nophica's witness

[leonaquitaine]

GPose Guide: Dark-skinned characters

I got some questions about how to work with dark-skinned characters - and also heard some comments on how hard it is to gpose them. So here's a compilation of use cases, some techniques, and setups!

Posing in dark settings

This is where dark-skinned characters shine, pun intended. Point lights give a lot of flexibility, and character/environment lights are great tools to give volume and detach characters from the background.

In this example, 3-point sources are used to provide volume to the characters, without relying on character brightness at all. The Neneko Nikuman preset gives excellent brightness, contrast, and depth of field (DoF) options.

Posing in bright settings

Contrast is a powerful tool, and dark-skinned (and dark-clad) characters can use that to their great advantage.

In the following example, a hard white light is positioned to create a strong rim light for volume, with a support gold source for tone and a light purple point to bring up the character's face. The Neneko Cocktail preset gives rich metal tones and excellent contrast.

The second example is about color. The same preset (Neneko Cocktail) is used, with ADOF+BOKEH and ADOF+BLUR enabled to give a dreamy quality to the background. Light sources emulate the sky.

Colorful/Pastel clothing/scenario

You may have heard that dark-skinned characters don't go well with certain colors, like pink or white. That is not true: Dark skin palettes have as much width as pale ones, just in a different range - and light sources can bring them up.

The first example uses a very colorful background, with Neneko Lux driving the hue and brightness up. Instead of fighting it, we use the scenario colors to our advantage by projecting them around the character.

The second example is a portrait where we again use the scenario to provide hints about the light sources. Neneko Melonpan gives an excellent, smooth pastel treatment. Let's see the step-by-step from the original state to the final result.

The first light is placed to emulate a cyan reflection from the water. The second emulates the bluish reflection from the sky, and The third is pretty near and creates a sunny rim light.

With everything in place, we can enable the preset - and play around with DoF to decide how much we want to detach it from the scenario, taking away attention from the background and popping the character.

 Posing together with fair-skinned characters

We can borrow some practices from real-life photography. The most important: position your light sources around the dark-skinned character. This will give you enough contrast to play with, and lessen the amount that reaches the other.

Composition (Extreme)

Compositions with lots of glow elements make it hard to pop the character features: since armor and weapons don't emit real light, everything needs to be compensated with the three-point lights, plus character and manual scene brightness.

In this case, the character is positioned in such a way as to hide frontal reflections while still bringing his expression out a bit with well-defined rim lights.

Comment: The default in-game lighting leaves much to be desired

This is certainly true to an extent. The in-game settings are apparently tuned towards a common denominator between wildly different form factors (i.e. PC, Playstation 3-5), so a muted palette is used.

This results in ashen colors and small gradient differences between dark tones in certain situations; keep that in mind if you're looking for locations. Again, lighting can be used to remediate - but not eliminate - these limitations.

Final Thoughts

This isn't, by any means, a comprehensive guide. Dark-skinned characters come in a glorious amount of shades and tones, so I tried to keep it simple and discuss some basic aspects.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask! It'll help others that may stumble over this thread.

And thank you for your patience!

[is-the-owl-video-cute-deactivat]

In traditional falconry, the verb to describe a raptor drinking water is “to bowse”. This is one decadent bowser if I ever saw one.

[is-the-owl-video-cute-deactivat]

A much less elegant bowse. Sir, please. You’re spilling it everywhere.

[is-the-owl-video-cute-deactivat]

Oh dear.

[bookbornexiv]

novel

"The rabbit could do nothing but cower in fear as the shadow of the hawk fell upon it... You know, I’m beginning to see how this book is not so appropriate for children, even though it has very cute illustrations...”

Sui looked up from the book on his knees, perhaps seeking some validation for this opinion, but his voice trailed off as he looked at Silvaineaux slumped fast asleep in the chair opposite him, eyes shut and chin to chest. He left the book on the table and hopped to his feet, tiptoed over to peer down into Silvaineaux’s face. “I’m sorry, I should have realized you were tired. You shouldn’t sleep in this position. Come, I’ll roll you into bed...”

