In Fortnite STW, Affliction is a conditional effect that applies damage over time to a target. In general gaming terms, a conditional effect is when something causes an effect to a target - ie you use a ray which freezes a critter. Other examples of conditional effects in STW include dancing, slowed, snared, stunned, staggered, frozen, or knocked down targets. While there are different things that can apply Affliction in STW, the focus of this write up will be the Causes Afflction 6th Perk on Weapon schematics.
What does the 6th Perk Causes Afflction do? A husk or animal hit by a weapon with the Causes Afflction perk suffers a calculated amount of damage over a duration of 6 seconds. This is often referred to as damage over time (aka DOT), and the individal increments called "ticks" (also spelled "tics") damage.
How is the amount of Affliction damage per tick calculated? It's a mathematical formula based on a base damage value, Hero Ability Damage, Offense and Tech, Weapon Perks and Hero Perks that buff weapon damage.
Math Formula:

Affliction Damage Per Tick = Base (6 for ranged; 12 for melee) * Hero Ability Damage percentage / 100 * 1 + [(Offense + Tech)/100] + Survivor set bonuses * 1 + (Sum of Weapon and Hero Perk Bonuses) 

The affliction damage ticks can crit, the amount of damage is equal to the affliction damage * 1 + the sum of Critical Damage perks displayed as a decimal (so if you have 135% CD perk it is 2.35)
Long mathematical equations can be confusing and intimidating, so let's break this down into a more basic formula with four parts.
Basic Formula:

Base * HAD stuff * OT Stuff * Weapon and Hero Perks 

Components of the Basic Formula
A. Base = 12 (melee) ; 6 (ranged)
B. HAD Stuff = Hero Ability Damage percentage / 100
C. OT Stuff = 1 + [(Offense + Tech)/100] ; add any melee, ranged, or ability survivor set bonuses here expressed as a decimal. So if you have the 4 sets of melee ranged survivor sets that's 4 * .05 = .2
D. Perk Bonuses = 1 + (Sum of Weapon Perks + Hero Perks)
Weapon Perks
These would include the elemental damage perk, damage perk and conditional damage perk expressed as a decimal.
If you have upgraded the elemental damage perk, damage perk and damage to afflicted that would be (.2 + .3 + .45) = .95
Hero Perks
These would include any hero perks that would buff weapon damage, expressed as a decimal.
If you have a loadout with six shooter and quickshot in support then you'd add .20 + .17 = .37
See the hero perks section for additional information.
I'm going to use use a table to show some example calculations
A * B * C * D

	A	B	C	D
	Base	HAD Stuff	OT Stuff	Perk Bonus	Math	Actual	Math Critical	Actual Crtical
Melee	12	27.13	66.02	1.95	41912.26	41916	98493.67	98503
Shadowstance Active	12	27.13	66.02	2.2	47285.63664	47290	111121.16	111132
Ranged	6	27.13	66.02	1.65	17732.11	17733	41670.4585	41674
Melee Full Party	12	27.13	99.2	1.95	62976.3264 (47232 vs Elemental Husk)	47237
Melee
Ranged

Clicking any of the links will take you to video footage
Melee example 1
Ranged example
Melee example (full party)
I reviewed some of the previous affliction posts (see History section) in which the formula was provided, however when the math was not calculating correctly, I decided to do some testing. I followed the same type of testing format as I had previously used in testing other 6th perks. Once I had reviewed test data results, I was able to the calculate base damage. With knowledge of the base damage values, I just had to validate what other factors can contribute to the affliction damage ticks.
Validation Tests (test footage)
Are the Afflction damage ticks the same for melee/ranged ? No
Are the Afflction damage ticks affected by Hero Ability Damage Score? Yes
Are the Afflction damage ticks affected by Offense and Tech scores? Yes
Are the Afflction damage ticks affected by Survivor Squad bonuses? Yes, melee, ranged (untested but logically should be added), and ability.
Are the Afflction damage ticks the same regardless of weapon type? Yes, when perked similarly (same upgrade rarity for elemental perk, damage perk, conditional damage perk)
Are the Afflction damage ticks the same regardless of material (ore or crystal)? Yes, when perked similarly (same upgrade rarity for elemental perk, damage perk, conditional damage perk)
Are the Afflction damage ticks affected by Weapon PL in the same zone? No (tested in Twine)
Are the Afflction damage ticks affected by Element Damage Perk Upgrades? Yes
Are the Afflction damage ticks affected by Weapon Damage Perk Upgrades? Yes
Are the Affliction damage ticks affected by Conditional Damage Perk Upgrades? Yes
If any Critical Damage Perks are applied on the weapon, does that affect the affliction damage tick value? Yes
Are the Afflction damage ticks affected by Hero Perks that buff weapon damage? Yes
Can a player stack Affliction damage ticks stack from different weapons? Yes
Are the Afflction damage ticks affected by the Zone a mission is in? Yes.Twine PL140 O/T 3251, 3251 HAD 2713Twine PL76 O/T 3251, 3251 HAD 2713Canny PL70 O/T 3200, 3200 HAD 1901Canny PL46 O/T 2105, 2105 HAD 1901
Hero Perks (Additional Info) These should be easy to add into the formula: Six Shooter (20/60 first six shots) Quick Scope (17)Assault Damage (17 /50) Shell Shock (17 / 50) Faster Explosions (17/50) Swab The Deck (17/50) Actuated Attacks (17/50) Legendary Blade (25/75 in shadow stance) Hipshot (17/50)
Not Tested: Buckle, Swash, Blaze of Glory, Locked or Reloaded From the Depths Ow my eye Scythe to Meet you (25/62 vs slowed or snared) Poking Holes (25/50 vs Afflicted Targets)
Fire of the Dragon (Hybrid) should extend the affliction duration to 10 seconds (when used as Commander) or 8 seconds (when used in support).
Assassination was also tricky to calculate.
Corrosive Strikes also proved tricky to calculate as Fortnite's in game calculator would sometimes display the sum of the affiction damage ticks from the weapon and hero.
Command Presence and War Cry test
Hero Perks that buff a weapon's Critical Damage add their respective perk value to the Affliction's Crit Damage potentialCritical BlastSure ShotAssault Crit DamageMake it Count
Loadouts Used - I wanted to keep the HAD value consistent during testing so a very odd loadout was used.
HAD 1938 Commander: Anatomy Lessons (Whiteout Fiona) HAD 1938
HAD 2713 Test loadout A: Commander: Anatomy Lessons (Whiteout Fiona), Team Perk: Endless Shadow; Fleet, Medicinal Fumes, Sea Fog, Gadgeteer, Survivalist
Test loadout B: Commander: Anatomy Lessons (Whiteout Fiona), Team Perk: Endless Shadow; Fleet, Medicinal Fumes, Swordmaster Ken, Gadgeteer, Survivalist
Test loadout C: Commander: Anatomy Lessons (Whiteout Fiona), Team Perk: Endless Shadow; Fleet, Medicinal Fumes, Sea Fog , Assassination, Survivalist
Test loadout D: Commander: Anatomy Lessons (Whiteout Fiona), Team Perk: Endless Shadow; Fleet, Medicinal Fumes,Corrosive Strikes , Gadgeteer, Survivalist
History Old formulas published by Whitesushi and Details-Examples DannySpring's formula found in this post.
Kudos to Aone_getdismoney and NuttsnBolts

