Bob Moitoso, Global Head of the FIX Division at NYFIX comments: "We are on a mission to provide members of the NYFIX Marketplace with the broadest range of electronic trading services and global liquidity sources possible. By partnering with MetaBit we've been able to accelerate our reach into the Japanese markets and satisfy our members' request for access to brokers and exchanges in the region. We look forward to working with MetaBit to continually provide our buy-side and sell-side members with enhanced solutions and opportunities for more efficient electronic trading."

Daniel Burgin, CEO, MetaBit adds: "Today's firms need extended connectivity to gain traction in global markets. The NYFIX Marketplace offers MetaBit's clients a great platform to international markets. This partnership supports a natural progression for our FIX network and allows our clients to gain seamless access to one of the world's largest FIX enabled trading communities."

Source: NYFIX 04.08.2008

Après tout, il n'a fallu que quelques bien-pensants qui, soi-disant au nom de la sécurité, ont gueulé au MTQ que les cellulaires au volant pouvaient être dangereux, pour que la ministre Julie Boulet oblige tous les conducteurs à avoir "une gogosse dans l'oreille", et interdise le téléphone à la main pendant la conduite.  À force de se faire dire que la cigarette, ça pue, pis ça fait de la boucane, le gouvernement a interdit de fumer à moins de 30 pieds de la porte de plusieurs édifices publics, ainsi, bien sûr, qu'à l'intérieur.  Sur quel ton faudra-il dire que la communauté de Kanesatake n'est pas capable de venir à bout de ses "irréductibles", afin que le gouvernement mette ses culottes, et agisse, dans ce dossier?

Quand le conseil d'une municipalité n'est pas capable de régler un problème, le ministère des affaires municipales et des régions met la municipalité en tutelle, le temps qu'il faut pour régler les choses.  Existe-t-il une mesure pour régler les problèmes d'une communauté mohawk?  Si une telle mesure n'existe pas, il faudrait en créer une.  Et tant qu'à faire, autant y mettre le paquet!  Quand il fut déclaré que la vitesse causait plusieurs accidents, on n'a pas lésiné; on a acheté un pistolet-radar à chaque policier, et tout le monde paie, maintenant!  Il faudra faire la même chose, en rapport avec ces irréductibles; la communauté les défend, alors la communauté devra payer!

Ma mesure serait simple.  On donne six mois aux autorités mohawk de Kanesatake pour débusquer, et réduire au silence une fois pour toutes les fauteurs de troubles de leur communauté.  Après ce délai, au moindre incident, tous les habitants de la communauté sont déportés dans d'autres réserves mohawk, et le territoire de Kanesatake est cédé aux municipalités limitrophes, et ce, une fois pour toutes.  Les communautés de Kahnawake et de Kanesatake ont un beau grand territoire commun, à l'est de Sainte-Lucie-des-Laurentides; ce serait un excellent endroit pour les reloger!  Évidemment, pendant ces six mois de grâce, on laisse carte blanche aux autorités locales pour régler le problème à l'interne, et faire le "grand ménage" que plusieurs membres de la communauté n'osent pas demander en public.  En mettant tout le monde au courant de la mesure, les membres de la communauté s'impliquerait davantage, pour régler le problème, parce qu'ils connaîtraient les conséquences d'un autre laisser-aller.

À force d'apprendre, dans les médias, que des mohawks - toujours les mêmes - ont fait un barrage, démoli des voitures de la Sûreté du Québec, et créé du grabuge, et ce à chaque fois qu'un policier de la SQ éternue un peu trop fort, un jour ou l'autre, un gars en revient.  Si la communauté de Kanesatake n'est pas capable de régler le cas de quelques fauteurs de troubles en six mois, et ce avec une liberté d'action sans précédent, alors la communauté devra être dissoute.  Partout dans le monde, les états interviennent quand des communautés vont trop loin.  À Oka, il est maintenant temps d'agir.

..–bang news

She crept down the corridor again, night after night, it seemed. The damp earth beneath her feet; the rough stone wall at her side, rasping at her fingers; the sickly-sweet rotted-fruit stench in her nose. The hair on the back of her neck on end, her spine tingling. He was there, waiting… no, not “he”… not any more. “They” had taken over, extinguishing the consciousness that was Ose, the man, the Sterling. Behind her they came, closer, scuttling. The urgent need to run, to escape propelled her down the black passageway. She had to save them, warn them, protect them. They depended on her, trusted her.

Each night the nightmares came. Since he had told her of the parasites inside him, she had slept little, eaten less. Between the long, hot days in Durotar, and the sleepless nights, her nerves were stretched tight. No one was safe from her sharp tongue and criticisms, not even the very people she wanted to protect.

“Truitt!” She bellowed, irritable from lack of sleep. It was early and she wanted to look over the market reports before heading to the docks. Opening her mouth to yell again, she looked up. Her Exchequer was there in the doorway, fully dressed, even though it was before sunrise. In his hand, the market report she wanted. On his young face, a look of apology. Bjorke looked at him, as if for the first time. Had she really treated him so badly? Was this what she was? A monster? No better than Ose’s parasites?

“Here it is, Boss. Sorry you had to wait.”

“Truitt…” The softness in her voice drew his eyes up from his shoes, and he looked at her. “Truitt, I didn’t mean to yell. I… I’m sorry,” she said, stumbling over the unfamiliar words. “These reports have been invaluable. Really.” She smiled, not a warm, comforting smile, but rather like a teacher, pleased with a child’s work.

“Thank you.” Truitt beamed at her.

“Oh, and this report?” She held up the expense sheet. “These figures are wrong.” She pulled out a quill, scratching out numbers and re-writing them. She handed it to him, not noticing his crest-fallen face. “This salary figure…” she pointed to his name on the parchment. “This should be higher. I’ve adjusted it.” She smiled again at him, obviously pleased with her solution to this problem. “Now, I’ve got to head out. Take care of things, will you?”