But he spoke in such a hushed voice he could barely hear himself, as if he feared waking the recipient of his message. Perhaps he intended to receive no response from Silvaineaux, to watch the knight remain peacefully slumbering in the chair, unmoving save for the slow rise and fall of mighty chest and shoulders. He sidled close enough to rest his hands upon those broad shoulders, perhaps pondering the futility of attempting to manually move Silvaineaux with his own frail arms, and then simply left them there. As if he were enjoying the feeling of that steady, regular, movement under his own hands; the feeling of someone you loved simply breathing, existing, still being here with you.

When Silvaineaux finally started awake, he would lift his head to see Sui standing before his chair, hands twined about his neck and shoulders, gaze anchored in some distant point in space and time buried deep in the floor beneath his seat. “Sui?” And Sui would jump, startled, in turn, feeling as much as hearing the deep rumble of Silvaineaux’s voice. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have bored you reading out loud that silly little book...”

“I was rather enjoying it,” Silvaineaux said. “Your hawk and rabbit voices were very good. I’m sorry I dozed off. What happened to the rabbit? He was looking for the hawk, even though the hawk told him he might eat him if they met again. Did he? Did the hawk...?”

“Yes,” Sui said firmly. He bent down to touch his lips to Silvaineaux’s forehead. “I mean, yes, it ends happily. I didn’t like where it was going so I will think of my own ending to that story. I mean, I think the hawk definitely wanted to eat the rabbit, but if he really did, he wouldn’t have told the rabbit to avoid him..."

Silvaineaux had shut his eyes, as is the gentlemanly thing to do when kissed, but opened them again to look up thoughtfully at Sui.

“I do think the hawk liked the rabbit very much,” he said. “But he did also awfully want to eat the rabbit. The point of the story seems to be that a man - pardon, a hawk - can feel both feelings at once.”

“Well if you love something very much you shouldn’t eat it, because then you won’t have it any more.”

Silvaineaux nodded solemnly, as if committing such sage words to heart. Then, in a single smooth movement like a hawk swooping from the sky, he rose to his feet, scooping Sui up easily into his arms, bringing him close enough for a kiss so sudden and ferocious it could perhaps have been described by a hapless novel writer as a vicious bite, a devouring strike.

(borrowing Silvaineaux from @houserosaire from whom i plead forgiveness if i have written anything out of character)

[bookbornexiv]

the hawk in the trees

The shrine was livelier than usual, as it was wont to be in these few precious weeks or so left to harvest season. Last-minute but heartfelt prayers and offerings to the Matron (how bountiful her blessings) for strong arms and sharp sickles, for clear skies, for definitely no early frost or sudden swarms of pests, thronged the usually sleepy little building and trampled the grass around it flat.

In all this hubbub Mei stood still, ears pointing up, tail flat and tucked straight down the back of her skirt, her eyes dark and saucer-wide. Sui found her as he was hurrying out of the shrine, and paused, stooping to wave a hand over her face. "What's the matter?" he asked.

Mei jumped, as if she'd been trying to very gently tug on a string until she found the person whose sleeve it unraveled from, only to find it had snapped. She looked past Sui, around the clearing, scrutinizing each face: farmers, seasonal workers, some merchants, all come to pay their respects to the goddess of the harvest. "Is your big man here?"

"What?" Sui spluttered, although he clearly had a wonderful moment imagining the look on the goddess Halone's face if Silvaineaux had indeed joined the crowd paying homage to the Matron. "No, he's -- He has a name, you know."

"You said not to use his name so he wouldn't get into trouble. Are you sure? He wouldn't, like, hide in the trees to watch you? In a non-creepy way, of course."

"No..." Sui paused. "I mean, I suppose he is capable of doing anything if he thinks it's the right thing to do. Maybe he would but in an absolutely non-creepy way. Why are you asking? Did you catch a glimpse of him?"

"I don't smell him," Mei said. "But something's watching you. I don’t know why I just assumed it was your big man. But I don't smell him."

Now Sui, too, turned to cast a doubtful eye upon the faithful gathered to give their annual praise to the Matron. “How do you know something’s - someone’s watching? Why me? Is it Nophica? Maybe it’s Nophica.”

“No,” Mei said. “I mean, fine, yes, She watches over you always. But this is someone else. Someone with skin.”

“You mean like a regular person,” Sui said. “Yes, well, maybe they’re shy. Come, let’s not scare them away. You must look like a hawk to their rabbit... You don’t want them to feel unwelcome, do you?”

