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2024.05.14 01:35 TheLastRiter I never should have gone to this farmhouse alone. [Part 1]
My hands are shaking as I write this, I have to document my story incase something happens to me in the next few days. I'm not sure where to begin but I suppose here is better than anywhere.
I've always had this weird feeling, this sensation inside of me that I was older than I actually was. By the time I was twelve, my soul felt as though it was forty. By the time I reached twenty, I felt like an old woman. I would watch people around my age acting foolish, and I always thought, "What a bunch of children." So it was no surprise to anyone that when I turned twenty-one, I left my hometown and college and decided to spend the summer alone by renting an old farmhouse in an insignificant town on the edge of an even more insignificant border.
When I told my mother, she had a veritable fit, unable to find the words. She spluttered and raged around me for days before I finally left early one morning to avoid her guilt and frustration with my choices. I was not sure why I craved solitude at such a young age, why I found solace in being alone and removed from society.
In high school, I had changed unexpectedly, cutting my long blonde hair short and dying it black, getting piercings that my mother loathed and claimed no young lady should have. You see, my mother was raised proper, as she called it. Good family, good husband, and finally a good life. She despised her perfect life being squashed by my alternative looks and feelings of the same world. She just didn't understand me or the world as it changed around her. I felt like I was just a trophy to her and my father, her perfect angel who had been tainted by my own demented thoughts.
I never told my parents where I was staying, one last rebellious mission before leaving for a few months, and it took me only a few hours to arrive at the farmhouse where I would be staying for the next few months. The land around the farm was dead or dying, old crops rose out of the dry dusty earth and had turned black and forgotten, as if this land was the example of dreams long forgotten and empty. A single dreary lane connected this desolate farmhouse to the rest of the world. On the outside, it was drab and looked as though it would fall apart. It had two stories but still seemed cramped and small, as if it were a single floor tied to the ground.
Across from the house, bordering the tall weeds that had reclaimed much of the farmland, stood a maudlin-looking faded red barn, one door propped open in a dejected manner revealing naught to me but shadows, dust, and a little mystery.
Next to the barn, staked into the ground on an old-looking cross, was a ragged scarecrow. It had drab brown clothing, but its face was oddly realistic, like it was watching me with a disapproving manner. Straw poked through its joints at odd angles like they were trying to break free from their confines. The scarecrow obviously didn't do its job as it was covered in no less than three crows.
I parked my car next to the barn and stepped out into the dusty yard before the farmhouse that I would make my home for the next few months. I checked under the front mat for the key and put it in the lock.
With a satisfying click, the door fell inward into the farmhouse. Surprisingly, the inside of the farmhouse was modern, clean, and looked quite inviting. I could smell the fresh paint on the walls, and everything was so white. The realtor had told me she would stop by tomorrow to collect the rent, and she had tried to chat my ear off on the phone about all the renovations she and her son were doing on the place.
I sighed with contentment and tossed my bags beside the door. I dug around in my bag and removed my camera, my father's old film shooter as he called it. I had taken up the hobby years ago for what I called capturing the oddity in the world.
I explored the small house a little more; the ground floor consisted of a single room and small bathroom with a shower. The bedroom was upstairs and was the only room, the stairs connected directly to the white and pink monstrosity that was the master bedroom. The pillows had laces on them and almost made me gag from the cuteness. There was even cute white lace curtains on the window with little flowers stitched onto them.
Out of the only window of the room, I could see the barn and the scarecrow. I aimed my camera at the pair and snapped a photo. From this angle, the scarecrow appeared to be staring straight at me. It stood next to the left side of the barn in a dejected manner like a chastised child.
A shudder involuntarily ran through me at the sight, but I moved on back downstairs. It was getting close to dinner time now, and I had brought some food with me.
After a few minutes, I had my dinner on the stove cooking and the crickets chirping outside the open window. As I sat down to eat next to the window, I felt at peace for one of the first times in years. The solitude of this old farm was exactly what I needed. The window supplied a nice breeze that wafted through the place, it smelled of grass and warm summer nights, made me feel at peace. The simple dish of spaghetti with tomato sauce and a glass of wine was all that I needed right here, right now in this moment.
That night I climbed into the frilly laced bed and sunk into the claustrophobic mattress. I felt like Goldilocks in the mama bear's bed as it was altogether too soft. From my perfumed bed, I had a good view out the window. I had left the porch light on, and it cast an eerie glow across the yard. The barn loomed ominously, stalwart against the light of the porch, like it was protecting the shadows from the battering ram of light. The somber scarecrow leaned against the left side of the barn.
With a small jump, I thought I saw its arm move slightly. I peered through my camera using the zoom to get a better view of the scarecrow. It was completely still in the night, and I laughed quietly to myself at my silliness. I had always enjoyed horror movies, but there was no chance I was living in one. I settled back into bed and put my camera down. Within a few minutes, I fell into sleep's warm embrace.
What felt like only a few minutes later, I sat up in bed. It was still dark out, I could hear crickets chirping through the open window, and I strained my ears for a moment.
I thought something had woken me up. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine as a cold breeze wafted in through the window. I pulled the frilly blanket up around myself when I heard it. A thud sounded below me, shaking the whole world into silence. The crickets stopped chirping, and my heart felt like it had stopped beating. Someone was in the house. I hadn't locked the door or closed the kitchen window, and now someone was downstairs. A second thud sounded like a boot on the staircase. Then another and another as something was slowly moving up the stairs towards the room.
I don't know why I did it, but something came over me. I wasn't big or especially brave, but my normal cowardice in social situations changed instantly. With a dash, I tore across the room, flicking on the lights, ready to face my attacker, to defend myself against male or female. I would fight, and I would win.
But as the lights turned on, ready to strike with my foot, nothing was there. The staircase was empty, and upon further inspection, the entire house was empty. The kitchen window was open, and I shut and locked it securely before checking the door. Nothing. I sat down on the couch, my heart pounding out of my chest, as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.
"I must have still been half-asleep," I said aloud to the room in a thinly veiled attempt to calm my nerves. It failed horribly, but I went with it. What else could you do in a situation like that?
After locking up the house, I went back up to that frilly four-poster bed in the bedroom and stared out the window. Nothing was in the yard except my car, the barn, and the same old sad-looking scarecrow staring across the yard.
Day 2
The next morning, I woke up to the soft light filtering through the lace curtains. Despite the strange events of the previous night, I felt strangely refreshed, as if the morning sun had chased away the shadows that lingered in my mind.
I descended the stairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under my weight, and headed to the kitchen. As I brewed a pot of coffee, my mind wandered back to the events of last night. Was it just a figment of my imagination, or was there really someone in the house?
Shaking off the unease, I decided to explore the farmhouse in the daylight. I wandered through the room, admiring the modern renovations that clashed with the rustic exterior. The farmhouse had a charm to it, despite its eerie surroundings.
As I made my way outside, the cool morning air greeted me, and I took a deep breath, letting the serenity of the countryside wash over me. The barn stood tall against the backdrop of the morning sky, and the scarecrow seemed to watch me as I crossed the yard.
I approached the barn, curiosity getting the better of me. Pushing open the creaky door, I stepped inside, the musty scent of hay filling my nostrils. The interior was dimly lit, the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls.
I explored every nook and cranny of the barn, but found nothing out of the ordinary. As I turned to leave, something caught my eye. In the corner of the barn, hidden beneath a pile of old blankets, was a small wooden chest.
My heart racing with anticipation, I lifted the lid of the trunk and peered inside. What I found took my breath away. It was a collection of old photographs, yellowed with age, depicting scenes from a bygone era. They were of a man with his family, two young kids, and a beautiful young wife. The man had yellow blonde hair, almost like straw in texture, but he smiled so happily with his family.
I sifted through the photographs, my fingers trembling with excitement. Who had left these behind, and why? Each photograph seemed to tell a story, a glimpse into the past of this forgotten farmhouse.
As I sat there, lost in thought, a sudden noise jolted me back to reality. It was the sound of footsteps coming from outside the barn.
"Hello?" The dreamy voice of a woman called to me from the entrance to the barn.
I slammed the lid of the trunk shut, closing the memories up in a flurry as I spun around to be greeted by a quite pretty woman with blonde hair and a pink suit skirt combo. She had bright pink lipstick, that seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face, and quite shiny and sparkly blue eye shadow on her lids. I myself only wore black eyeliner. This woman was like Barbie in her proportions, thin waist, long hair, and large tracts of land, as my father would have said.
"Oh, hello," I said simply, always awkward in normal social situations.
If she noticed anything odd about me, she breezed over it in an easy manner. Taking me by the shoulders, she led me out of the dusty barn and into the yard.
"You must be Polly. We have been waiting a while for you to come. I simply must know what you think of the renovations to the house. Aren’t they just to die for?" The lady said all in one breath, as if she didn’t need air to speak.
"Yes, they are quite nice..." I started before she cut me off, not in a rude manner but instead in one that she would have continued on even if I had just told her I was not Polly and instead I was a mass murderer looming for my next victim.
"You see, me and my son Eli—yes, Eli, you stop lurking in the shadows over there," she said, continuing on as I noticed a younger man leaning up against the barn. He wore simple clothes of jeans and a white t-shirt but had a handsome face. His hair was brown and hung slightly over his eyes.
"I hope you don’t mind if my son here continues working on some renovations while you stay here? Strictly on the outside of the house, mind you. A fresh coat of white paint would make this little beauty shine. We would have finished by now if not for the accidents," she continued, completely unabashed by my silence.
"Sorry. But you are the realtor?" I said, trying to regain my feet under me.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry, dear!" she said with an affable cackle.
"Yes, yes, I am Barbara, but all my friends call me Barb. That over there is Eli. Eli, come say hi," Barb said while her painted talons rested firmly on my shoulder.
Eli stomped over, keeping his eyes low, in a sort of moody way that actually intrigued me, sort of.
When he glanced up at me, I noticed he drank in me from head to toe, and for the first time, I realized what I was wearing. An old rock t-shirt of one of my favorite bands and, of all things, my black pajama bottoms with cartoon bats on them that said "happy halloween."
I felt my face blush crimson as he made eye contact with me. He had very mysterious eyes of blue that seemed to cut right through my soul.
"Nice shirt," he said while gesturing to me. His voice was quiet and uncertain, as if he didn’t get much practice with the art. Knowing his mother, it seemed highly accurate.
"Thanks. Do you like them?" I asked.
"Oh, he likes all sorts of things, don’t you, Eli? Honestly, you two can gab on forever. But miss, I believe we have a small matter of payment," Barb said, drawing the conversation back to herself.
"Of course. Let me go get it," I said as I went back into the house and retrieved the envelope with the rent money in it.
Barb grabbed the envelope in her bright pink talons and snapped a piece of bubblegum between her teeth. With quick fingers, she leafed through the cash, counting it. As she counted, her normal bubbly personality seemed to disappear, giving way to what I gleaned was her true thoughts and feelings before the facade slipped on once again.
"Mmkay, perfect honey, this is the right amount. Now you have my number, so you call if you need anything. Like I said earlier, Eli will stop by from time to time to work on painting the house. I promise you he won’t be an imposition, just pay him no mind," Barb said in a sweet voice as she popped her gum in between each word.
"Eli, come on, please, I have an appointment in town," Barb said to her son, and they both climbed into a garish pink convertible with jewels hanging from the mirror wrapped in a gold chain.
Barb waved one last time as she sped off out of the driveway, covering me in dust as she spun the wheel around.
With their departure, I went inside and retrieved my camera. I spent a few minutes shooting a few pictures I thought were worthy. I re-entered the barn and pulled the old trunk out into the sunshine. Inside was only a handful of photos, some old clothes, and what looked like some old heirlooms. A beautifully old candlestick and a few leather-bound books lay at the bottom, covered by an old tablecloth. The tablecloth was a nice white with intricate swirling patterns inlaid around the edges.
Why would these things be packed away in here? They were so beautiful. I decided to bring the stuff inside for further inspection. As I lifted the trunk, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move in the tall grass at the edge of the property. I stared for a minute, but nothing moved again. I must be getting jumpy being alone like this. After last night and then this, I was just imagining things.
I brought the items inside and spread them out. I put the tablecloth on the table, and it hung low to the ground. I placed the candlestick by the window and took out the photos again, spreading them out.
The photos told me a story of a loving family that obviously lived in the farmhouse before me. They had a photo next to the barn, with a brand new looking scarecrow in the back. The man even had his arm around it; it looked so much cleaner and proper in this photo. I stared outside at the sad-looking scarecrow.
I took my camera and the photo and went outside to stand next to the scarecrow. His post hung kind of crooked in the earth like it was weighed down by the scarecrow.
I snapped a photo of the scarecrow as it was, then examined the original photo. I began resettling the post in the ground, but it kept sagging. I decided to pull him out of the ground and move him while I added more dirt to his hole. With some effort, I reseated him into his original hole. He already looked better, but I straightened his clothes and pulled out the last bits of straw that stuck out of his clothes. When I was finished, I looked back at him and took a photo, smiling while I did so at my work.
I then spent some time sweeping the front porch and banging the dust out of the cushions before I curled up on a wicker chair with plump cushions for a few hours reading a book I had brought with me.
I felt quite content at this place. The sounds of the crickets began again, putting me at ease as the sun began to descend. I had spent the entire day just relaxing, and it was perfect. I sat sprawled out in the chair, too lazy to go and make dinner or even move. My bladder was full, but I waited until the last moment before dashing inside and relieving myself.
That's when I noticed it, out in the yard. It seemed as if the scarecrow had moved closer. Once shrouded by the barn slightly, it now had moved a few steps into the light from the porch. My heart dropped at the sight. Not again, I must be asleep on the porch in the chair. I pinched myself, trying to wake up, but all I received was a sore arm.
I closed my eyes, then rubbed them, hoping to dispel whatever plagued my mind, but when I opened my eyes, I noticed the scarecrow was even closer. Halfway across the yard now, it sat menacingly, hanging crooked in the dirt. The scarecrow seemed to be staring at me with an intense gaze. The slits in its face were open now, and in the porch light, I swear I could see human eyes underneath the mask.
I moved towards the front door, locking it in a swift motion. I was shaking now, and it took me a minute to relax. I never took my eyes off the scarecrow for fear of it moving again.
My cellphone was upstairs, so I couldn't flee without the scarecrow moving again. I breathed out slightly and unlocked the door, letting it swing in with a creak. The night outside was silent, as if everything was holding its breath. The usual crickets that plagued me with their song day and night had fallen quiet. I stepped out onto the porch; I needed to go confront this demonic entity. Something about this still made me think this was a prank.
"Eli, is that you?" I called out to the scarecrow.
No response, of course. I steeled myself and put one foot off the porch, never taking my eyes off the scarecrow before me. Something seemed to be dripping from its head as I approached, a dark slime that seemed to be melting from its joints as it stood there silently, except for the constant drip of the liquid on the dry dirt before me.
I walked around the scarecrow, determined to figure out what was going on. As I circled it, my vision darkened for a moment as I faced towards the light of the house. I jumped as the scarecrow's head turned to face me as I looked away. The black liquid drained faster from the being, forming a shallow pool at its feet.
I'm not proud of what I did next, but I fled, taking my eyes off the scarecrow. I made a mad dash for the farmhouse. Behind me, I could hear the pounding of feet. I screamed as loud as my lungs would let me. My voice rang through the silence as I grabbed the door handle and wrenched open the door as I felt a strong grip fall on my shoulder.
I turned to defend myself, but nothing was there. The scarecrow was gone, the wooden cross had vanished, as had the pool of dark liquid in the dirt. The world sprung back to life; the crickets began chirping loudly, and my heart restarted. I slammed the door, and the air from my force scattered the photographs on the table. I ran upstairs, leaving the lights on in the house, and dove onto the bed, wrapping myself in the frilly blanket like a set of frilly armor.
I snatched my camera from the bedside table and held it close, determined to document the rest of the night. I held it in shaking hands as the noise downstairs began—the sound of boots crossing the floor to the stairs and the careful but heavy steps of ascension as they climbed closer and closer to me.
This time, I didn't lunge forward as the light was already on. I glanced out the window, but the scarecrow was still gone. I focused my camera on the stairs and waited as the steps came closer and closer. A shape began to form as the head of whatever was coming up the stairs crested the floor. Then a plain brown mask with slits where the eyes would be. It froze for a moment, then slowly turned its head towards me. Inside the slits were human eyes that seemed to be leaking dark red blood.
In the light, I could see it now. I snapped a photo of the beast, the flash setting off a reaction in the beast. The scarecrow moved so fast up the stairs it was a blur. My scream echoed throughout the house as it lunged at me. Filthy hands pinned me down, and the deep crimson liquid began pouring out of every joint of the scarecrow. It began covering my face, my eyes, and getting into my open mouth. I spluttered and kicked at the beast, but my blows had no purchase, as if the scarecrow on top of me had no substance to itself.
I coughed and spluttered on the liquid as it began to fill my mouth faster and faster. I tried not to swallow any, but it tried to find purchase as I was held down.
"Polly?" A nervous voice called from below.
Suddenly, as if the angels had called, the pressure dissipated, and I crashed to the floor in a heap, trying to spit the blood out, but nothing came—it was gone. Footsteps pounded up the stairs again, and I flew back in fear, closing my eyes.
"Oh my god. Polly, are you okay?" A voice said, and gentle hands grabbed my arm.
My eyes shot open at the human touch, and I grabbed Eli into a tight hug, where I promptly began sobbing in fear, my whole body shaking as Eli awkwardly hugged me.
"Don't worry, it's going to be okay," Eli said patiently to me as he hugged me back gently and began stroking my back.
I shivered in a choking sob and fell into his arms, desperately wanting to believe him, and for some reason, I did.
submitted by TheLastRiter to nosleep [link] [comments]
I've always had this weird feeling, this sensation inside of me that I was older than I actually was. By the time I was twelve, my soul felt as though it was forty. By the time I reached twenty, I felt like an old woman. I would watch people around my age acting foolish, and I always thought, "What a bunch of children." So it was no surprise to anyone that when I turned twenty-one, I left my hometown and college and decided to spend the summer alone by renting an old farmhouse in an insignificant town on the edge of an even more insignificant border.
When I told my mother, she had a veritable fit, unable to find the words. She spluttered and raged around me for days before I finally left early one morning to avoid her guilt and frustration with my choices. I was not sure why I craved solitude at such a young age, why I found solace in being alone and removed from society.
In high school, I had changed unexpectedly, cutting my long blonde hair short and dying it black, getting piercings that my mother loathed and claimed no young lady should have. You see, my mother was raised proper, as she called it. Good family, good husband, and finally a good life. She despised her perfect life being squashed by my alternative looks and feelings of the same world. She just didn't understand me or the world as it changed around her. I felt like I was just a trophy to her and my father, her perfect angel who had been tainted by my own demented thoughts.
I never told my parents where I was staying, one last rebellious mission before leaving for a few months, and it took me only a few hours to arrive at the farmhouse where I would be staying for the next few months. The land around the farm was dead or dying, old crops rose out of the dry dusty earth and had turned black and forgotten, as if this land was the example of dreams long forgotten and empty. A single dreary lane connected this desolate farmhouse to the rest of the world. On the outside, it was drab and looked as though it would fall apart. It had two stories but still seemed cramped and small, as if it were a single floor tied to the ground.
Across from the house, bordering the tall weeds that had reclaimed much of the farmland, stood a maudlin-looking faded red barn, one door propped open in a dejected manner revealing naught to me but shadows, dust, and a little mystery.
Next to the barn, staked into the ground on an old-looking cross, was a ragged scarecrow. It had drab brown clothing, but its face was oddly realistic, like it was watching me with a disapproving manner. Straw poked through its joints at odd angles like they were trying to break free from their confines. The scarecrow obviously didn't do its job as it was covered in no less than three crows.
I parked my car next to the barn and stepped out into the dusty yard before the farmhouse that I would make my home for the next few months. I checked under the front mat for the key and put it in the lock.
With a satisfying click, the door fell inward into the farmhouse. Surprisingly, the inside of the farmhouse was modern, clean, and looked quite inviting. I could smell the fresh paint on the walls, and everything was so white. The realtor had told me she would stop by tomorrow to collect the rent, and she had tried to chat my ear off on the phone about all the renovations she and her son were doing on the place.
I sighed with contentment and tossed my bags beside the door. I dug around in my bag and removed my camera, my father's old film shooter as he called it. I had taken up the hobby years ago for what I called capturing the oddity in the world.
I explored the small house a little more; the ground floor consisted of a single room and small bathroom with a shower. The bedroom was upstairs and was the only room, the stairs connected directly to the white and pink monstrosity that was the master bedroom. The pillows had laces on them and almost made me gag from the cuteness. There was even cute white lace curtains on the window with little flowers stitched onto them.
Out of the only window of the room, I could see the barn and the scarecrow. I aimed my camera at the pair and snapped a photo. From this angle, the scarecrow appeared to be staring straight at me. It stood next to the left side of the barn in a dejected manner like a chastised child.
A shudder involuntarily ran through me at the sight, but I moved on back downstairs. It was getting close to dinner time now, and I had brought some food with me.
After a few minutes, I had my dinner on the stove cooking and the crickets chirping outside the open window. As I sat down to eat next to the window, I felt at peace for one of the first times in years. The solitude of this old farm was exactly what I needed. The window supplied a nice breeze that wafted through the place, it smelled of grass and warm summer nights, made me feel at peace. The simple dish of spaghetti with tomato sauce and a glass of wine was all that I needed right here, right now in this moment.
That night I climbed into the frilly laced bed and sunk into the claustrophobic mattress. I felt like Goldilocks in the mama bear's bed as it was altogether too soft. From my perfumed bed, I had a good view out the window. I had left the porch light on, and it cast an eerie glow across the yard. The barn loomed ominously, stalwart against the light of the porch, like it was protecting the shadows from the battering ram of light. The somber scarecrow leaned against the left side of the barn.
With a small jump, I thought I saw its arm move slightly. I peered through my camera using the zoom to get a better view of the scarecrow. It was completely still in the night, and I laughed quietly to myself at my silliness. I had always enjoyed horror movies, but there was no chance I was living in one. I settled back into bed and put my camera down. Within a few minutes, I fell into sleep's warm embrace.
What felt like only a few minutes later, I sat up in bed. It was still dark out, I could hear crickets chirping through the open window, and I strained my ears for a moment.
I thought something had woken me up. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine as a cold breeze wafted in through the window. I pulled the frilly blanket up around myself when I heard it. A thud sounded below me, shaking the whole world into silence. The crickets stopped chirping, and my heart felt like it had stopped beating. Someone was in the house. I hadn't locked the door or closed the kitchen window, and now someone was downstairs. A second thud sounded like a boot on the staircase. Then another and another as something was slowly moving up the stairs towards the room.
I don't know why I did it, but something came over me. I wasn't big or especially brave, but my normal cowardice in social situations changed instantly. With a dash, I tore across the room, flicking on the lights, ready to face my attacker, to defend myself against male or female. I would fight, and I would win.
But as the lights turned on, ready to strike with my foot, nothing was there. The staircase was empty, and upon further inspection, the entire house was empty. The kitchen window was open, and I shut and locked it securely before checking the door. Nothing. I sat down on the couch, my heart pounding out of my chest, as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.
"I must have still been half-asleep," I said aloud to the room in a thinly veiled attempt to calm my nerves. It failed horribly, but I went with it. What else could you do in a situation like that?
After locking up the house, I went back up to that frilly four-poster bed in the bedroom and stared out the window. Nothing was in the yard except my car, the barn, and the same old sad-looking scarecrow staring across the yard.
The next morning, I woke up to the soft light filtering through the lace curtains. Despite the strange events of the previous night, I felt strangely refreshed, as if the morning sun had chased away the shadows that lingered in my mind.
I descended the stairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under my weight, and headed to the kitchen. As I brewed a pot of coffee, my mind wandered back to the events of last night. Was it just a figment of my imagination, or was there really someone in the house?
Shaking off the unease, I decided to explore the farmhouse in the daylight. I wandered through the room, admiring the modern renovations that clashed with the rustic exterior. The farmhouse had a charm to it, despite its eerie surroundings.
As I made my way outside, the cool morning air greeted me, and I took a deep breath, letting the serenity of the countryside wash over me. The barn stood tall against the backdrop of the morning sky, and the scarecrow seemed to watch me as I crossed the yard.
I approached the barn, curiosity getting the better of me. Pushing open the creaky door, I stepped inside, the musty scent of hay filling my nostrils. The interior was dimly lit, the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls.
I explored every nook and cranny of the barn, but found nothing out of the ordinary. As I turned to leave, something caught my eye. In the corner of the barn, hidden beneath a pile of old blankets, was a small wooden chest.
My heart racing with anticipation, I lifted the lid of the trunk and peered inside. What I found took my breath away. It was a collection of old photographs, yellowed with age, depicting scenes from a bygone era. They were of a man with his family, two young kids, and a beautiful young wife. The man had yellow blonde hair, almost like straw in texture, but he smiled so happily with his family.
I sifted through the photographs, my fingers trembling with excitement. Who had left these behind, and why? Each photograph seemed to tell a story, a glimpse into the past of this forgotten farmhouse.
As I sat there, lost in thought, a sudden noise jolted me back to reality. It was the sound of footsteps coming from outside the barn.
"Hello?" The dreamy voice of a woman called to me from the entrance to the barn.
I slammed the lid of the trunk shut, closing the memories up in a flurry as I spun around to be greeted by a quite pretty woman with blonde hair and a pink suit skirt combo. She had bright pink lipstick, that seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face, and quite shiny and sparkly blue eye shadow on her lids. I myself only wore black eyeliner. This woman was like Barbie in her proportions, thin waist, long hair, and large tracts of land, as my father would have said.
"Oh, hello," I said simply, always awkward in normal social situations.
If she noticed anything odd about me, she breezed over it in an easy manner. Taking me by the shoulders, she led me out of the dusty barn and into the yard.
"You must be Polly. We have been waiting a while for you to come. I simply must know what you think of the renovations to the house. Aren’t they just to die for?" The lady said all in one breath, as if she didn’t need air to speak.
"Yes, they are quite nice..." I started before she cut me off, not in a rude manner but instead in one that she would have continued on even if I had just told her I was not Polly and instead I was a mass murderer looming for my next victim.
"You see, me and my son Eli—yes, Eli, you stop lurking in the shadows over there," she said, continuing on as I noticed a younger man leaning up against the barn. He wore simple clothes of jeans and a white t-shirt but had a handsome face. His hair was brown and hung slightly over his eyes.
"I hope you don’t mind if my son here continues working on some renovations while you stay here? Strictly on the outside of the house, mind you. A fresh coat of white paint would make this little beauty shine. We would have finished by now if not for the accidents," she continued, completely unabashed by my silence.
"Sorry. But you are the realtor?" I said, trying to regain my feet under me.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry, dear!" she said with an affable cackle.
"Yes, yes, I am Barbara, but all my friends call me Barb. That over there is Eli. Eli, come say hi," Barb said while her painted talons rested firmly on my shoulder.
Eli stomped over, keeping his eyes low, in a sort of moody way that actually intrigued me, sort of.
When he glanced up at me, I noticed he drank in me from head to toe, and for the first time, I realized what I was wearing. An old rock t-shirt of one of my favorite bands and, of all things, my black pajama bottoms with cartoon bats on them that said "happy halloween."
I felt my face blush crimson as he made eye contact with me. He had very mysterious eyes of blue that seemed to cut right through my soul.
"Nice shirt," he said while gesturing to me. His voice was quiet and uncertain, as if he didn’t get much practice with the art. Knowing his mother, it seemed highly accurate.
"Thanks. Do you like them?" I asked.
"Oh, he likes all sorts of things, don’t you, Eli? Honestly, you two can gab on forever. But miss, I believe we have a small matter of payment," Barb said, drawing the conversation back to herself.
"Of course. Let me go get it," I said as I went back into the house and retrieved the envelope with the rent money in it.
Barb grabbed the envelope in her bright pink talons and snapped a piece of bubblegum between her teeth. With quick fingers, she leafed through the cash, counting it. As she counted, her normal bubbly personality seemed to disappear, giving way to what I gleaned was her true thoughts and feelings before the facade slipped on once again.
"Mmkay, perfect honey, this is the right amount. Now you have my number, so you call if you need anything. Like I said earlier, Eli will stop by from time to time to work on painting the house. I promise you he won’t be an imposition, just pay him no mind," Barb said in a sweet voice as she popped her gum in between each word.
"Eli, come on, please, I have an appointment in town," Barb said to her son, and they both climbed into a garish pink convertible with jewels hanging from the mirror wrapped in a gold chain.
Barb waved one last time as she sped off out of the driveway, covering me in dust as she spun the wheel around.
With their departure, I went inside and retrieved my camera. I spent a few minutes shooting a few pictures I thought were worthy. I re-entered the barn and pulled the old trunk out into the sunshine. Inside was only a handful of photos, some old clothes, and what looked like some old heirlooms. A beautifully old candlestick and a few leather-bound books lay at the bottom, covered by an old tablecloth. The tablecloth was a nice white with intricate swirling patterns inlaid around the edges.
Why would these things be packed away in here? They were so beautiful. I decided to bring the stuff inside for further inspection. As I lifted the trunk, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move in the tall grass at the edge of the property. I stared for a minute, but nothing moved again. I must be getting jumpy being alone like this. After last night and then this, I was just imagining things.
I brought the items inside and spread them out. I put the tablecloth on the table, and it hung low to the ground. I placed the candlestick by the window and took out the photos again, spreading them out.
The photos told me a story of a loving family that obviously lived in the farmhouse before me. They had a photo next to the barn, with a brand new looking scarecrow in the back. The man even had his arm around it; it looked so much cleaner and proper in this photo. I stared outside at the sad-looking scarecrow.
I took my camera and the photo and went outside to stand next to the scarecrow. His post hung kind of crooked in the earth like it was weighed down by the scarecrow.
I snapped a photo of the scarecrow as it was, then examined the original photo. I began resettling the post in the ground, but it kept sagging. I decided to pull him out of the ground and move him while I added more dirt to his hole. With some effort, I reseated him into his original hole. He already looked better, but I straightened his clothes and pulled out the last bits of straw that stuck out of his clothes. When I was finished, I looked back at him and took a photo, smiling while I did so at my work.
I then spent some time sweeping the front porch and banging the dust out of the cushions before I curled up on a wicker chair with plump cushions for a few hours reading a book I had brought with me.
I felt quite content at this place. The sounds of the crickets began again, putting me at ease as the sun began to descend. I had spent the entire day just relaxing, and it was perfect. I sat sprawled out in the chair, too lazy to go and make dinner or even move. My bladder was full, but I waited until the last moment before dashing inside and relieving myself.
That's when I noticed it, out in the yard. It seemed as if the scarecrow had moved closer. Once shrouded by the barn slightly, it now had moved a few steps into the light from the porch. My heart dropped at the sight. Not again, I must be asleep on the porch in the chair. I pinched myself, trying to wake up, but all I received was a sore arm.
I closed my eyes, then rubbed them, hoping to dispel whatever plagued my mind, but when I opened my eyes, I noticed the scarecrow was even closer. Halfway across the yard now, it sat menacingly, hanging crooked in the dirt. The scarecrow seemed to be staring at me with an intense gaze. The slits in its face were open now, and in the porch light, I swear I could see human eyes underneath the mask.
I moved towards the front door, locking it in a swift motion. I was shaking now, and it took me a minute to relax. I never took my eyes off the scarecrow for fear of it moving again.
My cellphone was upstairs, so I couldn't flee without the scarecrow moving again. I breathed out slightly and unlocked the door, letting it swing in with a creak. The night outside was silent, as if everything was holding its breath. The usual crickets that plagued me with their song day and night had fallen quiet. I stepped out onto the porch; I needed to go confront this demonic entity. Something about this still made me think this was a prank.
"Eli, is that you?" I called out to the scarecrow.
No response, of course. I steeled myself and put one foot off the porch, never taking my eyes off the scarecrow before me. Something seemed to be dripping from its head as I approached, a dark slime that seemed to be melting from its joints as it stood there silently, except for the constant drip of the liquid on the dry dirt before me.
I walked around the scarecrow, determined to figure out what was going on. As I circled it, my vision darkened for a moment as I faced towards the light of the house. I jumped as the scarecrow's head turned to face me as I looked away. The black liquid drained faster from the being, forming a shallow pool at its feet.
I'm not proud of what I did next, but I fled, taking my eyes off the scarecrow. I made a mad dash for the farmhouse. Behind me, I could hear the pounding of feet. I screamed as loud as my lungs would let me. My voice rang through the silence as I grabbed the door handle and wrenched open the door as I felt a strong grip fall on my shoulder.
I turned to defend myself, but nothing was there. The scarecrow was gone, the wooden cross had vanished, as had the pool of dark liquid in the dirt. The world sprung back to life; the crickets began chirping loudly, and my heart restarted. I slammed the door, and the air from my force scattered the photographs on the table. I ran upstairs, leaving the lights on in the house, and dove onto the bed, wrapping myself in the frilly blanket like a set of frilly armor.
I snatched my camera from the bedside table and held it close, determined to document the rest of the night. I held it in shaking hands as the noise downstairs began—the sound of boots crossing the floor to the stairs and the careful but heavy steps of ascension as they climbed closer and closer to me.
This time, I didn't lunge forward as the light was already on. I glanced out the window, but the scarecrow was still gone. I focused my camera on the stairs and waited as the steps came closer and closer. A shape began to form as the head of whatever was coming up the stairs crested the floor. Then a plain brown mask with slits where the eyes would be. It froze for a moment, then slowly turned its head towards me. Inside the slits were human eyes that seemed to be leaking dark red blood.
In the light, I could see it now. I snapped a photo of the beast, the flash setting off a reaction in the beast. The scarecrow moved so fast up the stairs it was a blur. My scream echoed throughout the house as it lunged at me. Filthy hands pinned me down, and the deep crimson liquid began pouring out of every joint of the scarecrow. It began covering my face, my eyes, and getting into my open mouth. I spluttered and kicked at the beast, but my blows had no purchase, as if the scarecrow on top of me had no substance to itself.
I coughed and spluttered on the liquid as it began to fill my mouth faster and faster. I tried not to swallow any, but it tried to find purchase as I was held down.
"Polly?" A nervous voice called from below.
Suddenly, as if the angels had called, the pressure dissipated, and I crashed to the floor in a heap, trying to spit the blood out, but nothing came—it was gone. Footsteps pounded up the stairs again, and I flew back in fear, closing my eyes.
"Oh my god. Polly, are you okay?" A voice said, and gentle hands grabbed my arm.
My eyes shot open at the human touch, and I grabbed Eli into a tight hug, where I promptly began sobbing in fear, my whole body shaking as Eli awkwardly hugged me.
"Don't worry, it's going to be okay," Eli said patiently to me as he hugged me back gently and began stroking my back.
I shivered in a choking sob and fell into his arms, desperately wanting to believe him, and for some reason, I did.
2024.05.14 01:20 JamFranz My boyfriend hasn't been the same since we went on vacation
If I hadn’t drunk an entire gallon of tea back at the hotel, maybe none of this would’ve happened.
Well, maybe if we hadn’t gotten kicked out of the hotel, none of this would’ve happened.
It had been just the two of us in the small car, but with the animosity heavy on the air, it felt overcrowded. I don’t know what had been worse, the hour of arguing, the two hours of silence afterwards, or the burgeoning realization that maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.
I studied him out of the corner of my eye. We'd been together for several months, but the recent experience left me wondering if I had ever even met the real Brian – who he truly was on the inside.
It had been our very first trip together.
We'd saved up for one of those super fancy hotels and had been having a great time – until, of course, Brian decided to attempt a five-finger discount in the jewelry store in the lobby.
He'd told me when we first started dating that he'd had some run-ins with the law in the past – when he was young and that was the only way to put food on the table, and I'd understood.
But this wasn't the same. It wasn't for survival, it was just greed.
We’d both spent the rest of our vacation money and then some, paying for that $1,800 watch so no charges would be pressed.
They still kicked us out. I don’t blame them.
Asking him to stop at the next place we came across was the first thing I'd said to him in hours, and he nodded, solemnly.
My discomfort was escalating to the point where I was considering asking him to pull over on the side of the road – rain be damned – when we saw the dim sign flickering in the distance.
The small store was out of place on the quiet, tree lined mountain road. We’d been deep in a tunnel of trees and hadn’t seen so much of a hint of the lights in the distance – it seemed to just appear into view as we went around the bend. I didn't recall seeing it on the way to the hotel, so it was a pleasant surprise.
I felt a flood of relief wash over me.
It stuck out in the otherwise beautiful mountain landscape – windows so dirty that the light inside barely reached us through them – several letters on the sign lit up in such a way that the only word we could even see was a blood red '- MART' flickering.
Any relief I'd managed to feel was short-lived.
When we walked in, we both froze as we took in the interior.
I instantly wished we’d just stopped by the side of the road after all. I looked at Brian and could tell he felt it too – he was fiddling with his new watch and took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt, and put them back on, as if that would make what he was seeing make more sense.
There were no other customers, no employees visible, it was just the two of us.
Ceiling tiles hung askew, and the floor was filthy – we had to step over a drain in the floor with grimy stains circling it, to walk in.
If it weren’t for the lights, gentle hum of the AC, and grinding sounds floating from down the long hallway at the back, I’d have thought the place was abandoned.
It was humid inside, and the smell coming from the old coolers that lined the back walls hit me as soon as we walked in. It reminded me of the summer my dad had decided to dabble in taxidermy in our basement.
The slight hint of rot that lingered on the damp air indicated poorly done taxidermy, at that.
As I darted towards the back towards the restroom sign, a placard dangling off it caught my eye, informed me the restroom was for paying customers only.
I quickly perused the shelves for something to buy. The aisles were tall, nearly to the ceiling, and despite the store being somewhat small, I felt the panicked sense of being cornered and trapped in an endless maze – at risk of becoming lost in there forever. The food on the shelves resembled nothing like the usual chips and candy these types of stores carried – there were rows upon rows of soft looking mystery items in plastic wrap, some of them leaked a red-brown residue down the shelves – none of it looked remotely appealing.
I passed by a section with a stained placard that said ‘handcrafted from local artists’ that was filled with eclectic items, none of which seemed to go together.
There were torn shirts with random logos – nothing related to the town or area we were in, stained with mud, grass, and god knows what else. Dried ropy things formed small and delicate sculptures of animals unlike any I’d seen before. I reached for a bracelet with intricately carved white beads but nearly dropped it when I realized the band was made up of woven human hair. It left a residue on my hand, and I noticed then that the same sour-rot smell was coming from the collection of items, too.
I opted for a flat and lukewarm Dr. Pepper instead, and placed two $2 dollar coins on the glass counter in front of the hand scrawled ‘shoplifters will be processed’ sign near the register.
I figured I misread it, after all it, looked like it had been written by a hand unused to holding a pen.
Brian had grabbed an armful of those unnerving plastic-wrapped packages but hovered at the counter a bit too long. I could hear the scrape of him retrieving the coins on the glass, the sound of him dropping them into his pocket.
He gave me a pointed stare as he did so.
I sighed, so tired of arguing that I just walked away from him and down the hallway. I figured I’d pay (again) after he got back in the car.
No sooner had I closed the door to the women’s room behind me, than I could hear him talking to someone.
His voice rose until he was nearly yelling. Mortified and trying to delay being involved in another incident that day, I splashed water on my face while trying to drown out what appeared to be a one-sided argument.
I kept trying to wash the grimy feeling that had lingered on my hands after picking up the bracelet, but no matter how I scrubbed, I couldn’t get it off – it kept getting worse.
I felt nauseous when I realized the greasy residue was coming from the pale-yellow bar of soap. I decided I’d scrub my hands raw at our next stop, and stepped out into the hall and back to the store.
Brian wasn’t there.
I called out for him, but all I heard in answer was that same vague whirring and drilling sound coming from further down the long hallway.
I double-backed to the car, but found it empty.
I circled the store, my frustration turning to panic as I shouted his name and still got no response.
I called his phone, it just rang, and rang before going to voicemail.
The car was locked and he had the keys, I couldn’t help but feel nervous, standing out there in the rain. We were still in the middle of the deep woods and with clouds obscuring the light of the moon and stars, the area was blanketed in darkness. I reluctantly headed back inside.
Somehow, the smell had managed to become even worse – I gagged when the wet, disgusting air hit my nose again. It was so strong I could nearly taste it, putrid on my tongue.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was always someone just behind me as I walked quickly through the tall aisles, but whenever I looked over my shoulder, there was never anything there.
I called his phone, wondering how I’d managed to lose him in such a small store when I finally heard it ringing – it was echoing from down that long hallway.
As I headed towards it, I heard someone moving on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling aisle, placing something onto the shelf with a sickening wet thud, before weaving lithely through the aisles behind me.
“Brian?” I called out softly, trying to convince myself that everything was fine – trying to disguise my fear.
I knew it wasn’t him – I don’t know how, but I knew it. Have you ever had the feeling that if you look closely enough at something, if you truly see it, you’ll never be able to close your eyes again without it haunting you? That feeling of being in close proximity to something that your fragile mind was never meant to know existed?
I forced myself to turn around anyways.
Once again, whoever or whatever had been there was gone by the time I rounded the aisle, but I heard a gentle clinking sound, and saw a trail of red-pink droplets.
I followed it back to that section – handcrafted from local artists, there was something new hanging from a hook near the shelves – wet, glistening strips dangled from along what looked to be a curved bone with bits of gristle still attached. From one of them hung an expensive men’s wristwatch, another was tied around a shattered, thick glasses lens. Yet another sagged under the weight of car keys. They gently swayed with the motion of having been recently placed. Fluid continued to drip from the still wet viscera and mingled with the mud on my shoes.
Shoplifters will be processed
I didn’t need to see the items down the other aisles to figure out what I was looking at, what must have happened.
I could already tell that we’d never have another argument, ever again.
I heard a door open and close in the back, soft footsteps approaching from down that hallway.
I realized that in my distraction, I'd forgotten to put money back on the counter.
I choked up, but knew there was nothing I could do for him. So, I tossed the first bills I found in my purse onto the floor, frantically untangled the car keys, and in shock, I drove myself the remaining four-hour drive home.
Every so often, along the quiet country roads – those I could've sworn were empty on the drive up – I’d see that grimy building, the sign, '-MART' flashing in the distance.
I didn’t stop once.
I've been home for a week now.
A few nights ago, something triggered a motion alert on my video doorbell, but there was no one there when I checked the footage.
The next morning, I found a cardboard box on my porch – with no stamp or return address.
In it was a torn t-shirt, and several of those now-familiar wrapped packages, putrid fluid leaking out of them through the bottom of the soggy cardboard.
I've received a similar box every night, since.
I don't know if it's meant as a threat, or if due to some sort of twisted interpretation – I’m now a 'paying customer’ – he's slowly being returned to me.
Either way, it turns out that I've gotten to see who Brian was on the inside, after all.
JFR
submitted by JamFranz to Odd_directions [link] [comments]
Well, maybe if we hadn’t gotten kicked out of the hotel, none of this would’ve happened.
It had been just the two of us in the small car, but with the animosity heavy on the air, it felt overcrowded. I don’t know what had been worse, the hour of arguing, the two hours of silence afterwards, or the burgeoning realization that maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.
I studied him out of the corner of my eye. We'd been together for several months, but the recent experience left me wondering if I had ever even met the real Brian – who he truly was on the inside.
It had been our very first trip together.
We'd saved up for one of those super fancy hotels and had been having a great time – until, of course, Brian decided to attempt a five-finger discount in the jewelry store in the lobby.
He'd told me when we first started dating that he'd had some run-ins with the law in the past – when he was young and that was the only way to put food on the table, and I'd understood.
But this wasn't the same. It wasn't for survival, it was just greed.
We’d both spent the rest of our vacation money and then some, paying for that $1,800 watch so no charges would be pressed.
They still kicked us out. I don’t blame them.
Asking him to stop at the next place we came across was the first thing I'd said to him in hours, and he nodded, solemnly.
My discomfort was escalating to the point where I was considering asking him to pull over on the side of the road – rain be damned – when we saw the dim sign flickering in the distance.
The small store was out of place on the quiet, tree lined mountain road. We’d been deep in a tunnel of trees and hadn’t seen so much of a hint of the lights in the distance – it seemed to just appear into view as we went around the bend. I didn't recall seeing it on the way to the hotel, so it was a pleasant surprise.
I felt a flood of relief wash over me.
It stuck out in the otherwise beautiful mountain landscape – windows so dirty that the light inside barely reached us through them – several letters on the sign lit up in such a way that the only word we could even see was a blood red '- MART' flickering.
Any relief I'd managed to feel was short-lived.
When we walked in, we both froze as we took in the interior.
I instantly wished we’d just stopped by the side of the road after all. I looked at Brian and could tell he felt it too – he was fiddling with his new watch and took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt, and put them back on, as if that would make what he was seeing make more sense.
There were no other customers, no employees visible, it was just the two of us.
Ceiling tiles hung askew, and the floor was filthy – we had to step over a drain in the floor with grimy stains circling it, to walk in.
If it weren’t for the lights, gentle hum of the AC, and grinding sounds floating from down the long hallway at the back, I’d have thought the place was abandoned.
It was humid inside, and the smell coming from the old coolers that lined the back walls hit me as soon as we walked in. It reminded me of the summer my dad had decided to dabble in taxidermy in our basement.
The slight hint of rot that lingered on the damp air indicated poorly done taxidermy, at that.
As I darted towards the back towards the restroom sign, a placard dangling off it caught my eye, informed me the restroom was for paying customers only.
I quickly perused the shelves for something to buy. The aisles were tall, nearly to the ceiling, and despite the store being somewhat small, I felt the panicked sense of being cornered and trapped in an endless maze – at risk of becoming lost in there forever. The food on the shelves resembled nothing like the usual chips and candy these types of stores carried – there were rows upon rows of soft looking mystery items in plastic wrap, some of them leaked a red-brown residue down the shelves – none of it looked remotely appealing.
I passed by a section with a stained placard that said ‘handcrafted from local artists’ that was filled with eclectic items, none of which seemed to go together.
There were torn shirts with random logos – nothing related to the town or area we were in, stained with mud, grass, and god knows what else. Dried ropy things formed small and delicate sculptures of animals unlike any I’d seen before. I reached for a bracelet with intricately carved white beads but nearly dropped it when I realized the band was made up of woven human hair. It left a residue on my hand, and I noticed then that the same sour-rot smell was coming from the collection of items, too.
I opted for a flat and lukewarm Dr. Pepper instead, and placed two $2 dollar coins on the glass counter in front of the hand scrawled ‘shoplifters will be processed’ sign near the register.
I figured I misread it, after all it, looked like it had been written by a hand unused to holding a pen.
Brian had grabbed an armful of those unnerving plastic-wrapped packages but hovered at the counter a bit too long. I could hear the scrape of him retrieving the coins on the glass, the sound of him dropping them into his pocket.
He gave me a pointed stare as he did so.
I sighed, so tired of arguing that I just walked away from him and down the hallway. I figured I’d pay (again) after he got back in the car.
No sooner had I closed the door to the women’s room behind me, than I could hear him talking to someone.
His voice rose until he was nearly yelling. Mortified and trying to delay being involved in another incident that day, I splashed water on my face while trying to drown out what appeared to be a one-sided argument.
I kept trying to wash the grimy feeling that had lingered on my hands after picking up the bracelet, but no matter how I scrubbed, I couldn’t get it off – it kept getting worse.
I felt nauseous when I realized the greasy residue was coming from the pale-yellow bar of soap. I decided I’d scrub my hands raw at our next stop, and stepped out into the hall and back to the store.
Brian wasn’t there.
I called out for him, but all I heard in answer was that same vague whirring and drilling sound coming from further down the long hallway.
I double-backed to the car, but found it empty.
I circled the store, my frustration turning to panic as I shouted his name and still got no response.
I called his phone, it just rang, and rang before going to voicemail.
The car was locked and he had the keys, I couldn’t help but feel nervous, standing out there in the rain. We were still in the middle of the deep woods and with clouds obscuring the light of the moon and stars, the area was blanketed in darkness. I reluctantly headed back inside.
Somehow, the smell had managed to become even worse – I gagged when the wet, disgusting air hit my nose again. It was so strong I could nearly taste it, putrid on my tongue.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was always someone just behind me as I walked quickly through the tall aisles, but whenever I looked over my shoulder, there was never anything there.
I called his phone, wondering how I’d managed to lose him in such a small store when I finally heard it ringing – it was echoing from down that long hallway.
As I headed towards it, I heard someone moving on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling aisle, placing something onto the shelf with a sickening wet thud, before weaving lithely through the aisles behind me.
“Brian?” I called out softly, trying to convince myself that everything was fine – trying to disguise my fear.
I knew it wasn’t him – I don’t know how, but I knew it. Have you ever had the feeling that if you look closely enough at something, if you truly see it, you’ll never be able to close your eyes again without it haunting you? That feeling of being in close proximity to something that your fragile mind was never meant to know existed?
I forced myself to turn around anyways.
Once again, whoever or whatever had been there was gone by the time I rounded the aisle, but I heard a gentle clinking sound, and saw a trail of red-pink droplets.
I followed it back to that section – handcrafted from local artists, there was something new hanging from a hook near the shelves – wet, glistening strips dangled from along what looked to be a curved bone with bits of gristle still attached. From one of them hung an expensive men’s wristwatch, another was tied around a shattered, thick glasses lens. Yet another sagged under the weight of car keys. They gently swayed with the motion of having been recently placed. Fluid continued to drip from the still wet viscera and mingled with the mud on my shoes.
Shoplifters will be processed
I didn’t need to see the items down the other aisles to figure out what I was looking at, what must have happened.
I could already tell that we’d never have another argument, ever again.
I heard a door open and close in the back, soft footsteps approaching from down that hallway.
I realized that in my distraction, I'd forgotten to put money back on the counter.
I choked up, but knew there was nothing I could do for him. So, I tossed the first bills I found in my purse onto the floor, frantically untangled the car keys, and in shock, I drove myself the remaining four-hour drive home.
Every so often, along the quiet country roads – those I could've sworn were empty on the drive up – I’d see that grimy building, the sign, '-MART' flashing in the distance.
I didn’t stop once.
I've been home for a week now.
A few nights ago, something triggered a motion alert on my video doorbell, but there was no one there when I checked the footage.
The next morning, I found a cardboard box on my porch – with no stamp or return address.
In it was a torn t-shirt, and several of those now-familiar wrapped packages, putrid fluid leaking out of them through the bottom of the soggy cardboard.
I've received a similar box every night, since.
I don't know if it's meant as a threat, or if due to some sort of twisted interpretation – I’m now a 'paying customer’ – he's slowly being returned to me.
