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TyloHelo Thermometer Classic
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WherePeopleAreStaying - Post your hotel and flight information here
HotelSuggestions - Hotels in the conference's vicinity
RoomSharing - Who wants to share a room?
MovingAroundInStockholm - How to get from A to B
ProjectsDuringWorkshop - If you have any projects you intend to work on that might interest others or you need help with or input on , please post them here
Practical notes:
Visa cards are accepted everywhere in Stockholm and you can take out cash at any cash machine (called bankomat and indicated by a blue rectangular street sign). Actually you might not need cash at all, except eventually for paying your conference fee :)
version 9 saved on 12/05/08 12:18 by Erwan Lemonnier (R1)

subset: commoncrawl


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To find more about ResortQuest sustainable business practices, visit ResortQuestSteamboat.com/green/


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|Do NOT add to, remove nor edit information in this article / section!
This article or section contains lore taken from Warcraft novels or short stories.
The Short Story - Gelbin Mekkatorque: Cut Short was written by Cameron Dayton and was one of a series of short stories released by Blizzard in their Leaders of Azeroth short story series.
Gelbin Mekkatorque: Cut Short
"We've done a security sweep of the upper floors in sector 17, sir. The place seems fairly untouched since our, uh, departure. Granted, everything stinks of trogg...."
"Mmmm, yes—that delightful mixture of mold, mange, and sour monkey. Puts one off of his lunch, I know."
Cog Captain Herk Winklespring grimaced, going slightly pale at his commander's description. The scent was obviously taking its toll on morale.
"And your team is equipped with my latest-model High-Velocity Nostril Squeeges?"
"Yessir. The smell... well, you can taste it, sir. Regardless of how well-squeeged your nostrils are." Winklespring tilted his head back, displaying a large, handsome pair of gnome nostrils that were, indeed, well-squeeged. "I've had two members of my squad request transfer to Troll Patrol over in Anvilmar, and my medic wants to know if we offer stink leave."
High Tinker Gelbin Mekkatorque sighed, pushed his glasses back onto his forehead, and slid his forefinger and thumb down along the sides of his own prominent nose. These new glasses hurt, and adjusting them was first on a list of thousands of tasks he planned to tackle when this engagement was through. He hadn't slept the night before, and the flesh where his lenses had perched was feeling raw and tender. Retaking Gnomeregan was turning out to be much more than a simple military action.
Take this stench, for instance. One of the problems with a vast subterranean mechanical city—one of hundreds, actually—was ventilation. At full capacity, the network of fans, vents, and filters had required a team of fifteen technicians working shifts around the clock to keep Gnomeregan smelling fresh and clean. Years of un-squeeged trogg funk had congealed into layers of musky, impenetrable grime that was proving harder to remove than the invaders themselves.
"Don't worry, Captain. I've got the whiz kids down in the Alchemy Corps prototyping my Unpungent Reekaway Cannons this week. Should help to blast that nasty smell from our halls. Why don't you and your squad take the rest of the day off, go grab some pints down at the Thunderbrew?"
The other gnome smiled, saluted, and gave a quick nod.
Mekkatorque turned back to the blueprints laid out on the table behind him and pulled his glasses back in place, wincing. While some sections of Gnomeregan were still being viciously contested, others had fallen into his hands with surprising ease. Of course, assistance from the Alliance had been catalytic in that respect, but Gelbin wasn't so sure. The Hall of Gears had seemed almost... abandoned. It was unlike his old enemy to surrender territory so easily.
Gelbin was interrupted by somebody clearing his throat, and turned again. The cog captain was still standing there, wringing his hands. "I'm sorry, was there more, Captain?"
"Well, yes, High Tinker, sir. If you don't mind my asking..."
"Not at all. Speak up."
"Right, sir. It's just that some of the boys were wondering, and I was too, why we've been sent to reconnoiter that sector. I mean, it's nowhere near the front line and doesn't seem to hold any resources—or any real strategic value at all. Just looks like some crazy old geezer's library. Sir."
"An 'old geezer's library,' you say?"
Captain Winklespring smiled conspiratorially. "Ha, that was my impression anyway, sir—stacks of old books, crumpled papers, and something that looked like a coney burrow built out of pie tins—"
"Well, I suppose the Deeprun Tram scale mock-up does kind of look that way...."
"The... sir?"
"Those were my quarters, Captain."
"Your... your quarters, sir? Oh. Oh. My apologies, High Tinker. I didn't mean to—"
"Not quite what you'd expect for someone in my exalted station, eh?" Gelbin chuckled and leaned forward to pat the flustered captain on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Winklespring. I may have held a lofty seat in the Tinkers' Court, but all of my real working, thinking, and inventing was done in that crazy old geezer's library. Now, on your way out, would you let Sergeant Copperbolt know that I'm ready to survey the area? Thanks for your strong work, Captain."
Gelbin waited until his security team had turned and disappeared around the corner before he let the smile drop from his face. His shoulders slumped with a breathy exhalation that was both a sigh and a curse.
This was hard. Hard returning to his study. His nook. This was the place he'd pictured whenever he'd heard the word home, even after so many years away. Years living under the charity and forbearance of allies who, for all their noble sentiment, still looked upon him with pity.
The pity—ah, that was the hardest part. For a race of ambitious folk whose lives were validated by a masterful command of the scientific laws of the universe, to be pitied was unbearable. To be pitied was to be insulted. Gelbin chafed under the sympathy, and he knew that his people did too: as a leader, he had learned that it was wise to spare some thought for his own emotions since they often reflected what the rest of the gnomes felt, to some degree.
But the pity wasn't all, at least for the high tinker. Having to keep up the smile, the courageous cheer, and the gnomish wit in front of his people. Having had to project a constant and uninterrupted confidence in the tight quarters of old Tinker Town, when all he'd wanted to do was collapse to the ground and... and...
Gelbin took a shaky breath and staggered to the side, catching his shoulder against the metal wall with a dull thump. So many dead. So many! Steeling himself, he clenched his fists and exhaled. He closed his eyes and counted prime numbers until the feelings retreated, once again, to that distant corner of his mind. Safe, reliable prime numbers. You could always depend on them. Trust them. Gelbin knew that he'd have to go back and deal with those feelings someday, but there was no time for that now. No time at all. The gnomes needed their high tinker at his best for the retaking of their homeland, and showing silly things like shame and regret would only seem like weakness. A wayfaring people who teetered on the brink of extinction could not afford a leader who displayed weakness. At least, not again.
Shaking the thought from his head, Gelbin strode forward and began to assay the condition of his one-time home. Unlike his peers in the Alliance, the high tinker eschewed fancy living conditions in exchange for a practical abode. What use was a throne when you thought better on your feet? The well-worn network of hallways in sector 17 was a physical representation of Gelbin's creative process: library connected to drafting room connected to simple foundry connected to assembly chamber. Research, imagination, creation, engineering. This was where numbers had been rallied, partnered with iron, and sent marching forward. Literally.
These halls were where Gelbin had envisioned the first mechanostrider, which had allowed his diminutive people to match pace with the mighty human chargers. That creation had launched the young gnome's fame and set him on the path to leadership. The gyromatic micro-adjustor, the repair bot, the Deeprun Tram, even the prototype of the dwarven siege engine—all had begun as sketches and dreams in this study. All had been formed from the primordial ooze of Gelbin's imagination for the betterment of the gnomes.
"Which begs the question," he muttered, "can a hundred brilliant inventions make up for one terrible mistake?"
The darkness held his words, lined them with pain. Waiting for an answer that he already knew, the high tinker noticed something that made him smile. He was talking to himself. He hadn't done that since... well, since he had last lived in these tunnels. So maybe the returning neurosis was a good sign? Gelbin scratched at his neatly trimmed beard.
"If I'm finding hope in a psychotic relapse, things really are dire."
Moving through the assembly chamber, he ran a finger over a dusty bench and clicked his tongue. The years had not been kind. Even in the flickering light—its functioning illumination further testament to gnomish engineering—Gelbin could tell that his once-spotless study was going to need a serious and thorough squeeging.
He spied his trophy case against the far wall. It was something the high tinker had installed at the request of his apprentices, and only because he had needed someplace to put all these useless commendations. Like everything else, it was draped in a layer of dust. The centerpiece of the large display was his first working mechanostrider prototype, standing proud and lanky amidst various medals and ribbons. Gelbin smiled, noting that even the latest, most advanced high-speed models hot from Ironforge still echoed the avian gait and kettle-bellied form of his original opus. What's more, he had heard reports from his agents in Northrend that the enigmatic mechagnomes had adopted his invention for their own mysterious purposes. What could be more flattering than having a race of machines use your machine to get around?
And while the mechanostrider had been the first (and arguably the most popular) of his inventions, the steady stream of unique, powerful, and violently practical creations that had issued from these halls had strengthened his people and proved the gnomes to be a vital asset to the Alliance of dwarves, humans, and elves. This was where Gelbin Mekkatorque had gone from mere inventor to high tinker of the gnomes. This was where Gelbin Mekkatorque had reached his greatest insights, birthed his most brilliant inventions, and received his brightest accolades from a people who celebrated creativity and craft above all else.
And this was where Gelbin Mekkatorque had foolishly trusted counsel from one he had considered a friend. This was where Gelbin Mekkatorque had sent the order that had killed most of his people, cost the survivors their homeland, and cast them into begging and ignominy.
He slammed a fist into the wall, raising a cloud of dust, and the lights overhead flickered in a visual echo of his frustration. The high tinker shook, clenching and unclenching his fingers. Then... he decided that he should just walk it off. He wandered from the assembly chamber to the foundry and then to the drafting room. There he stopped. Gelbin suddenly realized, with some surprise, that he had just displayed his first sign of actual anger now, years after the betrayal. And it had felt good, this uncharacteristic act of rage.
