The irreverent and revolutionary Old skull, the spirit of fun. Skulls were used in the old traditions of satirical and ridiculous poems making social criticism and protest, dates 500 years ago. Also had been used in different plays like the ”Dance of Death” in the 14th century. People needed satire to help deal with the grim world (plagues and diseases) around them. But the symbol emerged in Mexico as a means of expression especially used with roguish and ironic tones against the nobles and powerful of the viceroy times. It is also used during the celebration of the day of the death.

"Only dead fish follow the stream of the river".

Swimming against the current is an odyssey in an open world where paradoxically there is more access to information but at the same time we are more controlled. Reflections of those dystopian universes — riddled with environmental disasters and cataclysms — from science fiction novels have come true. But there is still hope. There are spaces of freedom to ambush, where dissidents and freethinkers can react and rebel against the flashes of tyranny, censorship and dehumanization present in society. In some remote and lost place the Lineage of the free will always resist.

There is a legend that says that in a place in the Pacific called Teaoturoa, lived a handsome warrior named Mataora who was captivated by the exotic and irresistible beauty of a woman from the underworld, daughter of Uetonga, descendant of the goddess of the night and the god of earthquakes and named Niwareka. He was so captivated that he asked her to marry him and she agreed to stay in his world. Things worked until one unfortunate day the brave Mataora went into a rage and violently mistreated the princess. Drowning in her sadness, she left her husband, returning to Rarohenga, to her old underground life. The clouds wept, the trees screamed, the rivers bled ... the warrior's supplications echoed in the depths of the earth. Sorry for his actions, he descended in search of his beloved to implore her forgiveness. Uetonga, who recognized him when he arrived, gave a great laugh because the hero's body paint had been erased along the way. Naked with shame, he exposed his pain in tears of regret, to which the merciful King forgave him by permanently tattooing him and showing him the art of Ta Moko. Reconciled, they returned from the afterlife, where they taught generation after generation this traditional Maori tattoo technique from New Zealand.

There is a legend that says that in a place in the Pacific called Teaoturoa, lived a handsome warrior named Mataora who was captivated by the exotic and irresistible beauty of a woman from the underworld, daughter of Uetonga, descendant of the goddess of the night and the god of earthquakes and named Niwareka. He was so captivated that he asked her to marry him and she agreed to stay in his world. Things worked until one unfortunate day the brave Mataora went into a rage and violently mistreated the princess. Drowning in her sadness, she left her husband, returning to Rarohenga, to her old underground life. The clouds wept, the trees screamed, the rivers bled ... the warrior's supplications echoed in the depths of the earth. Sorry for his actions, he descended in search of his beloved to implore her forgiveness. Uetonga, who recognized him when he arrived, gave a great laugh because the hero's body paint had been erased along the way. Naked with shame, he exposed his pain in tears of regret, to which the merciful King forgave him by permanently tattooing him and showing him the art of Ta Moko. Reconciled, they returned from the afterlife, where they taught generation after generation this traditional Maori tattoo technique from New Zealand.

There is a legend that says that in a place in the Pacific called Teaoturoa, lived a handsome warrior named Mataora who was captivated by the exotic and irresistible beauty of a woman from the underworld, daughter of Uetonga, descendant of the goddess of the night and the god of earthquakes and named Niwareka. He was so captivated that he asked her to marry him and she agreed to stay in his world. Things worked until one unfortunate day the brave Mataora went into a rage and violently mistreated the princess. Drowning in her sadness, she left her husband, returning to Rarohenga, to her old underground life. The clouds wept, the trees screamed, the rivers bled ... the warrior's supplications echoed in the depths of the earth. Sorry for his actions, he descended in search of his beloved to implore her forgiveness. Uetonga, who recognized him when he arrived, gave a great laugh because the hero's body paint had been erased along the way. Naked with shame, he exposed his pain in tears of regret, to which the merciful King forgave him by permanently tattooing him and showing him the art of Ta Moko. Reconciled, they returned from the afterlife, where they taught generation after generation this traditional Maori tattoo technique from New Zealand.

"He was not the most honest or the most pious man, but he was a brave man" P. Reverte.

If you lived dangerously and your life was hanging by a thread, if you defied authority, defending your reason and rights with the proud point of your sword, if you sacrificed yourself and were generous and human, if you were fearless, reckless, arrogant, brave, adventurous, seductive, rogue, loyal, if you were capable of the most heroic but also the meanest actions, if you were guided by your code of honour, if you sought glory on the margins of society and the law, if you lost your innocence in the face of the harsh reality of mud and blood, and if, disenchanted, everyone abandoned you. .. then you were probably an Old Thirdsman, a tired hero in rusty armour, a forgotten anti-hero like a cursed Alatriste.

"He was not the most honest or the most pious man, but he was a brave man" P. Reverte.

If you lived dangerously and your life was hanging by a thread, if you defied authority, defending your reason and rights with the proud point of your sword, if you sacrificed yourself and were generous and human, if you were fearless, reckless, arrogant, brave, adventurous, seductive, rogue, loyal, if you were capable of the most heroic but also the meanest actions, if you were guided by your code of honour, if you sought glory on the margins of society and the law, if you lost your innocence in the face of the harsh reality of mud and blood, and if, disenchanted, everyone abandoned you. .. then you were probably an Old Thirdsman, a tired hero in rusty armour, a forgotten anti-hero like a cursed Alatriste.

You were a humble peasant who barely knew how to read & write. In your native Domremí countryside you heard voices & embarked on an uncertain destiny to liberate France from the English. Together with your faithful soldiers, you raised your banner & launched yourself in suicidal acts until liberating the siege of Orleans & crowning your dolphin. That was your glorious rise that preceded your terrible end. They betrayed you & accused you of heresy. A scorching fire ended your life.