Either way, it turns out that I've gotten to see who Brian was on the inside, after all.
JFR
2024.05.14 00:51 Sardren_Darksoul Embracing out darkest self, Part I
Prelude (of sorts): The lies we tell ourselves
A dimly lit rooftop and alcohol were possibly among the worst combinations in the universe, but Sarissa didn't care, part because she could see in the dark and part because most alcohol barely affected her.
The latter was turning out to be more of a bane than a boon.
An old notebook was open in her lap a few tiny embers of starlight dancing over the text, highlighting the relevant places. Back when she had been re-learning her spells this notebook had served as an impromptu spellbook. One of the spells being the rite she used to etch the names of the lost memories on the stone. For all the crudeness of the rite, it was very straightforward with very little margin of error. Take the names of those lost remnants she encountered and carve them into stone. More might have been involved, but that more might not have altered the spell.
The name Sarissa, with surname and all relevant titles was one of the first on the stone.
Were hundreds of years of memories a fiction or something stolen from a far better woman? How much of her was just a fake? She wanted to know.
Memory tea, several different attempts of scrying all were naught in determining what she was or what really happened. They had only managed to reveal one thing. That the remnants, the voices in the dark had called her a monster.
But would such a monster, something born of the dark care as much as she did. That caring was what made her get involved, try to fight or solve things. For hundreds or years Sarissa of Old did that and she had continued in the same way after escaping the dark.
Another lie, although a smaller one.
For a while the witch had lived a quieter life. Still one of magic, but one less about kicking this or fixing that. An happier time, but over time she started pushing people away and well then the Universe remembered she existed and good people paid for it. At least she made the bloodsuckers pay for every drop of blood taken, every life twisted.
Both the wind and night seemed to try to caress her, but the witch just ignored them. Back during those events she lost dear friends, managing to save one didn't change the fact that she killed another herself.
It couldn't go on that way, not anymore. The witch knew that given time some other trouble would happen and with that the "Sarissa mode" would be back, locking her into again some cycle of saving someone while continuing to pretend.
There was one more idea in her mind, a bit risky ritual that could help in revealing who she truly was, she would need to improvise it, but it was the final option. If she turned out to be some fiend of the dark, it was not going to matter anyway.
submitted by Sardren_Darksoul to wizardposting [link] [comments]
A dimly lit rooftop and alcohol were possibly among the worst combinations in the universe, but Sarissa didn't care, part because she could see in the dark and part because most alcohol barely affected her.
The latter was turning out to be more of a bane than a boon.
An old notebook was open in her lap a few tiny embers of starlight dancing over the text, highlighting the relevant places. Back when she had been re-learning her spells this notebook had served as an impromptu spellbook. One of the spells being the rite she used to etch the names of the lost memories on the stone. For all the crudeness of the rite, it was very straightforward with very little margin of error. Take the names of those lost remnants she encountered and carve them into stone. More might have been involved, but that more might not have altered the spell.
The name Sarissa, with surname and all relevant titles was one of the first on the stone.
Were hundreds of years of memories a fiction or something stolen from a far better woman? How much of her was just a fake? She wanted to know.
Memory tea, several different attempts of scrying all were naught in determining what she was or what really happened. They had only managed to reveal one thing. That the remnants, the voices in the dark had called her a monster.
But would such a monster, something born of the dark care as much as she did. That caring was what made her get involved, try to fight or solve things. For hundreds or years Sarissa of Old did that and she had continued in the same way after escaping the dark.
Another lie, although a smaller one.
For a while the witch had lived a quieter life. Still one of magic, but one less about kicking this or fixing that. An happier time, but over time she started pushing people away and well then the Universe remembered she existed and good people paid for it. At least she made the bloodsuckers pay for every drop of blood taken, every life twisted.
Both the wind and night seemed to try to caress her, but the witch just ignored them. Back during those events she lost dear friends, managing to save one didn't change the fact that she killed another herself.
It couldn't go on that way, not anymore. The witch knew that given time some other trouble would happen and with that the "Sarissa mode" would be back, locking her into again some cycle of saving someone while continuing to pretend.
There was one more idea in her mind, a bit risky ritual that could help in revealing who she truly was, she would need to improvise it, but it was the final option. If she turned out to be some fiend of the dark, it was not going to matter anyway.
2024.05.14 00:37 roughschematics Making sense of Whispers - the full prophecy of how the Void wins and Midnight begins
Five keys to open our way.The Pillars of Creation were assembled, resulting in the defeat of the Burning Legion, and Sargeras eventually stabbing Azeroth with his sword. That's one competing cosmic force gone.
Five torches will light our path.The Sigils of the Eternal Ones within the Shadowlands, used to stop Zovaal, the Jailer, and stop the forces of Death from draining Azeroth's life-essence. Another cosmic force taken out.
Five lanterns, now darkened. The flame they seek will light the masters' way.The Oathstones, symbolising how the Dragon Aspect lost their aspectral powers. Their quest to regain their powers on the Dragon Isles has allowed Xal'atath to press ahead with her plans: most importantly by significantly weakening the Titans' grip on Azeroth, as the Aspects are now empowered by the Worldsoul.
With many eyes, they will see again. They will drink, and be uplifted.The Nerubians of Azj-Kahet drink the Black Blood of the Old Gods, evolving them into higher beings with distinctive eyes, similar to the ones seen on the Old God mural in Khaz Algar. This transformation symbolises their return to the fold, serving Xal'atath. Oh, and Deathwing's betrayal.
Even now, the Harbinger gathers the children of the first flesh to reclaim what was lost. They must remember their vows and serve those to whom they owe fealty. While they toil in the deep places, we will journey to the shores of dragon lands, to the blessed isle where the Worldbreaker first embraced the whispers. As one storm recedes, another rises. The torches have been lit. The secrets he buried will strike as a dagger into the hearts of his kin!
Deeper, deeper its roots will reach. Welcoming our embrace.The Roots of Elun'Ahir reach deep into the world's heart. Until recently, it has been kept safe from the corrupting influence of the Void, in no small part thanks to its guardians, the Harronir. But the Void is patient.
Her dreams sing beneath the surface. Our dreams. Our song.The Worldsoul, Azeroth, sings its Radiant Song beneath the surface of the world. But over aeons, the Void has managed to infiltrate her dreams and cloud her vision. Her song might not be what we think it is.
Rise, rise! Our Queen calls to us from beyond the Umbral Veil. She has transcended the Circle of Stars and basks in her eternal grandeur!The time we have long awaited is nigh.
Queen Azshara has transcended what she was under N'Zoth's reign. She is more powerful than ever, and her Naga minions await her return.
The Harbinger speaks of a primal power that seeks the end of Order. Such rage can be bent to serve our ends. A hunger lost to the ages will be reclaimed. A dark heart left broken awaits the taking.Iridikron has allied with Xal'atath. He has given her the Dark Heart artifact, infused with the essence of Galakrond.
When these things come to pass, the Harbinger will fulfill the final prophecy and complete the awakening. Only then shall our Queen return to reign over sea and sky and earth. We must make ready. Rise, rise! Soon all that was hidden will be revealed.Xal'atath, the Harbinger of the Void, is about to carry out the awakening within Khaz Algar, at which point Azeroth will be covered in darkness and Queen Azshara will return to rule.
She will show you the way. Come... come. The hour approaches when all eyes shall be opened.
At the hour of her third death, she ushers in our coming.Alleria Windrunner, the Void-Hunter in pursuit of Xal'atath, will inadvertedly cause Midnight. At least if the Void would have its way. As tragedy befalls her family, she won't have any tethers left to keep her mind from going insane. But, this is just one possibility, and one which the Void seeks. If Alleria successfully staves off the Void's influence on her, however, this won't be how Midnight begins.
When the arrow finds its mark, the last fetter will fall away.
More visions. Possible futures. She saw Xe'ra, the Mother of Light, declaring her a heretic and calling for her death. She saw her blood on Turalyon's sword. She saw Arator calling an army of paladins to hunt her down, only to fall with her arrows in his throat. She saw herself kneeling before the One Who Slumbers beneath Azeroth's waves. She saw herself killing it and taking its place, leading a throng of horrors to consume every nation.
The lord of ravens will turn the key.In the end, it is Khadgar or Odyn who will usher in the Void and cause Midnight. If it's Khadgar, it is because he has been imprisoned and turned somehow. If it's Odyn, it's because he is returning in time for the final raid in Uldaz, the Worldsoul-prison.
2024.05.14 00:17 Worldly_Living_510 HELP! Creepy thing going on in my SMP and nobody knows what it is
 | Please take a moment to read this post, i desperately need answers. submitted by Worldly_Living_510 to Minecraft [link] [comments] Around a month ago me and my friends started a JAVA minecraft server. everything was fine until around two days ago. There are only 5 of us that play on it (2 inactive) I think I should start with the very beginning. My friend "Joe" (fake name) was just walking around doing his thing when suddenly he got the words "Search" in the chat. At first he brushed it off and forgot about it, but he realized that every time that he went over this specific spot the words "search" was sent in the chat. This happened while nobody was in the server, and it wasnt attached to dialogue, it was simply the word "search". he wrote the cords down and shared it with us. a day later i decided to go to the cords and was met with an eerie cave thing when i dug down. inside that cave i was met with chests and a barrel, along with a sign. the sing i will address later... In a barrel towards the end of the cave thing was a book. The book was titled "Jo*rn**l" and was singed "em*et* wo**st*ck" this freaked me out because with my knowledge of minecraft books are automatically signed by your username, and you cannot prevent that. Here i have a clip of me reading out loud this journal. https://outplayed.tv/media/BmYwrO This is my analysis of it. https://outplayed.tv/media/52w0Wz The sign in the cave said "that damned altar is further down. I destroyed its path" After seeing this sign i dug around in random holes and found nothing, however when i dug a small 2x1 tunnel forward from the barrel where i found the book there was a cave. the cave was lit with torches. joe claims he did not loot this cave, and neither did i At first me and Joe pointed the blame to my other friend, gabe. gabehas had experience with command blocks before, and we know that if a player were to do this, with the chat messages and the book and everything you would need a command block. In order to get a command block you need admin, however. Joe never gave gabe admin, and joe never spawned a command block. i would also like to say that ive known joe for almost 4 years now and i know he is NOT the type of person to put this much effort into a video game prank. He also does not know anything about command blocks and does not really have the talent to make such an elaborate puzzle. I would also like to point out that there is a perfectly carved tunnel that leads from an entrance of the ravine into this cave. (https://outplayed.tv/media/Re5M13) (ignore buckshot roulette in the background) we withheld this information from gabe out of suspicion until the next day (yesterday) yesterday inside of his base, when entering gabes storage room joe got another "search" alert... just it was much more obvious than a chat message. instead he got a large text upon the middle of his screen saying "search lower". this time he took a screenshot https://preview.redd.it/6drni6r1n90d1.png?width=2094&format=png&auto=webp&s=fc2bdeaa23673462eeece3d38d0f9c5f7f930fd8 https://preview.redd.it/93lquj1hq90d1.png?width=2094&format=png&auto=webp&s=06c52bdbc62931cfd45ed3546e8560096cbe14d5 we forgot about this for a couple of hours until suddenly joe suddenly started saying "oh my god, oh my god i think i found something.". I immediately came over. Gabe had previously dug out a little area in our community villager center for some project he had and we found this: https://outplayed.tv/media/zY4BxZ A weird shrine with the sign "OCNIGIRI REIGNS" hanging. w This was right under gabes room, the same room joe got the "search lower" message from, almost exactly directly under where he was standing at the time. all fingers were pointed to gabe, so we confronted him. he gave us a fair point. while he does know how to code he does not know command block coding very well on java, and it has been a couple years since he used one. he also had no way to get his hands on one. also, im not sure if he has that amount of motivation. Today i decided to get on and use the seed to create a singleplayer creative world. I went to the exact cords of these two locations and there was nothing there. meaning that it is not tied to the seed. even if it were to be one of the two inactive friends, how would they have the messages? I am on lunar client, joe has some other mod that he uses (no hacking tho) and gabe has nothing. but we all see this room so what is it? what oculd it mean? This is what i think the lore is so far: From the jounral: There is a strange entity haunting "Em*et* Wo**st*ck" that has foreseeing abilities, it is seeing the future of a tragedy to happen in this realm. it speaks in teh language of the enchantment table, which is also the language villagers speak. emet does not understand this language however, one word is chanted over and over which is OCNIGIRI. From the shrine: OCNIGIRI REIGNS points to the direction that the ocnigiri is what is causing this future, the word REIGNS is almost a corrupt ownership also, gabe did point out that some villagers have been going missing, and i did in fact encounter one outside of the base. (keep inmind that the shrine is directly next to the villagers) what do you guys think???? could the "*" in the book be code??? the authors name is boviosuly incomplete. This thing has me freaked out. Here is a little extra compilation which includes the recording of me first encountering the cave, reading the book and mining around a bit https://outplayed.tv/media/XG8DM7 |
2024.05.13 23:50 Spartabrave Kingmaker: A Game of Thrones in Brevoy [5e][Discord][ERP]
Kingmaker: A Game of Thrones in Brevoy
System: Dungeons & Dragons 5e
Format: Discord Text pbp
No. of Players: 5
[Notice: This is a 18+ campaign. It contains NSFW and adult elements.]
Lady Jamandi Aldori is issuing charters to several groups of adventurers, sending them south into the Stolen Lands to reopen old trade routes and defeat the bandits and monsters who have made them too dangerous to use. By sending free agents south, this swordlord of Rostland hopes to alter the political balance of power in Brevoy without sacrificing her own position or forces. Yet, as with most complex and brilliant plans, the future holds plenty of opportunities for disaster.
The Stolen Lands await you!
https://forms.gle/bnmHsUt2Qmq5D1jK8
submitted by Spartabrave to pbp [link] [comments]
System: Dungeons & Dragons 5e
Format: Discord Text pbp
No. of Players: 5
[Notice: This is a 18+ campaign. It contains NSFW and adult elements.]
The same message has appeared on bounty boards and in taverns across Brevoy.For generations, the Stolen Lands have spanned the southern border of Brevoy. Many attempts have been made to settle them, but to date, none have succeeded, making these 35,000 square miles of wilderness the largest swath of unclaimed land in the entire region. As tensions mount in Brevoy, one ambitious swordlord hopes to change that fact.
HEROES WANTED!
Those able of body and brave of heart are invited to the mansion of Lady Jamandi Aldori, Swordlord & Chief Defender of Restov, to embark on an expedition into the Stolen Lands.
Bandits and monsters have been allowed to infest our southern borders for far too long. Those selected will be divided into groups and given a charter to reopen old trade routes and secure the surrounding territory. The brave-hearted mercenaries and adventurers who choose to take on this quest will face unimaginable danger, but whomever succeeds shall receive honor, glory, and a noble title granting dominion over the lands they've claimed to pass on their children.
Lady Jamandi Aldori is issuing charters to several groups of adventurers, sending them south into the Stolen Lands to reopen old trade routes and defeat the bandits and monsters who have made them too dangerous to use. By sending free agents south, this swordlord of Rostland hopes to alter the political balance of power in Brevoy without sacrificing her own position or forces. Yet, as with most complex and brilliant plans, the future holds plenty of opportunities for disaster.
"When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground."Hello! I'm a longtime DM and a huge fan of A Song of Ice & Fire. I'm looking to run a campaign that's heavily influenced by the series I hold so dear. If you're a casual fan who's only seen Game of Thrones or House or the Dragon, you're more than welcome! The main things I'm looking for here are quality roleplay and enthusiasm. If you've got that, I promise we can have a good game together.
"Winter is coming."Kingmaker is an Adventure Path originally designed by Paizo for the Pathfinder RPG but has been converted to be compatible with the 5th edition D&D ruleset. I'm taking so serious liberties with it but the bones of the adventure remain the same. Kingmaker is a high fantasy campaign that thrusts the player characters into a unique situation of building their own kingdom and carving out their own niche upon the world. You may be a scion of a lesser branch of the great families with ambitions that can't be hindered by your place in the succession. You could be a commoner whose witnessed your humble community suffer at the hands of the lawless bandits pillaging the countryside and will take on this great challenge so your family can live free. Perhaps you are a bastard child of a powerful figure and now seek to carve out your own kingdom knowing that you stand to inherit nothing you don't build for yourself.
"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives."I've got a couple of expectations for the characters that will be brought into the adventure. I am looking for characters with reasons to have a desire to venture into hostile territory and work as a team to build a kingdom. Good or evil doesn't matter but chaos doesn't serve to further the group. So, no chaotic alignment will be allowed. This is not the campaign for chaotic evil players looking to betray the other players, loners or free-spirited vagabonds.
"Backstabbing doesn't prepare you for a fight, and that's all the realm is now. Backstabbing and scheming and arse-licking and money-grubbing."Political intrigue is a pillar of the series inspiring this and a big part of my plans, but in order to keep charisma from being everyone's primary stat I will be using a reputation system to even the playing field when dealing with individuals of consequence. In certain circles, a knight renowned for their honor and bravery is going to be as respected and influential, if not more, as a traditional face will be anywhere else. I think this will do a lot to allow the party to have a proper balance of classes with no one feeling handicapped in the social aspects.
"Let me give you some counsel, bastard. Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."You may have noticed the tag, and the catch is: This is an adult only game, featuring erotic roleplay where characters can engage in sexual activities with no fade-to-black, etc. Lewd events, plans, consequences, and more are all on the table in this campaign. If you've watched either of the shows on HBO, this probably isn't much of a surprise to you. I'd like to be clear that just because it's on the table, this game will not become a raunchy, never ending orgy. There is usually meaning behind how sex is used in the series and that's what I'm looking to emulate.
"Distrusting me was the wisest thing you've done since you climbed off your horse."GRRM often uses the intimate scenes to peel back layers to a character. Sometimes to paint them in a different light, other times to drive them further into the role he wishes to present them to the reader in. Some examples would be Tyrion's lingering trauma and emotional vulnerability, driving him to purchase the closest thing he believes he can have to real love being a way to earn Tyrion the reader's sympathy. Contrast that with Cersei's narcissism making her seek lovers, she can view as idealized male versions of herself, the only match worthy in her deranged mind. Or how Littlefinger justifies his pitiless ambition, being something forced on him by a cruel and unfair world that's kept him and his one true love apart by no fault of their own.
"Love is the death of duty."PCs are encouraged to find and nurture romantic relationships with other characters or NPCs. Weddings are considered the truest way of sealing alliances, after all. Beyond the love lives of the characters, there are many other scenarios. A corrupt noble might be willing to trade information to carry on an affair on their spouse. A sex scandal could undermine the legitimacy of a claimant in a contested succession. Barbarian raiders may attack a village under your protection and take the women as slaves. Spies might attempt to seduce you in order to secure a position in your court and feed information to a rival house. A neighboring tyrant might earn your ire when reports of him abusing his authority to take advantage of an unfortunate captive or innocent reaches you.
"The things I do for love."Because I'm sure it needs to be said. ERP will not be my main focus while running this; it may or may not even happen on my end. I'll already be responsible for the story, so trying to match everyone's taste in smut on top of that might be biting off more than I can chew. That being said, I'm all for your characters sharing a tent during the long weeks of adventuring because I think a good amount of sexual tension adds player investment and fun to the story. While I'm not promising anything, I'm not firmly ruling things out on my end either. You all could charm your way into a few NPC's pants to loosen a secret from their lips or secure a favor down the road. You might decide to blow your coins on prostitutes while visiting the capital. If the scene serves the story (or I'm just feeling horny that day), I may indulge you! Just wanted to make sure you're aware that just because I am open to ERP does not mean I'm making a commitment to provide it to everyone, expecting all players to take part in it, or putting it ahead of the actual campaign in any capacity.
"There are no other men like me. Only me."If it's not apparent by now, I'm very serious about making this game something great. I love the ASOIAF books; I love the adventure path; I love the cRPG, and I desperately want to do justice by all three influences. Expect a bit of gritty realism and tragedy in this story. Your triumphs will be hard fought. Your holdings will face constant peril. Your enemies will always be lurking with their knives out for the moment you drop your guard. However, the rewards for your success in this campaign are unlike any other. I truly don't think there is another adventure that matches the sense of accomplishment that comes from taking a stretch of hostile wilderness and carving your own thriving kingdom from it.
"Power resides where men believe it resides. No more and no less."A little bit on my approach to DMing this. I plan on running this very differently from traditional D&D 5e. Combat is obviously what the system does the most of, but if you've ever watched GoT or HotD you'd see the main characters don't draw their swords all that often. In fact, a lot of the main cast never have their own fight scenes. I like this less is more approach a great deal and think it'll bring a lot to the pbp experience. Outside of encounters with a named enemy, I won't be using initiative. This is so the RP isn't held up by any individual's schedule. I'll also be utilizing the minion rule from 4e where all the monsters have 1 HP. Their AC remains the same, so if you have trouble hitting them, the danger remains but low damage rolls won't cause encounters to drag unnecessarily.
"Hard truths cut both ways."Matching the tone of the books this campaign is inspired by will take collaboration. I want the heroes of this story to have lives that involve more than their swords and spells. If you’re just looking to roleplay a non-stop fantasy porno, this isn't the game for you. But if you are interested in writing a character who is enriched by getting to explore their desires, be influenced by lusts, make compromises out of attraction, and maybe even experience heartbreak if their trust and affection wound up in the wrong hands-- then you're exactly who I'm looking for!
"If I do not press my claim, my claim will be forgotten. I will not become a page in someone else's history book."If you can't be bothered to respond to the RP for days at a time, I'm going to kick you out! Plain and simple. I won't be reaching out. I won't be constantly giving you reminders. There will be no stoppages for you to get your shit together. It's a big world, and I'm not going to hesitate to find someone else interested in actively participating in the adventure if you go ghost. I understand that IRL always comes first, so if you have the common courtesy to reach out and explain your circumstances that prevent you from putting together a couple paragraphs every day, then I will still be replacing you, but I will move your character out of the story for you to pick up later on when you can. If you can't manage to let me know what's going on, then I'm just going to forget about you and move right along so everyone else can continue the fun!
"I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards and broken things."My plan to be pretty rules-light with this campaign since while I run a lot of D&D, I haven't run that many text games. I'm still confident I can handle it, but I'm just throwing it out there in case there are bumps along the road. If you're more experienced in the pbp arena than I am, I'd greatly appreciate your advice as things are coming together. We will be using dndbeyond and the standard discord bots. In my experience, these games work a lot better when the story is put above mechanics, so keeping things to PHB races and PHB/XgtE subclasses. If you're looking to do some awesome game-breaker build you've theory crafted for months. This may not be the game for it. I don't plan on meticulously tracking things to make sure you get your sentinel feat trigger each turn.
“Oh, my sweet summer child, what do you know about fear?”Alright! That's my pitch. Sorry you had to read all that, but hopefully you're still interested and can see I don't have a problem handing out paragraphs, so this game ought to be in good hands. I look forward to reading your applications and will be leaving the form open for the next week while I work on the discord server.
“The night is dark and full of terrors.”So that was a lot, but any of you who are still interested please don't hesitate! I'll be happy to have you and look forward to playing with you. As well as hopefully some fun debates about who we're rooting for in HotD season 2 as it airs.
“There is only one god, and His name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to Death: 'not today'.”The application link is down below! I'm going to leave it open for a week so folks don't miss out. I will be checking it regularly, so if I find a bunch of folks I like over the first couple days, I'll reach out to them, but I'm sure we all know how these sorts of games go. People may drop out or prove unreachable, so even if you're not someone who hears back from me immediately, we might be writing together soon!
The Stolen Lands await you!
https://forms.gle/bnmHsUt2Qmq5D1jK8
2024.05.13 23:14 AuthorJoJo Was I always sleeping with a monster?
Bed had always been a haven for me, as I’m sure it has been for many others. A soft rectangle of comfort that I can always rely on. It didn’t matter how hard my day was or how harsh the weather outside those four edges, it always soothed me. I’d argue the harsher days made it feel more inviting.
All my worries and stress bleeding out of me, soaking into the bedsheets.
That’s all anyone needs, somewhere to rest their head. And usually, if you can be lucky enough, you might find someone to share that space with. And I was lucky enough. As wonderful as laying in bed is, when my wife would crawl in and pull up close to me, it was another ball game.
Her heat would mesh with mine, skin would run flush together, and we would become symbiotic until the sunrise. That’s all I needed, all I wanted.
I normally crawl into bed before she gets home. Her job would have her working different hours each day while my schedule was steady. So, I’d enjoy my alone time, get comfortable in bed, and eagerly await her arrival.
So that’s how it went. It was a frosty night but not cold enough to run the heater, so I just had the blankets pulled up to my chest. Work was rough, so sleep started working its magic on me quickly and I could feel my body becoming heavier in bed. I was in and out, so time wasn’t really something I had a concept of, so when I felt a pressure on the bed, it made sense that it was my wife.
Her fingers were icy as they slipped under the shirt I was wearing and rested on my chest. Her frame latched onto mine like a puzzle, and she wrapped her arms around me.
She was so cold, uncomfortably so.
It caused my teeth to clatter together for a moment as she siphoned my body heat until we had reached an equilibrium. Her fingers gently pressed into my skin, a tender pressure I had felt time and time again, one that always lulled me to sleep. And I could feel it then, slumber ready for its final approach.
So, it was there, seconds from reaching my dreams, that I heard the front door closing. It felt like someone had ripped the bed sheets off me, thin and piercing needles of cold, running shivers all over me. It was loud, the door closing, I mean.
I was frozen, I could feel the fingers on my chest tighten in response to the noise as well. It was taking me a while to process what was happening. But I figured she had forgotten to lock the front door, and someone had slipped inside, perhaps closing the door harder than they intended to in their rush.
“Stay here.” I whispered harshly; words filled with the panic response I was trying to fight off.
Quickly shunting the hand away from my chest, I got out of bed and gripped the baseball bat we keep by the bed. An object I had hoped I’d never have to pick up in a situation like this. Stepping cautiously towards the bedroom door, I could see that someone had turned a light on.
The kitchen light spilled out, meekly illuminating a few spots of the apartment. My fingers gently pried the bedroom door wider open, trying to avoid its usual squeaking.
The baseball bat rested on my shoulder as I tried to recall the last time, I had even swung a bat, suddenly all too paranoid that I might not do so effectively. There was the sound of rummaging from the kitchen, a small clattering of pots and pans.
With a few quick breaths to hype myself up, I quickly rounded the corner and prepared to swing my bat.
Stepping out, basking in the kitchen’s light, I heard a high pitch scream wail out, filling the house with the cry.
I sank.
Every bit of me felt like I was falling through the floor. My heart was at my feet and my head had sunk so low that my thoughts couldn’t keep up. She was frightened too. I must have looked insane. She was speaking. I could hazard a guess at what she was saying. An apology for making too much noise on her way in, likely. I couldn’t hear any of it, though. My head was static.
I could hardly even recognize her as my wife. No, she was a concept, an idea. She stood in all her glory as a stark realization.
My wife’s eyes became delicate with concern. As she reached out to me, I backed away, not in fear of her, but the dawning of it all put me on guard. I could still feel the fingers I felt in bed pressing on my chest as I turned around, fingers gripping the bat tighter than ever.
I was quick. Quicker than I thought, I could move in a situation like that. We should’ve left. We should’ve called the police. However, many “should haves” in life remain unclaimed forever. I left all my ‘should haves’ behind. Each rational thought vanishing with every step I took that brought me closer to the sanctity of my bed once represented.
It was still wide open from when I had left it before. I said nothing to my wife. The words in my throat were ice cubes refusing to budge. Didn’t even know if she was following me. Focusing and narrowing in on my goal was all I could do to stop myself from toppling over. From balling up on the floor in hysterics.
Returning to the room and edging through the doorway, I had expected to see the bed empty. I had so desperately wanted to laugh it off. To rationalize that my dreams and reality had meshed while drifting off and that nothing, absolutely nothing, was amiss. At the very worst, I could claim that I was losing my mind.
Just enough moonlight.
I cursed that.
That there was enough moonlight basking my room. I wish something had swallowed up the moon, plunging the world into darkness. But there was just enough to see it.
To see the bed sheets being wrinkled by the hand that had been on my chest. Just enough moonlight to bounce off her eyes, peering up at me, small pricks of silver light. Her frame was bathed in the gentle glow of moonlight, her skin taking on a pale and milky blue hue, with splotches of black reminiscent of resting ash.
That thing in my bed. The moonlight allowed me to see it. I watched as it dragged its ragged fingers back and forth on the sheets, like it was beckoning me to crawl back into bed. Its other hand held her ghoulish head up. It was, I don’t know, posing or something. Like it was trying to be seductive.
She was a monster, and worse, a monster that had invaded that one place I could rely on.
Fear consumed me. I wasn’t me. It wasn’t my thoughts rummaging around in my head; it was the thoughts of a man who just wanted to live.
I’m not sure if she had even made a noise when the end of my bat met with her soft temple. It turned out I knew damn well how to swing that thing. It was almost pretty, how the red inside of her meshed with the cold color pallet the room was adorning. There was almost no resistance. None that I could feel in the moment.
My fingernails carved into my palm as I brought the bat down over and over. Watching her face warp and twist with each hit, the blue hues being overtaken by smatterings of crimson. Her body jerked with each hit, pulses of life reaching out before quickly vanishing.
I should’ve taken a second.
I should’ve assessed the situation.
My wife, the cops, everyone I talk to tells me that what I did was natural. A fight-or-flight response gone completely haywire. But now that it’s over. Every time I lay my head down on the pillow, I can hear that horrid thud.
An axe splitting the bark of a tree.
A wet towel smacking the linoleum.
It pulses in my head, poisoning my sanctuary. I don’t know how many times I hit her. There was nothing resembling a face by the time I was done. It wasn’t the first time she had broken into someone’s house, but it’d certainly be the last.
The red paste and blue skin waltzed so lovingly with the red and blue lights of the officers that arrived on the scene. My wife must have called.
The elderly woman had escaped the nursing home her kids left her in a few nights before and had been on the street since. The frost of a winter night stealing the plush from her skin. Her already frail frame was further weakened by the lack of food. Dementia had riddled her mind. She didn’t know where she was half the time.
Bed, those four sides. It’s supposed to be a sanctuary. Somewhere you can go to escape all the monsters waiting to gobble you up outside. Not for me though, not anymore. Every night, when I peer into the darkness long enough, I could still see the silver beads peering back at me. Two small orbs of pin-prick light, reminding me.
No matter what I do.
Where I go.
What bed I call mine.
I now sleep, with a monster.
submitted by AuthorJoJo to nosleep [link] [comments]
All my worries and stress bleeding out of me, soaking into the bedsheets.
That’s all anyone needs, somewhere to rest their head. And usually, if you can be lucky enough, you might find someone to share that space with. And I was lucky enough. As wonderful as laying in bed is, when my wife would crawl in and pull up close to me, it was another ball game.
Her heat would mesh with mine, skin would run flush together, and we would become symbiotic until the sunrise. That’s all I needed, all I wanted.
I normally crawl into bed before she gets home. Her job would have her working different hours each day while my schedule was steady. So, I’d enjoy my alone time, get comfortable in bed, and eagerly await her arrival.
So that’s how it went. It was a frosty night but not cold enough to run the heater, so I just had the blankets pulled up to my chest. Work was rough, so sleep started working its magic on me quickly and I could feel my body becoming heavier in bed. I was in and out, so time wasn’t really something I had a concept of, so when I felt a pressure on the bed, it made sense that it was my wife.
Her fingers were icy as they slipped under the shirt I was wearing and rested on my chest. Her frame latched onto mine like a puzzle, and she wrapped her arms around me.
She was so cold, uncomfortably so.
It caused my teeth to clatter together for a moment as she siphoned my body heat until we had reached an equilibrium. Her fingers gently pressed into my skin, a tender pressure I had felt time and time again, one that always lulled me to sleep. And I could feel it then, slumber ready for its final approach.
So, it was there, seconds from reaching my dreams, that I heard the front door closing. It felt like someone had ripped the bed sheets off me, thin and piercing needles of cold, running shivers all over me. It was loud, the door closing, I mean.
I was frozen, I could feel the fingers on my chest tighten in response to the noise as well. It was taking me a while to process what was happening. But I figured she had forgotten to lock the front door, and someone had slipped inside, perhaps closing the door harder than they intended to in their rush.
“Stay here.” I whispered harshly; words filled with the panic response I was trying to fight off.
Quickly shunting the hand away from my chest, I got out of bed and gripped the baseball bat we keep by the bed. An object I had hoped I’d never have to pick up in a situation like this. Stepping cautiously towards the bedroom door, I could see that someone had turned a light on.
The kitchen light spilled out, meekly illuminating a few spots of the apartment. My fingers gently pried the bedroom door wider open, trying to avoid its usual squeaking.
The baseball bat rested on my shoulder as I tried to recall the last time, I had even swung a bat, suddenly all too paranoid that I might not do so effectively. There was the sound of rummaging from the kitchen, a small clattering of pots and pans.
With a few quick breaths to hype myself up, I quickly rounded the corner and prepared to swing my bat.
Stepping out, basking in the kitchen’s light, I heard a high pitch scream wail out, filling the house with the cry.
I sank.
Every bit of me felt like I was falling through the floor. My heart was at my feet and my head had sunk so low that my thoughts couldn’t keep up. She was frightened too. I must have looked insane. She was speaking. I could hazard a guess at what she was saying. An apology for making too much noise on her way in, likely. I couldn’t hear any of it, though. My head was static.
I could hardly even recognize her as my wife. No, she was a concept, an idea. She stood in all her glory as a stark realization.
My wife’s eyes became delicate with concern. As she reached out to me, I backed away, not in fear of her, but the dawning of it all put me on guard. I could still feel the fingers I felt in bed pressing on my chest as I turned around, fingers gripping the bat tighter than ever.
I was quick. Quicker than I thought, I could move in a situation like that. We should’ve left. We should’ve called the police. However, many “should haves” in life remain unclaimed forever. I left all my ‘should haves’ behind. Each rational thought vanishing with every step I took that brought me closer to the sanctity of my bed once represented.
It was still wide open from when I had left it before. I said nothing to my wife. The words in my throat were ice cubes refusing to budge. Didn’t even know if she was following me. Focusing and narrowing in on my goal was all I could do to stop myself from toppling over. From balling up on the floor in hysterics.
Returning to the room and edging through the doorway, I had expected to see the bed empty. I had so desperately wanted to laugh it off. To rationalize that my dreams and reality had meshed while drifting off and that nothing, absolutely nothing, was amiss. At the very worst, I could claim that I was losing my mind.
Just enough moonlight.
I cursed that.
That there was enough moonlight basking my room. I wish something had swallowed up the moon, plunging the world into darkness. But there was just enough to see it.
To see the bed sheets being wrinkled by the hand that had been on my chest. Just enough moonlight to bounce off her eyes, peering up at me, small pricks of silver light. Her frame was bathed in the gentle glow of moonlight, her skin taking on a pale and milky blue hue, with splotches of black reminiscent of resting ash.
That thing in my bed. The moonlight allowed me to see it. I watched as it dragged its ragged fingers back and forth on the sheets, like it was beckoning me to crawl back into bed. Its other hand held her ghoulish head up. It was, I don’t know, posing or something. Like it was trying to be seductive.
She was a monster, and worse, a monster that had invaded that one place I could rely on.
Fear consumed me. I wasn’t me. It wasn’t my thoughts rummaging around in my head; it was the thoughts of a man who just wanted to live.
I’m not sure if she had even made a noise when the end of my bat met with her soft temple. It turned out I knew damn well how to swing that thing. It was almost pretty, how the red inside of her meshed with the cold color pallet the room was adorning. There was almost no resistance. None that I could feel in the moment.
My fingernails carved into my palm as I brought the bat down over and over. Watching her face warp and twist with each hit, the blue hues being overtaken by smatterings of crimson. Her body jerked with each hit, pulses of life reaching out before quickly vanishing.
I should’ve taken a second.
I should’ve assessed the situation.
My wife, the cops, everyone I talk to tells me that what I did was natural. A fight-or-flight response gone completely haywire. But now that it’s over. Every time I lay my head down on the pillow, I can hear that horrid thud.
An axe splitting the bark of a tree.
A wet towel smacking the linoleum.
It pulses in my head, poisoning my sanctuary. I don’t know how many times I hit her. There was nothing resembling a face by the time I was done. It wasn’t the first time she had broken into someone’s house, but it’d certainly be the last.
The red paste and blue skin waltzed so lovingly with the red and blue lights of the officers that arrived on the scene. My wife must have called.
The elderly woman had escaped the nursing home her kids left her in a few nights before and had been on the street since. The frost of a winter night stealing the plush from her skin. Her already frail frame was further weakened by the lack of food. Dementia had riddled her mind. She didn’t know where she was half the time.
Bed, those four sides. It’s supposed to be a sanctuary. Somewhere you can go to escape all the monsters waiting to gobble you up outside. Not for me though, not anymore. Every night, when I peer into the darkness long enough, I could still see the silver beads peering back at me. Two small orbs of pin-prick light, reminding me.
No matter what I do.
Where I go.
What bed I call mine.
I now sleep, with a monster.
2024.05.13 23:06 BeginningSome5930 Neksut Culture
Introduction
While “No Man’s Land” is considered a desert frontier by most, it has been the home of a native population for centuries: The neksut nomads. The neksut travel from oasis to oasis, riding horses and herding sheep and other animals. Though some Neksut have fearsome reputations as warriors, the neksut way of life is under threat from foreign settlers, most of whom see the as unsophisticated.
Recreation
Though outsiders will confidently claim the neksut have no arts to speak of (or even no culture at all), in truth the desert riders have rich musical and storytelling traditions. The neksut are great lovers of song, specializing in throaty chants. Singing is often heard while the tribe is on horseback or around the camp at night, and is typically collaborative, with a lead singer being echoed by several others. The most famous songs are epic historical and mythical tales, such as The Stone Men, Ballad of the Besieger, and Death of Pulcros. Musical instruments include string and woodwind devices, carved from wood and richly decorated.
However perhaps the greatest neksut art is quicksmithing itself. Manipulating quicksteel is vital to the nomads’ way of life, allowing them to effortlessly convert carts into temporary dwellings and back again. But with excess metal, neksut quicksmiths (called shapers in their language) often create temporary sculptures that will be deconstructed when the tribe moves on. Such sculptures are very abstract, often embodying the mood or state of the tribe at the time of construction. To the neksut, the impermanence of this art represents the transient nature of their way of life and of life itself.
Food
The neksut diet is heavily dictated by their nomadic lifestyle, and is fittingly dominated by the products of domesticated animals, principally horses and sheep. Milk is the most important element, and is drank as well as made into cheese, yogurt, or a dry powder. These dairy products are paired with meat from either domestic sheep or from hunted jackalopes or roastritches. Contrary to popular belief, the neksut do not eat their horses, save in rare cases when an animal dies or is too old to keep up with the tribe. Such animals are far too valuable as mounts and sources of milk to be consumed, and in fact an idiom meaning “eating one’s horse” is a neksut expression for one who has not thought things through.
Vegetables and spices (save for salt) are relatively scarce in much of the central desert and thus are scarce in the neksut diet as well. However the nomads make great use of what ingredients they have in a wide variety of dairy and meat meals. Seasoned jackalope jerky with cheese, shredded mutton over yogurt, and roastritch stew are typical. These meals are supplemented with redleaf, roastritch eggs, and whatever foreign ingredients can be traded for. While their cuisine is typically somewhat plain on account of their transient nature, the neksut can put on impressive feasts for special occasions, such as weddings or celebrations. In these cases the traditional meal is the so-called “yogurt table,” in which each participant is given a bowl of yogurt to pair with dozens of small dishes which are passed amongst the tribe.
Gender and Marriage
The neksut are relatively egalitarian in terms of gender. Two reasons for this may be due to their heavy reliance on horses and quicksmithing for their way of life; Mares are actually far superior mounts to stallions (due to their smaller size and milk), and the necessity for quicksmithing to set up camps and carts means that female quicksmiths cannot be disregarded, as all hands are needed. Thus neksut women can be warriors, chieftains, and shamans, with Salaris the Sandstorm and Mist-Eyes being prominent examples. However outside of these important roles, their still is a gendered division of labor in most tribes. Neksut often marry outside the tribe, with young men and women being sent to other tribes as dictated by shamans.
Government
Neksut governance is divided between chieftains and shamans. Chieftains lead tribes from one oasis to another, ultimately ending their journey at a religious site. Shamans oversee religious sites and help select the next route taken by the passing tribes, coordinating movements between different tribes so that resources are given time to replenish. The balance of power between these two roles has varied over time, though currently shamans seemingly hold the dominant role. Shamans serve an important logistical purpose in organizing the travels of tribes and arranging marriages, but they also act as culture repositories, with the shared language, history, and customs of the neksut likely owing to the shamans’ influence. Thus the Neksut are considered one culture and not a dozen.
Religion
Though their mythology purports to explain the origins of humanity, the first mentions of the neksut in the historical record dates to the aftermath of the Great Dying. Some scholars have suggested that the neksut might share common ancestry with some of the people of Tolmika, noting common elements between neksut religion and the Faith of the Heeders.
Neksut religion is centered around the earth and the sky. According to their mythology, the desert was originally a paradise that was the birthplace of the first humans, the Stone Men, who were the children of the earth and the sky. These children crafted a vast civilization from the abundant resources, living like gods for centuries. But over time they forgot their place, abusing the land and ignoring the sky. Eventually, the parents punished their offspring; The earth sent forth earthquakes and eruptions, while the sky whipped up duststorms and withheld the rain. The paradise transformed into the great desert, and most of the children died or fled, leaving their civilization to crumble. But one child, “Neksut”, remained and resolved to repent by living off the land even in these harsh conditions, slaying his fellow stone men. The neksut trace their origins to this figure. They see their own lifestyle as a continuation of that repentance, and view other civilizations as a recreation of their ancestor’s mistakes.
submitted by BeginningSome5930 to Quicksteel [link] [comments]
While “No Man’s Land” is considered a desert frontier by most, it has been the home of a native population for centuries: The neksut nomads. The neksut travel from oasis to oasis, riding horses and herding sheep and other animals. Though some Neksut have fearsome reputations as warriors, the neksut way of life is under threat from foreign settlers, most of whom see the as unsophisticated.
Recreation
Though outsiders will confidently claim the neksut have no arts to speak of (or even no culture at all), in truth the desert riders have rich musical and storytelling traditions. The neksut are great lovers of song, specializing in throaty chants. Singing is often heard while the tribe is on horseback or around the camp at night, and is typically collaborative, with a lead singer being echoed by several others. The most famous songs are epic historical and mythical tales, such as The Stone Men, Ballad of the Besieger, and Death of Pulcros. Musical instruments include string and woodwind devices, carved from wood and richly decorated.
However perhaps the greatest neksut art is quicksmithing itself. Manipulating quicksteel is vital to the nomads’ way of life, allowing them to effortlessly convert carts into temporary dwellings and back again. But with excess metal, neksut quicksmiths (called shapers in their language) often create temporary sculptures that will be deconstructed when the tribe moves on. Such sculptures are very abstract, often embodying the mood or state of the tribe at the time of construction. To the neksut, the impermanence of this art represents the transient nature of their way of life and of life itself.
Food
The neksut diet is heavily dictated by their nomadic lifestyle, and is fittingly dominated by the products of domesticated animals, principally horses and sheep. Milk is the most important element, and is drank as well as made into cheese, yogurt, or a dry powder. These dairy products are paired with meat from either domestic sheep or from hunted jackalopes or roastritches. Contrary to popular belief, the neksut do not eat their horses, save in rare cases when an animal dies or is too old to keep up with the tribe. Such animals are far too valuable as mounts and sources of milk to be consumed, and in fact an idiom meaning “eating one’s horse” is a neksut expression for one who has not thought things through.
Vegetables and spices (save for salt) are relatively scarce in much of the central desert and thus are scarce in the neksut diet as well. However the nomads make great use of what ingredients they have in a wide variety of dairy and meat meals. Seasoned jackalope jerky with cheese, shredded mutton over yogurt, and roastritch stew are typical. These meals are supplemented with redleaf, roastritch eggs, and whatever foreign ingredients can be traded for. While their cuisine is typically somewhat plain on account of their transient nature, the neksut can put on impressive feasts for special occasions, such as weddings or celebrations. In these cases the traditional meal is the so-called “yogurt table,” in which each participant is given a bowl of yogurt to pair with dozens of small dishes which are passed amongst the tribe.
Gender and Marriage
The neksut are relatively egalitarian in terms of gender. Two reasons for this may be due to their heavy reliance on horses and quicksmithing for their way of life; Mares are actually far superior mounts to stallions (due to their smaller size and milk), and the necessity for quicksmithing to set up camps and carts means that female quicksmiths cannot be disregarded, as all hands are needed. Thus neksut women can be warriors, chieftains, and shamans, with Salaris the Sandstorm and Mist-Eyes being prominent examples. However outside of these important roles, their still is a gendered division of labor in most tribes. Neksut often marry outside the tribe, with young men and women being sent to other tribes as dictated by shamans.
Government
Neksut governance is divided between chieftains and shamans. Chieftains lead tribes from one oasis to another, ultimately ending their journey at a religious site. Shamans oversee religious sites and help select the next route taken by the passing tribes, coordinating movements between different tribes so that resources are given time to replenish. The balance of power between these two roles has varied over time, though currently shamans seemingly hold the dominant role. Shamans serve an important logistical purpose in organizing the travels of tribes and arranging marriages, but they also act as culture repositories, with the shared language, history, and customs of the neksut likely owing to the shamans’ influence. Thus the Neksut are considered one culture and not a dozen.
Religion
Though their mythology purports to explain the origins of humanity, the first mentions of the neksut in the historical record dates to the aftermath of the Great Dying. Some scholars have suggested that the neksut might share common ancestry with some of the people of Tolmika, noting common elements between neksut religion and the Faith of the Heeders.
Neksut religion is centered around the earth and the sky. According to their mythology, the desert was originally a paradise that was the birthplace of the first humans, the Stone Men, who were the children of the earth and the sky. These children crafted a vast civilization from the abundant resources, living like gods for centuries. But over time they forgot their place, abusing the land and ignoring the sky. Eventually, the parents punished their offspring; The earth sent forth earthquakes and eruptions, while the sky whipped up duststorms and withheld the rain. The paradise transformed into the great desert, and most of the children died or fled, leaving their civilization to crumble. But one child, “Neksut”, remained and resolved to repent by living off the land even in these harsh conditions, slaying his fellow stone men. The neksut trace their origins to this figure. They see their own lifestyle as a continuation of that repentance, and view other civilizations as a recreation of their ancestor’s mistakes.
2024.05.13 22:53 Familiar-Objective11 Unfinished first draft of my opening to my solo playthrough of Phandelver and Below. Nearly broke 2,000 words in my first evening!
Below is the opening to my solo playthrough of Phandelver and Below. I've never played the module, but I was introduced to D&D through one of it's many actual plays, and I've always wanted to play the story myself. I thought it would be fun to use my semi-familiarity with the story to run a solo game, allowing me to simultaneously practice my writing. The opening is meant to detail how the Wave Echo Cave was found by the Rockseeker brothers, and explain why my characters are willing to help old Gundren. Below you'll find my version of how the cave was rediscovered and get introduced to my first PC, a young gnome with dreams of becoming a wizard, Erkyfrune 'Kyfrune' Filkor. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!
The Lost Mine of Phandelver
A Solo-Play RPG
Nundro Finds the Cave
Gundren Rockseeker finalized his order with Umphrey Baggort’s General Goods shortly before the midday bell. He had a few hours before he’d be meeting Sildar at The Widow’s Tankard to go over their planned route one last time. They were to leave for Phandalin in the morning. There he would reunite with his brothers, Nundro and Thardin, and return to Wave Echo Cave.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He still found it hard to believe they had found it. Five-hundred years it remained hidden, and all it had taken to locate it was Nundro’s constant clumsiness. He’d tripped, seemingly over nothing, and rolled down the side of a cliff, crashing to a stop amongst an outcropping of large boulders. Gundrin and Thardin had rushed down to him, only to find Nundro laughing like a madman, the dripping blood from his broken nose smearing across his mouth and beard, making him look like a cannibalistic court jester.
“Listen!” He’d shouted, blood spraying from his lips. “The waves! Do you hear them?!”
Gundren, sure Nundro had finally cracked his head one too many times, was hearing nothing more than the sloshing of his own addled brains, but Thardin lowered himself to the stoney ground and pushed his ears against the boulders.
“He’s right, Gundren,” Thardin said, ear still pressed against the large stone, “It’s as if the very Shining Sea were trapped underfoot.”
Nundro stood there, smiling, dripping blood into the dust and stone. “Wave Echo Cave,” He whispered, “It’s ours!”
They’d camped there amongst the boulders, using their picks and shovels to chip away the ground around one of the boulders enough to get their pry bars wedged solidly underneath. It took all three of them, hanging and hopping from the bar like the rumored monkeys of Chult, but they managed to shift it enough that gravity took hold and yanked the giant stone down the embankment, where it shattered amongst the less regal hills surrounding the eastern edges of Phandalin.
It took all of the next day to clear away enough of the stoney ground to reveal the small tunnel entrance that had been buried beneath rubble, rock, and passing time. The sounds of crashing waves seemed enormous in the silence surrounding them.
“We can’t simply walk into there with lanterns and a few day’s rations,” Thardin had said. “We’ll need to set up an excavation camp, which will require a trip back to Neverwinter.”
None of the brothers wanted to leave, but Gundren and Thardin agreed Nundro deserved to stay, being the true locator of the legendary site. They flipped a coin. Thardin won, and Gundrin left the next morning for Neverwinter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He’d gotten nearly everything prepared for his departure. There was just one final order of business to take care of, adventurers willing to see the wagon safely to Barthen’s Provisions. And, if they proved capable and loyal, perhaps they could be hired on to clear out the cave on the inevitable creatures that had occupied it during its many forgotten years.
He listened as the final ring of the city bells reverberated into silence, then turned north, heading towards Filkor’s Gadgets and Repairs. There he knew he would find at least one willing adventurer, assuming the boy’s father would let him leave the safety of the shop.
Kyfrune
Erkyfrune Filkor sipped his tea while his father adjusted the small spring in his latest iteration of a years-long obsession.
“I’m telling you Erky, I am this close to figuring it out.” His father, Erkaline, said. The it in question being a nail clipper capable of transforming itself to meet the varying needs of any fingernail, claw, or talon. “Once I finally figure it out, we can move out of this dump and into a properly respectable district. It’s not right for the descendants of Elisytris Filkor to be living in squalor. He was quintessential to the Forge of Spells, you know!”
