself onto his shaft for all she was worth. Their bodies made lewd, slapping and squishing sounds as they collided.Suddenly, T'pek slammed his hands upon her hips and pinned her in place, his breath coming in unnaturally quick gasps. And then he erupted, spewing burst after burst of hot, sticky seed into Tsonia, filling her up to bursting and then more, leaking from their union in thick rivulets, dripping down into the ravaged earth.For a moment, there was nothing but the sounds of rasping breath and the occasional drip of thick liquid spattering on the ground.Then Shala raised her voice. “I hope you had your fun, whore. Can we go find my son now?”Ambrose groaned as the light of the relentless morning sun attacked his eyes. He sat up and blinked, trying to dislodge the grit caking his eyelids. The drums, although not entirely gone, had at least quieted down and were more akin to the volcano’s distant rumblings than the oppressive, maddening drone which had almost broken him. Joras slept behind him, the artist’s arm a soothing weight on his waist. Ambrose pushed some of Joras’ locks from his angelic face and breathed a kiss of thanks onto his prickly cheek.“Good morning.” The voice was Shala’s, a mirthless, venomous rasp. Her head rested on a tree stump nearby. “Please don’t start another round of fornication. I was forced to behold entirely too much of it last night.” She made a disgusted sound. “Just look at them. Animals, truly." Her tongue came out, a shriveled lump of flesh, and pointed to the side.Ambrose gently moved Joras’ arm and gazed in the indicated direction. On the other side of the stump, curled into a tangle of limbs, were Tsonia and a monstrous being, naked both and obviously spent. The newcomer had a bestial snout resting on her shoulder, a powerful paw cupped her ample breast. Tsonia had a satisfied grin on her features and the stranger’s cock wedged between her ass cheeks."Can you believe it? They had me keep watch the entire time.” Shala gnashed her teeth. “Twice I had to endure their vulgar rutting. After that, hours of boredom. If I had my hands back I would throttle that whore!”The stranger raised his head, alert eyes meeting Ambrose’s. “Explain why the head talks,” he growled. “And why you keep such a thing.” He looked down to Tsonia’s shoulder. Faint bite marks marred her otherwise fair skin. “She tastes like poison and death,” the stranger said, his fur bristling. “Why?”“I have questions of my own,” Ambrose said, his hand inching towards his cane. He doubted he would be a match for the stranger’s prowess, but he felt better with a weapon at the ready. “Who are you? What do you want from us?”“I am T'pek, the hunter,” the stranger said. “I came to challenge fire-hair. Tsonia.”“And then the whore allowed the beast to breed her. Twice at least,” Shala added.“How did I miss that?” Ambrose asked.Stories about Tsonia’s amorous exploits were as numerous and outlandish as those of her prowess on the field of battle. He chuckled softly, knowing at least one of them to be true. It involved him, Tsonia and Joras after all.That particular tale ended with the fire-haired vixen spurned and furious after she caught Ambrose and Joras, naked, sweaty and curled around each other after an afternoon of lovemaking in a nameless pirate inn. She had been so obsessed with sating her own desires, so fixated on bedding Ambrose that she did not, for one moment, consider that Joras’ classical beauty and his youthful body were much more to his liking than Tsonia’s carelessly presented curves.T'pek rose, his muscular frame easily towering above sitting Ambrose. With enviable grace, the beastkin crossed the small clearing they had chosen as their camp site and dug into a pile of gear. Carrying a small bundle in his paw, he returned to the stump and knelt down next to Ambrose.The captain forced himself to look anywhere but the stranger’s groin. He had to admit, T'pek’s form, though alien to his sensibilities, exuded power and virility he would find utterly irresistible under other circumstances. After all, curiosity was a prized trait in any explorer.T'pek offered the bundle. It was wound in thick, crimson leaves, with pale yellow and white ribs. The smell emanating from it was at the same time mouth-watering and stomach-churning.“Do I want to eat that?” Ambrose asked, a tad suspiciously.“Yes. Eat. You are hurt. It will help.” T'pek nudged the bundle into his hand.“He might be lying,” Shala spat in Xhastrian. “You and Joras are of no concern to him. All he cares for is-”The hunter turned on his heels, claws out. A dangerous, low growl escaped T'pek’s throat. The undead witch closed her mouth, spearing the beastkin with baleful glares instead.“What does it say?” asked T'pek, circling Shala’s perch as if looking for just the right angle to punt her into the treetops.“Treachery and insults that will get her smashed with a rock and then burned to ash if she isn’t careful,” Ambrose chastised Shala. To T'pek he said “She says bad words about you. Bad words about Tsonia.”“The bad words it says have no use. Why keep it?” T'pek asked again.“Uh, magic. Strong magic,” Ambrose said. He was well acquainted with the words of trade on his tongue, but they were usually spoken across a table over tankards of wine, or between two ships lashed together in the open sea, or between merchant caravans meeting at a crossroads. Hearing the words, simple and ineloquent as they were, spoken by the beastial newcomer gave him a disquieting sensation along the length of his spine. “She promised to bring us home with magic. If we find the man she wants,” he continued, fighting to keep a straight face. The bundle’s scent was becoming utterly vile the longer he held it.“Do you trust it?”Ambrose sighed. “We have no ship. We cannot build one. We can wait many many tomorrows and moons for a ship to come. Or we can gamble.” He wasn’t certain how to express the concept of 'Hope’ in the simple Trade Tongue so in his own words, to settle his own mind, he added. “I’ll take a little hope over no hope at all.”“We gamble,” he concluded to T'pek.Gathering all his courage, he bit into the bundle. Rancid juices poured into his mouth. Strange clumps of an alien texture were borne on that vile torrent, their taste unfathomable. Coughing, he dropped the morsel, trying to wipe sticky remains from his lips. They burned as if touched by Thelyrian devil’s peppers.“Are you trying to kill me?” he snarled, raising his cane. T'pek shook his head and left him, sputtering and close to retching.Joras stirred next to him, no doubt roused by his violent hacking. Tsonia woke up too, disheveled but alert. Her gaze swept the campsite. When she spotted no immediate danger, she fussed about the stains and dirt caking her naked skin. Eventually, she sighed and stood.“I will bring water,” she said, grabbing the water skins. “Good water is not far.”“I will lead you,” T'pek offered. “The jungle is hungry in the morning.”“Not as hungry as his appetite for her cunt,” Shala muttered to their backs, already halfway across the clearing. Aloud she said: “If you wanted succor for your injuries, sailor, you had but to ask. I can easily restore your lost vigor.”“The price will be higher than you’d wish to pay, Ambrose,” Joras warned, then turned to the witch’s severed head. “Besides, don’t you need hands to work your magic?”“Small minds ask stupid questions,” Shala sighed dramatically. “Not every spell requires elaborate gesticulation. Sometimes a sip of blood and a few well-chosen words are all that is needed to weave the powers of the ether into a useful tapestry.”“Do you trust her?” Joras asked, the second time Ambrose had heard the question this morning.Ambrose gnashed his teeth. Sleeping on the forest floor had done little to dull the numerous aches he harbored. His sprained ankle was a dull throb even when sitting, but he knew it would flare into a beacon of agony after another day of walking for miles on end. Every nick and cut he had suffered stung from his own sweat, every insects’ bite itched worse than the caress of a jellyfish’s tendril.“I’m at my wit’s end, Joras!” he sobbed. “On the sea, there is a time to wait for the wind to shift and fill your sails, and there is a time to break out the oars and row. The wind is not shifting, Joras. Unless you want to drag or carry me to whatever fate awaits us, I’m going to die here in this jungle, unless I row.”He limped to the tree stump and picked up Shala’s head with both hands. Holding her up to his face, he stared into her undead eyes. “Speak, witch. What do you need me to do?”“Kiss me, oh captain of the seas,” Shala purred. “It will be over in no time.” The witch started to mutter, knotty words not meant for mortal tongues.“You have to be joking!” Joras gasped. “Put your lips to that, thing?”“Either that or dying on a nameless jungle path,” Ambrose said, gritting his teeth. He puckered his lips and pulled the witch’s head close. Shala, having finished her incantation, gazed at him with pursed lips, her wicked eyes wide with anticipation.“There’s a good boy,” the witch cooed. “Be strong. It will be over very soon.”Her clammy, withered lips touched his. Then came her tongue, probing into his mouth. He tried to clench his teeth against the intrusion, but the glutinous texture of the organ so repulsed his sensibilities that his jaw opened in revulsion instead. He very nearly dropped her then, but forced himself to endure the horror.The witch’s tongue delved impossibly deep, caressing his teeth, tracing unknown sigils on the roof of his mouth, coddling his own tongue. Ambrose had eaten raw fish tasting better than the curling flesh, but there was no escape from the loathsome kiss. He was transfixed by her undead eyes as her tongue explored his mouth, fouling it with her rotten taste.At last the organ withdrew and Ambrose began to relax- until her teeth gouged a bloody furrow into his lower lip. He dropped the head, but Shala did not fall. His lip, clamped tightly in her teeth, distended from the weight of Shala’s head hanging off of it. With pain lancing through his jaw Ambrose swatted at the witch, but every blow that landed only tore his flesh.Joars finally intervened with a cry of protest. Seizing the witch’s head, he supported its weight, alleviating the pull on Ambrose’s lip. He twisted Shala’s ear until she finally released her grip sputtering one last breathless word, her maw stained crimson with blood.Ambrose held his mouth, close to losing his stomach for the second time this cursed morning. As Joras asked after his state, Ambrose’s heartbeat throbbed through the deep gash in his lip and he itched to cave in that undead skull with his cane. A tingling, burning sensation started in his lips, then spread.“What manner of curse have you-” Ambrose spat, bloody spittle flying from his lips. But then he noticed it, the pain was receding! The mutilated lip was knitting itself closed! Like hundreds of stinging fire ants, the sensation traveled down his body, leaving nothing but the absence of pain behind. Even the ever-present throbbing in his ankle abated!“No curse.” Shala grinned up at him from Joras’ grip, her cheeks flushed with an infusion of life. “I have told you again and again, until we find my boy, I will do my best to help.”Ambrose mulled the words over in his mouth, but as a man of honor, he had no choice, even if it galled him. Taking a deep breath, he bowed.“Thank you, Shala.”The witch’s grin was loathsome. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”Suddenly a long, drawn wail echoed through the jungle.“That’s Tsonia!” Ambrose exclaimed, reaching for a sword. “She’s in trouble!” As if to answer him, a second wail followed.“No,” Joras sighed, setting Shala back down. “That is not the sound of Tsonia in distress I’m afraid.”“The whore is in heat, like a mongrel bitch” Shala spat dismissively.“She is having all the fun, is she?” Ambrose asked, placing an arm around Joras’ shoulders.The artist scowled. “Sometimes it is very difficult, being her chronicler.” He gently laid his head upon the taller man’s shoulder. “It may be a while before we get that water.”Ambrose chuckled. “I’d rather half a keg of Debon’s Winter Mead right about now.”He shifted his weight to embrace Joras. Had it been only a few days since they’d been swept upon these dreadful shores? Ambrose had almost forgotten how it felt to stand without favoring his bad foot.Joras looked up at him, a sly cock to his eyebrow. “Oh, you do remember our first night then?” he asked. “I thought all that mead had muddled your memory.”“I remember enough,” Ambrose affirmed, and then he kissed Joras in a way he’d not soon forget. Maybe, he thought, they’d make it out of this hellish jungle alive after all, if Tsonia’s recklessness didn’t kill them all.With Ambrose’s body mended and T'pek leading them, they traveled at a much faster clip. The soggy, swampy soil gave way to firmer ground, with the occasional rock formation jutting up between the trees. By midday, the jungle seemed much less dense and oppressive, with pools of golden sunlight cutting through wider gaps in the leafy canopy.Shortly before dusk, with thick clouds pooling overhead, they reached a wide, gaping chasm. Deep below was the glitter of a rock-strewn river, its rush and roar echoing off the sheer cliffs to either side.Ambrose peered over the edge, shuddering. “What are those dark shapes clinging to the walls?” He pointed.“Death on wings,” T'pek said. “They hunt fish below.”“I hear a 'but’ somewhere,” Joras quipped, then turned to T'pek. “How do we cross? Climb?”T'pek shoo