At the dock, waiting for the boat, she headed over to the mailbox. She found a letter from Ose waiting for her. His elegant script cryptically spelled out his plan, such as it was. The time grows near, I feel it. Supplies have been arranged, and the Thandol Span will hold us. Frowning, she wondered what she had gotten herself, and her Order, into.

Foto a luci rosse e video hard amatoriali sono ormai un'abitudine per i big del mondo dello spettacolo. L'ultimo nome, in ordine di tempo, è quello di Avril Lavigne. La sexy cantante canadese sarebbe la protagonista di un breve ma bollente filmato emerso online nei giorni scorsi. Le immagini lasciano aperti tutti i dubbi, ma per Tgcom un particolare svela l'arcano e scagiona la giovane popstar.

Un nuovo scandalo sessuale? Il "Post Chronicle", che è il giornale che ha lanciato la notizia, lascia la risposta ai lettori. Una bionda con i capelli uguali a quelli della Lavigne impegnata in un rapporto sessuale, rigorasamente di spalle, e con in sottofondo, a fare da colonna sonora, "Don't Tell Me", uno dei primi singoli lanciati da Avril. E' proprio la popstar quella nel video? Per Tgcom la soluzione si trova proprio all'interno di quel filmato. L'inquadratura della scena non permette di vedere il volto della protagonista femminile. Ma in un fotogramma (nella foto sotto), in cui si svela il profilo della ragazza, i più attenti noteranno che questo ha ben poco a che fare con quello di Avril.

Nessun peccato quindi per la giovanissima rocker canadese. Lei e il marito Deryck Whibley, con il quale ha festeggiato pochi giorni fa il secondo anniversario di matrimonio, possono continuare a dormire sonni tranquilli.

Il suo nome non entra nella lunga lista di vip protagonisti di foto e video hard. Dietro le capostipiti Paris Hilton e Pamela Anderson hanno trovato posto in molti. Ultima e molto discussa è la giovanissima attrice Miley Cyrus, che in poche ore è passata da protagonista dei film per bambini firmati Disney a interprete di privatissimi scatti osé.

“We should have told them. They are our Blood Guard; we should have at least told them.” Her voice was tired and weary. Instead of curling into her own chair by the fire, she had chosen the straight, hard chair at the table. Norgoth sat in the matching chair, leaning his elbows on the table. The candle light etched the lines into his face and as Bjorke looked at him, she could tell the evening had taken a toll on him, as well.

“We have dishonored Sterling,” he said softly, his Northerner’s accent thick.

“What must they think of us? We hide this from them, and then expect them to kill their guildmate? Burn him alive?” She drained her tankard, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She shuddered, like she did the night she had discovered the truth about Ose, as if someone had walked on her grave.

“Blood, Glory and Honor” they had yelled at the end, as a tribute to the man who was dead. But, at what cost?

Norgoth pushed himself up, making no effort to hide the stiffness and age in his body. “I head for bed, beloved.” He bent to kiss her softly.

“I’ll join you soon, husband.” He knew she preferred time alone with her thoughts at night, and nodded. She watched him go. She had never seen him so dejected before. Not since the Usurper had him in its grip, anyway. How long ago was that, she mused? She shook her head, trying to clear out the cobwebs of thought. She hadn’t taken over Sterling for this: to kill a guild mate. What must the others be thinking?

“As you all know, the Scourge still controls most of Lordaeron. There is even a school there, to teach necromancy,” she sneered, the word vile on her lips, “to the living and undead alike.” She pauses, looking at each of her people. “We may not be able to eradicate the Scourge itself, but we can put some souls to rest, and disrupt the school, at least for a time.”

Razorwyn was the first to speak. “I have witnessed these atrocities, Turid. Such a school for the vile cannot be allowed to continue its tutelage. If you will have me, I am at your side, as always.”

The quiet elf next to her nodded in agreement. “Aye, been awhile since we had t’deal w’tha’ lot,” he said, his Common tinged with an odd, almost Dwarvish accent.

Ayn’Myrre spoke up. “I would humbly advise against this.” All eyes turned to look at her. “While studying in Darnassus some years ago, I overheard reports brought back to the Cenarion Circle of explorers being snatched out of the shadows by undead and taken into the darkness before their friends could assist them.  Their screams lasted for days and echoed into the broken courtyards of Caer Darrow.” Her hands twisted in distress as she spoke. “These were not young greenleaf adventurers, but some of the strongest Sentinels from Teldrassil.”

A wave of uncertainty went around the room.

Bjorke stood. “I appreciate your concern, Myrre, but we go tomorrow night. Am I arrogant enough to think we are better than the finest Sentinals?” She grinned. “Perhaps. But more than that, I think it doesn’t matter. This is who we are; this is what we do. Our strength is needed, and we go.”

The druid nodded, her eyes downcast as she spoke. “While I will always argue against going into Scholomance, I would not have my clansmen enter there without one who is familiar with healing arts... particularly the abolishment of poison. I go with you.”

“Good. That’s settled, then. Gather your supplies, ready your gear. Screw your courage to your sticking place, and we will not fail.”

“Blood, Glory, Honor!” Norgoth called out, rising to his feet. “This is Sterling!” The resounding cheer filled the hall. All the members headed out to prepare, laughing and jostling each other, filled with the excitement of facing this large challenge together. All but one. The shadowy priest had nearly blended into the wall, standing in the corner, apart from the others, as he was wont to do. He looked at Bjorke, and nodded. He would be there.

Bjorke and Norgoth watched them go, Norgoth grinning proudly. When they had left, she sank down into her seat, and pulled the maps over to her. “This place turns my stomach, Nor. We need to burn it down.”

“Need a hand?” Bjorke’s head jerked up at the familiar voice. There she stood in the doorway, leaning on the door frame, arms crossed, and smiling, the insignia of the Argent Dawn pinned to her cloak.

“Did your little friends offer you a reward for more bones?” Bjorke grinned at Auralis affectionately.

“No, I just thought my baby sister shouldn’t be wandering around up there alone.” Auralis knew exactly which buttons to press as she teased.

“Oh, like last time? Yeah, you really knew what you were doing then.” Her voice took on a slight edge: fear, tinged with bitterness.