Erkyfrune, Kyfrune to anyone besides his father, knew this very well. He’d heard the story more times than he could count. Who knew if there was any truth in it, but he loved his father, and feigned interest again, if just so he would be able to concentrate on the story and let his fingers work their talented tinker’s magic.
His father was just getting to the part where Great-Grandfather Elisytris single-handedly took on a trio of raiding bandits and their evil wizard overseer when the three bells above the storefront sounded, signaling a customer, one Kyfrune and Erkaline knew well. Gundren and his brothers had been coming to them for years, always in need of some intricate tool or another to assist in a prospecting project. Kyfrune had always felt a spark of envy for their adventurous life, delving into the ruins of the past for lost treasures and tomes. The latter interested him in particular, for even though his father disapproved, Kyfrune wanted nothing more than to learn the mysteries of Mystra and her magical weave that permeated the very fabrics of reality. Already he’d learned a few spells, and had even recently conjured his first familiar, a celestial wolf spider, he lovingly referred to as Walter.
“Couldn’t you have conjured something less…disgusting? A cat would have at least had fur.” His father had grumbled when Kyfrune had shown him his new magical pet.
“Walter has fur,” Kyfrune had argued.
“Nothing with eight legs should have fur,” his father had replied, shaking his head and returning to one of his seemingly infinite projects. “You should focus more on your craft. One day, you’ll be the Filkor that the sign out front is referring to.”
Kyfrune wasn’t a terrible tinker, but he’d never be capable of the wonders his father could produce. Besides, tinkering was Erkaline’s thing. He never said this, of course. Being a good son was just as important to Kyfrune as learning to bend the energies of the multiverse to his whim.
“Gundren! What can I do for you my friend?” Erkaline asked, removing the magnifying glasses he wore when working. “Need some more of those explosive crickets? How’d that first batch work for you?”
“Howdy Mr. Filkor, Kyfrune, everything going well I hope?” Gundren asked, removing the floppy hat he’d always worn since Kyfrune had known him.
“Can’t say I can complain, anything that’s wrong I just haven’t gotten round to fixin’ yet, and what can’t be fixed, can be made anew” His father laughed at this old joke, and Gundren, the kind patron he was, laughed along as well, even though he’d heard this one probably every time he’d come to the shop.
“Too true Mr. Filkor, your capable hands are powered by an even more capable mind. I, ah, am not actually here for any services you’d normally provide. I’m actually wanting to offer Kyfrune a small job,” Gundren turns to the younger gnome, “I’ve heard you’ve a decent grasp of the weave, any truth in those rumors?”
Kyfrune, bringing the cup of tea to his mouth for another sip, was caught off guard by the unexpected question, and spilled most of his remaining tea over his work shirt. Rather than answer Gundren, which his ever-present social awkwardness would have caused him to stammer meekly through, he waved his hands over his sodden shirt and muttered a simple incantation. The tea, lemon ginger with lots of honey, simply faded, leaving his shirt dry and spotless.
“That’s quite the trick, any bandits or goblins with brains in their skulls would run screaming from such deadly powers,” Gundren laughed, not unkindly. “Seriously Kyf, do you think you could provide protection for a wagon of supplies I’ve ordered? It’s not going far, just down the High Road a ways and east along the Triboar Trail, to a small settlement called Phandalin. It’d need to be brought to a gentleman named Barthen. He owns Barthen’s Provisions, and will pay you 10 gold once you’ve delivered the wagon. Normally I’d go with it myself, but I’ve got to meet Nundro and Thardin as soon as possible,” he leans closer and whispers, “We’ve found something. Something pretty big. If you do well with the wagon, maybe I could bring you in on the excavation of a legendary site, thought to be lost to time.”
“You can’t mean-” Erkaline began, but Gundren cut him off with a curt wave.
“Best not to speak of anything now. Ears and eyes are known to be anywhere, and I’m not wanting any competition. What do you say Mr. Filkor, can you spare young Kyfrune for a week or so, two out the most?”
Kyfrune looked to his father, who rubbed his large nose and pulled at his forked beard, largely white now, with only a few streaks of the once inky black that had been its original color. He wasn’t going to beg or plead. He loved his father, and would do as he bid, but oh sweet Mystra, please let him say yes.
“I suppose, if you can promise it’d be no more than a week or so, I could spare my apprentice,” his father began, then turned to Kyfrune, “But Erkyfrune, you listen and listen good. I never liked your messing with this magic nonsense, but I understood your youth. Consider this your pilgrimage into the world of adventure. Upon your return, I expect you to set aside these childish fancies and start putting the work in that is necessary for you to take over the shop. Agreed?”
Kyfrune’s heart somehow managed to soar and plummet at the same time, leaving him with a momentary feeling of unsteadiness. To finally be given approval to venture forth into the world, a world that wanted him to wield his magical abilities, only to have the approval tethered to a promise to walk away from his dream. His father’s serious eyes looked at him expectantly.
“Yes, Father. Your terms are agreeable, and I thank you for allowing me to experience an adventure before settling into my destined path.”
His father’s gaze faltered momentarily, but he quickly regained his composure, turning to Gundren, “Well Gundren, it would seem you have yourself a wizard. You’re not planning on sending my boy out on the road alone are you?”
“Of course not, sir. He’ll be accompanied by at least two more souls, although I’m not sure of who they are as of yet.”
Erkaline smiled, “I’m sure the great city of Neverwinter will provide you with a couple more adventurers for your quest.”
Gundren nodded, then placed his hat upon his head. “I’ll need Kyfrune at The Widow’s Tankard by ninth bell,” he looked to Kyfrune, “ I’ll have the contract ready and’ll buy you dinner. I’ll show you the route you’ll need to take, and, perhaps, I’ll fill you in on more of the details.” His eyes glinted with excitement. “Be well Mr. Finkor,” he said, then walked out the door. The three bells above the door sounded very loud in the quiet shop. Kyfrune turned to his father, who was putting the magnifying glasses back into position and settling himself at his workbench.
“I suppose I should pack my things,” he said.
“I suppose you should son,” Erkaline looked up from the nail clippers that he hoped would change his and his son’s lot in life, “Be careful, okay. Take in the world, experience your adventure, heck, shoot off some of those spells you know, but please, be careful.”
Kyfrune walked around the bench and hugged his father tightly, then walked upstairs to his small room to pack. He’d never felt more excited in his entire life.
submitted by Familiar-Objective11 to LostMinesOfPhandelver [link] [comments]
The Lost Mine of Phandelver
A Solo-Play RPG
Nundro Finds the Cave
Gundren Rockseeker finalized his order with Umphrey Baggort’s General Goods shortly before the midday bell. He had a few hours before he’d be meeting Sildar at The Widow’s Tankard to go over their planned route one last time. They were to leave for Phandalin in the morning. There he would reunite with his brothers, Nundro and Thardin, and return to Wave Echo Cave.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He still found it hard to believe they had found it. Five-hundred years it remained hidden, and all it had taken to locate it was Nundro’s constant clumsiness. He’d tripped, seemingly over nothing, and rolled down the side of a cliff, crashing to a stop amongst an outcropping of large boulders. Gundrin and Thardin had rushed down to him, only to find Nundro laughing like a madman, the dripping blood from his broken nose smearing across his mouth and beard, making him look like a cannibalistic court jester.
“Listen!” He’d shouted, blood spraying from his lips. “The waves! Do you hear them?!”
Gundren, sure Nundro had finally cracked his head one too many times, was hearing nothing more than the sloshing of his own addled brains, but Thardin lowered himself to the stoney ground and pushed his ears against the boulders.
“He’s right, Gundren,” Thardin said, ear still pressed against the large stone, “It’s as if the very Shining Sea were trapped underfoot.”
Nundro stood there, smiling, dripping blood into the dust and stone. “Wave Echo Cave,” He whispered, “It’s ours!”
They’d camped there amongst the boulders, using their picks and shovels to chip away the ground around one of the boulders enough to get their pry bars wedged solidly underneath. It took all three of them, hanging and hopping from the bar like the rumored monkeys of Chult, but they managed to shift it enough that gravity took hold and yanked the giant stone down the embankment, where it shattered amongst the less regal hills surrounding the eastern edges of Phandalin.
It took all of the next day to clear away enough of the stoney ground to reveal the small tunnel entrance that had been buried beneath rubble, rock, and passing time. The sounds of crashing waves seemed enormous in the silence surrounding them.
“We can’t simply walk into there with lanterns and a few day’s rations,” Thardin had said. “We’ll need to set up an excavation camp, which will require a trip back to Neverwinter.”
None of the brothers wanted to leave, but Gundren and Thardin agreed Nundro deserved to stay, being the true locator of the legendary site. They flipped a coin. Thardin won, and Gundrin left the next morning for Neverwinter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He’d gotten nearly everything prepared for his departure. There was just one final order of business to take care of, adventurers willing to see the wagon safely to Barthen’s Provisions. And, if they proved capable and loyal, perhaps they could be hired on to clear out the cave on the inevitable creatures that had occupied it during its many forgotten years.
He listened as the final ring of the city bells reverberated into silence, then turned north, heading towards Filkor’s Gadgets and Repairs. There he knew he would find at least one willing adventurer, assuming the boy’s father would let him leave the safety of the shop.
Kyfrune
Erkyfrune Filkor sipped his tea while his father adjusted the small spring in his latest iteration of a years-long obsession.
“I’m telling you Erky, I am this close to figuring it out.” His father, Erkaline, said. The it in question being a nail clipper capable of transforming itself to meet the varying needs of any fingernail, claw, or talon. “Once I finally figure it out, we can move out of this dump and into a properly respectable district. It’s not right for the descendants of Elisytris Filkor to be living in squalor. He was quintessential to the Forge of Spells, you know!”
Erkyfrune, Kyfrune to anyone besides his father, knew this very well. He’d heard the story more times than he could count. Who knew if there was any truth in it, but he loved his father, and feigned interest again, if just so he would be able to concentrate on the story and let his fingers work their talented tinker’s magic.
His father was just getting to the part where Great-Grandfather Elisytris single-handedly took on a trio of raiding bandits and their evil wizard overseer when the three bells above the storefront sounded, signaling a customer, one Kyfrune and Erkaline knew well. Gundren and his brothers had been coming to them for years, always in need of some intricate tool or another to assist in a prospecting project. Kyfrune had always felt a spark of envy for their adventurous life, delving into the ruins of the past for lost treasures and tomes. The latter interested him in particular, for even though his father disapproved, Kyfrune wanted nothing more than to learn the mysteries of Mystra and her magical weave that permeated the very fabrics of reality. Already he’d learned a few spells, and had even recently conjured his first familiar, a celestial wolf spider, he lovingly referred to as Walter.
“Couldn’t you have conjured something less…disgusting? A cat would have at least had fur.” His father had grumbled when Kyfrune had shown him his new magical pet.
“Walter has fur,” Kyfrune had argued.
“Nothing with eight legs should have fur,” his father had replied, shaking his head and returning to one of his seemingly infinite projects. “You should focus more on your craft. One day, you’ll be the Filkor that the sign out front is referring to.”
Kyfrune wasn’t a terrible tinker, but he’d never be capable of the wonders his father could produce. Besides, tinkering was Erkaline’s thing. He never said this, of course. Being a good son was just as important to Kyfrune as learning to bend the energies of the multiverse to his whim.
“Gundren! What can I do for you my friend?” Erkaline asked, removing the magnifying glasses he wore when working. “Need some more of those explosive crickets? How’d that first batch work for you?”
“Howdy Mr. Filkor, Kyfrune, everything going well I hope?” Gundren asked, removing the floppy hat he’d always worn since Kyfrune had known him.
“Can’t say I can complain, anything that’s wrong I just haven’t gotten round to fixin’ yet, and what can’t be fixed, can be made anew” His father laughed at this old joke, and Gundren, the kind patron he was, laughed along as well, even though he’d heard this one probably every time he’d come to the shop.
“Too true Mr. Filkor, your capable hands are powered by an even more capable mind. I, ah, am not actually here for any services you’d normally provide. I’m actually wanting to offer Kyfrune a small job,” Gundren turns to the younger gnome, “I’ve heard you’ve a decent grasp of the weave, any truth in those rumors?”
Kyfrune, bringing the cup of tea to his mouth for another sip, was caught off guard by the unexpected question, and spilled most of his remaining tea over his work shirt. Rather than answer Gundren, which his ever-present social awkwardness would have caused him to stammer meekly through, he waved his hands over his sodden shirt and muttered a simple incantation. The tea, lemon ginger with lots of honey, simply faded, leaving his shirt dry and spotless.
“That’s quite the trick, any bandits or goblins with brains in their skulls would run screaming from such deadly powers,” Gundren laughed, not unkindly. “Seriously Kyf, do you think you could provide protection for a wagon of supplies I’ve ordered? It’s not going far, just down the High Road a ways and east along the Triboar Trail, to a small settlement called Phandalin. It’d need to be brought to a gentleman named Barthen. He owns Barthen’s Provisions, and will pay you 10 gold once you’ve delivered the wagon. Normally I’d go with it myself, but I’ve got to meet Nundro and Thardin as soon as possible,” he leans closer and whispers, “We’ve found something. Something pretty big. If you do well with the wagon, maybe I could bring you in on the excavation of a legendary site, thought to be lost to time.”
“You can’t mean-” Erkaline began, but Gundren cut him off with a curt wave.
“Best not to speak of anything now. Ears and eyes are known to be anywhere, and I’m not wanting any competition. What do you say Mr. Filkor, can you spare young Kyfrune for a week or so, two out the most?”
Kyfrune looked to his father, who rubbed his large nose and pulled at his forked beard, largely white now, with only a few streaks of the once inky black that had been its original color. He wasn’t going to beg or plead. He loved his father, and would do as he bid, but oh sweet Mystra, please let him say yes.
“I suppose, if you can promise it’d be no more than a week or so, I could spare my apprentice,” his father began, then turned to Kyfrune, “But Erkyfrune, you listen and listen good. I never liked your messing with this magic nonsense, but I understood your youth. Consider this your pilgrimage into the world of adventure. Upon your return, I expect you to set aside these childish fancies and start putting the work in that is necessary for you to take over the shop. Agreed?”
Kyfrune’s heart somehow managed to soar and plummet at the same time, leaving him with a momentary feeling of unsteadiness. To finally be given approval to venture forth into the world, a world that wanted him to wield his magical abilities, only to have the approval tethered to a promise to walk away from his dream. His father’s serious eyes looked at him expectantly.
“Yes, Father. Your terms are agreeable, and I thank you for allowing me to experience an adventure before settling into my destined path.”
His father’s gaze faltered momentarily, but he quickly regained his composure, turning to Gundren, “Well Gundren, it would seem you have yourself a wizard. You’re not planning on sending my boy out on the road alone are you?”
“Of course not, sir. He’ll be accompanied by at least two more souls, although I’m not sure of who they are as of yet.”
Erkaline smiled, “I’m sure the great city of Neverwinter will provide you with a couple more adventurers for your quest.”
Gundren nodded, then placed his hat upon his head. “I’ll need Kyfrune at The Widow’s Tankard by ninth bell,” he looked to Kyfrune, “ I’ll have the contract ready and’ll buy you dinner. I’ll show you the route you’ll need to take, and, perhaps, I’ll fill you in on more of the details.” His eyes glinted with excitement. “Be well Mr. Finkor,” he said, then walked out the door. The three bells above the door sounded very loud in the quiet shop. Kyfrune turned to his father, who was putting the magnifying glasses back into position and settling himself at his workbench.
“I suppose I should pack my things,” he said.
“I suppose you should son,” Erkaline looked up from the nail clippers that he hoped would change his and his son’s lot in life, “Be careful, okay. Take in the world, experience your adventure, heck, shoot off some of those spells you know, but please, be careful.”
Kyfrune walked around the bench and hugged his father tightly, then walked upstairs to his small room to pack. He’d never felt more excited in his entire life.
2024.05.13 22:47 No-Consequence4263 The Tree of knowledge and humanities " mockery" of the trinity
So this is something I have thought for a while, and began building a hypothesis for it roughly three years ago. To summarize for those not interested in the details I believe the reasoning the tree of knowledge, and its counter parts within other religions were off limits to humans other than it is knowledge unwanted/unneeded; is that it was a trinity. The three parts that would make this up are religion,philosophy, and science. To clarify and specify I will give differing examples as to why I came to this conclusion.
The first thing that made me think of this was the interchangeable aspects, as well as the balancing of these three. Religious beliefs are what filled the ancient times, and allowed for the first steps of science to flourish. A good example is Egyptian building techniques they had were given to them by the God thoth. Due to its sacred attachments it was able to survive as a form of study scientist use to this day. Now turning towards the interconnectedness of philosophy with religion an example can be; in one of the earliest religious sites is dedicated to that of skulls and the nature of death. The religion itself doesn't have much knowledge other than the age old testament of why we die, but its still a profound question we ask ourselves to this day. You can take this same method of interconnectedness in reversal with the other two forms of knowledge being compared to the others. Now the contrasting factors are just as interesting. Such as the inability for a comprehensive understanding of miracles through the scientific lense. There are examples of this "mockery," being there as a core part of our being in all three forms of study as well. With that we will start with the examples within science.
We must first discuss the beginning of our existence as science describes, in an instantaneous expansion/expulsion of energy we gained space, time, and matter as a result. Now in order for any researcher to make a proper conclusion and or factual statement they must be able apply these three elements to their work. They must use a means of recording the information aka time. They must provide a place in which this experiment occured aka space finally; they must use the effects of physical objects, actions, and or numerical data to provide evidence. There are also examples of its interconnectedness to the other two despite oppositional standings. One such example is that; rituals such as bloodletting, ripping of hearts out, mummification, and potion making allowed for the transcendence of medicine, anatomy, and many more medical practices. Another example, but for philosophy is; when we used philosophy as a means to question the commonly believed scientific practices of multiple eras including the present. This allows/ed for the progression of ethics within the medical field, as well as create fields such as psychology. In essence science is the raw form of "mind," within our trinity; the physical representation of what can not be deciphered by the other two methods.
The next of the three we will delve into is that of philosophy. Philosophy has its connections within the other two methods of knowledge in a multitude if not the most ways out of the three. The following examples are just a few that I have chosen. One great example not yet discussed is; science, and its impact upon the understanding of the cosmos has made the philosophical question of "are we alone," and "what's my significance within it all." Another example but that of religious connectivity is the rise and fall of religions themselves. The best example is the change of pantheism into monotheism, the idea that; if there is a being of higher status, power, wisdom, intelligence etc. than others of its kind are the others truly within the same class or even the same kind of being. Philosophy in itself has trinities within their study as the other two do. One example is the Greek philosopher Pythagoras believed that the number 3 was the most significant number as it was that of perfection and represented harmony wisdom and understanding. In its representations philosophy can be Interpreted as the embodiment of " heart, " within the trinity; as it is what bridges the two methods with greatest disparity, and makes one think insightful as well as outwardly speak beyond the confines of scientific, and spiritual traditions.
The third representation of this " mocked ," trinity we have carved into the very code of our being is religion. Despite the contradictions religious, and scientific consensus there is over arching connections that can not be denied. One such example of their intertwining relationship is that of cosmic and mathematical studies. As mentioned before the Egyptians believed they gained their ability to use math from the God thoth, bit the belief isn't sufficient evidence for their true connection through math, and astrology. The mapping of celestial bodies were due to their relations with yhe divine such as their place of origin, the heavens, or even the physical embodiment of the gods themselves such of the planetary system and its connection with the Roman pantheon. Religion is also responsible for humanities and consequently sciences grasp of time and the recording of it. A great example is that ancient people would base their rituals around the natural rhythm of differing seasons, spacial phenomeno, and that of recording important cultural events. The impact of religion onto science is deep just as the other way around but their bridging partner philosophy; has very intimate connections as well. Though tons of examples are present for the twos intertwined relations a few examples are; that along of philosophers would use their religious beliefs to help shape, and nurture their philosophical ideals. It was also religion that began our want and urge to began asking ourselves what our origins are, what is our purpose as a species etc. Religion and its position within this " mockery ," could be best described as the soul of our markings. Though it is the most criticized part of knowledge for its lack of " evidence ," just like that of souls themselves. It still holds reverence and importance as without it we as humanity would've never asked ourselves those first important questions of internal insight as well as; did those physical rituals allowing for the progression into the many sciences' we have today.Throughout this I have quoted, and maintained this finding as a " mockery ," and there are many contradictions within the studies of the three themselves; this I will explain the reasoning behind in the following paragraph.
The term mockery as I use it; is the expression not of negative means such as we intend to offend anything such as a creator or ourselves as a species. In this sense the term is applied due to the very contradictions and disparities between the three. The three following tend to have arguments and disagreements within the studies; typically this discrepancy is the action cause by the want for truth. There are also fundamental contradictions as well such as; the process in which one conducts their actions in life, and the way in which one may perceive or be influenced within their daily ongoings. However; at the core without each of these three being accessible to humanity there would've been no virtual, or actual progression within our species. The reasoning it is a mockery rather than a true trinity is through the very definition of opposition the three have. A true trinity would be that of perfect balance however; due to all the differing factors said prior and the elements not seamlessly falling into one another there is an imbalance one that can sway what a humans progression through life may be.
In conclusion it's this authors opinion that we have a trinity one that is a mere mockery of what the truth we all are ferociously debating amongst ourselves is. until we are able to come to that one universal consensus we will be plagued with this mark of knowledge and its endless sea of questions.
submitted by No-Consequence4263 to FringeTheory [link] [comments]
The first thing that made me think of this was the interchangeable aspects, as well as the balancing of these three. Religious beliefs are what filled the ancient times, and allowed for the first steps of science to flourish. A good example is Egyptian building techniques they had were given to them by the God thoth. Due to its sacred attachments it was able to survive as a form of study scientist use to this day. Now turning towards the interconnectedness of philosophy with religion an example can be; in one of the earliest religious sites is dedicated to that of skulls and the nature of death. The religion itself doesn't have much knowledge other than the age old testament of why we die, but its still a profound question we ask ourselves to this day. You can take this same method of interconnectedness in reversal with the other two forms of knowledge being compared to the others. Now the contrasting factors are just as interesting. Such as the inability for a comprehensive understanding of miracles through the scientific lense. There are examples of this "mockery," being there as a core part of our being in all three forms of study as well. With that we will start with the examples within science.
We must first discuss the beginning of our existence as science describes, in an instantaneous expansion/expulsion of energy we gained space, time, and matter as a result. Now in order for any researcher to make a proper conclusion and or factual statement they must be able apply these three elements to their work. They must use a means of recording the information aka time. They must provide a place in which this experiment occured aka space finally; they must use the effects of physical objects, actions, and or numerical data to provide evidence. There are also examples of its interconnectedness to the other two despite oppositional standings. One such example is that; rituals such as bloodletting, ripping of hearts out, mummification, and potion making allowed for the transcendence of medicine, anatomy, and many more medical practices. Another example, but for philosophy is; when we used philosophy as a means to question the commonly believed scientific practices of multiple eras including the present. This allows/ed for the progression of ethics within the medical field, as well as create fields such as psychology. In essence science is the raw form of "mind," within our trinity; the physical representation of what can not be deciphered by the other two methods.
The next of the three we will delve into is that of philosophy. Philosophy has its connections within the other two methods of knowledge in a multitude if not the most ways out of the three. The following examples are just a few that I have chosen. One great example not yet discussed is; science, and its impact upon the understanding of the cosmos has made the philosophical question of "are we alone," and "what's my significance within it all." Another example but that of religious connectivity is the rise and fall of religions themselves. The best example is the change of pantheism into monotheism, the idea that; if there is a being of higher status, power, wisdom, intelligence etc. than others of its kind are the others truly within the same class or even the same kind of being. Philosophy in itself has trinities within their study as the other two do. One example is the Greek philosopher Pythagoras believed that the number 3 was the most significant number as it was that of perfection and represented harmony wisdom and understanding. In its representations philosophy can be Interpreted as the embodiment of " heart, " within the trinity; as it is what bridges the two methods with greatest disparity, and makes one think insightful as well as outwardly speak beyond the confines of scientific, and spiritual traditions.
The third representation of this " mocked ," trinity we have carved into the very code of our being is religion. Despite the contradictions religious, and scientific consensus there is over arching connections that can not be denied. One such example of their intertwining relationship is that of cosmic and mathematical studies. As mentioned before the Egyptians believed they gained their ability to use math from the God thoth, bit the belief isn't sufficient evidence for their true connection through math, and astrology. The mapping of celestial bodies were due to their relations with yhe divine such as their place of origin, the heavens, or even the physical embodiment of the gods themselves such of the planetary system and its connection with the Roman pantheon. Religion is also responsible for humanities and consequently sciences grasp of time and the recording of it. A great example is that ancient people would base their rituals around the natural rhythm of differing seasons, spacial phenomeno, and that of recording important cultural events. The impact of religion onto science is deep just as the other way around but their bridging partner philosophy; has very intimate connections as well. Though tons of examples are present for the twos intertwined relations a few examples are; that along of philosophers would use their religious beliefs to help shape, and nurture their philosophical ideals. It was also religion that began our want and urge to began asking ourselves what our origins are, what is our purpose as a species etc. Religion and its position within this " mockery ," could be best described as the soul of our markings. Though it is the most criticized part of knowledge for its lack of " evidence ," just like that of souls themselves. It still holds reverence and importance as without it we as humanity would've never asked ourselves those first important questions of internal insight as well as; did those physical rituals allowing for the progression into the many sciences' we have today.Throughout this I have quoted, and maintained this finding as a " mockery ," and there are many contradictions within the studies of the three themselves; this I will explain the reasoning behind in the following paragraph.
The term mockery as I use it; is the expression not of negative means such as we intend to offend anything such as a creator or ourselves as a species. In this sense the term is applied due to the very contradictions and disparities between the three. The three following tend to have arguments and disagreements within the studies; typically this discrepancy is the action cause by the want for truth. There are also fundamental contradictions as well such as; the process in which one conducts their actions in life, and the way in which one may perceive or be influenced within their daily ongoings. However; at the core without each of these three being accessible to humanity there would've been no virtual, or actual progression within our species. The reasoning it is a mockery rather than a true trinity is through the very definition of opposition the three have. A true trinity would be that of perfect balance however; due to all the differing factors said prior and the elements not seamlessly falling into one another there is an imbalance one that can sway what a humans progression through life may be.
In conclusion it's this authors opinion that we have a trinity one that is a mere mockery of what the truth we all are ferociously debating amongst ourselves is. until we are able to come to that one universal consensus we will be plagued with this mark of knowledge and its endless sea of questions.
2024.05.13 22:44 C3PH4L0SP0R1N "A Shadow on the Soul"
This is an expansion of a recent post and also incorporates some ideas from this theory (by u/ndependent-Design17). Throughout the series the reader is repeatedly reminded that "only death can pay for life" — that magic, especially powerful magic, comes at great cost.
This phrase or variations of this phrase are repeated by Melisandre, Mirri, etc. at various points throughout the series. That which follows is a highly speculative theory on the nature of the cost of magic in the series. Specifically, that souls are central to the exercise of magic and can be used as magic currency.
What happens after we die? Is there some part of us that lives on or do we simply cease to exist. These are fundamental questions that are essentially unanswerable in life but not in ASOIAF. The reader is given a point-of-view account of death in the prologue of ADWD. After unsuccessfully attempting to steal the body of Thistle, a wildling spearwife, Varamyr dies and briefly becomes a disembodied consciousness:
Afterward his "spirit," or soul, is eventually transferred into a body of wolf and he begins his second life. This event, and the process of skin-changing more generally, appears to involve projection or transfer of a soul from one body into another. The process of projecting or transferring souls to either animal vessels or the weirwoods is central to the magic of the Children of the Forest.
After death a "shadow on the soul" of the Singers remain in the crows. The soul of Orell is also described as living on in the body of his eagle after his death.
This process appears to take two forms: the soul can be temporarily projected from one body into another (e.g., as happens when Bran skin-changes into Hodor) or can be permanently transferred as is described in the separate examples above.
These transferred souls merge with their recipient, at least to some degree, and may decay over time:
Bran is provided with similar warnings about the danger of spending too much time in Summer's skin by Jojen.
The Bran that appears to Jon-Ghost in the vision in ACOK is also likely the lingering soul of a non-contemporary Bran, contained in the weirwoods and communicating from the future.
There is more information about this in the Time Traveling Bran series. Briefly, the version of Bran in this vision does not appear to be contemporaneous because likes the dark, is able to open Jon's third eye, smells of death, etc. (This is well outside of the scope of this theory however.)
To answer this let us examine one of the most concrete example of magic in the series, the use or exchange of Stannis Baratheon's "life-fire" in order for Melisandre to manifest the shadows used to kill Renly Baratheon and Courtney Penrose.
According to this explanation, the cost of producing these shadow appears to have been part of his "life-fire," or soul. The shadow is specifically described as having the shape Stannis supporting this. Whether this applies to other types of magic — specifically blood magic or fire magic — is less clear but shadow magic very much appears to require the use of souls.
This type of exchange is also directly referenced in the story of the Night's King provided by Old Nan:
Stannis is described by Davos afterward as follows:
Asha later describes Stannis as appearing life a "man with one foot in the grave."
These descriptions seem appropriate for a character that has lost part of their "life-fire" or soul.
Throughout the series Stannis is forced to make a series of increasingly difficult decisions. The most significant of these decisions regards the fate of his nephew, Eric Storm. Melisandre repeatedly urges him to "give [her] the boy," presumably to be burned, but is rebuffed by Stannis.
Is the life of this bastard boy worth the lives of millions that would die if the Others break through the Wall? Making a deal with the devil and literally selling his soul in pursuit of some greater good seems very appropriate for his character, thematically. The description of his flesh turning to ash in this vision is representative also supports this interpretation.
Following this ritual all of the mentioned individuals do die but do so as the part of separate conspiracies (e.g., Robb Stark is betrayed by the Freys and Boltons, Joffrey Baratheon by Littlefinger and the Tyrells, etc.) which were already in place. It is left intentionally ambiguous by the author but it does not appear that the ritual meaningfully contributed to their deaths.
The creation of the shadows is said by Melisandre to have required part of Stannis' "life-fire" or soul. Could it be that the leech burning ritual was unsuccessful because blood alone is not sufficient as a sacrifice?
These forms of magic are frequently described in the community as "shadow magic" and "blood magic." These concepts — "fire and blood" and "flame and shadow" — are highly associated with one another in the text:
I speculate that these are different expressions of the same concept; that all of these fall under the general umbrella of fire magic and share common principles. "Fire consumes and in the end there's nothing left."
The introduction of shadow magic in the series is provided above with Mirri Max Duur. Following this ritual Drogo is described as a lifeless husk:
It has previously been speculated that Mirri "reverse skin-changed" Drogo (e.g., "strength of the mount go into the rider, strength of the beast go into the man."). The description provided is less consistent with a horse soul inhabiting a human body than it is with the complete or near-complete absence of a soul. It appears more likely in retrospect that Mirri sacrificed part of Drogo's soul to summon the shadows and likely as a means to kill Daenerys' unborn child.
There is a paucity of information on the reanimation of the dead in the series. The resurrection of Beric Dondarrion, for example, appears to be different in fundamental ways from that of the wights or Cold Hands. (We are potentially given a point-of-view account of this process if you accept that Victarion died in ADWD.)
Thoros is also described as appearing very different after performing this ritual several times in a way that is not entirely dissimilar to the changes in Stannis’ appearance referenced above.
Thoros attributes these changes to his renewed devotion to the Red God and spending "a year in the wild" as above although he is not exactly forthcoming with Arya about the resurrection process. It is also likely that he does not entirely understand what specifically is being exchanged here.
Later he describes Beric giving the "kiss of life" to the corpse of Catelyn Stark:
Notably, this process produces a reanimated Catelyn (a.k.a. Lady Stoneheart). The soul of Beric, or at least whatever is left of his soul at this point in the series, is consumed in order to resurrect Catelyn and not transferred.
This is again highly speculative but it seems reasonable to consider that these cold shadows are not "ice demons" or "ice zombies" but are in fact ghosts, the spirits or souls of men that are bound to the earth through magic by the Children of the Forest. (The textual evidence of the creation of the Others by the Children has previously been discussed at length in the community in separate posts.) "Fire consumes, but cold preserves."
This would explain several of the unusual characteristics of the Others described by Tormund:
A reasonable interpretation of this information is that the Others are present during the day, at least in some capacity, and are only able to assume corporeal form at night.
The Others are also described as "going lightly upon the snow" which would also supports the idea that they are ghosts:
EDIT: edited several times to address formatting issues
submitted by C3PH4L0SP0R1N to pureasoiaf [link] [comments]
"Only death can pay for life, my lord. A great gift requires a great sacrifice.”Davos, ASOS
This phrase or variations of this phrase are repeated by Melisandre, Mirri, etc. at various points throughout the series. That which follows is a highly speculative theory on the nature of the cost of magic in the series. Specifically, that souls are central to the exercise of magic and can be used as magic currency.
1. establishing the concept of the soul
Oh, to be sure, there is much we do not understand. The years pass in their hundreds and their thousands, and what does any man see of life but a few summers, a few winters? We look at mountains and call them eternal, and so they seem… but in the course of time, mountains rise and fall, rivers change their courses, stars fall from the sky, and great cities sink beneath the sea. Even gods die, we think. Everything changes.Bran, AGOT
What happens after we die? Is there some part of us that lives on or do we simply cease to exist. These are fundamental questions that are essentially unanswerable in life but not in ASOIAF. The reader is given a point-of-view account of death in the prologue of ADWD. After unsuccessfully attempting to steal the body of Thistle, a wildling spearwife, Varamyr dies and briefly becomes a disembodied consciousness:
The white world turned and fell away. For a moment it was as if he were inside the weirwood, gazing out through carved red eyes as a dying man twitched feebly on the ground and a madwoman danced blind and bloody underneath the moon, weeping red tears and ripping at her clothes. Then both were gone and he was rising, melting, his spirit borne on some cold wind. He was in the snow and in the clouds, he was a sparrow, a squirrel, an oak. A horned owl flew silently between his trees, hunting a hare; Varamyr was inside the owl, inside the hare, inside the trees. Deep below the frozen ground, earthworms burrowed blindly in the dark, and he was them as well. I am the wood, and everything that’s in it, he thought, exulting.Prologue, ADWD
Afterward his "spirit," or soul, is eventually transferred into a body of wolf and he begins his second life. This event, and the process of skin-changing more generally, appears to involve projection or transfer of a soul from one body into another. The process of projecting or transferring souls to either animal vessels or the weirwoods is central to the magic of the Children of the Forest.
“Someone else was in the raven,” he told Lord Brynden, once he had returned to his own skin. “Some girl. I felt her.”Bran, ADWD
“A woman, of those who sing the song of earth,” his teacher said. “Long dead, yet a part of her remains, just as a part of you would remain in Summer if your boy’s flesh were to die upon the morrow. A shadow on the soul. She will not harm you.”
"Do all the birds have singers in them?"
“All,” Lord Brynden said.
After death a "shadow on the soul" of the Singers remain in the crows. The soul of Orell is also described as living on in the body of his eagle after his death.
This process appears to take two forms: the soul can be temporarily projected from one body into another (e.g., as happens when Bran skin-changes into Hodor) or can be permanently transferred as is described in the separate examples above.
These transferred souls merge with their recipient, at least to some degree, and may decay over time:
"The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you’re part of him. Both of you will change.”Prologue, ADWD
Other beasts were best left alone, the hunter had declared. Cats were vain and cruel, always ready to turn on you. Elk and deer were prey; wear their skins too long, and even the bravest man became a coward. Bears, boars, badgers, weasels … Haggon did not hold with such. “Some skins you never want to wear, boy. You won’t like what you’d become.” Birds were the worst, to hear him tell it. “Men were not meant to leave the earth. Spend too much time in the clouds and you never want to come back down again.
...
"They say you forget," Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death.
"When the man's flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains."
Bran is provided with similar warnings about the danger of spending too much time in Summer's skin by Jojen.
The Bran that appears to Jon-Ghost in the vision in ACOK is also likely the lingering soul of a non-contemporary Bran, contained in the weirwoods and communicating from the future.
The weirwood had his brother’s face. Had his brother always had three eyes?Jon, ACOK
Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow.
He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs.
"Don’t be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this." And the tree reached down and touched him.
There is more information about this in the Time Traveling Bran series. Briefly, the version of Bran in this vision does not appear to be contemporaneous because likes the dark, is able to open Jon's third eye, smells of death, etc. (This is well outside of the scope of this theory however.)
2. shadow magic requires souls
As above the reader is repeatedly reminded throughout the series that "only death can pay for life." What is specifically being sacrificed, though? Is the magic being fueled by the blood of the sacrificed or by something else?To answer this let us examine one of the most concrete example of magic in the series, the use or exchange of Stannis Baratheon's "life-fire" in order for Melisandre to manifest the shadows used to kill Renly Baratheon and Courtney Penrose.
Shadows only live when given birth by light, and the king's fires burn so low I dare not draw off any more to make another son. It might well kill him."Davos, ASOS
Melisandre moved closer.
"With another man, though... a man whose flames still burn hot and high... if you truly wish to serve your king's cause, come to my chamber one night. I could give you pleasure such as you have never known, and with your life-fire I could make..."
According to this explanation, the cost of producing these shadow appears to have been part of his "life-fire," or soul. The shadow is specifically described as having the shape Stannis supporting this. Whether this applies to other types of magic — specifically blood magic or fire magic — is less clear but shadow magic very much appears to require the use of souls.
This type of exchange is also directly referenced in the story of the Night's King provided by Old Nan:
A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well. (Credit to u/DigLost5791 for this reference.)Bran, ASOS
Stannis is described by Davos afterward as follows:
The look of him was a shock. He seemed ten years older than the man that Davos had left at Storm’s End when he set sail for the Blackwater and the battle that would be their undoing. The king’s close-cropped beard was spiderwebbed with grey hairs, and he had dropped two stone or more of weight. He had never been a fleshy man, but now the bones moved beneath his skin like spears, fighting to cut free. Even his crown seemed too large for his head. His eyes were blue pits lost in deep hollows, and the shape of a skull could be seen beneath his face.Davos, ASOS
Asha later describes Stannis as appearing life a "man with one foot in the grave."
What little flesh he’d carried on his tall, spare frame at Deepwood Motte had melted away during the march. The shape of his skull could be seen under his skin, and his jaw was clenched so hard Asha feared his teeth might shatter.Asha, ADWD
These descriptions seem appropriate for a character that has lost part of their "life-fire" or soul.
Throughout the series Stannis is forced to make a series of increasingly difficult decisions. The most significant of these decisions regards the fate of his nephew, Eric Storm. Melisandre repeatedly urges him to "give [her] the boy," presumably to be burned, but is rebuffed by Stannis.
“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning… burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?” The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing.Davos, ASOS
"…what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”
“Everything,” said Davos, softly.
Is the life of this bastard boy worth the lives of millions that would die if the Others break through the Wall? Making a deal with the devil and literally selling his soul in pursuit of some greater good seems very appropriate for his character, thematically. The description of his flesh turning to ash in this vision is representative also supports this interpretation.
3. blood and fire magic
As opposed to the creation of the shadows described above, we are also provided an example of so-called blood magic in the leech burning ritual.“Give me the boy, Your Grace. It is the surer way. The better way. Give me the boy and I shall wake the stone dragon.”Davos, ASOS
...
Melisandre bowed her head stiffly, and said, “As my king commands.” Reaching up her left sleeve with her right hand, she flung a handful of powder into the brazier. The coals roared. As pale flames writhed atop them, the red woman retrieved the silver dish and brought it to the king. Davos watched her lift the lid. Beneath were three large black leeches, fat with blood. The boy’s blood, Davos knew. A king’s blood. Stannis stretched forth a hand, and his fingers closed around one of the leeches.
“Say the name,” Melisandre commanded.
Following this ritual all of the mentioned individuals do die but do so as the part of separate conspiracies (e.g., Robb Stark is betrayed by the Freys and Boltons, Joffrey Baratheon by Littlefinger and the Tyrells, etc.) which were already in place. It is left intentionally ambiguous by the author but it does not appear that the ritual meaningfully contributed to their deaths.
The creation of the shadows is said by Melisandre to have required part of Stannis' "life-fire" or soul. Could it be that the leech burning ritual was unsuccessful because blood alone is not sufficient as a sacrifice?
These forms of magic are frequently described in the community as "shadow magic" and "blood magic." These concepts — "fire and blood" and "flame and shadow" — are highly associated with one another in the text:
“Shadow?" Davos felt his flesh prickling. "A shadow is a thing of darkness."Davos, ACOK
”You are more ignorant than a child, ser knight. There are no shadows in the dark. Shadows are the servants of light, the children of fire. The brightest flame casts the darkest shadows."
I speculate that these are different expressions of the same concept; that all of these fall under the general umbrella of fire magic and share common principles. "Fire consumes and in the end there's nothing left."
4. dancing shadows
The tent was aglow with the light of braziers within. Through the blood-spattered sandsilk, she glimpsed shadows moving.Daenerys, AGOT
Mirri Maz Duur was dancing, and not alone.
...
No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see?
Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.
“The Lamb Woman knows the secrets of the birthing bed,” Irri said. “She said so, I heard her.”
“Yes,” Doreah agreed, “I heard her too.”
No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! She screamed. The dancers!
Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.
The introduction of shadow magic in the series is provided above with Mirri Max Duur. Following this ritual Drogo is described as a lifeless husk:
"He seems to like the warmth, Princess," Ser Jorah said. "His eyes follow the sun, though he does not see it. He can walk after a fashion. He will go where you lead him, but no farther. He will eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you dribble water on his lips."Daenerys, AGOT
It has previously been speculated that Mirri "reverse skin-changed" Drogo (e.g., "strength of the mount go into the rider, strength of the beast go into the man."). The description provided is less consistent with a horse soul inhabiting a human body than it is with the complete or near-complete absence of a soul. It appears more likely in retrospect that Mirri sacrificed part of Drogo's soul to summon the shadows and likely as a means to kill Daenerys' unborn child.
“The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust."Daenerys, AGOT
5. reanimation
If "only death can pay for life" and souls are used as a form of magical currency how does one explain the reanimation or resurrection process?There is a paucity of information on the reanimation of the dead in the series. The resurrection of Beric Dondarrion, for example, appears to be different in fundamental ways from that of the wights or Cold Hands. (We are potentially given a point-of-view account of this process if you accept that Victarion died in ADWD.)
“Thoros, how many times have you brought me back now?”There is no immediately identifiable magical cost for these "kisses of life," at least at first glance. Thoros later tells us that he breathed part of his "flames" or soul into Beric:
The red priest bowed his head. “It is R’hllor who brings you back, my lord. The Lord of Light. I am only his instrument.”
“How many times?” Lord Beric insisted.
“Six,” Thoros said reluctantly.
“And each time is harder. You have grown reckless, my lord. Is death so very sweet?”
Arya, ASOS
“That first time, his lordship had a hole right through him and blood in his mouth, I knew there was no hope. So when his poor torn chest stopped moving, I gave him the good god's own kiss to send him on his way. I filled my mouth with fire and breathed the flames inside him, down his throat to lungs and heart and soul. The last kiss it is called, and many a time I saw the old priests bestow it on the Lord's servants as they died." (Credit to u/watchersontheweb for providing this quote in the initial thread.)Arya, ASOS
Thoros is also described as appearing very different after performing this ritual several times in a way that is not entirely dissimilar to the changes in Stannis’ appearance referenced above.
“Here’s the wizard, skinny squirrel. You’ll get your answers now.”Arya, ASOS
He pointed toward the fire, where Tom Sevenstrings stood talking to a tall thin man with oddments of old armor buckled on over his ratty pink robes. That can’t be Thoros of Myr. Arya remembered the red priest as fat, with a smooth face and a shiny bald head. This man had a droopy face and a full head of shaggy grey hair.
...
“Thoros of Myr. You used to shave your head.”
“To betoken a humble heart, but in truth my heart was vain. Besides, I lost my razor in the woods.” The priest slapped his belly. “I am less than I was, but more. A year in the wild will melt the flesh off a man. Would that I could find a tailor to take in my skin. I might look young again, and pretty maids would shower me with kisses.”
Thoros attributes these changes to his renewed devotion to the Red God and spending "a year in the wild" as above although he is not exactly forthcoming with Arya about the resurrection process. It is also likely that he does not entirely understand what specifically is being exchanged here.
Later he describes Beric giving the "kiss of life" to the corpse of Catelyn Stark:
“The Freys slashed her throat from ear to ear. When we found her by the river she was three days dead. Harwin begged me to give her the kiss of life, but it had been too long. I would not do it, so Lord Beric put his lips to hers instead, and the flame of life passed from him to her. And… she rose. May the Lord of Light protect us. She rose.”Brienne, AFFC
Notably, this process produces a reanimated Catelyn (a.k.a. Lady Stoneheart). The soul of Beric, or at least whatever is left of his soul at this point in the series, is consumed in order to resurrect Catelyn and not transferred.
6. cold shadows (wild speculation)
The terms "white shadows," "pale shadows," and "cold shadows" are repeated used to describe the Others. The Others are also highly associated with ghosts — the spirits or souls of the dead bound to the earth. (The forrest in which they are introduced is literally called the Haunted Forrest.)The Others made no sound.Prologue, AGOT
Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen, after all?
“Will, where are you?” Ser Waymar called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?” It was cold.
Shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch. His face pressed hard against the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet, sticky sap on his cheek. A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took. Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. ...
The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.
This is again highly speculative but it seems reasonable to consider that these cold shadows are not "ice demons" or "ice zombies" but are in fact ghosts, the spirits or souls of men that are bound to the earth through magic by the Children of the Forest. (The textual evidence of the creation of the Others by the Children has previously been discussed at length in the community in separate posts.) "Fire consumes, but cold preserves."
This would explain several of the unusual characteristics of the Others described by Tormund:
“Tormund,” Jon said, as they watched four old women pull a cartful of children toward the gate, “tell me of our foe. I would know all there is to know of the Others.”Jon, ADWD
The wildling rubbed his mouth. “Not here,” he mumbled, “not this side o’ your Wall.” The old man glanced uneasily toward the trees in their white mantles. “They’re never far, you know. They won’t come out by day, not when that old sun’s shining, but don’t think that means they went away. Shadows never go away. Might be you don’t see them, but they’re always clinging to your heels.”
...
Tormund turned back.
"You know nothing. You killed a dead man, aye, I heard. Mance killed a hundred. A man can fight the dead, but when their masters come, when the white mists rise up… how do you fight a mist, crow? Shadows with teeth … air so cold it hurts to breathe, like a knife inside your chest … you do not know, you cannot know … can your sword cut cold?"
A reasonable interpretation of this information is that the Others are present during the day, at least in some capacity, and are only able to assume corporeal form at night.
The Others are also described as "going lightly upon the snow" which would also supports the idea that they are ghosts:
“The white walkers go lightly on the snow,” the ranger said. “You’ll find no prints to mark their passage.”Samwell, ASOS
7. conclusions
This highly speculative theory attempts to reconcile several seemingly disparate concepts in the series related to magic, namely the actual nature of magical sacrifice ("only death can pay for life") and shadows or shadow magic. More specifically, I suggest that souls are the primary magical currency and can be consumed using fire magic to summon shadows, create glamours, etc. I also speculate that similar processes took place during Mirri Maz Duur's shadow-binding ritual in AGOT and during the repeated resurrections of Berric Dondarrion in ASOS. I further suggest that the Others are ghosts, the spirits or souls of the dead bound to the earth.EDIT: edited several times to address formatting issues
2024.05.13 22:37 C3PH4L0SP0R1N (spoilers extended) "A Shadow on the Soul"
This is an expansion of a recent post and also incorporates some ideas from this theory (by u/ndependent-Design17). Throughout the series the reader is repeatedly reminded that "only death can pay for life" — that magic, especially powerful magic, comes at great cost.
This phrase or variations of this phrase are repeated by Melisandre, Mirri, etc. at various points throughout the series. That which follows is a highly speculative theory on the nature of the cost of magic in the series. Specifically, that souls are central to the exercise of magic and can be used as magic currency.
What happens after we die? Is there some part of us that lives on or do we simply cease to exist. These are fundamental questions that are essentially unanswerable in life but not in ASOIAF. The reader is given a point-of-view account of death in the prologue of ADWD. After unsuccessfully attempting to steal the body of Thistle, a wildling spearwife, Varamyr dies and briefly becomes a disembodied consciousness:
Afterward his "spirit," or soul, is eventually transferred into a body of wolf and he begins his second life. This event, and the process of skin-changing more generally, appears to involve projection or transfer of a soul from one body into another. The process of projecting or transferring souls to either animal vessels or the weirwoods is central to the magic of the Children of the Forest.
After death a "shadow on the soul" of the Singers remain in the crows. The soul of Orell is also described as living on in the body of his eagle after his death.
This process appears to take two forms: the soul can be temporarily projected from one body into another (e.g., as happens when Bran skin-changes into Hodor) or can be permanently transferred as is described in the separate examples above.
These transferred souls merge with their recipient, at least to some degree, and may decay over time:
Bran is provided with similar warnings about the danger of spending too much time in Summer's skin by Jojen.
The Bran that appears to Jon-Ghost in the vision in ACOK is also likely the lingering soul of a non-contemporary Bran, contained in the weirwoods and communicating from the future.
There is more information about this in the Time Traveling Bran series. Briefly, the version of Bran in this vision does not appear to be contemporaneous because likes the dark, is able to open Jon's third eye, smells of death, etc. (This is well outside of the scope of this theory however.)
To answer this let us examine one of the most concrete example of magic in the series, the use or exchange of Stannis Baratheon's "life-fire" in order for Melisandre to manifest the shadows used to kill Renly Baratheon and Courtney Penrose.
According to this explanation, the cost of producing these shadow appears to have been part of his "life-fire," or soul. The shadow is specifically described as having the shape Stannis supporting this. Whether this applies to other types of magic — specifically blood magic or fire magic — is less clear but shadow magic very much appears to require the use of souls.
This type of exchange is also directly referenced in the story of the Night's King provided by Old Nan:
Stannis is described by Davos afterward as follows:
Asha later describes Stannis as appearing life a "man with one foot in the grave."
These descriptions seem appropriate for a character that has lost part of their "life-fire" or soul.
Throughout the series Stannis is forced to make a series of increasingly difficult decisions. The most significant of these decisions regards the fate of his nephew, Eric Storm. Melisandre repeatedly urges him to "give [her] the boy," presumably to be burned, but is rebuffed by Stannis.
Is the life of this bastard boy worth the lives of millions that would die if the Others break through the Wall? Making a deal with the devil and literally selling his soul in pursuit of some greater good seems very appropriate for his character, thematically. The description of his flesh turning to ash in this vision is representative also supports this interpretation.