The red-haired bitch of vexing humiliation?A 5-part story By Blind_Justice & Loqui Sordida Ad Me. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.The quarry she had stalked for weeks over choppy seas aboard Ambrose’s crowded ship, had through uncanny skill or dumb luck once again eluded her. Even if Kelgore had been seized for food or sport by the beastly natives, Tsonia still needed proof of his death to claim the God-King’s bounty. She would be damned if she was going to be robbed of her prize.Besides, Kelgore owed her an explanation as to how she came to be kneeling before him, spattered with his essence and no recollection at all. If he still lived, she would wrest an answer from him, and woe unto him if the answer displeased her.Anger coiling in her innards like a steel-clad serpent, Tsonia dressed. She refilled the water gourd and a pair of skins her fallen foes had carried. She took their spears and a few other odds and ends that she thought might prove useful and bundled them together in one of their nets. After a moment’s hesitation, she added the witch head to the bundle she had made. Kelgore clearly ascribed it some perverse value to have carried it with him through the storm. It might prove a useful bargaining chip.With a final look around for any hidden threats, Tsonia turned her back on the spring and followed the trickling rivulet back towards the beach. Joras and Ambrose would be waiting, thirsting in misery for the water she had promised them.The sky had darkened to a velvety black. Unknown constellations sparkled amidst the remnants of stormy clouds. Ambrose found it hard to measure the flow of time. How long had it been since Tsonia left to fetch some water? One hour? Several? Maybe some days? Between ever-mounting thirst and the pain ravaging his body, staying awake proved to be difficult. The monotonous rumble of the drums didn’t help.He only realized that sleep had claimed him when the femur, the feeble weapon Tsonia had left him with, dropped from numb fingers and hit his aching foot, jolting him awake again. Groaning, Ambrose fumbled for the bone before checking the limp body of his companion. Joras had succumbed to exhaustion, slumped into a heap on the splintered bench he and Ambrose were sitting on. At least the artist’s breathing seemed even and his brow wasn’t ablaze with fever.Ambrose fought desperately to keep his eyes open, listening with focused intent for other survivors skulking among the debris. But there was nothing save for the unending rhythm of the drums. Slowly, inexorably, his head sank to his chest, the weapon drooped lower and lower and before he knew it, slumber had once again claimed him.A gentle hand on his shoulder shocked Ambrose awake. Acting on pure instinct, he raised the femur, only to be stopped by a second hand around his wrist.“Is this the way to greet me when I bring food and water?” The voice was feminine and laced with dry wit. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the murky gloom under the broken hull and he saw Tsonia’s face, a pale mask with twinkling eyes. Ambrose heaved a great sigh of relief, his voice hoarse with thirst.Tsonia pulled something from the ground and pressed it into Ambrose’s hand. The water skin was filled to the stopper and Ambrose greedily opened it, yearning for the feel of cool moisture on his parched lips and throat.“Drink slowly,” Tsonia advised him, sliding onto the bench next to Joras. “If you’re hungry, there are some strips of dried meat in there.” She nudged a rustling something with her foot.“What took you so long?” Ambrose rasped. "Feels like you were gone forever.“ He took a long, deliberately slow swig from the waterskin and sighed as the cool water poured down his throat.Tsonia cradled Joras’s head into the crook of her elbow and carefully whetted his lips with a thin rivulet of water. Groaning, the artist came to, sipping the life-giving liquid."I found a spring and Kelgore both,” she said, setting down the water skin and helping Joras sit upright. Once she was certain he could steady himself, Tsonia handed the skin off to him and busied herself with her bundle.“My apologies to your tailor, Joras,” Tsonia quipped as she ripped strips off the bottom of his salt-stained traveling cloak and knotted them around a spar of wood. A moment later, there was the sound of flint on steel and painfully bright sparks as Tsonia fought to light a makeshift torch. With an angry hiss, the wick of tattered rags sputtered to life“Did you slay him?” Joras muttered, his voice slowly regaining strength. His gaze wandered along her toned body. “There are new wounds.”“Nothing to worry about,” Tsonia said, waving his concern away with a dismissive slash of her hand. “Before I could seize Kelgore, some natives appeared and attacked us. Either he used the commotion to abscond or the natives have snatched him.”“You’re not planning on following him, are you?” Joras asked, his tone suggesting he already knew that Tsonia was planning exactly that.“Unless we want this whole endeavor to be for naught, we will have to follow him,” Tsonia said. “I know we’re short on men and weapons, but each hour we wait allows Kelgore to slip ever further from our grasp.”“And what if we find him? How do you plan to get us back to Xhastria?” Joras asked. “Be reasonable, Tsonia. Kelgore might be gone or dead already. We should focus our efforts on finding a way home.”Ambrose bent low over Tsonia’s bundle, rooting for the food she had offered. Sharp teeth clamped around his hand, nearly taking off two of his fingers and tearing open his skin. Blood flowed freely. Cursing, he yanked his hand back, staring in horror at a grinning head amidst the gathered trappings. Sharp teeth were still snapping, framed by bloodied lips. But worst of all were the eyes, bloodshot orbs glaring straight into his soul. Ambrose recoiled and grabbed his club.“What in the Burning Hells did you bring back, Tsonia?” Ambrose snapped, raising the weapon for a devastating blow. “Is that a woman’s severed head?”“Your flame-haired whore has no understanding of the things she is meddling with,” the witch head sputtered. “She loosed the storm that I contained. She has marooned you here in this waste.”“Did you both hear that?” Tsonia asked, her gaze going from Ambrose to Joras. Ambrose nodded in uneasy confirmation. “I was drugged by a native’s dart and thought the speaking head was but a waking nightmare.”“Who is, or was, she?" Joras asked. "And why bring it here?”“I am Shala, mother to the great Kelgore! Traveler beyond the Veil! Willing consort to demons! I have received the seed and the blessing of horrors beyond your compre,”Tsonia snatched up the head and crammed a scrap of driftwood in its mouth, interrupting its blasphemous tirade. “And she calls me ‘whore’?” the flame-haired warrior growled.“I thought I killed the witch aboard Kelgore’s ship,” Tsonia explained over Shala’s muffled grunts. “When I met Kelgore at the spring, he had her head with him. It must be very important for him to protect it through the storm and whatever else he encountered along these savage shores.”“You could have warned me,” Ambrose said, cradling his mauled hand against his chest. “It nearly cost me two fingers.”“I didn’t realize it was still dangerous,” Tsonia said. “I’m sorry.”She offered Ambrose a scrap of fabric as a makeshift bandage. The captain took it and wound it around his hand, trembling with his hastened heartbeat and pumping fresh crimson into the fabric.“And what do we do now?” Joras asked, suspiciously eyeing the disassembled bundle at their feet. “I don’t fancy a trek through hostile jungles with just a few water skins and barely any food. No paper, no paints or brushes. Not that you’d let me paint you once your hair starts to fade. I suppose all of your henna is at the bottom of the ocean. Not even a simple whittling blade to carve,”“And we have no idea where Kelgore might be,” Ambrose added, interrupting Joras’s rambling.There was a ghastly sound, halfway between retching and coughing. Shala’s head had managed to work the gag from its mouth. Her hoarse, cajoling voice offered: “I know where Kelgore is. He is as much a part of me as eyes or tongue. My spawn lives yet, and so long as he draws breath, I shall sense his presence.”“Why should we trust the word of a dead demon-kisser?" Ambrose asked, voice filled with malice. "We should roast you over a fire and send you to whatever hell will have you.”“Because that buxom barbarian brute of yours won’t let you leave this island until you find Kelgore,” Shala gloated. “I wish to be reunited with my son. We share a common goal, For now.”“It galls me that she has a point,” Ambrose confessed.“It’s just bargaining for its life. There is no truth to its words,” Tsonia spat.“Can you get them home, whore?” Shala challenged. “Do you have any notion in which direction Xhastria even lies?”Even Ambrose, with years of experience at navigation, had been flummoxed by the storm. They had been chasing Kelgore westward when last he had his bearings, so Xhastria probably lay somewhere to the east. It would be a toss of the dice to venture out on the open sea with so little certainty though.“No?” the witch continued. “Help me restore my body and with a simple spell I can conjure you home. To your very doorstep if you wish.” A peal of mad laughter burst from her bloodstained lips as the torch light danced across her twisted visage. “You don’t want to perish here on this pox-ridden island, now do you? Neither do I!”“We can restore your body?” Ambrose asked, his brow furrowing at the capacity of magic.“Yes! And it’s easier than you,” Shala’s strained voice was choked off again as Tsonia wedged the driftwood gag back in her disembodied jaw and then bound it there with a length of leather strap.“Don’t encourage its mad blathering,” she scolded. “First we find Kelgore, then we will find a way off this island, If it even is an island. If we must bargain with a demon-kisser, we do so as a last resort when all other options are exhausted. Agreed?”“Yes, of course,” Joras acceded. “We should just bury the horrible thing. We can come dig it up if we need it.”“No, better to keep her close,” Ambrose countered. “If we do need help, we may need it very quickly.” Despite his misgivings, Ambrose was keenly aware that the odds were against them and their options might be exhausted much sooner than anticipated.The gall of the red-haired bitch was a vexing humiliation, but one that Shala was prepared to suffer. Once she was reunited with Kelgore, her son would show Red Tsonia the true meaning of humiliation. Shala was patient. She could wait. And in the meantime she would watch and plot.She had spent the night with the taste of salt-wood on her tongue watching the fop in the orange cloak splint the ankle of the buffoon and then fashion him a crude crutch while the bitch stood watch. The fop was too much in thrall to the bitch to be of any use. The buffoon, however, had potential. Shala could see in him a resistance to the bitch’s authority and a desire for control. It was only his injured leg that kept him subservient to her.The buffoon could be useful.When the sun rose, her captors ate the scant food taken from the beast skin, and emptied their water skins. The bitch removed Shala’s gag, carefully avoiding her teeth. She needn’t have bothered though. While Shala did need blood to reform her body, it had to be pure blood, not the corrupted filth coursing through Red Tsonia’s veins. If she could taste pure blood for seven days in a row, well then things would be different.The bitch hoisted Shala by the hair and held her up to gaze at the jungle that grew up and away from the beach.“You say you can sense your whelp,” she said plainly. “So tell me, should we head towards the volcano or towards the flatlands?”“Oh now you want my mad blathering?” Shala scowled. “I thought I was not to be trusted.”“Consider this a test of your good will,” the bitch dared to challenge her. “If you don’t want to help us find Kelgore, I’ll just gag you again and,”“Towards the volcano,” Shala interjected. She was kept alive by the grace of her demonic masters and didn’t suffer from many ailments of the flesh, but the driftwood was still uncomfortable between her teeth.“You don’t actually trust her, do you?” asked the fop.