•1•
Aniyah paused by a tree that was bigger than all the rest. It was obviously very old. The leaves of its branches were a pretty teal color and were shaped like the diamonds in a deck of playing cars. She couldn't say exactly why, but this tree gave her a slight sense of comfort. In these woods--especially with the black curtain hanging over the sky--comfort was a rare commodity. She found comfort in this tree, oddly enough, and also in her new weapon. Windchine; Blade of the Paragon. She supposed she was the Paragon of the Weaver now. Whatever that meant. She knew the words, because they kept echoing throughout her thoughts, but she had only a faint idea of their meaning. She wasn't totally clueless. She'd picked up on the fact that the Weaver was a God, or something close to it. She'd intuited that Paragon was some kind of title, bestowed by the Weaver. It meant she was sort of like a knight. Beyond these things however, she didn't have much to go on. She'd always just known things she had no way of knowing. Sometimes, she knew things she had no business knowing, as Momma would have said. She wasn't psychic. Far from it. She just got gut feelings about things, that usually turned out to be right. Like the ones underneath. She'd picked up on all of that, without any real reason to pick up on it.
She was picking up on something now. Something involving the others back at the clearing.
But she was still piecing all of that together. She didn't have enough to go on yet, to have any complete, fully formed thought.
That wouldn't come until a bit later...
What came in that moment, was the subtle soothing nature of the very old tree before her. Comfort really was a rare commodity here, but aside from the tree and the scimitar, there was one more source of comfort for her, currently. The weird little jellyfish thing. It was bobbing along in the air a few feet from the tree. It hadn't left her side since bringing her the weapon. Like the tree--like Windchime--it granted her a small degree of comfort. She didn't know where the jellyfish had got the weapon, but she had an idea that even the jellyfish didn't know where it had come from. Maybe the old man had something to do with it. The one who kept the Keys. The Custodian.
She bitterly wished she'd thought to grab Mr. Brownie when she took off running from the skinless man.
The skinless man...
Now there was something she hadn't got any gut feelings about. Except for fear, that was. She knew to be fearful of the man, but that was all. She'd dealt with monsters her whole life. They'd shown up out the blue, or she'd shown up to them. Like in that Long Room. Something about the skinless man was different though. Something about him wasn't like the other monsters. He wasn't one of her monsters, she knew that much at least. She could also tell he didn't have anything to do with the ones underneath, or the grasshopper people. He wasn't connected to The Jailer.
The only intuitive feeling Aniyah had concerning the skinless man, was that he was connected to something a whole lot worse. What that something might have a been however, she had no clue.
Aniyah didn't have a sheath, or swordbelt. The scimitar hadn't come with a scabbard. As a result, she was forced to hold the weapon in her hand, since she had nowhere to stow it. The blade was as long as her arm, and curved--almost like a banana--but was only sharp on one side. This allowed her to rest the blunt edge in the crook of her shoulder, carrying it the way she'd seen lumberjacks sometimes carry their axes in old movies; with her elbow bent, and the blade sticking out behind her as if it were a compass needle that only pointed in the opposite direction from where she was facing.
With Windchine in this position, she leaned sideways against the old tree--feeling its rough bark against her skin. A soft breeze gently blew against her face, bringing with it the scents of nature. The blackness of the sky didn't seem to match the pleasantness of the wind or the earthy smells of the woods around her. Nor did the stillness. There were a few insects buzzing someplace nearby, but mostly it was quiet. It was almost tranquil, in fact. She knew that somewhere in these same woods, chaos was happening. Hell on Earth (or, Hell on In-Between, she supposed). But all of that seemed so distant. So removed from her in that moment, in this private patch of wilderness.
Part of her wanted to go charging off toward the battle, so she could save Eddie the Gnome, and Prioress Qaya, and the others. Yet, at the same time, another part of her wanted to just lie down right here and take a nice long nap. Another part still--a deeper part--briefly broached the topic of Amy. She shattered this thought into a million little pieces and scattered them in the wind. She wouldn't... no... she couldn't deal with that right now. Not yet. Soon, she would have to. But not just yet.
These contradicting parts were really all the same part. The part that didn't want to admit she was hopelessly lost. She had no dang idea where to go.
Aniyah looked up at the weird little jellyfish thing. She whispered, "Wonder how far it is, to get back to Eddie Money and the others?"
The jellyfish couldn't understand her. Duh. It was a floating jellyfish. How could it?
Except... for a moment, Aniyah thought maybe the thing did understand. And after another few seconds, she knew for sure it did.
The jellyfish flashed a soft green color. Once, then twice. To Aniyah, it was almost like it was saying: "Beep-beep!"
"What does that mean, Jellybean?" she asked, laughing at how goofy she probably sounded.
The jellyfish strobed green again. Just once this time. Then, it slowly began to float away.
"Hold up a minute. Where you goin'?" She stopped leaning against the tree and stood up straight.
The jellyfished froze for a second, beeped green once more, then started off again.
"Ohhh, okay. I see. You leading the way? Well okay then." Aniyah smiled in spite of herself.
She followed behind the jellyfish. Together, they made their way through the darkened woods. Hopefully, to rejoin the others...
•2•
"I've never been in this part of the city before," Flower-Seed admitted. "I didn't even realize there was so much down here. I knew there were older parts of Locist Spire that were here before the Jikk, and that most of it was under the city, but I didn't expect there to be all of... this." He looked around, pausing briefly to admire the elaborate architecture around him. "I mean... Gods. There's actually streets down here. And structures. Not to mention these sculptures and platforms. It's breathtaking. It's almost like an entire settlement encased in a mausoleum. A sort of... civilization time capsule."
Quijj gave only a noncommittal grunt in response.
The two of them walked side-by-side along a wide street paved in stone. So much was stonework, or marble. The craftsmanship that went into all of it was something even modern Artisians likely couldn't replicate. Large sections of the old city were in ruins, but those that remained mostly intact made Flower-Seed feel as if he'd traveled back in time. If they'd had the sky overhead instead of a cavern roof, he could have easily imagined being in the center of a bustling metropolis.
They strode by a towering sculpture made to resemble some sort of animal Flower-Seed couldn't identify. It certainly wasn't any kind of insect, or Insectoid. It had four legs and a tail, plus a large round head. It was as intriguing as it was beautiful.
Cave crickets were softly singing in the nooks and crannies. The distant sound of dripping water played constant accompaniment to the hollow resonance of this subterranean wonderland.
They turned down what had once been a side street, with Flower-Seed leading the way. Up ahead, a cavern wall blocked their advance. There was a place where the wall had been broken, creating an opening just big enough for them to squeeze through.
On the other side, they came upon a ledge overlooking a sprawling cavern. There were more ledges--some, only narrow slabs of stone reminiscent of catwalks; others, much wider, holding half-ruined structures--high up along the cavern walls. And in the center, sitting like an island in the dark sea of darkness, was a sprawling marble platform. The platform was surrounded on all sides by crags and trenches so deep Flower-Seed couldn't see their bottom. There was a naturally formed staircase of stone leading from the platform to another opening. This was most likely the main entrance to this chamber. Flower-Seed realized now that he and Quijj had taken an alternate route to get here, than the others had.
Yes. There were others. A lot of them, from the looks of it.
On the marble platform below, rows of tents and even a makeshift gazebo had been set up. As Flower-Seed's eyes adjusted, he began to make out the robes of Advisors; the armor of Spire Knights and Spire Watch. There were excited, panicked voices echoing throughout the cave. Some sort of commotion was going on.
"I had no idea any of this was here," Flower-Seed whispered.
Quijj gave him a strange look.
"Don't ask how I knew where to go, or how to get here. I just... did."
Quijj nodded, but said nothing.
From the platform, someone yelled: "Arrest the traitor!"
"Ah, shit," Flower-Seed said. He was no longer bothering to keep his voice at a whisper. The figures gathered below had broken into something close to a frenzy. "They must be talking about the Councilor." He looked at Quijj with a serious expression. "We have to get her out of here. I'm not exactly the biggest fan of our government, but something really bad is going on down here. I got... visions. I saw Spire Knights with their minds corrupted by parasites. Whoever attacked the city... they've infected some of the officials. We have to do something. If we're ever going to rebuild... we need Jikk like Councilor Lemma. She's one of the good ones."
