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Halloween Quiz 2012: The Resurrection
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A little quiz within a quiz. Name all five of these movie posters correctly and if you are the winner of the main quiz an extra goody will be thrown into the package.
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If you have already sent a PM please add the answer to this if you would like the extra prize.
Cheers,
Chris
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If you have already sent a PM please add the answer to this if you would like the extra prize.
Cheers,
Chris
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A few stories from previous threads. Do you have one to post?
With thanks to Dixi and Aphrodite
[ATTACH]20157[/ATTACH]
So, does anybody know any good ghost stories?!?
I'm talking about real ghost stories, stuff that's really happened to you, or somebody you know!
I've had some unusual stuff happen to me in my life, but never anything that was weird or creepy enough to make a good ghost story. But, my baby sister... now that's a different story! What I'm going to tell you about her is absolutely true. So, everybody needs to find a stick, and grab a marshmallow, and huddle around the fire while I tell you an eeeeeeerie tale!
The house that she and I grew up in was very, very old, and had been owned by our family since it was built. Many generations of my family had lived (and died) there. (There are even two small private family cemeteries on our property!) So, I'm told that when my baby sister Candy was three or four years old, she began talking about "the nice mommy lady" who came to tuck her in at night, sometimes.
I was grown and away from home by this time, so I wasn't there when all this stuff happened. I'm told that everyone thought that she was imagining things, and so no one paid much attention to what she had to say about her new "friend".
At least, until she was in my father's study one day, where she wasn't usually allowed to go. In that room are oil paintings of some of my ancestors. It's said that Candy stood and stared at one of them and then said, "that look like Connie!", pointing to a painting that was well over two hundred years old. "...but she not smiling!"
The painting was of a woman named Constance, who had died is 1764 giving birth to her third daughter. Stick about seven or eight "great"s in front of "grandmother", and that's who Constance was to Candy, and me.
Candy insisted that the woman in the painting was the same one who was visiting her sometimes at night. Candy liked her, a lot, and thought she was nice.
Constance died giving birth to her daughter, as I said.
Guess what the daughter's name was?
Candice!
As she grew older, Candy quit being visited by Constance, and by the time that my baby sister was a teen, she was pretty sure that she'd just dreamed it.
But there were other members of our family who remembered Candy's descriptions of Constance, and who were just as certain that something uncanny had happened. And I myself can't help but wonder: how would a little girl scarcely older than a baby know the name of an obscure ancestor, in a painting she'd never seen? Did an ancient ancestor actually visit my baby sister?
Who knows? Only Constance could know, for sure... and she's not telling, since she's been dead for nearly two and a half centuries.
(Aphrodite Mae 2011)
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I once had the chance to stay for a weekend with two other chaps in mansion in the county of Devon. It was a huge place with 25 acres of land and the grounds included a lake with a small wooden boat. We arrived late in the evening as the sun was setting on a glorious English summers day. As we approached the drive to the house, which must have been at least half a mile long, we could see the carcass of a sheep in a field to the side of the road. The sheep's throat was bloody and its head was almost severed from the body, but there was no sign that any part of it had been eaten. We were slightly unsettled by this, but we were young and eager to reach the house so thought little more of it. We arrived at the house and took a tour around. It wasn't really a mansion - more of a ramshackle collection of buildings that had been joined together over the years. The main building was constucted from fine local stone, but the attached buildings, which I assumed to be laborers cottages or servant quarters, were far more basic, made from crude brick and wood. As we toured the house we came across staircases so rotten that we worried they may collapse underfoot, leading to rooms that appeared to have been derelict for decades. In other parts of the house rooms had been kept in pristine condition; we found a lush green snooker table in one. After a glass or two of wine we retired for the night. As I shut the curtains I noticed gargoyles set into the stone outside the windows. They seemed unusual as they were facing into the room.
Dawn broke and we all met for breakfast after a quiet and peaceful slumber. After eating we took a longer tour of the grounds. To the north of the house we came upon a small chapel. Wooden pews, riddled with woodworm, had all but collapsed. The ghost of a stained glass window held only lonely red and green shards in its decaying frame, and a church organ, split in two, gave the impression of an empty tomb. Most curious was the image of a devil painted in bright red on the south wall. We worried about the locals. My friends decided to head off for lunch at the nearby village but I stayed behind as I was suffering from a migraine and thought a peaceful hour spent floating in the boat by the lake might help. I dragged my hand through the water as the boat made its way following the placid currents of the lake. Several hours later my friends returned and we spent a second comfortable night at the house. In the morning, after breakfast, we departed. Here ends the tale.
All of the above is true; the sheep, the devil, the strange gargoyles. I would like to say as we left the house and I glanced back I saw a mysterious figure at a window, but it was not to be. If I was ever to see a ghost it should surely have been then – but a shadow of that place still lives with me.