Mei rolled her eyes, but after one last baleful glare at the tree-shadows and up into the tangle of leaves and branches overhead, she turned to follow Sui. Deep, deep within the trees, perhaps the tiniest little thread of sunlight filtering through a crack in the dense foliage illuminated a sliver of tawny skin, a lock of dark hair, reflected a pinpoint glimmer of light in a piercing eye as it followed the white-robed priest fluttering happily around his shrine.

[punches-and-cream-puffs]

15. Row

Her feet had wandered into the Twelveswood, far from the roads. The further she wandered, the easier she breathed. Further still and she'd stopped looking over her shoulder. There was solace out there, deep from the prying eyes and lurking threats that haunted her dreams. Out in woods deep and dark and wild did she find peace.

Boots crunching on leafy ground as she wove her way through the ocean of trees, sunlight dappling the earth through the orange and gold canopy above. Onward until umber and flame gave way to verdant lush, till trees laden with fruit filled her vision, the scent of apple heavy in the air.

The Orchard.

And at it's center, the apple tree had twisted, grown, flourished....looming over the clearing at the center with it's boughs of many colors; golden fruits alongside ruby and emeralds, silently beckoning the passerby closer. Begging them to take a few. A dozen. Fill your baskets overflowing. Feast.

But it was one apple in particular that she focused on, it's golden sheen near metallic. The last time she'd seen it, it'd been large, but now it was engorged, hanging upside down from a cluster of leaves. It hung perfectly still, and had it not been for it's positioning, it may have passed for a normal apple.

But she knew better. She remembered the grin, the rows of woodteeth still stained and splattered red. The gangly limbs.

But still she stood, watching as the gnarled, twisted limbs dropped down in a heap, as the creature pulled itself up. The passing season, it had just been and apple with long limbs, but now a torso was forming, the apple settling in place as a head, splitting into that same wood-fanged grin as it stared down at the tiny blonde that stood in it's territory. She could smell the faintest hint of rot in the air.

"You've grown." Her voice remained light, conversational, but her eyes never left the applebourne creature as it started to circle. Eyeless gaze boring into her, sizing her up. Not many returned a second time. Some never left.

"...I gathered apples here last year without permission." The creature gave a hiss, an acknowledgement. A judgement. Who could say?

"I come offering apologies." The crunching of leaves and twigs around her came to a stop. "I didn't think to stop to see if I should ask permission, and for that I offer my apologies and reparations, if you'll accept." Her hand rose, a wicker basket held out. And subsequently snatched, the creature moving faster than her eye could follow, her breath stilling as she waited for a response.

The basket was opening, the golden fruit tilting towards it as it inspected the offering, before it straightened stiffly. In a blink, it stood before her, gnarled vines lifting a few strands of golden locks as it leaned closer.

Close enough she could smell the familiar twang of copper and rot.

"T͏r̀͡ą̵́͘v̵̴̸҉̸è̢̕͞҉̡ļ͘҉̶̕͠ ̸̢͡͞͝͡ẁ̵̨̢̧͜ȩ҉̵҉̷ļ̨̛͠l̡͡,̴ ̸̢S̵̶͜͟ų̵̸̸͞ņ̸̡͝͞͝l͏̢̀͘͘͞i̶̧̛̛͟͠g̵̶̢̢̀͢h̵̸̛͢͢t̸̸̀͢.̸͏" The breathy whisper made her skin tingle, hair standing on end as she felt the stagnant breath against her cheek and neck. She could almost feel the air crackle, and it was only sheer force of will that kept her in place until the creature stood back, leaping back up into it's throne of a tree, obscured by the leaves as it tore into the honeyed meats.

A soft word of thanks was offered to the grove, and a single apple picked for herself, before her footfalls carried her away, leaving the fruit-fallen to it's feast.

[bookbornexiv]

7. Pawn

In the quiet room, surrounded by a silent yet rapt audience of books and paintings, the young man studied the chessboard with lowered head and furrowed brow until he was startled by a soft question over his shoulder:

"What do you see in this that makes you stare so long upon it?"

The young man - perhaps until only very recently still a boy, with an awkward clumsiness about his long coltish limbs - turned to blink at the gaunt-faced man who loomed over him, shoulders and hat dusted white with snow.

"It is a battle," the young man said, cautiously, glancing up into the Bailiff's unwavering gaze now and then, "in which each soldier, and even the king and queen, plays their own role..."