“It doesn’t matter,” the bitch replied. “We were going that way regardless. The spring lies towards the volcano. We can refill our water and pick up Kelgore’s trail there.” With that, the wooden bit was roughly crammed in her mouth once more and secured there.Tsonia was clearly cunning, but ultimately the bitch would be no match for Shala’s guile. Shala was patient. She could wait.When the first rays of the rising sun turned the ocean into molten gold, Tsonia, Ambrose and Joras emerged from their flimsy shelter. The incessant drumming had gone all night making it difficult to snatch a few hours of fitful sleep. The drumming continued unabated as they ate a paltry breakfast, the remaining scraps from the captured rations had them feeling better equipped for the task at hand.The pain of Ambrose’s wounds ameliorated somewhat with rest and with the help of Joras’s crude cane, he managed to keep pace with the others along the stony swath between the tree line and the surf. At a thin brook that cut a narrow path to the sea, the flame-haired warrior turned, eagerly heading into the jungle which awakened to riotous life around them.Birds and monkeys screeched in the branches overhead and larger bodies rustled in the shoulder-high underbrush. Occasionally, there was a low growl close by which put Ambrose’s hairs on end but Tsonia didn’t seem perturbed by the ominous sounds around them. And of course there were the drums, still rumbling sonorous, foreboding, in the distance. He was certain their cadence had changed.Tsonia's palm against his chest stopped his musing and stride both.“What is it?” Ambrose whispered. Tsonia tapped her nose and took a deep breath.Ambrose sniffed. It took him a few tries, but then he noticed the tell-tale aroma of roasted meat.“Someone ahead?” he hissed.Tsonia nodded, dropping into a crouch. She readied one of her scavenged spears.“Maybe survivors,” Ambrose offered. “We should greet them accordingly.”“You do that,” Tsonia said. “I’ll make sure we don’t stumble into an ambush. The natives carried flint and steel.” She unslung the crude pack from her shoulder and, quiet like a shadow, she slithered into the foliage. Ambrose tossed the pack over his shoulder. The head within grunted in annoyance. Grasping his driftwood cane with his free hand and, with Joras just behind, he pushed forward.He entered a large glade shadowed by overhanging branches. The early morning light glinted off the surface of a serene pool. A crude campfire had been erected next to a sturdy sea chest, the jungle wood causing more smoke than actual fire. Nevertheless, some skewers had been prepared, chunks of meat roasting over the flames. Two figures scrambled to their feet as Ambrose and Joras broke their cover. Long, curved blades glinted in the sunlight. One of the men, long-haired and sporting a thick, pointy beard, suddenly cried out in joy.“Captain!”Ambrose recognized the caller as Montu, one of his veterans. The other, a long-limbed, bald Xhastrian with ritualistic scars running down his arms, shot his companion a worried look and fell into a combat stance, his blade ready to strike.A shadow emerged behind the Xhastrian. Sunlight broke on flaming hair as Tsonia snaked an arm around his neck, a muscular leg slid between his and with an almost playful tug, the fierce warrior plucked the gleaming sword from his grasp, gently dragging the unbalanced man to the grassy ground. He was too surprised to offer much of a struggle, especially when Tsonia caressed his naked chest with the blade she had just wrested from his fingers.“Who’s your friend, Montu?” Ambrose asked.“Captain, that’s Sethos,” Montu said, sword down and hand open in a placating gesture. “Please, don’t hurt him. He was one of Kelgore’s, but without him, the bottomless sea would have claimed me twice over.”“Why didn’t we see you before?” Joras asked suspiciously over the din of the distant drums. The artist walked around the campfire, stopping at the large trunk. He raised the lid and peered inside. Within he saw weapons, tools, ropes, nails and other useful things. “That’s a Quartermaster’s Chest, isn’t it?”“That chest carried us both through the storm and then nearly broke our bones when we got tossed onto the shore a ways over there,” Montu gestured towards the distant beach, then grimaced, massaging his ribs. “We cracked it open to see if there was anything edible inside. When we heard the drums, we thought we might be able to trade with the natives, so we dragged it with us along the beach looking for water and found this spring. Someone had already been here though, killing two…” His gaze darted towards the edge of the glade. Something, hidden by the thick undergrowth, chewed on bones.“Two what?" Joras asked."Two green-furred, creatures,” Sethos added. “Heads like beasts, claws like daggers, long tails. Someone stabbed them good.” He offered a grim smile. "Your handiwork, eh?“ His eyes sought Tsonia."They left me no choice,” Tsonia grumbled. “I suspect they are the natives whose drum we hear. They wore crude clothing and carried tools so they have some savage culture.”“They seem quite proud of their music, at least,” Joras mused, casting an annoyed look towards the unceasing drum beat. Ambrose frowned at the quip. The drums were becoming tiresome, and he wouldn’t mind a chance to stab the drummers himself.“Sethos and I were just discussing what to do next, Captain,” Montu said, breaking Ambrose’s reverie. “We have water, game, some tools and plenty of wood. We could start building a ship to get home. But maybe we should look for other survivors first.”“I’ve seen no signs of other survivors on the beach,” Ambrose said. “I doubt there are many of us or Kelgore’s men left.” He gazed at the towering trees surrounding the glade. “With only the five of us and the tools in the chest, building anything seaworthy would take months. And I’m not much of a shipwright.”“But what other choice do we have?” Sethos asked. “Who knows if other ships even pass by this forlorn shore?”“Kelgore survived,” Tsonia snarled, fingertips touching her own cheek and lips as if she was wiping away some horrid stain. “I saw him myself here at this spring last night. I’m here to pick up his trail and I won’t return to Xhastria without his head as a prize. If the natives have taken him, we’ll need to deal with them as well.”There was a muffled chuckling only Ambrose heard. He jostled the pack to shut up the insolent head of the undying witch. Shala seemed to disagree with Tsonia’s assessment and uttered another guttural noise.“Provided they are willing to listen. Or hand over Kelgore,” Ambrose said. “Don’t forget, they tried to kill you.”“I’m not forcing anyone to come along,” Tsonia said, not unkindly. “But there is safety in numbers. Your chance of survival would be better by my side.”Ambrose had seen Tsonia fight, both during the recent boarding action gone awry and when they first met all these years ago in a nameless pirate haven tucked away on a rocky island off the Xhastrian coast.He had been there on business, selling overpriced food and diluted beer to the locals and taking on new crew. She had strode into the dockside tavern, wearing only her tattered chain mail and a devilish grin drawing the eye of every man. What caught Ambrose’s eye though was the rakish young man in her wake, frantically scribbling on a pad propped on his forearm, trying to capture her stride, her pose and probably her curvy backside.When stools went flying and heads started rolling, Ambrose met Joras under a table, unwilling to waste his drink in the maelstrom of bodies. The seed for a long-lasting friendship, and so much more!, was planted as they both watched Tsonia fell men by the dozen in pursuit of one crooked merchant who owed her money.Ambrose’s gaze sought Joras’s. If the artist stayed, they would be on even terms with the sailors and the chance of betrayal would be much lower. Maybe they could even rekindle some of the magic they had shared after Tsonia had bought rounds for the bar and left them to their own devices for a night. But Joras once again had eyes only for his muse. Ambrose sighed.Joras was too fixated on capturing every move Tsonia made. He would follow her blindly into the blackest pits of Hell. Someone had to make sure he wouldn’t find a miserable end in her company. And if she was willing to blindly dive into the jungle, brave a tribe of murderous savages all in the name of claiming a bounty on a demon-kisser, she would need all the help she could get.“Is this true, Captain?" Asked Montu tossing a glance at Sethos. "Are we still hunting Kelgore?”“Tyrant’s Blade is but a shattered wreck on the beach,” Ambrose replied. “I am your captain no more. You are free to do as you wish, but I invite you to accompany us as a fellow brother of the sea. Together, we can brave whatever this unknown land may throw at us.”Montu offered a wide grin. “Then you’ll be happy to know that Sethos and I have become brothers as well.” He raised his hand, showing a fresh cut in his palm. “I trust Sethos with my life, cap-, Ambrose.”The Xhastrian did the same. “No man or beast can tear us apart now,” Sethos said. “Where my brother Montu goes, I go.”“Even if it puts you at odds with your former master, Kelgore?" Joras asked.Sethos spat on the ground and turned, showing ghastly burn marks on his back. "This is how he treats his soldiers when in a foul mood,” the sailor growled. “I served him loyally from the beginning, but when his eye fell on a whore I was with, this is what I got for not wanting to share. He tore a poker from a fireplace and used it on my back. Kelgore can rot in the Pits for all I care!”“Why did you sail with him, even after what he did?” Joras asked, pity and dread in equal measure in his voice.“The only other choice was to be left behind in the fishing village we’d just despoiled,” Sethos answered with neither pride nor contrition in his voice.“Kelgore will answer for his crimes,” Tsonia vowed, rifling through the chest and picking up an axe. Grim determination flared in her steely gaze. “Let us take only as many weapons and gear as we can easily carry and be off. The sooner we find him, the sooner justice can be done!”The prints of Kelgore’s sturdy boots had vanished at the spring, replaced by signs of dragging, and the clawed footprints of the natives. Tsonia concluded that Kelgore had been drugged and carried off. Sethos wasn’t much of a woodsman but he recognized the broken leaves and the scuffed earth when the signs were pointed out to him.The small group, now armed with swords, daggers, axes and a spade, left the glade behind, following what appeared to be a hunting trail. Branches had been carved away, foliage had been cleared and the occasional snare had been set.“How kind of the natives to provide for us,” the red-haired woman called Tsonia chuckled, pulling a small, furry carcass from one such snare. “We won’t go hungry tonight.” She tucked the carcass into her makeshift pack and tightened the vines holding their meager possessions together.Tsonia led the party in single file, followed by the well-dressed northerner and the injured Ambrose in the middle. Sethos, bringing up the rear behind Montu, wasn’t quite sure what to make of his new companions. Montu’s former captain was preoccupied by something, probably his injury. The northerner called Joras seemed too milky to be a mercenary, and yet Montu and Ambrose both seemed to defer to him.They followed a meandering trail through the claustrophobic jungle. The dense foliage pressed in on them from all sides, and seemed to swallow their words. It was hard to hear Montu even just in front of him, let alone any of the others further up the line. Despite the hum of insects, the caterwauling cries of birds and monkeys, and the ceaseless drumming that seemed to surround them, Sethos found the jungle eerily quiet and still. He was a sailor, and used to the open expanse of the sea and the chatter of other sailors.“So that’s the infamous 'Red Tsonia’, is it?” Sethos asked, just to hear something other than the drums. “I heard she stalked the Beast of Bral for three months across the Wastes of Cairn and carried its hide back to Baron Septimus as a wedding dowry, then refused to marry him.”Montu laughed. “We played that game the first two days she was aboard. Someone would repeat some outlandish tale they’d heard of Tsonia’s exploits, she’d claim it was all true, and then her man Joras would set the record straight.”There was no response from further up the line so Sethos let the conversation end there. The confined bowels of the jungle unnerved him. He was certain Montu and Ambrose had to feel the same.Ahead, Tsonia called a stop. The trail they had followed intersected another and they could find no track or sign that made for an obvious choice.“Do we ask Shala?” Ambrose suggested, and Sethos’s ears perked up“What do you know of Shala?” he asked. “Does she still live, as well as Kelgore?”“Live’ is perhaps too generous a term,” Joras answered. “But by some sorcery, she’s not exactly dead yet, either.”Tsonia rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she sighed. “I suppose the old witch’s opinion is marginally better than a coin toss.” She set the pack on the ground and to Sethos’s horror, pulled out a severed head by its hair. He recognized her visage immediately as her malevolent gaze fell on each member of the party. Shala growled, her anger obvious despite the piece of driftwood between her teeth.