Perhaps the dwarves were rubbing off on him. Or maybe being home again, finally out from under the eyes of pitying benefactors and worrying citizens, he felt as if the curtains were drawn and he didn't have to be high tinker. Here, finally, he could be Gelbin. And Gelbin could feel sad; Gelbin could feel betrayed; and Gelbin could feel furious and heartbroken about the damnable injustice of it all.
He growled and swung at the wall again, relishing the blunt pain in his knuckles and the satisfying clang that reverberated through the iron hallways around him. If nothing else, spending time with the dwarves had made his people stronger, more comfortable with their physical prowess than ever before in the gnomes' scholarly history. The dwarves had mastered the indelicate art of melee combat in a world made up of beings who were often more than double their stature, while the gnomes had generally focused on escaping and avoiding such conflict. But these years of hardship and survival amongst their burlier allies had, for better or for worse, given the gnomes a combatant edge. Gelbin saw more gnomes wielding swords, donning armor, and talking back to Tall Folk than ever before.
"Well," he mumbled, "the talking back hasn't helped our already shrinking numbers."
The ringing from his violent assault on the wall was still echoing through the room, and the high tinker caught himself mid-thought. That didn't sound right.
Gelbin cocked his head and took a step back. Sector 17 had been carved into the sturdy northwestern reaches of Dun Morogh—a portion of that snowy range consisting largely of granite and shale. The ironclad hallways in this wing of Gnomeregan shouldn't respond to percussive force with that sort of resonance. Was his memory faulty?
Gelbin rapped his knuckles against the wall again, eyes closed. Again, the ringing carried with an almost bell-like tone.
Without taking his eyes from the wall, Gelbin backed up to the center of the room. His old troll-made chair, a delightfully primitive construction of bone and raptorhide, still sat in its familiar spot. The chair was a souvenir from the first gnome-assisted Alliance foray into a Horde encampment during the Second War, and Gelbin had kept the fierce-looking thing to remind himself of two important points. First, that his enemies lived in a world shaped from monsters' flesh and bone. And second, that even tusked, mossy-skinned savages needed a cozy place to sit sometimes. Although the high tinker rarely sat still while caught up in his inventions, he had used the chair as a makeshift cot after countless late nights of brainstorming. Its low profile and wide expanse of padded leather, intended for the relatively substantial troll posterior, had made for a perfect gnome gnap. He collapsed back into his chair's welcome softness with a worried sigh.
Had there been some new construction in this area since the exodus? Gelbin's suspicions were heightened now. He scanned the drafting room, checking for any signs of sabotage: loose wiring, misplaced panels, or unknown footprints in the dust. This entire sector had been scrutinized by his most able crew, but Mekkatorque had learned not to trust blindly. Especially when Thermaplugg was involved.
Sicco Thermaplugg. The name still brought a cold tightness to his stomach, a tension that could not be reasoned away. Gelbin had finally conjured up a term for this odd sensation: it was a feeling he was severely, frighteningly unfamiliar with. It was confusion. In this one rare instance, High Tinker Gelbin Mekkatorque was still very, very confused.
How could it have happened?
A Gnomeregan gnome who acted against his kind was an impossibility, a fluke, an inconceivable aberration. Unlike the dwarves, the gnomes had no previous history of internecine violence. Theirs had been a past free of warlords and violent factions. Generally speaking, gnomes simply didn't fight gnomes. In a world of lions, tigers, furbolgs, and Tall Folk, his people had to rely on each other. It went without saying. That was why gnomes didn't need the primitive primogeniture that had caused so much bloodshed amongst other races of Azeroth, and had shifted away from monarchy centuries ago. Gnomes elected their leaders by common consent, based on the merits of their work. Merit that was entirely quantifiable in its benefits to the race. To act in a way harmful to one's kind, to lust after power in spite of the cost to one's people—that was something a dwarf would do, or an orc. It was undoubtedly human. But how could a gnome bring about the near extinction of the gnomes?
Sicco had claimed to have tested the radiation levels of the gas. He had claimed to have evidence of its terminal effects on the troggs, and he had shown Gelbin falsified numbers on its density and volumetric weight. The gas should have stayed in the quarantined thoroughfares and lower sections of Gnomeregan, poisoning the invaders as they emerged from the depths while the gnomes waited safely sealed away in the upper urban tunnels. At the time, this had seemed like the only way out of the unforeseen invasion, and it wouldn't require any help from the otherwise-occupied Alliance. The gnomes would take care of the gnomes. Thermaplugg had seemed so confident this stuff would do the trick.
But most of the troggs had just shambled through the gas, if anything, growing wilder as they became irradiated. And the gas had risen through Gnomeregan. It had sifted through Thermaplugg's vaunted Kleen Wind Domicilic Filters. And it had killed the gnomes who had sat waiting in their homes, choking on vile green clouds behind doors that the high tinker had promised would keep them safe. Gnomeregan had died that day. It had died because Gelbin Mekkatorque had trusted a friend to be a friend. Or at least to be a gnome.
Gelbin leaned back and closed his eyes. The tightness in his chest was almost painful, and for the millionth time he wondered if he should renounce his title and let somebody else be high tinker. Somebody less confused. Somebody who wouldn't make a fool mistake that would end up killing so many....
This time there was no holding back the despair, the thick wave of sorrow welling up from where it had been trapped for far too long. Gelbin took some quick breaths, counted prime numbers, gripped tightly onto the seat of his chair. But there was no stopping it this time. The grief swept past his defenses, burst through his chest in a ragged, throaty sob.
And alone in the dark stone silence of his abandoned study, High Tinker Gelbin Mekkatorque finally wept.
After the tears had dried, the trembling stilled, and the chill quiet returned to the room, Gelbin let out a shaky breath and straightened himself. He felt... empty... in a clean, hollowed-out sort of way. It wasn't a good feeling, exactly. But a much-needed one.
Time to get back to the surface, back to his people. He was already feeling selfish for taking so long with his own problems. Pushing down on the armrest, he started to rise.
And paused.
There was something cold under his hand. Gelbin opened his eyes and looked down. Folded neatly on the arm of his chair were his favorite spectacles, the simple mithril-rimmed lenses he had gotten as a gift when he had graduated from Gearshaft University. Strong, reliable, comforting. They had held a constant position on his face for decades since—a position that had only been interrupted by the trogg invasion and the gnomes' subsequent hasty departure. Gelbin had been making do with a new pair of glasses in the meantime, something he'd scrapped together in Ironforge in his spare time while running between Tinker Town and Bronzebeard's throne. It was a feat his poor nose had been lamenting ever since. Smiling, the high tinker reached down to retrieve his long-lost eyewear.
"Now I can get back to being mysel—"
The glasses came off of the chair with an odd tension, and Gelbin froze. A cold memory slid from the back of his thoughts: these had been a graduation gift. A present from his friend and fellow graduate Sicco Thermaplugg.
And Gelbin would never have left his glasses sitting on the chair.
Too late, he noticed a thin wire wrapped around the nosepiece. It trailed down the side of the chair and into a tiny hole in the tile below, an almost invisible thread of metal. Truesilver, incredibly light but stronger than steel. Gelbin felt a small tug on the other end of the wire, the mechanical twitch of a released spring, and looked up just in time to see a heavy door slam shut over the entryway. There was a similar metallic clang in the exit hallway behind him.
New construction in sector 17? Apparently, there had been. Somebody had left a trap for the high tinker, and Gelbin had walked right into it. Who else would sit in this chair? Who would touch the high tinker's spectacles? As hidden gears grumbled behind the hollow walls, Gelbin found himself wondering if Captain Winklespring had been paid off, or if his team really had missed this sabotage.
There was a crackling static sound, an electric speaker coming to life, followed by a voice that had haunted the high tinker's dreams for years.
"You know, dear Gelbin, I had wondered if this bait would be too obvious for you—almost didn't believe it when my alarm went off. It looks as if I can always rely on your charming naiveté to outweigh your intellect."
Gelbin leapt to his feet, wiping at his eyes. For a moment he had the childish worry that perhaps Sicco had seen him crying, but the high tinker quickly shrugged it aside. The empty feeling of a moment ago was now replaced with something colder. Fear. Shame. They echoed his confusion in painful harmony. Gritting his teeth, Gelbin reached down to the belt loop where he usually carried his trusty Wrenchcalibur. Nothing. In his rush to see his old study, he had come entirely unarmed.
This was another thing he never did, not even walking around Ironforge. Was he losing his mind? Confusion, forgetfulness, and now this. In a funny way, Thermaplugg was right. The high tinker had suspected a trap down here, had sensed that this area had been relinquished too easily. But... but how could Sicco willingly waste such an incredible amount of time and resources just to kill a single gnome, when the entire Alliance was at his door? Again, confusing.
"Focus, dammit!" Gelbin whispered to himself. He was going to die down here if he didn't pull it together. The high tinker had never felt so out of sorts, but he couldn't let his old friend know that if he wanted to live. Perhaps verbal sparring would keep Sicco's famously one-track mind occupied while Gelbin figured a way out of here. He cleared his throat.
"Obviously I gave you too much credit as a tactician, Sicco. It's no wonder my forces have been able to make so much headway against your entrenched army, a throng that outnumbers us three to one: you've been wasting your time on silly revenge games."
Quickly assaying the chamber, Gelbin fought to maintain focus. If Thermaplugg decided to flood the place with the same toxic gas he'd used against his people, there would be no escape. Gelbin knew this room well enough to appreciate that. Only two doors, both of them sealed off. He lifted the front of his tunic up to his face, looking around for telltale signs of the deadly green mist. Perhaps he could hold his breath long enough to exit through whatever vent his enemy had constructed to deliver the vile stuff.
Sicco Thermaplugg was laughing.
"'Silly revenge games'? Gelbin, do you have any idea what your death will do to the gnomes? They have kept you at the helm in spite of everything I've done to discredit you. The little fools love their high tinker. Your death is going to rip their hearts out."
Gelbin's reply was cut off by the click of a switch being thrown. Dead silence, and then a mechanical groaning, the sound of heavy iron cables straining against spring-powered wheels. The wall in front of him—the very wall he'd struck—began to lift up into the ceiling. There was a rush of warm, moist air, and Gelbin realized what form his assassination would take. It smelled like mold, mange, and sour monkey. The trogg emerged from the shadows with a wet growl. Powerfully built, with muscular arms hanging almost to the floor, it moved with the confident swagger of a predator that knows its prey is trapped.