"Which do you think is the most powerful of them all?"

The young man's gaze darted over the perfectly still chess-pieces in a sudden panic. "The queen?" he guessed. "She has the greatest range..." He reached out, fingers hovering over bishop, rook and knight uncertainly.

The Bailiff leaned forward, snow tumbling off his shoulders, to pick up a black pawn and move it forward. "The queen is powerful," he agreed, "but she cannot perform every possible move. None of them can. A pawn, however... A pawn may advance to the end of the board, though its journey be perilous and odds of survival slim." A white pawn stepped forward only to be devoured by an enemy pawn, which in turn fell to the zealous onslaught of a freed bishop. "But advance to the other end of the board, and there, in the thick of its enemies, likely a square or two away from victory, the pawn may then become any of the other pieces that it chooses. Any piece that is needed to secure a checkmate, or to drive the enemy closer to it. A pawn has the power to win the entire battle where even the queen may falter... If it survives. If it advances."

The Bailiff left the black pawn in the palm of the young man, whose dark eyes regarded him most reverently.

"Then I shall aspire to advance," the young man said with great fervour, almost like a promise, a vow, a pledge.

The Bailiff shook his head. "Aspire to be the player moving the pieces," he said, and his hand closed the young man's slim fingers over the piece, guiding him to set the pawn down on the board amidst its silent, obedient fellows.

[houserosaire]

Prompt #4: Inevitable

The man in the portrait was handsome in a rather stern way, with high sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. A nose that might have been a bit too pronounced in any other setting centered his face, hooked slightly downward like the beak of a falcon. He might have looked almost cruel if the painter had not managed to capture the faintest hint of a smile on his full lips, and the warmth in eyes as brilliantly golden as amber. Those two touches softened that dark skinned face from cold to merely proud, and they were the reason that when the light hit the canvas just right Silvaineaux could almost see the man who had been his father in that painted reflection of him.

Usually he passed the portrait with little more than a fond glance but tonight he came to stand in front of it, lifting his glass of whiskey in a silent toast. The parlor was empty, and the frail and snow-shrouded sun had long ago abandoned the windows. Only a few candles and the dying glow of the coals in the fireplace lit the room. Silvaineaux sipped his drink and then set the glass on the mantle below the portrait. Tugging one of the heavy chairs around to face up at the painting, he collected his glass once more and settled into it.

“I wanted to ask you something.” He told the painting quietly.

The painting of course did not answer. Candlelight flickered over canvas, bringing out the lines of brushstrokes rather than the planes of familiar features, but the gleaming amber eyes still looked almost alive.

“I wonder…” Silvaineaux said, trying to ignore how loud his own soft voice sounded in the empty room. “If mother had not been what she was. A lady of Ishgard, acceptable to your family even if you weren’t to hers. If she had been someone else. A maid… a foreigner. A Shroud witch… would you still have loved her? Would you still have married her?”

He paused as if he expected an answer even if he knew none would come, looking up at his father’s painted features and trying to guess what he might have said if the occasion for this conversation had arisen while he still lived.

“I think you would have.” Silvaineaux said softly into the silence after a moment. “Perhaps that makes me a silly believer in fairy tales. But you always looked at her as if she were… inevitable. As if it could never have been any other way.”

The portrait still did not speak, but Silvaineaux looked up into the painted eyes and the captured light in their golden depths. If he turned he knew he would find the painting of his mother hanging just across the room. It was easy enough to imagine that the small softness in his father’s features came from seeing her. 

He sighed. “Perhaps it’s a rather silly question really. But what I wanted to ask was if she had been one of those things… Someone from far away or that you could not marry in Halone’s church. How would you have made your promise to her if you could not swear to her on the Fury?”

The man in the painting did not answer of course. He was only paint on canvas and memories. After a moment Silvaineaux emptied his glass and rose from the chair. “Never mind.” he said quietly to the empty room. “I think you would have found a way. I will too.”

[sporebat]

Drachenhome Presents: The Fright Before All Saints Wake!

Drachenhome Presents: The Fright Before All Saints Wake

When October 15, 2022. 2-5 PM CST

Where Drachenhome Veterans Center: Balmung Empyreum Ward 9 Plot 52

Join us for a fun, family friendly social event!

