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Chapter 20: The Storm's Fury
Gribble huddled in the depths of the cave, his heart pounding wildly as the fierce thunderstorm raged outside. The heavy rain and ear-splitting thunder created a scary symphony, unlike anything Gribble had ever heard before. Each booming thunderclap made the cave walls shake, and small rocks fell from the ceiling. Gribble's eyes darted around the small space, looking for any sign of safety, but the storm's anger seemed to fill every nook and cranny. Fear gripped his heart as he worried that the whole hillside might cave in, trapping him alive in the cave. The damp air was thick with the smell of wet dirt and the sharp tang of fear, and Gribble's skin tingled with goosebumps as the temperature dropped. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stay warm and calm his frazzled nerves, but the storm's power only seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.
The shadowy figure stood tall at the mouth of the cave, its form unmoving despite the heavy rain that pounded the outside. Gribble squinted his eyes, trying to figure out what the creature was through the curtain of darkness and the never-ending rain, but the details stayed hidden. The figure's posture was steady and scary, its broad shoulders and muscular build hinting at a tough enemy. Gribble's heart raced as he watched the figure, his mind imagining all sorts of terrifying possibilities. The creature's stillness was creepy, as if it was waiting for just the right moment to attack. A wave of dread washed over Gribble, and he instinctively pressed himself further into the cave's shadows, desperate to avoid being seen. The figure's presence was a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the cave's walls, and Gribble's survival instincts kicked into high gear as he thought about his next move.
A blinding flash of lightning tore through the night sky, filling the cave with an eerie, otherworldly light. For a split second, the creature's identity was revealed, and Gribble's eyes widened in horror as he took in the sight before him. Standing at the cave's entrance was a dark blue Thundercat, its muscular body rippling with power beneath its sleek, electric blue fur. The Thundercat's eyes gleamed with a predatory intensity, reflecting the lightning's flash like two pools of melted gold. Gribble's gaze was drawn to the creature's long, razor-sharp sabertooth fangs, which glinted menacingly in the momentary light. The sight of the Thundercat sent a wave of primal fear rushing through Gribble's veins, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. The stories he had heard of these legendary beasts paled in comparison to the reality that stood before him, and Gribble knew that he was facing a creature of unimaginable strength and ferocity.
Gribble's panic reached a fever pitch, his breath coming in short, labored gasps as he stared at the Thundercat. The tales of these feared creatures flooded his mind – whispers of the electric sparks that danced through their fur, of their immense strength that was said to rival even the most fearsome Owlbear. Gribble's heart pounded against his ribcage, and he could feel the cold sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill in the air. He knew that he was facing a daunting adversary, one that could easily overpower him in a head-on confrontation. The odds of survival seemed to dwindle with each passing second, and Gribble's mind raced as he desperately tried to come up with a plan. The Thundercat's presence loomed over him like a suffocating shadow, and Gribble could feel the weight of its gaze boring into him, even from across the cave. He understood that he must act quickly and decisively if he hoped to escape this encounter with his life.
Reacting on instinct, Gribble called upon his innate power to conjure bean-sized fireballs. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a barrage of the tiny, flaming projectiles hurtling towards the cave entrance, where they burst into brilliant flashes of light upon impact. The fiery assault illuminated the cave, casting dancing shadows on the walls and bathing the Thundercat in an orange glow. The heat from the flames was intense, and Gribble could feel the scorching air brushing against his skin. The fireballs sizzled and crackled as they hit the stone, sending sparks flying in all directions. For a moment, the cave was filled with a dazzling display of light and sound, a stark contrast to the dark, scary storm that raged outside. Gribble's heart pounded with a mixture of fear and excitement as he watched the fireballs explode, hoping that the sudden attack would be enough to distract the Thundercat and give him a chance to escape.
Gribble's mind raced as he sent the fireballs towards the Thundercat, desperately hoping that the sudden attack would give him the distraction he needed to make his escape. He focused his thoughts, tapping into his teleportation powers and trying to picture a safe place outside the cave. However, the tiredness and the fear that gripped his heart made it hard to concentrate. Gribble's brow furrowed as he tried to gather the needed energy, but his body felt heavy and sluggish, as if he was moving through water. The image of the safe haven he sought flickered in his mind's eye, tantalizingly close but just out of reach. Gribble gritted his teeth, pushing himself to the limits of his mental and physical strength as he struggled to keep his focus. The cave seemed to spin around him, and he could feel the cold tendrils of despair creeping into his heart as he realized that his teleportation powers might fail him in this critical moment.
