the grass withers

I have studied the ancient pagan faiths that came before this more recent obsession with a single, divine creator. They seem to have focused more on the fundamental forces at play in the world around us and less on arbitrary moral rules…

The sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening. The tides ebb and flow. Grass grows, withers, dies, and then in time, emerges from the ground once more. The air turns warm then cools and back again. Some hidden energy keeps us fitted to the ground and pulls us back when we attempt to leave it. Each of these movements was represented before by a god or goddess. Each force given face, but recognized as something distinct and powerful. Which is not to say there were not connections between these forces – a pantheon of individual spirits – of rules. Invisible hands guiding the progress of the world around us.

And so here there was an attempt to categorize, study, explain, and understand the way things work – even if it was flawed. But no more. Now we are asked to succumb to a far more simplified explanation. How naive to believe there might be a single answer to every question. Every mystery. That there exists a lone divine light which rules over all. They say it is a light that brings truth and love. I say it is a light that blinds us – and forces us to stumble about in ignorance.

I long for the day when men turn away from invisible monsters and once more embrace a more rational view of the world. But these new religions are so convenient – and promise such terrible punishment should one reject them – I worry that fear shall keep us stuck to what is surely the greatest lie ever told.
—  Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad’s Codex, page 20
Assassin’s Creed II
Broken Children

 The scarf felt cold in his grasp.

 Blankly he stared at the ground. The scarf tucked between his chin and knees, the poor boy let his gaze wander far, far into the distance, mindlessly hoping, begging, wishing that this was nothing but a mere dream, that he would soon wake up, woozy yet happy in the arms of his beloved parents.

 The chilling breeze on his skin grimly reminded him that this was reality.

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the devil is just telling me and telling me that this would be easier if i didnt have to fight so hard all the time and i say better is the little that the righteous has than the abundance of many wicked. fret not yourself because of evildoers, be not envious of wrongdoers, for they will soon fade like the grass and wither like the green herb. trust in Yahweh and do good, dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness. delight yourself in Yahweh and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to Yahweh, trust him, and he will act. He will bring forth your righteousness as the light, and your justice as the noonday. Be still before Yahweh and wait patiently for him, fret not yourself over the one who prospers in his way, over the man who carries out evil devices!


What is the worth of man, O Lord, You said,

That the whole vast world as his property, he acquires,

When, either today or tomorrow, he must die,

And the accumulated wealth outlive him will.

What worth is it that upon his head, a crown he sets,

When behind him, he must leave it?

To him, what good is gold and a pile of silver,

When through his withered ribs, grass grows?

What good is silk, pearls and food,

When, upon him alive, the sun does not gaze?

Of what help is the world, if he loses his soul.

Without the soul, the body is lowered into the grave.

His body and soul, both have died,

And to its grave, each of them hurries.

Two lifeless ones, then men, do bury,

For neither of them, do men bitterly mourn.

Anyone who has a mind, over his soul, let him guard,

You gave to all a reminder clear:

The soul is the only thing that can be saved,

All else in the world, and even the world itself will perish.

When we know Your counsel, O dear Lord,

Still, Your power and help we need.

Help our sinful soul, O Good One,

That the smoke of vanity suffocate it not.

Let the lowly brother glory in his exaltation, but the rich in his humiliation, because as a flower of the field he will pass away. For no sooner has the sun risen with a burning heat than it withers the grass; its flower falls, and its beautiful appearance perishes. So the rich man also will fade away in his pursuits.
—  James 1:9-11

One thing that’s kept me from playing Hidden Springs was the fact that the grass was way too saturated and bluish. Here you have two recolors of only the original grass (not the withered versions), making it warmer and less saturated. To better see the differences, flip between the comparison images in full-view.

Important: EA actually made two sets of Hidden Springs grass. One set is basegame compatible and is a regular terrain paint, and the other is HS-exclusive and used to paint the HS world. They’re independent of each other, too - for example, if you replace the BGC grass, the HS world one will not be affected. If you download a replacement of the HS world paint, it will NOT affect the regular Build Mode terrain paint.

Download default replacements:

For basegame: ‘HS Grass’ darker | ‘HS Grass’ lighter
For Hidden Springs: ‘HS Grass’ darker | ‘HS Grass’ lighter

Download non-default replacements:

‘HS Grass’ darker and lighter
With altered descriptions and custom thumbnails.

“Do not fret because of evil men or be envious of those who do wrong; for like the grass they will soon wither, like green plants they will soon die away. Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture. Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him; do not fret when men succeed in their ways, when they carry out their wicked schemes.”-Psalms 37:1-3,7

It is dreary outside, the fields a mass of lumps of black earth, and some snow, with mostly days of mist and mire in between, the red sun in the evening and in the morning, crows, withered grass, and faded, rotting green, black shrubs, and the branches of the poplars and willows rigid, like wire against the dismal sky. This is what I see in passing, and it is quite in harmony with the interiors, very gloomy, these dark winter days…
—  Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh
Will changed his surgical gloves and glared at the woods. “We will find them. We have to.”
Nico di Angelo gave him a canteen. “Drink. Right now, this is where you need to be.”
I could tell the son of Hades was angry too. Around his feet, the grass steamed and withered.
Will sighed. “You’re right. But that doesn’t make me feel better. I have to set Valentina’s broken arm now. You want to assist?”
“Sounds gruesome,” Nico said. “Let’s go.”
—  Trials of Apollo