The high tinker had commanded engagements against these beasts before, but he had never been so close to one; his security team would never allow it (a team he had foolishly ordered to wait for him outside the sector). The trogg was easily twice Gelbin's size, and had a network of scars running across the pebbled skin of its chest. Jagged, bony protrusions slanted out from the creature's shoulders and elbows, deformed growths that bore testament to its rocky heritage. Gelbin had heard rumors that the troggs were a twisted branch of the dwarven race; although he would never admit it to his gracious hosts, he could see the similarity in the shaggy beard, stout form, and thick, cabled bands of muscle that seemed to have been carved from granite. But that was where the similarities ended. The trogg had a sloped, apelike posture, with the heavy browridges and pronounced canines of a predator.
Gelbin thought back to his combat training. One trogg was usually a match for four or five gnomes, assuming they were armed and experienced in subterranean warfare. A proven tactician himself, Mekkatorque knew that even without steam-powered armor and Wrenchcalibur at his side, he could still put up a decent fight. The gnome took a step forward and scanned the room. Maybe if he could get to the other side of the study quick enough, there would be a stool that could become a makeshift weapon. If he could keep the trogg at bay, perhaps he would be able to escape through the opening it had just come through. It would be risky, but it was the best—
Two more troggs shambled into the light. The first one grunted guttural commands to the other two, and they moved to either side of their prey with a feral swiftness that belied their bulk.
The wall lowered behind them with a foreboding clang, and Gelbin felt a sad clarity: he was going to die here. There was no way out of Thermaplugg's trap. Sicco was finishing the job he'd begun in the halls of Gnomeregan years before. The city would finally and unquestionably belong to the monster who pretended to be a gnome. Gelbin dropped to his knees and closed his eyes.
He was tired of the pity, tired of the daily reminders that he had lost his kingdom simply because he'd been a gnome. He was tired of the damned confusion. The shuffling sound of troggs grew near, and Gelbin Mekkatorque whispered goodbye to his beloved Gnomeregan. To his people.
"The little fools love their high tinker."
After all of this, they love their high tinker.
Gelbin opened his eyes and looked down. He saw that he still held his glasses, saw the razor-thin truesilver wire extending to the floor. Almost instinctively, his engineering mind took over, and imagined blueprints spread open across his vision.
The tripwire led to what was obviously a weighted spring trigger. This was linked to a heavy axle that was counterweighted by the cables that had lifted the wall on a pair of what had sounded like rusting iron hinges—Sicco had always been sloppy in his construction. The rest was fairly simple engineering, actually, and Gelbin found it ironic that even Sicco the un-gnome relied on gnomish technology to achieve his dark ends. A technology that Gelbin had adapted, that Gelbin had innovated, and that Gelbin had mastered for the protection and salvation of his people.
Gelbin Mekkatorque was a gnome in his flaws and in his triumphs. That was why his people loved him. That was why he was still high tinker. And that was why he was still fighting for the gnomes, even after so much shame, darkness, and confusion.
And suddenly he wasn't confused anymore.
Rolling to his side, Gelbin dodged the first trogg's fist as it barreled toward him. The creature's stony knuckles cracked into the tile floor, sending shards whistling past his ear. Gelbin was on his feet the next second, sprinting toward the back of the study. A plan was forming in his mind.
"So tell me, Sicco. If my death delivers such an obvious advantage to you, why wait until now? Wouldn't it have been much easier to kill me back when I trusted you?"
It was hard talking and running at the same time, but Gelbin knew he had to keep Thermaplugg distracted if this was going to work.
Thinking that their prey was moving to some hidden escape, the two troggs at his flanks charged ahead to block him. Gelbin had anticipated this, and he took the few seconds it granted him to reel in the remaining truesilver wire around his glasses.
The first trogg was almost upon him again, and Gelbin turned to run directly at the howling beast. It hadn't expected this, and lunged over empty air as Gelbin ducked, slid between its legs, rolled to his feet, and kept running.
Roaring, it turned and lumbered after him. The other two troggs, excited by their brother's noises, let out howls and circled around. They weren't dumb animals, Gelbin knew. They were content to let the first trogg tire him out, and then they'd move in for the easy meal. Sicco's voice sputtered overhead.
"What? You're not dead yet?"
Gelbin smiled as he ran. His opponent had just revealed that, while he could hear inside the chamber, he couldn't see what was transpiring.
The angry trogg was fast—faster than Gelbin had imagined—and the gnome could feel its horrible breath on his neck. His own breath was coming in gasps, and Gelbin focused on the drafting table only a few more yards in front of him.
Closer. Closer.
With a sudden yelp, the trogg was yanked backward and sent crashing to the floor by some invisible force. The truesilver wire that Gelbin had looped around its ankle had reached its limit and, catching on the sturdy mithril spectacles at such a combination of weight and velocity, had severed the creature's foot from its leg. An anguished roar, part moan and part scream, shivered the air. The trogg lifted a spurting, ragged stump and bellowed again, pounding a fist on the ground. Mekkatorque gave it an apologetic wink and scurried to the drafting table just ahead. One of the troggs moved toward the fallen creature, more curious than concerned, while the other continued circling Gelbin. Angry mumbles came from the speaker hidden above.
"You're right, Gelbin. I should have killed you back then, but I needed a scapegoat. I needed somebody to rally the gnomes against as they elected me the new high tinker. Do you realize how much time I spent concocting a plan that would spoil your name? Killing you would have been easy!"
Gelbin had reached the table, and he began pulling out drawers in a frantic search. He covered his actions with an almost conversational tone.
"So when does the part about rallying the gnomes and becoming high tinker start? Was that supposed to happen before or after the genocide?"
Sicco growled, cursed, and there was the distinctive sound of a wrench bouncing off a wall. Gelbin was getting to him.
"Any idiot can sound wise in hindsight! The gas was more... efficacious than I had hoped. My calculations showed a thirty percent mortality rate, a statistically meaningful number of corpses—all laid at your feet. That, followed by my impressive dismissal of the troggs, would have ensured a speedy coup."
Gelbin saw his opening. "'Would have' being the operative phrase here...."
Another crashing sound—this time what could only have been a fist against the microphone.
"Who could have calculated that the gnomes would still follow you after I had practically painted your hands with their blood? That they would disregard logic and act like a bunch of weepy, emotional night elves? I'm glad the gas did what it did! The gnomes needed this purge!" The next sound was similar to the last, only louder and followed by a roar of static. Then silence. Apparently Sicco Thermaplugg hadn't factored melee damage into his microphone durability template. Gelbin looked up from his rummaging and nodded.
"Temper, temper. You've just lost your ability to gloat from long distance, my friend."
He bent down and went back to work. Luckily, Thermaplugg had been careful to leave most of the study undisturbed to avoid alerting the high tinker's specialists. In fact, Gelbin suspected that most of this trap had been built elsewhere and installed behind the walls and under the flooring. The only traceable intrusion had been that damned wire.
And that damned wire had just reduced his problems by 33.3 percent (repeating, of course). Gelbin found what he was looking for at the bottom of the last drawer. It was a little leather satchel holding a set of tools that his assistants had used to service the clocks scattered around the study. Punctuality had never been one of his strong suits, but he liked knowing exactly how late he was going to be.
The gnome turned to get his attackers' bearings, and dodged another vicious blow. One of the troggs had tried to sneak up on him, and its fist burst through the table behind Gelbin as though it were made of matchsticks. He had always suspected that these creatures had heavy minerals in their physiology, and the havoc that they'd wreaked on the floor and furniture in the last few minutes had confirmed that.
Again, the gnome's speed was his advantage, and he scurried from the beast with satchel in hand. The trogg roared in anger, then turned to growl commands to its brethren. One monster was bleeding its life out on the tiles, but the other grunted assent and moved slowly across the room. They were going to trap Gelbin between them and then move in for the kill. The high tinker couldn't run forever. It was only a matter of time, and they knew it.
The gnome had returned to the center of the room, where his chair still lay, tipped over on its side. The dying trogg had yanked the wire with the full force of its heavy, running body and dislodged the trigger housing that had been buried just below the tiles beneath the seat. It was a square metal box about the size of a dinner plate. And if Sicco Thermaplugg had done the same sort of sloppy, goblin-esque engineering that Gelbin had seen him use before, the main spring axle and counterweights would be directly under that. Gelbin pushed the chair aside and opened up his satchel. A wrench, an iron hammer, a file, and a white vial of blackmouth oil for lubricating springs—all miniature, just the size for working with clocks. Or for sabotaging some sabotage. He glanced up, estimating the time before the troggs would close in. Maybe twenty seconds. He'd need thirty.
Uncorking the vial, he spilled its contents and then rolled it across the tile in a glistening line toward the nearest trogg. The creature looked down at the little flask, chuffled in simian amusement, and looked up to see the gnome pull out a tiny wrench in one hand and a file in the other. In one quick motion, Gelbin brought the edge of the wrench down along the length of the file. A bright line of sparks arced to the ground and caught onto the oil trail, which flowed in a fiery snake to the vial at the trogg's feet. It had happened so quickly that the creature barely had time to turn aside as a ball of fire blossomed underneath it. The shaggy hair on its beard lit up, and the trogg began frantically beating at itself with knobbed knuckles. This only served to fan the flames.
Satisfied, Gelbin turned back to the wire, broken tile, and dislodged trigger housing at his feet. The other trogg was still across the room, and it was moving much more cautiously now that its companion had just been set ablaze by an unarmed gnome. "Thirty seconds now," mumbled the high tinker. "Maybe forty."