As far as I remember it was turned into a recording studio soon after our visit. Maybe U2 have a tale to tell about it?
(Hobbes 2011)
With thanks to Dixi and Aphrodite
[ATTACH]20157[/ATTACH]
So, does anybody know any good ghost stories?!?
I'm talking about real ghost stories, stuff that's really happened to you, or somebody you know!
I've had some unusual stuff happen to me in my life, but never anything that was weird or creepy enough to make a good ghost story. But, my baby sister... now that's a different story! What I'm going to tell you about her is absolutely true. So, everybody needs to find a stick, and grab a marshmallow, and huddle around the fire while I tell you an eeeeeeerie tale!
The house that she and I grew up in was very, very old, and had been owned by our family since it was built. Many generations of my family had lived (and died) there. (There are even two small private family cemeteries on our property!) So, I'm told that when my baby sister Candy was three or four years old, she began talking about "the nice mommy lady" who came to tuck her in at night, sometimes.
I was grown and away from home by this time, so I wasn't there when all this stuff happened. I'm told that everyone thought that she was imagining things, and so no one paid much attention to what she had to say about her new "friend".
At least, until she was in my father's study one day, where she wasn't usually allowed to go. In that room are oil paintings of some of my ancestors. It's said that Candy stood and stared at one of them and then said, "that look like Connie!", pointing to a painting that was well over two hundred years old. "...but she not smiling!"
The painting was of a woman named Constance, who had died is 1764 giving birth to her third daughter. Stick about seven or eight "great"s in front of "grandmother", and that's who Constance was to Candy, and me.
Candy insisted that the woman in the painting was the same one who was visiting her sometimes at night. Candy liked her, a lot, and thought she was nice.
Constance died giving birth to her daughter, as I said.
Guess what the daughter's name was?
Candice!
As she grew older, Candy quit being visited by Constance, and by the time that my baby sister was a teen, she was pretty sure that she'd just dreamed it.
But there were other members of our family who remembered Candy's descriptions of Constance, and who were just as certain that something uncanny had happened. And I myself can't help but wonder: how would a little girl scarcely older than a baby know the name of an obscure ancestor, in a painting she'd never seen? Did an ancient ancestor actually visit my baby sister?
Who knows? Only Constance could know, for sure... and she's not telling, since she's been dead for nearly two and a half centuries.
(Aphrodite Mae 2011)
[ATTACH]20149[/ATTACH]
I once had the chance to stay for a weekend with two other chaps in mansion in the county of Devon. It was a huge place with 25 acres of land and the grounds included a lake with a small wooden boat. We arrived late in the evening as the sun was setting on a glorious English summers day. As we approached the drive to the house, which must have been at least half a mile long, we could see the carcass of a sheep in a field to the side of the road. The sheep's throat was bloody and its head was almost severed from the body, but there was no sign that any part of it had been eaten. We were slightly unsettled by this, but we were young and eager to reach the house so thought little more of it. We arrived at the house and took a tour around. It wasn't really a mansion - more of a ramshackle collection of buildings that had been joined together over the years. The main building was constucted from fine local stone, but the attached buildings, which I assumed to be laborers cottages or servant quarters, were far more basic, made from crude brick and wood. As we toured the house we came across staircases so rotten that we worried they may collapse underfoot, leading to rooms that appeared to have been derelict for decades. In other parts of the house rooms had been kept in pristine condition; we found a lush green snooker table in one. After a glass or two of wine we retired for the night. As I shut the curtains I noticed gargoyles set into the stone outside the windows. They seemed unusual as they were facing into the room.
Dawn broke and we all met for breakfast after a quiet and peaceful slumber. After eating we took a longer tour of the grounds. To the north of the house we came upon a small chapel. Wooden pews, riddled with woodworm, had all but collapsed. The ghost of a stained glass window held only lonely red and green shards in its decaying frame, and a church organ, split in two, gave the impression of an empty tomb. Most curious was the image of a devil painted in bright red on the south wall. We worried about the locals. My friends decided to head off for lunch at the nearby village but I stayed behind as I was suffering from a migraine and thought a peaceful hour spent floating in the boat by the lake might help. I dragged my hand through the water as the boat made its way following the placid currents of the lake. Several hours later my friends returned and we spent a second comfortable night at the house. In the morning, after breakfast, we departed. Here ends the tale.
All of the above is true; the sheep, the devil, the strange gargoyles. I would like to say as we left the house and I glanced back I saw a mysterious figure at a window, but it was not to be. If I was ever to see a ghost it should surely have been then – but a shadow of that place still lives with me.
As far as I remember it was turned into a recording studio soon after our visit. Maybe U2 have a tale to tell about it?
