Difference between revisions of "ASCII art reward/M-S"

===(30 November 2015)===

==[[User:Met|Met]]==

===(June 2011)===

<pre>||~@++%||@++++</pre>

"I am innocent of these crimes!" cried Fuglin as he was dragged away. Sitting in the dungeon cell, he could recall the cheers of the dwarves as the judge pronounced the verdict. It wasn't fair. The adamantine wasn't his. He was just holding it for somebody. Now in prison, he was left to rot. A guard stopped by his cell and poured a cup of gruel on the cold stone floor. Anger and despair were all he felt now. From now on he dared not hope.

 

It had begun as such a small thing. Fuglin and the goblin had known each other since the construction of the fortress. Fuglin was young then.

One day Fuglin visited the goblin, this time locked in the stockade.

"You know the path through the stone?" said the goblin. "The one we built as children? You must go there and bring me what you find. It is the key to my release."

<pre>,.,.,.,.,@|#######&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&</pre>

The space was not built for more than a child, a narrow, twisting tunnel winding its way through the foundations of the fortress. At the bottom, Fuglin saw a light, a silvery glowing rock at the end of the tunnel. This must be it, thought Fuglin, a bribe to set the goblin free. Hastily, Fuglin took up his pick and chiseled off a piece of the silver metal.

Something lay beyond the tunnel. A hole the size of a dwarf's fist opened where Fuglin struck. He could hear a strange howling within, no doubt another subterranean jungle. The dwarf didn't stay to find out. He squirmed as fast as he could, finally reaching the exit where he found the goblin, free from his bonds.

"You survived," said the goblin. "Keep the adamantine as a token of our friendship."

"Wait!" cried Fuglin, but the goblin had disappeared.

<pre>@@@@@,.,o@,..##||#&#&#&&&&#&</pre>

What happened next was hard to say. There was a lot of smoke and fire. Dwarves ran screaming through the fortress. Captains shouted orders to soldiers they could not see through the clouds of burning vapor. Fuglin was scared beyond reason. He tried to follow the others, ducking when the monsters swooped down.

It seemed it would never end, then Fuglin came rolling out of the fortress gate just as another fire blast rocketed overhead. As it was, the demons could not, or would not set foot outside the fortress. What few dwarves that were left gathered at the hills below. Fuglin recognized a blacksmith which with he had apprenticed. Before he could speak the blacksmith pointed his finger.

"He is the one!" the dwarf cried. "Look! He still has the rock in his paw!"

===(July 2014)===

<pre>@g+0++0++0++0++0++0++0++<</pre>

"You have a visitor," said the prison guard.

It was the goblin, dressed in a dark cloak. Fuglin had blamed his

fate on the goblin, but now that he saw him it all seemed so

pointless. In the morning, he would go to the hammerer to be forged

anew. Fuglin began to wonder why the goblin showed up at all if not

to gloat at his handiwork.

The goblin dropped the pill into Fuglin's open hand. The fluid in the

humiliating public execution. The goblin turned and left without

saying another word. Fuglin put the pill in his mouth and bit down

hard. A moment's dizziness was all he had time to experience.

"Where am I?" asked Fuglin.

"Quiet," said the goblin. "We are in the catacombs. The dwarves

believe you committed suicide."

 

 

===(October 2015)===

 

<pre>g@,.,.@@@></pre>

 

Why had he been rescued? Fuglin was a traitor and had to be forged anew, but to do that, he had to die. The goblin held his hand as they exited the tomb. There was a family of dwarves mourning just outside. As they passed, the goblin held Fuglin close, pretending to be lovers lost in grief. It worked this time, but in order to start a new life, they needed Fuglin to exchange his sackcloth for real clothes. The goblin led Fuglin through a maze of corridors to the fortress market.

 

“You look like a scribe to me,” said the goblin.

 

“Like those creeps that spend their whole lives in the library?” complained Fuglin.

 

“Forget your old life,” said the goblin. “That is what it means to serve in the Order of Nadir.”

===(November 2015)===

 

<pre>+++@p|</pre>

 

Writing prose under the pen name Robinor, Fuglin began his new life as a scribe. Life was different out in the periphery. The monastery where the scribe worked was built into a hillside deep in the Forbidden Forest. Not many people would risk a journey there, but Robinor's works ended up being so skillful and filled with such beauty that he gained the one thing he could no longer afford, fame.