Auralis pushed herself off the door frame, and walked over to the table. She sat slowly, gracefully, but with the care that comes with bones that have started to creak, and a body that aches at the end of a long day. Bjorke looked at the lines around her sister’s eyes. When did she get so old? Her fingers went to her own eyes, reflexively, as she remembered there was just a year between them.

“We both know better now, don’t we?” she said quietly.

Norgoth looked between the two, unsure of what to say.

Bjorke pushed the map towards Auralis. “What do you think our strategy should be?”

At this, Norgoth laughed. “We go in and kill everything in sight!”

Both women turned to him. “NO!” their voices rang out in eerie unison.

“There are powerful magicks here, and if we are to have any hope at success, we need to plan.” Bjorke was in her element now – she loved a good plan. Auralis grinned at her sister, and the two of them bent their heads over the map, speaking quietly and quickly, finishing each others’ sentences as they worked.

The large brute frowned at them slightly, then shrugged. He picked up his axes, and his drinking horn, and left to find the others. A good night of drinking was in order before a battle. He left the pair, pouring over the map, discussing the various elements of their plan.

]]> http://tobijohn.wordpress.com/?p=27 Sat, 12 Jul 2008 20:32:24 +0000 tobijohn http://tobijohn.wordpress.com/?p=27 Der ein oder andere hat bei der Installation einer Virtuellen Maschine bestimmt schon einmal festgestellt, das die USB-Unterstützung nur fehlerhaft funktioniert oder sogar gar nicht.

Wenn USB scheinweise gar nicht unterstützt wird, dann liegt das sehr wahrscheinlich an der Version von VirtualBox. Es gibt ja im Grunde zwei Versionen: Einmal die OSE (OpenSourceEdition) oder die ClosedSourceEdition wovon nur die Binaries veröffentlicht wurden.
Um die USB-Unterstützung zu bekommen muss man die ClosedSourceEdition installieren. Die gibt es auf der Webseite des Herstellers (http://www.virtualbox.org/wiki/Downloads).

Wenn man Probleme bei der Übertragung von Daten an den USB-Port hat (speziell bei Microcontrollerprogrammierung), dann muss man unbedingt das Paket "brltty" deinstallieren. Ich habe gleich alle Abhänigkeiten die nicht mehr benötigt wurden mit gelöscht.

Bevor ich USB überhaupt aktivieren konnte musste ich noch eine Datei etwas abändern, da ich bei der Aktivierung des virtuellen USB-Ports diese Fehlermeldung erhielt "Could not load the Host USB Proxy Service (VERR_FILE_NOT_FOUND). The service might be not installed on the host computer."
Um diesen Fehler zu beheben gehe wie folgt vor:

1. Öffne die Datei "/etc/init.d/mountdevsubfs.sh" als superuser (z.B. sudo gedit /etc/init.d/mountdevsubfs.sh im Terminal ausführen)
2. Suche folgende Zeilen

#mkdir -p /dev/bus/usb/.usbfs
#domount usbfs “” /dev/bus/usb/.usbfs -obusmode=0700,devmode=0600,listmode=0644
#ln -s .usbfs/devices /dev/bus/usb/devices
#mount –rbind /dev/bus/usb /proc/bus/usb

3. Alle alle auskommentierten Zeilen "entkommentieren" (also die Raute [#] vor jeder Zeile einfachlöschen)

4. Datei speichern und "sudo /etc/init.d/mountdevsubfs.sh start" im Terminal ausführen

Dann sollte die Fehlermeldung nicht mehr auftauchen. Danke an "http://hillux.de/archives/67".

Ich weiß leider nicht mehr genau wieso, aber bei mir war es nötig meinen Benutzer in die Gruppe "vboxusers" einzufügen.

Dann sollte alles gehen.

sudo apt-get install virtualbox && sudo adduser $USER vboxusers

Tendríamos instalado VirtualBox y nuestro usuario añadido a el grupo "vboxusers". Tan sólo tendríamos que re-logearnos para que los cambios tomen efecto.

En caso de que optes por la edición OSE (Open Source Edition) bastaría con escribir;

sudo apt-get install virtualbox-ose virtualbox-ose-modules && adduser $USER vboxusers


Y ya estaría, podeis encontrar VirtualBox en Aplicaciones -> Herramientas del Sistema -> Sun xVM VirtualBox.

Espero que os haya servido de ayuda.

Hero growled, and Bjorke jerked her body to look behind her. Nothing. Hero continued to stare and growl. “What is it, boy?” A leaf blew across the courtyard, and a faint giggle chased it. A shiver ran down Bjorke’s spine. There was nothing to be seen.

She headed up to the main building, intending search the grounds for grave moss and lotus. These plants flourished around crumbling ruins, and fetched good prices at market.

“Hello, Milady.”

The voice startled Bjorke, and she whirled, pruning knife in one hand, her claw weapon in the other. Nothing. No one.

“I am Eva Sarkoff, and this is my husband, Lucien.”

She squinted, thinking perhaps her eyes were playing up again. But the bright sun showed the clear courtyard. Bjorke moved slowly, quietly, towards the stairs. A decrepit wagon leaned on a broken wheel, looking as much a fixture as the stone walls. Hero growled low, and Bjorke looked at him. He was staring at the empty space between the steps and the wagon, his tail low, and his ears laid back. Bjorke stepped towards the dog, her ears straining to hear the voice again, to get a fix on it.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” A deep, male voice sent a chill down her spine, and her stomach lurched. She stood still, only moving her eyes to look around the empty space. The air shivered, impossibly, and yet it did. She watched, rooted in place. Her body screamed at her to move, to run, to leave this place. But her head wanted more, to know this thing, to vanquish it.

As if appearing through a mage’s portal, a woman, and then a man, showed themselves before her. The pale, slight woman curtsied, and the man bowed. They were dressed in the simple uniform of servants to a wealthy house. They remained apparitions, not fully corporeal, although they clearly saw Bjorke, smiling at her.

“Who… what… are you? What are you doing here?” Bjorke found her voice, willing it to sound calm and confident.