(Hobbes 2011)
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Years ago during my first tour of duty in Germany (before I met A.M.), a few buddies and I headed downtown to Bobligen to have a few beers and carouse with the local women. We stayed out until very late, and when we were heading back to the barracks at about 1 a.m., we decided to take a shortcut through a section of town that we normally didn't frequent.
As it turned out, our path took us into an ancient part of the city, and we discovered a huge cemetery that was surrounded by very high hedge rows. The occasional glimpses we caught of the cemetery's interior was rather foreboding. It was pretty obvious that the place had quit taking new occupants hundreds of years ago. To sum it up, the place was extremely creepy to a handful of young American soldiers who were somewhat intoxicated.
Matters weren't made any better by the fact that there was a section of the street where a streetlight was out (a very rare thing in 1980's Germany). And so, there we were... walking through the eerie darkness, past an extremely creepy cemetery. Everyone got really quiet, and I'm guessing that we probably picked up the pace, a little bit.
You know how, in the movies, they always say that a place was, "Quiet. Too quiet." Well, that's where we were. That's when the guy at the front of our little group slowed just a little, and started to turn toward the rest of us, to say something over his shoulder.
"You know, this place gives me the cree-..."
He never finished his sentence.
Suddenly, his body violently jolted toward the hedge, right beside him, and with a blood curdling scream, he kicked and thrashed as he began to submerge into the sinister darkness of the hedge. His screams sounded like he was being eaten alive by something. Oh, Lord, we were both shocked, and absolutely terrified!
At least, for a couple of seconds. That's when we realized that he was laughing like a maniac at our reactions. Of course, he'd deliberately lunged into the hedge, screaming. All it took was our heightened edginess and the dark and creepily sinister atmosphere to be totally taken in by his prank.
(Dixi 2011)
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This is the chilling story from long, long ago (about three years, to be exact) of the dreadful, horrible... Artichoke Heart!
All of you with children know that kids can be picky eaters. Our eight-year-old daughter Melanie has absolutely refused to eat Artichoke hearts since she was five. She had a bad first experience with them, and so I can't say that I blame her. The person who I do blame is her older sister, Jan. Here's how it happened.
Our family likes to try new foods from time to time. And so one day, when Melanie was still in kindergarten, I decided to introduce the girls to marinated Artichoke hearts.
"What's for dinner, mommy?" asked Jan, as she walked into the kitchen with her little sister in tow.
"We're going to try something new!" I told my little darlings, and promised that they were going to learn just how yummy Artichoke hearts were.
Now, another tradition we have in our family is scholarship. My husband has taught our kids that the best way to answer a question is to find out for yourself. And so, we have two sets of encyclopedias: Encyclopedia Britannica for "grown ups", and World Book Encyclopedia for kids. The World Book has lots of interesting and pretty pictures.
So when little Melanie asked what an "artichoke" was, I was happy when Jan said, "let's go see!" before I could respond. I knew that she was going to lead her little sister to the World Book Encyclopedia. I was proud of my eldest daughter for wanting to help her baby sister learn new stuff. But my happiness didn't last very long.
It was only a minute or two later that I heard a shrill scream from the living room. An instant later, baby Melanie came racing into the kitchen. She was almost hysterical, with her sweet little face streaked with tears as she tugged on my apron.
"Don't make me eat it! Please, mommy, please, don't make me eat it, and don't hurt the artichoke, even if its ugly…!"
Meanwhile, Jan was suspiciously absent. Hmm.
It didn't take long for me to find out what had happened. Jan had gone to the World Book, probably with sincere enough intentions… but when she'd opened up the encyclopedia, one of the first entries is… aardvark. And so, she'd pointed to the picture of the aardvark and said to her sister,
"There. That's one! That's what an artichoke looks like. …and Mommy's gonna make you eat its heart, for dinner!"
Poor little Melanie!
(Aphrodite Mae 2008)
Years ago during my first tour of duty in Germany (before I met A.M.), a few buddies and I headed downtown to Bobligen to have a few beers and carouse with the local women. We stayed out until very late, and when we were heading back to the barracks at about 1 a.m., we decided to take a shortcut through a section of town that we normally didn't frequent.
As it turned out, our path took us into an ancient part of the city, and we discovered a huge cemetery that was surrounded by very high hedge rows. The occasional glimpses we caught of the cemetery's interior was rather foreboding. It was pretty obvious that the place had quit taking new occupants hundreds of years ago. To sum it up, the place was extremely creepy to a handful of young American soldiers who were somewhat intoxicated.
Matters weren't made any better by the fact that there was a section of the street where a streetlight was out (a very rare thing in 1980's Germany). And so, there we were... walking through the eerie darkness, past an extremely creepy cemetery. Everyone got really quiet, and I'm guessing that we probably picked up the pace, a little bit.