He used the wrench to open the trigger housing and then located the trigger mechanism at the base of the truesilver spool. Sure enough, Sicco had been sloppy. A good saboteur would have made sure that the trigger was a one-time-only construction, through either single-use materials or low-tensile springs. The spring on this spool was still wound enough for a few more uses, and Gelbin quickly attached the trigger to the counterweight switch, an oblong combination of cogs that allowed the trick wall to move up and down by managing the cables connected to a separate massive spring wound around an axle directly beneath his feet. With the trigger attached, he set the switch to the side and reached down into the space below where the trigger housing had been. The wrench flashed as Gelbin speedily removed the restraining bolts that held the axle securely in place.
There were four rusty bolts in total, and it took Gelbin the remaining time to get three of them free. Metal groaned as the massive weight that had been borne by an entire frame now leaned on a single corroded bolt.
Gelbin raised himself up from his work just as the trogg grabbed him, yanking the gnome into the air. It pulled Mekkatorque close and grinned a ragged grin: its patience had been rewarded. The high tinker was inches away from cracked, boulder teeth. Teeth spotted with the remains of whatever poor creature had last been held this close. Gelbin shrank back with a grimace.
"Winklespring was right—I can taste that smell."
The trogg roared, and the high tinker was spattered with saliva.
Then Gelbin smashed his fist into the trogg's mouth, shattering the front teeth and driving pieces of bone into the back of its throat. The trogg dropped him and staggered backward with a gurgling cry. Gelbin shook the blood off his hand, then opened it to reveal the iron hammer.
"Word of advice, friend. Never let a gnome near your teeth."
The trogg wiped the gore from its mouth, then turned as the other trogg arrived, blisters on its scorched skin. The two creatures were enraged, and Gelbin knew that he was seconds away from being torn apart. He took a step back and pressed down on the hastily constructed trigger.
Underground weights shifted; cables pulled taut; and a single rusty bolt snapped under the pressure. The tiles beneath the troggs' feet burst apart as a cable ripped up through the ground, pulling the axle behind it in an eruption of rock and metal. It sent the beasts flying backward to crash against the mangled desk, while simultaneously lifting the trick wall behind the high tinker.
His foes were down, and the exit was clear. It was time to leave. Gelbin tucked the tools into his belt. For a second he paused and actually debated going back for his old glasses. He could see them across the room, still tied to the grotesque remnant of a trogg foot by a length of wire. Chuckling at the thought, he turned to go.
Only he had waited too long. Now there were more troggs coming through the exit. Dozens of them. They crowded through the opening and circled around Gelbin, growling and snarling and licking their craggy teeth. He was out of ideas, and doubted that the troggs would be so kind as to lift him and his bloody hammer fist up to their faces.
But the troggs weren't advancing. They were waiting.
"I suppose I owe you an apology, Gelbin. I underestimated your boldness—should have sent four troggs."
The high-pitched laughter that followed was unnerving. From the sound of it, Sicco Thermaplugg had only fallen deeper into madness down here with these monsters. There was a clanging sound, the hiss of a steam engine, and Sicco appeared.
The mekgineer had created a new battle suit for himself. Gelbin had heard reports of Sicco driving some massive cauldron-shaped thing through the bowels of Gnomeregan these past few years, but this was something altogether different. An agile contraption, the human-sized construct strode past the waiting troggs with a hiss of hot vapor. Welded from malleable, decorative metals, it resembled one of those fancy human suits of armor made for parades and showing off to the commoners—only with Sicco's wrinkly little head poking out of the collar. The demented gnome had aged poorly in the last few years, and Gelbin barely recognized his old friend. Hollow cheeks, thin strands of white, cobweb hair, and the sickly green tinge that spoke of radiation and lunacy.
Sicco saw Gelbin's pitying look and took it for appreciation. Grinning, he spun in a tight circle and then bowed with a flourish. "Impressive bit of engineering, isn't it? You know, I did several test runs with a more practical battlefield prototype, but it proved far too bulky... and susceptible to explosions. This suit is much more stable in that regard, much more appropriate for my station."
"Your station?"
"Of course. It is only fitting that the king of the gnomes see eye to eye with the other rulers of the land. A difficult concept for a puny failure like you to grasp, I know."
Gelbin frowned. "The king of the gnomes, huh? So you've given up on winning an election, I presume. That's probably for the best, since the electorate might have a hard time voting for a candidate who's not a gnome."
Sicco looked startled for a second, and there was a hiss. The high tinker wasn't sure if the sound had come from the boiling steam engine in the belly of Sicco's suit, or if it had been an actual reptilian reply from his would-be usurper. Regardless, the noise fit Thermaplugg's scowl.
"I think begging for scraps at the dwarven table has driven you a little batty, Gelbin. Not a gnome? I am ten times the gnome you will ever be! While you sat back and coasted on your phony, unpredictable 'genius,' I was the one who had to actually work for recognition. Who spent weeks designing all the ballistic workings for your siege engines? I turned your lumbering metal beet truck into a mobile cannon! That work cemented our alliance with the dwarves. And did I get even a shred of thanks?"
Gelbin sighed. "Sicco, you were one of the brightest gnomes in Dun Morogh, and you seem to have forgotten that I was always very vocal about my gratitude for your work. You had creative, even brilliant ideas. But you were too sloppy. Too rough in your estimates and too quick in your refinement. I assigned you to ordnance design in hopes that you would step up to the task. But your ballistic calculations would have detonated my siege engines as they reloaded. I spent long hours reworking your figures before sending them off to Ironforge."
"What? Lies! If my work was so shoddy, then why let me take credit for the guns?"
"Because," said Gelbin, "you were my friend."
Sicco Thermaplugg took a step back, eyes wide. For a moment, his face softened into something resembling the bright young gnome whom Gelbin had befriended years ago. The gnome he had helped graduate from school, employed at his foundry, and lifted to a prominent role in the Tinkers' Court in spite of worrisome and increasingly flawed performance. Sicco blinked several times and brought a metal hand up to rub his forehead.
"Gelbin, I... I..."
And then he noticed the hand, the powerful gilded fingers that he alone had created. He brought the hand up as a fist, and Sicco's face twisted into a lunatic grin. Gelbin's friend was gone.
"Well, that soggy weakness is exactly why I decided to take the reins from you. The gnomes should be dominating this land with our unstoppable weapons, not trading them away to imbecilic allies. That's what goblins are for!"
The high tinker shook his head.
"You never really understood, did you? It is our loyalty to our friends that provides our truest, greatest strength. This is what separates us from the ogres and troggs—and even the goblins. This is why the dwarves helped us back from near extinction, even surrendering a portion of their hallowed halls for us to call home. And this is why there are dwarves, humans, draenei, and night elves dying alongside us in the surrounding tunnels to reclaim a city that was never theirs. They are here because they are our friends, Sicco. My friends. It is a power that numbers cannot match."
The mekgineer hissed—this time Gelbin was positive the sound had come from the gnome's puckered mouth—and marched forward. "Why don't you just close your eyes and let me end this embarrassment?"
Stopping just in front of the high tinker, Sicco shook his head, raised his hand, and waved goodbye. The hand made a ratcheting sound, rotated in a complete circle, and then disappeared into the steel wrist of the battle suit's armor. Thermaplugg chuckled and brought the arm forward. With another burst of steam, a vicious blade emerged from the cuff—a blade that began to glow red with mechanical heat. Gelbin stumbled backward into the axle, feeling the tensely wound spring against his spine. He still had the wrench in his belt, and he lifted it to parry Sicco's blade. This elicited another chuckle.
"Oh, dear. You look so precious down there. Is this how the dwarves taught you to fight?"
"No," said Gelbin, twirling the wrench in his fingers. "This is how a gnome fights. Watch your head."
He turned and tapped the wrench against the catch holding the spring in place—a catch that had been supported by the framework below. Now it swung down with a clank, releasing the spring to whip free of the axle, a sharp steel blur whistling through the room as a massive store of pent-up energy was discharged in seconds. Gelbin felt a tremendous whoosh of motion slashing over his head, and then... stillness. He pivoted and looked back. The troggs still stood there, drooling. Sicco let out another giggle.
Three lonely hairs that had been previously growing on the crown of Gelbin's head slowly fell down in front of his eyes.
Followed by the head of every trogg in the room.
And finally, by the bisected torso of Sicco Thermaplugg's battle suit. With a hot gush of steam, the top half slid free and crashed to the ground just in front of Gelbin, rolling to a stop face up against his leg. The occupant swallowed once and blinked repeatedly.
Sicco was surprised.
Sicco was... confused.
"M-my legs are in that half," Sicco said, pointing at the still-standing portion of the suit.
High Tinker Gelbin Mekkatorque nodded and leaned down to pat him on his mechanized shoulder.
"Indeed they are, my friend. And with a razor-quick spring cut and steam cauterization from your ruptured engine, the bleeding is probably minimal. I'd wait around to see if the rats find you before your trogg minions do, but I've seen enough of the latter for one day."
"You're just... just going to leave me here?"
"You don't deserve a quick death, Sicco. You deserve a long, miserable existence in a dark hole, surrounded by filthy monsters."
Gelbin took a step back with a sad smile. He spread his arms to encompass all of fallen Gnomeregan around them. "In fact, you have created your very own prison right here. Better than any I could have built for you. You definitely outdid me on this one. Congratulations." Sicco Thermaplugg blinked. He stammered. Gelbin relished the rare opportunity to look down on his enemy. He could hear the sound of more troggs approaching through the opening, and knew it was time to go.
"Besides, if you do survive, I can't think of anybody I'd rather have leading these beasts than one of their own." He bent forward and sniffed the top of Sicco's head, wrinkling his nose with distaste.
"Enjoy your remaining time in jail, my friend. Your sentence is almost over."
And with that, Gelbin left his study to head back toward New Tinkertown, leaving Sicco alone, helpless, and thoroughly bisected in the dark.
The trogg infestation was still going to take time and effort to cleanse. A comprehensive squeege job on these stinking hallways had just been bumped up in priority, and the high tinker was already envisioning plans for a more open, airy layout. This "dark hole" was due for a remodeling the likes of which even the titans had never seen, not just for a return to its former glory, but for something far better. Far brighter. Far more fitting for the gnomes of Azeroth. Gelbin removed his new glasses and sighed, running his fingers down the bridge of his nose. A few upgrades, a few improvements—he could get used to these after all.
See also
External links