-Sign up to participate in a scary storytelling contest (SFW, Lore Friendly), or sit back and listen and be chilled!

-Enter your best All Saints Wake costume into a glamour competition!

-Take a SCARY haunted house tour with our neighbors, FC [Empyreum Ward 9 Plot 60)

More info: http://drachenhome.carrd.co/#allsaints

[bookbornexiv]

3. Temper

"He's been going hard at some grand plan again. Not sleeping proper hours, talking to himself, talking to the birds, praying in the rain in the forest... Do you reckon he's been tempered good and proper by the Matron at last?"

From the tiny stable behind the shrine, Laurant and Mei peered over bales of straw at the priest pacing up and down the path, clutching sheets of paper in one hand and muttering as he gestured with the other.

"He's practicing some sort of speech," Mei guessed. "He doesn't usually bother practicing his Nophicanizations. Huh. Is Nophica a primal?"

"Oi, you can't just ask if Nophica's a primal right here in the Twelveswood itself," Laurant said, scandalized. "That's inappropriate, innit?"

"Well, you just suggested She tempered someone." Mei strained hard to listen, both of her white-and-pink ears standing upright in perfect triangles. "I think he's rehearsing some sort of vows... Huh... You know what, I don't think he's tempered. He's just in love."

"Blimey." Laurant looked impressed. "That's some good hearing. Wait, you think he's not going mad then? And the shrine's not in any danger of getting expanded and becoming all crazy and occult like?"

"No. I think we can continue to bum around the shrine and eat his food and crash on his couch in peace. Just, you know, don't piss off his big man. That's a different sort of temper."

Laurant shuddered in agreement, yellow eyes narrowing like a rat recalling the shadow of a hawk passing over it.

[bookbornexiv]

2. bolt (from the blue)

"That one over there. Catch him praying a lot. Religious sort. Practically crying out to receive a message from the gods, a bolt from the blue, to spread amongst his fellow mortals for their betterment. Don't you think?"

The two gods peered down through the boughs and sun-dappled foliage at the priest on hands and knees, sleeves rolled up, industriously scrubbing the wooden steps to the tiny shrine nestled deep in the shadow of the trees. Well, it looked like two adorable forest creatures, but it was really two gods, but only they knew, but that was sort of the point.

"I don't know," one said doubtfully. "That's one of Nophica's for sure and we all know how she felt about Halone messing with her and hers. Besides, I don't think he'll buy it unless it sounds convincingly Nophican, and even were we to stoop to impersonating the Matron, I don't think either of us could pull off a very good one... Hey, what about that one? Powerful-looking chap. Influential figure. Definitely get everyone's attention for sure."

The two gods turned their attention to the tall, broad man riding toward the shrine on a handsome blue chocobo, wending his way through the tricky turns of the forest paths with grace and ease.

"I don't know," the first god hummed, "that's one of Halone's, and I'd really rather not find out how she feels about us messing with her and hers. It is odd that he seems to be heading toward a shrine for the Matron instead, but I have a feeling that finding out why isn't going to help us find a messenger to receive our divine revelation... What about that one, over there, by the river?"

The two gods scampered off through the trees and across time and space, remaining blissfully unaware of the true purpose and outcome of the tall rider's visit to the shrine whose steps the priest toiled so hard to clean.

[bookbornexiv]

1. cross

"Why *do* people say something's someone's cross to bear? You know. Someone else's burden they've got to shoulder all their own. Why a cross? Like, what if it's a very small one?"

The conjurer showed no sign that she had been listening to - let alone heeding the presence of - the priest huffing and puffing along the forest trail far behind her. Only a small flick of her fluffy ears as he finished his very loud thought gave her away. The priest, seeing this tiny sign, sped up just enough to totter back into her personal space again, almost stepping upon her long white tail as it swished testily beneath the hem of her cloak.

"Languages are old. Languages retain traces of other languages that were even older, when they were young. Languages bleed over centuries and borders and realms. There are even more inexplicable turns of phrase. Why concern yourself with one of a myriad and miscellaneous many?"

The conjurer held her breath after she was done speaking. Was the ensuing silence going to be a peaceful one, wherein the priest's overexcited braincells were content to percolate on their own for at least half a bell? Or was it merely the calm before a following storm of further fancies? A witch could hope. What even *was*a braincell?

"And why are vampires afraid of them?"