You know how, in the movies, they always say that a place was, "Quiet. Too quiet." Well, that's where we were. That's when the guy at the front of our little group slowed just a little, and started to turn toward the rest of us, to say something over his shoulder.
"You know, this place gives me the cree-..."
He never finished his sentence.
Suddenly, his body violently jolted toward the hedge, right beside him, and with a blood curdling scream, he kicked and thrashed as he began to submerge into the sinister darkness of the hedge. His screams sounded like he was being eaten alive by something. Oh, Lord, we were both shocked, and absolutely terrified!
At least, for a couple of seconds. That's when we realized that he was laughing like a maniac at our reactions. Of course, he'd deliberately lunged into the hedge, screaming. All it took was our heightened edginess and the dark and creepily sinister atmosphere to be totally taken in by his prank.
(Dixi 2011)
[ATTACH]20154[/ATTACH]
This is the chilling story from long, long ago (about three years, to be exact) of the dreadful, horrible... Artichoke Heart!
All of you with children know that kids can be picky eaters. Our eight-year-old daughter Melanie has absolutely refused to eat Artichoke hearts since she was five. She had a bad first experience with them, and so I can't say that I blame her. The person who I do blame is her older sister, Jan. Here's how it happened.
Our family likes to try new foods from time to time. And so one day, when Melanie was still in kindergarten, I decided to introduce the girls to marinated Artichoke hearts.
"What's for dinner, mommy?" asked Jan, as she walked into the kitchen with her little sister in tow.
"We're going to try something new!" I told my little darlings, and promised that they were going to learn just how yummy Artichoke hearts were.
Now, another tradition we have in our family is scholarship. My husband has taught our kids that the best way to answer a question is to find out for yourself. And so, we have two sets of encyclopedias: Encyclopedia Britannica for "grown ups", and World Book Encyclopedia for kids. The World Book has lots of interesting and pretty pictures.
So when little Melanie asked what an "artichoke" was, I was happy when Jan said, "let's go see!" before I could respond. I knew that she was going to lead her little sister to the World Book Encyclopedia. I was proud of my eldest daughter for wanting to help her baby sister learn new stuff. But my happiness didn't last very long.
It was only a minute or two later that I heard a shrill scream from the living room. An instant later, baby Melanie came racing into the kitchen. She was almost hysterical, with her sweet little face streaked with tears as she tugged on my apron.
"Don't make me eat it! Please, mommy, please, don't make me eat it, and don't hurt the artichoke, even if its ugly…!"
Meanwhile, Jan was suspiciously absent. Hmm.
It didn't take long for me to find out what had happened. Jan had gone to the World Book, probably with sincere enough intentions… but when she'd opened up the encyclopedia, one of the first entries is… aardvark. And so, she'd pointed to the picture of the aardvark and said to her sister,
"There. That's one! That's what an artichoke looks like. …and Mommy's gonna make you eat its heart, for dinner!"
Poor little Melanie!
(Aphrodite Mae 2008)
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I was about thirteen. I was playing Risk with Eric (the son of the best girlmate of my mother), in his bedroom.
The game was long, and the d6 dices started to show only 5 (why not 6?). Then actually only the number 5. At first we laughed, then we were used to: "Ok, the dices only roll the 5. Why not?". The night was here, Eric was sited it's back to the window. I saw a youg man face for two seconds at the window behind Eric, then the dices went back to normal. It was so weird, I had difficulty in believing that all was true, so I only told some minutes later to Eric that I saw somebody behind him in the garden looking through his room window.
The game was long, and the d6 dices started to show only 5 (why not 6?). Then actually only the number 5. At first we laughed, then we were used to: "Ok, the dices only roll the 5. Why not?". The night was here, Eric was sited it's back to the window. I saw a youg man face for two seconds at the window behind Eric, then the dices went back to normal. It was so weird, I had difficulty in believing that all was true, so I only told some minutes later to Eric that I saw somebody behind him in the garden looking through his room window.
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A few of the old links still work.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2T5_0AGdFic
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRnGkAiNhyQ&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yt9R0I3gSk
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BNjcuZ-LiSY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pY8jaGs7xJ0
A few of the old links still work.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2T5_0AGdFic
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRnGkAiNhyQ&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yt9R0I3gSk
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BNjcuZ-LiSY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pY8jaGs7xJ0
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[ATTACH]20208[/ATTACH]
One from Dixi:
Danse Macabre was first performed in 1875. It's otherwise known as opus 40 by French composer Camille Saint-Saëns.
The composition is based upon a poem by Henri Cazalis, involving an old French superstition.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YyknBTm_YyM
One from Dixi:
Danse Macabre was first performed in 1875. It's otherwise known as opus 40 by French composer Camille Saint-Saëns.