Gribble's heart sank as he watched the Thundercat emerge unharmed from the fiery assault. The creature's electric blue fur crackled with energy, the sparks dancing across its body like tiny bolts of lightning. The Thundercat's eyes blazed with an otherworldly intensity, and it let out a deafening roar that shook the very foundations of the cave. The sound was unlike anything Gribble had ever heard before – a primal, guttural cry that seemed to echo through his very bones. The cave walls trembled, and small rocks and debris rained down from the ceiling, adding to the chaos of the moment. Gribble realized with a sinking feeling that the Thundercat was not only unharmed but enraged by his attack. The creature's muscles rippled beneath its fur as it prepared to charge, and Gribble knew that a battle was now unavoidable. He steeled himself, summoning every ounce of courage and determination he possessed, knowing that he must fight with all his might if he hoped to survive this encounter.
The Thundercat sprang into action, its powerful legs propelling it towards Gribble with a speed that defied belief. The creature moved with a fluid grace, its body a blur of electric blue as it closed the distance between them in mere seconds. Gribble barely had time to react before the Thundercat was upon him, its razor-sharp claws slashing through the air with deadly precision. He threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the initial attack, but the Thundercat's agility was unmatched. The creature pivoted mid-leap, its tail lashing out like a whip and its claws finding purchase on the cave wall as it redirected its momentum. Gribble's heart raced as he realized the true extent of the Thundercat's physical prowess – its reflexes were lightning-fast, and its strength was beyond anything he had ever encountered. The creature's eyes locked onto Gribble, and he could see the predatory gleam within them, the raw hunger for the hunt. Gribble knew that he must keep moving, keep dodging, if he hoped to stay alive long enough to find a way to counter the Thundercat's relentless assault.
Despite the fatigue that weighed heavily upon him, Gribble mustered the last reserves of his energy and called upon his earth vine powers. He focused his mind, reaching out to the cave floor and seeking the dormant life that lay beneath the stone. With a surge of effort, Gribble summoned a single, thick green tendril from the ground, watching as it burst forth and snaked its way towards the Thundercat. The vine wrapped itself around one of the creature's muscular legs, momentarily halting its advance and giving Gribble a fleeting moment of hope. However, the Thundercat's strength was too great, and it easily ripped through the vine with a snarl of annoyance. The severed tendril fell to the cave floor, writhing like a dying snake before going still. Gribble's heart sank as he realized that his earth vine powers, once a reliable ally in battle, were no match for the Thundercat's raw power. The creature's gaze turned back to Gribble, its eyes narrowing with a mixture of anger and predatory anticipation, and he knew that he must find another way to defend himself before it was too late.
Gribble's mind raced as he desperately searched for a way to gain the upper hand against the relentless Thundercat. In a last-ditch effort, he summoned another volley of bean-sized fireballs, pouring every ounce of his remaining energy into the attack. The tiny flames erupted from his fingertips in rapid succession, streaking through the air like miniature comets and striking the Thundercat's fur with sizzling precision. The creature hissed in pain as the fireballs singed its coat, but its anger only seemed to grow with each passing second. Gribble's exhaustion began to take its toll, his movements becoming sluggish and uncoordinated as he struggled to maintain the barrage. His vision blurred, and his limbs felt heavy, as if he was moving through molasses. The Thundercat pressed its advantage, its claws and fangs flashing in the dim light of the cave as it lunged towards Gribble with renewed ferocity. He knew that he could not keep up this pace for much longer, and a sense of despair began to creep into his heart as he realized that his efforts might not be enough to save him from the Thundercat's wrath.
The Thundercat seized the opportunity presented by Gribble's faltering defense, delivering a devastating blow that sent the young adventurer flying across the cave. Gribble felt the air rush from his lungs as he slammed into the unyielding rock wall, his body crumpling to the ground in a heap of pain and exhaustion. Stars danced before his eyes, and he gasped for breath, each inhalation sending shockwaves of agony through his battered frame. Gribble's mind reeled as he tried to assess the extent of his injuries, but the pain was too great, too all-consuming. He could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth, and he knew that he was badly hurt. The Thundercat's shadow fell over him, and Gribble looked up to see the creature looming above, its eyes glinting with a mixture of triumph and bloodlust. He tried to move, to crawl away, but his body refused to cooperate, and he collapsed back to the ground, his strength utterly spent. Gribble's heart pounded with the realization that he might not survive this encounter, and a cold sense of dread settled in the pit of his stomach.