“ We were once servants of the house Barov. What is now known as the Scholomance.” Bjorke guessed this must be Eva, who had introduced herself in that disembodied way. “I was the head maid and Lucien was Master Barov’s butler. We had worked for the Barovs for decades, until….” Her voice trailed off, and she sobbed, the air around her heaving with her cries.

Bjorke lowered her weapons, and stepped closer. “Until what, Eva? I must know.” Her gut was still screaming at her to flee, but something in the timbre of this ghostly woman’s voice touched her.

“Oh, it’s just so horrible, Milady. The house Barov was once full of life.. full of splendor. The manor was the Barov’s primary residence amidst their far-reaching empire.” She paused, looking at the man next to her. He smiled gently, nodding in encouragement for her to continue.

“Lucien and I noticed as the days progressed, the Barovs became depressed. Despondent. Paranoia and rage often overcame the master and missus. At night, we could hear the Barovs arguing in their chambers. From what we understood, their greed had ‘broken the dam,’ so to speak.”

Frowning, Bjorke asked, “What do you mean?”

Eva twisted her apron in her hands. “We suspect in order to preserve their fortune and hold of the land – well past their lifespan – the Barovs made a deal with a powerful human mage named Kel’Thuzad.”

Eva shuddered, and a matching shudder ran through Bjorke’s body.

Lucian put his arm around his wife, and took up the tale. “From this deal sprang the school of the necromancy: A place which bore the Cult of the Damned and would become their capital. As each week passed, the house Barov became more and more decrepit…” He paused, looking at Bjorke with eyes that pierced her, eyes that hinted at the horrors his life had been.

Finding her voice again, Eva said, “Dark beings began to take residence in the various wings of the house. Upkeep became impossible… and disgusting.” The woman scowled, as if the work this had caused her was paramount to the implications of the deed itself.

“Why didn’t you just leave?”

“And go where? It was all we knew; all that we had known, and all that we would ever know.” The futility in her voice was painful to hear. “Eventually, we lost contact with the Barovs and ultimately, we were separated from the household. We knew not what happened to the other servants, only that there were screams. Tortured screams.” She turned her face into her husband’s chest, his spirit-like form still managing to muffle her words. “Knowing we had nowhere to go, Lucien and I were forced to hide in our quarters. During the day, when the school was relatively quiet, Lucien would sneak out to scrounge food and drink.”

“So what happened?”

Lucian stroked his wife’s hair gently. “We did this for about six months and watched as the house went through horrifying changes. Foul monsters roamed through the manor at will. Dark cultists populated every inch with various paraphernalia relating to rituals and sacrifices. We knew we could not hide much longer.

“As expected, we were found and captured. They stripped us of all our clothes and laid us out inside a circle of blood. We sat there for days, naked and terrified.”

Bjorke blurted out, “No restraints? Just in a circle?”

Eva lifted her head, her eyes just as haunted and pained as her husband’s. “Restraints? There are things in this world far more restraining than bars and shackles, milady. The undead surrounded us, constantly tormenting us with horrifying acts of depravity.”

She straightened, tugging at her uniform, as if it were armor, protecting her from the memories. “Finally, *he* came, introducing himself as Doctor Theolen Krastinov. We came to know him as The Butcher.

“We finally understood what the screams were from. The Butcher exposed us to pain that we did not know existed. He used us in countless experiments, attempting to devise a plague. The days turned to weeks. We would have died on the first day had it not been for that cruel bastard keeping us alive through magical means.” She stopped, realizing her words, and looked at Bjorke, almost cowering, the habits of a servant still obvious.

Bjorke shook her head, swallowing back the bile in her throat. “This…. this is an atrocity.”

Lucian took up the story: “The Butcher would speak of ‘the blood of innocents,’ and his dark master, ‘Kirtonos.’ Of how he must appease his master. Finally, the beast was done with his experiments. We had been drained of all life. Our spirits shattered. The sweet embrace of death was upon us and we welcomed it with open arms.”

He sneered. “But in his infinite cruelty, the Butcher revived us from death’s door. We were to be kept alive and thrown to his ravenous ghouls. He laughed as he watched the fiends devour our flesh.”

Bjorke felt dizzy, her stomach churning.

Eva said quietly, “We feel nothing. Our souls remain here, in limbo. We are unable to leave until our remains are found and spirits laid to rest.”

Squaring her shoulders, and sheathing her weapons, at last came the point Bjorke knew what to say. “How can I help? I have people, good, strong people. What do you need done?”

Eva’s voice took on a sing-song quality, as if the strain of telling their story used up her resources for rational thought. “The Butcher is responsible for the deaths of thousands. He must be punished, justice must be meted out. He must be punished…”

Lucian took her hand, patting it, then looked at Bjorke. “Find him and exact upon him the agony he has inflicted upon countless innocents. Once he is destroyed, burn our remains. Turn them to ashes.”

“It will be done. You have my word.” Bjorke bowed to the pair, and turned to walk down the path. “Oh, one last…” she turned back to ask, but they were gone.

“C’mon, boys. Time to gather our troops.”

She knew.

When she confronted him, he told her. She’d laughed at him, saying it was a child’s tale, full of bogey men and big nasties. And then the world was silent, in blackness, save for his words.

She knew.

“Keep me informed,” Norgoth had said when she told him. It was just like him to dismiss this easily. God-killer, champion of Prophets, strong and fearless. Did he not understand? Did he want no part of it? A demon in their midst? No, not a demon… a… Bjorke lacked the words for this secret.

She knew.

That night, after he told her, she lay awake for long hours, listening to her husband’s snores, the whistle of the wind, the faint rustle of animals. And then she found herself in that long, dank corridor, below Fenris Keep. The darkness surrounding her, the damp smell of old earth, the cool stone wall rasping against her hand as she felt her way along the corridor, downward, and downward still. She listened, straining against the deafening silence, trying to catch a sound, other than her heart pounding in her ears. Not even her own footsteps to keep her company as she crept down the hall. There? Did you hear that? That.. smell…. Wait, you can’t hear smells, she told herself, but there it was. The cloying, sickly sweet scent, like rotted fruit. It grew thicker, louder, roaring at her, and the bile rose in her throat. She gagged against it. It was coming, something… in the dark… something was there.