Following this ritual all of the mentioned individuals do die but do so as the part of separate conspiracies (e.g., Robb Stark is betrayed by the Freys and Boltons, Joffrey Baratheon by Littlefinger and the Tyrells, etc.) which were already in place. It is left intentionally ambiguous by the author but it does not appear that the ritual meaningfully contributed to their deaths.
The creation of the shadows is said by Melisandre to have required part of Stannis' "life-fire" or soul. Could it be that the leech burning ritual was unsuccessful because blood alone is not sufficient as a sacrifice?
These forms of magic are frequently described in the community as "shadow magic" and "blood magic." These concepts — "fire and blood" and "flame and shadow" — are highly associated with one another in the text:
I speculate that these are different expressions of the same concept; that all of these fall under the general umbrella of fire magic and share common principles. "Fire consumes and in the end there's nothing left."
The introduction of shadow magic in the series is provided above with Mirri Max Duur. Following this ritual Drogo is described as a lifeless husk:
It has previously been speculated that Mirri "reverse skin-changed" Drogo (e.g., "strength of the mount go into the rider, strength of the beast go into the man."). The description provided is less consistent with a horse soul inhabiting a human body than it is with the complete or near-complete absence of a soul. It appears more likely in retrospect that Mirri sacrificed part of Drogo's soul to summon the shadows and likely as a means to kill Daenerys' unborn child.
There is a paucity of information on the reanimation of the dead in the series. The resurrection of Beric Dondarrion, for example, appears to be different in fundamental ways from that of the wights or Cold Hands. (We are potentially given a point-of-view account of this process if you accept that Victarion died in ADWD.)
Thoros is also described as appearing very different after performing this ritual several times in a way that is not entirely dissimilar to the changes in Stannis’ appearance referenced above.
Thoros attributes these changes to his renewed devotion to the Red God and spending "a year in the wild" as above although he is not exactly forthcoming with Arya about the resurrection process. It is also likely that he does not entirely understand what specifically is being exchanged here.
Later he describes Beric giving the "kiss of life" to the corpse of Catelyn Stark:
Notably, this process produces a reanimated Catelyn (a.k.a. Lady Stoneheart). The soul of Beric, or at least whatever is left of his soul at this point in the series, is consumed in order to resurrect Catelyn and not transferred.
This is again highly speculative but it seems reasonable to consider that these cold shadows are not "ice demons" or "ice zombies" but are in fact ghosts, the spirits or souls of men that are bound to the earth through magic by the Children of the Forest. (The textual evidence of the creation of the Others by the Children is linked in a separate post here.) "Fire consumes, but cold preserves."
This would explain several of the unusual characteristics of the Others described by Tormund:
A reasonable interpretation of this information is that the Others are present during the day, at least in some capacity, and are only able to assume corporeal form at night.
The Others are also described as "going lightly upon the snow" which would also supports the idea that they are ghosts:
EDIT: edited several times to address formatting issues
submitted by C3PH4L0SP0R1N to asoiaf [link] [comments]
"Only death can pay for life, my lord. A great gift requires a great sacrifice.”Davos, ASOS
This phrase or variations of this phrase are repeated by Melisandre, Mirri, etc. at various points throughout the series. That which follows is a highly speculative theory on the nature of the cost of magic in the series. Specifically, that souls are central to the exercise of magic and can be used as magic currency.
1. establishing the concept of the soul
Oh, to be sure, there is much we do not understand. The years pass in their hundreds and their thousands, and what does any man see of life but a few summers, a few winters? We look at mountains and call them eternal, and so they seem… but in the course of time, mountains rise and fall, rivers change their courses, stars fall from the sky, and great cities sink beneath the sea. Even gods die, we think. Everything changes.Bran, AGOT
What happens after we die? Is there some part of us that lives on or do we simply cease to exist. These are fundamental questions that are essentially unanswerable in life but not in ASOIAF. The reader is given a point-of-view account of death in the prologue of ADWD. After unsuccessfully attempting to steal the body of Thistle, a wildling spearwife, Varamyr dies and briefly becomes a disembodied consciousness:
The white world turned and fell away. For a moment it was as if he were inside the weirwood, gazing out through carved red eyes as a dying man twitched feebly on the ground and a madwoman danced blind and bloody underneath the moon, weeping red tears and ripping at her clothes. Then both were gone and he was rising, melting, his spirit borne on some cold wind. He was in the snow and in the clouds, he was a sparrow, a squirrel, an oak. A horned owl flew silently between his trees, hunting a hare; Varamyr was inside the owl, inside the hare, inside the trees. Deep below the frozen ground, earthworms burrowed blindly in the dark, and he was them as well. I am the wood, and everything that’s in it, he thought, exulting.Prologue, ADWD
Afterward his "spirit," or soul, is eventually transferred into a body of wolf and he begins his second life. This event, and the process of skin-changing more generally, appears to involve projection or transfer of a soul from one body into another. The process of projecting or transferring souls to either animal vessels or the weirwoods is central to the magic of the Children of the Forest.
“Someone else was in the raven,” he told Lord Brynden, once he had returned to his own skin. “Some girl. I felt her.”Bran, ADWD
“A woman, of those who sing the song of earth,” his teacher said. “Long dead, yet a part of her remains, just as a part of you would remain in Summer if your boy’s flesh were to die upon the morrow. A shadow on the soul. She will not harm you.”
"Do all the birds have singers in them?"
“All,” Lord Brynden said.
After death a "shadow on the soul" of the Singers remain in the crows. The soul of Orell is also described as living on in the body of his eagle after his death.
This process appears to take two forms: the soul can be temporarily projected from one body into another (e.g., as happens when Bran skin-changes into Hodor) or can be permanently transferred as is described in the separate examples above.
These transferred souls merge with their recipient, at least to some degree, and may decay over time:
"The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you’re part of him. Both of you will change.”Prologue, ADWD
Other beasts were best left alone, the hunter had declared. Cats were vain and cruel, always ready to turn on you. Elk and deer were prey; wear their skins too long, and even the bravest man became a coward. Bears, boars, badgers, weasels … Haggon did not hold with such. “Some skins you never want to wear, boy. You won’t like what you’d become.” Birds were the worst, to hear him tell it. “Men were not meant to leave the earth. Spend too much time in the clouds and you never want to come back down again.
...
"They say you forget," Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death.
"When the man's flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains."
Bran is provided with similar warnings about the danger of spending too much time in Summer's skin by Jojen.
The Bran that appears to Jon-Ghost in the vision in ACOK is also likely the lingering soul of a non-contemporary Bran, contained in the weirwoods and communicating from the future.
The weirwood had his brother’s face. Had his brother always had three eyes?Jon, ACOK
Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow.
He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs.
"Don’t be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this." And the tree reached down and touched him.
There is more information about this in the Time Traveling Bran series. Briefly, the version of Bran in this vision does not appear to be contemporaneous because likes the dark, is able to open Jon's third eye, smells of death, etc. (This is well outside of the scope of this theory however.)
2. shadow magic requires souls
As above the reader is repeatedly reminded throughout the series that "only death can pay for life." What is specifically being sacrificed, though? Is the magic being fueled by the blood of the sacrificed or by something else?To answer this let us examine one of the most concrete example of magic in the series, the use or exchange of Stannis Baratheon's "life-fire" in order for Melisandre to manifest the shadows used to kill Renly Baratheon and Courtney Penrose.
Shadows only live when given birth by light, and the king's fires burn so low I dare not draw off any more to make another son. It might well kill him."Davos, ASOS
Melisandre moved closer.
"With another man, though... a man whose flames still burn hot and high... if you truly wish to serve your king's cause, come to my chamber one night. I could give you pleasure such as you have never known, and with your life-fire I could make..."
According to this explanation, the cost of producing these shadow appears to have been part of his "life-fire," or soul. The shadow is specifically described as having the shape Stannis supporting this. Whether this applies to other types of magic — specifically blood magic or fire magic — is less clear but shadow magic very much appears to require the use of souls.
This type of exchange is also directly referenced in the story of the Night's King provided by Old Nan:
A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well. (Credit to u/DigLost5791 for this reference.)Bran, ASOS
Stannis is described by Davos afterward as follows:
The look of him was a shock. He seemed ten years older than the man that Davos had left at Storm’s End when he set sail for the Blackwater and the battle that would be their undoing. The king’s close-cropped beard was spiderwebbed with grey hairs, and he had dropped two stone or more of weight. He had never been a fleshy man, but now the bones moved beneath his skin like spears, fighting to cut free. Even his crown seemed too large for his head. His eyes were blue pits lost in deep hollows, and the shape of a skull could be seen beneath his face.Davos, ASOS
Asha later describes Stannis as appearing life a "man with one foot in the grave."
What little flesh he’d carried on his tall, spare frame at Deepwood Motte had melted away during the march. The shape of his skull could be seen under his skin, and his jaw was clenched so hard Asha feared his teeth might shatter.Asha, ADWD
These descriptions seem appropriate for a character that has lost part of their "life-fire" or soul.
Throughout the series Stannis is forced to make a series of increasingly difficult decisions. The most significant of these decisions regards the fate of his nephew, Eric Storm. Melisandre repeatedly urges him to "give [her] the boy," presumably to be burned, but is rebuffed by Stannis.
“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning… burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?” The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing.Davos, ASOS
"…what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”
“Everything,” said Davos, softly.
Is the life of this bastard boy worth the lives of millions that would die if the Others break through the Wall? Making a deal with the devil and literally selling his soul in pursuit of some greater good seems very appropriate for his character, thematically. The description of his flesh turning to ash in this vision is representative also supports this interpretation.
3. blood and fire magic
As opposed to the creation of the shadows described above, we are also provided an example of so-called blood magic in the leech burning ritual.“Give me the boy, Your Grace. It is the surer way. The better way. Give me the boy and I shall wake the stone dragon.”Davos, ASOS
...
Melisandre bowed her head stiffly, and said, “As my king commands.” Reaching up her left sleeve with her right hand, she flung a handful of powder into the brazier. The coals roared. As pale flames writhed atop them, the red woman retrieved the silver dish and brought it to the king. Davos watched her lift the lid. Beneath were three large black leeches, fat with blood. The boy’s blood, Davos knew. A king’s blood. Stannis stretched forth a hand, and his fingers closed around one of the leeches.
“Say the name,” Melisandre commanded.
Following this ritual all of the mentioned individuals do die but do so as the part of separate conspiracies (e.g., Robb Stark is betrayed by the Freys and Boltons, Joffrey Baratheon by Littlefinger and the Tyrells, etc.) which were already in place. It is left intentionally ambiguous by the author but it does not appear that the ritual meaningfully contributed to their deaths.
The creation of the shadows is said by Melisandre to have required part of Stannis' "life-fire" or soul. Could it be that the leech burning ritual was unsuccessful because blood alone is not sufficient as a sacrifice?
These forms of magic are frequently described in the community as "shadow magic" and "blood magic." These concepts — "fire and blood" and "flame and shadow" — are highly associated with one another in the text:
“Shadow?" Davos felt his flesh prickling. "A shadow is a thing of darkness."Davos, ACOK
”You are more ignorant than a child, ser knight. There are no shadows in the dark. Shadows are the servants of light, the children of fire. The brightest flame casts the darkest shadows."
I speculate that these are different expressions of the same concept; that all of these fall under the general umbrella of fire magic and share common principles. "Fire consumes and in the end there's nothing left."
4. dancing shadows
The tent was aglow with the light of braziers within. Through the blood-spattered sandsilk, she glimpsed shadows moving.Daenerys, AGOT
Mirri Maz Duur was dancing, and not alone.
...
No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see?
Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.
“The Lamb Woman knows the secrets of the birthing bed,” Irri said. “She said so, I heard her.”
“Yes,” Doreah agreed, “I heard her too.”
No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! She screamed. The dancers!
Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.
The introduction of shadow magic in the series is provided above with Mirri Max Duur. Following this ritual Drogo is described as a lifeless husk:
"He seems to like the warmth, Princess," Ser Jorah said. "His eyes follow the sun, though he does not see it. He can walk after a fashion. He will go where you lead him, but no farther. He will eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you dribble water on his lips."Daenerys, AGOT
It has previously been speculated that Mirri "reverse skin-changed" Drogo (e.g., "strength of the mount go into the rider, strength of the beast go into the man."). The description provided is less consistent with a horse soul inhabiting a human body than it is with the complete or near-complete absence of a soul. It appears more likely in retrospect that Mirri sacrificed part of Drogo's soul to summon the shadows and likely as a means to kill Daenerys' unborn child.
“The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust."Daenerys, AGOT
5. reanimation
If "only death can pay for life" and souls are used as a form of magical currency how does one explain the reanimation or resurrection process?There is a paucity of information on the reanimation of the dead in the series. The resurrection of Beric Dondarrion, for example, appears to be different in fundamental ways from that of the wights or Cold Hands. (We are potentially given a point-of-view account of this process if you accept that Victarion died in ADWD.)
“Thoros, how many times have you brought me back now?”There is no immediately identifiable magical cost for these "kisses of life," at least at first glance. Thoros later tells us that he breathed part of his "flames" or soul into Beric:
The red priest bowed his head. “It is R’hllor who brings you back, my lord. The Lord of Light. I am only his instrument.”
“How many times?” Lord Beric insisted.
“Six,” Thoros said reluctantly.
“And each time is harder. You have grown reckless, my lord. Is death so very sweet?”
Arya, ASOS
“That first time, his lordship had a hole right through him and blood in his mouth, I knew there was no hope. So when his poor torn chest stopped moving, I gave him the good god's own kiss to send him on his way. I filled my mouth with fire and breathed the flames inside him, down his throat to lungs and heart and soul. The last kiss it is called, and many a time I saw the old priests bestow it on the Lord's servants as they died." (Credit to u/watchersontheweb for providing this quote in the initial thread.)Arya, ASOS
Thoros is also described as appearing very different after performing this ritual several times in a way that is not entirely dissimilar to the changes in Stannis’ appearance referenced above.
“Here’s the wizard, skinny squirrel. You’ll get your answers now.”Arya, ASOS
He pointed toward the fire, where Tom Sevenstrings stood talking to a tall thin man with oddments of old armor buckled on over his ratty pink robes. That can’t be Thoros of Myr. Arya remembered the red priest as fat, with a smooth face and a shiny bald head. This man had a droopy face and a full head of shaggy grey hair.
...
“Thoros of Myr. You used to shave your head.”
“To betoken a humble heart, but in truth my heart was vain. Besides, I lost my razor in the woods.” The priest slapped his belly. “I am less than I was, but more. A year in the wild will melt the flesh off a man. Would that I could find a tailor to take in my skin. I might look young again, and pretty maids would shower me with kisses.”
Thoros attributes these changes to his renewed devotion to the Red God and spending "a year in the wild" as above although he is not exactly forthcoming with Arya about the resurrection process. It is also likely that he does not entirely understand what specifically is being exchanged here.
Later he describes Beric giving the "kiss of life" to the corpse of Catelyn Stark:
“The Freys slashed her throat from ear to ear. When we found her by the river she was three days dead. Harwin begged me to give her the kiss of life, but it had been too long. I would not do it, so Lord Beric put his lips to hers instead, and the flame of life passed from him to her. And… she rose. May the Lord of Light protect us. She rose.”Brienne, AFFC
Notably, this process produces a reanimated Catelyn (a.k.a. Lady Stoneheart). The soul of Beric, or at least whatever is left of his soul at this point in the series, is consumed in order to resurrect Catelyn and not transferred.
6. cold shadows (wild speculation)
The terms "white shadows," "pale shadows," and "cold shadows" are repeated used to describe the Others. The Others are also highly associated with ghosts — the spirits or souls of the dead bound to the earth. (The forrest in which they are introduced is literally called the Haunted Forrest.)The Others made no sound.Prologue, AGOT
Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen, after all?
“Will, where are you?” Ser Waymar called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?” It was cold.
Shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch. His face pressed hard against the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet, sticky sap on his cheek. A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took. Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. ...
The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.
This is again highly speculative but it seems reasonable to consider that these cold shadows are not "ice demons" or "ice zombies" but are in fact ghosts, the spirits or souls of men that are bound to the earth through magic by the Children of the Forest. (The textual evidence of the creation of the Others by the Children is linked in a separate post here.) "Fire consumes, but cold preserves."
This would explain several of the unusual characteristics of the Others described by Tormund:
“Tormund,” Jon said, as they watched four old women pull a cartful of children toward the gate, “tell me of our foe. I would know all there is to know of the Others.”Jon, ADWD
The wildling rubbed his mouth. “Not here,” he mumbled, “not this side o’ your Wall.” The old man glanced uneasily toward the trees in their white mantles. “They’re never far, you know. They won’t come out by day, not when that old sun’s shining, but don’t think that means they went away. Shadows never go away. Might be you don’t see them, but they’re always clinging to your heels.”
...
Tormund turned back.
"You know nothing. You killed a dead man, aye, I heard. Mance killed a hundred. A man can fight the dead, but when their masters come, when the white mists rise up… how do you fight a mist, crow? Shadows with teeth … air so cold it hurts to breathe, like a knife inside your chest … you do not know, you cannot know … can your sword cut cold?"
A reasonable interpretation of this information is that the Others are present during the day, at least in some capacity, and are only able to assume corporeal form at night.
The Others are also described as "going lightly upon the snow" which would also supports the idea that they are ghosts:
“The white walkers go lightly on the snow,” the ranger said. “You’ll find no prints to mark their passage.”Samwell, ASOS
7. conclusions
This highly speculative theory attempts to reconcile several seemingly disparate concepts in the series related to magic, namely the actual nature of magical sacrifice ("only death can pay for life") and shadows or shadow magic. More specifically, I suggest that souls are the primary magical currency and can be consumed using fire magic to summon shadows, create glamours, etc. I also speculate that similar processes took place during Mirri Maz Duur's shadow-binding ritual in AGOT and during the repeated resurrections of Berric Dondarrion in ASOS. I further suggest that the Others are ghosts, the spirits or souls of the dead bound to the earth.EDIT: edited several times to address formatting issues
2024.05.13 20:01 DrunkDracula1897 WHAT WE DO LEAVES A MARK
I joined a carpool once. There were four of us.
Four mid-level managers who worked at the same real estate development company, and every one of us had tough commutes to work. There was me, and there was Ken, Pete, and Ryan. Before I joined the carpool, my commute was well over an hour. My sunrises were spent alone, an aggravating and mindless stop-and-go monotony fueled by caffeine. And my sunsets were a blinking red lightshow of aggravation the entire way home. Constant traffic. I remember I used to turn off my phone, turn off the radio, and drive in silence. I don’t do that anymore, but when I did, I remember liking the quiet. Driving that commute every day gave me time. Time to think about the things you’re doing, the things you’re going to do, and the things you’ve done. I am especially used to thinking about the things I’ve done. How I once had power over them, but now I don’t. They are permanently gouged in time; they leave marks. You better make peace with that. Because everything we do, we do not do alone. It is shared. Shared with others. With a God? With Fate? I don’t know. But I now know what I never thought about… that what we do, everything we do, is witnessed.
Ken Hallwell had the carpool idea and persuaded me to sign up. He spouted calculations about gas mileage, time saved, who would drive when, and all the other little details of starting a carpool group. Ken did not talk much, but when he talked about this carpool idea, he did. Maybe he wasn’t like me. Maybe he didn’t want to drive alone. We each took our turns driving, picking up the other three, weaving our way to work, sipping coffee, and talking sports, politics, office drama, project deadlines, and the varied minutiae that make up the forty-hour work week. It worked well, the way managers like things to work well. Especially Ken. He kept us on time. Doing the right things. He was one of those guys. Every group needs one. A likable guy. Organized. I always meant to invite Ken Halwell over to my house to meet my family. He was my age, and I knew he lived alone, had no kids, and never married. He had this scar that ran down the left side of his scalp to the top of his ear. You could see it because hair wouldn’t or couldn’t grow there. Something must have really gouged him.
I always meant to get to know more about Ken. But I never did.
It was a Thursday. I remember because it was Halloween. And because the next morning was a Friday, and it would have been my turn to drive. And Friday mornings are easy. Well, easier. But that night was Thursday, the drive from work to home. Pete spent most of the commute talking from the back seat about how Legal had grilled him on the land deal. Pete claimed to hate being grilled by legal, but I think he liked it because he loved telling lawyers how little they knew about land deals. Pete was dropped off first, and his kids met him at the curb, tugging at him to hurry up so they could trick or treat. Next was Ryan. Ken usually had to wake him up. Ryan was a napper. I’ve always been jealous of nappers. People who can just fall asleep anywhere. Kids fighting, game on, wife yapping on the phone, and nappers like Ryan pay no mind, dozing away through it all. It’s never been me. I’ve always been a light sleeper, noticing any sound or noise at night. Noises, which were always nothing, but left me lying in bed thinking of worst-case scenarios—horrible thoughts. Eventually, sleep would return. I have never slept great, and now I probably never will.
Ryan stepped out of the car, and Ken eased us back into the drive and onto the freeway for the seven miles to my place and then another four to his. By this time, the sun had set and been lost from view for over an hour. We sat quietly for a few minutes, and I stared up at the late evening sky. From a freeway, a packed freeway, the evening sky always has this color that changes, and I remember hating it. I used to watch it when I drove alone. It is a darkening grey like a giant ash cloud falling over the day. That night it crept past the sun, trying to take the sky into darkness. Maybe it was impatient for Halloween, that one night when the line between the living and the dead blurs and breaks. I remember feeling glad to be riding in that car, among those thousands of headlights and thousands of brake lights, thinking, what could happen here?
Traffic was stopped. Five rows of cars, trucks, and buses stretched ahead to the horizon, brake lights arcing on and off as we all inched forward. I was beginning to tell Ken about the costume my son and I made, ruined, and finally purchased when we suddenly lurched forward hard. Ken had hit the brakes to avoid a station wagon moving into our lane. A station wagon? I remember thinking you don’t see many of those anymore. Hardly any at all. It came from our left and either didn’t see us or didn’t care. I had never heard Ken swear, but I expected him to. If it were me, I would have. I probably would have even honked at that station wagon. But to my surprise, Ken just stared at it. The station wagon was pale white with fake wood paneling on the sides and back. It had one of those large rear windows facing us, the kind the driver could roll up or down to let anything in or out. The license plate was black. One of those black California plates I thought they had discontinued a long time ago, like station wagons. Traffic started moving again, slowly. But the station wagon didn’t move. It just sat there, brake lights shining red. When it moved, it seemed to roll, not roll, but glide. It glided forward, and we followed it.
“Jerk”, I said. But Ken was silent.
Eventually, he sighed, “Yeah….Jerk.”
I remember thinking that Ken was getting quiet. Ken had always been a quiet guy, but not this quiet. He was always looking at you, nodding, letting out a laugh or a short reply, and always following a conversation. Listening. But he wasn’t doing that now; he was staring at that car in front of us like he knew something. Like he knew the car. Or the driver. Something.
“Ken, you know this guy?” I asked.
He answered me, but I remember his voice cracking as he replied, “I — I think I do.”
He stared straight ahead, focusing. Traffic was still slow, but it was starting to pick up now and then. Whenever it did, the distance between our car and the station wagon widened, leaving space for a car to merge in. Still, whenever that happened, Ken would rev up the minivan and close the distance like he didn’t want any other car to get between us and that station wagon. We never seemed to be more than a few feet from the back of it, with Ken continuing to stare at it. Our lane stopped. The station wagon stopped, and we stopped. Then, in front of us, that long rear window started to roll down, inch by inch, like a glass curtain. I seem to remember wishing it wouldn’t, but it was. It was rolling down, and it stopped, and we could see inside. Nothing. There was nothing inside. Not nothing as in it was empty, but nothing as in it was a deep black. Devoid of light. You couldn’t see in the car; you couldn’t see through the car, to the front window, or the driver, or the traffic beyond. There was just nothing.
HONK. Traffic had started to move a little. Cars on both lanes on either side were passing us, and a couple of the cars behind us started to honk, their drivers aggravated. But we didn’t move. Ken didn’t move. I pulled my eyes away from the window to him. He was craning forward, glaring into that car, into that open window. “Ken?” I said. He gasped like he had forgotten to breathe and then slowly turned his head to me. There were tears welling up in his eyes, and he was shaking like he was cold and like he couldn’t stop shaking if he tried.
His head turned to me, but his eyes stayed tuned on that car when he broke a whisper, stuttering as he asked me, “Can you — Can you see them?” I followed his gaze back to that open window and saw nothing but that curtain of black in the middle of that station wagon, in the middle of our lane, in the middle of this freeway. A freeway that was starting to open up to move. Cars passed us, honking, picking up speed. “See what?” I asked, staring deep into that window in case I missed something. I peered at it intently. I remember having a feeling wash over me like I was not sitting in Ken’s minivan but standing at the edge of a hole, staring into emptiness. The hole seemed empty, but I knew something was in it, something that maybe I put down there.
“They found me,” Ken said, his voice cracking.
HONNKKKK. I jumped at the sound of the cars behind us, around us. They were really moving now, speeding by on each side. Then Ken opened his door. “Ken!” He seemed not even to know I was there. “Ken! Close the door!” He stepped out, and a moving van careened past him, less than a foot away, wind gusting into our car, horn blaring. “Ken!!” He leaned further out, and that’s when I reached for him; I reached for him, grabbed his wrist, and we locked eyes. As soon as we touched, in that very instant, I felt pain. Pain within me, inside me. Pain that was all mine, that had been there my entire life. My body ached from the outline of my skin to the organs inside me. I gasped and felt I would cry because I could now see into the back window of that car and see what Ken could see. Two small faces of two children were suddenly there, looking at me, each of them glaring at me. Two eyeless pale-white children whose tiny lipless mouths gaped open, forming holes of skin that cried forever. Behind them were two shadowy forms, one male and one female. The forms were reaching for the children with elongated limbs that contorted and stretched in ungodly ways, making sickening snapping sounds as they moved and reached. They seemed to be reaching for these child-things but could not touch them no matter how much they strained.
I screamed and felt Ken wrench away from me. He stepped outside the car into the rushing traffic and walked towards that station wagon. But I don’t think he walked; I think he was pulled. I called for him again, screaming into the rush and wind of the freeway and the cars when one clipped his driver's side door and snapped it off in a loud cracking metal sound, brakes screaming as it veered away onto the shoulder. I saw Ken stop at the driver's side window of the station wagon. He leaned forward, looked inside, and seemed to recognize whatever he saw in that car because his eyes glazed with tears. He slowly stood straight up, and in that instant, Ken Hallwell was struck by a passing charter bus, struck in a thunder of glass, teeth, blood, and metal that sprayed into the night air. I watched Ken’s body fly and thud into the road yards away. For just a second, it seemed his blank eyes met mine — -Then a sedan, avoiding the bus, braked hard and rear-ended the minivan I was in. I remember hearing adults screaming and children crying. Then, everything went dark.
Sixteen days later, I was in a hospital, and I was told two things: There was no station wagon that night. It was only a stalled car with a scared teenager inside. And the other thing was that Ken Hallwell was actually Keith Havers.
Ken/Keith was a suspect in a hit-and-run crash twenty-three years ago and five states away. The crash killed a husband, his wife, and their twin girls. The impact sent their vehicle off the road into a small creek, flipping it twice and crushing the two adults in their seats. An ignition cable had ignited a pool of gasoline, and the car — a pale white station wagon with wood paneling — began to burn in the creek bed with the family inside. Deputies found blood stains that didn’t belong to the family and one set of adult footprints near the crash site. The prints led away from that station wagon, from that family, and a second vehicle, a severely damaged pickup truck found on the road, idling, abandoned, and alone.
Now you know the two things I was told, but you should also know the two things I learned. Things the man I knew as Ken Hallwell held in his heart his entire tormented life.
We do not do anything alone.
What we do leaves a mark.
submitted by DrunkDracula1897 to scarystories [link] [comments]
Four mid-level managers who worked at the same real estate development company, and every one of us had tough commutes to work. There was me, and there was Ken, Pete, and Ryan. Before I joined the carpool, my commute was well over an hour. My sunrises were spent alone, an aggravating and mindless stop-and-go monotony fueled by caffeine. And my sunsets were a blinking red lightshow of aggravation the entire way home. Constant traffic. I remember I used to turn off my phone, turn off the radio, and drive in silence. I don’t do that anymore, but when I did, I remember liking the quiet. Driving that commute every day gave me time. Time to think about the things you’re doing, the things you’re going to do, and the things you’ve done. I am especially used to thinking about the things I’ve done. How I once had power over them, but now I don’t. They are permanently gouged in time; they leave marks. You better make peace with that. Because everything we do, we do not do alone. It is shared. Shared with others. With a God? With Fate? I don’t know. But I now know what I never thought about… that what we do, everything we do, is witnessed.
Ken Hallwell had the carpool idea and persuaded me to sign up. He spouted calculations about gas mileage, time saved, who would drive when, and all the other little details of starting a carpool group. Ken did not talk much, but when he talked about this carpool idea, he did. Maybe he wasn’t like me. Maybe he didn’t want to drive alone. We each took our turns driving, picking up the other three, weaving our way to work, sipping coffee, and talking sports, politics, office drama, project deadlines, and the varied minutiae that make up the forty-hour work week. It worked well, the way managers like things to work well. Especially Ken. He kept us on time. Doing the right things. He was one of those guys. Every group needs one. A likable guy. Organized. I always meant to invite Ken Halwell over to my house to meet my family. He was my age, and I knew he lived alone, had no kids, and never married. He had this scar that ran down the left side of his scalp to the top of his ear. You could see it because hair wouldn’t or couldn’t grow there. Something must have really gouged him.
I always meant to get to know more about Ken. But I never did.
It was a Thursday. I remember because it was Halloween. And because the next morning was a Friday, and it would have been my turn to drive. And Friday mornings are easy. Well, easier. But that night was Thursday, the drive from work to home. Pete spent most of the commute talking from the back seat about how Legal had grilled him on the land deal. Pete claimed to hate being grilled by legal, but I think he liked it because he loved telling lawyers how little they knew about land deals. Pete was dropped off first, and his kids met him at the curb, tugging at him to hurry up so they could trick or treat. Next was Ryan. Ken usually had to wake him up. Ryan was a napper. I’ve always been jealous of nappers. People who can just fall asleep anywhere. Kids fighting, game on, wife yapping on the phone, and nappers like Ryan pay no mind, dozing away through it all. It’s never been me. I’ve always been a light sleeper, noticing any sound or noise at night. Noises, which were always nothing, but left me lying in bed thinking of worst-case scenarios—horrible thoughts. Eventually, sleep would return. I have never slept great, and now I probably never will.
Ryan stepped out of the car, and Ken eased us back into the drive and onto the freeway for the seven miles to my place and then another four to his. By this time, the sun had set and been lost from view for over an hour. We sat quietly for a few minutes, and I stared up at the late evening sky. From a freeway, a packed freeway, the evening sky always has this color that changes, and I remember hating it. I used to watch it when I drove alone. It is a darkening grey like a giant ash cloud falling over the day. That night it crept past the sun, trying to take the sky into darkness. Maybe it was impatient for Halloween, that one night when the line between the living and the dead blurs and breaks. I remember feeling glad to be riding in that car, among those thousands of headlights and thousands of brake lights, thinking, what could happen here?
Traffic was stopped. Five rows of cars, trucks, and buses stretched ahead to the horizon, brake lights arcing on and off as we all inched forward. I was beginning to tell Ken about the costume my son and I made, ruined, and finally purchased when we suddenly lurched forward hard. Ken had hit the brakes to avoid a station wagon moving into our lane. A station wagon? I remember thinking you don’t see many of those anymore. Hardly any at all. It came from our left and either didn’t see us or didn’t care. I had never heard Ken swear, but I expected him to. If it were me, I would have. I probably would have even honked at that station wagon. But to my surprise, Ken just stared at it. The station wagon was pale white with fake wood paneling on the sides and back. It had one of those large rear windows facing us, the kind the driver could roll up or down to let anything in or out. The license plate was black. One of those black California plates I thought they had discontinued a long time ago, like station wagons. Traffic started moving again, slowly. But the station wagon didn’t move. It just sat there, brake lights shining red. When it moved, it seemed to roll, not roll, but glide. It glided forward, and we followed it.
“Jerk”, I said. But Ken was silent.
Eventually, he sighed, “Yeah….Jerk.”
I remember thinking that Ken was getting quiet. Ken had always been a quiet guy, but not this quiet. He was always looking at you, nodding, letting out a laugh or a short reply, and always following a conversation. Listening. But he wasn’t doing that now; he was staring at that car in front of us like he knew something. Like he knew the car. Or the driver. Something.
“Ken, you know this guy?” I asked.
He answered me, but I remember his voice cracking as he replied, “I — I think I do.”
He stared straight ahead, focusing. Traffic was still slow, but it was starting to pick up now and then. Whenever it did, the distance between our car and the station wagon widened, leaving space for a car to merge in. Still, whenever that happened, Ken would rev up the minivan and close the distance like he didn’t want any other car to get between us and that station wagon. We never seemed to be more than a few feet from the back of it, with Ken continuing to stare at it. Our lane stopped. The station wagon stopped, and we stopped. Then, in front of us, that long rear window started to roll down, inch by inch, like a glass curtain. I seem to remember wishing it wouldn’t, but it was. It was rolling down, and it stopped, and we could see inside. Nothing. There was nothing inside. Not nothing as in it was empty, but nothing as in it was a deep black. Devoid of light. You couldn’t see in the car; you couldn’t see through the car, to the front window, or the driver, or the traffic beyond. There was just nothing.
HONK. Traffic had started to move a little. Cars on both lanes on either side were passing us, and a couple of the cars behind us started to honk, their drivers aggravated. But we didn’t move. Ken didn’t move. I pulled my eyes away from the window to him. He was craning forward, glaring into that car, into that open window. “Ken?” I said. He gasped like he had forgotten to breathe and then slowly turned his head to me. There were tears welling up in his eyes, and he was shaking like he was cold and like he couldn’t stop shaking if he tried.
His head turned to me, but his eyes stayed tuned on that car when he broke a whisper, stuttering as he asked me, “Can you — Can you see them?” I followed his gaze back to that open window and saw nothing but that curtain of black in the middle of that station wagon, in the middle of our lane, in the middle of this freeway. A freeway that was starting to open up to move. Cars passed us, honking, picking up speed. “See what?” I asked, staring deep into that window in case I missed something. I peered at it intently. I remember having a feeling wash over me like I was not sitting in Ken’s minivan but standing at the edge of a hole, staring into emptiness. The hole seemed empty, but I knew something was in it, something that maybe I put down there.
“They found me,” Ken said, his voice cracking.
HONNKKKK. I jumped at the sound of the cars behind us, around us. They were really moving now, speeding by on each side. Then Ken opened his door. “Ken!” He seemed not even to know I was there. “Ken! Close the door!” He stepped out, and a moving van careened past him, less than a foot away, wind gusting into our car, horn blaring. “Ken!!” He leaned further out, and that’s when I reached for him; I reached for him, grabbed his wrist, and we locked eyes. As soon as we touched, in that very instant, I felt pain. Pain within me, inside me. Pain that was all mine, that had been there my entire life. My body ached from the outline of my skin to the organs inside me. I gasped and felt I would cry because I could now see into the back window of that car and see what Ken could see. Two small faces of two children were suddenly there, looking at me, each of them glaring at me. Two eyeless pale-white children whose tiny lipless mouths gaped open, forming holes of skin that cried forever. Behind them were two shadowy forms, one male and one female. The forms were reaching for the children with elongated limbs that contorted and stretched in ungodly ways, making sickening snapping sounds as they moved and reached. They seemed to be reaching for these child-things but could not touch them no matter how much they strained.
I screamed and felt Ken wrench away from me. He stepped outside the car into the rushing traffic and walked towards that station wagon. But I don’t think he walked; I think he was pulled. I called for him again, screaming into the rush and wind of the freeway and the cars when one clipped his driver's side door and snapped it off in a loud cracking metal sound, brakes screaming as it veered away onto the shoulder. I saw Ken stop at the driver's side window of the station wagon. He leaned forward, looked inside, and seemed to recognize whatever he saw in that car because his eyes glazed with tears. He slowly stood straight up, and in that instant, Ken Hallwell was struck by a passing charter bus, struck in a thunder of glass, teeth, blood, and metal that sprayed into the night air. I watched Ken’s body fly and thud into the road yards away. For just a second, it seemed his blank eyes met mine — -Then a sedan, avoiding the bus, braked hard and rear-ended the minivan I was in. I remember hearing adults screaming and children crying. Then, everything went dark.
Sixteen days later, I was in a hospital, and I was told two things: There was no station wagon that night. It was only a stalled car with a scared teenager inside. And the other thing was that Ken Hallwell was actually Keith Havers.
Ken/Keith was a suspect in a hit-and-run crash twenty-three years ago and five states away. The crash killed a husband, his wife, and their twin girls. The impact sent their vehicle off the road into a small creek, flipping it twice and crushing the two adults in their seats. An ignition cable had ignited a pool of gasoline, and the car — a pale white station wagon with wood paneling — began to burn in the creek bed with the family inside. Deputies found blood stains that didn’t belong to the family and one set of adult footprints near the crash site. The prints led away from that station wagon, from that family, and a second vehicle, a severely damaged pickup truck found on the road, idling, abandoned, and alone.
Now you know the two things I was told, but you should also know the two things I learned. Things the man I knew as Ken Hallwell held in his heart his entire tormented life.
We do not do anything alone.
What we do leaves a mark.
2024.05.13 19:38 Relative-Obscurity I found a set of blank cassette tapes at the junk store. And now I know why the serial killer left them there.
Link to original nosleep post:
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1bsb26v/i_found_a_set_of_blank_cassette_tapes_at_the_junk/
What began as an innocent adventure, had ended in the loss of our innocence.
But the journey wasn't over yet. Somewhere... out there in the fog, were five more bodies and a killer. A killer that, according to the tapes that I'd found in the junk store, was responsible for eight deaths, and now a ninth...
...My friend Mike.
"If you're listening to this, you've found the first three bodies. To find the fourth, fifth, and sixth, look for the island in the marsh, and proceed to the dock on its easternmost side. Not far from it, you'll see a pile of stones. Remove the stones, and beneath them, you'll find the next three bodies. Once you find them, switch to tape six."
CLICK.
I took the headphones from around my ears, placed them back around my neck, and began to relay the instructions to Jess.
But before I could even finish what I was saying, the fog had cleared, and my friend had already spotted the very location of the next burial site.
"The island!" Jess called out, pointing to a forested mass of land that stood out in the distance from the marsh's otherwise flat horizon.
—
After traversing another hundred yards or so of muddy terrain, something that, by now, Jess and I had both become quite accustomed to, we finally reached the dock.
We had spent most of the walk in silence, still unable to comprehend what we'd seen back at the wrecked boat, and still unsure who exactly to blame for Mike's death.
But after climbing up onto the dock and following it to the very mound of stones described on the tape, Jess finally spoke.
"The faster we move these rocks, the faster we find the clue, and the faster we wake up from this nightmare."
I didn't know what to say, so I just started grabbing stones and tossing them to the wayside as fast as I could, as my friend joined in and did the same.
We'd cleared out all but two of the rocks, when suddenly, Jess stopped what she was doing, and simply stared at one of them.
"What's wrong?" I asked, before she proceeded to turn the stone around and reveal the letter "N" carved into it.
"It's one of the clues." Jess said, as I found the letter "E" carved into the other.
Remembering the first two clues we'd found, I spelled out each of the four letters that we'd discovered.
""J" "A" "N" E"" I said, throwing the rock away.
"But who could that be?" Jess asked, doing the same with hers and revealing the spot on the ground where the next three bodies were buried.
"I don't know, but we'd better keep going." I said, as I began to dig in the dirt, already huffing and puffing from exhaustion.
But Jess put her hand on my shoulder and urged me to stop.
"Wait. What's the point?" She began, "You already know that they're down there. Why dig them up? Haven't you seen enough dead bodies for one day? And we already have the clues. Just play the next tape."
She had a point, and I was much too tired to argue, so I switched tape "5" for tape "6", called Jess over to share my headphones, and pressed play.
CLICK.
"If you're listening to this, it means you've found the fourth, fifth, and sixth bodies. That of a family. A mother. A father. And their child. Guilty of perpetuating the myth of familial love, and instilling in their offspring, the very values that keep that myth alive. Should the child have gone on to live to old age, it too, would either have become like the widow, or left one behind. To find the seventh and eighth bodies, switch to tape seven."
CLICK.
I did as the narrator suggested, and switched tape "6" for tape "7."
CLICK.
"If you're listening to this, you've found six out of the eight bodies, and are ready to search for the last two. To find them, simply follow the path into the woods, until you reach the old cottage with no windows, and knock on the front door. The man who lives inside will welcome you in, and take you to the last two graves."
CLICK.
—
We'd been following the path through the woods for some time, when we finally arrived at the old cottage, its exterior windowless, exactly as the tape had described.
Jess and I walked up to its front door and stood there for a moment, both shaking in fear.
These tapes found their way to you, not us. They chose you. You were the one who was meant to get us into this mess, and you are the one who's meant to get us out of it. Reminding myself of what Jess had told me after we'd met the old fisherman, I worked up the courage to go on, knowing that something terrible was very likely waiting for us inside the cottage...
...And knocked on the door.
After less than a minute of waiting...
...Someone opened it.
Contrary to my expectations, he was a rather short man with a bald head and a boyish face.
"Welcome. Come in, come in." He said, gesturing for us to enter, his high-pitched voice counterpoint to the ominous one that I'd heard on the tapes.
It can't be him. I thought to myself. Plus the tapes referred to the man who lived in the house in third person, not first.
—
A few minutes later, Jess and I were sitting inside the home, warming our ironically cold bodies by a fireplace that our host had started for us.
"Are you the killer?" I asked, wasting no time.
"A killer of what?" The man squeaked, answering my question with one of his own.
"People!" Jess added, "The ones buried out there in the marsh."
"There's people buried out there?" He replied, "That's news to me."
"Then why'd you ask... of what?" Jess asked.
"Well, a man has to kill all sorts of creatures to survive out here. Birds, squirrels, even mice. Speaking of which, you must be hungry."
He stood up, walked over to a door in the back of the room, and began to open it.
"Wait!" Jess called out, "What's in there?"
"Dinner." He replied.
"Let us come with you then." I insisted.
"Very well."
—
Upon stepping inside, the man reached for an old string light switch.
I gripped Jess' hand, fearing the worst, but when the dim bulb turned on, hardly emanating any light into the dark room, I could see that he wasn't lying...
...Hanging there on hooks, were all sorts of creatures. Birds, squirrels, and even mice, just as he described.
Jess and I both took a step back, clearly disgusted by the dinner options, when the man laughed.
"Oh, come on. Meat is meat, and you said you were starving. Now, I'll cook them up, just take a seat over there in the corner." He said, pointing to the shadowy corner of the room.
Despite her better judgment, Jess looked into the darkness, and did as he suggested.
That's when I heard her fall to the ground, and start screaming.
"Jess!" I called out, as the man laughed.
He simply smiled at me and pointed to the darkness. "Go on, take a look."
I backed away from him, took a step into the shadows, and looked down, to find a pair of side by side graves, each dug deep into the dirt, and one currently occupied by Jess.
"You said you weren't the killer!" I cried out to him.
"I lied," He replied.
"But the voice on the tapes?"
"Oh him? He was just a guy I hired to record them. Told him the tapes were for a game."
"Our friend died because of those tapes!"
"Did I kill him? Or did curiosity?"
"He said he saw you, and you left him there to die."
"Indeed I did, but only because he wasn't supposed to be there. None of you were supposed to be there. Or find the tapes in the first place."
But wait, Jess said I was chosen to find them. But if not me, then who?
"Jane!" I called out, remembering the clues. "Who's Jane?"
"She was the one who was supposed to find the tapes. I would tell you to listen to the last cassette, to hear the full story, but I'm afraid you won't have a chance to do that. Anyways, as I was saying, the tapes were meant for Jane, as was the grave your friend is standing in. But..." The man continued with a smile, "...You two will do."
That's when suddenly...
...He lunged at me, in an attempt to tackle me into the other grave.
What transpired next happened too fast to comprehend, but the next thing I knew...
...The man was lying there at the bottom of the other grave, his eyes wide in disbelief...
...As the broken, rusty tooth from the bear trap that I'd taken with me to remember Mike's death, protruded from the killer's neck.
And as he lay there dying, his body writhing, blood pouring out of it, I reached down into the second grave and helped pull Jess up to safety.
She gave me a great big hug, and we both stood there shaking for a minute, before I removed my headphones, held them up for us both to share, switched tape "7" for tape "8," and pressed play.
CLICK.
"If you're listening to this, you've found the last two bodies in the marsh. That of myself, and my dear Jane. A pair of lovers guilty of the most tragic love of all... unrequited love. Myself, with nothing but love to give, and Jane, having given all her love away to another. And if you must know how I lured her out here, you have to understand our bond over the macabre. Our fascination with disappearances, cold cases, and unsolved mysteries. Surely if Jane made it this far, she found the tapes that I'd left for her in the store, and couldn't resist the call to find the bodies in the marsh. And after making her way all the way out to me, here we'll lie, unrequited lovers meant to die apart... united in death for all eternity."
CLICK.
"What the-" Jess said.
"Um." I replied, gripping Jess even tighter, my wounded arm, wrapped in my plaid shirt, draped around her shoulder.
Now that the journey had ended, and after all we had gone through, the thought of finally kissing Jess right then and there crossed my mind, but before I could...
...She called out. "Hey, Tyler."
"Yeah?" I replied.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"What?"
I turned around to find, of all things, another wooden box, resembling the ones we'd found at the first couple burial sites, just lying there on the floor.
And after crouching down to pick it up, I opened it to find, not another clue, but instead...
...Eight more tapes, wrapped in a flimsy old rubber band, just like the ones that I'd found in the junk store.
"Let's not listen to those." Jess said.
"Definitely not." I replied.
—
A few days later, as news of Clinton's reelection flooded news headlines, my town did their best to keep what happened under wraps, and held a private funeral for Mike.
As a reward for us finding the serial killer, and his eight bodies, the police withdrew any charges associated with the meddling that Jess and I had done, out there in the marsh, and kept the first set of tapes for themselves.
Unbeknownst to anyone else, Jess and I kept the second set, and ironically, buried it behind our house, in the town where the marshland is so expansive that it was named for it. A town that we got married in, had kids in, and still live in to this day, making humble livings, and keeping as far away from the marsh as we can.
To this day, whenever we pass the spot on 139, where the bend of the road meets the sharp turn sign, we think of Mike, and keep our eyes on the road, careful not to look out into the marsh, towards the scarecrow, or the boat, or the island.
Oh, and that basketball season that Jess had a good feeling about on the night that we set out on our adventure... is still the worst season on record for the boys in green. I still tease her about it daily.
submitted by Relative-Obscurity to relativeobscurity [link] [comments]
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1bsb26v/i_found_a_set_of_blank_cassette_tapes_at_the_junk/
What began as an innocent adventure, had ended in the loss of our innocence.
But the journey wasn't over yet. Somewhere... out there in the fog, were five more bodies and a killer. A killer that, according to the tapes that I'd found in the junk store, was responsible for eight deaths, and now a ninth...
...My friend Mike.
"If you're listening to this, you've found the first three bodies. To find the fourth, fifth, and sixth, look for the island in the marsh, and proceed to the dock on its easternmost side. Not far from it, you'll see a pile of stones. Remove the stones, and beneath them, you'll find the next three bodies. Once you find them, switch to tape six."
CLICK.
I took the headphones from around my ears, placed them back around my neck, and began to relay the instructions to Jess.
But before I could even finish what I was saying, the fog had cleared, and my friend had already spotted the very location of the next burial site.
"The island!" Jess called out, pointing to a forested mass of land that stood out in the distance from the marsh's otherwise flat horizon.
—
After traversing another hundred yards or so of muddy terrain, something that, by now, Jess and I had both become quite accustomed to, we finally reached the dock.
We had spent most of the walk in silence, still unable to comprehend what we'd seen back at the wrecked boat, and still unsure who exactly to blame for Mike's death.
But after climbing up onto the dock and following it to the very mound of stones described on the tape, Jess finally spoke.
"The faster we move these rocks, the faster we find the clue, and the faster we wake up from this nightmare."
I didn't know what to say, so I just started grabbing stones and tossing them to the wayside as fast as I could, as my friend joined in and did the same.
We'd cleared out all but two of the rocks, when suddenly, Jess stopped what she was doing, and simply stared at one of them.
"What's wrong?" I asked, before she proceeded to turn the stone around and reveal the letter "N" carved into it.
"It's one of the clues." Jess said, as I found the letter "E" carved into the other.
Remembering the first two clues we'd found, I spelled out each of the four letters that we'd discovered.
""J" "A" "N" E"" I said, throwing the rock away.
"But who could that be?" Jess asked, doing the same with hers and revealing the spot on the ground where the next three bodies were buried.
"I don't know, but we'd better keep going." I said, as I began to dig in the dirt, already huffing and puffing from exhaustion.
But Jess put her hand on my shoulder and urged me to stop.
"Wait. What's the point?" She began, "You already know that they're down there. Why dig them up? Haven't you seen enough dead bodies for one day? And we already have the clues. Just play the next tape."
She had a point, and I was much too tired to argue, so I switched tape "5" for tape "6", called Jess over to share my headphones, and pressed play.
CLICK.
"If you're listening to this, it means you've found the fourth, fifth, and sixth bodies. That of a family. A mother. A father. And their child. Guilty of perpetuating the myth of familial love, and instilling in their offspring, the very values that keep that myth alive. Should the child have gone on to live to old age, it too, would either have become like the widow, or left one behind. To find the seventh and eighth bodies, switch to tape seven."
CLICK.
I did as the narrator suggested, and switched tape "6" for tape "7."
CLICK.
"If you're listening to this, you've found six out of the eight bodies, and are ready to search for the last two. To find them, simply follow the path into the woods, until you reach the old cottage with no windows, and knock on the front door. The man who lives inside will welcome you in, and take you to the last two graves."
CLICK.
—
We'd been following the path through the woods for some time, when we finally arrived at the old cottage, its exterior windowless, exactly as the tape had described.
Jess and I walked up to its front door and stood there for a moment, both shaking in fear.
These tapes found their way to you, not us. They chose you. You were the one who was meant to get us into this mess, and you are the one who's meant to get us out of it. Reminding myself of what Jess had told me after we'd met the old fisherman, I worked up the courage to go on, knowing that something terrible was very likely waiting for us inside the cottage...
...And knocked on the door.
After less than a minute of waiting...
...Someone opened it.
Contrary to my expectations, he was a rather short man with a bald head and a boyish face.