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Hi everyone!
I am a little late today posting this. My week has been quite busy and I hope to get back on top of it before Mother's Day on Sunday so I can sit back and relax! LOL!
Todays Festive Friday Challenge hosted by the lovely Nicole Derendorf is a colour challenge
I love this combo for Christmas cards, it has a lovely country feel to it.
I have used the Framelits die yet again, but this time I used the negative as an accent. You can also see I have used the gold Shimmer Mist over the card to Christmas it up a bit. Stamp set used is my favourite Christmas set, Winter Post and the sentiment is a part colouring of a stamp out of Tags til Christmas. I also used my favourite background for Christmas cards, Woodgrain.
Come along and have a play with the challenge and don't forget to link your creation at Nicole's blog


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Does my topic belong here?
Read Where to post. How to post. What to post.
This section of the forum is for exchanging job and project opportunities between buyers and sellers. Please do not make repetitive posts. It is best to either post one thread about your services for all to see, or to PM the original posters with your services unless you are responding to something specifically in their post.
Repeated posts will be considered spam and swiftly deleted.


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Book your pre-match meals and gold membership for the day
Why not end the 2013/14 season with a hospitality package at the Alexandra Stadium? We are taking bookings for our home match against Brentford on Saturday 15th February,
We are offering you a two-course meal for just £52, a match ticket and the offer also includes tea and coffee before and are half-time. Availability is on a first come first served basis for all home matches in League One this season.
Please contact Laura Adams on 01270 213014 ext 121.
Gold Membership For The Day
The club offers supporters the chance to experience 'Gold Membership' for just £37. It is a unique day for an unbeatable price.
This exclusive offer will provide you with a seat in the Directors' Box for the match and usage of the Gold Area in the Carlsberg Lounge and bar facilities before and after the game. That is not all because we also provide a buffet together with tea and coffee.
You will also receive a complimentary match day programme on arrival.
Please note for this offer, the dress code is smart casual. Children welcome at reduced rate.
If you are interested in this offer please contact our ticket office on 01270 213014


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This morning I was visiting with my BFF and fellow artist Trish and was reminded, as I am every time I visit her house, that she has the most AMAZING garden! And when I'm there I find myself remarking on all the beautiful things I see. In fact, her garden has been the source of many of my paintings.
I live vicariously through this garden, especially after I sold my house and have been dealing with rental gardens. I decided that the world needed to see just how amazing this place is. Of course I have a thing for succulents and well, this garden is full of them! I'm often lucky enough to get cuttings and I've donated a few of my agave pups to the garden. But what makes this garden is not just the plants…its the love. Trish imbues the magic into it. It doesn't happen by accident.
The hummingbirds flock to the many feeders she provides, even the squirrels get fed apple cores that she places atop the walls, the bees get rescued daily from danger whether it be the pool or her herding me to the side so I don't accidentally step on it. She puts cayenne pepper in the front garden to keep the dogs from doing their business in her garden. I admire her total love for nature. Today she educated me on cruelty-free products and was truly appalled that I was so uninformed! I learn from her every day. I enjoy all our "dates", I'm lucky to have such a great friend!
She inspires me…the garden inspires me and I hope it makes you feel good too! Enjoy…Disclaimer: My photos don't do this place the justice it deserves but I'm sure you'll still enjoy it! 🙂