She knew.

Bjorke had awoken, gasping for breath, dizzy, and disoriented. The loud smell still in her head, in her nose, and the hair on the back of her neck on end. But Hero slept, and her husband snored, and it was gone again. She curled against him, drawing his arm around her, and waited for dawn.

She knew.

Staring into the mug of bourbon, she saw the depths of whatever it was in there. The amber liquid dancing in circles in her mug in time to the footsteps in the bar. What was to be done? His friends were unwilling, or unable, to kill him. “Have pity,” the dwarf had said. “He’s been our friend many a long year, and it’s no’ easy to end his life.” She snorted as she tipped up her mug. Wouldn’t be the first old friend she’d taken care of. Had they no courage? If only they’d tell her what to do, she could do it.

She knew.

She had just enough time for a quick bath, before heading to the town square. She found Ose perched on a crate, watching the crowd gather. Bjorke slicked back her still-damp hair, her skin smelling strongly of the mageroyal oil from her bath. “Here’s those potions you asked for, Ose.”

He took the vials from her, his nostrils twitching faintly. “Thanks.”

“Those always work for Norgoth’s indigestion. I hope they do the trick for you.” He had said his last meal hadn’t agreed with him.

The crowd settled down, preparing to hear the news. Bjorke leaned against the stack of crates, where Ose was perched. Most of the news was not news, so much as gnomish banter. A fiery warhorse bearing a man in plate mail made his way slowly through the crowd. He horse reared, whinnying and stomping the ground as if it did not like the crush of people.

“Still haven’t got that thing under control yet, mate?” Ose waved at the man, beckoning him over. “Come meet my new boss. Armod, this is Turid Bjorke Aurelis, of Sterling.”

The man maneuvered his horse carefully, and looked at Bjorke, nodding in greeting. Her hand went to her hair, smoothing it down again. “You doing alright, friend?” he asked of Ose.

Nodding, he replied, “Well enough, considering.” Bjorke watched this exchange carefully, seeing the look that passed between them.

“And now, in a late breaking development!” The Gnomish crier sounded even more excited. “A murder has been discovered in Ironforge! The victim, found in the Forlorn Caverns, is either male or female, and is definitely dead. Investigators are looking into this now.”

A murmur spread through the crowd. Bjorke turned her attention back to Ose and Armod. Ose was looking at his friend, and nodded slightly. Armod pulled his horse around, and headed back across the square. Ose bowed to Bjorke, “If you will excuse me, I have business to deal with.”

“Of course. Safe travels.” She inclined her head in return, and smiled. She waited until they were turning the corner past the Trade district, before grabbing the arm of Thunear, a young Sterling member who had been watching the news as well. “Tell Norgoth… “ she hesitated. What message could she pass along? “Tell him… I’ll see him later.” She slipped into the alleyway, and raced along the back street, glad to be wearing the thin boots still. She saw them as they crossed the canal bridge, and kept her distance.

The pair made their way slowly through town towards the Pig, but instead of heading in, they went instead towards the Five Deadly Venoms. Bjorke hid herself behind crates stacked up, and waited.

“… almost lost it…getting closer….”

“… preparations are almost ready…”

“… you got the liquid fire?...”

Bjorke strained to hear, but their voices were quite muffled. She edged closer to the open door. A pair of rats fighting over a scrap of food made a racket loud enough to wake the dead. She froze, wondering if the men had heard.

“… what was that?.... Nothing…”

Blast it, she thought to herself, and crept away. She went into the Pig, and found Norgoth and Thunear raising tankards of mead to one another. She put her arm around him, and whispered in his ear. “I have to go to Ironforge. Keep an eye on Ose.”

“Ah, I see we are not alone in our need for a drink!” Ose’s laughed heartily, seeing the trio in the pub. He stared at Bjorke, smiling with those perfect white teeth, and a chill ran down her spine, like someone walked on her grave, as Carlo used to say.

The party after the membership ceremony had been rather boisterous, as such things are. So, Bjorke was thankful the next night to be free from duty and she could have a quiet drink in the guild hall. She found the priest checking the notices, and invited him to join her. She wanted Norgoth to meet him, as well, to get a better feel for this new guildmate.

The three sat around a table in an awkward silence for several seconds. Finally, Bjorke spoke up, startling Ose. "So...you started to tell me something the other night but stopped...what was it?" She eyed him closely, one eyebrow raised.

Norgoth turned to look at Ose, taking a drink from the mead-filled mug in his hands.

Ose coughed, clearing his throat and gathering his thoughts. "Well...you see...." The hesitation in his voice made it obvious something was up.

Suddenly, from outside, there was a loud voice, thick with dwarven accent. "Padre?! Is that you in there, you two-bit hack? Get out here!"

Ose immediately perked up, standing so suddenly he nearly knocked the table over.  How fortunate. He thought.  The priest turned and stepped into the doorway.  He also heard Bjorke whispering something to Norgoth, though he couldn't exactly hear what.

Standing before him was a dark haired dwarf with a beard that reached to the floor.  "Evenin', Padre. Long time no see."  Despite the rather friendly greeting, Ose noted a bit of hostility in the dwarf's voice.

Ose laughed.  "Onyxe, my old friend, how are you."  He reached out and touched the dwarf on the shoulder.  The dwarf cringed at the touch and Ose realized exactly what'd he just done. "Oh, uh, sorry, mate."

Onyxe sighed. "You could at least take that damn shadow off before you touch me, you know how I feel about that stuff."

Ose nodded. "Aye, aye, sorry again. But you know my condition..."  He stopped, hearing movement back in the room behind him. Either Bjorke or Norgoth had stood up.

Onyxe continued, "Did you...take care of that little problem, Padre? For good this time, I hope."

It was the priest's turn to sigh. "Yes, I have taken care of the Eft Baruk for sure. On my honor."