"Welcome. Come in, come in." He said, gesturing for us to enter, his high-pitched voice counterpoint to the ominous one that I'd heard on the tapes.
It can't be him. I thought to myself. Plus the tapes referred to the man who lived in the house in third person, not first.
—
A few minutes later, Jess and I were sitting inside the home, warming our ironically cold bodies by a fireplace that our host had started for us.
"Are you the killer?" I asked, wasting no time.
"A killer of what?" The man squeaked, answering my question with one of his own.
"People!" Jess added, "The ones buried out there in the marsh."
"There's people buried out there?" He replied, "That's news to me."
"Then why'd you ask... of what?" Jess asked.
"Well, a man has to kill all sorts of creatures to survive out here. Birds, squirrels, even mice. Speaking of which, you must be hungry."
He stood up, walked over to a door in the back of the room, and began to open it.
"Wait!" Jess called out, "What's in there?"
"Dinner." He replied.
"Let us come with you then." I insisted.
"Very well."
—
Upon stepping inside, the man reached for an old string light switch.
I gripped Jess' hand, fearing the worst, but when the dim bulb turned on, hardly emanating any light into the dark room, I could see that he wasn't lying...
...Hanging there on hooks, were all sorts of creatures. Birds, squirrels, and even mice, just as he described.
Jess and I both took a step back, clearly disgusted by the dinner options, when the man laughed.
"Oh, come on. Meat is meat, and you said you were starving. Now, I'll cook them up, just take a seat over there in the corner." He said, pointing to the shadowy corner of the room.
Despite her better judgment, Jess looked into the darkness, and did as he suggested.
That's when I heard her fall to the ground, and start screaming.
"Jess!" I called out, as the man laughed.
He simply smiled at me and pointed to the darkness. "Go on, take a look."
I backed away from him, took a step into the shadows, and looked down, to find a pair of side by side graves, each dug deep into the dirt, and one currently occupied by Jess.
"You said you weren't the killer!" I cried out to him.
"I lied," He replied.
"But the voice on the tapes?"
"Oh him? He was just a guy I hired to record them. Told him the tapes were for a game."
"Our friend died because of those tapes!"
"Did I kill him? Or did curiosity?"
"He said he saw you, and you left him there to die."
"Indeed I did, but only because he wasn't supposed to be there. None of you were supposed to be there. Or find the tapes in the first place."
But wait, Jess said I was chosen to find them. But if not me, then who?
"Jane!" I called out, remembering the clues. "Who's Jane?"
"She was the one who was supposed to find the tapes. I would tell you to listen to the last cassette, to hear the full story, but I'm afraid you won't have a chance to do that. Anyways, as I was saying, the tapes were meant for Jane, as was the grave your friend is standing in. But..." The man continued with a smile, "...You two will do."
That's when suddenly...
...He lunged at me, in an attempt to tackle me into the other grave.
What transpired next happened too fast to comprehend, but the next thing I knew...
...The man was lying there at the bottom of the other grave, his eyes wide in disbelief...
...As the broken, rusty tooth from the bear trap that I'd taken with me to remember Mike's death, protruded from the killer's neck.
And as he lay there dying, his body writhing, blood pouring out of it, I reached down into the second grave and helped pull Jess up to safety.
She gave me a great big hug, and we both stood there shaking for a minute, before I removed my headphones, held them up for us both to share, switched tape "7" for tape "8," and pressed play.
CLICK.
"If you're listening to this, you've found the last two bodies in the marsh. That of myself, and my dear Jane. A pair of lovers guilty of the most tragic love of all... unrequited love. Myself, with nothing but love to give, and Jane, having given all her love away to another. And if you must know how I lured her out here, you have to understand our bond over the macabre. Our fascination with disappearances, cold cases, and unsolved mysteries. Surely if Jane made it this far, she found the tapes that I'd left for her in the store, and couldn't resist the call to find the bodies in the marsh. And after making her way all the way out to me, here we'll lie, unrequited lovers meant to die apart... united in death for all eternity."
CLICK.
"What the-" Jess said.
"Um." I replied, gripping Jess even tighter, my wounded arm, wrapped in my plaid shirt, draped around her shoulder.
Now that the journey had ended, and after all we had gone through, the thought of finally kissing Jess right then and there crossed my mind, but before I could...
...She called out. "Hey, Tyler."
"Yeah?" I replied.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"What?"
I turned around to find, of all things, another wooden box, resembling the ones we'd found at the first couple burial sites, just lying there on the floor.
And after crouching down to pick it up, I opened it to find, not another clue, but instead...
...Eight more tapes, wrapped in a flimsy old rubber band, just like the ones that I'd found in the junk store.
"Let's not listen to those." Jess said.
"Definitely not." I replied.
—
A few days later, as news of Clinton's reelection flooded news headlines, my town did their best to keep what happened under wraps, and held a private funeral for Mike.
As a reward for us finding the serial killer, and his eight bodies, the police withdrew any charges associated with the meddling that Jess and I had done, out there in the marsh, and kept the first set of tapes for themselves.
Unbeknownst to anyone else, Jess and I kept the second set, and ironically, buried it behind our house, in the town where the marshland is so expansive that it was named for it. A town that we got married in, had kids in, and still live in to this day, making humble livings, and keeping as far away from the marsh as we can.
To this day, whenever we pass the spot on 139, where the bend of the road meets the sharp turn sign, we think of Mike, and keep our eyes on the road, careful not to look out into the marsh, towards the scarecrow, or the boat, or the island.
Oh, and that basketball season that Jess had a good feeling about on the night that we set out on our adventure... is still the worst season on record for the boys in green. I still tease her about it daily.
2024.05.13 19:33 Relative-Obscurity I was invited to play the Games in the Woods. And what I saw out there will haunt me forever.
Link to original nosleep post:
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1azq8ri/i_was_invited_to_play_the_games_in_the_woods_and/
When I was very young, my grandfather used to always tell me to stay out of the woods behind our house.
"Legend has it, that there's something terrible in there." He'd say, pointing to the trees behind our home with his only arm, the other of which he'd told me he had lost in the war. "And no one who goes in, ever comes back the same."
But I never took his warnings very seriously, given his age, and hard life, writing them off as the ramblings of a senile and bitter old man.
At least until a few years later, when, at the age of ten, I was told by my mother that my grandfather had passed…
...And had left me a parting gift.
It was a crumpled envelope with the word "Bobby" scribbled onto the back, sealed with more tape than an envelope needed sealing.
Inside, was a folded piece of paper, which, upon unfolding, I noticed my grandfather had sketched the layout of what looked like three games.
Beside the first two games, he had written instructions for what looked like how to beat them.
"Don't go in the box."
"Don’t run."
Beside the third, were a couple more notes.
"Don’t lift it alone."
"This is as far as I made it, before I lost my arm."
And at the very bottom of the page, Grandpa had addressed me directly.
"Bobby, if you receive an invitation to play the games in the woods, do not accept it. Run as far away as you can. But in the event you end up there anyway, may these instructions help you finish what I started."
Games in the woods? I thought to myself. After all the warnings, and all the lectures, Grandpa was trying to protect me from games?
I found the whole thing quite silly, and resolved to put it out of my mind.
And so, that's exactly what I did, burying away both the loss of my Grandfather, and the gift that he had left for me, for four long years.
That is, until, at the age of fourteen, when I was a freshman in high school, I received a scroll on my doorstep, tied together with a thorny vine.
After carefully unraveling it, I discovered an invite to the very games that my Grandfather had warned me about, grotesquely handwritten in ink.
"Bobby,
Join us in the forest behind your house tonight, to compete in the games in the woods.
Don't be late. The games will begin promptly at midnight."
I laughed out loud and immediately tore up the scroll on the spot.
But who could be the one pranking me? I wondered. Surely my mom wasn't in on it? Who could have known about the invitation that my Grandfather referenced? Maybe my Uncle Frank? He's always been a jokester. Yes, it must be Uncle Frank.
And on that note, I went about my day, and completely forgot about the scroll.
That is, until later that night, when, while fast asleep, I suddenly felt myself torn from my bed, stuffed into what felt like a canvas satchel, and dragged out my window and, from the sound of it, what must have been through the woods behind my house.
The whole time, I tried my best to kick and scream…
"This isn't funny, Uncle Frank! I know what you're up to!"
...But Uncle Frank, or so I thought, was much too strong to break free from, and the next thing I knew, I found myself dropped into the middle of the forest, and my satchel ripped away.
"Uncle Frank?" I called out, unable to see my surroundings in the dark.
Until my eyes adjusted, and I looked up to find a hooded figure, wearing a tattered brown cloak and holding a burning torch that illuminated everything around him, save for what lay under his shadowy hood.
What the heck? I thought to myself. That's not Uncle Frank.
The shrouded man said no words, and simply pointed to a footbridge, lit by torchlight, not far away, and gestured for me to cross it.
Realizing now that this wasn't Uncle Frank's doing, and in turn, that the letter, and my Grandfather's warning, must both be real, I began shaking in fear and, not knowing what else to do, obeyed the hooded figure's order.
When I got to the other side, I found myself surrounded by what must have been twenty of the hooded man's kin, all holding torches, and encircling a glen in the forest, where the moon and the stars could now be seen in the night sky.
And in the center of the glen, were four poor souls. Kids like me, who must have also received the invitation, or been dragged here against their will, or both. Kids, from my high school, that I recognized.
There was Brad Ashworth, our class valedictorian, in a sweater vest, khakis, and boots, clearly prepared for the occasion…
...Caitlin Sullivan, whom many kids called a nerd, geek, dweeb, and weirdo, but whom I found to be perfectly normal, wearing a pair of overalls and round, wire frame glasses…
...Colin Richardson, in a running suit, a jock, known for excelling at at least three sports, football, track, and basketball..
...And none other than Milton Dugan, the biggest bully in school, best known for using his sheer size to jam freshmen into lockers, wearing a pair of polka dot pajamas.
"Shut up, loser." He called out to me, noticing the smile on my face when I saw what he was wearing.
"What do you think they are?" Colin asked me, pointing to the hooded figures.
"I have no idea. But I don't think they're friendly." I replied.
Until Caitlin chimed in, "They're Druids, idiots."
"Whatever they are, I'm not scared of them." Brad added.
That's when it hit me.
Who would bring five high school students out into the middle of the woods to teach them a lesson? Well, teachers of course. That must be it! Teachers! Yes, it's teachers under those hoods!
But before I could continue to dwell on my epiphany, we were all suddenly interrupted, by the sound of a loud howl emanating from the forest.
And then…
...An old man with a white beard came hobbling out of the woods, walking stick in one hand, and an object that I couldn’t identify in his other.
It was only when he reached the center of the glen, and stopped just a few feet away from us, that I noticed he was missing something…
...The reflection of light in his eyes.
And upon further observation, it became apparent…
...That he had no eyes at all.
What the? I thought to myself, before gasping, as the old man began to speak.
"Invited ones. You stand before me tonight, under the light of the moon, with a great challenge before you. A challenge that only comes around every seventy-five years. Each of you, were hand picked to play these games tonight, for each of you represent a unique virtue. Five virtues put to the same test, to see which will overcome all others. The winner, will be awarded the greatest prize of all. While the losers, will pay a heavy price."
The other four kids and I turned to each other with looks of confusion, then turned back to the old man, who continued.
"But before we begin. Which of you, knows for a fact, that you are the best player among us? Which of you, is so brave, so courageous, so sure of your abilities, that you'll volunteer to step into the box?" He asked, pointing to an area of the glen, that had been covered in darkness, but until the Druids lit it with torchlight.
It was a wooden box, about the size of a telephone booth, completely enclosed with what appeared to be a door on one side and a metal latch to open it.
The Box! I thought to myself, remembering my Grandfather's letter, outlining three games, and assuming the first of which was this one.
"Don't go in the box.”
Easy enough. I mused, looking over at the other kids, waiting for one of them to heed the call instead, until…
"It's me. I'm the smartest, and the most talented one here. I'll do it." Brad called out, raising his hand, before turning back to us, "Cowards."
"Very well," The old man replied, walking over to the box, opening the door, and gesturing for him to enter.
And so he did.
Oh no. I thought to myself, as all of us kids cringed in anticipation of something unspeakable happening inside.
But after a minute, the old man simply walked back over to the door, opened it, and let Brad out.
He came proudly walking out of it, chest in the air, with a smug smile on his face, and belted out the words. "See! Nothing to fear, fraidy cats."
Despite his obnoxious comment, we all let out a sigh of relief.
Until suddenly, a few of the druids grabbed Brad by the arms, and pinned him to the box.
"What's going on? What are you doing?" Our valedictorian cried out, unsure of what exactly was happening.
The hooded men proceeded to pry open his jaws with their hands, as the old man hobbled over to him, revealing the object in his hand… a sharp, silver sword.
But before any of us could react, the old druid had already reached into Brad's mouth, cut off his tongue, and held it up for all to see.
Brad began crying and wailing, blood spraying from his mouth, as the druids let him go and he fell to the ground, arms flailing in pain.
Meanwhile, the rest of us kids just stood there, wide eyed in fear, unable to comprehend what we had just seen.
"That was Game One." The old man called out to us. "Let it be a lesson, that your greatest strengths can also be your greatest weaknesses. In this case, confidence begets arrogance. Now, take him away."
Upon his command, two druids ran over to Brad, who was now passed out, picked him up, and carried him away into the woods.
"Let's move on to Game Two, shall we?" The eyeless old man continued, leading us, and the other druids, out of the glen, into the forest, down a torchlit path, and to a massive field, illuminated by the moonlight.
He then took his staff, stuck it into the ground, and carved a long line in the dirt.
"Will the remaining players please stand behind the line."
Still in shock from what had just happened, we all obeyed his command, lining up before the line in the dirt, which separated us from the football field sized lawn.
"Are you gonna hurt one of us again?" Milton called out, puffing out his chest. "Cause I'm not afraid of you guys, and I’m fully capable of defending myself!"
The old man ignored his rant, and continued on with his own, "The rules of the second game are simple. When I say go, you're to run with the wolves."
"Wolves?" Caitlin whispered to me, trying to understand he meant.
Just then, a group of druids emerged from the forest, leading four ravenous wolves on leashes to the field behind us, each of them drooling at the mouth while howling and growling at us maniacally.
Caitlin and I shared a brief look of horror, before the eyeless man stepped aside and called out, "Go!"
Colin was the first one to sprint off into the field, followed by Caitlin, and then, what would have been me, but when I began to dart away, something jutted out in front of my legs and tripped me to the ground.
Confused by what had happened, I looked up from the dirt to see Milton hopping over me…
"Sucker!"
...As I realized that it must have been he who had tripped me, and saw the Druids unleash the four wolves.
I hopped up to my feet and attempted to run again, but before they hit the ground, the wolves had already caught up to me.
In that moment, I closed my eyes and braced for the worst, but when I opened them again, I saw that they had run right past me, seemingly in pursuit of the others up ahead.
But as I continued to watch the wolves run away, I noticed that they soon passed Milton too, and then Caitlin, finally making their way to Colin, who was running so fast, that he disappeared into whatever lay beyond the field.
And then, the feral dogs stopped running, just before the end of the field, and began howling and growling again, and they looked down at something below them.
Eventually catching up with the others and making my way to the end of the field, Caitlin, Milton, and myself finally saw what had happened to Colin.
There, at the end of the field, was a great pit, and at the bottom, was the star athlete himself, writhing in pain and begging for our help.
"Help me!" Colin called out, clenching his legs, which must have broken from the fall.
"Does anyone have a rope or anything we can lower down to him?" Caitlin asked.
But the druids had just arrived, and were already lowering one down to Colin.
And by the time they pulled him up, still screaming out in pain, the old eyeless druid had arrived, ready to greet him.
"Why would you put a pit at the end of the race?" Colin screamed, as he lay helpless on the ground.
"You said to run from the wolves."
"I said to run with the wolves, not from them. They mean no harm, just look at your friends here. But you. You got ahead of yourself. And for that, there is a price." The old man warned.
"Price? I already broke my legs." Colin replied.
"Well now, we take them." The eyeless man said ominously, before the druids surrounded Colin and held him down, as another approached him holding a giant scythe, its blade glimmering in the moonlight.
"Wait! No!" He cried out.
But it was too late. In an instant, one of his legs was gone. Severed from his body by the swinging scythe, as blood sprayed everywhere, and Colin screamed in agony.
A second later, I saw Caitlin remove her glasses and wipe the blood from them, before putting them back on and continuing to watch on silently in horror.
"What is wrong with you guys?" Milton called out, clenching his fists and pacing around in a threatening fashion.
For a moment, I thought about cursing out Milton for tripping me, but then I realized he had actually saved me.
And that's when I remembered my Grandfather's second clue.
"Don't run."
He was right again.
"Take him away." The old man said for a second time, as a group of druids walked over and proceeded to carry Colin off into the woods, before turning to Milton, Caitlin, and myself.
"And now for Game Three."
He then led us back into the forest, and down a rocky path that hugged a winding stream.
At the end of the path, we came to a clearing between the trees, where we saw two giant boulders, each nearly the size of a person, placed side by side on the ground.
"For this game, you have an option. Lift a boulder yourself, or pick a teammate to help you lift it. The person or team who holds it the longest, wins. And the one who's first to drop it, loses. Understand?"
Milton, Caitlin, and I all looked at each other for a moment, as we weighed the options.
But suddenly, I remembered my Grandfather’s third instruction.
"Don’t lift it alone."
And before Milton could utter a word, I ran over to Caitlin.
"Caitlin and I will be a team." I declared, as she smiled, and put her arm around my shoulder.
"But what about me?" Milton asked, offended by being the odd man out, before correcting himself. "Actually, you know what? Fine! I'm stronger than both of you combined anyway. This will be your own undoing, dorks! I'll compete by myself."
"Very well," the old man called out, as he stood between the two stones. "When I say go, lift the boulders up off the ground, for as long as you can."
Caitlin and I crouched down and gripped the boulder from below, then looked at each other.
"We got this." I assured her with a smile.
"We got this." She replied, smiling back.
Meanwhile, Milton was scrambling to grasp onto his boulder, and began begging for more time. "Just a second, I swear. This boulder's heavier on one side and it's just-"
But before he could continue, the old man raised his staff and called out, "Go!" at the top of his lungs.
Caitlin and I carefully and calmly lifted our boulder, and despite its heavy weight, strained ourselves to keep it elevated above the ground.
But Milton was not as lucky. From the very beginning, he was doomed, as he still hadn't secured his grip on the rock when the old man yelled "Go!" and bumbled when he lifted it up, catching it in hands, but in an position that looked much too uncomfortable for him sustain.
And as the stone slowly began to slip out of his arms, Milton looked over at Caitlin and I with a sour face and mumbled, "You screwed me, losers."
"Maybe if you weren't such a dick, Milton, someone might have chosen you." I replied, in an attempt to drive home the reason why he had lost.
Milton tried to think of a clever retort, "You know what, Bobby-" but before he could finish his sentence, it was too late. The stone had fallen to the ground. He stopped what he was saying and looked down at it, a look of fear washing over his face.
And as the druids began to surround him, rather than threaten them like he had in the past, Milton began to cry. "Please don't hurt me! Please, I'll do anything!"
But it was too late. The druids dragged Milton to the stump of a tree and laid his arm down upon it, as another swung an ax high above his head, and brought it slicing down through Milton's arm, leaving him with a stump of his own.
As he saw the blood pouring out of his appendage, Milton began to scream, until his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he eventually passed out.
And for a third time, the eyeless old man called out, "Take him away."
Now, only Caitlin and I remained. Together we stood there in silence, arms around each other, as Milton's limp body was carried off into the woods.
"Which brings us to Game Four," the old druid began, "Perhaps the simplest of all. For this game is decided by you and you alone. When I say go, you'll have one minute to come to a decision on who will be the winner, and who will be the loser."
Caitlin replied "Wait-"
But before she could continue, the old man interrupted her, commencing the final game, "Go!"
Caitlin and I huddled together in the woods, as the old man, and the druids, encircled us, waiting for us to come to a consensus.
"Wait, what do we do?" Caitlin whispered.
"I don't know." I whispered back.
"Should we choose both of us as the winners?"
"No, we'd be breaking the rules. He specified a winner and a loser. They'll punish us both. We need to choose one."
"But that means one of us, will suffer the same fate as the others."
"I don't know if we have any other choice.”
"Then how should we decide?"
"I don't know."
"Wait," Caitlin said, as she reached into the pocket of her overalls and removed a coin. "If you're okay with it. A coin toss would be fair. Totally up to chance.”
"It would be fair. Let's do it. But quick." I replied, knowing our minute would soon end.
"Then you choose. Heads or tails." She offered up.
"Okay. Um... heads!" I replied quickly.
And like that, Caitlin held out her fist…
...Dropped the coin…
...Towards the forest floor below…
...Time suddenly slowing…
...As it descended towards the ground…
...Spinning…
...And spinning…
…And spinning…
...Until…
...Thud.
We both crouched down, and saw the result that would seal our fate forever…
…Heads.
I had won.
Caitlin looked up at me, her eyes wide, and her mouth agape, as tears began to roll down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry." I whispered.
"It's okay." She whispered back.
And then…
...The old man spoke.
"Your time is up. What is your decision? Who is the winner, and who is the loser?"
Both Caitlin and my heads hung low, as she began to speak, "I'm the-"
"Winner." I interrupted, as she looked at me, completely surprised by what I had said. "She's the winner, and I'm the loser."
"But Bobby-" She whispered.
"Save yourself. Don't worry about me." I insisted, whispering back to her, as the old man approached us.
"Very well." He said, holding his wrinkled hand out to Caitlin, who accepted it in hers.
And so, he escorted her away, off into the woods, hobbling on his wooden staff, until they disappeared into the night.
And as for me. I… well I was left there in the dark, surrounded by a dozen druids, who slowly closed in on me.
I didn't know what to do so I, accepting my fate, simply closed my eyes and braced for the worst…
...But similar to what had come of the impending doom of the howling wolves...
...Nothing happened.
I opened my eyes, to find one of the druids standing before me.
"Congratulations..." He said, in an ominous voice, "...On winning the games."
"What?" I asked, confused how that could be possible. "I don't understand. I voted for Caitlin to be the winner."
"Yes, you did." He replied, "But humility is the virtue that always wins the games. Your selfless act, sacrificing your own life for that of another's, is why you won."
"And what do I win?" I asked, not knowing what else to say.
"Just as the keeper of the games had stated, the greatest prize of all..." He said, "..Life."
"And what about Caitlin? What will become of her?"
"That is still yet to be decided. But you will find out soon enough."
Any sort of relief that I had felt immediately disappeared, and my heart sank, as I realized that by volunteering my own life to save Caitlin's, I may have actually cost her hers.
"Wait," I called out, "Let me take her place. Please."
But before I could continue, I felt the druids shove a giant canvas satchel over me, just as they'd done earlier that night, before whisking me away into the forest.
They must have knocked me out after that, because when I came to, I found myself back in my bedroom, lying face first on the cold, wooden floor.
The next day at school, I raced to Caitlin's locker, and then her home room, desperately hoping to see her face, hoping to put my mind at ease…
...But she never showed up. That day… or ever again.
And as for Brad, Colin, and Milton, their claims about how they lost their respective body parts, despite being substantiated by me, were all written off by police, parents, and teachers alike as foolish accidents, when no such games were ever found in the woods.
Years later, as my wife and I discuss having a child, I find myself wondering if I'll ever have a grandchild of my own…
...If they, too, will be invited to play the games in the woods, the next time the druids come around…
...And if Caitlin will be one of them.
submitted by Relative-Obscurity to relativeobscurity [link] [comments]
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1azq8ri/i_was_invited_to_play_the_games_in_the_woods_and/
When I was very young, my grandfather used to always tell me to stay out of the woods behind our house.
"Legend has it, that there's something terrible in there." He'd say, pointing to the trees behind our home with his only arm, the other of which he'd told me he had lost in the war. "And no one who goes in, ever comes back the same."
But I never took his warnings very seriously, given his age, and hard life, writing them off as the ramblings of a senile and bitter old man.
At least until a few years later, when, at the age of ten, I was told by my mother that my grandfather had passed…
...And had left me a parting gift.
It was a crumpled envelope with the word "Bobby" scribbled onto the back, sealed with more tape than an envelope needed sealing.
Inside, was a folded piece of paper, which, upon unfolding, I noticed my grandfather had sketched the layout of what looked like three games.
Beside the first two games, he had written instructions for what looked like how to beat them.
"Don't go in the box."
"Don’t run."
Beside the third, were a couple more notes.
"Don’t lift it alone."
"This is as far as I made it, before I lost my arm."
And at the very bottom of the page, Grandpa had addressed me directly.
"Bobby, if you receive an invitation to play the games in the woods, do not accept it. Run as far away as you can. But in the event you end up there anyway, may these instructions help you finish what I started."
Games in the woods? I thought to myself. After all the warnings, and all the lectures, Grandpa was trying to protect me from games?
I found the whole thing quite silly, and resolved to put it out of my mind.
And so, that's exactly what I did, burying away both the loss of my Grandfather, and the gift that he had left for me, for four long years.
That is, until, at the age of fourteen, when I was a freshman in high school, I received a scroll on my doorstep, tied together with a thorny vine.
After carefully unraveling it, I discovered an invite to the very games that my Grandfather had warned me about, grotesquely handwritten in ink.
"Bobby,
Join us in the forest behind your house tonight, to compete in the games in the woods.
Don't be late. The games will begin promptly at midnight."
I laughed out loud and immediately tore up the scroll on the spot.
But who could be the one pranking me? I wondered. Surely my mom wasn't in on it? Who could have known about the invitation that my Grandfather referenced? Maybe my Uncle Frank? He's always been a jokester. Yes, it must be Uncle Frank.
And on that note, I went about my day, and completely forgot about the scroll.
That is, until later that night, when, while fast asleep, I suddenly felt myself torn from my bed, stuffed into what felt like a canvas satchel, and dragged out my window and, from the sound of it, what must have been through the woods behind my house.
The whole time, I tried my best to kick and scream…
"This isn't funny, Uncle Frank! I know what you're up to!"
...But Uncle Frank, or so I thought, was much too strong to break free from, and the next thing I knew, I found myself dropped into the middle of the forest, and my satchel ripped away.
"Uncle Frank?" I called out, unable to see my surroundings in the dark.
Until my eyes adjusted, and I looked up to find a hooded figure, wearing a tattered brown cloak and holding a burning torch that illuminated everything around him, save for what lay under his shadowy hood.
What the heck? I thought to myself. That's not Uncle Frank.
The shrouded man said no words, and simply pointed to a footbridge, lit by torchlight, not far away, and gestured for me to cross it.
Realizing now that this wasn't Uncle Frank's doing, and in turn, that the letter, and my Grandfather's warning, must both be real, I began shaking in fear and, not knowing what else to do, obeyed the hooded figure's order.
When I got to the other side, I found myself surrounded by what must have been twenty of the hooded man's kin, all holding torches, and encircling a glen in the forest, where the moon and the stars could now be seen in the night sky.
And in the center of the glen, were four poor souls. Kids like me, who must have also received the invitation, or been dragged here against their will, or both. Kids, from my high school, that I recognized.
There was Brad Ashworth, our class valedictorian, in a sweater vest, khakis, and boots, clearly prepared for the occasion…
...Caitlin Sullivan, whom many kids called a nerd, geek, dweeb, and weirdo, but whom I found to be perfectly normal, wearing a pair of overalls and round, wire frame glasses…
...Colin Richardson, in a running suit, a jock, known for excelling at at least three sports, football, track, and basketball..
...And none other than Milton Dugan, the biggest bully in school, best known for using his sheer size to jam freshmen into lockers, wearing a pair of polka dot pajamas.
"Shut up, loser." He called out to me, noticing the smile on my face when I saw what he was wearing.
"What do you think they are?" Colin asked me, pointing to the hooded figures.
"I have no idea. But I don't think they're friendly." I replied.
Until Caitlin chimed in, "They're Druids, idiots."
"Whatever they are, I'm not scared of them." Brad added.
That's when it hit me.
Who would bring five high school students out into the middle of the woods to teach them a lesson? Well, teachers of course. That must be it! Teachers! Yes, it's teachers under those hoods!
But before I could continue to dwell on my epiphany, we were all suddenly interrupted, by the sound of a loud howl emanating from the forest.
And then…
...An old man with a white beard came hobbling out of the woods, walking stick in one hand, and an object that I couldn’t identify in his other.
It was only when he reached the center of the glen, and stopped just a few feet away from us, that I noticed he was missing something…
...The reflection of light in his eyes.
And upon further observation, it became apparent…
...That he had no eyes at all.
What the? I thought to myself, before gasping, as the old man began to speak.
"Invited ones. You stand before me tonight, under the light of the moon, with a great challenge before you. A challenge that only comes around every seventy-five years. Each of you, were hand picked to play these games tonight, for each of you represent a unique virtue. Five virtues put to the same test, to see which will overcome all others. The winner, will be awarded the greatest prize of all. While the losers, will pay a heavy price."
The other four kids and I turned to each other with looks of confusion, then turned back to the old man, who continued.
"But before we begin. Which of you, knows for a fact, that you are the best player among us? Which of you, is so brave, so courageous, so sure of your abilities, that you'll volunteer to step into the box?" He asked, pointing to an area of the glen, that had been covered in darkness, but until the Druids lit it with torchlight.
It was a wooden box, about the size of a telephone booth, completely enclosed with what appeared to be a door on one side and a metal latch to open it.
The Box! I thought to myself, remembering my Grandfather's letter, outlining three games, and assuming the first of which was this one.
"Don't go in the box.”
Easy enough. I mused, looking over at the other kids, waiting for one of them to heed the call instead, until…
"It's me. I'm the smartest, and the most talented one here. I'll do it." Brad called out, raising his hand, before turning back to us, "Cowards."
"Very well," The old man replied, walking over to the box, opening the door, and gesturing for him to enter.
And so he did.
Oh no. I thought to myself, as all of us kids cringed in anticipation of something unspeakable happening inside.
But after a minute, the old man simply walked back over to the door, opened it, and let Brad out.
He came proudly walking out of it, chest in the air, with a smug smile on his face, and belted out the words. "See! Nothing to fear, fraidy cats."
Despite his obnoxious comment, we all let out a sigh of relief.
Until suddenly, a few of the druids grabbed Brad by the arms, and pinned him to the box.
"What's going on? What are you doing?" Our valedictorian cried out, unsure of what exactly was happening.
The hooded men proceeded to pry open his jaws with their hands, as the old man hobbled over to him, revealing the object in his hand… a sharp, silver sword.
But before any of us could react, the old druid had already reached into Brad's mouth, cut off his tongue, and held it up for all to see.
Brad began crying and wailing, blood spraying from his mouth, as the druids let him go and he fell to the ground, arms flailing in pain.
Meanwhile, the rest of us kids just stood there, wide eyed in fear, unable to comprehend what we had just seen.
"That was Game One." The old man called out to us. "Let it be a lesson, that your greatest strengths can also be your greatest weaknesses. In this case, confidence begets arrogance. Now, take him away."
Upon his command, two druids ran over to Brad, who was now passed out, picked him up, and carried him away into the woods.
"Let's move on to Game Two, shall we?" The eyeless old man continued, leading us, and the other druids, out of the glen, into the forest, down a torchlit path, and to a massive field, illuminated by the moonlight.
He then took his staff, stuck it into the ground, and carved a long line in the dirt.
"Will the remaining players please stand behind the line."
Still in shock from what had just happened, we all obeyed his command, lining up before the line in the dirt, which separated us from the football field sized lawn.
"Are you gonna hurt one of us again?" Milton called out, puffing out his chest. "Cause I'm not afraid of you guys, and I’m fully capable of defending myself!"
The old man ignored his rant, and continued on with his own, "The rules of the second game are simple. When I say go, you're to run with the wolves."
"Wolves?" Caitlin whispered to me, trying to understand he meant.
Just then, a group of druids emerged from the forest, leading four ravenous wolves on leashes to the field behind us, each of them drooling at the mouth while howling and growling at us maniacally.
Caitlin and I shared a brief look of horror, before the eyeless man stepped aside and called out, "Go!"
Colin was the first one to sprint off into the field, followed by Caitlin, and then, what would have been me, but when I began to dart away, something jutted out in front of my legs and tripped me to the ground.
Confused by what had happened, I looked up from the dirt to see Milton hopping over me…
"Sucker!"
...As I realized that it must have been he who had tripped me, and saw the Druids unleash the four wolves.
I hopped up to my feet and attempted to run again, but before they hit the ground, the wolves had already caught up to me.
In that moment, I closed my eyes and braced for the worst, but when I opened them again, I saw that they had run right past me, seemingly in pursuit of the others up ahead.
But as I continued to watch the wolves run away, I noticed that they soon passed Milton too, and then Caitlin, finally making their way to Colin, who was running so fast, that he disappeared into whatever lay beyond the field.
And then, the feral dogs stopped running, just before the end of the field, and began howling and growling again, and they looked down at something below them.
Eventually catching up with the others and making my way to the end of the field, Caitlin, Milton, and myself finally saw what had happened to Colin.
There, at the end of the field, was a great pit, and at the bottom, was the star athlete himself, writhing in pain and begging for our help.
"Help me!" Colin called out, clenching his legs, which must have broken from the fall.
"Does anyone have a rope or anything we can lower down to him?" Caitlin asked.
But the druids had just arrived, and were already lowering one down to Colin.
And by the time they pulled him up, still screaming out in pain, the old eyeless druid had arrived, ready to greet him.
"Why would you put a pit at the end of the race?" Colin screamed, as he lay helpless on the ground.
"You said to run from the wolves."
"I said to run with the wolves, not from them. They mean no harm, just look at your friends here. But you. You got ahead of yourself. And for that, there is a price." The old man warned.
"Price? I already broke my legs." Colin replied.
"Well now, we take them." The eyeless man said ominously, before the druids surrounded Colin and held him down, as another approached him holding a giant scythe, its blade glimmering in the moonlight.
"Wait! No!" He cried out.
But it was too late. In an instant, one of his legs was gone. Severed from his body by the swinging scythe, as blood sprayed everywhere, and Colin screamed in agony.
A second later, I saw Caitlin remove her glasses and wipe the blood from them, before putting them back on and continuing to watch on silently in horror.
"What is wrong with you guys?" Milton called out, clenching his fists and pacing around in a threatening fashion.
For a moment, I thought about cursing out Milton for tripping me, but then I realized he had actually saved me.
And that's when I remembered my Grandfather's second clue.
"Don't run."
He was right again.
"Take him away." The old man said for a second time, as a group of druids walked over and proceeded to carry Colin off into the woods, before turning to Milton, Caitlin, and myself.
"And now for Game Three."
He then led us back into the forest, and down a rocky path that hugged a winding stream.
At the end of the path, we came to a clearing between the trees, where we saw two giant boulders, each nearly the size of a person, placed side by side on the ground.
"For this game, you have an option. Lift a boulder yourself, or pick a teammate to help you lift it. The person or team who holds it the longest, wins. And the one who's first to drop it, loses. Understand?"
Milton, Caitlin, and I all looked at each other for a moment, as we weighed the options.
But suddenly, I remembered my Grandfather’s third instruction.
"Don’t lift it alone."
And before Milton could utter a word, I ran over to Caitlin.
"Caitlin and I will be a team." I declared, as she smiled, and put her arm around my shoulder.
"But what about me?" Milton asked, offended by being the odd man out, before correcting himself. "Actually, you know what? Fine! I'm stronger than both of you combined anyway. This will be your own undoing, dorks! I'll compete by myself."
"Very well," the old man called out, as he stood between the two stones. "When I say go, lift the boulders up off the ground, for as long as you can."
Caitlin and I crouched down and gripped the boulder from below, then looked at each other.
"We got this." I assured her with a smile.
"We got this." She replied, smiling back.
Meanwhile, Milton was scrambling to grasp onto his boulder, and began begging for more time. "Just a second, I swear. This boulder's heavier on one side and it's just-"
But before he could continue, the old man raised his staff and called out, "Go!" at the top of his lungs.
Caitlin and I carefully and calmly lifted our boulder, and despite its heavy weight, strained ourselves to keep it elevated above the ground.
But Milton was not as lucky. From the very beginning, he was doomed, as he still hadn't secured his grip on the rock when the old man yelled "Go!" and bumbled when he lifted it up, catching it in hands, but in an position that looked much too uncomfortable for him sustain.
And as the stone slowly began to slip out of his arms, Milton looked over at Caitlin and I with a sour face and mumbled, "You screwed me, losers."
"Maybe if you weren't such a dick, Milton, someone might have chosen you." I replied, in an attempt to drive home the reason why he had lost.
Milton tried to think of a clever retort, "You know what, Bobby-" but before he could finish his sentence, it was too late. The stone had fallen to the ground. He stopped what he was saying and looked down at it, a look of fear washing over his face.
And as the druids began to surround him, rather than threaten them like he had in the past, Milton began to cry. "Please don't hurt me! Please, I'll do anything!"
But it was too late. The druids dragged Milton to the stump of a tree and laid his arm down upon it, as another swung an ax high above his head, and brought it slicing down through Milton's arm, leaving him with a stump of his own.
As he saw the blood pouring out of his appendage, Milton began to scream, until his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he eventually passed out.
And for a third time, the eyeless old man called out, "Take him away."
Now, only Caitlin and I remained. Together we stood there in silence, arms around each other, as Milton's limp body was carried off into the woods.
"Which brings us to Game Four," the old druid began, "Perhaps the simplest of all. For this game is decided by you and you alone. When I say go, you'll have one minute to come to a decision on who will be the winner, and who will be the loser."
Caitlin replied "Wait-"
But before she could continue, the old man interrupted her, commencing the final game, "Go!"
Caitlin and I huddled together in the woods, as the old man, and the druids, encircled us, waiting for us to come to a consensus.
"Wait, what do we do?" Caitlin whispered.
"I don't know." I whispered back.
"Should we choose both of us as the winners?"
"No, we'd be breaking the rules. He specified a winner and a loser. They'll punish us both. We need to choose one."
"But that means one of us, will suffer the same fate as the others."
"I don't know if we have any other choice.”
"Then how should we decide?"
"I don't know."
"Wait," Caitlin said, as she reached into the pocket of her overalls and removed a coin. "If you're okay with it. A coin toss would be fair. Totally up to chance.”
"It would be fair. Let's do it. But quick." I replied, knowing our minute would soon end.
"Then you choose. Heads or tails." She offered up.
"Okay. Um... heads!" I replied quickly.
And like that, Caitlin held out her fist…
...Dropped the coin…
...Towards the forest floor below…
...Time suddenly slowing…
...As it descended towards the ground…
...Spinning…
...And spinning…
…And spinning…
...Until…
...Thud.
We both crouched down, and saw the result that would seal our fate forever…
…Heads.
I had won.
Caitlin looked up at me, her eyes wide, and her mouth agape, as tears began to roll down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry." I whispered.
"It's okay." She whispered back.
And then…
...The old man spoke.
"Your time is up. What is your decision? Who is the winner, and who is the loser?"
Both Caitlin and my heads hung low, as she began to speak, "I'm the-"
"Winner." I interrupted, as she looked at me, completely surprised by what I had said. "She's the winner, and I'm the loser."
"But Bobby-" She whispered.
"Save yourself. Don't worry about me." I insisted, whispering back to her, as the old man approached us.
"Very well." He said, holding his wrinkled hand out to Caitlin, who accepted it in hers.
And so, he escorted her away, off into the woods, hobbling on his wooden staff, until they disappeared into the night.
And as for me. I… well I was left there in the dark, surrounded by a dozen druids, who slowly closed in on me.
I didn't know what to do so I, accepting my fate, simply closed my eyes and braced for the worst…
...But similar to what had come of the impending doom of the howling wolves...
...Nothing happened.
I opened my eyes, to find one of the druids standing before me.
"Congratulations..." He said, in an ominous voice, "...On winning the games."
"What?" I asked, confused how that could be possible. "I don't understand. I voted for Caitlin to be the winner."
"Yes, you did." He replied, "But humility is the virtue that always wins the games. Your selfless act, sacrificing your own life for that of another's, is why you won."
"And what do I win?" I asked, not knowing what else to say.
"Just as the keeper of the games had stated, the greatest prize of all..." He said, "..Life."
"And what about Caitlin? What will become of her?"
"That is still yet to be decided. But you will find out soon enough."
Any sort of relief that I had felt immediately disappeared, and my heart sank, as I realized that by volunteering my own life to save Caitlin's, I may have actually cost her hers.
"Wait," I called out, "Let me take her place. Please."
But before I could continue, I felt the druids shove a giant canvas satchel over me, just as they'd done earlier that night, before whisking me away into the forest.
They must have knocked me out after that, because when I came to, I found myself back in my bedroom, lying face first on the cold, wooden floor.
The next day at school, I raced to Caitlin's locker, and then her home room, desperately hoping to see her face, hoping to put my mind at ease…
...But she never showed up. That day… or ever again.
And as for Brad, Colin, and Milton, their claims about how they lost their respective body parts, despite being substantiated by me, were all written off by police, parents, and teachers alike as foolish accidents, when no such games were ever found in the woods.
Years later, as my wife and I discuss having a child, I find myself wondering if I'll ever have a grandchild of my own…
...If they, too, will be invited to play the games in the woods, the next time the druids come around…
...And if Caitlin will be one of them.
2024.05.13 18:56 Plain_jane_23 If there’s one thing I’m good, it’s being petty.
So for context, I (21 female) had a friend group who were really close. It was three of us, me, my best friend Erica, and our best friend, Ellie who were also 21 females. I have established in this friend group early on that we are honest with each other through and through. If we are being bitches to each other, we call each other out and vice versa, when one of us needs help, we all help.
Now during Halloween of 2018, we were gathered at a Halloween party I was hosting and Ellie introduced us to someone who we will call Darla. Now she seemed cool at first, but you know when you get that gut feeling something is just not right? I was eyes wide open on that girl since then because something really set me off and I couldn’t understand why. I just brushed it off as anxiety and went about it. During the party, Darla announced that she was inviting everyone from my party to attend her birthday party in two weeks. We were excited especially one of my other friends, who we will call Kitty. Now, some backstory on Kitty because it’s relevant to this story. Kitty has a psycho overbearing mother and despite the fact that we were all over 21, her mother had her on a tight leash to the point she had to keep her social media a secret due to her mother being physically, emotionally, and mentally abusive. So it means she has a lot of rules when it comes to taking pictures of her or tagging her in stuff which we all knew and respected.
Now, I understand that Kitty can be a little overbearing at times because she can get too excited about things, but considering her background, it’s understandable. Kitty had expressed to Darla that she will gladly help out in planning the party with her since Darla had expressed she wanted to do a tea party which happened to be Kitty’s specialty. We end the night on a happy note and then a couple of days later, while we were all in university, Ellie and Erica come up to me during one of our lunch breaks and Erica tells me, “ I need to tell you something” which we all know means that shit went down and I’m not gonna like it.
They both sit me down and proceed to tell me that during the time since the party, Darla and Kitty have been messaging back and forth for the party and in those days, Darla had posted a full photo of Kitty’s face and tagged her in it which violated one of the rules she had explained to us that if we wanted to post her, we either tagged her and not showed her face or showed her face but not tagged her. Kitty had seen it and politely asked her to either take it down or at least untag her so her mother couldn’t find it. Darla proceeded to tell her oh sure whatever; then proceeded to tell both Erica and Ellie that how dare Kitty tell her what she can and can’t do with her social media page, how she needs to stop being so damn special, that she’s so fucking annoying, and that she doesn’t need to do anything.
That made me absolutely boil inside, but Erica tells me to relax because that’s not all. Not only did Darla not take down the photos, but she also told both of them that she was going to uninvite her from the party and she was going to get me to do it since she’s my friend and I can tell her.
I was so mad that I broke the pen I was holding and I told Erica to call Darla. So I composed myself while the phone was ringing and then Darla answered.
D: “Hello?” Erica: “hey, so we have OP here, so you can ask her what you wanted to ask her.”
She proceeds to hand me the phone and I have her on speaker. “So, what is going on?”
Darla then proceeds to tell me in this really sweet and fake voice. “Oh, I just wanted to ask if you could talk to your friend Kitty because I want to uninvite her from the party.” I feign ignorance, “oh? What for?”
D: “Well, I just don’t think we vibe really well. We barely know each other and I think it would just be better if we kept it between us.”
Erica and Ellie both in unison slap their foreheads in silence. Me: “Oh, so it had nothing to do with the pictures you posted that Kitty asked you to take down.” D: “starts sputtering” welll— ii—- Me: “cut the crap, I know everything. So let me make some things clear, 1. I will not do your dirty work for you; if you had a problem with someone, then you could’ve dealt with it by yourself. But if you think I am going to uninvite someone I’ve know longer than you, you’re sorely mistaken, ESPECIALLY after the shit you just pulled. 2. Second of all, you knew about the rules Kitty had about the social media, so don’t play dumb and stop acting like a child. What’s so hard about changing one thing about it? You didn’t even have to take it down; you could’ve just untagged her. 3. Lastly, if you uninvite Kitty, I am not going to your party and I will make sure no one else goes either. You wanted to act like a child being the oldest one of us at 26 years old, then deal with the consequences.
Darla scoffs and says, “you can’t do that!” I laugh and say “ Try me. You thought I was gonna choose you, someone I barely know less than 6 days ago over someone I’ve been friends with for two years. You’re delusional.”
The party still happened, we all still went and we had a fun time despite the fact that she was pouting in the corner the whole time. Needless to say, she wasn’t a part of the friend group.
Note for Charlotte: I love your videos and always look forward to hearing your voice and I live for the petty. Petty queens stay together!!
submitted by Plain_jane_23 to CharlotteDobreYouTube [link] [comments]
Now during Halloween of 2018, we were gathered at a Halloween party I was hosting and Ellie introduced us to someone who we will call Darla. Now she seemed cool at first, but you know when you get that gut feeling something is just not right? I was eyes wide open on that girl since then because something really set me off and I couldn’t understand why. I just brushed it off as anxiety and went about it. During the party, Darla announced that she was inviting everyone from my party to attend her birthday party in two weeks. We were excited especially one of my other friends, who we will call Kitty. Now, some backstory on Kitty because it’s relevant to this story. Kitty has a psycho overbearing mother and despite the fact that we were all over 21, her mother had her on a tight leash to the point she had to keep her social media a secret due to her mother being physically, emotionally, and mentally abusive. So it means she has a lot of rules when it comes to taking pictures of her or tagging her in stuff which we all knew and respected.
Now, I understand that Kitty can be a little overbearing at times because she can get too excited about things, but considering her background, it’s understandable. Kitty had expressed to Darla that she will gladly help out in planning the party with her since Darla had expressed she wanted to do a tea party which happened to be Kitty’s specialty. We end the night on a happy note and then a couple of days later, while we were all in university, Ellie and Erica come up to me during one of our lunch breaks and Erica tells me, “ I need to tell you something” which we all know means that shit went down and I’m not gonna like it.
They both sit me down and proceed to tell me that during the time since the party, Darla and Kitty have been messaging back and forth for the party and in those days, Darla had posted a full photo of Kitty’s face and tagged her in it which violated one of the rules she had explained to us that if we wanted to post her, we either tagged her and not showed her face or showed her face but not tagged her. Kitty had seen it and politely asked her to either take it down or at least untag her so her mother couldn’t find it. Darla proceeded to tell her oh sure whatever; then proceeded to tell both Erica and Ellie that how dare Kitty tell her what she can and can’t do with her social media page, how she needs to stop being so damn special, that she’s so fucking annoying, and that she doesn’t need to do anything.
That made me absolutely boil inside, but Erica tells me to relax because that’s not all. Not only did Darla not take down the photos, but she also told both of them that she was going to uninvite her from the party and she was going to get me to do it since she’s my friend and I can tell her.
I was so mad that I broke the pen I was holding and I told Erica to call Darla. So I composed myself while the phone was ringing and then Darla answered.
D: “Hello?” Erica: “hey, so we have OP here, so you can ask her what you wanted to ask her.”
She proceeds to hand me the phone and I have her on speaker. “So, what is going on?”
Darla then proceeds to tell me in this really sweet and fake voice. “Oh, I just wanted to ask if you could talk to your friend Kitty because I want to uninvite her from the party.” I feign ignorance, “oh? What for?”
D: “Well, I just don’t think we vibe really well. We barely know each other and I think it would just be better if we kept it between us.”
Erica and Ellie both in unison slap their foreheads in silence. Me: “Oh, so it had nothing to do with the pictures you posted that Kitty asked you to take down.” D: “starts sputtering” welll— ii—- Me: “cut the crap, I know everything. So let me make some things clear, 1. I will not do your dirty work for you; if you had a problem with someone, then you could’ve dealt with it by yourself. But if you think I am going to uninvite someone I’ve know longer than you, you’re sorely mistaken, ESPECIALLY after the shit you just pulled. 2. Second of all, you knew about the rules Kitty had about the social media, so don’t play dumb and stop acting like a child. What’s so hard about changing one thing about it? You didn’t even have to take it down; you could’ve just untagged her. 3. Lastly, if you uninvite Kitty, I am not going to your party and I will make sure no one else goes either. You wanted to act like a child being the oldest one of us at 26 years old, then deal with the consequences.
Darla scoffs and says, “you can’t do that!” I laugh and say “ Try me. You thought I was gonna choose you, someone I barely know less than 6 days ago over someone I’ve been friends with for two years. You’re delusional.”
The party still happened, we all still went and we had a fun time despite the fact that she was pouting in the corner the whole time. Needless to say, she wasn’t a part of the friend group.
Note for Charlotte: I love your videos and always look forward to hearing your voice and I live for the petty. Petty queens stay together!!
2024.05.13 18:55 RangerSevere1522 Trying to start my healing process, but I don’t know how to start
After being in Inpatient x2 and multiple IOPs I’ve been told by a couple different therapists that things between me (21nb) and my mom (41F) are toxic, but while a couple suggested that my mom may have BPD, my current therapist believes she may be a narcissist so I guess I wanted to post this to both of these subs and ask what you think?
To start off, my mother and I are on somewhat good terms right now, but I can sense that’s going to change soon as I have a car insurance bill that I need to pay for coming up and don’t have the money, so I suspect that I’m going to be getting yelled at. But, overall, since I’ve moved out of the house she’s been much nicer to me and treats me the same as she treats her sister and friends. But things weren’t always like this.
I’ve struggled with mental health for the majority of my life, I started having crippling existential crises around the age of 8 (I don’t know why this started) and barely got any sleep growing up - it was so bad that I could only watch children’s media & YouTube (this sounds weird because I said 8, but this probably continued until I was 16) and anything that involved death/dying was immediately off my radar.