The composition is based upon a poem by Henri Cazalis, involving an old French superstition.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YyknBTm_YyM
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yellow ribbon
- Posts: 2245
- Joined: Sun Jun 26, 2011 5:42 pm
Hobbes wrote:involving an old French superstition.
ah...back in the time when children were singing....
Ring-a-ring o' roses,
A pocket full of posies,
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!
We all fall down
*********************
Working in East Europe at the moment, i just can add real ghost stories. I have no problem within Romes and Paris catacombs, but the Sedlec-Ossuary gave even me a shiver
...not paid by AGEOD.
however, prone to throw them into disarray.
PS:
‘Everything is very simple in War, but the simplest thing is difficult. These difficulties accumulate and produce a friction which no man can imagine exactly who has not seen War . . . in War, through the influence of an infinity of petty circumstances, which cannot properly be described on paper, things disappoint us, and we fall short of the mark.‘
Clausewitz
however, prone to throw them into disarray.
PS:
‘Everything is very simple in War, but the simplest thing is difficult. These difficulties accumulate and produce a friction which no man can imagine exactly who has not seen War . . . in War, through the influence of an infinity of petty circumstances, which cannot properly be described on paper, things disappoint us, and we fall short of the mark.‘
Clausewitz
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More responses than usual for this early stage so far - but not a huge number and not all are correct.
If you enter you will have a good chance of winning!
One from Aphrodite:
[ATTACH]20223[/ATTACH]
LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE
by: James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)
LITTLE Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--
An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
More responses than usual for this early stage so far - but not a huge number and not all are correct.
If you enter you will have a good chance of winning!
One from Aphrodite:
[ATTACH]20223[/ATTACH]
LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE
by: James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)
LITTLE Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--
An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
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Pocus wrote:Good stories Hobbes. I almost believed that at the end of your, you would told us that the gargoyles were now looking toward the exterior
That would have been wonderfully weird. Had they been movable it would have made for a great prank.
One strange thing I didn't mention was this statue/gargoyle figure in the hallway my friend took a picture of as we left the house.
I got this off his Facebook page. He has some smart gizmo on his camera that loads pictures immediately to his page.
Not seen him recently come to think of it - must give him a ring.
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Odd thing is we didn't notice it when we first walked in.
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Franciscus
- Posts: 4571
- Joined: Fri Apr 20, 2007 8:31 pm
- Location: Portugal
Hobbes wrote:[ATTACH]20212[/ATTACH]
Very interesting! I missed this when I was there.
Ha, amateurs...
In Portugal, in the city of Evora (in Alentejo) we have the "Bone Chapel" - an idylic place:
All walls, columns...real human bones...
And the masterpiece, this inscription on the entrance:
It says, more or less:
"We, the bones that here rest, are waiting for yours"
Have a good night...
Hobbes wrote:That would have been wonderfully weird. Had they been movable it would have made for a great prank.
One strange thing I didn't mention was this statue/gargoyle figure in the hallway my friend took a picture of as we left the house.
I got this off his Facebook page. He has some smart gizmo on his camera that loads pictures immediately to his page.
Not seen him recently come to think of it - must give him a ring.
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Odd thing is we didn't notice it when we first walked in.
You never notice them until too late. Per the story, you need to delete that pic, or we are all doomed.
Remember - The beatings will continue until morale improves.
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Mommyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!! 
leure: leure:
leure: leure:[color="Navy"][font="Georgia"]"Mi grandeza no reside en no haber caído nunca, sino en haberme levantado siempre". Napoleón Bonaparte.[/font][/color]
[color="Blue"]Same Land. Different Dreams. - Photobook[/color]
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[color="Blue"]Same Land. Different Dreams. - Photobook[/color]
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An Ancient Roman Ghost Story
There was in Athens a house, large and spacious, which had a bad reputation as though it was filled with pestilence. In the dead of night, a noise was frequently heard resembling the clashing of iron which, if you listened carefully, sounded like the rattling of chains. The noise would seem to be a distance away, but it would start coming closer… and closer… and closer. Immediately after this, a specter would appear in the form of an old man, emaciated and squalid, with bristling hair and a long beard, and rattling the chains on his hands and feet as he moved.
The unfortunate inhabitants of the house went sleepless at night due to unimaginable and dismal terrors. Without sleep, as it had happened to others, their health was ruined and they were struck with some kind of madness – as the horrors in their minds increased, they were led on a path toward death. Eventually even during the daytime, when the ghost did not appear, the memory of their nightmares was so strong that it still passed before their eyes, every waking moment. Their terror was constant, even when the source of fear was gone.