Quijj grunted in agreement. "Alright. Let's do it."
"What's the plan?" Flower-Seed asked, suddenly nervous. He felt a bit silly asking Quijj what the plan was, considering the elderly tavern keeper had just been following his lead up this point. Now that they were here, Flower-Seed didn't have the slightest idea what he was going to do. Or even what he could do. He couldn't fight a trained Spire Knight. Let alone an entire company of them. He'd only get himself killed!
Fortunately (and to Flower-Seed's great relief), Quijj said: "Just wait here. And get ready to run. Like you've never ran before."
"Alright. I think I can do that much, at least."
Quijj nodded. He drew his odd-looking weapon, and leapt down from the ledge; spreading his wings as he did this to glide over to the platform. Just as the old tavern keep came to a landing, Flower-Seed saw two armored Knights seize Councilor Lemma by the arms, and pull her to the ground. One of the Advisors screamed.
Shit! his mind cursed. Come on, Quijj. You gotta do something! And fast!
•3•
There was a particular knock at the hidden door to the Navigator's study. Three heavy raps, a pause, then two sets of four bangs; the coded knock he'd taught to the mercenary leader. The corners of Drokin the Navigator's mouth--little more than soft tissue on either side of his pointed beak--sagged slightly, in a parody of a frown. He shot a glance over to the wall-mounted clock above his desk. It was only Ef'tat-Half-Wane. The merc shouldn't have made it to this part of Barkstone Barony, for at least another three Shecks.
Drokin cast a suspicious eye toward the opposite end of the room. He reached beneath his desk, unfastening the blade he hid there. It was always good to have a backup weapon. The talon-like claws of his hand instinctively found the pommel of his rapier. "Enter!" he called to the door.
There was a hefty creaking sound as a considerable portion of the wall was pushed inward, revealing both the false rock of the door's opposite side, and the midday sunlight beyond the study. The light was much too bright for Drokin's eyes, after spending so much time inside the chamber under the Arcas Rune lamps. For a moment, he had to squint in order to get a decent view of his visitor. The moment Drokin saw the figure entering his study, his claws tightened on the handle of his weapon.
The one who appeared through the doorway was not the merc leader Rave the Ravager. Not by a long shot. The stranger was a Jagged Fields Nerthran, just as Rave was, but this was where their similarities ended. Rave was of slightly larger than average size for an adult male member of the mothfolk race. The Nerthran before Drokin was the antithesis of average (or "slightly" for that matter). He was enormous; much larger than seemed natural. If one of his crew mates had told Drokin about seeing a Nerthran the size of this one, Drokin would have labeled them an exaggerator at best, a boldfaced liar at worst. He certainly wouldn't have believed mothmen could grow this large, if he weren't seeing the proof of that very thing with his own two eyes.
"Where is Rave? Who are you?" Drokin demanded.
The giant mothman slowly stepped inside the study and creaked the door shut behind him. He did not answer.
"I asked you a question. Where is--"
In a baritone voice that was almost pleasing to the ear, the mothman said: "Would you Sky Pirates send your Captain on every minor mission, or simple errand? I am Master Rave's deliverer. I am called Nollo."
A peculiar name for such a hulking creature as this, the Navigator mused.
When Drokin didn't initially respond, 'Nollo' added: "I have the Relic you wanted." He held up a black rectangular case, almost like the kind a Bard might use for protecting a musical instrument.
Drokin thought this over a moment, studying the towering mothman carefully. He felt almost like he was looking up at a living statue. One of the great big ones that lined the streets of the grand cities of Roshuka, or populated the ruins of Jyyrvesk's Old Country. Even the hulk's features were oversized, as if they needed to compensate for the massive face to which they were attached. This 'Nollo' somewhat unsettled Drokin. The self-proclaimed "deliverer" had a long, slender mouth that didn't quite seem to want to close all the way. This gave the mothman an almost moronic appearance; a dimwitted face with the mouth of a drooling imbecile. Combined with his considerable size, it would have been easy to dismiss this Nerthran as a buffoon. Even the title "deliverer" played into this impression. And he seemed to have a permanent glazed over quality about his eyes. However, Drokin saw what lurked beneath the surface. When he looked beyond these things, the Navigator could detect a cold, calculating intelligence in the mothman's eyes. Upon closer inspection, the glazed over quality didn't strike the Navigator as entirely organic. It struck him as purposeful, practiced--part of a kind of disguise.
Nollo was a mothman with the soul of a spider...
As these things dawned on Drokin, the unsettled feeling he'd had since this mothman's appearance turned to something bordering on outright fear. The Navigator had been all across the Lesser and Greater Reaches. He'd seen some horrid things. Something about this stranger was different, however. There was something not quite Insectoid in his eyes; not quite Of This Pocket Realm, as the Captain was want to say. Drokin had never believed in the concept of evil. Not in the same way the Old Scrolls talked about it, as least. But now--here in his study, confronted by the figure before him--when he looked into those eyes, evil was all Drokin saw.
"You... have the Horn?" Drokin asked, trying to sound casual. His heart was beating at three times it's normal tempo. He slowly reached for the Link Orb. Calling out to Captain Heekan may have been the only chance he had left. "Let me get you the coin I promise then."
"Stop," said Nollo. "Put your hand down."
Drokin paused. The tips of his claws were just inches from the Orb. If he were quick about it, he could snatch the thing up in a microsecond. The Navigator was quick. He was a trained fighter, afterall. But... he knew intuitively he would not be quick enough.
"I beg your pardon?" Drokin said, trying and failing to keep some air of authority in his tone.
Nollo laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "There was never going to be any coin, was there? You think Master Rave wouldn't sniff out such an obvious con? You really aren't familiar with the Stonewing Pillar Mercenaries are you? We are not some low-level ratcatchers."
Drokin said nothing for a moment. At last, he sighed. He allowed his training to replace his fear. It took quite a lot of effort, but he managed. When his heart had returned to something closer to a natural beat, he leveled his avian eyes at the mothman. He dropped his hand, but brought it down to his rapier. He drew the weapon, but made no move to strike.
Through the end of his closed beak, Drokin growled: "Alright, asshole. Just what are you after?"
Nollo laughed again. He flipped open the brass latches on the black case he held, opened it. Inside, wasn't any Relic. That had been a lie. The black velvet lined interior of the case held a single object: a large throwing knife. Nollo removed the blade and let the case fall to the floor. "I'll need every piece of coin you have here. And anything else of value."
Drokin raised his rapier. "All our treasures are on the ship." He sighed, deciding to fess up. "I don't have anything here. You were right. I planned on taking the Horn and not paying. But I am obviously not getting what I wanted. There is no coin here for you to get what you want. Why don't we just call this an impasse? We both walk away, no better off... but no worse for wear than we were before. What do you say?"
Nollo shook his massive head. It was like seeing a boulder pivot atop a living column. "You think you can plot to take out our leader, and live to tell the tale? You're even more stupid than you look."
Now, Drokin was getting angry. "Do you have any idea who you're fucking with? You can't stand against our entire crew. We're the Hawkblood Pirates. You think Captain Heekan will just sit by and let you--"
The knife was buried in Drokin's windpipe, before he ever saw the mothman throw it. For someone so massive, Rollo had a dexterity and speed that were virtually unrivaled. There was a soft clang as Drokin's rapier fell to the floor; a soft gurgling sound as he began to choke on his own blood. He gasped for air his lungs couldn't find; his hands clawing at his throat to pull free a blade that wouldn't budge.
Drokin the Navigator fell to the floor with a hollow thud, knocking his chair over in the process. The last thing his dying mind registered before he lost consciousness was the sight of Rollo the mothman standing over him, whispering: "You Sky Pirates never should have come to the Wilden Green."
Then, Drokin was fading. Fading, fading.
Fading.
Fading from the mortal world, and headed for that Great Beyond...
•4•
Eyes. So many eyes. Staring. Watching.
Abominations. Wretched perversions of nature. Black-tongued things. Slime things. Things with many, many eyes.
Many. Many. Eyes.
Vellnoth! It was awful!
Zoocher slipped through a whirlwind of swirling shadows. He sank into quicksand of blackness. His mind shattered, then reformed. Shattered, then reformed. The world became a pane of glass which broke into a million, billion, trillion little pieces. He reached out, desperately trying to pick the pieces up, to put them back together.
It was no use.