Apparently, according to her, I started sh’ing (cutting) in late elementary school / early middle school, but I have no memory of this, I do however have vivid memories of crying in the shower and repeatedly banging a hard plastic cup on my Tibia to leave massive welt like bruises. So she’s not entirely wrong, and there may be a chance that had also cut myself and blocked out the memory, but I don’t like how she brings it up whenever I mention my one childhood friend. She usually makes a comment about how my friend “convinced me I was depressed” and that I “self harmed to seem cool to her” I can assure you neither of these things are true. Sure, we were both little ‘emo’ shits when we were 12 but we were always there for one another and she would have never told me to do that, and I would have never done that for attention… if I hurt myself it’s for a reason.
Around this time, age 12, I had my first serious bought with suicidal ideations, I didn’t want to be alive, but because I was so scared of dying I didn’t want to Jill myself either so in the midst of one of my meltdowns (panic attacks, episodes?? I don’t know what to call them but basically I would cry for hours on end and shake and I felt like I couldn’t breath and it felt like nothing would fix whatever it was I was freaking out about) but in the midst of one of those I basically admitted to wishing I was never born, I was seeking guidance and love and help, but instead I was met with her screaming at me claiming “that was the worst thing I could have ever said to her” and that “I’m ungrateful” and basically she made me feel incredibly guilty for feeling how I was and I ended up having to crawl into bed with her and hold her and make her feel better when I was the one who was in so much pain at the time.
This happened often, I was made to feel incredibly guilty for what I feel like are normal things / boundaries. Another example of this was when I was 16-17, we went to one of her friends family pools, and I hate pools, I hate getting into swim suits I hate the idea of people seeing my body but at this moment in particular I was in a very abusive relationship and also had the mental toll of him blowing up my phone & asking for nudes, as well as the mental toll that I had carved the word ‘bitch’ into my thigh and I reeeeaaalllllllllly didn’t want my mom / her friends / her friends family to see that so I opted for going, but not swimming. But after she had had a few drinks she felt like I should try and swim with the other kids, the other kids being 6-8 year olds - I’m not great with kids, but they seem to love me, and one little girl in particular kept asking me to swim, and I politely declined but I told her I would throw one of those underwater torpedo things for her to try to dive and find - but this I guess was the straw that broke the camels back, my mom ended up pulling me aside and scolding me telling me I’m such a bitch and that I shouldn’t have even come if I was gonna act like that, I didn’t want to go - in fact I had made it very clear my whole life that I don’t like pools and I put up a small fight about having to go there in the first place, but this didn’t matter and I ended up having to swim anyways, and at this point I didn’t want to get out of the water because of my legs so she I guess took this as her ‘winning’ cause she later made a comment about how much fun I had once I actually got into the pool.
Another instance, somewhat involves my abusive ex - but when I was like 16-17 I was taking AP bio and had a very important assignment due and had the whole entire weekend to work on it, which I NEEDED because it was like 80-100 questions and I wasn’t that great at bio. But, when I got home on Friday I had to go to work and planned on spending my entire Saturday working on it, but that day happened to be my little cousins birthday party so we went there & I was told that I could leave early, but they then started drinking and I was forced into staying later than I wanted to be the DD for her & my step-dad as well as my two younger brothers (they weren’t drunk / drinking they just also needed to go home) and I ended up breaking my permit driver curfew by like an hour and was freaking out about getting pulled over the entire time. When we got home I had no time to keep working on my project because it was already 11:30 and I needed to wake up at 4am for work. I ended up getting up for work, going to work, and then around halfway through my shift I had a panic attack and needed to leave because all I could think about was my homework assignment, I even called my mom and told her I was coming home early to work on my homework assignment. When I got home, she was drunk and told me that before I did my assignment I needed to pack my room up because we were moving in a few weeks, and I politely said that I would do that but I needed to do my homework first because it was a lot of my grade and going to take a long time. So I went upstairs, got my laptop and called my now ex-boyfriend for help because he knew more about bio then me. I guess she changed her mind about me doing my homework because she ended up storming into my room SCREAMING at me, I have most of the events of what happened next blocked out but from what I was told by my now ex who was still on the phone at the time that she called me ‘disgusting’ and ‘fat’ (I had? / have? an eating disorder and I’ve never been over 120lbs) and a plethora of other names, she took my dresser drawers out and dumped the contents all over me and my floor and she ended up screaming at me for nearly 20 minutes. My now ex, did not help, and called my dad who wasn’t home, who called my grandmother to check up on me and even though I was so adamant about the fact that I DID NOT CALL HER I got screamed at for getting my grandmother involved.
And whenever I bring up how awful that ex was or how depressed my life was during that time, she brushes it off as ‘everyone was depressed during covid’ or says ‘everyone hated him, he called me childish’ or something along those lines, but she’s never acknowledged how he treated me or made me feel she only got annoyed with him because of how he treated her
There are a few odd instances of her dumping all my things in the middle of the room and telling me to clean it up or else everything was getting thrown away, or calling me a bitch because I refused to drink vodka when we were in Georgia in the middle of summer on a hike because she didn’t bring water - even at like 11-13 I knew that dehydrated you. She constantly looked through my phone / texts with my then partner, then ex, now fiancé lol, and punishing me if there was anything ‘bad’ in there, but we dated for like 2 years before we had even done anything, called me selfish and a narcissist because I loved theatre & said that if you like preforming in front of people you have to be self obsessed - this cause so much emotional damage & made the one activity I had where I felt like I could be myself feel gross and I felt guilty doing it (I kept doing it but got into a habit of messing up auditions on purpose so that I was never ‘the lead’ because if I did end up getting casted as the lead I always felt ashamed or like it was something to hide I never was proud or else that was narcissistic), I’m autistic and something I struggle a lot with is Christmas / presents because it hard to mask and make it seem like you just ADORE the same exact shitty art box from the same 4 relatives every year, but when my younger brother was born he’d just be happy to get presents, so I acted like him one Christmas and got scolded for ‘only caring about presents and not the true meaning of Christmas’ when I was just trying to be the opposite of what I normally get scolded for and that’s ‘not seeming appreciative enough’ when I was appreciative that my family was there, again, I don’t need or want piles of the same shitty art box with markers that don’t work so whenever I got one it was hard for me too seem excited.
The last biggest example I have is that she made me throw my medication out after going to inpatient and claimed all the medicine they were putting on was making me worse, she refused to let me see my dad while I was still living with her even though it was the first time he had been home in nearly 2 years because she thought he was making me worse, and still refused even on Father’s Day - my dad and I have a strained relationship now because he kept getting mad at me for not ‘acting like an adult’ to go and see him, when I was to scared to disobey my mom because she kept threatening to kick me out of the house…
It’s not all bad, I love my mom… I don’t want to go NC or anything like that, but I do want to heal and learn to love myself, and knowing if my therapists are right / knowing what to heal from would be a really nice start
submitted by RangerSevere1522 to raisedbynarcissists [link] [comments]
To start off, my mother and I are on somewhat good terms right now, but I can sense that’s going to change soon as I have a car insurance bill that I need to pay for coming up and don’t have the money, so I suspect that I’m going to be getting yelled at. But, overall, since I’ve moved out of the house she’s been much nicer to me and treats me the same as she treats her sister and friends. But things weren’t always like this.
I’ve struggled with mental health for the majority of my life, I started having crippling existential crises around the age of 8 (I don’t know why this started) and barely got any sleep growing up - it was so bad that I could only watch children’s media & YouTube (this sounds weird because I said 8, but this probably continued until I was 16) and anything that involved death/dying was immediately off my radar.
Apparently, according to her, I started sh’ing (cutting) in late elementary school / early middle school, but I have no memory of this, I do however have vivid memories of crying in the shower and repeatedly banging a hard plastic cup on my Tibia to leave massive welt like bruises. So she’s not entirely wrong, and there may be a chance that had also cut myself and blocked out the memory, but I don’t like how she brings it up whenever I mention my one childhood friend. She usually makes a comment about how my friend “convinced me I was depressed” and that I “self harmed to seem cool to her” I can assure you neither of these things are true. Sure, we were both little ‘emo’ shits when we were 12 but we were always there for one another and she would have never told me to do that, and I would have never done that for attention… if I hurt myself it’s for a reason.
Around this time, age 12, I had my first serious bought with suicidal ideations, I didn’t want to be alive, but because I was so scared of dying I didn’t want to Jill myself either so in the midst of one of my meltdowns (panic attacks, episodes?? I don’t know what to call them but basically I would cry for hours on end and shake and I felt like I couldn’t breath and it felt like nothing would fix whatever it was I was freaking out about) but in the midst of one of those I basically admitted to wishing I was never born, I was seeking guidance and love and help, but instead I was met with her screaming at me claiming “that was the worst thing I could have ever said to her” and that “I’m ungrateful” and basically she made me feel incredibly guilty for feeling how I was and I ended up having to crawl into bed with her and hold her and make her feel better when I was the one who was in so much pain at the time.
This happened often, I was made to feel incredibly guilty for what I feel like are normal things / boundaries. Another example of this was when I was 16-17, we went to one of her friends family pools, and I hate pools, I hate getting into swim suits I hate the idea of people seeing my body but at this moment in particular I was in a very abusive relationship and also had the mental toll of him blowing up my phone & asking for nudes, as well as the mental toll that I had carved the word ‘bitch’ into my thigh and I reeeeaaalllllllllly didn’t want my mom / her friends / her friends family to see that so I opted for going, but not swimming. But after she had had a few drinks she felt like I should try and swim with the other kids, the other kids being 6-8 year olds - I’m not great with kids, but they seem to love me, and one little girl in particular kept asking me to swim, and I politely declined but I told her I would throw one of those underwater torpedo things for her to try to dive and find - but this I guess was the straw that broke the camels back, my mom ended up pulling me aside and scolding me telling me I’m such a bitch and that I shouldn’t have even come if I was gonna act like that, I didn’t want to go - in fact I had made it very clear my whole life that I don’t like pools and I put up a small fight about having to go there in the first place, but this didn’t matter and I ended up having to swim anyways, and at this point I didn’t want to get out of the water because of my legs so she I guess took this as her ‘winning’ cause she later made a comment about how much fun I had once I actually got into the pool.
Another instance, somewhat involves my abusive ex - but when I was like 16-17 I was taking AP bio and had a very important assignment due and had the whole entire weekend to work on it, which I NEEDED because it was like 80-100 questions and I wasn’t that great at bio. But, when I got home on Friday I had to go to work and planned on spending my entire Saturday working on it, but that day happened to be my little cousins birthday party so we went there & I was told that I could leave early, but they then started drinking and I was forced into staying later than I wanted to be the DD for her & my step-dad as well as my two younger brothers (they weren’t drunk / drinking they just also needed to go home) and I ended up breaking my permit driver curfew by like an hour and was freaking out about getting pulled over the entire time. When we got home I had no time to keep working on my project because it was already 11:30 and I needed to wake up at 4am for work. I ended up getting up for work, going to work, and then around halfway through my shift I had a panic attack and needed to leave because all I could think about was my homework assignment, I even called my mom and told her I was coming home early to work on my homework assignment. When I got home, she was drunk and told me that before I did my assignment I needed to pack my room up because we were moving in a few weeks, and I politely said that I would do that but I needed to do my homework first because it was a lot of my grade and going to take a long time. So I went upstairs, got my laptop and called my now ex-boyfriend for help because he knew more about bio then me. I guess she changed her mind about me doing my homework because she ended up storming into my room SCREAMING at me, I have most of the events of what happened next blocked out but from what I was told by my now ex who was still on the phone at the time that she called me ‘disgusting’ and ‘fat’ (I had? / have? an eating disorder and I’ve never been over 120lbs) and a plethora of other names, she took my dresser drawers out and dumped the contents all over me and my floor and she ended up screaming at me for nearly 20 minutes. My now ex, did not help, and called my dad who wasn’t home, who called my grandmother to check up on me and even though I was so adamant about the fact that I DID NOT CALL HER I got screamed at for getting my grandmother involved.
And whenever I bring up how awful that ex was or how depressed my life was during that time, she brushes it off as ‘everyone was depressed during covid’ or says ‘everyone hated him, he called me childish’ or something along those lines, but she’s never acknowledged how he treated me or made me feel she only got annoyed with him because of how he treated her
There are a few odd instances of her dumping all my things in the middle of the room and telling me to clean it up or else everything was getting thrown away, or calling me a bitch because I refused to drink vodka when we were in Georgia in the middle of summer on a hike because she didn’t bring water - even at like 11-13 I knew that dehydrated you. She constantly looked through my phone / texts with my then partner, then ex, now fiancé lol, and punishing me if there was anything ‘bad’ in there, but we dated for like 2 years before we had even done anything, called me selfish and a narcissist because I loved theatre & said that if you like preforming in front of people you have to be self obsessed - this cause so much emotional damage & made the one activity I had where I felt like I could be myself feel gross and I felt guilty doing it (I kept doing it but got into a habit of messing up auditions on purpose so that I was never ‘the lead’ because if I did end up getting casted as the lead I always felt ashamed or like it was something to hide I never was proud or else that was narcissistic), I’m autistic and something I struggle a lot with is Christmas / presents because it hard to mask and make it seem like you just ADORE the same exact shitty art box from the same 4 relatives every year, but when my younger brother was born he’d just be happy to get presents, so I acted like him one Christmas and got scolded for ‘only caring about presents and not the true meaning of Christmas’ when I was just trying to be the opposite of what I normally get scolded for and that’s ‘not seeming appreciative enough’ when I was appreciative that my family was there, again, I don’t need or want piles of the same shitty art box with markers that don’t work so whenever I got one it was hard for me too seem excited.
The last biggest example I have is that she made me throw my medication out after going to inpatient and claimed all the medicine they were putting on was making me worse, she refused to let me see my dad while I was still living with her even though it was the first time he had been home in nearly 2 years because she thought he was making me worse, and still refused even on Father’s Day - my dad and I have a strained relationship now because he kept getting mad at me for not ‘acting like an adult’ to go and see him, when I was to scared to disobey my mom because she kept threatening to kick me out of the house…
It’s not all bad, I love my mom… I don’t want to go NC or anything like that, but I do want to heal and learn to love myself, and knowing if my therapists are right / knowing what to heal from would be a really nice start
2024.05.13 18:54 RangerSevere1522 Trying to start my healing process… but I don’t know where to start…
After being in Inpatient x2 and multiple IOPs I’ve been told by a couple different therapists that things between me (21nb) and my mom (41F) are toxic, and a couple suggested that my mom may have BPD. After reading through countless articles on it, I can agree based on scenarios I’ve listed below & I guess I was wondering… how do you start healing?
To start off, my mother and I are on somewhat good terms right now, but I can sense that’s going to change soon as I have a car insurance bill that I need to pay for coming up and don’t have the money, so I suspect that I’m going to be getting yelled at. But, overall, since I’ve moved out of the house she’s been much nicer to me and treats me the same as she treats her sister and friends. But things weren’t always like this.
I’ve struggled with mental health for the majority of my life, I started having crippling existential crises around the age of 8 (I don’t know why this started) and barely got any sleep growing up - it was so bad that I could only watch children’s media & YouTube (this sounds weird because I said 8, but this probably continued until I was 16) and anything that involved death/dying was immediately off my radar.
Apparently, according to her, I started sh’ing (cutting) in late elementary school / early middle school, but I have no memory of this, I do however have vivid memories of crying in the shower and repeatedly banging a hard plastic cup on my Tibia to leave massive welt like bruises. So she’s not entirely wrong, and there may be a chance that had also cut myself and blocked out the memory, but I don’t like how she brings it up whenever I mention my one childhood friend. She usually makes a comment about how my friend “convinced me I was depressed” and that I “self harmed to seem cool to her” I can assure you neither of these things are true. Sure, we were both little ‘emo’ shits when we were 12 but we were always there for one another and she would have never told me to do that, and I would have never done that for attention… if I hurt myself it’s for a reason.
Around this time, age 12, I had my first serious bought with suicidal ideations, I didn’t want to be alive, but because I was so scared of dying I didn’t want to Jill myself either so in the midst of one of my meltdowns (panic attacks, episodes?? I don’t know what to call them but basically I would cry for hours on end and shake and I felt like I couldn’t breath and it felt like nothing would fix whatever it was I was freaking out about) but in the midst of one of those I basically admitted to wishing I was never born, I was seeking guidance and love and help, but instead I was met with her screaming at me claiming “that was the worst thing I could have ever said to her” and that “I’m ungrateful” and basically she made me feel incredibly guilty for feeling how I was and I ended up having to crawl into bed with her and hold her and make her feel better when I was the one who was in so much pain at the time.
This happened often, I was made to feel incredibly guilty for what I feel like are normal things / boundaries. Another example of this was when I was 16-17, we went to one of her friends family pools, and I hate pools, I hate getting into swim suits I hate the idea of people seeing my body but at this moment in particular I was in a very abusive relationship and also had the mental toll of him blowing up my phone & asking for nudes, as well as the mental toll that I had carved the word ‘bitch’ into my thigh and I reeeeaaalllllllllly didn’t want my mom / her friends / her friends family to see that so I opted for going, but not swimming. But after she had had a few drinks she felt like I should try and swim with the other kids, the other kids being 6-8 year olds - I’m not great with kids, but they seem to love me, and one little girl in particular kept asking me to swim, and I politely declined but I told her I would throw one of those underwater torpedo things for her to try to dive and find - but this I guess was the straw that broke the camels back, my mom ended up pulling me aside and scolding me telling me I’m such a bitch and that I shouldn’t have even come if I was gonna act like that, I didn’t want to go - in fact I had made it very clear my whole life that I don’t like pools and I put up a small fight about having to go there in the first place, but this didn’t matter and I ended up having to swim anyways, and at this point I didn’t want to get out of the water because of my legs so she I guess took this as her ‘winning’ cause she later made a comment about how much fun I had once I actually got into the pool.
Another instance, somewhat involves my abusive ex - but when I was like 16-17 I was taking AP bio and had a very important assignment due and had the whole entire weekend to work on it, which I NEEDED because it was like 80-100 questions and I wasn’t that great at bio. But, when I got home on Friday I had to go to work and planned on spending my entire Saturday working on it, but that day happened to be my little cousins birthday party so we went there & I was told that I could leave early, but they then started drinking and I was forced into staying later than I wanted to be the DD for her & my step-dad as well as my two younger brothers (they weren’t drunk / drinking they just also needed to go home) and I ended up breaking my permit driver curfew by like an hour and was freaking out about getting pulled over the entire time. When we got home I had no time to keep working on my project because it was already 11:30 and I needed to wake up at 4am for work. I ended up getting up for work, going to work, and then around halfway through my shift I had a panic attack and needed to leave because all I could think about was my homework assignment, I even called my mom and told her I was coming home early to work on my homework assignment. When I got home, she was drunk and told me that before I did my assignment I needed to pack my room up because we were moving in a few weeks, and I politely said that I would do that but I needed to do my homework first because it was a lot of my grade and going to take a long time. So I went upstairs, got my laptop and called my now ex-boyfriend for help because he knew more about bio then me. I guess she changed her mind about me doing my homework because she ended up storming into my room SCREAMING at me, I have most of the events of what happened next blocked out but from what I was told by my now ex who was still on the phone at the time that she called me ‘disgusting’ and ‘fat’ (I had? / have? an eating disorder and I’ve never been over 120lbs) and a plethora of other names, she took my dresser drawers out and dumped the contents all over me and my floor and she ended up screaming at me for nearly 20 minutes. My now ex, did not help, and called my dad who wasn’t home, who called my grandmother to check up on me and even though I was so adamant about the fact that I DID NOT CALL HER I got screamed at for getting my grandmother involved.
And whenever I bring up how awful that ex was or how depressed my life was during that time, she brushes it off as ‘everyone was depressed during covid’ or says ‘everyone hated him, he called me childish’ or something along those lines, but she’s never acknowledged how he treated me or made me feel she only got annoyed with him because of how he treated her
There are a few odd instances of her dumping all my things in the middle of the room and telling me to clean it up or else everything was getting thrown away, or calling me a bitch because I refused to drink vodka when we were in Georgia in the middle of summer on a hike because she didn’t bring water - even at like 11-13 I knew that dehydrated you. She constantly looked through my phone / texts with my then partner, then ex, now fiancé lol, and punishing me if there was anything ‘bad’ in there, but we dated for like 2 years before we had even done anything, called me selfish and a narcissist because I loved theatre & said that if you like preforming in front of people you have to be self obsessed - this cause so much emotional damage & made the one activity I had where I felt like I could be myself feel gross and I felt guilty doing it (I kept doing it but got into a habit of messing up auditions on purpose so that I was never ‘the lead’ because if I did end up getting casted as the lead I always felt ashamed or like it was something to hide I never was proud or else that was narcissistic), I’m autistic and something I struggle a lot with is Christmas / presents because it hard to mask and make it seem like you just ADORE the same exact shitty art box from the same 4 relatives every year, but when my younger brother was born he’d just be happy to get presents, so I acted like him one Christmas and got scolded for ‘only caring about presents and not the true meaning of Christmas’ when I was just trying to be the opposite of what I normally get scolded for and that’s ‘not seeming appreciative enough’ when I was appreciative that my family was there, again, I don’t need or want piles of the same shitty art box with markers that don’t work so whenever I got one it was hard for me too seem excited.
The last biggest example I have is that she made me throw my medication out after going to inpatient and claimed all the medicine they were putting on was making me worse, she refused to let me see my dad while I was still living with her even though it was the first time he had been home in nearly 2 years because she thought he was making me worse, and still refused even on Father’s Day - my dad and I have a strained relationship now because he kept getting mad at me for not ‘acting like an adult’ to go and see him, when I was to scared to disobey my mom because she kept threatening to kick me out of the house…
It’s not all bad, I love my mom… I don’t want to go NC or anything like that, but I do want to heal and learn to love myself more, and I can only really do that once I better understand what happened / why things turned out the way they did
cute kittens eating salmon
submitted by RangerSevere1522 to raisedbyborderlines [link] [comments]
To start off, my mother and I are on somewhat good terms right now, but I can sense that’s going to change soon as I have a car insurance bill that I need to pay for coming up and don’t have the money, so I suspect that I’m going to be getting yelled at. But, overall, since I’ve moved out of the house she’s been much nicer to me and treats me the same as she treats her sister and friends. But things weren’t always like this.
I’ve struggled with mental health for the majority of my life, I started having crippling existential crises around the age of 8 (I don’t know why this started) and barely got any sleep growing up - it was so bad that I could only watch children’s media & YouTube (this sounds weird because I said 8, but this probably continued until I was 16) and anything that involved death/dying was immediately off my radar.
Apparently, according to her, I started sh’ing (cutting) in late elementary school / early middle school, but I have no memory of this, I do however have vivid memories of crying in the shower and repeatedly banging a hard plastic cup on my Tibia to leave massive welt like bruises. So she’s not entirely wrong, and there may be a chance that had also cut myself and blocked out the memory, but I don’t like how she brings it up whenever I mention my one childhood friend. She usually makes a comment about how my friend “convinced me I was depressed” and that I “self harmed to seem cool to her” I can assure you neither of these things are true. Sure, we were both little ‘emo’ shits when we were 12 but we were always there for one another and she would have never told me to do that, and I would have never done that for attention… if I hurt myself it’s for a reason.
Around this time, age 12, I had my first serious bought with suicidal ideations, I didn’t want to be alive, but because I was so scared of dying I didn’t want to Jill myself either so in the midst of one of my meltdowns (panic attacks, episodes?? I don’t know what to call them but basically I would cry for hours on end and shake and I felt like I couldn’t breath and it felt like nothing would fix whatever it was I was freaking out about) but in the midst of one of those I basically admitted to wishing I was never born, I was seeking guidance and love and help, but instead I was met with her screaming at me claiming “that was the worst thing I could have ever said to her” and that “I’m ungrateful” and basically she made me feel incredibly guilty for feeling how I was and I ended up having to crawl into bed with her and hold her and make her feel better when I was the one who was in so much pain at the time.
This happened often, I was made to feel incredibly guilty for what I feel like are normal things / boundaries. Another example of this was when I was 16-17, we went to one of her friends family pools, and I hate pools, I hate getting into swim suits I hate the idea of people seeing my body but at this moment in particular I was in a very abusive relationship and also had the mental toll of him blowing up my phone & asking for nudes, as well as the mental toll that I had carved the word ‘bitch’ into my thigh and I reeeeaaalllllllllly didn’t want my mom / her friends / her friends family to see that so I opted for going, but not swimming. But after she had had a few drinks she felt like I should try and swim with the other kids, the other kids being 6-8 year olds - I’m not great with kids, but they seem to love me, and one little girl in particular kept asking me to swim, and I politely declined but I told her I would throw one of those underwater torpedo things for her to try to dive and find - but this I guess was the straw that broke the camels back, my mom ended up pulling me aside and scolding me telling me I’m such a bitch and that I shouldn’t have even come if I was gonna act like that, I didn’t want to go - in fact I had made it very clear my whole life that I don’t like pools and I put up a small fight about having to go there in the first place, but this didn’t matter and I ended up having to swim anyways, and at this point I didn’t want to get out of the water because of my legs so she I guess took this as her ‘winning’ cause she later made a comment about how much fun I had once I actually got into the pool.
Another instance, somewhat involves my abusive ex - but when I was like 16-17 I was taking AP bio and had a very important assignment due and had the whole entire weekend to work on it, which I NEEDED because it was like 80-100 questions and I wasn’t that great at bio. But, when I got home on Friday I had to go to work and planned on spending my entire Saturday working on it, but that day happened to be my little cousins birthday party so we went there & I was told that I could leave early, but they then started drinking and I was forced into staying later than I wanted to be the DD for her & my step-dad as well as my two younger brothers (they weren’t drunk / drinking they just also needed to go home) and I ended up breaking my permit driver curfew by like an hour and was freaking out about getting pulled over the entire time. When we got home I had no time to keep working on my project because it was already 11:30 and I needed to wake up at 4am for work. I ended up getting up for work, going to work, and then around halfway through my shift I had a panic attack and needed to leave because all I could think about was my homework assignment, I even called my mom and told her I was coming home early to work on my homework assignment. When I got home, she was drunk and told me that before I did my assignment I needed to pack my room up because we were moving in a few weeks, and I politely said that I would do that but I needed to do my homework first because it was a lot of my grade and going to take a long time. So I went upstairs, got my laptop and called my now ex-boyfriend for help because he knew more about bio then me. I guess she changed her mind about me doing my homework because she ended up storming into my room SCREAMING at me, I have most of the events of what happened next blocked out but from what I was told by my now ex who was still on the phone at the time that she called me ‘disgusting’ and ‘fat’ (I had? / have? an eating disorder and I’ve never been over 120lbs) and a plethora of other names, she took my dresser drawers out and dumped the contents all over me and my floor and she ended up screaming at me for nearly 20 minutes. My now ex, did not help, and called my dad who wasn’t home, who called my grandmother to check up on me and even though I was so adamant about the fact that I DID NOT CALL HER I got screamed at for getting my grandmother involved.
And whenever I bring up how awful that ex was or how depressed my life was during that time, she brushes it off as ‘everyone was depressed during covid’ or says ‘everyone hated him, he called me childish’ or something along those lines, but she’s never acknowledged how he treated me or made me feel she only got annoyed with him because of how he treated her
There are a few odd instances of her dumping all my things in the middle of the room and telling me to clean it up or else everything was getting thrown away, or calling me a bitch because I refused to drink vodka when we were in Georgia in the middle of summer on a hike because she didn’t bring water - even at like 11-13 I knew that dehydrated you. She constantly looked through my phone / texts with my then partner, then ex, now fiancé lol, and punishing me if there was anything ‘bad’ in there, but we dated for like 2 years before we had even done anything, called me selfish and a narcissist because I loved theatre & said that if you like preforming in front of people you have to be self obsessed - this cause so much emotional damage & made the one activity I had where I felt like I could be myself feel gross and I felt guilty doing it (I kept doing it but got into a habit of messing up auditions on purpose so that I was never ‘the lead’ because if I did end up getting casted as the lead I always felt ashamed or like it was something to hide I never was proud or else that was narcissistic), I’m autistic and something I struggle a lot with is Christmas / presents because it hard to mask and make it seem like you just ADORE the same exact shitty art box from the same 4 relatives every year, but when my younger brother was born he’d just be happy to get presents, so I acted like him one Christmas and got scolded for ‘only caring about presents and not the true meaning of Christmas’ when I was just trying to be the opposite of what I normally get scolded for and that’s ‘not seeming appreciative enough’ when I was appreciative that my family was there, again, I don’t need or want piles of the same shitty art box with markers that don’t work so whenever I got one it was hard for me too seem excited.
The last biggest example I have is that she made me throw my medication out after going to inpatient and claimed all the medicine they were putting on was making me worse, she refused to let me see my dad while I was still living with her even though it was the first time he had been home in nearly 2 years because she thought he was making me worse, and still refused even on Father’s Day - my dad and I have a strained relationship now because he kept getting mad at me for not ‘acting like an adult’ to go and see him, when I was to scared to disobey my mom because she kept threatening to kick me out of the house…
It’s not all bad, I love my mom… I don’t want to go NC or anything like that, but I do want to heal and learn to love myself more, and I can only really do that once I better understand what happened / why things turned out the way they did
cute kittens eating salmon
2024.05.13 17:36 icallshogun Bridgebuilder - Chapter 88
Compromise
First Prev
“Alright, so uh...” Alex picked the last larva out of the bowl and ate it. A burst of umami and the unexpected taste of alcohol. Now that it had soaked up some of the spice from the broth, it was pretty good. Not particularly flavorful, but a better eating experience than he would expect from a grub. “Why did Eleya put two towns into a warship?”
“I do not know.” Carbon was less fussy about the variety of ingredients presented, eating without playing favorites. It was what she’d picked out when pressed to recommend something for him, and the speed of the devastation she was enacting on what had been a bowl nearly filled to the brim said that it was actually a personal favorite. “I had heard some suggesting converting retired Naval ships into housing, using a decommissioned carrier as a space station once it could be towed into a proper location. Swapping out launch bays for community towers is not a long bridge.”
“That seems...” It seemed desperate. But given what he’d seen, desperate was where they had been in the weeks following the disaster. Where they still were, even if things were improving.
Were things improving?
“Born out of desperation, yes.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “We did not have many colonies, we had not built so many stations. We only kept old ships for parts as another means of efficiency in our fleets. There had been hundreds of thousands in transit all over the Empire at the time. On their way home, on their way to relieve others who now no longer had a home to return to.”
“Yeah, that-” He shifted some of the shredded cabbage-potato around his bowl, trying to figure out what to say. The ‘that sucks’ he had stopped himself from blurting out felt offensively inadequate. “That does present a huge challenge. Did they end up bringing ships online for that?”
“Oh, we did everything. Any idea that was not completely untenable got the blue light. Repurposing ships, building sealed micro-arcologies on less habitable planets, mining out sufficiently large asteroids, asking the Confederation for help. I saw one proposal that suggested an inflatable space station. I thought it was a completely deranged idea.” She paused and picked up the bowl, slurping out some of the broth. “Then Humans arrive to bring aid, and do you know what the first structure they brought with them was?”
“An inflatable space station.” He saw that coming. Everyone - well, everyone who was sufficiently interested in space ships - would recognize the Redoubt class from that description alone. The very definition of form following function, each ship was little more than a central cylinder with hard points for a dozen habitat modules, and engines bolted to one end. Light, fast, cheap. Once deployed, you had a small space station that could be packed up when you were done. Old technology, sure, but they were everywhere, and the configuration options were extensive.
“Exactly. Forgive me, but I laughed. I knew the intent was to help, but having seen that proposal just weeks before...” She smiled and laughed despite having just apologized for such a thing.
“No I get it, it’s a goofy looking ship.” He could see the humor in the situation as well. Having gone from ‘this is too dangerous’ to ‘of course the Humans brought one’ was pretty funny. It put a smirk on his face and got him close to laughing along with her. “Probably used it as a command post until something heavier arrived. Kind of the primary use case for those in Search and Rescue, which is what I think the aid mission was first considered.”
“I was not involved with that aspect of recovery operations, but it stands to reason.” She set her utensils aside in a very specific way, sliding the bowl towards the end of the table. “I cannot tell you why they put all these people here. My first guess would be that it was a somewhat straightforward swap. The bays are very securely attached to the structure, but they are intended to be removed and replaced. It would be important that Eleya use her ship as a proof of concept.”
“Royals lead?” Seemed the logical jump.
Carbon nodded. “The Sword is recognized as her flagship. It is named after her. The Stronghold is based heavily on the Imperial Palace in Ama’o - may it rest. Taking in civilians, thousands of them, is hard proof that she is not simply hiding in here. Having the senate on board also brings with it the need for support staff, creating a symbiotic relationship. It is... a good compromise.”
“Okay, wait. How is The Sword of the Morning Light named after Eleya?” That legitimately confused him. “All I know is the -ya suffix is feminine.”
“Another name mauled by your automatic translation, though this time it is a portion of the Empress’ full formal titles.” She gave him a pointed look, a little smirk hiding on the side of her muzzle. “The strictest translation would be ‘the sword that is used to cut back the night,’ but that is even worse. If I were doing translations and feeling poetic, perhaps I would call it Dawnsword. It would convey the meaning of the name well enough, I think, without being verbose.”
“Then why do you call it the Sword like we do?” He figured just using the actual Tsla name would be easy enough if Dawnsword was a better translation.
“When in Rome.” Carbon snickered. “The Confederate systems I was working with before leaving for the Haultain were not set up to handle Tsla, and none of the Humans I spoke to recognized the name when I said it, so it became a force of habit.”
“Ah, that’d do it.” He’d ask about the actual name another time - it being one of Eleya’s titles felt like a natural transition to learning the rest of her titles, and he didn’t give a single damn about doing that right now.
“Alright, Eleya needs places to put people, and a place to put a temporary capital until the new location can be properly sorted. Two birds with one stone, I suppose. Wouldn’t staying at Schoen be more of the... leader thing to do?”
“If she were to stay here beyond the end of this endeavor, perhaps so. For now, having this ship - and its civilians - as a base of operations, in what even we consider to be one of the most secure solar systems, is reasonable. Most governing at that level has been done remotely since before the disaster, so it doesn’t impede anything.” She paused to sip her tea. “No one needs a senator to be on site anyway. Their presence traditionally just interferes with real work.”
That did get a laugh out of Alex. “The more things change.”
“The more they stay the same, yes?” She said with a grin.
“It is so. All right, mystery of the Dawnsword’s surprise towns is put to rest.” He stopped talking as Haraya came out of the woodwork to remove Carbon’s dishes, bustling away with even less stiffness than before. Why did he feel like he was forgetting something? “Heck. Did... Did anyone tell you we have an appointment to see a designer about our uh, our insignia?”
“No, but my communicator has been going off like I am being told something like that.” Carbon laughed and leaned back into her chair, fishing the slim black device from her jacket, the screen coming on.
Alex was not intentionally staring at his wife’s abdomen as he pushed the bowl away and set his chopsticks out like she had done. “Zenshen said it was this afternoon.”
“Mmh, afternoon. Another curious translation.” She teased him gently, flicking items off her screen one by one. “Neya says it is with Aetena Lyshen, at three. He has stated that his schedule is open today, and we may come in earlier if we so desire. Oh. How unexpected.”
Three o'clock, Tsla’o time, was probably like a solid five or six hours away. Plenty of time to have a deeply personal conversation about what Neya had told him. Or, perhaps, just go talk to the guy sooner. It wasn’t like he was putting it off... but he was putting it off for now. “What’s up?”
“Neya contacted the Colonel to make sure that Zenshen was attached to your detail properly - it turns out she was. You are both already on the artifact project, so it was just a slight shift of duties. The Empress went through appropriate channels, and Lehnan agrees with her decision.” She glanced up at him as she processed that. “I did not expect it to be so proper.”
“She is trying to turn over a new leaf, at least as far as you are concerned. Ensuring I have the help to not fuck things up, and doing it properly, could be a part of that.” He managed to make it sound like a statement, even though it was very much a question. Did his insistence that Eleya needed to start following through on her words actually sink in?
“It is possible. She will need to do more than fill out a little paperwork to prove herself.”
“Yeah, obviously. It’s just that you seemed surprised, so I was left with the impression that was unusual.”
Carbon stared down at the phone in her hands. “I do not know. From what I have seen, she will normally adhere to formal channels. But in the past, when it has come to dealings with me, she has not. Relied on her word being law to make things happen.”
Like making it legal to marry a Human. Changed who knows how much legal history with a stroke of a pen, to unfold some new machinations. “Zenshen made it sound like she was mostly there to act as a buffer between me and the military, keep me from offending anyone. Which strikes me as Eleya looking after her investment.”
“That is a reasonable assumption. I fear she has more intent sunk into you than we can see, so...” She also stopped talking when their waitress returned for Alex’s dishes, giving the young woman a warm smile. “Perhaps it really is.”
Alex, being privy to at least one plan that Carbon was unaware of, instantly did not want to comment on that. “Like you say, it lies with her to prove... herself good.”
“So it does.” Carbon smiled at his butchering of their turn of phrase before glancing down at her communicator again. “All right. Do you have any further plans for this morning?”
“Not a one. Want to push up the meeting with Lyshen? For that matter, do we have any plans tonight?”
“I do want to get that done. Designers can be particular. Best to get started sooner, and also have a meal that we can excuse ourselves for without appearing rude.” She smirked, displaying a little bit of the knowledge she had accumulated growing up in an elevated class, and started tapping away at the screen with both thumbs. “As for this evening, nothing that Neya has made me aware of.”
“Sounds good to me.” Left the evening open to actually have a sit down with Neya, perfect. “Oh shit, that reminds me. Neya wants us to bring her breakfast.”
“Does she. Very upset about not being able to come along?” The tone she had said that Carbon was familiar with Neya pretending to be put out by that, as did the barely hidden smile and tiny little snort of a laugh.
“Absolutely heartbroken.” He played along. “I had to promise that we’d get her something this morning and that you’d make breakfast again tomorrow.”
“Mh. We will see who is making breakfast when the time comes, but I will have something sent to her and we will proceed to our appointment.” She flipped through the applications on her phone and started typing something else out. “There.”
Carbon slipped the slim black screen back into her jacket and stood, stretching a little bit before walking over to the end of the bar, Haraya hustling out to meet them with a small device like the one Carbon had used to pay in the other little restaurant. She set her palm down on it, it processed for a moment and played a happy little tune.
“Thank you both, it was an honor to serve you.” Haraya bowed again now that the transaction was done.
“You did well, thank you.” Carbon said it in Tsla as she returned the bow, glancing over at Alex to ensure he was doing the same thing.
“Sa meha.” He was. Paying attention to what Carbon was doing was getting him pretty far, as was having memorized how to say ‘thank you’ in Tsla.
They turned to leave, but Haraya spoke again before they could take a step. Quiet, and very timid. “May I ask you a question?”
Carbon didn’t even think about it as she looked back. “Of course.”
“I was mostly asking the prince, I am very sorry.” She looked just this side of terrified to be correcting a Royal.
“Oh yeah, shoot.” Alex caught himself speaking in English way too late. He pursed his lips and inhaled, just barely preventing himself from rolling his eyes at that little faux pas. Based on what Carbon had said about Haraya getting her information about how nobles work from movies, she would have interpreted that as aimed at her. He queued up a very quick reply. “Please do.”
“After you left, last night.” She glanced over at the bartender, who was not paying them any attention at all. “Adana kept saying a strange word, I assume it to be Human - untranslatable.”
The irony of the translator not being able to digest something in English was not lost on Alex. What had he said to the kid?
Carbon, meanwhile, thought it was hilarious. “It is actually two words, a phrase. Oh, busted. In this case I believe it means that he got caught doing something he should not have been doing.” She laughed, looking up at Alex with a grin.
Haraya’s relief at how this turned out was immediately visible. She was still tense, but didn’t look like she might have just caught an execution. “Adana likes to play with the door controls. They beep and flash, and he can activate the viewscreen... And open the door. That is what he was doing when he found the prince in the hallway, when he should have been in bed. It is not an offensive term?”
“Et.” Alex shook his head no. Score another point for knowing the basics.
“It is as he says. A harmless statement.” Carbon picked up the slack from Alex trying not to advertise that he spoke their language yet. She looked over to him again. “Perhaps used to tease a friend when they get caught out?”
He nodded as sagely as he could, a smirk barely suppressed as he caught that shade she was directing at him.
“His mother will be so glad. She has been concerned it was some kind of swearing, or something worse. I told her that the prince had been kind in my interaction with him, but she was-” Haraya exhaled sharply, wide brown eyes darting between them with a hint of that fear creeping back in. “She was afraid despite that.”
“Ah. If that does not settle her, please get in contact with me.” She pulled her communicator out, swiping along the screen for a moment and holding it out to the young woman. “We can arrange a meeting to clear anything up.”
She looked down at a swirling orange circle on Carbon’s phone, “I am not allowed to carry my- May I get it?”
“Of course.” Carbon smiled.
Alex lowered his voice as Haraya hustled away. “You sure giving her your number is a good idea?”
“No. But she is earnest and correct in her assessment of you.” She shook her head, her words quiet and sharp. “That boy learned a simple phrase, and his mother thinks it is a curse? I know why she did. I have met my own people. I think a gentle nudge may be in order to prevent it from being passed along.”
“When you say gentle nudge...”
She held a hand out to ease his concern. “I was thinking tea.”
Haraya returned, phone in hand and followed by an older, grumpy looking male dressed in the same natural fiber clothes save for a vibrant red scarf around his neck, voice raised as he tried to keep up with the excited teen. “You may not use your-”
“Akai.” Alex gave what he assumed was a manager a needlessly cheery greeting with a little wave of his fingers. Oh man, he had loved being a shit to managers when he was younger, particularly if they were on a power trip. The opportunity hadn’t presented itself recently, and the urge to abuse the power that he allegedly had now was so tempting.
“Floor boss!” Carbon was a step ahead of him, greeting the gray male in their own language loud enough to draw his attention away from their waitress. “What is it that I may not use?”
Alex’s translator sat unused for several seconds as the sounds that guy made never made it past shocked guttural noises, the realization of who he’d been yelling in the general direction of sinking in. Haraya was too busy getting Carbon’s contact information to notice, or might have just been ignoring this exchange as hard as the bartender was.
“It was- My words- Did not for you.” He held up his hands and backed away.
“Ah, a simple misunderstanding?” Carbon offered him as the phone dinged complete, and she slipped it back into her jacket.
“Yes, of course.” Couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
Haraya bowed again as she hid her communicator, the same black rectangle that Carbon and Alex appeared to have. “Thank you. I hope I will not have to contact you, but that you have offered...”
“The prince has shown me who he is, what is in his heart... It will not do to have anyone doubting his character.” Carbon smiled and returned the bow.
Alex followed suit.
The fear in her eyes was gone, and if anything there was a little bit of admiration in there now as she thanked them again, quietly, before running off to whatever her next duty was.
They left the same way they had come in, through the main dining area. The crowd had shifted, some groups gone, new ones in their place. Conversations to fill boredom, meals he didn’t recognize being consumed at every pace conceivable. Once again, he was pretty sure this was his kind of joint.
It only took the gentlest of questions to get Carbon talking about what she’d been doing all morning as they walked back to the tram, riding all the way to the stop closest to the bow this time. Alex was only slightly familiar about what she was talking about - had something to do with preventative maintenance checks on one of the shuttles. It was interesting to find out they had developed a very similar system to what he was used to, checking in on functionality after so many hours of use.
He didn’t understand the majority of what she was describing, but he enjoyed listening to her talk about things with such enthusiasm.
Lyshen’s office was easily the furthest forward he had been on the ship yet. Took the elevator up to deck 20 and then just walked towards the bow for another five minutes. He must have been as close as one could get to the plate armor and whatever buffer they put between it and the habitable areas. It seemed almost entirely unused - he was sure some of the bulkheads had dust on them.
For Alex, there were two potential reasons for this. Aetena Lyshen preferred the solitude of the area. It was actually very quiet, even compared to the hall in front of their cabin. Or, he had pissed someone off and gotten banished to a spot as far away as possible.
Whichever option, Lyshen had put some work into his workspace. The door was ringed in a delicate gold filigree, a lacework of glittering geometric shapes with his name and title contained in a small banner above the door. They were meeting with a Royal Artisan.
Carbon tapped the door controls and it slides open almost instantly. The young woman with light red fur inside is dressed nearly as formally as they had been last night, though in muted grays. She bows. Not too deep. “Welcome, the Chief Artisan is preparing for your arrival. It should be just a few minutes.”
Chief Artisan. Well. Alex shot Carbon a sidelong glance as the receptionist turned and they followed her through a waiting room. A simple rectangular area, with a few upholstered chairs and benches scattered around. It was the most Human looking area he’d been in so far.
The far wall caught his eye as they walked through, windows looking into a workshop. Alex walked over, the large floor beyond housing a dozen or so Tsla’o, all seated at desks or workbenches, engrossed in whatever they were working on. Almost to the last, they were using hand tools.
Alex had never really seen craftsmen up close, doing their thing. In movies, or videos, sure. But not right here a few steps away, carefully engraving some sort of... Breastplate? Cuirass? Big chunk of metal that looked like it went over the chest.
“I believe that is yours.” Carbon stepped up next to him, a smirk in her voice as she leaned against his shoulder. “To go with your gauntlets, and the rest of the armor that is no doubt being fabricated.”
“What makes you say that?” How could she pick that up from looking at it for, what, three or four seconds?
“Consider the size.” She nodded at it, the artist working on it laying out a star near the shoulder. “Who else would wear such a piece?”
“Huh.” Compared to the guy who was doing the work, it wasn’t exactly massive, but he would need a lot of padding to wear that. This raised a few questions for him about the ethics of receiving such gifts. But he wasn’t a politician... Not as far as the Confederation was concerned. “I guess it is.”
They stood in silence and watched work progress. A woman in the back was carving something, perhaps a chair leg. One guy in the corner making hinges with an induction forge and a tiny, specialized anvil.
Before long, the secretary approached them again. “The Chief Artisan is prepared for you now. Please.” She gestured to the only door that went somewhere other than the corridor.
The Chief Artisan was sitting behind his desk, wearing an outfit similar to his receptionist, pale green eyes switching back and forth between two screens. The primary one was built into the desk, and had been jury rigged to a Human made laptop that sat on top of it, a rat’s nest of cables connecting the two. There was a holoprojector built into the desk, a jumble of images floating over it. He waved them in and gestured to the chairs across from him, “Please, sit.”
Alex was quick to oblige, glad to be just some guy for the moment. Carbon didn’t seem to mind either, taking the seat beside him without a word. Aetena was the first green Tsla’o Alex had seen, sort of a dark forest green with jade stripes visible on his neck. Apparently a bit of a rarity given how often he saw the other colors on the ship.
“I am sorry to keep you waiting, the connection to your Solanet has gone down. Despite that, I believe I have enough saved locally to begin the process.” Lyshen trailed off, lost between the two displays before closing a dozen images from the holo. He picked a pen up from the table and arranged the remaining pictures neatly, four different coats of arms that claimed to belong to a Sorenson. The red enamel barrel blurred into an arc as he spun the pen in his fingers, voice picking up speed as he locked on to Alex. “There is a large amount of heraldry available for your surname, do you know which coat of arms belongs to your particular family?”
There was a deer, a deer head, a rearing horse and a weird shaped star. Maybe it was a flower, or a drip of paint. They were all surrounded by leaves and the occasional knight’s helmet. Alex wasn’t sure what any of it meant and up until now, he’d never even thought about it. Knights and damsels in distress had never really been his thing. “Uh, can’t say that I do, no.”
“Mmh. What geographic region does your lineage trace back to? I could find no significant references to the Berkley Soresons on your Solanet.” He leaned back and the pen continued to trace crimson circles in his hand.
“The name comes from Europe, but the last couple of generations have lived in California, and America before that for who knows how long... We’re from a little bit of everywhere.” It was an inside joke with the family, which had ties back into nearly every corner of the globe at this point. Now they had a relative from somewhere way off the globe as well.
That puzzled Aetena, ears flicking as he turned back to the Human screen and picked over the keyboard slowly. He didn’t like what he found. “All of these originate from the continent of Europe. Do you happen to know which country?”
“No, I’m not sure. Had an uncle do the family tree thing once, but between the civil wars and The Collapse, the lineage got spotty about a hundred years ago.” Alex wasn’t really into the whole ancestry thing once you got outside of living relatives. It was novel, sure, but right now all he really wanted to do was ask if he could borrow that Solanet access when it came back up. The rest of the ship had access to the Confed’s milnet, which tightly restricted what he could be sending across it - he just wanted to download a couple of movies and some music, but milnet barely overlapped with the wider public network.
Lyshen set his hand down and the pen switched back and forth like a metronome, clicking on his desk at the end of each arc. He closed his eyes for a moment, jaw working silently before he closed the images and started pulling up new ones. “Perhaps we should move on to other aspects of this endeavor. As I have been told that you wish to integrate Tsla’o and Human cultures in your marriage, I had intended to blend the existing Tshalan sigil with some of the Sorenson family heraldry. I thought it would be best to use the gear-star surround from the Princess’ family crest as a base to build from. Something that is immediately familiar to Tsla’o, to put the viewer at ease. As it is indicative of starship commands, exploration and the outer colonies, it will solidly represent both of you and the way you met.”
Alex raised an eyebrow at Carbon, “sound reasonable?” He had no idea if it was or not, but it did sound like it. Also, if they were serious about integrating parts of Tsla’o and Human cultures, they needed to actually get on that.
“Yes. I agree, that would be a good place to start.”
“Thank you.” He busied himself bringing up a few more pictures, rough combinations of the ten point gear-star and the various items from the Sorenson crests, bits of decoration and detail work.
The door chimed behind them and Lyshen stopped with a sharp glare. He eyed the clock and sighed, a whispered curse under his breath before he set his pen down and straightened up. “Come.”
There was a soldier partially concealed behind the door, the rank plate on his uniform loaded with details, not that Alex could read them yet. He swept the room with a rifle as he entered, the short barrel ending up pointed just a hair under Alex’s sternum. A pair of soldiers took up positions on either side of the door and covered him, a few more lined up in the waiting room.
When he spoke, it was crisp and authoritative. “Please back away from the Human.”
First Prev
*****
Never a dull moment on that ship.
Art pile: Carbon reference sheet. Art by Tyo_Dem
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First Prev
“Alright, so uh...” Alex picked the last larva out of the bowl and ate it. A burst of umami and the unexpected taste of alcohol. Now that it had soaked up some of the spice from the broth, it was pretty good. Not particularly flavorful, but a better eating experience than he would expect from a grub. “Why did Eleya put two towns into a warship?”