“You have something useful to say, perhaps?” Tsonia removed the wood.“Insolent whore!" Shala spat. "How dare you cram-”Snarling, Tsonia rammed the wood back between the head’s teeth. “Oh, not enjoying the company?” she snapped. "Too bad. We only have this one pack and you’re sharing with our dinner.“ Shala replied with another growl and a hate-filled glare before Tsonia tied the vines again and tossed the pack over her shoulder."It’s dangerous to keep that thing,” Sethos warned. “If you can’t burn it to ash, you should smash it to a pulp.”“It may yet prove useful,” argued Ambrose. “We may need her magic to get home.”“They hurt you, didn’t they?” Joras asked softly. “Kelgore and his witch, I mean.”Sethos stood silent for a moment. The men who sailed the sea had a code, and he was loath to speak ill of any man he’d sailed with. And sailing with Kelgore had been hugely profitable for a time. But he had seen things that haunted him. Things he hoped no man would ever see again. Sethos glanced at Montu. His blood brother nodded.“Kelgore can seize the minds of others,” Sethos murmured at last. “It’s those black eyes of his. When you look into those eyes, he steals your will and your memories both. He turns you to his cause whether you wish to do his bidding or not. I have seen Kelgore compel strong men to slice the throats of their own children, or to throw themselves into the sea and just let themselves drown rather than try to swim.”“And after, you have no memory of what you have done,” Tsonia added quietly.“Yes!” agreed Sethos, looking up with a start. “You’ve seen it! You’ve seen this power he wields.”“I’ve seen it,” she agreed, wiping her hand across her mouth. “Which is why he must die, But first we must find him. Very well, if we can see no reason to choose one path over another, then I suggest,”Sethos couldn’t say where the violent eruption of fur and foliage came from. Before he was even aware of it, the whole party was knocked asunder in a chaotic frenzy of violence. As a massive beast tore through their midst, he saw flashes of teeth as long as his cutlass, claws like knives, fur striped brown and white like the sun-dappled jungle floor. And then just as quickly it was gone.“Ambrose! It got Ambrose!” Montu shouted as he clambered to his feet. In a flash of fiery hair, Tsonia was already plunging headlong into the thicket.Sethos sprang up, drew his sword, and followed his blood brother in pursuit with the man Joras close behind carrying the pack. If Sethos had found the winding trail claustrophobic, this wild boscage was worse. Leaves and branches assailed him as he tore heedlessly through the dense undergrowth. Somewhere ahead, Ambrose screamed for help.Montu hacked away a branch and Sethos did likewise, just in time to see the mail-clad mercenary let fly her axe on the run. The spinning blade vanished into the brush, but a monstrous squeal of pain told them it had found its mark.“It bleeds now!” Tsonia called, without breaking her stride, and only a few yards later, Sethos saw the splatter of crimson against the leaves and the crooked path it wove through the jungle.The beast fled like a coursed hare, skirting this way and that, but Tsonia doggedly held its trail and the three men followed in her verdant wake. Suddenly the ground dropped away and Sethos found himself skidding and sliding down the embankment of a deep ravine in a cloud of dry forest litter. As he scrambled to arrest his perilous descent, he finally caught sight of their quarry ahead.Its long, sinuous body was like that of a great weasel or otter, but the fangs that grew from its jaw reminded Sethos more of the great bloated tusk-seals he had seen in the frozen north. It held Ambrose in its maw, secure behind those fearsome teeth. The man struggled still, but before Sethos could guess at Ambrose’s fate, the beast had scrambled away around a bend in the ravine.“It’s trapped itself!” shouted Tsonia. "Hurry! Before it finds purchase to climb out again!“Sethos found it easier to follow the rocky gorge at speed. In the dim depths, the brush was not so dense, and he frequently spotted their prey trying in vain to escape back to the jungle coverage above. But the chasm narrowed. Sethos caught glimpses of Ambrose tucking himself tightly around the great saber-toothed snout to avoid being battered against the steeply sloping walls.Cornered by the contracting ravine, the great beast made one last desperate attempt to climb to its freedom, claws scrabbling against the loose dirt and mulch, Tsonia’s axe still lodged in its flank. Failing, it floundered back to the bottom and turned on its pursuers, hissing.Ambrose pounded the brute’s snout with his fists, but the creature shook him violently until Ambrose was forced to relent. He seemed to almost slump in the beast’s jaws, as if his very strength drained away."Stand your ground here and don’t let it flee,” Tsonia warned. Montu and Sethos flanked the warrior, swords at the ready, penning the great creature in. “It will have to drop Ambrose if it wants to fight.”“Here,” offered Sethos, "Take my blade.“With his blade in hand, Tsonia charged the beast, dropping low at the last moment to avoid a swipe of its giant paw. It was evident to Sethos that she sought to attack the monster’s flank and avoid any strike that might injure Ambrose, but the beast was too nimble, its long body turning and shifting and always keeping its snarling gaze on its foe.A distraction was called for."Montu, my brother, stand ready if it should flee,” Sethos instructed as he knelt down to pick up a pair of good-sized stones from those scattered at his feet. “Joras, help me draw its attention, To the left, ready?”“Yes, I see,” Joras confirmed, laying aside his pack and spade and picking up a pair of stones as well.The pair let fly with their stones, pelting the great beast’s shoulder and ample side. It turned, growling at them, and with no hesitation, Tsonia seized her opening. The curved blade drew a gash along the creature’s right side. It was no killing blow, but Tsonia clearly had a more immediate goal. As Sethos and Joras rearmed themselves, Tsonia snatched the embedded axe from the creature’s hide, ripping it out with a gout of flesh and blood.The mighty beast screamed in agony, dropping Ambrose, and wheeled on its tormentor with ivory blades. As Sethos and Joras let fly a second volley, Tsonia hacked at its tusk with the axe and drew a slash across the giant weasel’s flaring snout.The creature recoiled in pain, and decided it had had enough.Charging like a coiled spring the creature burst past Montu, who set his blade and raked the beast’s long flank as it passed. Sethos and Joras could only press themselves flat against the walls of the canyon to avoid being smashed by the careening hulk as it fled.“I am beginning to hate this place,” Ambrose quipped as Joras helped him to his feet. He was shaken, battered and scratched, but not seriously harmed. Sethos supposed the giant saber-toothed weasel had meant to carry Ambrose back to feed to its young.“The trails are far behind us now,” Tsonia observed, “and I don’t like our chances of finding our way back. I suggest that if we cannot track Kelgore, we make for high ground and get the lay of the land. Perhaps we can spot something useful.”This course of action sounded reasonable. Sethos and Montu nodded their agreement.“That sounds like quite a climb,” Joras objected. “Perhaps we should call it a day and let Ambrose rest. We only have a few hours of daylight left to find shelter.”Reluctantly their fire-haired leader agreed. “Let’s at least find a way out of this ravine then. I don’t want to get caught in a flood if there’s rain.”Ambrose had managed to spark a fire while the others scavenged in the gloaming twilight. The worst of his wounds had been swaddled in bright orange bandages torn from Joras’s cloak. The crude lean-to that Montu and Sethos had built had kept most of the brief rain off of him, but he was still damp and sweaty and miserable. His tunic dried by the fire as he fed damp punk wood into the flames.In the distance, the drums continued, and not for the first time, Ambrose wished they would stop. He considered unbinding the old witch’s head, just to have a voice to listen to other than the incessant beat of the drums. He was sure that sound would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his days.Before Ambrose’s misery could drive him to foolishness, Montu emerged, hacking through the foliage with his sword.“Well done keeping this fire alight through the rain,” Montu called. “The smell of smoke led us right back to you.”“We’ll not go hungry tonight, at least,” called Sethos from behind Montu. He held up a pair of large birds by their feet.“I’m glad you’re back before dark,” Ambrose replied without standing. “Come and dry those wet clothes by the fire. I’m worried about what rot and disease might find us without good, healthy sea air.”“The humidity is bothersome, isn’t it?” agreed Montu, removing his tunic and spreading it out to dry in the fire’s smokey heat. Sethos crawled into the lean-to in search of a knife to butcher their meat. “The drums are bothersome, too,” he added.“Did you spot a drummer, like you hoped?”“No,” Montu shook his head. “No sign of man nor beast-man. The drums fell silent as we approached. They’re watching us, I think.”“Of course they’re watching us,” Ambrose snapped. "But why? That’s the question.“"Perhaps they fear this,” Sethos said, emerging from the lean-to with the witch’s severed head in his hands.“Put that back!" Ambrose growled. Shala’s eyes locked on his and he felt for a moment as if his very soul shriveled under her gaze. He turned away. "I don’t want to look at her.”“Then we should cast it into your fire and be rid of it,” Sethos argued.“She claims her magic can bring us home,” Ambrose objected.“And you believe her?” Montu asked, snatching the grotesque thing from Sethos, holding it at eye level and staring defiantly into Shala’s scowl.“I don’t know,” Ambrose answered, his eyes fixed on the throbbing heart of the campfire. “I don’t want to, but I fear there may be no alternative, I don’t want to die here, But I’m sure there would be a terrible price for her help.”“Let’s ask her then!” Montu proposed with a laugh. “Tell us old woman, what would it cost us for your magic to take us all home?” He began to unfasten the gag that held Shala in silence.“No, stop!” Sethos objected and reached to grab the witch’s head back from his blood-brother.Ambrose flinched at the sudden flurry of recklessness. Montu, balancing the head in one hand, tried to jerk it away with a good-natured laugh. For a moment they fumbled Shala’s severed head between them, and Ambrose pushed himself back away from their roughhousing, his injured hand throbbing with the memory of his own carelessness. It looked for a moment as if Montu would yield to his wiser brother, but then Sethos suddenly yanked his hand back, leaving Montu with the prize.“Shit! The bitch bit my finger!” he cried, shaking the pain from his injured hand. “She drew blood.”“Traitor! Deserter! Mutineer!” spat Shala, as Montu dropped her to the ground to save his own hands. "Addle-brained Turncoat! Pox-ridden bastard son of a drooling whore!“Sethos found the gag and pressed the wooden bit back between her teeth."Does it ever say anything useful, or just hurl insults?” Montu asked as he helped tightened the gag back in place.Ambrose thought about it. The witch had been more forthcoming after Tsonia had first recovered her. He wondered if perhaps her mind was beginning to rot. Of course, if he’d been bound up the way she had, he wouldn’t be in a very helpful mood either. He was still considering how to answer Montu’s question when his former shipmate looked up with a start.“Hullo!” called a familiar voice from out of the brush. “Ambrose?”“It’s Tsonia and Joras,” Montu hissed. “Put it back,” he urged Sethos, forcing the gagged witch into his blood-brother’s hands “Quick! Quick, put it back!”“Here,” called Ambrose as Sethos scurried inside. "This way.“"I wish you wouldn’t make such a racket,” Ambrose heard Tsonia admonish Joras as she hacked their way into the campsite.“I’m pretty sure everyone already knows right where we are,” Joras countered, gesturing to the ever-present drumming that surrounded them day and night. “Did you have any luck?”“Two fine birds for dinner,” replied Montu, standing up and drawing the eyes of the newcomers. Ambrose recognized the ploy and scooted over to block their view of Sethos and the lean-to. "How about you?“"Not so much I’m afraid,” Joras replied. "A pair of breadfruits and an armload of dry hanging deadwood for the fire.