Because of this, the house was eventually deserted and damned as uninhabitable, abandoned entirely to the ghost. In hope that some tenant might eventually be found who was ignorant of the house’s malevolence, a bill was still posted for its sale. As it happened, a philosopher by the name of Athenodorus came to Athens at that time. Reading the bill for the house, he easily discovered the price – and being an intelligent man, he was suspicious at its extremely low cost. Someone did tell him the whole story, and yet he wasn’t dissuaded, but was instead eager to make the purchase. Thus, he did.
When evening drew near, Athenodorus asked for couch to be readied for him at the front of the house. He asked for his writing materials and a lamp, and then asked his retainers to retire for the night. In order to ensure that his mind stayed focused and away from distractions of stories about imaginary noises and apparitions, he poured all his energy into his writing.
For awhile, the night was silent. Then the rattling of fetters began. Athenodorus would not lift his eyes or set down his pen. Instead, he concentrated on his writing and thereby closed his ears. But the noise wouldn’t stop, and it only increased and drew closer until it seemed to be at the door and then standing in his very chamber! Finally, Athenodorus looked away from his work… and saw the ghost standing just as it had been described. It stood there, waiting, beckoning him with one finger.
Athenodorus held up his palm as though the visitor should wait a moment, and once again bent over his work. The ghost, impatient, shook his chains over the philosopher’s head, beckoning again. This time, Athenodorus picked up his lamp and followed the ghost as it moved slowly, as though it was held back by its chains. Upon reaching the courtyard, the ghost suddenly vanished.
Now on his own, Athenodorus carefully marked the spot where the ghost vanished with a handful of leaves and grass. The following day, he asked the magistrate to have that spot dug up, and in that spot was found – intertwined with chains – the skeleton of a man. The body had lain in the ground a long time and had left the bones bare and corroded by the fetters. The bones were then collected and given a proper burial at public expense – and since the ghost’s tortured soul had been finally laid to rest, the house in Athens was haunted no more.
As originally recorded by Pliny the Younger
Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus 61 AD – 112 AD, better known as Pliny the Younger, was a lawyer, author, and magistrate of Ancient Rome.
Pliny is known for his hundreds of surviving letters, which are an invaluable historical source for the time period. Many are addressed to reigning emperors or to notables such as the historian, Tacitus. Pliny himself was a notable figure, serving as an imperial magistrate under Trajan.
An Ancient Roman Ghost Story
There was in Athens a house, large and spacious, which had a bad reputation as though it was filled with pestilence. In the dead of night, a noise was frequently heard resembling the clashing of iron which, if you listened carefully, sounded like the rattling of chains. The noise would seem to be a distance away, but it would start coming closer… and closer… and closer. Immediately after this, a specter would appear in the form of an old man, emaciated and squalid, with bristling hair and a long beard, and rattling the chains on his hands and feet as he moved.
The unfortunate inhabitants of the house went sleepless at night due to unimaginable and dismal terrors. Without sleep, as it had happened to others, their health was ruined and they were struck with some kind of madness – as the horrors in their minds increased, they were led on a path toward death. Eventually even during the daytime, when the ghost did not appear, the memory of their nightmares was so strong that it still passed before their eyes, every waking moment. Their terror was constant, even when the source of fear was gone.
Because of this, the house was eventually deserted and damned as uninhabitable, abandoned entirely to the ghost. In hope that some tenant might eventually be found who was ignorant of the house’s malevolence, a bill was still posted for its sale. As it happened, a philosopher by the name of Athenodorus came to Athens at that time. Reading the bill for the house, he easily discovered the price – and being an intelligent man, he was suspicious at its extremely low cost. Someone did tell him the whole story, and yet he wasn’t dissuaded, but was instead eager to make the purchase. Thus, he did.
When evening drew near, Athenodorus asked for couch to be readied for him at the front of the house. He asked for his writing materials and a lamp, and then asked his retainers to retire for the night. In order to ensure that his mind stayed focused and away from distractions of stories about imaginary noises and apparitions, he poured all his energy into his writing.
For awhile, the night was silent. Then the rattling of fetters began. Athenodorus would not lift his eyes or set down his pen. Instead, he concentrated on his writing and thereby closed his ears. But the noise wouldn’t stop, and it only increased and drew closer until it seemed to be at the door and then standing in his very chamber! Finally, Athenodorus looked away from his work… and saw the ghost standing just as it had been described. It stood there, waiting, beckoning him with one finger.
Athenodorus held up his palm as though the visitor should wait a moment, and once again bent over his work. The ghost, impatient, shook his chains over the philosopher’s head, beckoning again. This time, Athenodorus picked up his lamp and followed the ghost as it moved slowly, as though it was held back by its chains. Upon reaching the courtyard, the ghost suddenly vanished.