Horrors. Eyes. Looking. Looking at me. Through me. Seeing me. Seeing all.
SEEING.
Zoocher rocked himself back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. There was dirt and grass beneath him. He was curled up into a ball, hugging his knees against his chest. Yet, these things were just background details. This was just his surroundings, and his physical body. His mind was somewhere else--perhaps, in another patch of dirt, slowly turning to mud. No. Not mud. Quicksand.
Sinking. He was sinking. Sinking, and slipping away. Slipping off into that Forever Night.
White Staircase?
No. He saw no White Staircase. Perhaps, only the Black Steps awaited him after all the awful things he'd done in life.
Only... there were no Black Steps, either.
Because he wasn't dead. Not yet, at least.
He was alive, but he was not living. Not in the normal sense.
Eyes. Watching. Looking. Seeing. Viewing. Glimpsing.
STARING.
GODS. OH GODS. OH VELLNOTH PLEASE!
No mercy for him. No Gods coming to save him. Only horrors.
He'd been in that terrible place, in that terrible room for what had felt like centuries.
Now he was back in the woods. But not all of him. He'd left some essential part of himself back there, back in that terrible place.
And now, he'd never get that part back. It was lost to him. For good. Forever.
Zoocher leaned over and vomited yellow bile onto the grass. His head was swimming. He slowly stood up. As he stood, everything fell away. Everything. His entire being. His essence. His all. His whole.
Zoocher? No. There was no Zoocher anymore.
Maybe there never had been.
Certainly, there would never be a Zoocher again.
Shattered.
Zoocher was shattered and lost. Gone. Now, Zoocher was no more. Forever departed.
He felt something warm and wet run down his legs. He'd urinated on himself without realizing it. This did not bother him. This meant nothing. He took a step forward and vomited onto his vest. This too meant nothing.
He stripped off his armor, his undergarments, his weapons. He kicked off his boots. To one side of the pile he'd made with his belongings, there were a set of bootprints in the dirt. He turned in the opposite direction, and started walking. He didn't know where he was going. He only knew he needed to walk.
Visions winked in and out of his mind. He continued walking, muttering to himself all the while. He spoke of everything, of nothing. He asked questions without answer. He gave answers to questions no one had asked.
Those eyes. They were burned into his brain. No. His brain was a burn. A scorchmark, littered with eyes. Staring. Watching. Waiting?
He walked on. Walking through the woods, to nowhere. Walking. Muttering. Thinking of eyes and Slime things.
It was a long time before he stopped.
•5•
There were two astounding sights, which presented themselves consecutively before him. In over two decades serving as one of the Hawkblood's top Assault Commanders, he had never seen anything more incredible than the Black Pyramid. That was, right up until the moment he saw the entire Pyramid vanish right before his eyes. If anything could be even more incredible than seeing the Pyramid; suddenly not seeing the Pyramid would have to be it.
Commander Ramses blinked several times, as if he were unable to trust what his eyes were showing him. The airspace beyond the windshield of his Glider Pod now showed only a sea of nothing, save for the Sky Gods higher up in the atmosphere.
"What the fuck? Where did it go?" he muttered to the empty cockpit.
The Glider Pods were designed to resemble plump black ravens. Ramses's Glider was slightly larger than the others in the fleet, as his was the Pod that carried most of the Big Weapons. Currently, they were in a V formation like actual birds; twelve in Ramses's group, twelve more in Commander Paulo's group that would have been approaching the Pyramid from behind; another twelve coming in from the right, making up Commander Gichi's group. The Gyff had their own Gliders, fashioned from wooden planks and some unknown material Ramses had never seen before. The Gyff ships looked a lot like the Gyff themselves; like long slender walking sticks. Their ships cut through the air like wooden missiles, lined up in a near row.
Ramses slapped the control panel, activating the Com-Cube. "Am I seeing things? Have I lost my mind?"
"No." It was the voice of Commander Gichi. She sounded uncharacteristically shaken. "The damn thing went POOF. Just like that."
The Gyff leading the stickbug group (his name was Kloom, if Ramses's memory served him) chimed in. "What do we do now? Will it reappear, you think?"
Ramses smacked the controls again, this time out of frustration. He said, "Somebody better get the Captain on the--"
"Already here," said the voice of Captain Heekan.
"You been listening this whole time?" Gichi asked.
"No. I just came on. Now listen. Everyone. Listen very closely. The Pyramid isn't in the valley anymore, but all is not lost. We will track it down. I already know where they took it."
Ramses gaped at this. "What? Captain... how could you already know all of that? It just vanished, only a few ticks ago."
Gichi made a soft gasping sound. "Captain. No. Tell me you didn't use it."
"I had to," Captain Heekan said with remorse. "The Mirror is too valuable a tool for us not to utilize it. And if ever there were a time when we needed it, it would be now."
"How many years did it take off your life?" Gichi asked hesitantly.
After a pause, Heekan said, "It doesn't matter. We're getting sidetracked here. There is a lot more going on than we realized. There are agents of not one, but two of the 5 Pharoahs here in the Wilden Green Valley, as we speak."
"What?" it was Gichi and Kloom in unison.
Commander Paulo broke his silence. "Which other Pharoah are we talking about?"
Heekan said, "Aside from Camaria the Butcher who we already knew about (it was one of her Scarabs that took the Pyramid), there's some of the Necromancer's men here too."
"The Necromancer?" Ramses said in disbelief. "The right hand man of Dowlmad the Deathless?" Ramses felt a cold chill run up his spine. "You're not telling me he is here in this valley, are you?"
"The Necromancer himself? No. Just some of his underlings. The Skinless Men, they're called."
Gichi asked, "Are they really all after the Pyramid and the Artifacts? I can't imagine two of the 5 Pharoahs would expend resources just for the stuff we're after. Aside for the Black Pyramid. But even still... something seems off here."
"Well," said Heekan. "That's because something is off. There are bigger forces at work here than we ever realized. Sure, they were after the Pyramid and the Divine Battery. But those are more like... party favors, to them."
Ramsese shook his head. "I already don't like how this sounds." The open sky outside his Glider suddenly felt less like empty airspace, and more like an endless abyss. One glance at the Sky Gods floating higher in the heavens strengthened this feeling, causing the commander to shudder as another chill ran up his back.
Captain Heekan said, "Then you really won't like what I'm about to tell you."
As it turned out, the Captain was absolutely right. Ramses really didn't like it one bit. None of them did.
•••
And Commander Ramses was not the only one who was told things they didn't like. While he was listening to his Captain's words with growing unease, elsewhere in the Wilden Green Valley, a certain Ranger was receiving a rather ominous warning...
•••
•6•
Deep within the bowels of the Reverse Tower. In the Domain of the Being known as O'Faxx.
Ranger Lexington stood atop the large boulder, surrounded by a sea of sludge. The putrid aroma of this place once more assaulted his senses, while his boots sank into the slick, squicky growth coating the boulder. Lexington's dragonfly-like features hid his discomfort. Outwardly, he appeared as stoic--as unshakeable--as always. At least, until he spoiled the effect with a knowing smirk.
To the bubbling muck, he called out: "So, you decided to help out afterall?"
There was no response.
Lexington's smirk faded. He bowed his head slightly. "It's alright. You don't have to speak. I only wish your assistance had been enough. That way Burlap wouldn't have had to give his life the way he did."
O'Faxx did not emerge from the murky depths.
Lexington would have sighed had the air quality in here not been so abhorrent. "Anyway, I just wanted to thank you. I will find a way to reward you."
Although O'Faxx remained beneath the muck, his voice echoed inside the Ranger's mind. "My actions were not on your behalf. Your ignorance betrays you, Overseer."
Lexington cocked his head to one side. "If you say so." He shrugged. "Some guys just can't accept a thank you, I guess."
"You have yet to understand. I helped you, to destroy you. None of you know yet what you are unleashing. I did not see the truth before, but the truth has now presented itself to me. The Gods wish to assemble the 12 and bring about the White Clock Consortion. Fools. They don't yet realize with the advent of the White Clock, the Black Clock follows. Those numbers shall count down their destruction. I looked into the destiny of the mortals you have placed so much faith in. I saw what they will bring about. They are one of the Four Winds that will blow upon the Door of Doom. One of them is a Paige of the Necronomicon."
"What does that mean? Quit speaking in riddles."
"There's a storm coming, Overseer. A storm that will wash away the world. This one, and all others. I haven't helped you. I've only helped the first few raindrops, so they might better form within the dark clouds hanging over this Pocket Realm. And in the wake of that rain? The thunder shall soon roll."
A storm coming. Four Winds that will blow upon the Doors of Destruction. Thunder.