Gribble lay broken and helpless on the cave floor, his vision swimming as he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness. The Thundercat stood over him, its electric blue fur crackling with energy as it prepared to deliver the final, fatal blow. Gribble's mind raced, desperately searching for a way out, for some last-minute miracle that could save him from this dire fate. He tried to summon his powers, to call upon the earth or conjure another fireball, but his body was too weak, too battered to respond. The Thundercat's eyes bore into him, and Gribble could see the raw, primal hunger that burned within them – the desire to end his life and claim victory. His heart hammered in his chest, and he could feel the cold tendrils of fear wrapping around his soul as he stared death in the face.
Would he find a way to overcome the Thundercat, or would his journey come to a tragic end in the depths of the cave? The fate of the young goblin hung in the balance, and only time would tell if he had the strength and cunning to emerge victorious.

I love reading classic literature, specifically works from the 19th century, so I wanted to write a fan work for this game with that feeling:
“You are quite ridiculous!” came the vivacious and teasing voice of one student passing by the open window. This declaration was answered by the distinct and familiar laughter of another, carried on the autumn wind and drenched in the odor of decaying foliage and the promise of rain.
From his seat in the west wing of the library, parchment and tomes stacked beside him, Ominis Gaunt followed the sound until it vanished completely beyond the courtyard, sensations of uneasy feeling coloring his neck and ears. After a pause, he regained his senses. He shook his head, as if banishing the regretful thought that had then stolen into his mind.
“Why does he keep volunteering himself on her behalf?” He whispered, thinking of the owner of that feminine voice – a new fifth-year student at Hogwarts - an anomaly on its own merit - who had, in half the time succeeding her arrival, attained the magnetic affections of his oldest friend, Sebastian Sallow. “Of course - it’s because she’s new and decidedly beautiful.” Ominis told himself, merely speculating on the state of her physiognomy by the lilting cadence of her voice and the faint wisps of form his wand could communicate to him at a distance. Being blind since birth, he, out of necessity, had developed a magical ‘seeing eye' with the ebony tool he now pressed between his right forefinger and the book in his lap.
He hadn’t dared approach her directly when she’d first entered the Slytherin common room a month prior, for a frenzy of students had erupted around her the moment she’d set foot in it. From there, rumors spread like bees pollinating a garden after a long and depressing winter:
“The new girl had a ministry escort!”
“She was attacked by a dragon!”
“No, she rode the dragon!”
“Supposedly she was a squib before…”
“That can’t be - I heard she's a transfer student and can speak seven languages!”
“That’s a cover - her real secret was that she was privately tutored and has rare and explosively dangerous magic!”
These accounts became increasingly absurd because no one truly knew anything for certain, thus making everything possible. The girl herself was peculiarly private but charmingly polite - a combination that instantly made any would-be-pryer retreat into stuttering awkwardness. They did at the very least glean her name, which quickly became the subject of their fantastical speculations: Mélisande Clarusia Warwick.
From within his pocket, Ominis retrieved the note Sebastian’s owl had delivered him that day:
“Ominis,
Apologies for the abrupt change of plans, but our anticipated study session this afternoon must be postponed. Professor Weasley has graciously requested I accompany ‘MC’ to Hogsmeade for the replenishment of her class supplies, a task I’m sure you know I could hardly decline, given my inclination towards gentlemanly conduct. Incidentally, I cannot help but suspect Mel’s humble dismissal of her exceptional dueling prowess belies a deliberate modesty; there is undoubtedly more to her than meets the eye.
Regardless, I’ll make it up to you! If I’m not in the common room by nightfall, you know where to find me.
Sebastian.”
It did not escape Ominis’s notice that Sebastian, after weathering defeat by her in a duel during their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class together, had taken personal interest in MC and even dubbed her as such - among other names - needling her about the verbose nature of her formal title. Further, it was uncharacteristic of Sebastian to cancel a study session, seeing as he typically made any excuse to visit the library on behalf of research for his ill sister, Anne… nevermind the fact that Ominis could not recall any instance in recent memory where Sebastian had canceled on him, specifically.