“"That’s alright then,” said Sethos, crawling back out of the lean-to with what Ambrose considered forced nonchalance. “We’ll eat well, dry our clothes and be on our way in the morning.”The next morning, the party left their camp site, bleary-eyed, short-tempered and hardly rested. At least they had a bellyful of food, to grant them energy for another sweat-drenched hike through tangled vines under the wide-brimmed, leafy canopy.Sethos slid down a tree. “The volcano is that way,” he said, pointing. “There is no sign of a trail through all this damned tree cover.”“It was much easier walking than having to hack our way through the undergrowth,” Ambrose complained, massaging his ankle.“Can you still walk?” Montu snapped. “Or should we carry you?”“I think I have a few more miles in me,” Ambrose said, pulling himself up to his full height again. “Let us find some fresh water and a more defensible position before we settle down for the night.”“I’ve seen a clearing not far from here,” Sethos said. “With any luck we might find a spring or a stream there.”Tsonia again took the lead and they set out, soon swallowed by the deep viridian shadows of the jungle. The men were growing testy. The maddening noise of wildlife and the rolling of the natives’ drums was even beginning to wear on her nerves. The air was hot and humid, almost as tiring as the act of marching through the gloom. The stench of rotting vegetation was all-encompassing.The ground, Tsonia noticed, thus far stable enough save for hidden vines and air roots poised to trip them up, became more and more soggy. Rivulets of water glinted, highlighted by the few errant shafts of late afternoon sun which managed to pierce the emerald canopy overhead.And then the endless gloom brightened as the jungle thinned ahead of them. The clearing was nigh!Tsonia stopped abruptly, causing Joras to nearly bump into her. The artist swayed to the side, a shocked yell tearing from his lips. Ahead, wound around a thick, spiked pole, someone had left a skeleton, its skull painted a ghastly red and the arms spread along a crossbeam.“What is this?” Joras gasped.“Seems to be some kind of totem,” Ambrose guessed, mopping thick beads of sweat off his forehead. “Maybe the natives use it to mark their territory?”“I wish they’d use signposts, like civilized people,” Joras muttered. "Gave me a righteous scare.“Tsonia crouched, her blade at hand, her eyes scouring the ground sucking at her feet. "No tracks. No sign of a worn path.”“Why put up this ghastly marker then?” Joras wondered.Ambrose examined the body. “What do the natives look like?” he wondered.“Large, monstrous. Heads which look more like animals than human,” Tsonia said. “Why do you ask?”“Don’t you see? There’s nothing monstrous about the skull. They must have found a human and put him here.”Tsonia traced her fingers over the skull, noticing the cracks and pits in the bone. “That’s too old and weather-beaten to be a fresh kill.”“So we’re not the first humans to maroon on these shores,” Joras said. “Maybe there is a settlement somewhere? And ships to take us back home?” His eyes gleamed with renewed hope, echoed by Montu and Sethos. The sailors slapped their shoulders in silent jubilation.“We need directions,” Tsonia admitted. “First we learn more about the lay of the land. Then we find the natives and Kelgore.”The warrior pushed past the grisly totem, resuming their trek. She had taken only a dozen steps when a guttural noise came from the pack.“Quiet you,” Tsonia snapped. The unliving witch inside answered with another growl. Whatever she wanted was turned into gibberish by the wood secured between her teeth.“Maybe we should find out what’s irking her,” Ambrose suggested.“I’ll not suffer more of her insults,” Tsonia growled. “I’ve had more than enough of that already.” She slapped the pack. “You only speak when spoken to, you hear?”A spiteful grunt was her answer. Satisfied with it, Tsonia headed towards the vestiges of daylight breaking through the gaps between the towering trees. Ambrose and Joras were right behind her.“Ishtar’s tits,” Tsonia cursed, stopping just shy of the last trees. “That’s not the kind of water we need.”Ambrose joined her, blinking at the radiance assaulting his eyes. The clearing was vast, and covered almost entirely in swampy, brackish water. Misshapen trees grew from tiny islands like mutilated appendages of a submerged giant. Like diaphanous clouds with vile intent, large swarms of bloodthirsty insects lazily drifted over the stagnant pool, their droning buzz heralding naught but agony should they find soft, exposed flesh. The first breeze they’d felt in hours greeted them, but it carried a hellish stench, like rank, rotting eggs.“Sulphur,” Joras said, indicating the distant volcano visible above the tree line at last. “The volcano’s influence must reach all the way here.”The pack groaned. There was the hair-raising sound of teeth scoring salt-encrusted wood.Tsonia grabbed the pack and held it at eye level, her gaze lancing into one of Shala’s eyes, barely visible behind a clump of rodent fur. “I’ve had it with your noises, woman,” she hissed. “One more gasp, growl or moan and I’ll toss you into the depths of the swamp. Do you understand?”A noise, almost a word, made it past the gag. Tsonia tossed the pack over her shoulder again. “Good.”She cast a long, troubled gaze around the swamp and tried to judge the distance to the volcano’s rising foothills on the far side. The plume of smoke rising into the evening sky seemed almost sinister in the fading light of dusk.“Crossing this pit will be slow and messy. Who knows what kind of beasts are lurking under the surface.” She scowled at a swarm of insects drifting close. “And I don’t fancy being bitten by those bloodsuckers. Even if it takes us longer, we should walk along the edge.”The sun had long ago fallen below the horizon and still they trudged along the edge of the swamp, looking for a spot of dry land to set up camp. They came across another totem, this one built from human bones as well and still, their purpose eluded them. Exhausted, tired and riddled with insect bites, they struggled on.Montu cast uneasy glances to the side, noting the strange lights flickering under the surface of the swamp and the thick fog obscuring their already limited vision.He had been born and raised in the Green Cities, surrounded by endless deserts. The jungle, the swamp, all teeming with murderous life, was utterly alien to him. He didn’t know if swamps were supposed to glow like that. He glanced towards his blood brother Sethos, but the Xhastrian seemed as uneasy as he was, grasping the heft of his axe with white-knuckled intensity. The captain, no, Ambrose!, cursed and stumbled, the treacherous ground grasping his already weakened leg. Joras easily caught and steadied him.“If we don’t find a safe place soon, this swamp will be my grave,” Ambrose grumbled.A hollow groan answered him, loud enough to be heard over the ever-rumbling drums. And then another. And a third.Montu raised his sword and cast his gaze about. The sounds had come from the swamp, but try as he might, he didn’t spot anything awry.Tsonia, blade in hand, whirled on her heel. “This is not the time for idle jests!” she snapped.There was a strange, sucking noise, of something being dragged across the muddy ground. Montu caught movement at the edge of his vision. There, cast in sharp relief against the sickening glow of the swamp, he saw an arm rise and fall, hand curled into a claw. The arm ended in a body crawling along the ground. Sightless, milky eyes rolled in a devastated skull, the jaw frantically snapping.Another shape shambled close, this one’s rotted limbs swaying in an unsteady gait. And there were yet more, rising from the swamp, dozens of unliving nightmares coming to haunt the living.“Away from the water,” Tsonia ordered. "Before they cut off every escape!“"If it’s not too late already,” Sethos growled, swinging his axe. “They’re everywhere!” The heavy blade split a skull like rotted kindling. Still, a clawed hand grazed the Xhastrian’s shoulder as the body crumpled, tearing a gash into his dark skin. Montu swung his sword as well, beheading the crawler at his feet. Ambrose, Tsonia and even Joras swung sword and axe and spade, trying to stem the tide of shambling bodies slowly, inexorably encircling them.A hand closed around Montu’s ankle, sharp, filthy claws digging into his skin. He stumbled backwards, escaping the second hand slicing downwards by sheer dumb luck. The headless body at his feet still writhed, still sought to tear him apart. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Montu bent low and tore the clammy hand from his leg. Sethos’ axe came down, shattering the undead thing’s spine. At last, the body stopped moving.“Thank you, brother,” Montu said.Sethos gasped in protest. Hot blood fountained, spattering across Montu’s face and chest. Another corpse grasped Sethos from behind, claws like iron vises around the Xhastrian’s arms, teeth tearing at soft tissue. The Xhastrian moaned and staggered, trying to dislodge the monster frantically gnawing at his throat. The axe fell from his fingers.Montu used the heavy pommel of his sword, slamming it into the stinking head until the thing stopped tearing at Sethos’s neck. His blood brother was alive, just, his breath a sick, wet gurgling.“No, don’t die,” Montu whispered.Sethos raised his hand, a flick of a gesture to the rear.Before Montu could turn, a heavy weight fell on him from behind, toppling him onto the gasping Sethos. Razor-like claws tore into Montu’s back, sharp teeth sunk into his calves and shoulders. More and more bodies piled onto him, robbing him of the air to scream for help.Whimpering helplessly, his face caked in his brother’s blood, Montu died, torn asunder by the ravenous horde.T'pek shook his head. The fools had left the trails and ignored the totems. Every whelp of the tribe knew to give the red bones a wide berth. The elders had the grisly warnings placed for a reason after all. The swamp was forbidden, the final resting place of all convicted criminals, be they tribesmen or outsiders. Only, ever since they had tossed that witch into it years ago, the corpses would not stay dead. His keen eyes easily pierced the gloom and his nostrils caught the rancid stench of the swamp-borne dead as they poured from the waters.He had seen the dead walk twice, once as a dare when he still was a stupid, reckless whelp and now for a second time, while watching these curious outsiders blunder through the Hunting Grounds. While the other members of his hunting party couldn’t wait to boast of their catch in front of the females and elders, T'pek knew that patience would bring much greater gain.And unlike his younger kin, he knew a few words of the outsider tongue, gleaned from the flamboyantly clad traders who had come to the village once and never left or those lost souls that had been picked off the beach over the years.He would challenge this fire-headed female in her own tongue. She would accept, and then she would yield to him once beaten. His pack mates had been younger and quicker, but T'pek was a shrewd old hunter, invisible unless he wanted to be seen and gifted with years of experience.There was a distinct stirring from his loins. That fire-headed female was strong and fierce. Other hunters would scoff at her lack of caution the mighty jungle demanded, but T'pek had seen her grow and adapt already. Not even her lack of fur dampened his lust for her. She would give birth to powerful whelps and he would make sure she would do so often. To make his heated wish come true, T'pek needed to throw the ravenous dead off her trail first.From his perch in a holy kalupa tree, he spotted one of the thick-skinned swamp dwellers, docile plant-eaters renowned for their tender meat and fierce tempers once angered. Their fragrant blood made for good bait and he knew they would run away from any danger.T'pek pulled a sharp-edged sling stone from his pouch, a serrated, triangular flint perfect for piercing thick hide and cracking skulls. He nestled the projectile into his sling and, easily balancing on the thick branch he’d been sitting on, let fly. The jagged missile hit the swamp-dweller’s arse, carving a deep gash into its hide. Braying madly, the ponderous beast thundered forwards, blood mingling with water.T'pek bared his teeth in a feral grin. He could see the dead horde falter, the stragglers swerving to track the fresh bait. More and more stumbled back into the swamp, eager to latch on to the fresh source of blood like the wicked snapperfish infesting the White River which had torn apart his first mate.If she was as strong as he hoped, the fire-headed female would now be able to make a clean break from the dead.He settled back on his haunches and resumed his vigil. The hunt was far from over.To be continued in Part 3.By Blind_Justice & Loqui Sordida for Literotica.