“I do not know.” Carbon was less fussy about the variety of ingredients presented, eating without playing favorites. It was what she’d picked out when pressed to recommend something for him, and the speed of the devastation she was enacting on what had been a bowl nearly filled to the brim said that it was actually a personal favorite. “I had heard some suggesting converting retired Naval ships into housing, using a decommissioned carrier as a space station once it could be towed into a proper location. Swapping out launch bays for community towers is not a long bridge.”
“That seems...” It seemed desperate. But given what he’d seen, desperate was where they had been in the weeks following the disaster. Where they still were, even if things were improving.
Were things improving?
“Born out of desperation, yes.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “We did not have many colonies, we had not built so many stations. We only kept old ships for parts as another means of efficiency in our fleets. There had been hundreds of thousands in transit all over the Empire at the time. On their way home, on their way to relieve others who now no longer had a home to return to.”
“Yeah, that-” He shifted some of the shredded cabbage-potato around his bowl, trying to figure out what to say. The ‘that sucks’ he had stopped himself from blurting out felt offensively inadequate. “That does present a huge challenge. Did they end up bringing ships online for that?”
“Oh, we did everything. Any idea that was not completely untenable got the blue light. Repurposing ships, building sealed micro-arcologies on less habitable planets, mining out sufficiently large asteroids, asking the Confederation for help. I saw one proposal that suggested an inflatable space station. I thought it was a completely deranged idea.” She paused and picked up the bowl, slurping out some of the broth. “Then Humans arrive to bring aid, and do you know what the first structure they brought with them was?”
“An inflatable space station.” He saw that coming. Everyone - well, everyone who was sufficiently interested in space ships - would recognize the Redoubt class from that description alone. The very definition of form following function, each ship was little more than a central cylinder with hard points for a dozen habitat modules, and engines bolted to one end. Light, fast, cheap. Once deployed, you had a small space station that could be packed up when you were done. Old technology, sure, but they were everywhere, and the configuration options were extensive.
“Exactly. Forgive me, but I laughed. I knew the intent was to help, but having seen that proposal just weeks before...” She smiled and laughed despite having just apologized for such a thing.
“No I get it, it’s a goofy looking ship.” He could see the humor in the situation as well. Having gone from ‘this is too dangerous’ to ‘of course the Humans brought one’ was pretty funny. It put a smirk on his face and got him close to laughing along with her. “Probably used it as a command post until something heavier arrived. Kind of the primary use case for those in Search and Rescue, which is what I think the aid mission was first considered.”
“I was not involved with that aspect of recovery operations, but it stands to reason.” She set her utensils aside in a very specific way, sliding the bowl towards the end of the table. “I cannot tell you why they put all these people here. My first guess would be that it was a somewhat straightforward swap. The bays are very securely attached to the structure, but they are intended to be removed and replaced. It would be important that Eleya use her ship as a proof of concept.”
“Royals lead?” Seemed the logical jump.
Carbon nodded. “The Sword is recognized as her flagship. It is named after her. The Stronghold is based heavily on the Imperial Palace in Ama’o - may it rest. Taking in civilians, thousands of them, is hard proof that she is not simply hiding in here. Having the senate on board also brings with it the need for support staff, creating a symbiotic relationship. It is... a good compromise.”
“Okay, wait. How is The Sword of the Morning Light named after Eleya?” That legitimately confused him. “All I know is the -ya suffix is feminine.”
“Another name mauled by your automatic translation, though this time it is a portion of the Empress’ full formal titles.” She gave him a pointed look, a little smirk hiding on the side of her muzzle. “The strictest translation would be ‘the sword that is used to cut back the night,’ but that is even worse. If I were doing translations and feeling poetic, perhaps I would call it Dawnsword. It would convey the meaning of the name well enough, I think, without being verbose.”
“Then why do you call it the Sword like we do?” He figured just using the actual Tsla name would be easy enough if Dawnsword was a better translation.
“When in Rome.” Carbon snickered. “The Confederate systems I was working with before leaving for the Haultain were not set up to handle Tsla, and none of the Humans I spoke to recognized the name when I said it, so it became a force of habit.”
“Ah, that’d do it.” He’d ask about the actual name another time - it being one of Eleya’s titles felt like a natural transition to learning the rest of her titles, and he didn’t give a single damn about doing that right now.
“Alright, Eleya needs places to put people, and a place to put a temporary capital until the new location can be properly sorted. Two birds with one stone, I suppose. Wouldn’t staying at Schoen be more of the... leader thing to do?”
“If she were to stay here beyond the end of this endeavor, perhaps so. For now, having this ship - and its civilians - as a base of operations, in what even we consider to be one of the most secure solar systems, is reasonable. Most governing at that level has been done remotely since before the disaster, so it doesn’t impede anything.” She paused to sip her tea. “No one needs a senator to be on site anyway. Their presence traditionally just interferes with real work.”
That did get a laugh out of Alex. “The more things change.”
“The more they stay the same, yes?” She said with a grin.
“It is so. All right, mystery of the Dawnsword’s surprise towns is put to rest.” He stopped talking as Haraya came out of the woodwork to remove Carbon’s dishes, bustling away with even less stiffness than before. Why did he feel like he was forgetting something? “Heck. Did... Did anyone tell you we have an appointment to see a designer about our uh, our insignia?”
“No, but my communicator has been going off like I am being told something like that.” Carbon laughed and leaned back into her chair, fishing the slim black device from her jacket, the screen coming on.
Alex was not intentionally staring at his wife’s abdomen as he pushed the bowl away and set his chopsticks out like she had done. “Zenshen said it was this afternoon.”
“Mmh, afternoon. Another curious translation.” She teased him gently, flicking items off her screen one by one. “Neya says it is with Aetena Lyshen, at three. He has stated that his schedule is open today, and we may come in earlier if we so desire. Oh. How unexpected.”
Three o'clock, Tsla’o time, was probably like a solid five or six hours away. Plenty of time to have a deeply personal conversation about what Neya had told him. Or, perhaps, just go talk to the guy sooner. It wasn’t like he was putting it off... but he was putting it off for now. “What’s up?”
“Neya contacted the Colonel to make sure that Zenshen was attached to your detail properly - it turns out she was. You are both already on the artifact project, so it was just a slight shift of duties. The Empress went through appropriate channels, and Lehnan agrees with her decision.” She glanced up at him as she processed that. “I did not expect it to be so proper.”
“She is trying to turn over a new leaf, at least as far as you are concerned. Ensuring I have the help to not fuck things up, and doing it properly, could be a part of that.” He managed to make it sound like a statement, even though it was very much a question. Did his insistence that Eleya needed to start following through on her words actually sink in?
“It is possible. She will need to do more than fill out a little paperwork to prove herself.”
“Yeah, obviously. It’s just that you seemed surprised, so I was left with the impression that was unusual.”
Carbon stared down at the phone in her hands. “I do not know. From what I have seen, she will normally adhere to formal channels. But in the past, when it has come to dealings with me, she has not. Relied on her word being law to make things happen.”
Like making it legal to marry a Human. Changed who knows how much legal history with a stroke of a pen, to unfold some new machinations. “Zenshen made it sound like she was mostly there to act as a buffer between me and the military, keep me from offending anyone. Which strikes me as Eleya looking after her investment.”
“That is a reasonable assumption. I fear she has more intent sunk into you than we can see, so...” She also stopped talking when their waitress returned for Alex’s dishes, giving the young woman a warm smile. “Perhaps it really is.”
Alex, being privy to at least one plan that Carbon was unaware of, instantly did not want to comment on that. “Like you say, it lies with her to prove... herself good.”
“So it does.” Carbon smiled at his butchering of their turn of phrase before glancing down at her communicator again. “All right. Do you have any further plans for this morning?”
“Not a one. Want to push up the meeting with Lyshen? For that matter, do we have any plans tonight?”
“I do want to get that done. Designers can be particular. Best to get started sooner, and also have a meal that we can excuse ourselves for without appearing rude.” She smirked, displaying a little bit of the knowledge she had accumulated growing up in an elevated class, and started tapping away at the screen with both thumbs. “As for this evening, nothing that Neya has made me aware of.”
“Sounds good to me.” Left the evening open to actually have a sit down with Neya, perfect. “Oh shit, that reminds me. Neya wants us to bring her breakfast.”
“Does she. Very upset about not being able to come along?” The tone she had said that Carbon was familiar with Neya pretending to be put out by that, as did the barely hidden smile and tiny little snort of a laugh.
“Absolutely heartbroken.” He played along. “I had to promise that we’d get her something this morning and that you’d make breakfast again tomorrow.”
“Mh. We will see who is making breakfast when the time comes, but I will have something sent to her and we will proceed to our appointment.” She flipped through the applications on her phone and started typing something else out. “There.”
Carbon slipped the slim black screen back into her jacket and stood, stretching a little bit before walking over to the end of the bar, Haraya hustling out to meet them with a small device like the one Carbon had used to pay in the other little restaurant. She set her palm down on it, it processed for a moment and played a happy little tune.
“Thank you both, it was an honor to serve you.” Haraya bowed again now that the transaction was done.
“You did well, thank you.” Carbon said it in Tsla as she returned the bow, glancing over at Alex to ensure he was doing the same thing.
“Sa meha.” He was. Paying attention to what Carbon was doing was getting him pretty far, as was having memorized how to say ‘thank you’ in Tsla.
They turned to leave, but Haraya spoke again before they could take a step. Quiet, and very timid. “May I ask you a question?”
Carbon didn’t even think about it as she looked back. “Of course.”
“I was mostly asking the prince, I am very sorry.” She looked just this side of terrified to be correcting a Royal.
“Oh yeah, shoot.” Alex caught himself speaking in English way too late. He pursed his lips and inhaled, just barely preventing himself from rolling his eyes at that little faux pas. Based on what Carbon had said about Haraya getting her information about how nobles work from movies, she would have interpreted that as aimed at her. He queued up a very quick reply. “Please do.”
“After you left, last night.” She glanced over at the bartender, who was not paying them any attention at all. “Adana kept saying a strange word, I assume it to be Human - untranslatable.”
The irony of the translator not being able to digest something in English was not lost on Alex. What had he said to the kid?
Carbon, meanwhile, thought it was hilarious. “It is actually two words, a phrase. Oh, busted. In this case I believe it means that he got caught doing something he should not have been doing.” She laughed, looking up at Alex with a grin.
Haraya’s relief at how this turned out was immediately visible. She was still tense, but didn’t look like she might have just caught an execution. “Adana likes to play with the door controls. They beep and flash, and he can activate the viewscreen... And open the door. That is what he was doing when he found the prince in the hallway, when he should have been in bed. It is not an offensive term?”
“Et.” Alex shook his head no. Score another point for knowing the basics.
“It is as he says. A harmless statement.” Carbon picked up the slack from Alex trying not to advertise that he spoke their language yet. She looked over to him again. “Perhaps used to tease a friend when they get caught out?”
He nodded as sagely as he could, a smirk barely suppressed as he caught that shade she was directing at him.
“His mother will be so glad. She has been concerned it was some kind of swearing, or something worse. I told her that the prince had been kind in my interaction with him, but she was-” Haraya exhaled sharply, wide brown eyes darting between them with a hint of that fear creeping back in. “She was afraid despite that.”
“Ah. If that does not settle her, please get in contact with me.” She pulled her communicator out, swiping along the screen for a moment and holding it out to the young woman. “We can arrange a meeting to clear anything up.”
She looked down at a swirling orange circle on Carbon’s phone, “I am not allowed to carry my- May I get it?”
“Of course.” Carbon smiled.
Alex lowered his voice as Haraya hustled away. “You sure giving her your number is a good idea?”
“No. But she is earnest and correct in her assessment of you.” She shook her head, her words quiet and sharp. “That boy learned a simple phrase, and his mother thinks it is a curse? I know why she did. I have met my own people. I think a gentle nudge may be in order to prevent it from being passed along.”
“When you say gentle nudge...”
She held a hand out to ease his concern. “I was thinking tea.”
Haraya returned, phone in hand and followed by an older, grumpy looking male dressed in the same natural fiber clothes save for a vibrant red scarf around his neck, voice raised as he tried to keep up with the excited teen. “You may not use your-”
“Akai.” Alex gave what he assumed was a manager a needlessly cheery greeting with a little wave of his fingers. Oh man, he had loved being a shit to managers when he was younger, particularly if they were on a power trip. The opportunity hadn’t presented itself recently, and the urge to abuse the power that he allegedly had now was so tempting.
“Floor boss!” Carbon was a step ahead of him, greeting the gray male in their own language loud enough to draw his attention away from their waitress. “What is it that I may not use?”
Alex’s translator sat unused for several seconds as the sounds that guy made never made it past shocked guttural noises, the realization of who he’d been yelling in the general direction of sinking in. Haraya was too busy getting Carbon’s contact information to notice, or might have just been ignoring this exchange as hard as the bartender was.
“It was- My words- Did not for you.” He held up his hands and backed away.
“Ah, a simple misunderstanding?” Carbon offered him as the phone dinged complete, and she slipped it back into her jacket.
“Yes, of course.” Couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
Haraya bowed again as she hid her communicator, the same black rectangle that Carbon and Alex appeared to have. “Thank you. I hope I will not have to contact you, but that you have offered...”
“The prince has shown me who he is, what is in his heart... It will not do to have anyone doubting his character.” Carbon smiled and returned the bow.
Alex followed suit.
The fear in her eyes was gone, and if anything there was a little bit of admiration in there now as she thanked them again, quietly, before running off to whatever her next duty was.
They left the same way they had come in, through the main dining area. The crowd had shifted, some groups gone, new ones in their place. Conversations to fill boredom, meals he didn’t recognize being consumed at every pace conceivable. Once again, he was pretty sure this was his kind of joint.
It only took the gentlest of questions to get Carbon talking about what she’d been doing all morning as they walked back to the tram, riding all the way to the stop closest to the bow this time. Alex was only slightly familiar about what she was talking about - had something to do with preventative maintenance checks on one of the shuttles. It was interesting to find out they had developed a very similar system to what he was used to, checking in on functionality after so many hours of use.
He didn’t understand the majority of what she was describing, but he enjoyed listening to her talk about things with such enthusiasm.
Lyshen’s office was easily the furthest forward he had been on the ship yet. Took the elevator up to deck 20 and then just walked towards the bow for another five minutes. He must have been as close as one could get to the plate armor and whatever buffer they put between it and the habitable areas. It seemed almost entirely unused - he was sure some of the bulkheads had dust on them.
For Alex, there were two potential reasons for this. Aetena Lyshen preferred the solitude of the area. It was actually very quiet, even compared to the hall in front of their cabin. Or, he had pissed someone off and gotten banished to a spot as far away as possible.
Whichever option, Lyshen had put some work into his workspace. The door was ringed in a delicate gold filigree, a lacework of glittering geometric shapes with his name and title contained in a small banner above the door. They were meeting with a Royal Artisan.
Carbon tapped the door controls and it slides open almost instantly. The young woman with light red fur inside is dressed nearly as formally as they had been last night, though in muted grays. She bows. Not too deep. “Welcome, the Chief Artisan is preparing for your arrival. It should be just a few minutes.”
Chief Artisan. Well. Alex shot Carbon a sidelong glance as the receptionist turned and they followed her through a waiting room. A simple rectangular area, with a few upholstered chairs and benches scattered around. It was the most Human looking area he’d been in so far.
The far wall caught his eye as they walked through, windows looking into a workshop. Alex walked over, the large floor beyond housing a dozen or so Tsla’o, all seated at desks or workbenches, engrossed in whatever they were working on. Almost to the last, they were using hand tools.
Alex had never really seen craftsmen up close, doing their thing. In movies, or videos, sure. But not right here a few steps away, carefully engraving some sort of... Breastplate? Cuirass? Big chunk of metal that looked like it went over the chest.
“I believe that is yours.” Carbon stepped up next to him, a smirk in her voice as she leaned against his shoulder. “To go with your gauntlets, and the rest of the armor that is no doubt being fabricated.”
“What makes you say that?” How could she pick that up from looking at it for, what, three or four seconds?
“Consider the size.” She nodded at it, the artist working on it laying out a star near the shoulder. “Who else would wear such a piece?”
“Huh.” Compared to the guy who was doing the work, it wasn’t exactly massive, but he would need a lot of padding to wear that. This raised a few questions for him about the ethics of receiving such gifts. But he wasn’t a politician... Not as far as the Confederation was concerned. “I guess it is.”
They stood in silence and watched work progress. A woman in the back was carving something, perhaps a chair leg. One guy in the corner making hinges with an induction forge and a tiny, specialized anvil.
Before long, the secretary approached them again. “The Chief Artisan is prepared for you now. Please.” She gestured to the only door that went somewhere other than the corridor.
The Chief Artisan was sitting behind his desk, wearing an outfit similar to his receptionist, pale green eyes switching back and forth between two screens. The primary one was built into the desk, and had been jury rigged to a Human made laptop that sat on top of it, a rat’s nest of cables connecting the two. There was a holoprojector built into the desk, a jumble of images floating over it. He waved them in and gestured to the chairs across from him, “Please, sit.”
Alex was quick to oblige, glad to be just some guy for the moment. Carbon didn’t seem to mind either, taking the seat beside him without a word. Aetena was the first green Tsla’o Alex had seen, sort of a dark forest green with jade stripes visible on his neck. Apparently a bit of a rarity given how often he saw the other colors on the ship.
“I am sorry to keep you waiting, the connection to your Solanet has gone down. Despite that, I believe I have enough saved locally to begin the process.” Lyshen trailed off, lost between the two displays before closing a dozen images from the holo. He picked a pen up from the table and arranged the remaining pictures neatly, four different coats of arms that claimed to belong to a Sorenson. The red enamel barrel blurred into an arc as he spun the pen in his fingers, voice picking up speed as he locked on to Alex. “There is a large amount of heraldry available for your surname, do you know which coat of arms belongs to your particular family?”
There was a deer, a deer head, a rearing horse and a weird shaped star. Maybe it was a flower, or a drip of paint. They were all surrounded by leaves and the occasional knight’s helmet. Alex wasn’t sure what any of it meant and up until now, he’d never even thought about it. Knights and damsels in distress had never really been his thing. “Uh, can’t say that I do, no.”
“Mmh. What geographic region does your lineage trace back to? I could find no significant references to the Berkley Soresons on your Solanet.” He leaned back and the pen continued to trace crimson circles in his hand.
“The name comes from Europe, but the last couple of generations have lived in California, and America before that for who knows how long... We’re from a little bit of everywhere.” It was an inside joke with the family, which had ties back into nearly every corner of the globe at this point. Now they had a relative from somewhere way off the globe as well.
That puzzled Aetena, ears flicking as he turned back to the Human screen and picked over the keyboard slowly. He didn’t like what he found. “All of these originate from the continent of Europe. Do you happen to know which country?”
“No, I’m not sure. Had an uncle do the family tree thing once, but between the civil wars and The Collapse, the lineage got spotty about a hundred years ago.” Alex wasn’t really into the whole ancestry thing once you got outside of living relatives. It was novel, sure, but right now all he really wanted to do was ask if he could borrow that Solanet access when it came back up. The rest of the ship had access to the Confed’s milnet, which tightly restricted what he could be sending across it - he just wanted to download a couple of movies and some music, but milnet barely overlapped with the wider public network.
Lyshen set his hand down and the pen switched back and forth like a metronome, clicking on his desk at the end of each arc. He closed his eyes for a moment, jaw working silently before he closed the images and started pulling up new ones. “Perhaps we should move on to other aspects of this endeavor. As I have been told that you wish to integrate Tsla’o and Human cultures in your marriage, I had intended to blend the existing Tshalan sigil with some of the Sorenson family heraldry. I thought it would be best to use the gear-star surround from the Princess’ family crest as a base to build from. Something that is immediately familiar to Tsla’o, to put the viewer at ease. As it is indicative of starship commands, exploration and the outer colonies, it will solidly represent both of you and the way you met.”
Alex raised an eyebrow at Carbon, “sound reasonable?” He had no idea if it was or not, but it did sound like it. Also, if they were serious about integrating parts of Tsla’o and Human cultures, they needed to actually get on that.
“Yes. I agree, that would be a good place to start.”
“Thank you.” He busied himself bringing up a few more pictures, rough combinations of the ten point gear-star and the various items from the Sorenson crests, bits of decoration and detail work.
The door chimed behind them and Lyshen stopped with a sharp glare. He eyed the clock and sighed, a whispered curse under his breath before he set his pen down and straightened up. “Come.”
There was a soldier partially concealed behind the door, the rank plate on his uniform loaded with details, not that Alex could read them yet. He swept the room with a rifle as he entered, the short barrel ending up pointed just a hair under Alex’s sternum. A pair of soldiers took up positions on either side of the door and covered him, a few more lined up in the waiting room.
When he spoke, it was crisp and authoritative. “Please back away from the Human.”
First Prev
*****
Never a dull moment on that ship.
Art pile: Carbon reference sheet. Art by Tyo_Dem
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- Train Sim World®: Northern Trans-Pennine: Manchester - Leeds
- Train Sim World®: Peninsula Corridor: San Francisco - San Jose
- Train Sim World®: Rhein-Ruhr Osten: Wuppertal - Hagen
- Train Sim World®: Tees Valley Line: Darlington - Saltburn-by-the-sea
- Worms Rumble - Armageddon Weapon Skin Pack
- Worms Rumble - Captain & Shark Double Pack
- Worms Rumble - Legends Pack
- Worms Rumble - New Challengers Pack
- Ashampoo Photo Optimizer 7
- Dagon: by H. P. Lovecraft - The Eldritch Box DLC
- Duke Nukem Forever Hail to the Icons
- Duke Nukem Forever The Doctor Who Cloned Me
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Cygon Garage Kit
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Nyvoss Garage Kit
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Terra Garage Kit
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Vintek Garage Kit
- GameGuru
- GameMaker Studio 2 Creator 12 Months
- Intro to Game Development with Unity
- Music Maker EDM Edition
- Neverwinter Nights: Darkness Over Daggerford
- Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition Dark Dreams of Furiae
- Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition Tyrants of the Moonsea
- Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition
- Neverwinter Nights: Infinite Dungeons
- Neverwinter Nights: Pirates of the Sword Coast
- Neverwinter Nights: Wyvern Crown of Cormyr
- PDF-Suite 1 Year License
- Pathfinder Second Edition Core Rulebook and Starfinder Core Rulebook
- RPG Maker VX
- WWE 2K BATTLEGROUNDS - Ultimate Brawlers Pass
- We Are Alright
- The Outer Worlds Expansion Pass
- A Hat in Time - Seal the Deal DLC
- City Skylines:mass transit
- A Game Of Thrones - A Dance With Dragons
- A Game Of Thrones - A Feast For Crows
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Gods of Asgard
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Mythical Monsters
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Mystics of Midgard
- Carcassonne - The Princess and The Dragon DLC
- Carcassonne - Traders & Builders DLC
- Carcassonne - Winter & Gingerbread Man DLC
- Carcassonne - Inns & Cathedrals
- Carcassonne - The River
- Splendor: The Trading Posts DLC
- Splendor: The Strongholds DLC
- Splendor: The Cities DLC
- Small World - Be Not Afraid... DLC
- Small World - Grand Dames DLC
- Small World - Cursed!
- Sands of Salzaar - The Ember Saga
- Sands of Salzaar - The Tournament
- Monster Train: The Last Divinity DLC
- WARSAW
2024.05.13 17:11 calvin324hk [H] 1000+ Games / DLCs / VR Games [W] Paypal / Wishlist / Offers
https://www.reddit.com/IGSRep/comments/pikmri/calvin324hks_igs_rep_page/
https://www.reddit.com/sgsflaicomments/of2wzu/flair_profile_ucalvin324hk/
Wishlist
Region: NA (Canada)
Fees on buyer if any, currency is USD unless specified
CTRL + F to find your games in terms of name
DLCs and Softwares:
submitted by calvin324hk to SteamGameSwap [link] [comments]
https://www.reddit.com/sgsflaicomments/of2wzu/flair_profile_ucalvin324hk/
Wishlist
Region: NA (Canada)
Fees on buyer if any, currency is USD unless specified
CTRL + F to find your games in terms of name
- 10 Second Ninja X
- 11-11 Memories Retold
- 112 Operator
- 12 is Better Than 6
- 198X
- 1993 Space Machine
- 60 Parsecs
- 7 Billion Humans
- 8 DOORS
- 8-bit Adventure Anthology: Volume I
- 9 Years of Shadows
- 911 Operator
- A Game of Thrones: The Board Game
- A Hat in Time
- A Hole New World
- A JUGGLER'S TALE
- A Long Way Down
- A PLAGUE TALE: INNOCENCE
- A Robot Named Fight!
- A Tale for Anna
- A.I.M.2 Clan Wars
- Ace Combat Assault Horizon Enhanced Edition
- Adore
- Aeterna Noctis
- AETHERIS
- Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot The First Cases
- AIdol
- Airborne Kingdom
- Alba: A Wildlife Adventure
- Alder's Blood: Definitive Edition
- Alfred Hitchcock - Vertigo
- Alien Breed Trilogy
- Aliens vs. Predator™ Collection
- All-Star Fruit Racing
- Almost There: The Platformer
- American Fugitive
- American Truck Simulator
- Amerzone: The Explorer’s Legacy
- AMID EVIL
- Amnesia rebirth
- Amnesia: The Dark Descent + Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs
- Anomalous
- Another World – 20th Anniversary Edition
- Antigraviator
- Anuchard
- APICO
- APICO
- Aragami
- Aragami 2
- Arboria
- Arcade Paradise
- Arcade Paradise - Arcade Paradise EP
- Arcade Spirits
- Arkham Horror: Mother's Embrace
- Armada 2526 Gold Edition
- Army Men RTS
- army of ruin
- Arto
- Ary and the Secret of Seasons
- As Far as the Eye
- Ascension to the Throne
- Assemble With Care
- Assetto Corsa Competizione
- Assetto Corsa Ultimate Edition
- Astebreed Definitive Edition
- Astronarch
- Attack of the Earthlings
- Automachef
- Automobilista
- Automobilista 2
- AUTONAUTS
- AUTONAUTS VS PIRATEBOTS
- Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora™ - Ubisoft Connect
- AVICII Invector: Encore Edition
- Awesomenauts All Nauts pack
- Baba is you
- Back 4 Blood
- Back 4 blood (EU)
- Backbone
- Baldur's Gate II: Enhanced Edition
- Baldur's Gate: Enhanced Edition
- Banners of Ruin
- Bartlow's Dread Machine
- BASEMENT
- Batbarian: Testament of the Primordials
- Batman: Arkham Asylum Game of the Year Edition
- Batman: Arkham Origins
- Battle Royale Tycoon
- Battlecruisers
- Battlestar Galactica Deadlock
- BATTLESTAR GALACTICA DEADLOCK SEASON ONE
- Battlestar Galactica Deadlock: Complete
- BATTLETECH MERCENARY COLLECTION
- BATTLETECH Shadow Hawk Pack
- BEAUTIFUL DESOLATION
- BEFORE WE LEAVE
- Beholder 2
- Ben 10
- Ben 10: Power Trip
- Bendy and the Ink Machine™
- Between the Stars
- Beyond a Steel Sky
- Beyond The Edge Of Owlsgard
- Beyond the Long Night
- BEYOND THE WIRE
- Beyond: Two Souls
- BIOMUTANT
- Bionic Commando
- Bionic Commando Rearmed
- BioShock: The Collection
- BLACK BOOK
- Black Moon Chronicles
- Black Paradox
- BLACK SKYLANDS
- BLACKHOLE: Complete Edition
- Blacksad: Under the Skin
- Blade of Darkness
- Blasphemous
- Blazing Chrome
- Blightbound
- Blood And Zombies
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition
- Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night
- Bomber Crew
- Boneless Zombie
- Boomerang Fu
- Borderlands 3
- Borderlands 3 Super Deluxe
- Borderlands 3 Super Deluxe Edition
- Borderlands: The Handsome Collection
- Bot Vice
- Bounty of One
- Brawlout
- Breakout: Recharged
- Breathedge
- bridge constructor
- Bridge constructor medieval
- bridge constructor stunts
- Broken Lines
- Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons
- Brutal Legend
- Bug Fables: The Everlasting Sapling
- BUILDER SIMULATOR
- calico
- Call of Duty® Modern Warfare 3™ (2011)
- Call of Juarez: Gunslinger
- Car Mechanic 2018
- Car Mechanic Simulator 2015
- Car Mechanic Simulator 2018
- Castle Morihisa
- Castle on the Coast
- castle storm
- CastleStorm
- Cat Cafe Manager
- Caveblazers
- Celeste
- Centipede: Recharged
- CHANGE: A Homeless Survival Experience
- Charlie's Adventure
- Chenso Club
- Chernobylite: Enhanced Edition
- Chess Ultra
- Chicago 1930 : The Prohibition
- Chivalry 2
- Chop Goblins
- Chorus
- Cities Skylines + After Dark
- Cities: Skylines
- City of Beats
- CivCity: Rome
- Click and Slay
- Cloud Gardens
- Cloudpunk
- Code Vein
- Coffee Talk
- Comedy Night
- Command & Conquer Remastered (Origin)
- Complete Dread X Collection
- Conarium
- Construction Simulator (2015) Deluxe Edition
- Constructor Plus
- Control
- Cook, Serve, Delicious! 3?!
- cornucopia
- Corridor Z
- Cosmic Osmo and the Worlds Beyond the Mackerel
- Cosmonautica
- Crash Drive 2
- Crash Drive 3
- Creaks
- Creepy Tale
- Crookz the big heist
- CROSSBOW: Bloodnight
- Crush Your Enemies
- Cube Runner
- Cultist Simulator: Anthology Edition
- Curse: The Eye of Isis
- Cyber Ops
- Cybercube
- Danger Scavenger
- Dark Deity
- DARK PICTURES ANTHOLOGY: HOUSE OF ASHES
- Darksiders Warmastered
- Darkwood
- DARQ: Complete Edition
- Day of the Tentacle Remastered
- days of war definitive edition
- Dead by Daylight
- Dead Estate
- Dead Rising 2
- Dear Esther: Landmark Edition
- Death Stranding Directors Cut
- DEATH STRANDING DIRECTOR'S CUT
- Deceased
- DECEIVE INC.
- Degrees of Separation
- Delicious! Pretty Girls Mahjong Solitaire
- Deliver Us The Moon
- Demetrios - Deluxe Edition
- Depraved
- DESCENDERS
- DESOLATE
- Destiny 2: Beyond Light
- DESTROYER: THE U-BOAT HUNTER
- Detention
- Devil May Cry HD Collection
- Devilated
- Dicey Dungeons
- Dirt 5
- dirt rally
- Dirt Rally 2.0
- Disaster Band
- Disciples III: Reincarnation
- Discolored
- DISTRAINT 2
- Distrust
- DmC: Devil May Cry
- Do Not Feed the Monkeys
- Don't Be Afraid
- Doomed Lands
- Door Kickers: Action Squad
- Doorways: Prelude
- Downfall
- Dragons Dogma Dark Arisen
- Dragon's Dogma: Dark Arisen
- Draugen
- Draw Slasher
- Drawful 2
- Dreams in the Witch House
- Dreamscaper
- DreamWorks Dragons: Dawn of New Riders
- DRIFT21
- Driftland: The Magic Revival
- drive!drive!drive!
- Drone Swarm
- Due Process
- Duke Nukem: Manhattan Project
- Duke of Alpha Centauri
- Dungeon Rushers
- Dungeons 2
- Dungeons 3
- DUSK
- Dusk Diver
- Dust to the End
- DV: Rings of Saturn
- Dynopunk
- Earth Defense Force 4.1 The Shadow of New Despair
- Eastern Exorcist
- Eiyuden Chronicle: Rising
- El Matador
- Elderand
- ELDEST SOULS
- Electrician Simulator
- Elemental Survivors
- Elex
- Elex II
- Elite Dangerous
- Embr
- Empire: Total War - Definitive Edition
- Empyrion - Galactic Survival
- ENCASED: A SCI-FI POST-APOCALYPTIC RPG
- Endless Space 2
- Endless Space 2 - Digital Deluxe Edition
- Endless Space® 2 - Digital Deluxe Edition
- Endzone - A World Apart
- EPIC CHEF
- Epistory - Typing Chronicles
- Escape the backrooms
- Eternal Threads
- Europa Universalis IV
- European Ship Simulator
- Everdream Valley
- Evil Genius 2: World Domination
- Exorder
- EXPEDITIONS: ROME
- Expeditions: Viking
- Explosionade
- F1 2018
- F1 2019 Anniversary Edition
- F1 2020
- F1 RACE STARS Complete Edition Include DLC
- Fable Anniversary
- Factory Town
- Fallback uprising
- Fallback: Uprising
- FALLOUT 1
- Family Mysteries 3: Criminal Mindset
- FANTASY BLACKSMITH
- FARMER'S DYNASTY
- Farming Simulator 17
- Farming Simulator 19
- Fictorum
- Field of Glory II
- Fights in Tight Spaces
- Filthy Animals Heist Simulator
- Firefighting Simulator - The Squad
- Fishing Adventure
- Flashback
- FLATLAND Vol.2
- FlatOut
- FLING TO THE FINISH
- Floppy Knights
- Fluffy Horde
- FOBIA - ST. DINFNA HOTEL
- For the King
- Forgive me Father
- Forts
- Fred3ric
- Fresh Start Cleaning Simulator
- Friends vs Friends
- Frogun
- From Space
- Frostpunk: Game of the Year Edition
- Frozenheim
- Fun with Ragdolls: The Game
- Funtasia
- Gamedec
- Gamedec - Definitive Edition
- Gang Beasts
- GARAGE bad trip
- Garden Story
- Garfield Kart
- GAS STATION SIMULATOR
- Gelly Break Deluxe
- Genesis Alpha One Deluxe Edition
- Gevaudan
- Ghostrunner
- Giana Sisters 2D
- GIGA WRECKER
- Gigantosaurus: Dino Kart
- Glitch Busters: Stuck On You
- Gloria Victis
- Go Home Dinosaurs
- GOAT OF DUTY
- GOD EATER 3
- Godlike Burger
- Godstrike
- Going Under
- Golf Gang
- Golf It!
- Gone Home + Original Soundtrack
- Good Knight
- Gotham Knights
- GREAK: MEMORIES OF AZUR
- GREEDFALL
- Gremlins, inc
- grey goo
- GRID - 2019
- grid ultimate
- GRIP: Combat Racing
- Gungrave G.O.R.E
- Guppy
- Guts and glory
- GYLT
- Hacknet
- Haegemonia: Legions of Iron
- Hamilton's Great Adventure
- Hammerwatch
- Hands of Necromancy
- Havsala: Into the Soul Palace
- Headsnatchers
- Heartwood Heroes
- Heat Signature
- Helheim Hassle
- Hell Let Loose
- Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice
- Hellbound
- Hellstuck: Rage With Your Friends
- Hero of the Kingdom III
- Hero of the Kingdom: The Lost Tales 2
- Heroes of Hammerwatch
- Heros hour
- Hexologic
- Hidden & Dangerous 2: Courage Under Fire
- Hidden & Dangerous: Action Pack
- Hidden Deep
- High On Life
- Hitman (2016) Game of the Year Edition
- HITMAN 2 - Gold Edition
- Hoa
- Hob
- Hollow Knight
- Holy Potatoes! A Spy Story?!
- Home Sweet Home
- Home Sweet Home EP2
- Homestead Arcana
- Hood: Outlaws & Legends
- Hoplegs
- Hot Tin Roof: The Cat That Wore A Fedora
- HOT WHEELS UNLEASHED ™
- Hotshot Racing
- House Flipper
- How to Survive 2
- Hue
- Human: Fall Flat
- HUMANKIND DEFINITIVE EDITION
- Hungry Flame
- Hyper Knights
- I am Bread
- I Am Fish
- I am not a Monster: First Contact
- I Hate Running Backwards
- ibb & obb Double Pack
- ICBM
- Ice Age Scrat's Nutty Adventure
- Ice Lakes
- Impostor Factory
- IN SOUND MIND
- Indivisible
- INDUSTRIA
- Infectonator 3: Apocalypse
- Infinite Beyond The Mind
- Injustice 2 Legendary Edition
- Insane 2
- INSOMNIA: The Ark
- Internet Cafe Simulator
- Internet Cafe Simulator 2
- Interstellar Space: Genesis
- Iron Fisticle
- Iron Harvest
- Ittle Dew
- Ittle Dew 2+
- Jack Move
- Jackbox party pack 2
- Jackbox party pack 5
- JANITOR BLEEDS
- Joint Task Force
- Jotun: Valhalla Edition
- Journey For Elysium
- Journey to the Savage Planet
- JUMANJI: The Video Game
- JumpJet Rex
- Juno: New Origins
- Jupiter Hell
- Jurassic Park: The Game
- Jurassic World Evolution
- Jurassic World Evolution 2
- JUST CAUSE 4: COMPLETE EDITION
- Just Die Already
- Kardboard Kings: Card Shop Simulator
- Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes
- Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth
- Kentucky Route Zero - Season Pass Edition
- Kerbal Space Program
- Killing Floor 2 Digital Deluxe Edition
- Killing Room
- Kingdom Two Crowns
- Kingdom: New Lands
- King's Bounty: Crossworlds
- Knights of Pen & Paper 2
- Knock-knock
- Koi-Koi Japan [Hanafuda playing cards] *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.1 DLC *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.2 DLC *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.3 DLC
- Konung 2
- KungFu Kickball
- Labyrinthine
- Lair of the Clockwork God
- Laserlife
- LAST OASIS
- Lawn Mowing Simulator
- Layers of Fear: Masterpiece Edition
- Lead and Gold: Gangs of the Wild West
- Learn Japanese To Survive! Hiragana Battle
- Learn Japanese To Survive! Katakana War
- Learn Japanese to Survive! Trilogy
- Legend of Keepers
- LEGION TD 2 - MULTIPLAYER TOWER DEFENSE
- LEGION TD 2 - MULTIPLAYER TOWER DEFENSE.
- Leisure Suit Larry - Wet Dreams Don't Dry
- Leisure Suit Larry 1-7
- Lemnis Gate
- Lemon Cake
- lethal league blaze
- Let's School
- Levelhead
- Liberated (GOG)
- Life is Strange Complete Season (Episodes 1-5)
- Light Fairytale Episode 1
- Light Fairytale Episode 2
- LIGHTMATTER
- Little dragons cafe
- Little Hope
- Little Inner Monsters - Card Game
- Little Nightmares
- Little Nightmares Complete Edition
- Livelock
- Loop Hero
- Loot River
- Looterkings
- Lornsword Winter Chronicle
- Lost Castle
- Love Letter
- Lovecraft's Untold Stories
- Lovely planet arcade
- Lucius2
- Lucius3
- Ludus
- Lumberhill
- LunarLux
- Lust for Darkness
- Lust from Beyond: M Edition
- Mad Experiments: Escape Room
- Mad Max
- Mafia Definitive Edition
- Mafia: Definitive Edition
- Magenta Horizon
- Mahjong Pretty Girls Battle
- Mahjong Pretty Girls Battle : School Girls Edition
- Mail Time
- Maize
- Maneater
- Marooners
- MARSUPILAMI - HOOBADVENTURE
- Marvel's Avengers - The Definitive Edition
- Mato Anomalies
- Max Payne 3
- Mechs & Mercs: Black Talons
- Medieval II: Total War - Definitive Edition
- Medieval: Total War Collection
- MEEPLE STATION
- Men of War
- MERCHANT OF THE SKIES
- METAL HELLSINGER
- Metal Hellsinger
- Metro Exodus
- Metro last light
- Metro: Last Light Redux
- Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor GOTY
- Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor GOTY
- Middle-Earth: Shadow of War Definitive Edition
- MIDNIGHT PROTOCOL
- Mighty Switch Force! Collection
- MIND SCANNERS
- Ministry of Broadcast
- Minute of Islands
- Miscreated
- Mists of Noyah
- MKXL
- Mob Rule Classic
- Monaco
- Monster Slayers - Complete Edition
- Monster Train
- MONSTER TRAIN (FIRST CLASS - COLLECTORS EDITION)
- Monstrum
- Monstrum 2
- Moon Hunters
- Moons of Madness
- MORDHAU
- Mordheim: City of the Damned
- Mortal Kombat 11 Ultimate Edition
- MORTAL KOMBAT XL
- Mortal Shell
- Motorcycle Mechanic Simulator 2021
- Mr. Run and Jump
- Murder Mystery Machine
- My Big Sister
- My Friend Peppa Pig
- My Lovely Wife
- My Summer Adventure: Memories of Another Life
- My Time At Portia
- N++ (NPLUSPLUS)
- Napoleon: Total War - Definitive Edition
- Narcos: Rise of the Cartels
- NARUTO TO BORUTO: SHINOBI STRIKER
- NECROMUNDA: HIRED GUN
- Necronator: Dead Wrong
- NecroVisioN: Lost Company
- NecroWorm
- Neighbours back From Hell
- Nelly Cootalot: Spoonbeaks Ahoy! HD
- Neon Space
- Neon Space 2
- Neon Sundown
- Nephise: Ascension
- Neurodeck : Psychological Deckbuilder
- Never Alone Arctic Collection (w/ Foxtales DLC and FREE Soundtrack)
- Neverinth
- Neverout
- Neverwinter Nights: Complete Adventures
- Newt One
- Nexomon: Extinction
- Nigate Tale
- Nine Parchments
- Nine Witches: Family Disruption
- No Straight Roads: Encore Edition
- No Time to Relax
- Nomad Survival
- Nongunz: Doppelganger Edition
- Noosphere
- Northgard
- Northmark: Hour of the Wolf
- Nostradamus: The Last Prophecy
- not the robots
- Nurse Love Addiction
- Nurse Love Syndrome
- Nusakana
- Obduction
- Obey Me
- Observer: System Redux
- Occultus - Mediterranean Cabal
- Odallus: The Dark Call
- Oddworld: New 'n' Tasty
- One Finger Death Punch 2
- One Hand Clapping
- One More Island
- One Step From Eden
- One Step From Eden (Region locked)
- Orbital Racer
- OTXO
- Out of Reach: Treasure Royale
- Out of Space
- Overclocked: A History of Violence
- Overlord: Ultimate Evil Collection
- Overpass
- Overruled
- OZYMANDIAS: BRONZE AGE EMPIRE SIM
- Pac-Man Museum +
- Pan'Orama
- Panty Party
- Panzer Corps 2
- Papo & Yo
- PARADISE LOST
- Parkan 2
- PARTISANS 1941
- Passpartout 2: The Lost Artist
- Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous
- Patron
- Paw Patrol: On A Roll!
- Paws of Coal
- Payday 2
- PAYDAY 2
- Peaky Blinders: Mastermind
- PER ASPERA
- Perfect
- PGA 2K21
- PGA Tour 2K21
- Pharaonic
- Pixplode
- Pizza Connection 3
- Plague tale
- Planescape: Torment Enhanced Edition
- Planet Alcatraz
- PLANET ZOO
- PlateUp!
- Pogostuck: Rage With Your Friends
- Poker Pretty Girls Battle: Texas Hold'em
- Police Stories
- Poly Island
- Post Void
- Power Rangers: Battle for the Grid
- Prank Call
- Prehistoric Kingdom
- Pretty Girls Mahjong Solitaire
- Pretty Girls Panic!
- Prey
- Primal Carnage: Extinction
- Princess Kaguya: Legend of the Moon Warrior
- Pro Cycling Manager 2020
- Prodeus
- Project CARS - GOTY Edition
- Project Warlock
- Project Wingman (EU)
- PROJECT WINTER
- Propnight
- PULSAR: The Lost Colony
- qomp
- Quadrilateral Cowboy
- Quake II
- Quantum Break
- Quern - Undying Thoughts
- Radio Commander
- RAGE
- Rage in Peace
- RAILROAD CORPORATION
- Railroad Tycoon 3
- Railroad Tycoon II Platinum
- Railway Empire
- Rain World
- Rayon Riddles - Rise of the Goblin King
- Re: Legend
- REBEL COPS
- Rebel Galaxy
- Rebel Galaxy Outlaw
- Red Faction Guerrilla Re-Mars-tered
- Red Riding Hood - Star Crossed Lovers
- Red Ronin
- RED SOLSTICE 2: SURVIVORS
- Redout Complete Bundle
- Redout: Enhanced Edition
- Redout: Enhanced Edition + DLC pack
- Regular Human Basketball
- REKT! High Octane Stunts
- Relicta
- REMNANT: FROM THE ASHES - COMPLETE EDITION
- Republique
- Rescue Party: Live!
- Resident Evil 0 HD REMASTER
- Resident Evil 4
- Resident Evil 5 Gold Edition
- Resident Evil 7 Biohazard
- Resident Evil Revelations
- Resort Boss: Golf
- RETROWAVE
- rFactor 2
- RiME
- Ring of Pain
- Rise of Industry + 2130 DLC
- Rise of the Slime
- Rising Storm 2: Vietnam + 2 DLCs
- Riven: The Sequel to MYST
- River City Girls
- River City Ransom: Underground
- Roarr! Jurassic Edition
- Roboquest
- Robot Squad Simulator 2017
- Rogue : Genesia
- ROGUE HEROES: RUINS OF TASOS
- ROGUE LORDS
- Rogue Stormers
- rollercoaster tycoon 2
- ROTASTIC
- Roundguard
- ROUNDS
- RUNNING WITH RIFLES
- Rustler
- Ryse: Son of Rome
- S.W.I.N.E. HD Remaster
- Sailing Era
- Saint Row
- Sam and Max Devil's Playhouse
- SAMUDRA
- Sands of Aura
- Sands of Salzaar
- Saturday Morning RPG
- Save Room - Organization Puzzle
- Scarlet Tower
- Scorn
- SCP: 5K
- SCUM
- SEARCH PARTY: Director's Cut
- Second Extinction
- Secret Government
- Serious Sam 3 Bonus Content DLC, Serious Sam 3: Jewel of the Nile, and Serious Sam 3: BFE
- SEUM speedrunners from hell
- SEUM: Speedrunners from Hell
- Severed Steel
- Shadow Tactics: Aiko's Choice
- Shadowgate
- SHADOWS: AWAKENING
- Shape of the World
- She Sees Red - Interactive Movie
- Shenmue I & II
- SHENZHEN I/O
- Shift Happens
- Shing!
- Shoppe Keep 2 - Business and Agriculture RPG Simulation
- Shotgun King: The Final Checkmate
- Sid Meier's Civilization VI
- Sid Meier's Railroads!
- Sifu Deluxe Edition Upgrade Bundle (EPIC)
- Silver Chains
- SimCity 4 Deluxe Edition
- Sinking Island
- SINNER: Sacrifice for Redemption
- Skautfold Chapters 1-4
- Skullgirls 2nd Encore
- Slain: Back from Hell
- Slap City
- Slash It
- Slash It 2
- Slash It Ultimate
- Slay the Spire
- Slaycation Paradise
- Small World
- Smart Factory Tycoon
- Smile For Me
- Smoke and Sacrifice
- Smoke and Sacrifice
- Smushi Come Home
- Snail bob 2 tiny troubles
- Sniper Elite 3
- Sniper Elite 3 + Season Pass DLC
- Sniper Elite 4 Deluxe Edition
- Sniper Ghost Warrior 3 - Season Pass Edition
- Sniper Ghost Warrior Contracts
- Snooker 19
- SONG OF HORROR COMPLETE EDITION
- Songs of Conquest
- Sonic Adventure 2
- Sonic Adventure DX
- Sonic and SEGA All Stars Racing
- Sonic Generations Collection
- Soulblight
- Souldiers
- SOULSTICE
- Soundfall
- Source of Madness
- Spartan Fist
- Spec Ops
- Speed Limit
- Spelunx and the Caves of Mr. Seudo
- Spidersaurs
- Spin Rush
- Spirit Hunter: Death Mark
- Spirit of the Island
- Spirit of the North
- Spring Bonus
- Stairs
- STAR WARS - Knights of the Old Republic
- STAR WARS - The Force Unleashed Ultimate Sith Edition
- STAR WARS Jedi Knight II - Jedi Outcast
- Star Wolves
- Starsand
- STASIS: Bone Totem
- State of Decay 2: Juggernaut Edition
- Steel Rats™
- Stick Fight: The Game
- Still Life
- Still Life 2
- Stirring Abyss
- STONE
- Strange Brigade
- Strange Brigade Deluxe Edition
- STRANGER
- Strategic Command: World War I
- Strategic Mind: Blitzkrieg
- Strategic Mind: Fight for Freedom
- Strategic Mind: Spectre of Communism
- Strategic Mind: Spirit of Liberty
- Strategy & Tactics: Wargame Collection
- Streamer Life Simulator
- Street Fighter V
- Street of fury ex
- Strider
- Strikey Sisters
- Stygian: Reign of the Old Ones
- Styx: Master of Shadows
- Styx: Shards of Darkness
- SuchArt
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2024.05.13 16:14 Leather_Focus_6535 The currently 124 offenders executed by the state of Oklahoma since the 1970s (warning, graphic content, please read at your own risk) [part 2, cases 63-124]
This is the second half of my list for Oklahoma's execution roster. As mentioned in the first part, I broke it in half to comply with reddit's character limitations. For the link to part 1, please click here.
The currently executed 124 offenders, cases 63-124:
63. Robert Knighton (~1960s-2003, lethal injection): In 1973, after being released from a 1968 armed robbery conviction, Knighton went on his first major crime spree. He stabbed and strangled several men and women during many robberies and home invasions. The only victim that was killed, 32 year old Coffier Day, was shot dead while Knighton was arguing with him in his home. Coffier's father, 53 year old Claude, was also injured in the shooting. Knighton's first crime spree ended when he kidnapped a married couple and their 6 year old daughter. They escaped when the wife and mother of the family attacked Knighton with a knife to protect her husband and daughter. The family then notified the police of their abduction. Knighton managed to secure a 30 year manslaughter conviction and a 10 year armed robbery conviction with a plea deal, and was released to a halfway house in 1989. There, he began dating a female addict and befriended a teenage boy. The trio embarked on a nationwide robbery spree together. In Missouri, they shot and killed 59 year old Frank Merrifield and his 40 year old stepson Roy Donahue while robbing their home, and stole guns and money from them. In Oklahoma, the trio fatally shot a couple, 64 year old Virginia and 62 year old Richard Denney, while carjacking them. Their rampage ended when a woman in Texas grow suspicious of them circling a neighborhood. Knighton had a long history of theft convictions dating back to his childhood, and joined the Aryan Brotherhood in prison. Behind bars, he frequently attacked black and Native American inmates out of racial hatred for them.