 

None of the brothers spoke to Robinor as they had all taken vows of silence, but the dwarf could still tell that they were pretty mad about all the visitors they had been attracting lately. Robinor greeted his fans with the humility one would expect from a monk, but it was easy to tell that the dwarf was succumbing to the sin of pride.

 

One day, Robinor was praying in the shrine to Nadir when a bird landed on the creepy statue of the god of the depths. It was a parrot, out of place in the cold northern climate. Robinor stood on his feet and walked over to the statue.

 

“Pretty bird,” said Robinor. “Pretty bird.”

 

“You are all going to die,” said the parrot.

 

 

 

“What?” asked Robinor, stupidly to the bird.

 

“Fuglin,” said the parrot.

 

The monk's face went white as a sheet. Someone had taught the parrot to speak these words, someone connected to his old life. The scribe, Robinor, had thought he had left all of that behind. Occasionally a dwarven survivor from Robinor's old fortress would appear at the monastery, but they never recognized him. This was something far more sinister. It had to be the goblin.

 

 

 

“See for yourself,” said the monk. “Then you will understand.”

It could only be one person, the phantom from the past. The goblin stood at the entrance of the building, the parrot on his shoulder. He smiled at Robinor as he approached.

 

“Fuglin!” said the goblin. “It's been a long time, my friend.”

 

“I am no longer that person,” said Robinor. “I have a new life here.”

 

“You have the life I gave you,” said the goblin, the smile fading from his lips.

 

 

<pre>,.@,@@.@,.MMg[@</pre>

“The king has grown attached to the writings of this 'Robinor,'” said the goblin. “This puts you, Fuglin, in the unique position to get close to him. You remember this?”

The glass pill was unmistakable. The black fluid danced inside as the goblin shook it in Fuglin's face. It was the ill-fated dwarf's job to poison the king in any way he could. When Fuglin went to retrieve his writing material, the goblin took him by the arm and removed him forcibly from the building. He would not be needing any of that stuff where he was going. Fuglin fell silent as he boarded the wagon that the goblin drove with its team of mules.

On the way to the capital many travelers stopped the wagon to ask if the dwarven monk was indeed the famous Robinor. The dwarf writer allowed himself to forget the evil quest he was on. Word spread quickly of the scribe's journey to see the king.

“You better do what you're told,” warned the goblin.

 

“Robinor,” exclaimed the king, “it is a great honor!”

“It is all too much,” said Robinor, fumbling with the deadly pill in his pocket.

The king clasped the monk's hand and pulled him into his private chambers. The goblin watched ominously as the door closed, sealing the two dwarves inside. Waiting patiently, the goblin eyed the royal guards which flanked the doorway. There wasn't a lot of room to move if this went badly. Just then, the door swung open.

 

“The king!” cried Robinor. “The king is dead!”

Drawing their weapons, one guard went inside while the other guard arrested Robinor and the goblin. The king had apparently collapsed on the floor. There was a black smear on his lips. The guards took the monk and goblin down to the dungeon to await their fate. When they were separated, the goblin didn't say a word. Robinor didn't know which was worse, to be executed for destroying the fortress, or for regicide.

 

“It was all the goblin's doing,” cried Fuglin to the lead investigator. “Where is the king's body?”

 

“Tell me more about this goblin,” said the detective. “How long have you known him?”

 

“We grew up together,” said Fuglin. “He was always getting me in trouble. Where is the king? There still might be time to save him.”

 

“You are telling me that the great Robinor is actually the famous traitor, Fuglin the Feckless?” asked the detective.

 

 

 

=== (April 2016) ===

 

<pre>|%++N++@|</pre>

 

It was cold and dark in the catacombs. Fuglin was shocked that the dwarves had fallen for the same old trick, or was the joke on him this time? The goblin wasn't here to guide him out of the dark tunnels and Fuglin was buried alive. He slid out of the alcove and shed his funeral shroud. It was dark and creepy and Fuglin could sense the dead bodies all around him in various states of decay.

 

“I am not Fuglin,” said the wretched dwarf. “I am Robinor.”

 

“You mean the famous poet?” said a voice in the dark.

 

“The same,” said Robinor after a moment's terror. “Tell me, are you not dead?”