Now on his own, Athenodorus carefully marked the spot where the ghost vanished with a handful of leaves and grass. The following day, he asked the magistrate to have that spot dug up, and in that spot was found – intertwined with chains – the skeleton of a man. The body had lain in the ground a long time and had left the bones bare and corroded by the fetters. The bones were then collected and given a proper burial at public expense – and since the ghost’s tortured soul had been finally laid to rest, the house in Athens was haunted no more.
As originally recorded by Pliny the Younger
Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus 61 AD – 112 AD, better known as Pliny the Younger, was a lawyer, author, and magistrate of Ancient Rome.
Pliny is known for his hundreds of surviving letters, which are an invaluable historical source for the time period. Many are addressed to reigning emperors or to notables such as the historian, Tacitus. Pliny himself was a notable figure, serving as an imperial magistrate under Trajan.
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Franciscus
- Posts: 4571
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- Location: Portugal
Hobbes wrote:Nice
Hey, Hobbes, why do you think that is strange? These are normal things to hang... especially now that Christmas is approaching.
[color="Navy"][font="Georgia"]"Mi grandeza no reside en no haber caído nunca, sino en haberme levantado siempre". Napoleón Bonaparte.[/font][/color]
[color="Blue"]Same Land. Different Dreams. - Photobook[/color]
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
[color="Blue"]Same Land. Different Dreams. - Photobook[/color]
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
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Franciscus
- Posts: 4571
- Joined: Fri Apr 20, 2007 8:31 pm
- Location: Portugal
In Roman mythology, the entrance to the Underworld located at Avernus, a crater near Cumae, was the route Aeneas used to descend to the realm of the dead.
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The Romans believed that when one died, one was met by Mercury, the messenger god and son of Jupiter and taken to the river Styx, that flowed nine times around the underworld. There they paid the ferryman, Charon, a fee to cross the river where they were met and judged by Minos, Aenaeus, and Rhadymanthas.
However, the Romans did not believe in eternal damnation. Therefore, after one was judged he was sent either to the Fields of Elysium, if one was a warrior or other type of hero, or to the Plain of Asphodel, if one was an ordinary citizen. However, if one was judged to have committed a crime against society, one would have been sent to Tartarus to be tortured by the Furies until such time as one's debt to society was deemed to have been paid in full. At that time, one was released. All three areas of the underworld were ruled over by Pluto, brother of Jupiter.
In order to prepare the deceased for the afterlife, the Romans buried their loved ones with a variety of artifacts. Of most importance was the inclusion of a coin on the body with which the soul would pay Charon, the ferryman, for passage across the river Styx. Other objects entombed with the deceased could include food, cosmetics, and jewelry. The sarcophagus was usually decorated with images of the deceased. The Romans believed that it was very important that their loved ones have a proper burial for if they did not they would be denied entrance into the underworld and spend eternity in a purgatory-like existence.
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There Charon stands, who rules the dreary coast
A sordid god: down from his hairy chin
A length of beard descends, uncombed, unclean;
His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire;
A girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire.
Virgil
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The Romans believed that when one died, one was met by Mercury, the messenger god and son of Jupiter and taken to the river Styx, that flowed nine times around the underworld. There they paid the ferryman, Charon, a fee to cross the river where they were met and judged by Minos, Aenaeus, and Rhadymanthas.
However, the Romans did not believe in eternal damnation. Therefore, after one was judged he was sent either to the Fields of Elysium, if one was a warrior or other type of hero, or to the Plain of Asphodel, if one was an ordinary citizen. However, if one was judged to have committed a crime against society, one would have been sent to Tartarus to be tortured by the Furies until such time as one's debt to society was deemed to have been paid in full. At that time, one was released. All three areas of the underworld were ruled over by Pluto, brother of Jupiter.
In order to prepare the deceased for the afterlife, the Romans buried their loved ones with a variety of artifacts. Of most importance was the inclusion of a coin on the body with which the soul would pay Charon, the ferryman, for passage across the river Styx. Other objects entombed with the deceased could include food, cosmetics, and jewelry. The sarcophagus was usually decorated with images of the deceased. The Romans believed that it was very important that their loved ones have a proper burial for if they did not they would be denied entrance into the underworld and spend eternity in a purgatory-like existence.
[ATTACH]20254[/ATTACH]
There Charon stands, who rules the dreary coast
A sordid god: down from his hairy chin
A length of beard descends, uncombed, unclean;
His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire;
A girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire.
Virgil
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yellow ribbon
- Posts: 2245
- Joined: Sun Jun 26, 2011 5:42 pm
Franciscus wrote:Why would you think such a thing, my dear Hobbes...?
you have to understand him, northern of the mountains, we are used to have a piece of glass in front of the mummies...[ATTACH]20255[/ATTACH]
people used to touch them frequently, was bad for business...