The dwarf nodded. "Good, good."  He gazed up at the priest skeptically.

Ose motioned with his head for Onyxe to follow. "Here, mate, if you've got a minute there are a couple of people I'd like to introduce you to."

Onyxe groaned. "Well...I don't have a lot of time, but I can take a minute or two."

Good. Ose thought, Onyxe was just the momentary distraction he needed.  Ose's mind raced furiously, what he had almost told Bjorke the other night was something that would spoil all of the plans he had made, had he burst out in a moment of weakness when They were asleep.

The two stepped back into the building and Ose heard movement beside him...and that Bjorke's chair was empty.  He pretended not to notice but his heart sank anyway.  He put on a smile and said, "Turid, Warmaster, I'd like you to meet an old, dear friend of mine..." He stopped, gesturing to the dwarf and waiting for him to introduce himself.

Onyxe grunted.  "Onyxe Oroninsson of the Khaz-Rhand Ironbeard clan."  He nodded sharply, eyeing the two other humans in the room.

Ose saw Bjorke suddenly back in her seat, skeptical look still on her face.  "Pleasure to meet you, Onyxe." She said flatly, acknowledging him with a slight nod.

Formalities were exchanged and Onyxe went on his way.  Ose followed him, waving a goodbye.  When he stepped back into the room he noticed Bjorke staring at him coldly. She knew he was avoiding the first question and didn't appreciate it. It was now or never, Ose decided.

He took his seat again and found himself twisting nervously under her gaze.  It was cold indeed.  After a moment he spoke up, voice a little gruffer than usual.  "Ah...um...yes, what was I talking about again?" He smiled sheepishly.

"The other night. Something you wanted to tell me. What was it?"  Bjorke spoke slowly, each word sharp with a hint of venom.

"Oh...yes...well...," Ose sighed, he felt his sleeping shadow quiver and mutter. "Back when I was fighting in the 3rd war I left my unit under Arthas' command just before he slaughtered Stratholme. As my new company and I made our way east we were ambushed near the mountains by a large group of Burning Legion.  Myself and two others were the only survivors of the attack but we eventually  got cornered in a dead end.  The other two were devoured immediately, I can still remember their screams vividly.  Why they left me, I have no idea.  Regardless, I was then captured and thrown into the Abyss to be tortured.  There I stayed for two long, horrendous years.  Though time was hard to measure in that place, there was no difference between day or night.

"Eventually, they decided to release me by ending my miserable life.  And I was happy. However, as my innards lay splayed on the ground before me...I passed out from the pain.  I awoke sometime later, somehow fully healed, in a cave in the mountains around Stormwind. I now have reason to believe that the demons who tortured me for that long time have returned and are now hunting me down.  I heard rumors of a mage, Kirindar Jesseth, having his bones picked clean by beings not of this plane of existance.  I can only assume it was the demons who are following me because...I had talked to the mage only hours before about certain magical enchantments.

"If they would do something like that to a person I only talked to for an hour...I'd hate to see what was in store for people who associated with me regularly."  His gazed passed between Norgoth and Bjorke as he paused to gather his thoughts, he noticed both of them were now frowning at him. "And...I suppose I wanted to warn you that night but I didn't want to spoil the moment; everyone was having such a good time."

Norgoth slammed his now empty mug down on the table, startling the priest.  "Ose..." he said sternly, eyes boring right into Ose's soul, his Northlander accent heavy.  "Do you not trust us? Is that why you keep such secrets from us?"

Ose blinked, taken aback. "Uh...n-no, that is..."

Norgoth unbuckled an axe from his belt and placed it on the table.  "Let me tell you something you should already know, my friend, we are an order of honor and glory. Something that may be hard to come by nowadays. Regardless, we are also an order that treasures trust.  If you cannot trust us...who can you believe in? We are like a family here and to be a part of our family you must have every bit of confidence in us and our abilities."

Ose found himself stuttering. "I-It was never a question of the abilities of *anyone* in the guild, I was mere concerned with preserving everyone's state of mind.  I only say something now so that if anything *does* happen...you will be prepared."

Bjorke nodded, her stoneface softening slightly, her voice soothing in contrast to Norgoth's anger. "I am glad you can find confidence in us such after this short amount of time you've been with us, to tell us this now."

The priest sighed softly, he could feel his shadow beginning to awaken.  "The only thing I've ever had for you folk from the very beginning is respect and the knowledge that you could help me with my problems. I'm glad to hear that I haven't come off as merely using you for a means to an end.  While I am more than capable of defending myself...being accepted into a group such as yours and knowing that I have such capable hands to back me up gives me great pleasure."

Bjorke kept her eyes on the man, and spoke quietly to Norgoth in his native tongue. "Something doesn't sit well about his story. I'm going to keep an eye on him."

Norgoth nodded in agreement.

Ose looked between the pair, but could only wonder at the strange language. He stood, carefully this time, and bowed deeply to both Norgoth and Bjorke individually.  A part of him wanted to just burst out and tell the absolute, unabashed truth...but to do so now would put both of his guild leaders in very dangerous positions.  He must wait until They, and he, got weaker just before transfer was necessary.

After Ose had said his goodnights, Bjorke headed for the Forlorn Caverns, to find a man she'd not spoken to in some time. "I've got a job for you," she said quietly to Weldon Montrose. He'd been invaluable in keeping tabs on others in the past. Skilled at his work, the slightly-built man often just faded into the background, unnoticed. Information was exchanged, along with coin, and soon, Bjorke would know a bit more about this man named Ose Haxton.

It was no longer about the package. Yes, she still wanted to give the present she had ordered to her husband, but more than that. The fact that Phil was one of many people she tried to find but couldn’t bothered her.

“Turid, have you heard from Arson?” Razorwyn interrupted her thoughts, but she was glad for the diversion. She looked up from her unfinished paperwork at the tall Draenei.

“No. And when he shows up, I’m going to punt him all the way to Darnassus. Let him port his way back.” Her face was hard with worry, and Razor knew the harsh words covered her true feelings for the missing gnome.

“I’m sure there’s a good explanation.”