After a moment’s hesitation, he refined the creases on the letter and tucked it back into the pocket of his waistcoat. He swallowed, brows furrowing and found that he no longer cared about the dancing plague of 1518 or the other contents of the book he’d since abandoned on his lap.
Sebastian did not come to dinner that evening. In customary fashion, Ominis found himself solitary - twiddling his fork on his plate - his company forsaken even by his housemates, who tended to cast upon him looks of cautious regard. They granted him a wide berth - huddling together three or four invisible student’s places apart from him. Through the soles of his shoes he felt the vibrations of doors slamming across the hall as students filtered out and the bench beneath him shifted when those occupying it left. The idle chatter of two teachers drifted across the cavernous room. Ominis sighed, folding a leaf of wax paper over a blueberry muffin.
“She was missing too…” he noted passively and wondered if he ought to have purloined a second muffin from the banquet table.
He held his wand aloft as he rose, a crimson bead of light fluttering like a heartbeat on its tip. The sensation of structures - rows of oak tables and benches - extended across the space before him. As he walked, he approximated the mass of these objects: how near they existed to his kneecaps, how firmly they were anchored to the floor - all actions thoughtlessly natural to him.
The passageway led from the Great Hall into the Viaduct Courtyard and a faint chill heralded that twilight had fallen upon the surrounding landscape. The tumult of student life had withdrawn for the night, taking with them a clamor of distracting noises and smells. Ominis meditated on the silence, finding solace in measuring the rhythm of his footfalls as he paced across the leaf-littered earth.
He imagined Sebastian with his freckled nose buried in a book in the Undercroft and smiled.
“It’s not the first time he’s worked through dinner,” he reminded himself. “Anne is lucky to have such a brother.” A pang of sadness worked dully at his chest following the mention of Anne’s name. Nothing had been quite like it was since before she’d fallen ill. “Even Sebastian’s laughter seems contrived these days.”
Suddenly a thunderous crack echoed across the hillside to his right, akin to a bolt of lightning striking a tree. Ominis jolted so forcefully that he nearly dropped the muffin in his left hand.
“W-what was that?” He gasped, his head swimming with adrenaline. The atmosphere reeked of burnt timber. Swiftly, he sought the protection of the cloister, his wand hand sweeping the clearing.
The path beneath his feet dropped into a series of stairs ending where the Black Lake licked the limestone and wooden boats rocked innocently in the building below. To the muggle, prepared to dismiss the absence of petrichor, this artificial thunderstroke might have signified a distant storm but Ominis knew well the vast and formidable traits of magic.
Someone was dashing up the stairs to his left - their feet tapping like raindrops on the hard surface. Ominis pressed himself plumb against the column and held his breath.
Her scent preceded her - like honeysuckle, mild and sweet. Following closely, the sound of her breath, quick and shallow, as though from a brisk sprint. The swish of her robes marked her entrance, swift and fleeting. In a moment, she vanished through the nearest castle door, oblivious to the presence of an onlooker.
Ominis found himself immobilized by his perplexity. He had, he was sure, sensed some great surge of energy, unlike any he had previously encountered, as she glided past him. An enigmatic metallic tang lingered on her garments, its quality imprinted on his senses. As he reviewed the day’s - no - the month’s occurrences and considered Sebastian’s recent preoccupation, a daring notion began to take root in his mind:
The new girl was forging a novel strain of magic.

New Chapter on every MWF (Monday, Wednesday,Friday)
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Chapter 19: Four-Legged
Gribble's bare feet pounded against the wet ground, splashing through puddles and squelching in the mud. His heart thundered in his chest, threatening to burst out of his ribcage with every frantic beat. The dark, damp forest closed in around him, the trees looming like silent sentinels in the gloom. Above, the sky rumbled ominously, the sound echoing through the woods like a warning.
Raindrops pattered against the leaves overhead, the light drizzle gradually soaking through Gribble's clothes and mingling with the sweat that beaded on his skin. He gulped in lungfuls of air, the earthy scent of the forest filling his nostrils - the petrichor of rain on soil, the green aroma of the trees, the musty odor of decaying leaves underfoot. In another time, another place, it might have been a comforting smell. But here, now, with danger nipping at his heels, it was little more than a fleeting distraction from the terror that consumed him.
"Gotta keep going," he panted, his voice barely a whisper. "Can't let them catch me."
The goblins and trolls were hot on his heels, and Gribble knew he couldn't afford to slow down. The forest was his only chance to escape, and he was determined to make it count. He pushed himself harder, ignoring the burning in his lungs and the ache in his muscles.