Ezekiel 14:1-11 - “Insolent Idolatry”   Assistant Pastor Jeremy Fuller

“I think the best way of doing good to the poor is not making them easy in poverty but leading or driving them out of it.”—Benjamin Franklin The American Soul Podcasthttps://www.patreon.com/theamericansoulpodcast

Morning: Sixth Day Morning: The Gospel: https://banneroftruth.org/us/devotional/sixth-day-morning-the-gospel/ Spurgeon's Morning and Evening, June 23, Morning:  https://www.biblegateway.com/devotionals/morning-and-evening/2023/06/23 2 Kings 4:18-: https://read.lsbible.org/?q=2+Kings+4 2 Kings 5: https://read.lsbible.org/?q=2+Kings+5 Acts 15:1-35:  https://read.lsbible.org/?q=Acts+15 Psalm 141:  https://read.lsbible.org/?q=Psalm+141 Proverbs 17:23: https://read.lsbible.org/?q=Proverbs+17 Christian Love: https://banneroftruth.org/us/devotional/christian-love/ Evening: Evening Prayer: (222) Spurgeon's Morning and Evening, June 23, Evening:  https://www.biblegateway.com/devotionals/morning-and-evening/2023/06/23 Message: Unbelief Investigates A Miracle: Unbelief Is Insolent, John 9:31-34 Sixth Day Evening: The Mediator: https://banneroftruth.org/us/devotional/sixth-day-evening-the-mediator/ Resources: Valley of Vision: https://banneroftruth.org/us/store/devotional-books/the-valley-of-vision/ Spurgeon's Morning and Evening: https://www.amazon.com/Morning-Evening-Classic-Daily-Devotional/dp/1683227247/ref=pd_lpo_1?pd_rd_i=1683227247&psc=1 Legacy Standard Bible: https://316publishing.com/ 2023 Reading Plan: https://www.oneyearbibleonline.com/readingplan/oneyearreadingplan_month_per_page.pdf Vail Valley Baptist Church GiveSendGo Campaign Link: https://www.givesendgo.com/vvbc-az-school Transportation for Church Planters Jolly's: https://www.givesendgo.com/ChurchPlanters?utm_source=facebook&fbclid=IwAR32lqOI2cmYbyhIxl82KNz8rzShxv2pGsIDNSz3gGNPg-obWCJMLemk154

This week, A & K dive into the BookTok hockey smut sensation, Icebreaker, by Hannah Grace! TW: Discussions of disordered eating and narcissistic/borderline personality traits. If you would like some resources related to these topics, please reach out to us via email at ourkinkykindlespod@gmail.com. Take care of yourselves; we love y'all.

À tout juste 16 ans, il réussit à convaincre son école de lui accorder une année sabbatique pour se consacrer à 100 % à sa chaîne YouTube. Mais qui fait ça ? Et pourtant, 10 années plus tard, il a 1 million d'abonnés... et son insolence de l'époque lui a ouvert bien des portes. Mon invité du jour est Romain Lanéry. Dès la première année du lycée, Romain sait ce qu'il veut. Pendant que ses amis s'amusent à faire la fête, lui, il est à fond sur les nouveautés tech, notamment pour les tester. Un jour, il décide de poser un ultimatum à sa mère pour qu'elle le laisse explorer sa passion à plein temps et donc arrêter l'école, une décision qui lui vaut le SMIC... Son secret : l'insolence et le travail acharné. Tout seul, il construit tout un savoir-faire qu'il met plus tard à profit des marques à travers l'agence /influx, une agence digitale représentant un large panel de créateurs. Son terrain de jeu, c'est YouTube et Twitch, deux plateformes aux formats à la fois différents et complémentaires avec lesquelles il a construit une solide communauté qui lui fait confiance. Romain prépare du lourd, notamment sur ses lives Twitch prochainement qu'on a hâte de découvrir. À suivre sur ses réseaux. Dans cet épisode, Romain nous explique comment il a gagné à être insolent au tout début de sa carrière sur YouTube. Il nous partage comment un adolescent gagne en crédibilité, à quel moment il commence à percevoir le potentiel de son travail, son rapport avec les médias traditionnels. Il dévoile également la manière dont /influx collabore avec les marques, les choix des partenariats, leurs profils. On abordera la gestion de sa chaîne Twitch et YouTube, son organisation, l'implication de l'IA dans son quotidien et sa fierté à avoir piloté une formule 1, une histoire inédite et ultra passionnante. -------

Vous avez surement déjà entendu parler de Warren Buffett, mais connaissez-vous son associé Charlie Munger ? Ces deux hommes sont un exemple vivant qu'il est possible d'avoir un incroyable succès en business en partant de rien. Je vous partage dans ce podcast le secret absolu de Charlie Munger pour réussir et avoir un succès hors du commun !

NOUVEAU - Abonnez-vous à Minuit+ pour profiter de milliers d'histoires vraies sans publicité, d'épisodes en avant-première et en intégralité. Vous aurez accès sans publicité à des dizaines de programmes passionnants comme Espions - Histoires Vraies, Paranormal - Histoires Vraies ou encore Catastrophes - Histoires Vraies.

NOUVEAU - Abonnez-vous à Minuit+ pour profiter de milliers d'histoires vraies sans publicité, d'épisodes en avant-première et en intégralité. Vous aurez accès sans publicité à des dizaines de programmes passionnants comme Espions - Histoires Vraies, Paranormal - Histoires Vraies ou encore Catastrophes - Histoires Vraies.

NOUVEAU - Abonnez-vous à Minuit+ pour profiter de milliers d'histoires vraies sans publicité, d'épisodes en avant-première et en intégralité. Vous aurez accès sans publicité à des dizaines de programmes passionnants comme Espions - Histoires Vraies, Paranormal - Histoires Vraies ou encore Catastrophes - Histoires Vraies.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Antonine ?? Clara ?? Laquelle de ces deux figures constituait la véritable personnalité de l'être charmant qu'il avait rencontré ? Elle avait à la fois le sourire le plus franc et le plus mystérieux, le regard le plus candide et les yeux les plus voluptueux, l'aspect le plus ingénu et l'air le plus inquiétant. Arsène Lupin, dit Raoul, résout, bien sûr, le premier, une ténébreuse affaire de meurtre, et avec quelle maestria ! Amoureux, il risque sa vie. Ingénieux, il s'échappe alors qu'il est cerné par la police ou les truands. Insolent, il joue des tours aux deux. Le gentleman-cambrioleur est au mieux de sa forme pour notre plus grand bonheur."Arsène Lupin - Gentleman Cambrioleur" un podcast Studio Minuit.Retrouvez nos autres productions :- Crimes : Histoires vraies- Espions : Histoires vraies- Morts Insolites : Histoires vraies- Sports Insolites- Sherlock Holmes - Les enquêtes- 1 Mot 1 Jour : Le pouvoir des mots- Je comprends R : le dictionnaire du nouveau millénaireSoutenez ce podcast http://supporter.acast.com/arsene-lupin. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Idriss Aberkane touche à tout. Ce fils d'un couple de professeurs agrégés de mathématiques né le 23 mai 1986 à Pithiviers (Loiret) est aussi insolent à l'école qu'il est brillant. Après son Bac S en poche, il intègre Normale Sup. Mais le formatage, ce n'est pas trop pour lui. Il enchaîne alors les doctorats dont l'un pas reconnu officiellement même s'il se fait appeler l'hyper docteur. Il fait des passages à Polytechnique, à Stanford. Passages qu'il affiche fièrement. Son CV fait débat mais Idriss cherche la lumière. Lumière qu'il trouve en 2014 quand démarre sa médiatisation. Il est chroniqueur pour Le Point et le Huffington Post puis commence la télé. C'est au sommet de sa gloire qu'arrive une demande qui va changer sa vie: écrire un livre. C'est la maison d'édition de Robert Laffont qui lui propose. Idriss Aberkane accepte. Notes Pour retrouver toutes les notes de l'épisode => https://inspire-media.fr/idriss-aberkane-lhyperdocteur-insolent-ep-1/

durée : 00:18:28 - La nouvelle scène France Bleu Alsace - Il est de ces rappeurs qu'on n'a pas envie de ranger dans une case. Aux influences Trap, Boom-bap, Jazz, Nu Soul, House, Pop... Le Lou aime la Musique et quand il pose : on comprend pourquoi.

To exist against and NOT with. This does not suppress joy but exalts it, it is not despair but immense hope. Today we deliver you the finale of our three-part close reading of the work and life of Laure (also known as Colette Peignot)—masochist, poet, revolutionary, and the only female member of the secret society Acéphale—dying in Bataille's home at the age of thirty-five as the forgotten author of many of the best ideas he is known for. For our last time spent with Laure, we investigate her political writings to look at how her philosophical views directed her commitments in material ways and drove her to engage with leftist thinking in contrarian ways through a deeply Nietzschean lens. We also think about Laure in the context of the many themes of our show so far and as we move forward, including to take a second look at her erotic text in order to elaborate on its relevance to our contemporary thinking around both trauma and BDSM. According to her own wishes, we are here to invoke her favorite Blake quote and "drive (our) plow over the bones of the dead" in order to grow something new. Sources:"Laure: The Collected Writings" by Laure, with contributions by Georges Bataille and othersIf you like our show and would like to help out, sharing the show with your friends and rating us/leaving a comment! Get access to full bonus episodes, an exclusive RSS feed, and more by subscribing our Patreon! Our GDPR privacy policy was updated on August 8, 2022. Visit acast.com/privacy for more information.