“Yeah, probably following that blasted rabbit of his!”

Razorwyn chuckled at this thought, but she was worried, too, as Bjorke could tell from her even more pronounced accent. “I’ll let you get back to work, Turid.”

The town bells chimed, and Bjorke sighed, knowing she had an appointment to keep. She packed up her papers, folding the application neatly to tuck into her tunic. As she made her way to Stormwind, to the tavern in the park, her mind kept going over recent events, and she rubbed the back of her neck, a feeling of ill-ease coming on her.

She walked into the tavern, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the dim interior. Upstairs, a pair of men discussed politics, while downstairs, a man sat under the staircase, and another stood facing the bar. Bjorke waited, assessing both of these men. Which was she supposed to be meeting? The seated man looked quite young, and so she approached the other, clearing her throat to catch his attention.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for…” She paused, tilting the parchment towards the candelabra on the table, squinting at the flowing script. “Ose Haxton?” She looked up at the back of the man’s head, and what appeared to be two yellow eyes blinked open at her, then closed again.

“I am he,” he said, turning to face her, smiling and showing off his strangely perfect white teeth.

“Nice trick,” she said, a bit disconcerted.

“I have many such tricks.” He bowed low, the shadows swirling around him, like his own personal darkness.

They sat at the table, Bjorke asking questions about his past, and how he came to the decision to join Sterling’s ranks. Bjorke was familiar with the ship he had been on, the Reason, and the reputation of it’s captain, Saiji Carrow. “How did you come to leave them?” she asked, leaning back in her chair to study the man.

“I’d done many things in my past, things… I don’t like to think about.”

Bjorke laughed dryly. “Haven’t we all?”

Ose chuckled lightly. “But when they started helping the Scourge… But when they started helping the Scourge… I had to jump ship, so to say.”

“I understand. I can now tell when it is going to rain, from one such parting.” Bjorke grimaced and put her hand to her lower back, over the rib a stiletto had shattered. “Tell me, why us?”

He took a deep breath, the shadows around him seemed to quiver. The priest quickly smoothed unseen wrinkles in his robes and spoke loudly, as if to cover something up. “I've heard whispers around the cities about you folk, all good things, of course. From such whispers I've gleaned that you help people and seek honor and glory in your work. I suppose you could say I would like the chance to make up for past sins.”

Bjorke sat there, regarding him. She had no qualms about allowing a man to make up for past deeds, but was he truly on the same path as they were? Or, was there something more? The hair on the back of her neck stood up, she rubbed at it. He could be a very powerful ally, and certainly, there were other orders, other guilds who had more to be garnered from an infiltration, if he were not genuine.

She nodded her head once, deciding. “Welcome to Sterling.”

A few minutes later, their business concluded, Bjorke and Hero headed back out to the bright sunlight. As soon as they had crossed the threshold, Hero began whimpering, chasing his tail around, and yelping, like an agitated pup.

“Hero! Calm down!” Bjorke scolded him. “What the fel is wrong with you?” He continued on, whimpering as Bjorke mounted her ram. She ignored him, and rode off. Hero caught up to her, panting, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, but she noticed he was no longer behaving oddly. “Hmm. Must have just been stir-crazy in that dark pub,” she thought to herself, before putting it out of her mind completely.

À suivre...

Intérprete: La Bestia (Ose)
Título: Pese A Quien Le Pese Yo Seguiré Fuerte
Año: 1998
Miembro de: La Trama y Panzers.
Tipo: Maxi

Tracklist:

1. Pese a quien le pese yo seguiré fuerte (con Zatu)
2. Manchado de rimas
3. Muchas luchas quedan (con Demo y Titó)
4. Pese a quien le pese yo seguiré fuerte (Instrumental)

Le problème, c'est que malgré toute l'estime qu'elle démontre pour l'ancien Lider Maximo, en faisant état de sa clairvoyance, il faut mentionner que l'ami Fidel n'a pas pensé à cela dans un éclair de génie, pas plus que Bush n'a lui-même pondu l'idée de subventionner la production d'éthanol de maïs. Ici, aussi tôt que le 22 juin 2006, Nathalie Elgrably, entre autres chroniqueuse au Journal de Montréal, disait déjà que l'utilisation du maïs pour faire de l'éthanol, au lieu d'en faire des aliments, représentait une solution douteuse. Mais elle non plus, comme Fidel Castro, on ne l'a pas écoutée.

Par contre, madame Roy écrit que "Pour une des rares fois, les organismes environnementaux ont admis avoir fait une erreur." J'aimerais bien qu'elle donne des noms! Elle est sûrement plus au fait de l'actualité que je ne le suis, mais je n'ai ni lu, ni entendu une nouvelle disant que quelque organisme que ce soit, et encore moins les Al Gore et David Suzuki de ce monde, n'aient avoué quoi que ce soit. Au contraire! On s'est dépéché à remplacer, à l'éthanol de maïs, l'étiquette "biocarburant" par une autre, "agrocarburant", question de culpabiliser un peu plus les agriculteurs, et à réserver désormais l'étiquette "bio" pour d'autres plantes, comme le panic érigé, ou encore d'autres végétaux, comme les résidus de coupe de bois. Ils ont ensuite vilipendé les gouvernements qui ont osé suivre la direction dans laquelle les environnementalistes eux-mêmes ont pointé! Et comme il a fallu beaucoup de temps aux gouvernements à se mettre en marche, il faudra donc s'attendre à ce qu'ils mettent plusieurs années à réaliser la bourde qu'ils ont commis, et à faire marche arrière.

Virginie Roy traite ensuite de l'autre erreur de l'ancien Lider Maximo, celle des ampoules fluorescentes. Car s'il est vrai qu'elles consomment moins d'énergie, ces ampoules nous pénalisent de deux façons; d'abord, elles contiennent du mercure, ce qui les classe comme des déchets dangereux, sans compter qu'elles requièrent d'énormes précautions si l'on a le malheur d'en briser une, et ensuite, l'économie d'énergie réalisée par le fait qu'elles développent moins de chaleur que les ampoules incandescentes sera consommée en chauffage supplémentaire, en hiver, puisque la chaleur développée par les ampoules incandescentes permettaient de réduire l'effort du système de chauffage, ce qui se traduira par davantage de pollution, et de gaz à effet de serre, dans le cas d'un chauffage au gaz, ou au mazout.