The heavens opened up, unleashing a torrential downpour that battered against the forest canopy. Fat droplets burst through the leaves, pelting Gribble's skin like icy needles. His tattered clothes, already hanging off his lean frame in shreds, were drenched within seconds, the fabric clinging to his body like a second skin.
The deluge blurred his vision, reducing the world to a hazy mess of greens and grays. Gribble squinted against the rain, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes, but it was a losing battle. The path ahead disappeared, swallowed up by the murky gloom, and he stumbled blindly forward, his steps faltering on the slick, uneven ground.
But Gribble refused to let the storm halt his desperate flight. He gritted his teeth, determination burning in his chest like a flame, and pushed onward. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, he forged ahead, his mind focused on a single, all-consuming goal: escape. Grimrock's forces were out there somewhere, searching for him, hunting him like a fox before the hounds. He couldn't let them catch him. He wouldn't.
So he ran, and he kept running, even as the rain pounded against his back and the wind howled in his ears. He ran until his lungs burned and his muscles screamed in protest, until the forest was a blur of green and brown around him. He ran, and he didn't stop.
"Come on, Gribble," he urged himself. "You can do this. Just keep moving."
The rain was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it helped to cover his tracks and hide his scent. But on the other hand, it made the ground slippery and treacherous. Gribble lost his footing more than once, catching himself just in time to avoid a nasty fall.
Suddenly, a flash of lightning lit up the forest, and Gribble saw something that made his heart leap with hope. There, in the side of a nearby hill, was a dark opening - a cave that could offer him shelter from the storm.
"A cave!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide. "Maybe I can hide in there, just for a little while."
He hesitated for a moment, wondering if the cave might be dangerous. But another crack of thunder made up his mind for him. He couldn't stay out in the open, not with the storm getting worse and his enemies getting closer. The cave was a risk he had to take.
Gribble scrambled towards the cave, his heart pounding in his ears as the thunder crashed around him. The rain pelted his face, making it hard to see, but he didn't let that stop him. He slipped and slid on the wet ground, nearly losing his balance several times.
"Almost there," he panted, his eyes fixed on the cave's entrance. "Just a little further."
The mouth of the cave loomed ahead of him, a dark and forbidding hole in the hillside. Gribble's mind raced with thoughts of what might be waiting for him inside, but he pushed them aside. Whatever the cave held, it couldn't be worse than what was behind him. His lungs burned and his muscles screamed in protest, but he refused to slow down. He was so close to safety, so close to a moment's rest.
As he reached the cave's entrance, Gribble paused for a moment, peering into the darkness. It seemed empty, and he knew he had no choice but to go inside. The sound of the rain and thunder faded as he stepped over the threshold, replaced by an eerie stillness. Gribble blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden change in light.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice echoing off the cave walls. "Is anyone there?"
Only silence answered him, and Gribble let out a sigh of relief. He was alone, at least for now.
His heart was still racing, and he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He knew he couldn't let his guard down, not even for a moment, but the relief of being out of the storm was overwhelming.
Gribble stepped further into the cave, shivering from the cold and exhaustion. The sound of the rain and thunder became muffled, and he allowed himself a moment to catch his breath, leaning against the damp stone wall. The rough surface scraped against his skin, but he barely noticed. His mind was swirling with emotions - fear, relief, desperation, and a tiny spark of hope.
"I can't believe I made it," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I thought for sure they were going to catch me."
He knew he couldn't stay in the cave forever, but for now, it was the closest thing to safety he'd known in a long time. He closed his eyes, letting the coolness of the stone seep into his skin, grounding him in the present moment.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Gribble took a look around the cave. It was small but deep, with a low ceiling and narrow passages leading further into the hillside. The floor was uneven, with loose rocks and pebbles scattered about. He could make out the faint shapes of stalactites hanging from the ceiling, their tips glistening with moisture.
"Wow," Gribble breathed, his eyes wide with wonder. "I've never seen anything like this before."
The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and something else, something Gribble couldn't quite identify. He shivered, pulling his tattered clothes tighter around himself. The cave may have provided shelter from the storm, but it was far from comfortable. Gribble knew he'd have to keep moving soon, but for now, he allowed himself a moment to rest and gather his strength.
Just as he was starting to relax, Gribble saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. At the mouth of the cave, a dark, shadowy figure appeared. Gribble's heart leapt into his throat, and he froze, his body going rigid with fear.