These things made no sense to the Ranger. One thing was clear however; whatever O'Faxx's words meant, Lexington didn't like the sound of any of it.
•7•
There's a particular way Advisors and nobleJikk cry out when something disrupts their normal routine. It's a breathy sort of shriek, like someone emptying their lungs before they faint. Many of the High Advisors were voicing this exact variety of shriek now, as High Knight Pyx ordered his Spire Knights to arrest Lemma.
Temporary Councilor E'Shesh (to her credit) tried to block the path of the Knights. She was shoved out of the way, hard enough to cause the poor she-Jikk to tumble over onto the hard marble surface of the platform.
Then, underneath the makeshift gazebo, pandemonium set in. The stress of the attack on the city had already pushed everyone toward the brink of panic. This new development made them all leap right over the edge, falling right into the place people (Jikk, or otherwise) always fall in times like this one.
Lemma didn't run. She stood her ground, glowering at Pyx and Councilor Tholke; glaring as if she could knock some sense into them with her gaze alone. Of course, this was a futile endeavor. The Knights were upon here a moment later. Strong arms seized her, throwing her to the ground. Then, oddly enough, even stronger arms were lifting her from the floor. She stared down the Knights arresting her, but the expressions they gave her in return were not those of hardened Knights doing their duty. They were the expressions of Jikk who'd been caught completely off guard.
As she was lifted even higher, Lemma finally realized it wasn't the Knights who currently held her. It was someone else.
"What... who... what's going on?" she cried weakly.
She was being carried away by... one of the local tavern keepers?
"What's happening? What are you doing?" she demanded.
"She's getting away!" someone shouted.
"After her!" a Spire Knight ordered.
All at once, the Knights were airborne, in pursuit. The air was alive with the sound of buzzing wings, the shuffling and frantic falls of boots, and so much shouting. Lemma dangled over seemingly bottomless trenches and crumbling remnants of the City That Once Was.
The tavern keeper, in all this time, had only explained himself with a single grunt. Now, he was using his free arm to aim some kind of weapon at the Knights.
"No," Lemma pleaded. "Don't kill them. They're only doing their duty."
"Stun-shot," said the elderly tavern keeper. The words came an instant before his weapon discharged and the air behind them exploded in brilliant blue electricity. There was a loud series of crackling sounds, as the small-scale controlled lightning tore through each of the Knights. As if an invisible net had ensnared them, the Knights all froze in midair a moment, before their wings slowed to a standstill. They began to plummet down to the darkness below.
The tavern keeper voiced a soft grunt of regret.
"You can say that again," Lemma scolded. "The shot may have stunned them, but the fall will surely do a whole lot more. What's the meaning of this? Are you kidnapping me?"
The tavern keeper shook his head. "Behind you," he said. They climbed higher, closing in on the stone wall of the spacious cavern.
Lemma craned her neck to look back at the platform. What she saw horrified her. Hight Knight Pyx and Councilor Tholke. Even from this far away, she could see that their eyes appeared to have ruptured. From the vacant holes where their eyes had been, large fat yellow worms as long as sword blades were spilling out onto the platform. Each worm slapped down onto the marble, then immediately began to grow in size. Within mere seconds, each one grew to the size of a Field Roamer pup. And they only continued getting bigger.
The Advsiors and officials broke into a stampede, making for the platform's only exit; the flight of stone steps leading up to the passageway before street level.
"Gods," Lemma whispered. "We have to seal off the exit. We can't let those... those things make it up to the city."
But based on the ever-increasing size of the worms, and their ever-growing numbers, she feared it might already be too late.
"Hurry! Come on!" someone shouted, just ahead.
Lemma turned toward the sound of the voice. She saw a Jikk standing atop a stone ledge, high up on the cavern wall. She didn't recognize him.
A second later, the tavern keeper brought her down to a gentle landing on the ledge beside the unfamiliar Jikk. She eyed them both suspiciously. "Just what is going on? And who is this?"
"My name is Flower-Seed. And we've got to get the fuck out of here, Councilor."
The tavern keeper asked, "How can we seal it off?"
Lemma thought for a moment. "You came through there?" She pointed to the large gap behind Flower-Seed.
"We did," said the tavern keeper.
"Then we might be able to beat the worms to the surface. There's a secret tunnel in the cave ceiling, a little further on. Come on. We have to get to the statue of Kylo the Great, up in the Cobbler's District. There's a hidden lever inside. I know the code to turn it. It will seal off the Old City. It's our only chance."
"Then let's get moving," said Flower-Seed.
The tavern keeper only grunted his agreement.
Together, the three of them took off at a sprint. There truly wasn't a single moment to spare...
•8•
Rave spotted the figures below, standing patiently beside a gnarled, leafless gatortree. He came to a landing, just a few yards from them. Eight pairs of cold, dark eyes peered out from eight fleshless humanoid faces, considering him with an alien species of indifference.
A long black case was tucked beneath Rave's right arm. In his left hand, he clutched his Rune Stone expectantly. Any moment now, Nollo would be giving him the word that the deed was done. Any moment now. Rave had an internal clock that kept near perfect timing when it came to things like murder.
Sure enough, the Rune Stone began to grow warmer to Rave's touch.
Nollo's voice came through the Stone. "Boss?"
Rave grinned with what remained of his ruined mouth. "It's done?"
"It's done," Nollo confirmed.
"Good. I'd expect nothing less. You know where I'll be?"
"Yes, sire. I'll see you there shorly."
Rave didn't bother giving a final response. He put the Stone away and took the black case into his hands. The Skinless Men only watched him patiently.
Rave approached the figures beneath the gnarled tree. This was a remote region of Jikkellia's borderlands, where the high grasses gave way to miles of mostly barren dirt and rock. The gatortree stood out, in that it was one of the few trees on the visible landscape here. Just over the horizon, was the large mountain where a certain group of outsiders were rumored to have crashed in a small rowing vessel recently.
Rave waited for one of the skinless men to speak first. When none did, he said: "A lot of people wanted this Horn. You just so happened to be the only ones offering more than coin." This was a half-truth. The Sky Pirates had spoken of coin, but had in reality, offered only betrayal. "I've kept up my end. Now, I expect you to keep yours."
Rave's mind calculated dozens of ways he could slaughter each of these figures, should they show any sign of aggression. It was just how his brain operated. He plotted ways to thwart threats that hadn't even been presented yet. In this line of business, you had to stay twelve moves ahead.
Right on time, Rave's reinforcements arrived. He'd been doing these kinds of deals for far too long to ever go by himself. Even if he did feel confident enough in his abilities that he wasn't weary of the figures before him. Even in a 1 v. 8 duel to the death, he was certain he'd have the upper hand.
Four mothmen mercs landed just behind Rave--keeping their distance but standing at the ready. Rave didn't so much as glance at them. He casually stepped away from his foot soldiers and moved closer to the Skinless Men. "So, how about it? You said you had a way to get us out of this valley. Is that still true?"
One of the figures (there was really no way for Rave to tell the apart, as they all looked like carbon copies of each other) nodded. "We represent Pharoah Dowlmad. Pharoah Dowlmad always keeps his word. Give us the Black Horn and we shall give you freedom from this place."
Rave said nothing a moment. At last, he nodded. "Alright. I'll take you at your word." He slowly held out the case, offering it to one of the figures. The skinless man eagerly accepted the Artifact. He lifted the lid and removed the item inside, handing it to one of the others.
The Black Horn of the Olde Music looked like the hollowed-out horn of some bovine creature, like those Rave had seen sketched in old tomes. Aside from the fact it was black as obsidian, of course. There was a silver mouthpiece banded around the narrow end. That was all there was to the object. All in all, it was rather unimpressive looking by Artifact standards.
The other man examined it for several seconds, before deciding he was satisfied. He nodded back to the first man who took the Horn and returned it to its case.
"So," Rave said, taking on a tone of casual conversation while feigning ignorance. "What does that thing do, anyhow?"
The Skinless Men only regarded him coldly.
Rave nodded, flashing a half grin. "Fair enough. Now... as for your part of the bargain?"
"Yes," said the man holding the case. "You want your entire company to leave this valley? Return to us when you are all together. Some of us will remain here in this spot. We will give you three sunrises after sundown today. If you aren't here by then, we cannot wait any longer."
"We'll return long before then," Rave said.
There didn't seem to be anything more to say. He turned and motioned to the other mercs. "Let's head out. We'll regroup with the others and get everything underway."