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...not paid by AGEOD.
however, prone to throw them into disarray.
PS:
‘Everything is very simple in War, but the simplest thing is difficult. These difficulties accumulate and produce a friction which no man can imagine exactly who has not seen War . . . in War, through the influence of an infinity of petty circumstances, which cannot properly be described on paper, things disappoint us, and we fall short of the mark.‘
Clausewitz
however, prone to throw them into disarray.
PS:
‘Everything is very simple in War, but the simplest thing is difficult. These difficulties accumulate and produce a friction which no man can imagine exactly who has not seen War . . . in War, through the influence of an infinity of petty circumstances, which cannot properly be described on paper, things disappoint us, and we fall short of the mark.‘
Clausewitz
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yellow ribbon
- Posts: 2245
- Joined: Sun Jun 26, 2011 5:42 pm
Hobbes wrote:This is a photo taken in your lounge yellow?
after three assassination attempts of my spouse during AIE beta, what else can one expect. i somehow got used to eat like the Romans. looks like the 4th try was successful ?!
its in the former monastery Fürstenfeld, the Holy Hyacinthus
...not paid by AGEOD.
however, prone to throw them into disarray.
PS:
‘Everything is very simple in War, but the simplest thing is difficult. These difficulties accumulate and produce a friction which no man can imagine exactly who has not seen War . . . in War, through the influence of an infinity of petty circumstances, which cannot properly be described on paper, things disappoint us, and we fall short of the mark.‘
Clausewitz
however, prone to throw them into disarray.
PS:
‘Everything is very simple in War, but the simplest thing is difficult. These difficulties accumulate and produce a friction which no man can imagine exactly who has not seen War . . . in War, through the influence of an infinity of petty circumstances, which cannot properly be described on paper, things disappoint us, and we fall short of the mark.‘
Clausewitz
At least he's not hanging from a wall.
As you mention food how about a nice Roman recipe?
Libum
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10 oz ricotta or soft cheese. 1 egg. 2½ oz plain flour. Runny honey.
Beat the cheese with the egg and add the sieved flour very slowly and gently. Flour your hands and pat mixture into a ball and place it on a bay leaf on a baking tray.
Place in moderate oven until set and slightly risen. Place cake on serving plate and score the top with a cross. Pour plenty of runny honey over the cross and serve immediately
Not tried it yet.
All people playing AJE can now add to the immersion by eating this while playing. The only thing sadder would be to wear a replica roman helmet while playing the game. If anyone happens to do this please post a pic on this thread - this is definitely the thread to post such a picture on.
As you mention food how about a nice Roman recipe?
Libum
[ATTACH]20257[/ATTACH]
10 oz ricotta or soft cheese. 1 egg. 2½ oz plain flour. Runny honey.
Beat the cheese with the egg and add the sieved flour very slowly and gently. Flour your hands and pat mixture into a ball and place it on a bay leaf on a baking tray.
Place in moderate oven until set and slightly risen. Place cake on serving plate and score the top with a cross. Pour plenty of runny honey over the cross and serve immediately
Not tried it yet.
All people playing AJE can now add to the immersion by eating this while playing. The only thing sadder would be to wear a replica roman helmet while playing the game. If anyone happens to do this please post a pic on this thread - this is definitely the thread to post such a picture on.
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yellow ribbon
- Posts: 2245
- Joined: Sun Jun 26, 2011 5:42 pm
ok, that far we have
stories,
some places to meet people, who do not bother cold nights
some other places where we can hang around for a while
...and food
but as AGEOD has educational purpose, we need more culture, music maybe. No gentle folks, this is not created by Hollywood, its a classical:
Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, Bach
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ho9rZjlsyYY
stories,
some places to meet people, who do not bother cold nights
some other places where we can hang around for a while
...and food
but as AGEOD has educational purpose, we need more culture, music maybe. No gentle folks, this is not created by Hollywood, its a classical:
Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, Bach
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ho9rZjlsyYY
...not paid by AGEOD.
however, prone to throw them into disarray.
PS:
‘Everything is very simple in War, but the simplest thing is difficult. These difficulties accumulate and produce a friction which no man can imagine exactly who has not seen War . . . in War, through the influence of an infinity of petty circumstances, which cannot properly be described on paper, things disappoint us, and we fall short of the mark.‘
Clausewitz
however, prone to throw them into disarray.
PS:
‘Everything is very simple in War, but the simplest thing is difficult. These difficulties accumulate and produce a friction which no man can imagine exactly who has not seen War . . . in War, through the influence of an infinity of petty circumstances, which cannot properly be described on paper, things disappoint us, and we fall short of the mark.‘
Clausewitz
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