"Who's there?" he called out, his voice shaking. "Show yourself!"
He squinted, trying to make out more details, but the figure was backlit by the dim light from the entrance, making it impossible to see clearly. Gribble's mind raced with possibilities. Was it another goblin? A troll? Something even worse? He held his breath, not daring to make a sound. The figure didn't seem to have noticed him yet, but Gribble knew that could change at any moment. He cursed silently, realizing that his moment of rest may have just put him in even greater danger.
As Gribble watched, his heart pounding, he realized that the figure was crawling on four legs, moving with a predatory grace that sent a chill down his spine. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, and a sense of dread washed over him. He could hear the faint click of claws against stone, and he shuddered, realizing that whatever this thing was, it wasn't friendly.
"Oh no," Gribble whispered, his eyes wide with fear. "What is that thing?"
His mind raced, trying to come up with a plan, but he was trapped in the cave with nowhere to run. Gribble's body was tired and he didn't think he had the strength to summon the vines, and he knew he was no match for the creature in terms of strength or speed. His only hope was to stay still and silent, praying that the figure would pass him by.
Gribble pressed himself against the cave wall, hardly daring to breathe as he watched the mysterious creature make its way into the cave. Its eyes glinted in the darkness, reflecting the dim light from the entrance. Gribble's heart was pounding so hard he was sure the creature must be able to hear it, but he didn't dare move.
"Please don't see me," he prayed silently, his hands trembling. "Please just go away."
The figure paused, its head swiveling from side to side as if searching for something. Gribble held his breath, his body trembling with the effort of staying still. The creature took another step forward, and Gribble could see the outline of its muscular body, the way its shoulders rippled with each movement. He closed his eyes, silently begging for the creature to go away, to leave him alone. But deep down, Gribble knew that his luck had run out. Whatever happened next, he was on his own.
Trapped in the cave with nowhere to run, Gribble's mind raced as he tried to come up with a plan. He knew he was no match for the creature in terms of strength or speed, and he was too exhausted to summon any powers. His eyes darted around, searching for anything he could use as a weapon or a means of escape. But the cave was empty, with nothing but rocks and shadows.
"Think, Gribble, think," he muttered to himself, his brow furrowed in concentration. "There's got to be a way out of this."
He cursed his own foolishness for not being more prepared, for not having a backup plan. He'd always relied on his wits and his powers to get him out of trouble, but now, faced with an unknown enemy in an unfamiliar place, Gribble realized just how vulnerable he truly was. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He knew he couldn't give up, not after everything he'd been through. Gribble steeled himself, ready to fight or flee, whatever it took to survive.
As the silhouetted figure drew closer, Gribble's heart pounded frantically in his chest. He held his breath, hoping against hope that the creature hadn't noticed him yet. His mind was reeling, trying to find a way out of this terrifying situation, but deep down, he knew that his options were limited.
"Come on, Gribble," he whispered to himself, his fists clenched at his sides. "You can do this. You've faced worse than this before."
The figure was almost upon him now, and Gribble could see the glint of teeth in the darkness, the flash of claws against stone. He braced himself, ready for the attack, ready for the pain and the fear and the desperate struggle for survival. But even as he faced this new threat, Gribble felt a flicker of something else, something he hadn't felt in a long time: hope.
"I've survived the dungeon, the goblins, and the trolls," Gribble said aloud, his voice growing stronger with each word. "I've fought my way through the storm and the forest. And now, faced with yet another challenge, I know that I have the strength to keep going, to keep fighting, no matter what."
He may be small, but he wasn't alone. The cave, the forest, the earth itself - they were all on his side, all part of the same unbreakable will that drove him forward. And with that knowledge, Gribble faced the silhouetted figure, ready for whatever came next.
"Bring it on," Gribble said, his eyes narrowing with determination. "I'm not going down without a fight."
The creature took another step forward, its claws scraping against the stone. Gribble tensed, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to spring into action. He didn't know what was going to happen next, but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn't going to give up. Not now, not ever.

It’s been a while. I don’t know why it took so long for me to post. How long has it been? A year? A year and a half? And I have gained plenty of stories to share - while I’ve neglected you, dear friend.
But right now, you’re my catharsis. You, who might listen to me.
I still can’t believe what I witnessed this winter. Perhaps that’s why I haven’t spoken of it sooner. Perhaps that’s why I’m pretending it never happened.