Madame Roy souhaite ardemment la naissance d'un prochain Einstein qui viendra sauver notre planète. Pour le bénéfice de son information, ce prochain génie est probablement déjà dans un laboratoire, en train de réaliser des expériences, en collaboration avec d'autres génies. Et qu'est-ce qui leur permettra d'avancer plus rapidement dans leurs recherches? Vous l'avez deviné; la hausse continuelle du prix du pétrole! Si le prix de l'or noir continue d'augmenter, les pressions se feront plus fortes - et les budgets plus volumineux - sur les chercheurs, afin qu'ils trouvent des solutions de remplacement, qui nous permettront de réduire notre dépendance au pétrole. À terme, le pétrole deviendra une source d'énergie marginale, comme l'est devenu le charbon, il y a des décennies.

Bref, je dois me rendre à l'évidence; Virginie Roy avance dans la bonne direction, et plus vite que je ne le croyais possible. Tant mieux pour elle,... et pour nous!

Wildmage is about a book called "The Outstretched Shadow". The tune, called "Telynor", was written about Gwen Knighton (of "Three Weird Sisters" fame). I tried to keep both the tune, and the kind of things Gwen reminds me of, in my mind when writing the song.

Peter Alway has forced me to make them better than my original draft, for which I thank him. "Stick to the music as I wrote it" was his basic message. It got two lines for the chorus of "Wildmage", and the bridge for "The Stars are Gone", which I think made the songs better. I hardly ever write non-funny songs. Most of my songs are even beyond funny, they're "shocking", meant to elicit groans and pain. Peter writes such beautiful tunes that I was forced to write a little more Osey stuff.

Of course...I wrote the songs. I understand them. It will be easy for me to write the parody.

Ici, sur le chemin de la Langue-de-Terre, les résidents de la place utilisent leurs véhicules même si l'eau recouvre complètement la route. Évidemment, il y a des limites à ne pas dépasser, et l'on doit parfois abandonner le véhicule à un endroit sec, au profit de la bonne vieille chaloupe.

On voit d'ailleurs un véhicule stationné au bord de la route, à la limite du "sec". Quiconque n'a jamais tenté de passer sur une route inondée devrait faire l'expérience une première fois à titre de passager.

Nous sommes cette fois sur la route du Nord, toujours à Maskinongé. Au loin, un camion, en panne. Si l'on regarde sur une carte routière, on constatera que la route du Nord se situe... au sud de la municipalité. C'est qu'il s'agit du nord du lac Saint-Pierre, et non du nord de la municipalité de Maskinongé.

Je suis arrêté en bordure de la route du Nord, et une camionnette s'apprête à attaquer une section inondée de la route.

La camionnette est maintenant dans l'eau. Je veux dire, vraiment dans l'eau.

Cette fois, je suis en marche, derrière une autre voiture. Le camion en panne est toujours là. Une fois à sa hauteur, je me suis informé auprès du conducteur, qui m'a dit que l'un de ses amis allait le tirer de ce mauvais pas. Dans les faits, il est entré dans l'eau à une vitesse plutôt élevée, puis tout s'est arrêté net. Même avec un véhicule à moteur diesel, il faut toujours rouler lentement sur une route inondée.

La voiture qui me devançait a passé le premier de deux virages en coude. Nous sommes toujours sur la route du Nord.

Vue latérale de ma voiture, arrêtée dans l'eau, tout juste avant le premier virage en coude.

J'attaque le virage en coude à mon tour. Compte tenu de l'inclinaison du virage, le côté conducteur de ma voiture devra affronter plus d'eau que l'autre, et à date, tout va encore bien.

Le niveau de l'eau se situe environ au centre des roues de ma bagnole. Pour une coréenne, elle se débrouille quand même à merveille.

Toujours sur la route du Nord, cette fois entre les deux virages en coude. Nous voyons bien le courant de l'eau, qui se déverse d'un côté à l'autre de la route. Ce phénomène s'explique par le fait que l'eau de la fonte des neiges, provenant des terres hautes, ne peut pas s'écouler par les cours d'eau, qui sont encore couverts de glace. Celle-ci s'écoule donc par delà la route, pour se diriger vers le lac Saint-Pierre.

Malgré les apparences, les gens du quartier de la Langue-de-Terre ne sont pas en état de panique devant une telle situation. Ils vivent le phénomène presque à chaque année. C'est que le quartier s'est construit, au fil des ans, tout juste au bord du chenal du Nord (d'où le nom de la route), dans la plaine de débordement du lac Saint-Pierre, qui est lui-même un renflement du fleuve Saint-Laurent, entre Sorel-Tracy et le quartier Pointe-du-Lac de la ville de Trois-Rivières. N'étant d'abord qu'une poignée de chalets d'été, les constructions de ce quartier furent rénovées, et la très grande majorité de celles-ci sont habitées à longueur d'année. La situation va continuer d'évoluer pendant quelques jours, puis l'eau se retirera, peu à peu, pour ensuite... revenir!

Cet autre phénomène, communément appelé "les mers de Mai", se produit lorsque le couvert de glace des lacs, situés plus au nord, s'enfoncent dans les lacs, ce qui provoque une nouvelle crue des eaux. Celles-ci se déversent à nouveau vers le bassin de débordement du lac Saint-Pierre. Les citoyens de la Langue-de-Terre se retrouvent à nouveau dans l'eau, pour une dizaine de jours, puis la situation redevient normale, pour de bon, cette fois.

Les résidents de ce secteur de Maskinongé se font souvent traiter de fous, pour oser habiter un quartier qui semble aussi inhospitalier. La plupart de ces gens vous répondront que ces quelques semaines de difficultés sont un bien faible prix à payer, en retour de la nature luxuriante qui les entoure le reste de l'année.