There's a specter haunting the sub... the specter of... Oh fuck, this bit is played out, isn't it?
Hello everyone, it's been a couple years since my piece asking people to chill about calling things fascist. Just long enough for everyone to forget it and the problem to come right back!
But that essay is a companion to today's topic, as is this ever relevant video by FoldingIdeas about The Thermian Argument.
Today, I want to talk about diegetic essentialism, how it poisons discourse, and is a cynical ploy by corporations to get you to mindlessly consume their products. And, especially, how it's managed to infect Warhammer and Sigmarxism in particular.

Introduction: Don't be a DEckhead

If you Google the term "Diegetic Essentialism," the first result is....this sub? What the fuck? Did we make up this term? Shit, that can't be right.
Ok, so there are actually a lot of other terms to describe this phenomenon, which has become pandemic over the past decade. Lore brain, Wookipediaism, the Thermian Argument, Cinema Sins-esque, Funko Pop Sunnism (ok, I made up that last one too).
But being the fucking insufferable, over educated losers that we are, we decided the best label was diegetic essentialism. The perfect academia poisoned definition. Exactly descriptive, but so wrapped up in jargon, it can't be understood on its own. So what does it mean?
The diegesis is a work of fiction's "universe." It is the imaginary place where the story is unfolding. There's a joke that's common in movies that explains the concept perfectly. A soundtrack is played over the intro, and when the credits are finished, a character leans over and turns off the radio, cutting the song short. The joke being, you thought it was the film's soundtrack, something the characters can't hear, but it was actually diegetic sound, sound that existed "in that universe." The joke being that there kind of isn't a real difference (hyuk hyuk).
Essentialism just means the only valid thing. To be essentialist is to say that something has an underlying, a priori nature that cannot be denied.
Put em together? It means someone who thinks the only way to analyze, critique, or understand fiction is as though it were real. To the DEckhead (how I'll be referring to the diegetic essentialist from now on), a work of fiction is like a keyhole into an alternate universe as real as ours.
There's nothing inherently wrong with this, it's often how we enjoy something as a consumer. And the DEckhead is nothing if not a consoomer.
While we're watching a movie or reading a book, we allow ourselves to pretend like it's real. It's fun.
But when a normal person returns to reality, they understand that fiction not only isn't real, not only can't be real, but isn't intended to be, beyond the fun of enjoying it.
It is something which is produced by artists, authors, actors. It may or may not have clarity of purpose, themes, intended takeaways, cultural criticisms, etc. It might just be something someone thought was cool.
In a movie like, say, Scott Pilgrim (I know but it's a good example here), when Scott punches someone they burst into coins. This is obviously not intended to be real. In the "universe" of Scott Pilgrim, people are not made of coins, it's just a fun video game reference, an absurdist joke.
But this is true even in something like Superman. When Supe punches someone, he's not really punching someone. The physics of that would be like being impaled by a telephone pole. No, the punch is essentially metaphorical. Evil is defeated by the strength of justice. A punch is the psychologically satisfying, "non violent" way to do that. IRL it actually very easily could kill the petty criminal the same way a knife or a gun could, but it's something our brains can passively accept, it feels right.
This is a critical aspect of media comprehension. Most aspects of a story are thematic. They're not meant to be understood as literally real, but rather meant to evoke the feeling of something real.
The DEckhead does not understand this, or, chooses not to, and gets angry at people who don't follow along. To them, a fictional universe is a consistent, coherent place that exists beyond the boundaries of the text in question. And the only thing you're allowed to do is contribute to "the canon." A term which was literally invented as a joke that is now taken 100% seriously. Welcome to the internet, enjoy your signal decay.
Our sub's eternal enemy, 40klore, is a perfect example of this.
Always are they searching for "evidence" of what something is "really" like, or who would win what fight. You know the type.
Which primarch has the biggest dick? What does Shadowsun eat for breakfast? Questions that, even if an author explicitly spells them out, do not have answers, because they are not real.
Let me give you some other examples to give you an idea how absurd this exercise is:
Does Gandalf have colon cancer? Does Pikachu like dubstep? Did Captain Ahab have imposter syndrome? Hopefully, you're getting the idea. Characters exist to serve a story, they don't have a reality independent of that.
And the only thing that determines what happens next in a story is what an author decides will happen next. That's it. This is true even of historical fiction or works like The Martian, in which the original author went to great lengths to make it as "realistic" as possible. But "Realism" is essentially a genre trapping. It's like a lightsaber color, it's just there to help you enjoy the work. It can't be real.
So here's a great example from the sub that everyone isn't sick to death of, female space marines!
What does the DEckhead say? There can't be female marines because there's no geneseed for them. What does the other DEckhead say? Cawl could totally do it if he did primaris!
These answers are categorically wrong. There were female marines, but they didn't sell as well, and for logistical reasons, they were dropped. Lore was invented to justify this. And it stays that way because the cultivated identity of your marine consumer expects it to stay that way (we will talk about this term later), and would go Gamergate on GW if it changed. GW likes money, and not rocking the boat, so without a compelling reason to blow up their current fanbase, they maintain a piece of fluff so that it's "impossible." ("It's an easy fix! One line of dialogue, thank God we invented the uhh.. You know... Whatever, device.")
This is the only coherent answer. "Lore" reasons are for idiots, and are literally wrong. It's like thinking that Toucan Sam controls what goes into froot loops.
Of course, I'm not saying you can't enjoy fiction on its own terms. But when criticizing it, you must think of it in material terms, as a production made by authors with intent. Lest you fall into this mental trap.
So how is this relevant to us, and why is it bad? Seems straightforward right? Can we be done here?
Well, unfortunately, DE is the tip of a very ugly cultural iceberg. We have a lot to talk about. About late capitalism, about the tendency of the rate of profit to fall, and about how one of capitalism's new frontiers is our brains, and how they've been fully colonized.
Ugh, fuck, like my sister essay, this is way too long. We will break it up with memes and jokes. Bear with me, I'm going somewhere with this.

Media saturation and the attention economy

Have you noticed recently that there's just, like, way too much shit?
Pick any medium: TV, streaming, books, games, movies, music, fuck, even board and tabletop games.
The production and sale of entertainment products is more voluminous than ever. The sheer quantity of things released, even good things, is so large, that even if it were your full time job, you couldn't keep up with just one of these mediums, let alone multiple.
Sometimes people in the same hobby, that like the same genre, maybe even the same property, won't have anything in common with each other.
It did not used to be this way. For better or for worse, "pop culture" used to mean pretty much everyone had seen something. In 1991, 22 million people watched the season finale of Dallas. Now, something with a 2 million person fanbase is considered strong.
As more and more media is produced, it is competing with an ever shrinking attention span. You literally don't have time for this shit.
What results is an alienated, fractured fan "community," one in which you're forced to seek out other atomized individuals to even know someone who's experienced the same thing as you.
And this problem is only getting worse. With the proliferation of choices, not only is there an ocean of garbage to wade through, but a calculation has to be made whether that thing is even worth experiencing if you'll never even meet someone else who has as well.
Ever scrolled through Netflix for hours and found nothing to watch? Ever paid good money for a game on steam and never once played it? How many books are you planning to eventually read, only to find that by the time you start, they're not relevant anymore?
There used to be a thought experiment in philosophy like this: if you had a superpower where you could make any movie you want, but only you could see it, would you want it?
That's not a thought experiment anymore, it is functionally true.
As a result, very few cultural properties have any lasting impact, and fewer still will even experience them. And so they become shallower as a result. They need to appeal to ever increasing crowds of people but still have nothing to say. How can you make a resonant cultural impact, when the culture is essentially a shattered mirror of little cultivated fandoms? How can you even know how to speak to people? This is, not coincidentally, why every show sounds like Twitter now.

The walled garden, the cultivated consumer identity

Corporations have a term they use, cultivated identity, to describe a marketing and sales strategy for how you break through an environment like this.
Now this part of things I'm not an expert in. A lot of people make a lot of money figuring this shit out. But the outline of it isn't hard to understand.
If you're selling people a product, you're kind of a sucker. The buyer gets to evaluate whether that product is worth their money, and you have to convince them that it is, based on its quality, with consequences involved for lying or falling short.
But what if instead, you could convince someone that the product is part of their identity? You're not a customer, you're a blorbo! And you can't wait for blorb 13, the blorbening!
What does it matter if it's good? A blorbo blorbs. Duh.
Obviously, I made this sound as stupid as possible. And yet, how many people call themselves gamers? Hobbyists? Superfans? YouTubers? Even "nerd" and "leftist" can fall into this category.
This isn't like being a film buff, which has expectations of expertise involved. And it's not like an ordinary fandom or genre appreciator, e.g., a metalhead. This is merely a consumer category. You get in the club by being someone continually buying into something, regardless of quality or expertise.
It's pernicious, and it's a highly effective way to cut through all the noise.
Why buy the next thing? Because it's your identity. You could avoid it, if you wanted. But then you're back to that screaming void of attempting to parse through an ocean of stuff based on its quality, which no one else may even know about. Worse, the more people become like this, the less you can relate to them unless you become the same thing.
How many of you have read all of the Horus Heresy novels, all 60-something of them, even though you can count on your fingers which ones aren't complete dogshit?
I own all the Broken Realms books, and I sit and defend AoS on this sub all the time. Why? That shit is online somewhere for free, and I don't give a shit what redditors think about a game I enjoy playing.
It's because GW colonized our brains. In order to keep you onboard, they want you thinking about Warhammer all the fucking time. They want it to be the only thing you consume.
Have you ever looked at something in real life and said, "hey! That's just like Warhammer!" But no, it obviously isn't. That's their marketing with its hooks in you. That's the brainworm they inserted so you'll keep coming back.
And now that I've mentioned this, you probably see it everywhere. Video games that demand they be the only things you play. Endless manga and anime that never has a satisfactory conclusion. TV or books that go on forever and have spinoffs and sequels and tie ins and etc etc etc.
This differs from just making more content for things that are popular. The goal of these kinds of franchises is to be totaling. Warhammer, in particular, is so impenetrable that you can't know it all (even if it is a mile wide and an inch deep, which is actually intentional.)
Marvel of course is the clear juggernaut here. You could live your entire life in a Marvel bubble, if you wanted to. There's that much content.
Shit, even things like apps have the same strategy. Endlessly consuming your attention, refusing to let you go long past when you're getting any use out of it. How often do you even remember what memes you looked at an hour after you put your phone down?
How do they cast this spell on us? Why does this work?