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Here's my new Black Rifle Arms upper using their C.A.P.S. piston system. I had this one build in 6.8 SPC. BRA uses a short stroke piston system with an adjustable gas block that has 4 settings: normal, suppressed, adverse, and over-gassed.
Black Rifle Arms C.A.P.S. Piston Conversion in 6.8 SPCII
Talk about your favorite longguns here.
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Haven't found anything yet?
Flowers and Stripes still win any design casting, provided they show a modern interpretation and give a romantic experience free of unnecessary luxury. Flower Poetry presents generous blooms in soft pastel colours such as pink, blue, mint, yellow, which provide a light, airy atmosphere. So simple and fast favorite places will be created.
The ease of wallpaper leaves much room for unusual pieces of furniture. Thanks for the flowers, you want to say at the sight of this new collection prefer. Of delicate Japanese watercolour flowers, via graphical elements in the style of the 80s, to colours such as coral, lemon, apple green and sky blue that extends the range of designs.
As in nature are also in Flower Poetry individual designs harmoniously coordinated: the patterns and elaborate structures can be freely combined with each other or with different coloured decorative universities staged. Source: Rasch


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HAMDEN, Conn. (AP) — Fearful that her family would learn she was not graduating, a 22-year-old woman phoned in bomb threats to Quinnipiac University on Sunday to try and force commencement ceremonies to be canceled, police said.
Hamden police said Danielle Shea of Quincy, Mass., gave a detailed confession after being arrested at the indoor campus athletic arena, the TD Bank Sports Center, where the commencement for the university's College of Arts and Sciences had been moved because of the threats. She was wearing a cap and gown she'd purchased.
Police said Shea didn't attend the university this year, but her mother paid thousands of dollars she thought was for her daughter's education. When graduation arrived, Shea panicked when relatives didn't see her name on the graduation roster, they said.
According to police, Shea made two calls to the university's public safety department. In the first, about 20 minutes before the start of the 6 p.m. graduation ceremony, she stated there was a "bomb in the library," said police. In the second call, about 20 minutes later, police said Shea warned "Several bombs are on campus" and noted "You haven't cleared out graduation. That's not a good idea."
Hamden and university police identified Shea using the telephone number she'd called from and then found her at the arena.
She has been charged with first degree threatening and falsely reporting an incident. She is being held on $20,000 bond and is scheduled to appear in court in Meriden on May 30.
University spokesman John Morgan said 388 students were part of the commencement ceremony for the College of Arts and Sciences. It was delayed 90 minutes due to the threats.
Two earlier ceremonies were held at 9 a.m. and 2 p.m.


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Read More
- Islamic State's use of chlorine gas raises international concerns
- Ghost of ISIS follows Yezidi children in refugee camps
- Syria… four years of war
- Kurdish Women celebrate International Day amid war
- Turkey allocates hospital to treat injured militants of Islamic State
- Assyrians appeal to international community: "Save us from ISIS"
- ISIS transferred original monuments abroad, destroyed fake ones in Mosul video
26-06-2013By: Thomas L. Friedman
IF you look at it from 30,000 feet, what we're actually dealing with in the Middle East today are the long-delayed consequences of the end of the Ottoman Empire. When the Ottoman Empire collapsed as a result of its defeat in World War I, the colonial powers Britain and France were right there, for their own interests, to impose their own order on the diverse tribes, sects and religions that make up the Arab East. When the British and French left after World War II, they handed power, in many cases, to monarchs, who, in many cases, gave way to generals, who, in all cases, kept their diverse populations in line with iron fists.
But, now, the Ottomans are gone, the colonial powers are gone and even the iron-fisted generals are gone. In Tunisia, Yemen, Syria, Egypt, Iraq and Libya, all that's left is a single question: Can the people in these countries who for so long have been governed vertically — from the top down — now govern themselves horizontally by writing their own social contracts for how to live together as equal citizens with regular rotations in power and without iron fists from above.
When President Obama says he plans to arm the anti-Bashar Assad rebels in Syria, this is the vortex into which he is inserting America. It is still unclear to me where the president is going with Syria, but I see only three possible strategies: the realist, the idealist and the God-I-hope-we-are-lucky approaches.
The realist says: I really don't see any hope for building a unified, multisectarian, democratic Syria — not after two years of civil war and more than 90,000 dead. The U.S. goal should simply be to arm the rebels enough so they can hurt and enmesh in a quagmire two of America's main regional foes — Hezbollah and Iran — and deny them an easy victory with President Assad in Syria. In the long run, though, this strategy most likely would lead to the partition of Syria into an Alawite zone along the coast, a Kurdish zone in the northeast and a Sunni zone in the rest. The Sunni zone, though, would almost certainly be embroiled in a power struggle between secular Sunnis, whom we'd support, and various Islamist Sunnis, financed by mosques, charities and governments in the Arab gulf. While partition might actually be the most stable and humanitarian long-term option — breaking Syria into smaller units capable of self-governance — getting there would be ugly, and the Sunni Muslim chunk could easily end up dominated by jihadists, not "our guys."
The idealist approach argues that if our goal is a unified, multisectarian, democratic Syria, then simply arming the "good rebels" would not be sufficient to get there. We (or NATO) would have to have boots on the ground to help them topple Assad and then stay for years to keep the warring parties from murdering each other, to suppress the violent extremists in each community and to help the moderates write and implement a new social contract for how to live together. Those who want a unified, multisectarian and democratic Syria, a noble goal, need to be honest about what it would take to achieve that from where we are now. It would take another Iraq-scale intervention — something we did not do well, and which very few Americans would vote to repeat.
Some would say that we don't need boots on the ground, as proved by the Libyan intervention. Really? Libya is an example of the let's-send-them-some-arms-and-hope-we-get-lucky approach. Let's remove the Qaddafi regime from the air, arm the rebels on the ground and then hope they come together and produce a decent, pluralistic democracy. So far, we've not been very lucky. Our debate about Libya has been focused entirely on the sacking of our facility in Benghazi, but the proper debate should be about why there was — and remains — such a security vacuum in eastern Libya in the first place. The transition government has not been strong enough to bring order to Libya, and the instability there has metastasized. As Reuters reported from Benghazi on Wednesday, "Libya remains anarchic and awash with weapons nearly two years after" Muammar el-Qaddafi was toppled. The good news is that moderate Libyans have pushed back against their lawless tribal and jihadist militias, but without outside help it is an uphill struggle.
In Syria, we would be hoping that, with just small arms, the rebels could at least fight Assad & Friends to a stalemate so the regime would agree to negotiate Assad's departure. Even if by some miracle that were to happen, so much more blood would be spilled along the way that we would still need an international peacekeeping force to referee any post-Assad power-sharing deal. All volunteers, please raise your hand.
Those are the options as I see it. None feel very good because those in Syria who are truly fighting for a democratic outcome are incredibly brave, but weak and divided. Fighting for democratic values — rather than for family, sect, tribe or Shariah — is still a new thing for these societies. Those who are fighting for a sectarian or Islamist outcome, though, are full of energy and well financed. That's why staying out guarantees that only more bad things will happen, but going in, big or small, would not guarantee success. And that's why I'd like to hear which option Obama is pursing and why he thinks it would succeed.
Source: The New York Times