64. Kenneth Charm (1993-2003, lethal injection): Charm and his teenage cousin lured a family friend, 14 year old Brandy Hill, into their car. They raped Hill and tried strangling her with a towel. When that failed, the cousins bludgeoned her to death with a sledgehammer.
65. Lewis Gilbert II (1994-2003, lethal injection): Gilbert and his teenage accomplice committed at least 4 robbery murders in Missouri, Ohio, and Oklahoma, but he was executed for the killing of 37 year old Roxanne Ruddell. They ambushed and kidnapped Ruddell while she was fishing alone. She was robbed of $3 and her truck, tied to a tree, and shot to death. The pair also fatally shot Ruth Loader, a 79 year old Ohioan woman, while abducting her from her residence, and gunned down a Missouri couple, 86 year old William and 76 year old Flossie Brewer, in their home. Gilbert was also sentenced to death for the Brewer murders by the state of Missouri, but was incarcerated in Oklahoma State Penitentiary’s death row.
66. Robert Duckett (~1980s-2003, lethal injection): After breaking out of prison, Duckett was picked up hitchhiking by John Howard, a 53 year old store owner. Howard agreed to let Duckett stay with him until he could find a job. The pair soon had a failing out, and Duckett was evicted by his host. He retaliated by tying Howard up with wire and then beating him to death with a fireplace poker. Duckett made off with his car after he switched the license plates, and took several bank bags from his store. He had a long violent criminal history, which included several incidents of assault and robbery. One of the incidents involved the beating of an 83 year old man. Allegedly, Duckett was previously gang-raped by other inmates, and suffered from PTSD from the incident. His attorneys claimed that Howard’s sexual advances trigged those memories, and he was killed as a result of Duckett lashing out at them. However, the prosecution shot the argument down, citing that the murder happened after Duckett was evicted from the apartment.
67. Bryan Toles (1993-2003, lethal injection): Toles and his two accomplices forced themselves into the home of the Franceschi family, and shot and killed the family patriarch, 39 year old Juan, in a struggle. Juan's son, 15 year old Lonnie, was also murdered "execution style" out of fear that he could identify Toles and his accomplices. The only survivor of the attack was Norma, Juan's wife and Lonnie's mother, who escaped by hiding in her older daughter's bedroom.
68. Jackie Willingham (1994-2003, lethal injection): Willingham was a door to door salesman selling perfume in an office building. One women, 62 year old Jayne Van Wey, he tried to solicit rejected him despite his repeated offers. Angered by her "rude behavior", Willingham attacked Van Wey when they had a chance encounter near the building's restroom. He dragged Van Wey out of a stall after following her inside, slammed her head against the bathroom wall several times, and kicked her head. Reportedly, Van Wey choked to death on her own blood.
69. Harold McElmurry III (1999-2003, lethal injection): While under the influence of meth, McElmurry and his wife Vicki broke into a home that a WW2 veteran, 80 year old Robert Pendley, shared with his wife, 75 year old Rosa. Robert and Rosa were both quickly subdued and physically restrained by the couple. McElmurry clubbed Robert to death with a pipe in front of Rosa, who was forced to watch by Vicki. Vicki then held Rosa down as McElmurry stabbed her several times with scissors. After killing the Pendleys, the McElmurrys fled with $70 in cash, a pair of guns, and the victims' car. A few days after the murders, they were captured by border agents while trying to cross into Mexico.
70. Tyrone Darks (~1990s-2004, lethal injection): Darks rammed his ex wife, 26 year old Sherry Goodlow, off the road as she was driving with their 2 year old son. After Goodlow crashed, Darks pulled their son out of the wreckage, shot her to death, and then drove away with him. Just before she succumbed to her injuries, Goodlow managed to call and notify the police about her son’s abduction. The police confronted and arrested Darks at his home, and they found the boy unharmed in their search. Darks and Goodlow’s former marriage was marred with violence, and he was arrested on numerous occasions for assaulting her. On death row, Darks was involved in a scheme to defraud a foundation for 9/11 survivors.
71. Norman Cleary (~1980s-2004, lethal injection): While burglarizing an upper class home with an accomplice, Cleary shot and killed a housekeeper, 44 year old Wanda Neafus, and took her purse and a cane that her employers purchased from the Smithsonian Institution. Cleary had a long criminal history and was previously convicted of beating an 87 year old woman in her home.
72. David Brown (~1983-2004, lethal injection): For several years, Brown violently harassed his ex wife and her family. In one incident, Brown abducted his ex wife and 11 of her customers from a beauty saloon she owned, and held them hostage until he surrendered to police. He was able to leave custody on bond and went into hiding. A few years after the hostage crisis incident, Brown broke into his ex wife's family home and gunned down her father, 47 year old Eldon McGuire.
73. Hung Thanh Le (1992-2004, lethal injection): Le crept into the apartment of another Vietnamese refugee, 34 year old Hai Nguyen, and found him watching TV on the couch. He struck Nguyen from behind with a weightlifting bar, and continued stabbing him with a meat cleaver when he screamed his wife for help. Nguyen's wife phoned the police, and Le fled with the couple's safety deposit box that contained $36,000 and their wedding ring.
74. Robert Bryan (1993-2004, lethal injection): Bryan shot and killed his estranged aunt, 69 year old Mildred, dumped her body on his parents' property, and forged a $1,800 check to himself under her name.
75. Windel Workman (~1980s(?)-2004, lethal injection): Workman beat his girlfriend's daughter, 2 year old Amanda Holman, to death while babysitting her in their home. His ex wives reported that he had a history of child abuse and often violently spanked their children during their marriages.
76. Jimmie Slaughter (1991-2005, lethal injection): Fearing that she was going to tell his wife of their affair, Slaughter stabbed and shot his ex girlfriend, 29 year old Melody Wuertz, and their daughter, 1 year old Jessica. According to court documents, Slaughter mutilated both of their bodies, and he carved an "R" on Melody's stomach. He tried pinning the murders on a black man, but the investigators and the courts dismissed his allegations.
77. George Miller Jr. (1994-2005, lethal injection): During the robbery of a hotel, Miller attacked the auditor, 25 year old Kent Dodd, with a hedge shear and paint cans, and took $122 from the register. Dodd was severely beaten, had muriatic acid shoved down his throat, and was left to die. Just before he died of his injuries, Dodd gave a description of his attacker to the police that matched Miller. A massive amount of circumstantial evidence, such as wearing shoes that resembled the bloodstained footprints next to Dodd's body, a microscopic drop of blood found on his shoes that was tentatively linked to Dodd, his wife's testimony of his unaccounted absence from their home during the murder, and what appeared to be Dodd writing Miller's alias that he knew him by in his own blood, convicted him. Miller’s friends also reported that he was broke and begging them for money a day before the murder, and his wife mentioned him giving her the same amount of money that was stolen from the robbery a day after it happened.
78. Michael Pennington (1991-2005, lethal injection): Pennington shot and killed a clerk, 20 year old Bradley Grooms, while trying to rob a 7-eleven grocery store. He left empty handed when the register failed to open.
79. Kenneth Turrentine (1994-2005, lethal injection): Under the belief that they were stealing money from him for drugs, Turrentine shot and killed his sister, 48 year old Avon Stevenson, and his girlfriend, 39 year old Anita Richardson, during confrontations in their homes. He also gunned down Anita's two children, 22 year old Tina Pennington and 13 year old Martise.
80. Richard Thornburg Jr. (1996-2006, lethal injection): A month after he was shot by an unknown assailant, Thornburg and his accomplices sought revenge by abducting 5 men that he thought was responsible from a trailer. Three of the hostages, 51 year old James Poteet, 39 year old Tery Sheppard, and 24 year old Kieth Smith, were gunned down on the spot, and Thornberg forced the fourth to shoot the fifth with the threat of killing him if he didn’t comply. They then burned down the trailer with the wounded fifth victim still trapped inside, but he managed to escape with his life. Despite being forced to put all the blame on himself in exchange for being spared, the fourth hostage still went forward to the police.
81. John Boltz (1984-2006, lethal injection): To spite his estranged wife following an argument, Boltz attacked her son, 23 year old Doug Kirby, with a knife. Kirby was stabbed a total of 11 times, and he received several fatal wounds to his chest, stomach, and neck.
82. Eric Patton (1994-2006, lethal injection): Patton forced his way into the home of 56 year old Charlene Kauer after she refused his pleading for money. After dragging her around the house as he searched for valuables, Patton stabbed Kauer several times with many different blades objects at hand such as scissors, barbecue forks, and kitchen knifes. Although he confessed to the murder, Patton blamed it on alleged demonic possession and his cocaine addiction.
83. James Malicoat (1997-2006, lethal injection): Malicoat slammed Tessa Leadford, his 13 month old daughter, against a dresser. After she died from the beating, he tucked her into bed, and waited until his daughter's mother returned from work to take her to the hospital. The doctors found that Leadford had been dead for several hours at the time of her arrival, and discovered several injuries such as broken ribs, bite marks, abdominal bleeding, and facial bruising on her body. By his own account, he had abused Leadford on a daily basis. For her role in enabling her boyfriend's treatment of their daughter, Leadford's mother was convicted of first degree murder and given a life sentence.
84. Corey Hamilton (1992-2007, lethal injection): During the robbery of a restaurant, Hamilton shot and killed 4 employees, 26 year old Sandy Lara, 24 year old Stephen Williams, 19 year old Ted Kindley, and 17 year old Joseph Gooch, and made off with $2,000.
85. Jimmy Bland (~1975-2007, lethal injection): Bland shot his boss, 62 year old Doyle Rains, in the head over an argument regarding a borrowed car and dumped the body in a creek. He was previously convicted of killing a soldier, Raymond Prentice (age unknown), and abducting the man's wife and son at the age of 19. Bland served a 20 out of 60 year sentence, and murdered Rains a year after he was released.
86. Frank Welch (~1987-2008, lethal injection): In 1987, Welch attacked 28 year old Jo Cooper, who was 4 months pregnant with her second child, in her home. She was tied up with leather straps, raped and violated with plastic toys, and strangled to death. Cooper’s body was found laying near her infant son by her husband. Another woman, 32 year old Debra Stevens, was also bound, raped, and strangled to death in her home in a near identical fashion a few months later. Although both murders went unsolved for several years, Welch abducted and raped a woman in 1994, and he received a 45 year sentence for it. His DNA samples was collected and filed after his abduction conviction, and linked to both Cooper and Stevens’ murders in a 1997 test.
87. Terry Short (1995-2008, lethal injection): In an attempt to kill his ex girlfriend, Short blew up her apartment complex with a firebomb. She and her family managed to escape, but the blast killed Ken Yamamoto, a 22 year old Japanese exchange student. Yamamoto had no connections to the targeted ex girlfriend's family beyond him having the misfortune of residing in the same apartment.
88. Jessie Cummings Jr. (1991-2009, lethal injection): Cummings was a polygamist that had married and lived with two wives. Under his orders, Cummings’ wives shot and killed his estranged half sister, 46 year old Judy Mayo, and kidnapped her daughter, 11 year old Melissa. He bound his niece to his bed with handcuffs to be raped, and stabbed her to death.
89. Darwin Brown (1995-2009, lethal injection): While robbing a grocery store with three accomplices (including Billy Alverson and Michael Wilson), Brown tied up the clerk, 30 year old Richard Yost, with handcuffs, and then bludgeoned him death with a metal baseball bat. The killing was caught by security cameras, and the footage was used by the prosecution to secure the convictions of Brown and his accomplices.
90. Donald Gilson (1995-2009, lethal injection): Gilson routinely physically abused his live in girlfriend's 5 children (who were all between the ages of 8 and 12 years old). The youngest, 8 year old Shane Coffman, was beaten to death with a board for defecating on the living room carpet. He and his girlfriend then hid the body by stuffing it in a freezer. The body was kept inside it for 6 months until it was discovered by a sheriff's deputy investigating the family's abuse allegations. Gilson's girlfriend was spared the death penalty with a plea deal, and given a life sentence without the possibility of parole for her part in her son's abuse and murder.
91. Michael DeLozier (1995-2009, lethal injection): While camping with his friends, DeLozier ambushed another pair of campers, 60 year old Orville Bullard and 54 year old Paul Morgan, and shot them to death. They stole Morgan and Bullard's generator, pick up truck, and other camping gear. To cover up their tracks, DeLozier and his friends set their victims' campsite on fire, and severely burned the bodies.
92. Julius Young (1993-2010, lethal injection): For breaking off their relationship, Young beat his ex girlfriend, 20 year old Joyland Morgan and her 6 year old son Kewan, to death with a baseball bat in their apartment.
93. Donald Wackerly II (1996-2010, lethal injection): Wackerly and his wife ambushed and gunned down Pan Sayakhoummane, a 51 year old Laotian immigrant, while he was fishing in the Arkansas River. After he placed Sayakhoummane's body in the man’s own truck, he pushed into a river, and stole his fishing gear. A few months after the murder, Wackerly’s wife turned him in to the police.
94. John Duty (~1970s-2010, lethal injection): Duty was given a life sentence for abducting, raping, and non fatally shooting a female store clerk during a robbery. While incarcerated, he tricked a fellow inmate, 22 year old Curtis Wise Jr. into allowing himself to be tied up as a part of a hostage ruse, and then strangled him to death with shoelaces. At the time of his murder, Wise was serving a conviction for burglary and contributing to the delinquency of minors. Duty's execution caused some controversy for the use of pentobarbital, a drug more commonly utilized by veterinarians to euthanize pets.
95. Billy Alverson (1995-2011, lethal injection): Alverson assisted the above mentioned Darwin Brown and Micheal Wilson in the beating death of Richard Yost while robbing a convenience store.
96. Jeffrey Matthews (1994-2011, lethal injection): Matthews and his accomplice shot and killed his great uncle, 77 year old Otis Short, while robbing the man's home. In the robbery, they stole Short's truck, his .32 calibre pistol, and $500. The pair also slit the throat of Short's wife, but she survived her injuries.
97. Gary Welch (~1993-2011, lethal injection): During a fight over a drug shipment, Welch and his partner stabbed another dealer, 32 year old Robert Hardcastle, to death with broken glass bottles. He was previously convicted of battery with a deadly weapon, and was off on probation at the time of Hardcastle's murder.
98. Timothy Stemple (1996-2012, lethal injection): Stemple conspired with his girlfriend to murder his wife, 30 year old Trisha, for her life insurance policy. With the help of his girlfriend's 16 year old nephew or cousin [sources vary], Stemple beat Trisha with a baseball bat, and rammed her to death with his truck.
99. Michael Selsor (~1975-2012, lethal injection): Selsor and his accomplice went on a crime spree and robbed several convenience stores. During their robberies, the pair shot and killed two clerks, 55 year old Clayton Chandler and 20 year old Ina Morris, and injured two others in shooting and stabbing attacks.
100. Michael Hooper (~1992-2012, lethal injection): Hooper kidnapped his ex girlfriend, 23 year old Cynthia Jarman, and her children, 5 year old Timothy and 3 year old Tonya, from her boyfriend's residence. He shot all three of them dead, and buried the bodies in a rancher's field. According to court documents, Hooper was hyper-violent towards Cynthia in their year long relationship.
101. Garry Allen (1986-2012, lethal injection): Allen shot and killed his fiancee, 24 year old Lawanna Titsworth, during an argument at a day care she worked at. He fought with the responding officers trying to arrest him in an attempt to provoke a "suicide by cop" outcome. Despite the officers' best efforts to avoid harming him, Allen lost his eye from an accidental discharge. Due to claims of him having schizophrenia, Allen's execution was a source of controversy.
102. George Ochoa (~1993-2012, lethal injection): A Southside Locos gang member, Ochoa and another hoodlum shot and killed a couple, 38 year old Francisco Morales and 35 year old Maria Yanez, while burglarizing their home. The murders were witnessed by the couple's 14 year old and 10 year old children and stepchildren, who then phoned the police after the shooters' departure.
103. Steven Thacker (~1980s-2012, lethal injection): Thacker kidnapped 25 year old Laci Hill during a botched robbery of her home, and took her to a remote cabin to be raped. She was then strangled and stabbed to death. He fled to Missouri, fatally stabbed 24 year old Forrest Boyd while carjacking him, and used his car to hide out in Tennessee. After the stolen car broke down, Thacker called a tow truck to pick him up. When the driver, 52 year old Ray Patterson, found that he was using a stolen credit card, Thacker stabbed him to death as well. As a teenager, Thacker committed several acts of auto thefts and burglaries. He also engaged in inappropriate relationships with underaged girls, and was released from a Florida prison after serving time for a bad check conviction months before his murders.
104. James DeRosa (2000-2013, lethal injection): DeRosa and his accomplice tricked a couple, 73 year old Curtis and 70 year old Gloria Plummer, that he worked for on their ranch, into letting them inside their house. After they stabbed the Plummers and slit their throats, DeRosa and his accomplice stole $73 and drove away with their truck.
105. Brian Davis (2001-2013, lethal injection): Davis went searching for his girlfriend and their daughter when he found them missing from their home, and called his girlfriend's mother, 56 year old Josephine Sanford, about their whereabouts. Sanford dropped by the couple's residence after failing to find her daughter and granddaughter. At her arrival, she was raped, beaten, and stabbed to death by Davis. He then left the body in the house, drove off with Sanford’s van, and injured himself in a car accident. As Davis was high while driving, he was arrested for being under the influence. The detaining officers weren’t aware of the murder until Davis’ girlfriend returned to the home later that night, and called 911 after finding her mother’s corpse.
106. Anthony Banks (~1978-2013, lethal injection): In 1978, while robbing a grocery store, Banks shot and killed a clerk, 22 year old David Fremin. A year later, he abducted Sun Travis, a 24 year old South Korean immigrant, from a parking lot. He then sexually assaulted Travis in his car and shot her in the head. Although he was captured and convicted for Fremin's murder, Travis' killing went unsolved until a 1997 DNA test. Banks was originally sentenced to death for Fremin's murder, but it was lifted in favor of a life sentence. He was condemned for a second time after his conviction for Travis murder.
107. Ronald Lott (~1980s-2013, lethal injection): A sexual predator of elderly women, Lott broke into the homes of 93 year old Zelma Cutler and 83 year old Anna Fowler after cutting off their power. They were tied up with cloth, anally penetrated, beaten, and suffocated to death with pillowcases. The case attracted controversy when another man was erroneously condemned for the murders, and he spent 11 years on death row until a 1997 DNA test linked the murders to Lott. At the time of the discovery, Lott was serving time for two rape convictions.
108. Johnny Black (~1984-2013, lethal injection): Black, two of his brothers, and two other men went looking for a man they feuded with for a fight. While they were crusing on the road, the group encountered a rancher, 54 year old Bill Pogue, and mistook him for their target due to them driving similar vehicles. They forced Poque off the road, pulled him out of his car, and stabbed him a total of 10 times. Pogue's son in law was also dragged out and attacked, but he managed to escape with his life. Black was previously convicted of manslaughter for shooting 49 year old Cecil Martin dead in an argument.
109. Michael Wilson (1995-2014, lethal injection): Wilson was the third participant in the above mentioned beating death of Richard Yost to be executed.
110. Kenneth Hogan (1988-2014, lethal injection): Hogan stabbed 21 year old Lisa Stanley to death while she was babysitting his children. According to autopsy reports, she was stabbed at least 25 times. Stanley had previously accused him of sexual misconduct, and prosecutors believed that she was killed during an argument over the allegations.
111. Clayton Lockett (~1992-2014, lethal injection): Lockett, his cousin, and another accomplice kidnapped 23 year old Bobby Bornt, 18 year old Summer Hair, and Bornt's 9 month son after burglarizing a home. After tying them up with duct tape, they forced their captives to lure a friend, 19 year old Stephanie Neiman, with a phone call. Neiman was also bound and initially survived getting shot multiple times. Out of frustration, Lockett buried her alive, and she succumbed to a combination of suffocation and her injuries. Lockett and his accomplices also gang-raped Hair and beat Bornt, but spared them on the forced condition of their silence. His execution was controversial, as Lockett convulsed for 45 minutes after being injected, and then died from a heart attack. He also had a long criminal history, and was first arrested for burglary as a teenager.
112. Charles Warner (1997-2015, lethal injection): Warner raped his girlfriend's daughter, 11 month old Adriana Waller, and shook her to death. His execution sparked outcry, as the wrong fatal drug was administered by mistake, and Warner complained of "burning pain" as he was being injected. With the botched executions of Lockett and Warner back to back, the state of Oklahoma delayed further executions until 2021.
113. John Grant (~1970s-2021, lethal injection): While serving a 130 year sentence for armed robbery, Grant stabbed a prison cafeteria worker, 58 year old Gay Carter, to death. He had a long criminal history dating back to the ag e of 11, had several previous convictions of theft and armed robbery, and frequently fought with and assaulted other inmates behind bars. Due to reports of "adverse reactions" to the lethal drugs, Grant's execution was scrutinized by a number of national media outlets.
114. Bigler Stouffer II (1985-2021, lethal injection): Stouffer shot and killed his ex girlfriend, 35 year old Linda Reaves, in her boyfriend's home for breaking up with him. Reaves' boyfriend was also seriously injured in the shooting.
115. Donald Grant (2001-2022, lethal injection): During a robbery of a hotel, Grant fatally shot, stabbed, and bludgeoned two employees, 43 year old Felicia Smith and 29 year old Brenda McElyea, and ran off with $1,500. He spent $200 of the stolen on paying for his girlfriend's bail.
116. Gilbert Postelle (~1998-2022, lethal injection): Postelle’s father was badly injured in a motorcycle accident, and they suspected that 57 year old James Anderson, 56 year old Terry Smith, 49 year old Donnie Swindler, and 26 year old Amy Wright were deliberately involved. Out a desire for vengeance, he recruited Postelle, his other son, and another man to kill them. All four victims were fatally gunned down in what was described as a “blitz attack” on their trailer. He was an addict and had several arrests for drug possession and manufacturing dating back to the age of 12.
117. James Coddington (1997-2022, lethal injection): After robbing a grocery store, Coddington went to the home of a friend and co worker, 73 year old Albert Hale, to ask for money. When Hale turned him down, Coddington retaliated by beating him with a claw hammer. Coddington stole $525 and went on to rob 5 more grocery stores. Hale was left alone with his injures for nearly an entire day until he was discovered by his son, and died in the hospital a day later.
118. Benjamin Cole Sr. (2002-2022, lethal injection): Out of anger that her crying interrupted his Nintendo game, Cole beat his daughter from his second wife, 9 month old Brianna, to death. He was previously convicted of abusing his son from a different marriage in California.
119. Richard Fairchild (1996-2023, lethal injection): Fairchild got into a fight with his girlfriend’s 17 year old daughter after making drunken sexual passes at her, and was enraged that she left with a cab driver. He took his anger out on the girl’s younger brother, 3 year old Adam Broomhall, and scalded him with a wall heater. He then repeatedly hit the boy, threw him against a table, and fatally hemorrhaged his head. Bromhall received over 26 blows during the beating.
120. Scott Eizember (2003-2023, lethal injection): Eizember snuck into his ex girlfriend's house to lie in wait for her. However, her roommates, 76 year old A.J. Cantrell and his 70 year old wife Patsy, arrived home earlier then she did. He shot and beat them both to death and then fled the scene.
121. Jemaine Cannon (1995-2023, lethal injection): Cannon was put in prison for assaulting an unidentified woman. He managed to escape and stabbed his girlfriend, 20 year old Sharonda Clark, to death in her apartment.
122. Anthony Sanchez (1996-2023, lethal injection): Sanchez kidnapped 21 year old Jewell Busken from her apartment complex, and then raped and shot her to death. He amassed a following from the anti death penalty movement for claiming that his father was responsible, but such notions were debunked following a 2023 DNA test that concluded Sanchez’s guilt.
123. Phillip Hancock (~1982-2023, lethal injection): In 1982, Hancock shot a drug dealer, 27 year old Charles Warren, dead in a dispute over stolen jewelry and was given a manslaughter conviction for it. He was released after serving a 2 year term. About 17 years later, he shot and killed 58 year old James Lynch III and 37 year old Robert Jett Jr. in a drug house. Despite an eyewitness account describing Lynch and Jett begging for their lives, the case attracted scrutiny when Hancock's attorneys claimed that the shootings were done in self defense.
124. Michael Smith (~2002-2024, lethal injection): A member of the Oak Grove Posse gang, Smith was responsible for two separate fatal shootings on the same day. In one of his murders, he killed Sharath Pulluru, a 24 year old Indian immigrant that worked as a clerk, while robbing a gas station. The other murder occurred when he tried to confront a gang member that he thought was a police informant in his apartment, and gunned down the target’s mother, 40 year old Janet Miller-Moore, when she refused to give away her son’s location. Smith was also given a life sentence for delivering a gun to a shooter that carried out another gang killing.
submitted by Leather_Focus_6535 to TrueCrimeDiscussion [link] [comments]
The currently executed 124 offenders, cases 63-124:
63. Robert Knighton (~1960s-2003, lethal injection): In 1973, after being released from a 1968 armed robbery conviction, Knighton went on his first major crime spree. He stabbed and strangled several men and women during many robberies and home invasions. The only victim that was killed, 32 year old Coffier Day, was shot dead while Knighton was arguing with him in his home. Coffier's father, 53 year old Claude, was also injured in the shooting. Knighton's first crime spree ended when he kidnapped a married couple and their 6 year old daughter. They escaped when the wife and mother of the family attacked Knighton with a knife to protect her husband and daughter. The family then notified the police of their abduction. Knighton managed to secure a 30 year manslaughter conviction and a 10 year armed robbery conviction with a plea deal, and was released to a halfway house in 1989. There, he began dating a female addict and befriended a teenage boy. The trio embarked on a nationwide robbery spree together. In Missouri, they shot and killed 59 year old Frank Merrifield and his 40 year old stepson Roy Donahue while robbing their home, and stole guns and money from them. In Oklahoma, the trio fatally shot a couple, 64 year old Virginia and 62 year old Richard Denney, while carjacking them. Their rampage ended when a woman in Texas grow suspicious of them circling a neighborhood. Knighton had a long history of theft convictions dating back to his childhood, and joined the Aryan Brotherhood in prison. Behind bars, he frequently attacked black and Native American inmates out of racial hatred for them.
64. Kenneth Charm (1993-2003, lethal injection): Charm and his teenage cousin lured a family friend, 14 year old Brandy Hill, into their car. They raped Hill and tried strangling her with a towel. When that failed, the cousins bludgeoned her to death with a sledgehammer.
65. Lewis Gilbert II (1994-2003, lethal injection): Gilbert and his teenage accomplice committed at least 4 robbery murders in Missouri, Ohio, and Oklahoma, but he was executed for the killing of 37 year old Roxanne Ruddell. They ambushed and kidnapped Ruddell while she was fishing alone. She was robbed of $3 and her truck, tied to a tree, and shot to death. The pair also fatally shot Ruth Loader, a 79 year old Ohioan woman, while abducting her from her residence, and gunned down a Missouri couple, 86 year old William and 76 year old Flossie Brewer, in their home. Gilbert was also sentenced to death for the Brewer murders by the state of Missouri, but was incarcerated in Oklahoma State Penitentiary’s death row.
66. Robert Duckett (~1980s-2003, lethal injection): After breaking out of prison, Duckett was picked up hitchhiking by John Howard, a 53 year old store owner. Howard agreed to let Duckett stay with him until he could find a job. The pair soon had a failing out, and Duckett was evicted by his host. He retaliated by tying Howard up with wire and then beating him to death with a fireplace poker. Duckett made off with his car after he switched the license plates, and took several bank bags from his store. He had a long violent criminal history, which included several incidents of assault and robbery. One of the incidents involved the beating of an 83 year old man. Allegedly, Duckett was previously gang-raped by other inmates, and suffered from PTSD from the incident. His attorneys claimed that Howard’s sexual advances trigged those memories, and he was killed as a result of Duckett lashing out at them. However, the prosecution shot the argument down, citing that the murder happened after Duckett was evicted from the apartment.
67. Bryan Toles (1993-2003, lethal injection): Toles and his two accomplices forced themselves into the home of the Franceschi family, and shot and killed the family patriarch, 39 year old Juan, in a struggle. Juan's son, 15 year old Lonnie, was also murdered "execution style" out of fear that he could identify Toles and his accomplices. The only survivor of the attack was Norma, Juan's wife and Lonnie's mother, who escaped by hiding in her older daughter's bedroom.
68. Jackie Willingham (1994-2003, lethal injection): Willingham was a door to door salesman selling perfume in an office building. One women, 62 year old Jayne Van Wey, he tried to solicit rejected him despite his repeated offers. Angered by her "rude behavior", Willingham attacked Van Wey when they had a chance encounter near the building's restroom. He dragged Van Wey out of a stall after following her inside, slammed her head against the bathroom wall several times, and kicked her head. Reportedly, Van Wey choked to death on her own blood.
69. Harold McElmurry III (1999-2003, lethal injection): While under the influence of meth, McElmurry and his wife Vicki broke into a home that a WW2 veteran, 80 year old Robert Pendley, shared with his wife, 75 year old Rosa. Robert and Rosa were both quickly subdued and physically restrained by the couple. McElmurry clubbed Robert to death with a pipe in front of Rosa, who was forced to watch by Vicki. Vicki then held Rosa down as McElmurry stabbed her several times with scissors. After killing the Pendleys, the McElmurrys fled with $70 in cash, a pair of guns, and the victims' car. A few days after the murders, they were captured by border agents while trying to cross into Mexico.
70. Tyrone Darks (~1990s-2004, lethal injection): Darks rammed his ex wife, 26 year old Sherry Goodlow, off the road as she was driving with their 2 year old son. After Goodlow crashed, Darks pulled their son out of the wreckage, shot her to death, and then drove away with him. Just before she succumbed to her injuries, Goodlow managed to call and notify the police about her son’s abduction. The police confronted and arrested Darks at his home, and they found the boy unharmed in their search. Darks and Goodlow’s former marriage was marred with violence, and he was arrested on numerous occasions for assaulting her. On death row, Darks was involved in a scheme to defraud a foundation for 9/11 survivors.
71. Norman Cleary (~1980s-2004, lethal injection): While burglarizing an upper class home with an accomplice, Cleary shot and killed a housekeeper, 44 year old Wanda Neafus, and took her purse and a cane that her employers purchased from the Smithsonian Institution. Cleary had a long criminal history and was previously convicted of beating an 87 year old woman in her home.
72. David Brown (~1983-2004, lethal injection): For several years, Brown violently harassed his ex wife and her family. In one incident, Brown abducted his ex wife and 11 of her customers from a beauty saloon she owned, and held them hostage until he surrendered to police. He was able to leave custody on bond and went into hiding. A few years after the hostage crisis incident, Brown broke into his ex wife's family home and gunned down her father, 47 year old Eldon McGuire.
73. Hung Thanh Le (1992-2004, lethal injection): Le crept into the apartment of another Vietnamese refugee, 34 year old Hai Nguyen, and found him watching TV on the couch. He struck Nguyen from behind with a weightlifting bar, and continued stabbing him with a meat cleaver when he screamed his wife for help. Nguyen's wife phoned the police, and Le fled with the couple's safety deposit box that contained $36,000 and their wedding ring.
74. Robert Bryan (1993-2004, lethal injection): Bryan shot and killed his estranged aunt, 69 year old Mildred, dumped her body on his parents' property, and forged a $1,800 check to himself under her name.
75. Windel Workman (~1980s(?)-2004, lethal injection): Workman beat his girlfriend's daughter, 2 year old Amanda Holman, to death while babysitting her in their home. His ex wives reported that he had a history of child abuse and often violently spanked their children during their marriages.
76. Jimmie Slaughter (1991-2005, lethal injection): Fearing that she was going to tell his wife of their affair, Slaughter stabbed and shot his ex girlfriend, 29 year old Melody Wuertz, and their daughter, 1 year old Jessica. According to court documents, Slaughter mutilated both of their bodies, and he carved an "R" on Melody's stomach. He tried pinning the murders on a black man, but the investigators and the courts dismissed his allegations.
77. George Miller Jr. (1994-2005, lethal injection): During the robbery of a hotel, Miller attacked the auditor, 25 year old Kent Dodd, with a hedge shear and paint cans, and took $122 from the register. Dodd was severely beaten, had muriatic acid shoved down his throat, and was left to die. Just before he died of his injuries, Dodd gave a description of his attacker to the police that matched Miller. A massive amount of circumstantial evidence, such as wearing shoes that resembled the bloodstained footprints next to Dodd's body, a microscopic drop of blood found on his shoes that was tentatively linked to Dodd, his wife's testimony of his unaccounted absence from their home during the murder, and what appeared to be Dodd writing Miller's alias that he knew him by in his own blood, convicted him. Miller’s friends also reported that he was broke and begging them for money a day before the murder, and his wife mentioned him giving her the same amount of money that was stolen from the robbery a day after it happened.
78. Michael Pennington (1991-2005, lethal injection): Pennington shot and killed a clerk, 20 year old Bradley Grooms, while trying to rob a 7-eleven grocery store. He left empty handed when the register failed to open.
79. Kenneth Turrentine (1994-2005, lethal injection): Under the belief that they were stealing money from him for drugs, Turrentine shot and killed his sister, 48 year old Avon Stevenson, and his girlfriend, 39 year old Anita Richardson, during confrontations in their homes. He also gunned down Anita's two children, 22 year old Tina Pennington and 13 year old Martise.
80. Richard Thornburg Jr. (1996-2006, lethal injection): A month after he was shot by an unknown assailant, Thornburg and his accomplices sought revenge by abducting 5 men that he thought was responsible from a trailer. Three of the hostages, 51 year old James Poteet, 39 year old Tery Sheppard, and 24 year old Kieth Smith, were gunned down on the spot, and Thornberg forced the fourth to shoot the fifth with the threat of killing him if he didn’t comply. They then burned down the trailer with the wounded fifth victim still trapped inside, but he managed to escape with his life. Despite being forced to put all the blame on himself in exchange for being spared, the fourth hostage still went forward to the police.
81. John Boltz (1984-2006, lethal injection): To spite his estranged wife following an argument, Boltz attacked her son, 23 year old Doug Kirby, with a knife. Kirby was stabbed a total of 11 times, and he received several fatal wounds to his chest, stomach, and neck.
82. Eric Patton (1994-2006, lethal injection): Patton forced his way into the home of 56 year old Charlene Kauer after she refused his pleading for money. After dragging her around the house as he searched for valuables, Patton stabbed Kauer several times with many different blades objects at hand such as scissors, barbecue forks, and kitchen knifes. Although he confessed to the murder, Patton blamed it on alleged demonic possession and his cocaine addiction.
83. James Malicoat (1997-2006, lethal injection): Malicoat slammed Tessa Leadford, his 13 month old daughter, against a dresser. After she died from the beating, he tucked her into bed, and waited until his daughter's mother returned from work to take her to the hospital. The doctors found that Leadford had been dead for several hours at the time of her arrival, and discovered several injuries such as broken ribs, bite marks, abdominal bleeding, and facial bruising on her body. By his own account, he had abused Leadford on a daily basis. For her role in enabling her boyfriend's treatment of their daughter, Leadford's mother was convicted of first degree murder and given a life sentence.
84. Corey Hamilton (1992-2007, lethal injection): During the robbery of a restaurant, Hamilton shot and killed 4 employees, 26 year old Sandy Lara, 24 year old Stephen Williams, 19 year old Ted Kindley, and 17 year old Joseph Gooch, and made off with $2,000.
85. Jimmy Bland (~1975-2007, lethal injection): Bland shot his boss, 62 year old Doyle Rains, in the head over an argument regarding a borrowed car and dumped the body in a creek. He was previously convicted of killing a soldier, Raymond Prentice (age unknown), and abducting the man's wife and son at the age of 19. Bland served a 20 out of 60 year sentence, and murdered Rains a year after he was released.
86. Frank Welch (~1987-2008, lethal injection): In 1987, Welch attacked 28 year old Jo Cooper, who was 4 months pregnant with her second child, in her home. She was tied up with leather straps, raped and violated with plastic toys, and strangled to death. Cooper’s body was found laying near her infant son by her husband. Another woman, 32 year old Debra Stevens, was also bound, raped, and strangled to death in her home in a near identical fashion a few months later. Although both murders went unsolved for several years, Welch abducted and raped a woman in 1994, and he received a 45 year sentence for it. His DNA samples was collected and filed after his abduction conviction, and linked to both Cooper and Stevens’ murders in a 1997 test.
87. Terry Short (1995-2008, lethal injection): In an attempt to kill his ex girlfriend, Short blew up her apartment complex with a firebomb. She and her family managed to escape, but the blast killed Ken Yamamoto, a 22 year old Japanese exchange student. Yamamoto had no connections to the targeted ex girlfriend's family beyond him having the misfortune of residing in the same apartment.
88. Jessie Cummings Jr. (1991-2009, lethal injection): Cummings was a polygamist that had married and lived with two wives. Under his orders, Cummings’ wives shot and killed his estranged half sister, 46 year old Judy Mayo, and kidnapped her daughter, 11 year old Melissa. He bound his niece to his bed with handcuffs to be raped, and stabbed her to death.
89. Darwin Brown (1995-2009, lethal injection): While robbing a grocery store with three accomplices (including Billy Alverson and Michael Wilson), Brown tied up the clerk, 30 year old Richard Yost, with handcuffs, and then bludgeoned him death with a metal baseball bat. The killing was caught by security cameras, and the footage was used by the prosecution to secure the convictions of Brown and his accomplices.
90. Donald Gilson (1995-2009, lethal injection): Gilson routinely physically abused his live in girlfriend's 5 children (who were all between the ages of 8 and 12 years old). The youngest, 8 year old Shane Coffman, was beaten to death with a board for defecating on the living room carpet. He and his girlfriend then hid the body by stuffing it in a freezer. The body was kept inside it for 6 months until it was discovered by a sheriff's deputy investigating the family's abuse allegations. Gilson's girlfriend was spared the death penalty with a plea deal, and given a life sentence without the possibility of parole for her part in her son's abuse and murder.
91. Michael DeLozier (1995-2009, lethal injection): While camping with his friends, DeLozier ambushed another pair of campers, 60 year old Orville Bullard and 54 year old Paul Morgan, and shot them to death. They stole Morgan and Bullard's generator, pick up truck, and other camping gear. To cover up their tracks, DeLozier and his friends set their victims' campsite on fire, and severely burned the bodies.
92. Julius Young (1993-2010, lethal injection): For breaking off their relationship, Young beat his ex girlfriend, 20 year old Joyland Morgan and her 6 year old son Kewan, to death with a baseball bat in their apartment.
93. Donald Wackerly II (1996-2010, lethal injection): Wackerly and his wife ambushed and gunned down Pan Sayakhoummane, a 51 year old Laotian immigrant, while he was fishing in the Arkansas River. After he placed Sayakhoummane's body in the man’s own truck, he pushed into a river, and stole his fishing gear. A few months after the murder, Wackerly’s wife turned him in to the police.
94. John Duty (~1970s-2010, lethal injection): Duty was given a life sentence for abducting, raping, and non fatally shooting a female store clerk during a robbery. While incarcerated, he tricked a fellow inmate, 22 year old Curtis Wise Jr. into allowing himself to be tied up as a part of a hostage ruse, and then strangled him to death with shoelaces. At the time of his murder, Wise was serving a conviction for burglary and contributing to the delinquency of minors. Duty's execution caused some controversy for the use of pentobarbital, a drug more commonly utilized by veterinarians to euthanize pets.
95. Billy Alverson (1995-2011, lethal injection): Alverson assisted the above mentioned Darwin Brown and Micheal Wilson in the beating death of Richard Yost while robbing a convenience store.
96. Jeffrey Matthews (1994-2011, lethal injection): Matthews and his accomplice shot and killed his great uncle, 77 year old Otis Short, while robbing the man's home. In the robbery, they stole Short's truck, his .32 calibre pistol, and $500. The pair also slit the throat of Short's wife, but she survived her injuries.
97. Gary Welch (~1993-2011, lethal injection): During a fight over a drug shipment, Welch and his partner stabbed another dealer, 32 year old Robert Hardcastle, to death with broken glass bottles. He was previously convicted of battery with a deadly weapon, and was off on probation at the time of Hardcastle's murder.
98. Timothy Stemple (1996-2012, lethal injection): Stemple conspired with his girlfriend to murder his wife, 30 year old Trisha, for her life insurance policy. With the help of his girlfriend's 16 year old nephew or cousin [sources vary], Stemple beat Trisha with a baseball bat, and rammed her to death with his truck.
99. Michael Selsor (~1975-2012, lethal injection): Selsor and his accomplice went on a crime spree and robbed several convenience stores. During their robberies, the pair shot and killed two clerks, 55 year old Clayton Chandler and 20 year old Ina Morris, and injured two others in shooting and stabbing attacks.
100. Michael Hooper (~1992-2012, lethal injection): Hooper kidnapped his ex girlfriend, 23 year old Cynthia Jarman, and her children, 5 year old Timothy and 3 year old Tonya, from her boyfriend's residence. He shot all three of them dead, and buried the bodies in a rancher's field. According to court documents, Hooper was hyper-violent towards Cynthia in their year long relationship.
101. Garry Allen (1986-2012, lethal injection): Allen shot and killed his fiancee, 24 year old Lawanna Titsworth, during an argument at a day care she worked at. He fought with the responding officers trying to arrest him in an attempt to provoke a "suicide by cop" outcome. Despite the officers' best efforts to avoid harming him, Allen lost his eye from an accidental discharge. Due to claims of him having schizophrenia, Allen's execution was a source of controversy.
102. George Ochoa (~1993-2012, lethal injection): A Southside Locos gang member, Ochoa and another hoodlum shot and killed a couple, 38 year old Francisco Morales and 35 year old Maria Yanez, while burglarizing their home. The murders were witnessed by the couple's 14 year old and 10 year old children and stepchildren, who then phoned the police after the shooters' departure.
103. Steven Thacker (~1980s-2012, lethal injection): Thacker kidnapped 25 year old Laci Hill during a botched robbery of her home, and took her to a remote cabin to be raped. She was then strangled and stabbed to death. He fled to Missouri, fatally stabbed 24 year old Forrest Boyd while carjacking him, and used his car to hide out in Tennessee. After the stolen car broke down, Thacker called a tow truck to pick him up. When the driver, 52 year old Ray Patterson, found that he was using a stolen credit card, Thacker stabbed him to death as well. As a teenager, Thacker committed several acts of auto thefts and burglaries. He also engaged in inappropriate relationships with underaged girls, and was released from a Florida prison after serving time for a bad check conviction months before his murders.
104. James DeRosa (2000-2013, lethal injection): DeRosa and his accomplice tricked a couple, 73 year old Curtis and 70 year old Gloria Plummer, that he worked for on their ranch, into letting them inside their house. After they stabbed the Plummers and slit their throats, DeRosa and his accomplice stole $73 and drove away with their truck.
105. Brian Davis (2001-2013, lethal injection): Davis went searching for his girlfriend and their daughter when he found them missing from their home, and called his girlfriend's mother, 56 year old Josephine Sanford, about their whereabouts. Sanford dropped by the couple's residence after failing to find her daughter and granddaughter. At her arrival, she was raped, beaten, and stabbed to death by Davis. He then left the body in the house, drove off with Sanford’s van, and injured himself in a car accident. As Davis was high while driving, he was arrested for being under the influence. The detaining officers weren’t aware of the murder until Davis’ girlfriend returned to the home later that night, and called 911 after finding her mother’s corpse.
106. Anthony Banks (~1978-2013, lethal injection): In 1978, while robbing a grocery store, Banks shot and killed a clerk, 22 year old David Fremin. A year later, he abducted Sun Travis, a 24 year old South Korean immigrant, from a parking lot. He then sexually assaulted Travis in his car and shot her in the head. Although he was captured and convicted for Fremin's murder, Travis' killing went unsolved until a 1997 DNA test. Banks was originally sentenced to death for Fremin's murder, but it was lifted in favor of a life sentence. He was condemned for a second time after his conviction for Travis murder.
107. Ronald Lott (~1980s-2013, lethal injection): A sexual predator of elderly women, Lott broke into the homes of 93 year old Zelma Cutler and 83 year old Anna Fowler after cutting off their power. They were tied up with cloth, anally penetrated, beaten, and suffocated to death with pillowcases. The case attracted controversy when another man was erroneously condemned for the murders, and he spent 11 years on death row until a 1997 DNA test linked the murders to Lott. At the time of the discovery, Lott was serving time for two rape convictions.
108. Johnny Black (~1984-2013, lethal injection): Black, two of his brothers, and two other men went looking for a man they feuded with for a fight. While they were crusing on the road, the group encountered a rancher, 54 year old Bill Pogue, and mistook him for their target due to them driving similar vehicles. They forced Poque off the road, pulled him out of his car, and stabbed him a total of 10 times. Pogue's son in law was also dragged out and attacked, but he managed to escape with his life. Black was previously convicted of manslaughter for shooting 49 year old Cecil Martin dead in an argument.
109. Michael Wilson (1995-2014, lethal injection): Wilson was the third participant in the above mentioned beating death of Richard Yost to be executed.
110. Kenneth Hogan (1988-2014, lethal injection): Hogan stabbed 21 year old Lisa Stanley to death while she was babysitting his children. According to autopsy reports, she was stabbed at least 25 times. Stanley had previously accused him of sexual misconduct, and prosecutors believed that she was killed during an argument over the allegations.
111. Clayton Lockett (~1992-2014, lethal injection): Lockett, his cousin, and another accomplice kidnapped 23 year old Bobby Bornt, 18 year old Summer Hair, and Bornt's 9 month son after burglarizing a home. After tying them up with duct tape, they forced their captives to lure a friend, 19 year old Stephanie Neiman, with a phone call. Neiman was also bound and initially survived getting shot multiple times. Out of frustration, Lockett buried her alive, and she succumbed to a combination of suffocation and her injuries. Lockett and his accomplices also gang-raped Hair and beat Bornt, but spared them on the forced condition of their silence. His execution was controversial, as Lockett convulsed for 45 minutes after being injected, and then died from a heart attack. He also had a long criminal history, and was first arrested for burglary as a teenager.
112. Charles Warner (1997-2015, lethal injection): Warner raped his girlfriend's daughter, 11 month old Adriana Waller, and shook her to death. His execution sparked outcry, as the wrong fatal drug was administered by mistake, and Warner complained of "burning pain" as he was being injected. With the botched executions of Lockett and Warner back to back, the state of Oklahoma delayed further executions until 2021.
113. John Grant (~1970s-2021, lethal injection): While serving a 130 year sentence for armed robbery, Grant stabbed a prison cafeteria worker, 58 year old Gay Carter, to death. He had a long criminal history dating back to the ag e of 11, had several previous convictions of theft and armed robbery, and frequently fought with and assaulted other inmates behind bars. Due to reports of "adverse reactions" to the lethal drugs, Grant's execution was scrutinized by a number of national media outlets.
114. Bigler Stouffer II (1985-2021, lethal injection): Stouffer shot and killed his ex girlfriend, 35 year old Linda Reaves, in her boyfriend's home for breaking up with him. Reaves' boyfriend was also seriously injured in the shooting.
115. Donald Grant (2001-2022, lethal injection): During a robbery of a hotel, Grant fatally shot, stabbed, and bludgeoned two employees, 43 year old Felicia Smith and 29 year old Brenda McElyea, and ran off with $1,500. He spent $200 of the stolen on paying for his girlfriend's bail.
116. Gilbert Postelle (~1998-2022, lethal injection): Postelle’s father was badly injured in a motorcycle accident, and they suspected that 57 year old James Anderson, 56 year old Terry Smith, 49 year old Donnie Swindler, and 26 year old Amy Wright were deliberately involved. Out a desire for vengeance, he recruited Postelle, his other son, and another man to kill them. All four victims were fatally gunned down in what was described as a “blitz attack” on their trailer. He was an addict and had several arrests for drug possession and manufacturing dating back to the age of 12.
117. James Coddington (1997-2022, lethal injection): After robbing a grocery store, Coddington went to the home of a friend and co worker, 73 year old Albert Hale, to ask for money. When Hale turned him down, Coddington retaliated by beating him with a claw hammer. Coddington stole $525 and went on to rob 5 more grocery stores. Hale was left alone with his injures for nearly an entire day until he was discovered by his son, and died in the hospital a day later.
118. Benjamin Cole Sr. (2002-2022, lethal injection): Out of anger that her crying interrupted his Nintendo game, Cole beat his daughter from his second wife, 9 month old Brianna, to death. He was previously convicted of abusing his son from a different marriage in California.
119. Richard Fairchild (1996-2023, lethal injection): Fairchild got into a fight with his girlfriend’s 17 year old daughter after making drunken sexual passes at her, and was enraged that she left with a cab driver. He took his anger out on the girl’s younger brother, 3 year old Adam Broomhall, and scalded him with a wall heater. He then repeatedly hit the boy, threw him against a table, and fatally hemorrhaged his head. Bromhall received over 26 blows during the beating.
120. Scott Eizember (2003-2023, lethal injection): Eizember snuck into his ex girlfriend's house to lie in wait for her. However, her roommates, 76 year old A.J. Cantrell and his 70 year old wife Patsy, arrived home earlier then she did. He shot and beat them both to death and then fled the scene.
121. Jemaine Cannon (1995-2023, lethal injection): Cannon was put in prison for assaulting an unidentified woman. He managed to escape and stabbed his girlfriend, 20 year old Sharonda Clark, to death in her apartment.
122. Anthony Sanchez (1996-2023, lethal injection): Sanchez kidnapped 21 year old Jewell Busken from her apartment complex, and then raped and shot her to death. He amassed a following from the anti death penalty movement for claiming that his father was responsible, but such notions were debunked following a 2023 DNA test that concluded Sanchez’s guilt.
123. Phillip Hancock (~1982-2023, lethal injection): In 1982, Hancock shot a drug dealer, 27 year old Charles Warren, dead in a dispute over stolen jewelry and was given a manslaughter conviction for it. He was released after serving a 2 year term. About 17 years later, he shot and killed 58 year old James Lynch III and 37 year old Robert Jett Jr. in a drug house. Despite an eyewitness account describing Lynch and Jett begging for their lives, the case attracted scrutiny when Hancock's attorneys claimed that the shootings were done in self defense.
124. Michael Smith (~2002-2024, lethal injection): A member of the Oak Grove Posse gang, Smith was responsible for two separate fatal shootings on the same day. In one of his murders, he killed Sharath Pulluru, a 24 year old Indian immigrant that worked as a clerk, while robbing a gas station. The other murder occurred when he tried to confront a gang member that he thought was a police informant in his apartment, and gunned down the target’s mother, 40 year old Janet Miller-Moore, when she refused to give away her son’s location. Smith was also given a life sentence for delivering a gun to a shooter that carried out another gang killing.