I suppose though, it’s less that I can’t believe it and more that I don’t want to.
Because time can’t alter. Time doesn’t change. Time is time, right? Some missing time is normal, but not for… days. Right? But I have to believe because everyone else says it’s true. Everyone else says that’s how long I was gone, even as the sun hung still in the sky.
This winter in Alaska has been aggressive. Like last year we had record breaking snowfall and cold. Which I loved and adored. The white mountains touching dark skies. The trees bending with the weight of snow. And of course the mounds the plows would make at the end of my street.
I had missed Alaska.
Granted where I stay isn’t the village anymore. I’m in Anchorage. Or near it. You probably don’t know of the tiny towns along the highways. But if you did… well I don’t particularly want you to find me, now do I?
I’ve finally finished processing what happened. Now that I understand what I went through - after a stern tongue lashing from my grandmothers for my carelessness - I can talk about that day I heard a whisper. I wasn’t sure where it came from but it was ancient and spoke to me in Koyukon.
I can confidently tell you, dear friend, that not all monsters are large and hulking. Some monsters are small and spritely. With sharp teeth. And pointy weapons. And an uncanny ability to make the days pass while the sun stays high.
Everyone believes me. Except my father. My father can’t.
Do you know what comes with freezing temps and mounds of snow? Ice. Beautiful, solid, blue blue, blue ice. The beautiful frozen waterfalls that call to me every year.
Every winter I can’t help but be drawn to these natural wonders.
And every year I never fail to climb at least one. No matter how painful the cold is to my scar covered body, it will happen.
It was a normal day for me, all set for my adventure. Well, mostly normal. I woke with that nagging feeling in the back of my skull, as if something is watching, and you can maybe see it out of the corner of your eye. I attributed it to staying up late searching for and preparing my gear.
I was up and raring to go with breakfast and lunch ready to assemble. It was a process I’ve done many times and by the time I was throwing my backpack on my sister came out of her room, yawning. Lazy bum.
“Where ya goin this time?”
“Hatcher Pass. Checking out Hillside Pillars.”
She thought and gave a wave. “Six hours round trip and you’ll probably be out there on the falls with as much daylight as you can possibly suck out.” She stared at me expectantly. “So… see ya at 8 tonight?”
I gave a quick nod. “Yes.”
“Did you check the avalanche warnings?”
“Yup. Things are calm today. And with that, I’m going ‘mom.’”
She shot me a sharp look and stumbled past me to the kitchen. I gave one last grin before running out the door, ignoring the shiver that ran up my spine as I stepped out. It was cold. Very cold. That’s all, right?
The drive was peaceful, I was out well before the annoying traffic that bottles up at those special points along the Glenn Highway and in Palmer. Up the road to Hatcher Pass, getting little spikes of adrenaline as I got closer and closer to my destination.
Once there I chewed on my breakfast, and as soon as the sun rose I was out of the truck, beginning the long trek to the waterfalls. A hike, a river crossing, and a 20-30 ft step climb and I’d be at the main event.
Why am I telling you all this? Because it was the start of a beautiful day. The start of what would be a fun day. A day where I’d conquer a piece of the world in a way very few do.
As I climbed I felt the wind and listened to its gentle whistle through the trees. The shush of snow falling off with every gentle caress. The sound of small animals rushing about to find food or shelter.
A slow ascent, one foot above the other, one axe pull at a time. It was exhilarating. It’s hard to explain the satisfaction of knowing you’re one step closer to a view you can only find during this time of year.
I finished my climb and stood at the top of the WI4 rated beauty and enjoyed the view just long enough to curse the short days. The breeze picked up my loose hair and tickled my nose. It almost felt like it was congratulating me on a job well done. Even as the hair on the back of my neck stood on end and I shivered. I was just cold, right?
Unloading my pack, I sat down and chewed on a sandwich, taking in the sights. The mountain. The pure white snow. The small movements of life. The skiers and snowmobilers in the distance. As I was wiping the crumbs off my now freezing fingers I heard a sound I had become familiar with. One that would always give me pause. The screech of a hawk came from high above.
I couldn’t help but shudder. It’s the wrong time of year for one to be attracting a mate. What danger was it warning others of? I bit my lip and eyed the surroundings. What would scare a hawk in the middle of the day? Nothing pleasant. Never.