 

“As dead as the writer who took his own life, twice!” said the ghoulish stranger.

 

 

“I will show you,” said the ghoul.

 

It was difficult to make out the monster in the dark. It looked basically like a dwarf, but stooped and sickly. Robinor followed him to a grave where the family had left gifts as an offering to the dead. The ghoul took some of the morsels of food and shared them with Robinor.

 

“A good haul this time,” said the ghoul.

 

 

<pre>,.,.|@+@g++++!@!@!@!@</pre>

 

This was not the fate Fuglin would have chosen for himself. He lived for weeks as a ghoul in the darkness of the catacombs, all the while wishing he could write about his adventures as Robinor. In time, a custodian came to dust off the bodies and Fuglin was lurking nearby. It was the goblin! Fuglin picked up the femur of a decomposing skeleton. When the goblin approached, Fuglin lifted up the bone and prepared for the killer blow.

 

“I know you are here,” said the goblin.

 

Stopped in his tracks, Fuglin lowered the bone. He wanted revenge, but more than that, he wanted a way out. The goblin explained to Fuglin how the king's evil adviser had put his own son on the throne and ordered the mass executions of the king's supporters. If Fuglin left now, he could easily escape in the confusion.

 

Crowds of angry dwarves moved up and down the corridors with torches in their hands. None seemed to notice the humble beggar and his goblin friend. When they reached the fortress gate, they found it closed.

 

“No one is allowed in or out without doing obedience to the rightful king,” said the gate guard.

 

“Which king is the righteous one?” whispered Fuglin.

 

 

<pre>,.~~,~.g,,@,.~,.</pre>

 

“Prince Phlega is the new king,” whispered the goblin.

 

“All hail King Phlega!” shouted Robinor.

 

Once they were outside the gate, things became strange. There was a reddish mist all around, and the trees were dark and foreboding. It was said that the land and the king were one. If so, this Phlega could be counted among the most wicked to ever sit on the throne. Robinor remembered the stories of how the prince used to torture his servants as if they were the animals he constantly abused. Now his evil had begun to pollute the natural world.

 

“We have to stop this,” said Robinor.

 

“I have saved your life twice now,” said the goblin. “Where is your sense of loyalty?”

 

“The sky itself is bleeding,” cried Robinor. “How bad are things going to get before you are satisfied?”

 

 

“It cannot be,” said Fuglin. “I renounce this evil!”

A lighting bolt struck nearby and Fuglin was temporarily deafened. The goblin was trying to say something but Fuglin couldn't make it out. The red clouds above began to swirl. It seemed like the tales of old and the Nightmare Apocalypse. Nowhere was safe as the gods abandoned their sinful creation. Fuglin knew what he had to do. He trudged back toward the castle through a torrent of blood.

“No more petitioners,” said the guard at the gate.

“Can't you see?” asked Fuglin. “The world is about to end!”

The dwarf looked like he had been rolling in filth. No one was sure where he had come from. The petitioners said he just walked out of the woods like that. The guard decided to turn him away, rather that having to deal with the smell while arresting him.

“You are cute,” said the goblin, “trying to save the world after all you have done to turn it out to the Master.”

Standing in the puddle of blood rain, soaked with filth and gore, Fuglin didn't really have an answer for the goblin. All he knew was that he had to do something. The goblin looked so smug, standing there in his fancy cloak. He was probably pleased with his creation, the monster, Fuglin. The dwarf nearly forgot the femur that he held tightly in his fist. The goblin laughed, revealing a shining gold tooth. That was enough for Fuglin.

“Fuglin,” said the goblin, “how many times have I saved your life over the years? You owe me.”

“I'll show you what I owe you,” growled Fuglin.

It was over in an instant. Fuglin had only hit him once, but that was enough. The dwarf knelt down and tried to wake the goblin, but he wasn't breathing. It was the ultimate sin: to betray one's benefactor. Though, as many times as the goblin had got Fuglin out a jam, he had usually been the one responsible for the mess in the first place. Now he was dead. Fuglin had no idea what to do now. He looked into the broiling sky and its many open portals to K'ung. Maybe it was time to rejoin the endless chaos.

“Robinor!” cried a woman's voice.

“Yes?” asked Fuglin.

The young lady didn't look too much better off than Fuglin, but these days no one did. She wore a man's tunic, covered in blood spatter. Fuglin dropped the broken bone when he saw her staring at it.