The conjurer sighed. "I'll lend you this book on the possibilities of alternate realms and universes interacting with our own," she said, "but I've forgotten where I left it so you'll need to be very quiet while I try to remember its location..."

Thus they continued in a successfully brokered silence, beneath the swaying boughs of the Black Shroud, the priest excitedly contemplating the wondrous possibilities of worlds beyond their own, and the conjurer thinking about the awful problems in this one.

[sporebat]

In a corner of Castrum Abania, out in Gyr Abania's Fringes, the Honeystone serves up traditional Ala Mhigan (and inspired) food and drink to travelers passing through the region.

Join us Sunday,August 21 from 7-9 EST for good food, good drinks and good company!

[bookbornexiv]

I LOVE MOONFIRE thank u squeenix

[mirkemenagerie]

Fishing Lore

TOME OF ICHTHYOLOGICAL FOLKLORE (FISHING LORE) Mirke Menagerie A collection of FFXIV’s many fish. While some fish are just that–fish–many contain a wealth of hidden lore about the world, cultures, customs, and mythologies of Hydaelyn. Fish are broadly divided by region and further by fishing ...

Hello, it’s time to drop another archival project I’ve been working on for the better part of a year now. Since so many people seemed enamored by the wonderful presentations about fishing at this year’s LunarCon, I decided I should wrap this one up for those interested. 

Hope this helps!

[bookbornexiv]

do not let this man go on social media. he will know no peace

[houserosaire]

Ghostly Reckonings

           The house looked no different. Even now, vast swathes of the highlands were largely abandoned. He and Joyeux might have been the only living creatures for malms. Certainly, Silvaineaux thought, he was the only man bold and foolish enough to have ridden out so far on such a day. He tugged lightly at the reins, pausing at the brow of the hill to look down at the place. Years slipped away and for a moment he could almost imagine the soft sounds of a troop of men behind him, the shift and chime of armor, the quiet murmurs of weary voices. A shiver trailed its way down his spine and he told himself it had more do with the rising wind than unease. He looked back over his shoulder nevertheless.

           Behind him empty white fields stretched, the tracks of Joyeux’s feet winding away behind him and out of sight. The wind was rising, and already a pale mist of snow had lifted from the ground, beginning to erase the marks of their passing. He could taste the tang of a coming storm on the chill air. He turned back to the house.

Keep reading

[latikaa-renaz]

Because I can’t control myself when I write Doreen,

Doreen has made one of her regular visits to grace Priarch, continuing her daily routine of delivering Very Important Missives for her silly person. Even despite how he’s been off and about for a very long time now! 

Maybe? She’s not quite sure, as the concept of time has been veeeerry difficult to keep no matter how many times the silly people she delivers to try to impress the importance of “Not arriving before dawn”? Very silly of them, don’t they know how that’s the *best* time possible to get the juiciest worms? It’s so hard being such a smart bird! Which makes her current conundrum with the Pretty I’pad even more sillysillysilly!  When Doreen had come into the Priarch to deliver her missive (today it was a pretty flower and a very lovely beetle with a shiny shell! What? Letter? Hm, maybe she had one of those earlier…. but isn’t this better?) she had noticed quite the joyous treat meant for her upon the desk! A BASKET, already so full of little bedding goodies! 

Of course she had to nestle right into it, trilling her thanks to Pretty I’pad for the nap spot as she is a very polite bird who remembers these things. How could she have known it was for other purposes, as Pretty I’pad had to explain when gently pulling her out of the basket? Sounds pretty dumb to Doreen to have a basket and simply NOT sleep in it if you ask her…

Thus it fell upon I’pad to gently explain to the bird that the basket was for a raffle, and if her owner was around he was free to enter himself to win a prize. She of course, being the most Smartest And Helpful Bird did her very best to convince I’pad that she would clearly be able to do such a task for her person! It took many slips of paper taken out from the basket for the point to come across before Doreen was supplied with her own ink pad and slip, (why does Pretty I’pad always seem so tired, Doreen had to wonder during her patient and clear instruction giving) and just a tad bit of balancing before she was able to make quite the beautiful and concise rendition of her person’s signature!  Preening in pride as I’pad graciously helps wipe her feet and opens the door, Doreen once more exits the Priarch with full confidence. She’s truly the Best Delivery Dodo out there, even going above and beyond in her duties!