Competitive identity and fandom

And now we return to D.E., and its role in this.
Real media criticism is like the product comparison we made before. Is this a good fiction? Are its themes coherent? What were the authors trying to say? Were the performances good? Etc etc.
You may notice, these are essentially subjective questions, which are the bane of both capital and the hopeless nerd.
If I judge something as bad, it's not easy to convince me otherwise. So you need to pull the conversation away from that, into something "objective."
Enter diegetic essentialism. The goal here is not to evaluate any substantive question. The goal is to establish canon. Quality and artistic merit are essentially irrelevant. And the author might as well be god himself. Aloof and unknowable.
In a deeply bitter form of irony, many DEckheads actually invoke death of the author as evidence for why a story can only mean what its "canon" implies it means. Symbolism? Allegory? Metaphor? These things don't exist. Only "details." Details established by fan arguments.
In this environment, it becomes very difficult to relate actual media criticism to the cultivated identity DEckhead. It tends to annoy them, or "spoil the fun." You're evaluating quality and artistry? That's not why we're here, bucko.
For you to fit into these properties, and therefore not be lost in the cultural wasteland, you begin to compete to be the biggest "fan." The best lore understander, the most details knower, the most hours logged on, the takes haver.
What becomes important is not actual construction of meaning, talent in performance, or even just having a good time, it's constructing the cultural justification for why it's worth it to stay in this identity.
I know you know what I mean.
How often have you been roped in to an argument about the Tau? How long have you spent memorizing the details of battles that did not happen and aren't even consistent? How many marketing names do you know for troops that have slightly different weapons?
When you're trapped in DE, all you can do is talk about the details. Everyone is in the walled garden. You're not a visitor here, you're trapped.
When we say 40k sucks, what we mean is the vast majority of it is zero effort reactionary garbage. Sure, some of it isn't, but that's the exception.
GW rarely or never credits their authors and artists anymore (their newest paint teacher is hands only lmao). They regularly shit can excellent story ideas if they can't connect to minis sales.
How can this dreck be worth thinking about? It's not just that it isn't real, that's obvious. It's not even really trying.
And yet that won't stop 40klore from furiously discussing the implications of bimchus boltbutt falling to chaos, all one paragraph written about it. And it won't stop someone else from spending two hours digging through wikis (which are like religious monuments dedicated to DE) to "prove" or "disprove" something that was never real and will be overwritten by the next book anyway.
Most of you are subconsciously aware of this. Be honest, when was the last time you really read any of the books? Compare that to how often you read a wiki instead, or, god help us, watched a "loretuber."
It's not your fault, it's because it's bad. It's not worth reading 80% of these things. Your brain rebels against it.
At one point, they existed to help you tell a cool story while you were playing a fun game.
Now? They exist to perpetuate a corporate juggernaut with a 30% profit margin. The game is deliberately designed to be miserable to incentivize new model purchases. And Black Library greases that engine.
Influencers and superfans consume and regurgitate "information" and "lore" to a series of people who've decided they "like" something that they literally don't like.
And you keep up with it because otherwise, you don't get to be in the "fandom." Hilariously, a lot of the arguments people make on here are incorrect even in DEckhead terms. Like it's obvious to someone who has read lore when someone else has not. But accuracy isn't even important to the DEckhead. Not really. Just that it exists to argue about.
And now we come to it. The conclusion that will piss a lot of you off.

""""""""""Leftist"""''"""""" Diegetic Essentialism

Leftist is essentially in this category too. Because it doesn't have a strict, coherent meaning like, say, Marxist-Leninist or Anarcho-Communist.
Despite being nominally anti capitalist, after the honeymoon period of escaping to the left, there is a lingering "what do I do now" that this same market mechanism is happy to latch onto.
"Breadtubers," shitty podcasts, awful electoral politics horseracing, they all fit into this same niche. An endless stream of content to deliberate on, but not act on or organize for.
Worse, since people falsely associate liberalism with the left, and liberals have increasingly become hysterical about the need to "improve" media, rather than improve material conditions, people start using diegetic essentialism to police their own fiction for elements that aren't in it.
How. Many. Fucking. Times. Have you read a thread, on this sub, from people who definitely should know better (and I do not exempt myself one bit) about how X faction is (fascist, capitalist, cringe, based, comrade, etc.) because of some snippet of their lore that clearly no author was trying to communicate, and that the story barely supports?
It's ok if you're just having fun, but we are so far past that point.
Stir made a joke a long time ago about how often the word "anarchy" is used in the Beasts of Chaos and Tzeentch battletomes in Age of Sigmar, and how it would be funny if someone thought that made them anarchist comrades instead of the clearly negative connotation GW puts on the word.
Only that's not a joke, that eventually did happen.
It's ironic that despite how saturated the internet is now with media analysis types with related degrees from universities, media literacy is probably worse than it's ever been.

The takeaway: Thematic/Material Analysis, vs diegetic essentialist problematic interpretations

Fuck, are we at the end yet? Thank God. The tl;dr is almost here.
When you make an argument like "Salamanders are comrades because in this book they did a thing that was nice, and that's like communism, so they're communists," you are doing the leftist version of DE to keep this consumer identity going. It is exactly the same as a shitty 40klore thread (redundant, I know).
It is the "leftist" version of "no female space marines."
Or, not to put this user on blast, but the recent "Chorfs are capitalist?!??" post is another great example. It would be one thing if we could examine the story and see their mode of production and, wow, look, the author included enclosure of the commons and theft of surplus value, I wonder if that was intentional? But no. The argument is "Chorfs are greedy industrialists. Capitalism has greedy industrialists. Chorfs capitalist?!??"
Lost in this kind of nonsense are basic critical questions. E.g., what was the author(s)' intent? What is the value of this criticism? Is this what the story is about, or is there only incidental interpretive evidence?
What's happening here, is leftists are using the Thermian Argument in reverse. They're using DE to say a story objectively has a message that it does not possess, and that no author intended. And, even worse, that even the interpretation is an idiotic stretch. All this to keep the fan content churning.
Do you see how foolish this exercise is? Do you see how the point isn't to critique or analyze or enjoy a work, but to create a competitive context to keep people trapped in these consumer categories?
It would be one thing if, like is the case with Krieg and Space Marines, people were deliberately misinterpreting lore as an endorsement of fascism (using an admittedly lazy and inconsistent framing where they're arguably not wrong). Especially since there's a material effect that misinterpretation(?) has on our lives.
But if we're just arguing about the fucking lore, the answer is that's it's just a bunch of shit designed by Tory adjacent Anglos to sell toys. That's it. Most Warhammer fluff isn't even worth analysis or critique, it's got nothing in it. Even the DEckhead has to scrape the bottom of the barrel most times. Sometimes literal sentences are their only "evidence."
If you want to break out of this hell, you have to start using actual tools of critical media analysis. And absolutely the first step of that is throwing Diegetic Essentialism out the window.
Don't think about lore as real, think of it as decoration for a product, made by tired authors and artists who largely aren't getting any credit.
When you want to have one of these silly takes, ask yourself instead, "what was the person writing this lore trying to accomplish?"
The answer typically, in Warhammer's case, is not much.
This is not to say there's nothing about it to discuss, far from it. We could talk all day about what Warhammer considers normal and what it says about Western values.
But there's no intelligent things to glean from the lore itself.

The tl;dr

There is no canon. The lore is not real. It cannot mean or imply anything not expressed by the authors and artists, or so strongly evident in the assumptions of the story, that it's an inescapable facet of it (e.g. Imperium and fascism).
If you don't want to be a consumer brained moron, stop asking """''factual""""" questions about the lore, and ask instead, "what did the author mean?" "How was this work produced and for what reason?" "Who made it?" "How does it make me feel and what are its themes?" And, most importantly, "is this even good? Is it even worth my time or analysis?"
Otherwise, you're just trapping yourself into a series of pointless arguments to justify your consumption, forever. And you'll be polluting the sub, and dragging everyone else down with you.
Peace, thank you for reading this incredibly stupid essay.