“Did you kill him?” asked the woman.

“He was a bad person,” explained Fuglin.

“Of course,” said the woman. “My name is Rose. You should come with me.”

<pre>UUUUU.U.@[=]HH</pre>

There was a carriage waiting on the highway just out of town.  Fuglin followed the stranger, Rose, as she boarded the covered carriage.  The poor dwarf was glad to be out of the gory rain.  It seemed a shame to ruin the plush interior of the carriage, but Fuglin was far from complaining.  He looked back out the window.  The goblin's body was just around the corner.  Fuglin thought he would probably be reincarnated as a slug for his crimes.

“There are some friends down the road a ways,” said Rose. “They would be glad to met the famous poet, Robinor.”

“And the murderous traitor, Fuglin,” said the dwarf, “would they be glad to see him?”

“The time has come for you to make a choice,” said Rose.  “Will you serve the light, or the darkness of K'ung?”

There was a stone chapel up ahead.  They were far enough from the capital that the powers of K'ung gave way to sunshine.  Rose offered Fuglin a fresh robe and he changed while Rose walked up to the chapel door.  He stood by the carriage as Rose returned with a crowd of surly looking fighters.

“Tell us, oh Robinor,” said Rose. “How can this evil be undone?”

ladder. Sharkra smiled, for this meant they had run out of ammunition

for their war machines. She dodged out of the way as a human invader

not, these dwarves would fight the death to save their blasted

mountain. At last she reached the battlements.

Battle master Sharkra was an evil genius of combat. It was rumored

she had sacrificed everything she loved for riches and lost it all

gambling the same night. Her very aura smelled of the underworld.

Now she soldiered for anyone who would pay her. Pay her and her elite

troop of mercenaries, the Unholy Band. This time is was rat-lord

Gomra that hired her.

Sharkra pulled herself onto the fortress wall. Members of the Unholy

Band leapt over the battlements, light on their feet. Together they

advanced on the dwarves. Sharkra wielded a giant mace, while the Band

“We have you,” said Sharkra. “Throw down your weapons and die quickly.”

Something sailed through the air and struck Sharkra in the face, a

glass flask filled with fuming liquid. The glass shattered sending

pain coursing through the evil woman’s body. She put her hand to her

face and it came back covered in slime. She straightened up and

wasn’t the first time.

“What are you standing around for?” screeched Sharkra. “Kill them.”

The vain and evil Sharkra pulled a mirror from her pack which she

carried at all times. Her face was never much to begin with, but now

it was utterly ruined. Gomra, thought Sharkra, it is all his fault.

The warrior woman whistled and the Unholy Band followed her as she

retreated from the fortress.

“What is your plan master?” asked Bally, the dwarven squire.

“We shall follow this villain back to Lord Gomra,” said Duzelm “and

catch all the rats in the same trap. Go to the humans in Gelthtown,

they have the quick steeds we require.”

horses, along with master rider Jorna. She was blond and lean, draped

horses and strapped themselves in.

“Are you sure you can keep up with the Unholy Band?” asked Captain Duzelm.

They called him Fish-Dwarf. He was the only worker in the outpost willing to brave the depths of the cave river in order to service the floodgate mechanisms when they became clogged with the seasonal muds.

It was that time again. The farming gates weren't operational, and the planting had to begin immediately. Fish-Dwarf had his tools, and the special fins he had manufactured were secured to broad feet. Everything was ready. The frightened faces of the onlooking children would not dissuade him. Fish-Dwarf understood that this was his calling. He was the only one that could save the outpost. The dwarf inhaled, and his chest swelled to nearly double its original size. Clearing his mind, the dwarf dove into the water.

===(8 November 2007)===

<pre>~~~@%X</pre>

Fish-Dwarf swam down the narrow tunnel to the gate mechanism. The water was murky and even with his superior vision he could only just see his hands sweeping ahead of him.

 

The upper portion of the mechanism appeared suddenly before him. The dwarf inspected the machinery quickly, mindful of his air, yet confident that he had at least a few minutes left. The top assembly was clear, so the mud must have worked itself into the lower gears. Fish-Dwarf pushed his way down.