Were you perhaps God's chosen one or a madwoman driven by schizophrenia & hallucinations? Be that as it may, you were the maiden acclaimed by your people, the fervent heroine that you faced against all the powers of the earth until you almost won the Hundred Years War. Today Joan, your name is already a legend.

We are the horsemen who ride with beasts of pipes and steel based on black fuel, in this hostile land, the roads are nightmares, the cities are deserts and humanity feeds on men... the leaders cannot stop this avalanche, the storm from fear…

Driven by this confusion full of frustrated dreams, we unscrupulously take revenge on the burdens, we will annihilate with our sword, with hunger, with death and with the beasts...

The great earthquake dyes the sun black and the blood moon, the stars fall from the sky...

The great day has come... in the midst of this chaos hope will resurface...

Don't you want to ride like a horseman from the Apocalypse to hell itself carrying this iron cross? Discover new horizons and new worlds, cross the wild nature flying free to the ends of the Universe. Be bold, break barriers, the rules if necessary, help your people and do not forget that the trophy you carry is a symbol of loyalty, companionship, courage, rebellion and freedom.

We are the horsemen who ride with beasts of pipes and steel based on black fuel, in this hostile land, the roads are nightmares, the cities are deserts and humanity feeds on men... the leaders cannot stop this avalanche, the storm from fear…

Driven by this confusion full of frustrated dreams, we unscrupulously take revenge on the burdens, we will annihilate with our sword, with hunger, with death and with the beasts...

The great earthquake dyes the sun black and the blood moon, the stars fall from the sky...

The great day has come... in the midst of this chaos hope will resurface...

La Estantigua (in Castilian tradition), Güestia or Bona Xente (in Asturian mythology), Corteju de Genti de Muerti (in Extremadura), Estadea (in Zamora), Hueste de Ánimas (in León), Vision, La Huespeda… different names to refer to the Santa Compaña, that group of wandering hooded ghosts, a dark army of souls in pain that wandered in the gloomy night through the towns, forests and crossroads as an omen of death. To know its origin, we must go back to Germanic paganism (Wild Hunt — whose evolution under the medieval Christian veil would give the gloomy spectral procession Mesnie Hellequin—) and Celtic (the Sluagh or the Fairy Host) related to omens of wars, plagues, diseases future and acts of gathering souls.

You were a humble peasant who barely knew how to read & write. In your native Domremí countryside you heard voices & embarked on an uncertain destiny to liberate France from the English. Together with your faithful soldiers, you raised your banner & launched yourself in suicidal acts until liberating the siege of Orleans & crowning your dolphin. That was your glorious rise that preceded your terrible end. They betrayed you & accused you of heresy. A scorching fire ended your life.

Were you perhaps God's chosen one or a madwoman driven by schizophrenia & hallucinations? Be that as it may, you were the maiden acclaimed by your people, the fervent heroine that you faced against all the powers of the earth until you almost won the Hundred Years War. Today Joan, your name is already a legend.

"Only dead fish follow the stream of the river".

Swimming against the current is an odyssey in an open world where paradoxically there is more access to information but at the same time we are more controlled. Reflections of those dystopian universes — riddled with environmental disasters and cataclysms — from science fiction novels have come true. But there is still hope. There are spaces of freedom to ambush, where dissidents and freethinkers can react and rebel against the flashes of tyranny, censorship and dehumanization present in society. In some remote and lost place the Lineage of the free will always resist.

You were a humble peasant who barely knew how to read & write. In your native Domremí countryside you heard voices & embarked on an uncertain destiny to liberate France from the English. Together with your faithful soldiers, you raised your banner & launched yourself in suicidal acts until liberating the siege of Orleans & crowning your dolphin. That was your glorious rise that preceded your terrible end. They betrayed you & accused you of heresy. A scorching fire ended your life.

Were you perhaps God's chosen one or a madwoman driven by schizophrenia & hallucinations? Be that as it may, you were the maiden acclaimed by your people, the fervent heroine that you faced against all the powers of the earth until you almost won the Hundred Years War. Today Joan, your name is already a legend.

"Only dead fish follow the stream of the river".

Swimming against the current is an odyssey in an open world where paradoxically there is more access to information but at the same time we are more controlled. Reflections of those dystopian universes — riddled with environmental disasters and cataclysms — from science fiction novels have come true. But there is still hope. There are spaces of freedom to ambush, where dissidents and freethinkers can react and rebel against the flashes of tyranny, censorship and dehumanization present in society. In some remote and lost place the Lineage of the free will always resist.

You were a humble peasant who barely knew how to read & write. In your native Domremí countryside you heard voices & embarked on an uncertain destiny to liberate France from the English. Together with your faithful soldiers, you raised your banner & launched yourself in suicidal acts until liberating the siege of Orleans & crowning your dolphin. That was your glorious rise that preceded your terrible end. They betrayed you & accused you of heresy. A scorching fire ended your life.

Were you perhaps God's chosen one or a madwoman driven by schizophrenia & hallucinations? Be that as it may, you were the maiden acclaimed by your people, the fervent heroine that you faced against all the powers of the earth until you almost won the Hundred Years War. Today Joan, your name is already a legend.

"Only dead fish follow the stream of the river".

Swimming against the current is an odyssey in an open world where paradoxically there is more access to information but at the same time we are more controlled. Reflections of those dystopian universes — riddled with environmental disasters and cataclysms — from science fiction novels have come true. But there is still hope. There are spaces of freedom to ambush, where dissidents and freethinkers can react and rebel against the flashes of tyranny, censorship and dehumanization present in society. In some remote and lost place the Lineage of the free will always resist.