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SAN DIEGO — Carlos Quentin scored the go-ahead run in the seventh inning when he knocked the ball out of catcher Josh Thole's glove, and the San Diego Padres denied R.A. Dickey his 15th victory with a 3-1 win over the New York Mets on Friday night.
Clayton Richard (8-11) limited New York to one run and eight hits in seven-plus innings.
Dickey (14-3) held the Padres to one run and one hit through six innings before San Diego got to the knuckleballer in the seventh, scoring two runs in the inning — one earned.
The Padres managed only four hits but won for the second time in seven games. Huston Street got the final four outs for his 18th save in as many chances.
New York, which had won four of five, is 5-4 on its season-high, 11-game West Coast trip.
The Padres tied it in the sixth and then went ahead for good in the seventh.
Quentin hit a one-out single in the seventh, and Yonder Alonso followed with a shot into the right-center field gap. Right fielder Scott Hairston slid, while trying to make the catch, but the ball bounced past him. Center fielder Andres Torres picked it up and threw it to second baseman Ronny Cedeno.
Cedeno's throw to Thole arrived well before Quentin, but the big outfielder lowered his left shoulder and barreled into Thole, knocking the ball free and giving the Padres a 2-1 lead. John Baker followed with an RBI single to stretch it to a two-run edge.
Dickey, who allowed three runs — two earned — walked three and struck out nine to take over the major-league lead from Washington's Stephen Strasburg with 158.
David Wright led off the Mets fourth with a walk, went to second on Hairston's single, and advanced to third on a fly out.
Cedeno followed with a high bouncer that Logan Forsythe fielded on the run behind second base. Forsythe tried to throw to shortstop Everth Cabrera for a force out on Hairston, but the throw went over Cabrera's head, allowing Wright to score.
San Diego tied it 1-1 when Cabrera led off the sixth with a walk, was sacrificed to second, stole third and scored on Chris Denorfia's sacrifice fly.
Dickey is tied with four other pitchers with a major-league best 14 wins.
Notes: Dickey lost on the road for the first time since April 18 at Atlanta. The righty is 8-2 in 11 road starts. . New York activated right-handed closer Frank Francisco (left oblique strain) from the disabled list. The Mets placed LHP Tim Byrdak on the 15-day disabled list, retroactive to Aug. 2. … Mets manager Terry Collins said RHP Johan Santana (right ankle sprain) is expected to throw in a minor league rehab start for Single-A Brooklyn on Sunday or Monday. . Since May 21, the Padres have played 23 games at Petco Park and 42 on the road. . The Padres designated starting RHP Kip Wells for assignment. . Mets RHP Jeremy Hafner (1-4, 5.52 ERA) will face Padres RHP Edison Volquez (7-7, 3.51) on Saturday night.


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Missouri Lawmaker Calls For Tax on Violent Video Games
A Missouri lawmaker wants there to be a 1% sales tax for violent video games.
According to The Huffington Post, Representative Diane Franklin (R - Camdenton) said that the sales tax, "would finance mental health programs and law enforcement measures to prevent mass shootings." This is part of the growing focus on violence (specifically gun violence), and whether or not violent video games cause an increase in violence.
Just last week, Vice Presiden Joe Biden and his task force met with several groups, including representatives from the entertainment and video game industries, to discuss gun violence.
Whether or not the tax increase will go through remains to be seen, but so far no plans to tax video games have been successful in other states, such as Oklahoma and New Mexico.
What do you think about the proposed tax on gaming? Let us know in the comments below.


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Praise for David Graeber's Debt
"A sprawling, erudite, provocative work."—Drake Bennett, Bloomberg Businessweek
"Written in a brash, engaging style, the book is also a philosophical inquiry into the nature of debt—where it came from and how it evolved."—The New York Times Book Review
"Fresh . . . fascinating . . . thought-provoking [and] exceedingly timely."—Financial Times
"The book is more readable and entertaining than I can indicate. . . . Graeber is a scholarly researcher, an activist and a public intellectual. His field is the whole history of social and economic transactions."—Peter Carey, The Observer
"One of the year's most influential books. Graeber situates the emergence of credit within the rise of class society, the destruction of societies based on 'webs of mutual commitment' and the constantly implied threat of physical violence that lies behind all social relations based on money."—Paul Mason, The Guardian
"Part anthropological history and part provocative political argument, it's a useful corrective to what passes for contemporary conversation about debt and the economy."—Jesse Singal, The Boston Globe
"Terrific . . . In the best anthropological tradition, he helps us reset our everyday ideas by exploring history and other civilizations, then boomeranging back to render our own world strange, and more open to change."—Raj Patel, The Globe and Mail


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- The best place for Minnesota Mix Martial Arts news!
- It is currently Fri Aug 07, 2020 6:50 am
Everything you ever wanted to know about Mixed Martial Arts in Minnesota...
3 posts • Page 1 of 1
they have womens rankings but not 125 rankings. 125 is in the UFC for fuck sakes why not in Minnesota rankings?? don't you think the website would be more legit if it had all the weights?? don't mean to rant but mnmmanews should get up to speed with everyone else and introduce 125 to the rankings. there is many talented fighters at that weight ex. Brandon Merkt, Bill Friday, Tony Belvedre, Kurt Erhorn, Lloyd McKinney, Mark Saincia, Javon Myles, Nate Williams I could keep going but im sure you get the point.
Re: 125 RANKINGS
Their aren't enough 125 fights that go on around the state. Several of the guys you just named are very good fighters but wouldn't be able to be on the list since they haven't had a fight in the past year.
Re: 125 RANKINGS
My voters often don't fill out a full list of women, 205ers or heavyweights ... so I'd prefer if they didn't have another class that they struggled to fill out completely.
Corndog is dead-on. That's why we've held off on doing 125 to this point. It gets closer and closer, but still not there yet. Once I can name 10 125ers who are worthy of being ranked, I have no problem adding the class.
Like Corndog said ... you named only eight 125ers yourself ... and Lloyd McKinney, Brandon Merkt, Tony Belvedere and Jovon Myles are inactive. ... Also, Jovon Myles is 2-5 ... and you would like him ranked? Bill Friday will be considered inactive in February, and as far as I know he's not fighting any more.
So, your list is two fighters long. Mark Sainci (1-0) and Kurt Ehrhorn (4-4).
I would add Mitch White and Jake Schommer to that list as worthy 125ers. But we're still way short.
Like I said, it will come some day. Just not established enough yet.
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Flu strikes early this year
Health officials say flu vaccine is best prevention
The flu is striking early this year, and it appears to be more severe.
Four people have died from flu-related illnesses so far this season in Wisconsin. All of the victims were in nursing home facilities.
Death this early in the season is concerning for state health officials.
State health officials said there are 113 laboratory-confirmed influenza cases compared with seven cases at this time last year, and 33 people have been hospitalized for influenza this season. There were no hospitalizations at this time last year.
Health experts said that people aren't typically hospitalized from the flu until January.
Caren Groose coordinates flu clinics for Wheaton Franciscan Healthcare. She said the flu vaccine is the best prevention, and she's tired of hearing excuses.
"The one I hear most often is, 'Well, every time I've gotten the flu shot, I've gotten the flu.' And that just isn't possible. The flu shot contains an inactivated virus, which means the virus is dead. What happens, is your body sees the dead virus and reacts to it producing antibodies. Because it's a dead virus, it cannot cause the flu itself," Groose said.
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has dubbed this week National Influenza Vaccination Week, to highlight the importance of getting your flu shot, as people start gathering for the holidays.
It's not too late for people to get their flu shot. You can get it at your doctor or any local pharmacy. Once you get it, it takes about 10 days to build immunity.
The CDC said anyone over 6 months old should get a flu shot.
To find out where to get a flu shot, go to Flu.gov.


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Rubber Chicken Theater brings a humorous twist to the holiday season with "How the Grinch Shutdown Christmas, or I Saw Rudolph Twerking Santa Claus." The ann...
The Now
The PlayList Now collects tips on local art, performances & events from a community of arts adviser & experts. These are some highlights of arts experiences to be had in the region. Keep in touch with us on arts opportunities you've discovered or expect will be captivating in some way. To be a part of The PlayList Now, submit an event.
Holiday Humor from Rubber Chicken Theater, A Coming Attraction
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Funding for this program is provided by the Minnesota Arts and Cultural Heritage Fund. Click here for more information or visit the Minnesota Legacy website.Clean Water, Land & Legacy Amendment


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Can anybody help me?
I´ve tried the hadlow and it is very comfortable, , it eats chop very well because of the big rocker, very good pop but upwind performance...i need a bigger kite.
I couldn´t find a monk to try, but the reputation is so good .....
My spot is very choppy, and winds between 15 and 30 knots, very gusty.


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DDI People
These pages will introduce you to some of the people that have been involved with the Deep Democracy Institute up to this point. The Deep Democracy Institute is the brain child of Ellen, Max, and Stanford who, together with Josef, comprise the Exec team. However, the members of the board are the caring grandparents, who have assisted and held us through our first year and our first endeavors. They have helped us on many levels, and we are grateful for their support and guidance. Following the tradition of indigenous relations, the members of the council of advisors are our aunts and uncles. They are our extended family, always willing to lend a helping hand, and to assist and support our projects, and we feel indebted to every single one of them. They share with us their many folded expertise, and shine a light on the diversity of this organization and the extents of its network.
We are currently developing more training programs and are in the planning phase for a Master of Art in Process-oriented Leadership and Organizational Transformation. For this we are currently assembling a faculty and development team that we hope to introduce to you here soon.
Check out the Get Involved link if you would like to appear on these pages as a person working within DDI.