Imagine a bullfight for you alone. Today we deliver you the middle of our three-part close reading of the work and life of Laure (also known as Colette Peignot)—masochist, poet, revolutionary, and the only female member of the secret society Acéphale—dying in Bataille's home at the age of thirty-five as the forgotten author of many of the best ideas he is known for. We explore Laure's relationship with chronic illness in relationship to both her broader work and disability theory, excavate the events of her tragically young death and its aftermath, and illuminate the contents of the work Bataille discovered when she was already past the point of communication: her writings on the Sacred. Take Laure's hand with us and let her haunt you.Sources:"Laure: The Collected Writings" by Laure, with contributions by Georges Bataille and othersIf you like our show and would like to help out, sharing the show with your friends and rating us/leaving a comment! Get access to full bonus episodes, an exclusive RSS feed, and more by subscribing our Patreon! Our GDPR privacy policy was updated on August 8, 2022. Visit acast.com/privacy for more information.

What does it mean to give yourself completely and honestly? Today we start our three-part close reading of the work and life of Laure (also known as Colette Peignot)—masochist, poet, revolutionary, and the only female member of the secret society Acéphale—dying in Bataille's home at the age of thirty-five as the forgotten author of many of the best ideas he is known for. We begin by exploring Laure's origins, including the horrific abuse she suffered by a Catholic priest as a little girl, and her drive to live a "true life" away from the suffocating phoniness and consecrated harm of the Family and the Church and into a life of transgression. Don't fear, the Insolent Saint of the Chasm tells us—"few know by turning away, you will find the salt of life."CW: child abuseSources:"Laure: The Collected Writings" by Laure, with contributions by Georges Bataille and othersIf you like our show and would like to help out, sharing the show with your friends and rating us/leaving a comment! Get access to full bonus episodes, an exclusive RSS feed, and more by subscribing our Patreon! Our GDPR privacy policy was updated on August 8, 2022. Visit acast.com/privacy for more information.

Explications et affrontements sur un débat d'actu. Entouré de toute sa bande, Vincent Moscato offre tous les jours des moments de franche rigolade en traitant l'actualité sportive sous l'angle de la dérision ! Cette année, le « Super Moscato Show », c'est 3 heures : de 15h à 18h ! Plus de sports, plus de débats, plus d'infos, et surtout encore plus de rires ! RMC est une radio généraliste, essentiellement axée sur l'actualité et sur l'interactivité avec les auditeurs, dans un format 100% parlé, inédit en France. La grille des programmes de RMC s'articule autour de rendez-vous phares comme Apolline Matin (6h-9h), les Grandes Gueules (9h-12h), Estelle Midi (12h-15h), Super Moscato Show (15h-18h), Rothen s'enflamme (18h-20h), l'After Foot (20h-minuit).

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Jacob suffers an insulting, merciless beatdown at the hands of someone he used to look up to. --- A Desperate Soul is the debut work by wannabe novelist Dave Smale. This unedited, unpublished biblical fantasy is read by the author. As previously mentioned, all revenue from this podcast and sales of the book (whenever it's finally published) will be donated to the following charities:(25% to each): - The Virginia Beach Potter's House (my local church) https://vbph.org/ - World Christian Fellowship Ministries (for missionary evangelism) http://www.worldcfm.com/ - Operation Underground Railroad (rescuing victims of sex trafficking all over the world) https://ourrescue.org/ - Voice of the Martyrs (supporting the persecuted church across the globe) https://www.persecution.com/ What did you think? Let us know: info@davesmale.com. Or, leave us a review on Spotify, Apple or wherever you download podcasts. Thank you so much for listening and God bless! --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/bythefirewithdave/support

Theme Music: “Autocrat”” by For Against https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEO-wZVxYEE Intro Links: Crazy Eddie Commercials https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6pkvd14YFTGjz6s7XnAllvi1FYqzqtf1 Cartoon Corral with Kalamity Kate (1970's Nebraska Television) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXwtmXF6cqc Ben Stiller: “Legends of Springsteen” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8NinSGaFDXM Orson Welles Frozen Peas Commercial Outtakes https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ol5RpDEzLzY John Leguizamo on Patrick Swayze https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_XAtv6wJ8Q Conversation Links: DIRTY DANCING (1987) “Watermelon Scene” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WRdy4CcRchU GHOST (1990) “Swayze Death Scene” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NpvlS6uBduQ WHITE NIGHTS (1985) Trailer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VHpKeRSLnF8 Vincent “The Chin” Gigante Wikipedia Page https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vincent_Gigante Leta Powell Drake Interviews https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u_Y_6morNh4 Martin Short as Jimmy Glick https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TwRg5PiovHQ Pure Flix Entertainment https://www.youtube.com/user/PureFlixEnt Bibleman: The Animated Adventures (2016 TV Series) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zM4g67_ukFU BECKHAM (2020) Trailer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ed4u4g0xP4s Greg Palast https://www.youtube.com/user/GregPalastOffice Bruce Springsteen Jeep Ad (2021) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gPOPLrUfyw

Hi! My name is Terry J. Aman and this installment marks my 72nd episode of "VideoFuzzy," reporting the progress I've made in cataloging more than 2,900 VHS transfers and digital recordings. In this installment, titled "Insolent Prelate," commentary on the first few episodes of "Castle" -- taken together with current events -- sparks a deeper dive into the 1964 epic film "Becket." In my Cross Connections, I highlight Betty White as a Golden Thread, and Cloris Leachman in Fond Reflections. In my Classic Collection (VHS-to-DVD), I talk about "Breaking Bad," "Battlestar Galactica," "Kings," "Cupid" and "Better Off Ted," with additional comments on "South Park," "The Simpsons" and the second season finale of "Damages." I also recently uncovered copies of my TV columns from the Minot Daily News, and noted that with this set, I'm cataloging the set of VHS transfers I was recording when I started my "TV is the New Reading" podcast. Fun! In my Current Collection (digital recordings), I talk about the 1/6 attacks on the U.S. Capitol and contrast that with the Inauguration ceremony a couple of weeks later, highlighting the music, the fashion and youth poet laureate Amanda Gorman, quoting from her work, "The Hill We Climb." Also, comments on "Community" and "Superstore," and streaming "Cougar Town" and "Mrs. America" on hulu. Finally, I encountered a not especially enlivening panel discussion on C-SPAN from last fall of Shakespeare's work and its influence on American history. Pass. TOP TEN: Here's a "top ten" episode guide for people looking for a quick read-in on this blog and podcast effort. Enjoy!

Ce soir, je vous propose ma dernière émission de 2020 sur le roman de Jeanne Pears The most insolent man aux Editions Addictives. Vitesse, adrénaline, secrets et sensualité au programme de cette romance à 230 km/heure sans trembler

Show everyone that someone poos...and they disappear! Who knew? Van Morrison & Eric Clapton can go lick doorknobs - and take your grandpa at Target with you. Just stop it, Bernie is not coming to save us. They're back... Dave has worms. Insolent worms. Support Stuart Bedasso Radio at www.patreon.com/bedasso.  

Le figuier ne sera pas abattu.Au Kenya, un figuier centenaire se dresse sur le tracé d'une autoroute, financée par la Chine dans la capitale Nairobi... L'arbre est à l'ouest de la ville, précisément là où se construit une autoroute, sur piliers, au-dessus de la route existante. Insolent figuier. Imprudent figuier...Évidemment, il a été question de le virer de là.Le service en charge des routes, The East African nation's roads agency, avait annoncé en octobre qu'elle prévoyait de le déraciner, et d'installer à la place un pilier pour soutenir l'autoroute...Mais le figuier, écrit l'agence de presse Reuters, est considéré comme sacré par les Kikuyu, le groupe ethnique le plus peuplé du Kenya... Et les écologistes ont fait campagne contre sa destruction.Le figuier ne sera finalement pas abattu, car le président du Kenya, Uhuru Kenyatta, est lui-même intervenu, via un décret visant à empêcher l'abattage.Le décret présidentiel décrit l'arbre comme « un phare du patrimoine culturel et écologique du Kenya »...La route sera déviée, le figuier peut rester planté là... Ca m'a donné envie de me lever, ce matinLUIS TATO - Getty Images Notre politique de confidentialité GDPR a été mise à jour le 8 août 2022. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Lorsqu’on propose à Jacques de parler d’autre chose que de pâtisserie, il s’exclame « oh oui, on a besoin de débrancher, sinon on meurt ». Dans cet épisode, il reviendra sur les sacrifices que sa carrière lui a demandés, sur sa relation fraîchement professionnelle avec sa fille Jade, en ajoutant « elle va au-delà d’une relation père-fille, c’est beaucoup plus simple et élégant entre nous ». Il abordera sa pudeur, une pudeur qu’il protège et qu’il nourrit, tant il accorde de l’importance à ce que l’on ignore tout de lui. Il parlera aussi de ce qui l’agace dans la vie, de l’importance de faire concorder actes et paroles, et de sa reconnaissance envers la vie, qui selon lui, l’a particulièrement gâté. Il nous fera partager ses larmes, son amour pour l’amour et pour la naïveté, son côté « tout feu tout flamme », et son goût du risque. Il reviendra sur son impulsivité, et sur l’importance de l’insolence. Il nous confiera aussi qu’il aurait aimé être une femme. Il dévoilera sa passion pour Camille Claudel, Stéphane Zweig, Milan Kundera et Marguerite Yourcenar, et sa hantise de ressembler aux autres : « quand tu vénères les autres au point de les copier, ta vie est vide, tu n’as rien construit ». Il essaiera de savoir s’il s’aime : « certains jours je me déteste et je m’engueule, d’autre je me trouve génial, ça dépend du moment ». Il nous donnera, enfin, son remède « anti-blues » …

« Ce qui est chouette, c’est remarquer la dynamique du vin nature. J’ai beaucoup d’admiration pour tous ceux qui s’y emploient. »Dans ce nouvel épisode d’On boit un coup ou…?, Vincent Sulfite rencontre François Ecot, vigneron en Bourgogne au domaine l’Insolent depuis 2000.Il n’est pas vigneron de père en fils, c’est son grand-père, amateur de vin, qui lui a montré comment partager un moment avec un vigneron.Avec Vincent Sulfite, ils ont dégusté la cuvée « Six Cépages » 2018 (Pinot Noir, Gamay, Pinot Beurot, Abouriou, César, Pinot d’Aunis), dont les cépages ont été plantés sur une même parcelle, sur les côteaux de Mailly-le-Château. See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

«  Ce qui est chouette, c’est remarquer la dynamique du vin nature. J’ai beaucoup d’admiration pour tous ceux qui s’y emploient. » Dans ce nouvel épisode d’On boit un coup ou…?, Vincent Sulfite rencontre François Ecot, vigneron en Bourgogne au domaine l’Insolent depuis 2000. Il n’est pas vigneron de père en fils, c’est son grand-père, amateur de vin, qui lui a montré comment partager un moment avec un vigneron. Avec Vincent Sulfite, ils ont dégusté la cuvée « Six Cépages » 2018 (Pinot Noir, Gamay, Pinot Beurot, Abouriou, César, Pinot d’Aunis), dont les cépages ont été plantés sur une même parcelle, sur les côteaux de Mailly-le-Château.