The swollen rotting face of a lizardman greeted him, twisted into the gears. Not again, Fish-Dwarf thought, dejected. It would take at least three trips to dislodge all of the chunks. The dwarf removed the chisel from his tool case and began working it into the sticking jam.

"Fish-Dwarf, you have saved us!" the children shouted as the wet dwarf

run, and already the floodgate was rising, ushering in the waters that

"Truly, Fish-Dwarf, your mastery of the murky depths never ceases to

amaze us. You are a hero," the Mayor Kogan said, offering Fish-Dwarf

a mug of the outpost's best.

"I am glad I could help," Fish-Dwarf said, draining the mug in one

motion. "If only the river waters were whiskey, my life would be

"I fear we would never see you again if that were the case!" the Mayor jested.

"My presence? Surely the engineers of the Mountainhome can manage the

There is something lurking in the Lake of Columns."

===(18 January 2008)===

<pre>~~~@/~~%OB%OO%%%~~</pre>

Innumerable stalactites hung from the ceiling of the expansive gem-lit

cavern, many dipping down through the still surface of the black

waters. This was the Lake of Columns, the source of life for

Steelpoint, and now a place of dread.

Fish-Dwarf fit the blades into place on his fins. The citizens of

Steelpoint did not know what the creature was, but no fewer than seven

fisherdwarves had been lost at the shore. No matter, thought

Fish-Dwarf. King Dorazar had charged him to slay the lurking threat,

and that is what he would do. Still, the nature of the creature

beast, and then it was only the cave crocodiles and lizardmen that

sent for him over such a triviality. Hefting his mighty trident,

Fish-Dwarf nodded to the gathered onlookers before leaping into the

lake.

The water was clear, and he could see the broad columns well ahead of

him down to where they joined the submerged floor of the cavern.

Behind any of these formations, the beast could lurk.

There! Nestled between three columns was a gigantic bloated form on

the lake bottom. Fish-Dwarf swam closer, almost drifting. What

of the dead.

Fish-Dwarf was almost upon it now, his trident lifted above his head

as he sank slowly toward the sleeping fiend. As he prepared to

strike, the lurid thing's lone eye flashed open.