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Melbourne R Users Group December 1st 2010 Meeting
(Meetup page).
1. "What my R code looks and feels like (Vanilla)" by Geoff Robinson
The other talk from the session was by Geoff Robinson
who discussed several useful strategies for working with R.
Video is embedded below (requires Flash and may not be viewable in
RSS Readers)
or go here .
2. "Reproducible Research and R Workflow" by Jeromy Anglim
Video is embedded below:
or go here
Many thanks to Pedro Olaya for filming and
Drew Conway for posting and hosting the videos.


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Camilla and Marc Freeman Talks About Kristen
Siblings-in-fash Camilla and Marc Freeman first launched their eponymous label at Australia Fashion Week in 2003. Fast forward 10 years and since their humble beginnings, you can find the brand's signature minimalist silhouettes, tailoring and luxurious dresses in some of the most significant stores, and on the backs of some of the best dressed ladies in the limelight. "They are all innately chic, but with their own edge," Camilla told us of their A-list following, "Each [of them] are confident young women, who know who they are and like to mix luxe casualness into however they dress." Rihanna, Kristen Stewart and Miranda Kerr are in the club, but has there ever been a favourite? "Kristen Stewart was certainly one of them," the duo admitted, "It was just when the Twilight-mania had begun to really take a grip on the world and because of that moment, we had a huge response internationally."
Source => Grazia UK / Via => Kristen Stewart News


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Epoxy resins and adhesives are characterised by their excellent electrical properties and chemical resistance, strength and low absorption of moisture. They make great adhesives and also one of the few types of glue that can be used on metals and glass. Epoxy can be used as a protective coating as well as materials in circuit boards and for patching holes in concrete pavements. These versatile resins offer high strength resistance to corrosion. The high strength to weight ratio and dimensional stability as well as adhesion properties make them ideal for a wide range of applications. Different resins are produced by varying the ratios of the chemical components.
Resins are relatively high in viscosity (measure of its resistance to flow), so that they are moulded at temperatures around 50 to 100°C, or dissolved in an inert solvent (solvent that does not react with anything in solution) to reduce viscosity to a point at which lamination at room temperature becomes possible.
How are they made?
Most epoxy resins are an industrial product derived from petroleum and are themselves the result of a chemical reaction called curing. This involves epoxies and other chemicals more commonly known as hardeners or curing agents. Depending on the type of reaction used to produce them, they can be either low-molecular honey-like liquids or high-molecular, solid substances. Their molecular weight often determines their potential uses and applications.
Did you know?
Currently. there are more than 50 different substances known as epoxy resins. Also, there are hundreds of hardeners to modify epoxy polymer properties to meet the most varied requirements.
Epoxy uses
- General purpose adhesives
- As the binder in cement and mortars
- Rigid foams
- Non-skid coatings
- Solidifying sandy surfaces in oil drilling
- Industrial coatings
- Potting and encapsulating media
- Fibre reinforced plastics
Advantages of Epoxy
- Low shrink during cure
- Excellent moisture and chemical resistance
- Good electrical properties
- Increased mechanical and fatigue strength
- Impact resistant
- No VOCs (Volatile Organic Compounds)
- Long shelf life


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One people, one planet, one pollutionPosted: January 25, 2013 Filed under: Environment, just because | Tags: air pollution, Airpocalypse, California, China 13 Comments
I was hiking yesterday (23rd) and looked out to sea. This is what I saw.
An orange-brown band of dust? smog? all of the above? stretching over the whole horizon. There's a larger composite picture here that shows more of the extent. (In the foreground, you can make out the Navy Seabees target practice range. That's Anacapa Island shrouded in the distance.)
I've lived here for years and never seen anything like it. Ordinary Los Angeles pollution looks like this:
It's more purple-colored, much fainter, and bigger toward LA, petering out toward the ocean. (The picture is from an old post where I was puzzling about wind direction.)
When I mentioned it at home, I found out that Beijing had an Airpocalypse around January 12th and the next few days, an immense pollution event that drowned the city in choking dusty smog.
View of Beijing smog. From aworldchaos.wordpress.com.
NASA regularly tracks Chinese pollution across the Pacific, but it wasn't usually still as thick as soup by the time it got here.
Well, it is now. I'm fairly sure that's what I was seeing. Dirt pushed across the whole Pacific ahead of a huge storm system that also brought us rain later on. One to two weeks is how long it takes to get here from China.
This is not good.
Crossposted from Acid Test


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Just finished watching Star Wars: A New Hope Uncut. A fantastic project which was surprisingly easy to get lost in despite constant character gender and species changes (sometimes mid-sentence).
Just finished watching Star Wars: A New Hope Uncut. A fantastic project which was surprisingly easy to get lost in despite constant character gender and species changes (sometimes mid-sentence).
aral oh so you're suggesting it'd be a Boolean attr? That I could get behind – easy to polyfill too.
aral I disagree, "continue" is confusing compared to start. Start = start from a number, continue = what? Continue from a number? So the list should start from that number plus one? Or continue from another ol (perhaps by using an id reference)?
I don't feel emotionally intelligent enough to write anything which adequately sums up my anger at the sexism-in-tech situation.
Fortunately, @sazzy, rellyab and many others are, and have. Props to you all, keep going, I will support you however I can.
http://www.sazzy.co.uk/2013/02/speaking-up/ http://rel.ly/2013/02/also-speaking-up/ http://geekfeminism.wikia.com/wiki/Timeline_of_incidents
Booked my flight to Iceland and now submitting my first speaking proposal — this is an exciting evening! /cc @briansuda @digpen sophiedennis
Authentically Traditional by Robin Andrews is an interesting and welcome take on exactly what it means to be "authentic" in the context of #music /cc sophiedennis #bookmark #link
Watching Private Life of Plants, from the year I was born. It has aged well, and remains my favourite Attenborough series.
The value of #geo machine #tags and rev. geo coding: even though I don't yet have a fancy distance-queryable database, my notes can be queried by location. For example, notes I have posted in Devon.
Checked in at the Old Fort, Hembury whilst mapping the woods to help jwentomologist
Watching "Free, open, secure Communications" live stream at #fosdem #indieweb #fsw
Laurent Eschenauer have fun! Is anyone doing an etherpad/recording? #indieweb #fsw
Rolled out usage of the
menu element on #taproot. I'm looking forward to more browser support for HTML context menus, that will really open up the possibilities for cross-browser extensions
Pushed some styling improvements to individual note pages as a result of some brainstorming earlier today. Splitting the content into Primary, Contextual, Metadata and Network will give me a solid foundation on which to add more information (e.g. mentions).
One thing I haven't added is an "actions" section, mainly because of double-click-to-edit. That only applies to the main content, though, and I have some other actions like syndicate to facebook, so I should make a section for those.#taproot #design #todo #web
I propose this law of system personality:
Put a system in a box and it becomes a thing. Give a thing a name and it becomes a product. Give a product a brand/atmosphere and it gains a personality.
"The spirit of the law, not the letter of the law, should be your guide" About Face 2.0
sigh another piece of content ruined by over zealous XML parsing and misguided overuse of
@briansuda @adactio turns out cgcardona already had the musical font idea, and started implementing it! https://audiofile.cc/#about


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Approval is required to dispose of any waste resulting from carrying out a construction or demolition activity but does not include paper, cardboard, unseasoned timber, vegetation, paper covered plasterboard, metals (other than steel reinforcing rods) and regulated waste.
You may only dispose of construction and demolition waste at an unlicensed fill site by obtaining council approval.
Council will consider applications with due consideration for the surrounding environment.
A licence defines the need to obtain recognition / certification and registration to undertake a certain business activity.
Maranoa Shire Council - Local Law 8 (Waste Management) 2018 - PDF
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Contact council for more information on the current application process and relevant form.
Maranoa Regional Council
Contact Email, Phone and Address Details for this service in simple two column table format, header then data.
Maranoa Regional Council
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The pioneers that brought you the award-winning PSN title flOw are back with another concept that challenges traditional gaming conventions. Flower expands the team's tradition of delivering simple gameplay, accessible controls and a medium to explore emotional chords uncommon in video games. In Flower, the surrounding environment, most often pushed to the background in games, is pulled to the forefront and becomes the primary "character." The player fades from an external and stressful world in the opening of this fresh and genuine game and journeys through beautifully vivid landscapes, changing their surroundings and exploring nature along the way.
Playing as the wind, the player guides and grows a swarm of petals by interacting with other flowers and the surrounding environment. The goals and journey in each level vary, but all involve flight, exploration and interaction with the level. Using simple TouchScreen or Motion Sensor controls, the player guides the lead petal and accumulates a swarm of flower petals as they move at the player's own pace within the environment, causing the on-screen world to change. Flower's gameplay offers different experiences, pacing and rhythm to all players. Along the way, the environment will pose challenges to the player's progress.
Both pastoral and at times chaotic, Flower is a visual, audio and interactive escape.