Êtes-vous gameur/gameuse ? Vous avez forcément déjà touché à un jeu vidéo, et nous, il fallait évidemment qu’on aborde ce vaste sujet ! (Ré)écoutez la #ContreSoirée du 11 juin 2020. Thème du jour : NOUVELLE GAME Oui, c’est un anglicisme utilisé au féminin en français : unE "game" désigne une partie. Le jeu vidéo devient une culture à part entière, avec ses communautés géantes, ses joueurs professionnels, ses studios de production, ses événements caritatifs. Invité du jour : PIERRE PEIXOTO Pierre connaît très bien le jeu vidéo : encore mieux, il travaille dedans ! Développeur à Ascentia, société propulsant les plus importants serveurs Minecraft en France, il a le profil idéal du passionné qui parvient à vulgariser un paquet de sujets relatifs à l’industrie du JV en 2020 : communautés de gameurs, e-sport, réalité virtuelle, etc. Analyse en règle d’une domaine qui rejoint toutes les tranches d’âge en 2020. Musique diffusée : . Insolent #3 - BIGFLO & OLI https://youtu.be/3dIORFHzA_Y . Come Along - PENTATONIX https://youtu.be/u8rT6ij0PSo L’équipe : Coraline Viallon à la réalisation et au cadrage, Myriam Langlois-Meurinne, Josué Brodu et Meddy Tony autour de la table ; ContreSoirée est produite, animée et réalisée par Grégoire Dubois sur Radio Présence.

If We Push Them Hard Enough by Ryan Harvey, The Hard Path, Comfort Zone, Outside Spending, Black Writers and Scholars, Insolent Peons, Sister Cities, Media Overreacts to Sanders, Bernie Bro Gaslighting, Erasing Tulsi, Metro Times Endorsement, When the System Has Fallen by Johnny Clegg and Savuka #BernieSanders Bernie-2020.com https://flipboard.com/@unrelatedthings/bernie-2020-ra491jtgy Twitch.tv/unrelatedthings

durée : 00:04:29 - Le Zoom de la rédaction - C’est sans doute le journal le plus prestigieux de la planète. Le "New York Times", 17 décennies au compteur, a publié la semaine dernière d’excellents résultats financiers. Ses abonnements explosent, du fait d’une révolution numérique entamée il y a une décennie, mais aussi sous l'effet de l’élection de Donald Trump.

Featuring Anthony Michael Lough Brothers and sisters and everyone in-between, Welcome back to Alocast With Anthony M. Lough! There are too many parents with cars lining the streets to drop off their kids at the bus stop even though their houses are just down the road. People who shush in a movie theater. Pausing and rewinding LIVE television. Watching Maleficent 2 and debating whether or not the Earth is hollow.  Anthony Michael Lough https://www.instagram.com/anthony.m.lough/ https://twitter.com/AnthonyMLough https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCBCqhGYkHdJEflkwmoddQEw?view_as=subscriber

the eighth episode in series two of the fringe faithful collective (examining the nine-track concept album "lunacy + the second naïveté"). download/stream the song "insolent" on soundcloud for free. and for the written article version, visit fringefaithful.wordpress.com.

Trevor returns with Jordan to talk CRISIS ON INFINITE EARTHS parts 1 2 and 3... somewhat? we really got nothing.

TITRE :  Présentation Raphaël vis en Estonie et voyage une grande partie de l’année. Originaire de champagne, il a commencé comme étudiant en médecine avant de se lancer dans la location meublé de tourisme et le business sur internet. les liens de l’invité  ⚠️ infos 

The first edition of Bump To Date is here!! On this episode we talk about the Hulk Hogan biopic starring Chris Hemsworth and directed by Todd Phillips, the trailers for The Irishman and The Lighthouse, New music from Belgium Shoegaze band NEWMOON, Japanese band Chai, New band out of Riverside, CA called Insolent and the top story is the announcement of Mahershala Ali as Blade in the MCU!!!!!!!! Follow BETAMAX: https://compiled.social/BETAMAXULTD NEWMOON: https://newmoonband.bandcamp.com Chai: https://chai-punk.bandcamp.com Insolent: https://www.instagram.com/oneinsolentdeathchain/ The Lighthouse: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hyag7lR8CPA The Irishman: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_2RjQwQGV0

« Elle » est psy.Mère. Fille. Femme. Polyfidèle. A l'aube de la soixantaine... et de la sérénité.Mais rien ne va plus entre ses patientes aux affects claudicants et sa vie privée qui vole en éclats jusqu'au vertige ! Entre un humour trempé au vitriol et une infinie tendresse pour les pauvres mortels que nous sommes, PSYcause(s)3 est une ultime plongée dans les méandres torturés de la psyché féminine ! « Irrésistible ! » LE MONDE.FR« Intelligent et classieux ». TELERAMA TT« Aussi barré que réaliste » CAUSETTE« Jubilatoire et élégant » CULTURE-TOPS« Un solo époustouflant » LINDIGO MAG« Le bouquet final d'un feu d'artifice » DE LA COUR AU JARDIN"Savoureux de hardiesse et de vélocité " SPECTATIF"Virtuose!" SNES"Hilarant, subtil et profond" LE CERCLE PSY"Saisissant de vérité " ACTUALITÉ JUIVE"Insolent, incisif et tendre " LA REVUE DU SPECTACLE Metteur en scène : Gil GalliotInterprète(s) : Josiane PinsonAssistante à la mise en scène : Marie-Céline Nivière(Voix off) : Judith Magre, Anie Balestra, Achille Orsoni, Bruno MagneDiffusion : Stéphanie Gamarra 06 11 09 90 50

Welcome to the Insolent School Disco Party mix tape where you will be going on a very fun journey through uplifting remixed Disco, R&B, Soul, Funk and Rare Groove from the 70's, 80's, 90's and 00's. This is a warm and charming mix ideal for parties and easy listening, great for anytime if you need a warm and charming vibe. Contains tracks from Joey Negro, Groove Armada, Greg Wilson, Todd Terje and Chaka Khan. Get under the disco ball and get funking! For all past shows click here ==> https://soundcloud.com/thefunkassassin/sets/the-word-is-love-soul-funk Thank you for listening. Instagram: www.instagram.com/the_funk_assassin/ Spotify: open.spotify.com/user/g2fac3ls3k8e1ucxe4fqe7g89 Facebook: www.facebook.com/TheFunkAssassin/

elibrayley.comDaniel - The Sovereignty of GodDaniel 8 (NASB)8 In the third year of the reign of Belshazzar the king a vision appeared to me, Daniel, subsequent to the one which appeared to me previously. 2 I looked in the vision, and while I was looking I was in the citadel of Susa, which is in the province of Elam; and I looked in the vision and I myself was beside the Ulai Canal. 3 Then I lifted my eyes and looked, and behold, a ram which had two horns was standing in front of the canal. Now the two horns were long, but one was longer than the other, with the longer one coming up last. 4 I saw the ram butting westward, northward, and southward, and no other beasts could stand before him nor was there anyone to rescue from his power, but he did as he pleased and magnified himself.5 While I was observing, behold, a male goat was coming from the west over the surface of the whole earth without touching the ground; and the goat had a conspicuous horn between his eyes. 6 He came up to the ram that had the two horns, which I had seen standing in front of the canal, and rushed at him in his mighty wrath. 7 I saw him come beside the ram, and he was enraged at him; and he struck the ram and shattered his two horns, and the ram had no strength to withstand him. So he hurled him to the ground and trampled on him, and there was none to rescue the ram from his power. 8 Then the male goat magnified himselfexceedingly. But as soon as he was mighty, the large horn was broken; and in its place there came up four conspicuous horns toward the four winds of heaven.9 Out of one of them came forth a rather small horn which grew exceedingly great toward the south, toward the east, and toward the Beautiful Land. 10 It grew up to the host of heaven and caused some of the host and some of the stars to fall to the earth, and it trampled them down. 11 It even magnified itself to be equal with the Commander of the host; and it removed the regular sacrifice from Him, and the place of His sanctuary was thrown down. 12 And on account of transgression the host will be given over to the horn along with the regular sacrifice; and it will fling truth to the ground and perform its will and prosper. 13 Then I heard a holy one speaking, and another holy one said to that particular one who was speaking, “How long will the vision about the regular sacrifice apply, while the transgression causes horror, so as to allow both the holy place and the host to be trampled?”14 He said to me, “For 2,300 evenings and mornings; then the holy place will be properly restored.”15 When I, Daniel, had seen the vision, I sought to understand it; and behold, standing before me was one who looked like a man. 16 And I heard the voice of a man between the banks of Ulai, and he called out and said, “Gabriel, give this manan understanding of the vision.” 17 So he came near to where I was standing, and when he came I was frightened and fell on my face; but he said to me, “Son of man, understand that the vision pertains to the time of the end.”18 Now while he was talking with me, I sank into a deep sleep with my face to the ground; but he touched me and made me stand upright. 19 He said, “Behold, I am going to let you know what will occur at the final period of the indignation, for itpertains to the appointed time of the end.20 The ram which you saw with the two horns represents the kings of Media and Persia.21 The shaggy goat represents the kingdom of Greece, and the large horn that is between his eyes is the first king. 22 The broken horn and the four horns that arose in its place represent four kingdoms which will arise from his nation, although not with his power.23 “In the latter period of their rule,When the transgressors have run their course,A king will arise,Insolent and skilled in intrigue.24 “His power will be mighty, but not by his own power,And he will destroy to an extraordinary degreeAnd prosper and perform his will;He will destroy mighty men and the holy people.25 “And through his shrewdnessHe will cause deceit to succeed by his influence;And he will magnify himself in his heart,And he will destroy many while they are at ease.He will even oppose the Prince of princes,But he will be broken without human agency.26 “The vision of the evenings and morningsWhich has been told is true;But keep the vision secret,For it pertains to many days in the future.”27 Then I, Daniel, was exhausted and sick for days. Then I got up again and carried on the king's business; but I was astounded at the vision, and there was none to explain it.

durée : 00:31:22 - Mouv' 13 Actu - Inconnu il y a encore un an, RK est déjà disque d'or avec son premier album "Insolent" sorti le 21 septembre 2018. Ce tout jeune rappeur de Meaux (77) cumule plus de 60 millions de vues sur sa chaîne YouTube. Narjes a rencontré le phénomène chez lui, dans sa cité.

Week 2 of Attitude Adjustment, this week Ps Dean tackles insolence from Numbers 16.

Chris McGarvey

The boys would like to sing a little song for you. Actually, no they wouldn't, because that would be awful for your ears, but they would like to tell you about songs they've enjoyed so far this year. Paul and AJ's musical interests don't always overlap; Paul listens to sensitive singer-songwriter types, while AJ's that guy who actually reads Pitchfork. Still, they're able to unite over a few weirdos like Jack White, Father John Misty, and Leonard Cohen. AJ also tells you why you should listen to new records from Spiritualized, Dr. John, and The Men; while Paul gives you the low down on Fort Atlantic, Band of Skulls, and even Lana Del Rey.   Next: we're taking the Fourth of July weekend off, but enjoy your fireworks and your independence! Unless you're not American, in which case...well, try not to make too much fun of us.