===(15 May 2008)===

<pre>------------------------

~~~~~~~~~~~@/~%~~~~~~~~~

------------------------</pre>

Tentacles lashed out, looping around Fish-Dwarf's torso and pinning

experienced crushed his ribs and a stream of bubbles shot from his

mouth as the breath was squeezed from his body. Fish-Dwarf

desperately slashed at the tentacles with his fin blades and as his

vision faded to black he saw that the water was thick with curling

purple ribbons of the foul beast's tainted blood. The monster's grip

loosened and Fish-Dwarf was able to free his arms. His sight had not

deep into the creature. The monster's body convulsed and it raced

into the open water, Fish-Dwarf still clinging to the imbedded weapon.

suddenly in the back of his mind arose a strange sensation... it was

the need for air, such as he had not experienced for many years. A

tingling came to his throat and nose, and his head began to feel numb

as he became more desperate for breath, and yet slowly, his vision was

returning.

The beast slowed, its energy spent, and it settled on to the lake

bottom, unmoving. Fish-Dwarf jammed the trident into it a few times;

the thing was dead. Now, the surface! Fish-Dwarf pulled his weapon

from the monster and swam upward, but he stopped immediately. As far

as he could see in the now-dark water, a smooth ceiling of limestone

greeted him. The monster had fled into a great crack in the lake

bottom, so far and so deep that the light from the gem lamps was no

tomb of Fish-Dwarf, he thought, as he chose a direction and swam.

<pre>,@!,.~~~~~~~~</pre>

He had chosen the wrong direction. Either that or the beast had

dragged Fish-Dwarf so far into the mountain that the fires of the

underworld were closer than the light of the lamps. His breath was

panicking. After every few kicks, the dwarf would reach up to feel

the limestone. If anything, the rock was closing in. No... what's

this? His hand curled up around a sharp corner. Fish-Dwarf grabbed

it firmly with both hands and pulled, launching himself upward.

The dwarf fully expected to meet a wall of rock, but instead he glided

freely until at long last he broke the surface of the water, gasping

for air. As the dwarf calmed down, he realized that he could still

see nothing. He felt walls close by in all directions, as if he had

just swum up a shaft, though there was a ledge overhanging the water

on to which he could haul himself and rest his weary body. Fish-Dwarf

passed in and out of consciousness for a time, perhaps an hour, before

he sat up and assessed his situation.  

He could dive back into the water with his lungs full of air and try

to find the lamps, now unmolested by great underwater beasts, but he

did not relish the idea of leaving the entrance to the shaft behind in

total darkness as he explored the crevice below. The only alternative

was to feel his way along the walls from this ledge above the grotto.

mountain. Without hesitation, Fish-Dwarf struck out into the cavern.

puddle these many days. He thirsted for spirits, nay, even water, and

he longed to swim again. The dwarf had long since abandoned his fins

and other equipment as they encumbered him too much on the march.

Every so often, he imagined he saw the gem lamps ahead, though it

down pebble-laden slopes to the stream below. Instantly, Fish-Dwarf

could tell that these were no ordinary waters. They were the color of

honey, yet the current flowed rapidly. And the aroma! The

intoxicating aroma! There was no question in his mind. Whether it

underworld to besot the armies of hell made no difference, for here,

<pre>,..,.++U+,.+,.+U~U||</pre>

Suffering blighted the land with cruel hunger. Wagons brought foul

fungus from the dwarven mountains. It was barely enough to sustain

those base enough to eat such filth. The rest died. Paldadar rested

against the hilt of his great sword. He looked over his shoulder at

the dark stone castle. Turning his back on mud brick huts, the knight

passed by the scraggly bearded guards and entered the keep.

From a high window, bright, mocking sunlight shone across the dark

wooden throne and the troubled king that sat upon it. The old man

reached for his cup, and after taking a sip, spat the vile dwarven

brew unto the stone floor. A herald in a mud-smattered tunic rushed

to wipe up the spill, but seeing the knight, rose to confront him.

"You were not summoned, Sir Paldadar," spit the herald. "Go ask the

peasants instead of begging the king for scraps from the royal table."

"Silence, Rodger," said the king.

"The gods have abandoned this place," said the king. "Only through

their glory will the days of bounty return. It is for this reason you

   

<pre>==?T?====,.UH,.U</pre>

faces. He was still a knight, even if he represented the most

wretched of kingdoms. A frail sissy approached from behind, leading

Rodger, wearing the snottiest of faces, his nose in the air.

"By the will of the king," he hissed, "I am to be your squire."

Paldadar prayed to the gods for mercy. Would that a Farthling's bolt

the pair made their way to the Temple of Love, where High Priest

Igland waited to bless their holy crusade.

The temple was built on a tall hill, a ring of marble columns

surrounding an enormous stone stele, pricking the sky with its

majesty. All around the temple, peasants scrambled to snatch at the

scraps donated by the monks that poured rotten food down the hill. As

Paldadar entered the temple, he was surrounded by fat priests and

priestesses that danced around him in a grotesque, undulating display.  

"When you wake in the morning," said Igland, "consider Love."

"Many happy couplings," said Paldadar as was the prescribed response.

"You must put an end to the Farthling menace," said the priest,

growing angry. "If their God of Suicide spreads his faith to our

the heart of their kingdom and burn their temple to the ground."

The kingdom of the Farthlings was separated from the kingdom of Love

wooden planks.

<pre>%,..%,.|%.,.UH,%..%%UH,,%.~%,..(%).,.%|,..%</pre>

Green flames shot up from beneath the bridge. Horrid laughter pealed

across the blighted landscape. The knight turned to see Rodger making

tracks back to the temple with the speed of a spooked hare. Slowly

Paldadar looked over his shoulder to see the enormous bloated troll,

dripping with slime and black pus.

"You seek to pass into the land of suicide bearing the message of

love," said the troll. "What will you tell them, knight? Is slow

choice?"

"Where there is life, there is hope," said Paldadar. "Love will

overcome all obstacles!"

"Spoken like a true student of Igland," said the troll, assuming a martial pose.

Was the nation of love superior? He hailed from a place where young

and hauled him, protesting, across the bridge.

their way through the hills. Even in these pleasant surroundings, the

the road here and there, swords plunged into their own guts. Corpses

hung in the trees from hastily-tied nooses, over eager to take their

own lives. As the riders passed, skeletal bodies lifted themselves

"Make babies, make babies, make babies," babbled Rodger, madly

reciting the Charm of Making.