I am able to perform actions on the same row of a data frame using an expression such as,
​
df['total'] = df['Col1"] + df['Col2"]
​
However, I am not sure how to perform calculations involving different rows. I am hoping to avoid turning my dataframe columns into list or arrays for computation and then having to add the list as a dataframe column. Really wanting to know how this is best achieved. Thank you for advance

In 1982, Michael Bloomberg began selling customized computer terminals that delivered real-time market data, financial calculations, and other analytics to Wall Street firms. At first, it was called the Market Master terminal, but later became known as the Bloomberg Terminal or simply "The Bloomberg." The subscription price started at $25,000 per year, which could be considered sky-high at that time.
Since then, a lot has changed. The advent of the Internet made acquiring most information much more affordable. Nevertheless, the Bloomberg Terminal propelled its inventor from a bond trader sweating in his underwear in Salomon Brothers' vaults to a media mogul.
The same Bloomberg concept seems to be revived in a new form - AI. AI machines are capable not only of collecting and processing publicly available information but also of extracting meaningful insights and generating assumptions regarding non-public indicators such as competitors' revenue or real estate earnings. This information now holds the same significance and value for which traders would previously shell out big bucks for a subscription to Bloomberg Terminals. The potential consumers of these "new Bloombergs" are no longer limited to traders but rather any company that prioritizes data-driven decision-making. Your task is to provide these companies with the requisite data.
Here's an example of how this can be achieved.
Player: Burger Index
How it works: The Burger Index is a data analytics platform that helps restaurants, cafes, and cloud kitchen managers sell more by making data-driven decisions on new locations, products, pricing, promotions, leads, and trends.
The platform offers various services depending on your question. For instance, if you inquire about the ideal location for a new coffee shop, the platform considers factors such as the socio-demographic characteristics of the population, the average income level, the existing demand for coffee, and the number of coffee shops already present in the area. Similarly, if you ask what items to include in a new menu, the platform analyzes competitors' menu, their new products, and the current demand for those products. To identify current promotions that boost sales for other establishments, the Burger Index analyzes online ads, identifies the advertisers and their promotions, and assesses their effectiveness.
The description above was a simplified representation of the platform. In reality, it’s much more complex, powered by an AI machine that analyzes data collected from the Internet, continuously learning in the process. Basically, users can interact with the platform in two ways:

1. The first option is to monitor the industry's event feed, which can be filtered by areas of interest, establishment types, and other criteria. This feature enables users to track real-time updates such as new menu items, changes in dish prices, and promotional offers.
2. Alternatively, users can make a direct request to the system. By selecting the desired city and cuisine type, the platform provides a comprehensive set of graphs and data tables.

Funding: Burger Index finds itself at the intersection of three exploding markets — data analytics, location-based services, and restaurant tech. The startup was established in Spain last year and has quickly expanded its services to seven European countries and GCC (including the UAE, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Kuwait, Qatar, and Oman). Large corporations such as McDonald's and Nestle have joined the venture. The startup has secured $1.3 million in a seed-funding round led by Cairo-based venture capital company Flat6Labs to broaden its offerings beyond restaurants and incorporate grocery stores and supermarkets.
What can you build?You can make "New Bloombergs."
At the moment, it's too early to talk about creating a universal AI machine that can analyze market segments at the right level. For each market (or market segments), you need to create a separate machine that will be trained and optimized for analyzing specific types of data and creating certain assumptions.
Therefore, the number of opportunities here is proportional to the number of markets. And also the number of competing 'Bloombergs' that this market can endure. Now is the right time to get into this topic because it may turn out to be too late since the number of top players in each market in this topic will still be limited.

https://www.irishtimes.com/culture/books/evanna-lynch-i-never-planned-for-anorexia-to-be-my-thing-1.4699293
Reading this just made me unhappy and despise Evanna's sisters, especially Emily. All because Evanna has an eating disorder?
“You’re a horrible, selfish person!” - Emily
“I hate you! The only person you care about is yourself!” - Emily
“You’re ruining Mam and Dad’s lives!” - Emily
I try to slip by unnoticed, but Mairéad glances up, her expression hardening when our eyes meet, and then returns to her geography homework. Emily refuses to look at me, but I see her anger in her reddened cheeks, her furious concentration on her calculator. Anger and disdain radiate from both sisters. - Evanna
Selfish, that is their primary complaint. That I don’t care about the family or the stress I’ve brought into their lives, or the aura of fear and anxiety that hangs about my parents all day, every day. I am a spoiled, self-centred brat, as far as they are concerned. - Evanna
I just don't understand how Evanna can stay in touch or visit her family again after the hell they put her through. If that we're me, I would fake my death and start a whole new life.

We're venturing into the mysterious world of the job interview, where both candidate and interviewer are about to engage in an epic battle of wits, vying to ask the strangest question ever asked.
Imagine a high-stakes game where every question thrown across the table is met with a raised eyebrow, a stifled chuckle, or a bemused smile. Each weird question scores a point, and the ultimate winner is crowned 👑 Master of Weird Questions!
ROUND 1️⃣
Interviewer: If you could be any animal, what would you be and why?
This question may seem strange, but it could be a creative way to assess a candidate's personality traits and how they see themselves.
Candidate: Can I bring my pet snake to work every day?
This question may seem weird but reflects the candidate's personal interests and work-life balance concerns. It's important to address company policies regarding pets and discuss whether the workplace is pet-friendly.
ROUND 2️⃣
Interviewer: How many square feet of pizza do you think is eaten in the world each month?
While unusual, this question tests a candidate's problem-solving skills and ability to think on their feet.
Candidate: How many pencils can fit into your company office?
This question is unusual but could be an indicator of the candidate's analytical skills and curiosity. It may lead to a conversation about office space, efficiency, and organization.
ROUND 3️⃣
Interviewer: If you were a superhero, what would your superpower be?
This weird question can help to uncover a candidate's values, aspirations, and how they view their own abilities.
Candidate: Do you believe in aliens and would your company ever consider working with extraterrestrial clients?
Although this question is peculiar, it showcases the candidate's sense of humor and could be a conversation starter about the company's openness to innovation and diversity.
ROUND 4️⃣
Interviewer: If you could have dinner with any three people, dead or alive, who would they be?
This unusual question can provide insight into a candidate's interests, inspirations, and values.
Candidate: What's your company's policy on time travel?
While this question is definitely strange, it can be a fun way to talk about the company's flexibility in terms of working hours and its focus on innovation and forward-thinking.
ROUND 5️⃣
Interviewer: If you were a color, which one would you be and why?
An unconventional question that may help to reveal a candidate's personality and how they perceive themselves.
Candidate: If your company were an ice cream flavor, which one would it be and why?
This creative question can lead to an interesting discussion about the company's unique qualities, culture, and values, helping the candidate understand the organization's essence.
ROUND 6️⃣
Interviewer: If you were a brand, what would your motto be?
This quirky question can reveal a candidate's core values and how they want to be perceived by others.
Candidate: Would the company ever consider sponsoring a professional pillow fighting team?
This offbeat question can be a fun way to discuss the company's approach to team-building, sponsorship, and corporate social responsibility, as well as its willingness to support unconventional initiatives.
ROUND 7️⃣
Interviewer: Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or 100 duck-sized horses?
An odd question that can break the ice and show how a candidate approaches hypothetical situations or decision-making under pressure.
Candidate: How does your company handle potential zombie apocalypses?
While this question is quite imaginative, it can be a fun way to discuss the company's emergency preparedness, crisis management, and adaptability in the face of unexpected challenges.
ROUND 8️⃣
Interviewer: How would you explain the internet to a medieval person?
This can help gauge a candidate's communication skills and ability to simplify complex concepts.
Candidate: How would your company handle a sudden, worldwide shortage of coffee?
While this question might seem strange, it can lead to an engaging conversation about the company's adaptability, problem-solving abilities, and how it keeps employees motivated and productive.
ROUND 9️⃣
Interviewer: What two items would you bring to a deserted island and why?
This question evaluates a candidate's ability to prioritize and think strategically.
Candidate: Do you think robots will eventually take over my job?
While this question may seem weird, it opens the door for a conversation about the impact of automation, artificial intelligence, and the company's commitment to adapting to technological advancements.
ROUND 🔟
Interviewer: How would you describe the yellow color to a blind person?
This question tests a candidate's communication skills and ability to convey abstract concepts.
Candidate: Can I use dances to present my ideas during meetings?
This quirky question opens the door for a conversation about the company's approach to communication, creativity, and inclusivity, as well as its support for unconventional methods of expression.
The final score is 10:10
No winner this time! 🙂

Periodic Order Quantity (POQ) is a type of inventory management system where the quantity of items ordered at each reorder point is fixed, and orders are placed at regular intervals, regardless of inventory levels. POQ is used when there is a predictable pattern of demand, such as when demand varies seasonally or cyclically.
🔢 The formula for calculating the POQ is as follows:
POQ = (D * T) / Q
Where:
D = annual demand for the product
T = length of time between orders (in days)
Q = quantity ordered each time an order is placed
↕ Compared to the Economic Order Quantity (EOQ), which calculates the optimal order quantity based on the tradeoff between ordering costs and holding costs, POQ is not designed to minimize costs. Instead, POQ simplifies the ordering process by ordering a fixed quantity of items at regular intervals. This method may result in higher inventory holding costs or stock outs, but it can be more manageable for businesses with limited resources or smaller volumes.
⛑ POQ can be used in situations where there is a predictable demand pattern, and the ordering process can be easily automated, making it easier for businesses to manage their inventory levels. It can also be a useful method for managing seasonal products, as it allows for easy planning and ordering of inventory at regular intervals.
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