I looked up the frozen river, into the trees and to the foot of the waterfall when I heard a quiet whisper. I swallowed the thickening lump in my throat. I don’t fluently speak Koyukon. Never have I had the desire to. But I knew. I knew what the wind whispered. And it whispered in a rushed manner.
“Run, little flower.”
With that there was deafening silence and as I stood in confusion I felt a shiver that turned into a pain that radiated from the scars covering my body.
I didn’t even give the pain building in me a second thought as I began to see movement out of the corner of my eye.
As I reached for my gear, I heard a giggle like a mischievous child. One giggle turned to two. Two turned to four until I could no longer count as they surrounded me in the wind. I worked faster, gathering my things as the shadows began to move inside the trees.
“Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.” I repeated over and over.
I didn’t have much time, the darkness in the corner of my eye was growing. I made sure my bag was shut tight and secure before tossing it over the edge of the waterfall, hoping nothing in it would break. As I tied myself in I looked up the river and the breath was stolen from my chest.
They looked completely harmless. Child-like. But they were wrong. Out of time. I felt every hair on my body stand on end as if the static in the air concentrated. A group of seven came out of the trees, their giggles and smiles almost infectious. Their clothing were winter parkas and pants straight out of a museum and on a couple seemed comically oversized. You’d almost think they were cute. Harmless.
But their smiles were threatening as they bared their sharp teeth and their eyes shone mercilessly black. Their skin would be as white as the snow surrounding us if it weren’t for the gray undertone.
I practically threw myself at my line and clipped in, barely holding onto my axes as I swiftly threw myself over the edge, beginning my descent.
I felt the wind gust through the trees and I shivered at the implications. What else could I do?
I moved faster and faster, beginning to breathe heavily before my feet were on solid ground. Looking up I realized that the sun had begun to darken sooner than I had expected.
I swallowed back the built up fear and realized a freak storm was building. My brain raced through the only thing it could think. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…”
I shoved the remaining gear in hand into my bag, without regard for how secure my picks were outside of it.
And in the oncoming darkness I heard another screech… quickly cut off. But I heard its final word, a voice that I swore should have been long lost and dead.
It screamed part of a name that it didn’t even have to finish for me to almost lose my stomach. Because its name wasn’t just a warning, it was a promise.
Bringing my attention back to the solid land I now stood on I suddenly felt the wind knocked out of me. I stumbled forward and fell to my knees. Catching my breath, I looked over my shoulder to see a vicious face. As the stars receded from my eyes I noticed the movement out of the corner of them slowly gather nearer. I stumbled to my feet, staring at the little monster.
The monster kept its eyes on me as it tilted its head and snickered. It pointed a spear at me and I shuddered. It had begun to toy with me.
“Well shit. Why do you have to do this to me today?” I uselessly asked.
Slowly raising into a crouch I began backing away. My heel caught on my bag and I reached awkwardly for it, hoisting it onto my shoulder as the small creatures moved in. They began giggling, drowning out any of the calming sounds that had been present in the morning.
Suddenly I felt a shock to the back of my head. I saw stars once again and fell forward. More giggling.
One came forward and pulled off my hat.
Another ran up and pulled my hair.
I heard a rip and turned in time to see my pack sliced open.
That could have been my back, adding more badges of honor to my body.
As I was distracted one of them came and dropped snow on my head.
The group continued giggling all the while.
I shivered as the snow melted down my neck and into my jacket. And the horrifying thought passed through my mind. “They’re toying with me.”
Suddenly I felt pain in my right hand. One had smashed the back of their spear onto it.
Just as quickly I was hit in the side, knocking me off balance. I caught myself just in time before another ran up and pulled on my hair until I hit the ground.
I grit my teeth and fought back as it tormented me. I heard a rip and felt my pack shift as one of my straps was cut.
Then I heard it and felt it all at once. It hurt. It hurt more than you could imagine or understand. I fell back when my hair suddenly released. As one of their knives sliced through it. I stared at the ragged end of one of my braids.
Then I screamed.
Then I cried.
Then I felt pain. I was hit across the face by a spear, busting my nose. It was almost as if they were telling me the old line “I’ll give you something to cry about.”
Their giggle cracked into a cackle. Then one walked up to me, their pitch black eyes staring directly into mine. I shuddered and forced myself not to look away.
I cautiously rolled up onto my feet and they simply watched. My pack swung awkwardly on one arm and I held back a growing gag as blood ran down the back of my throat.
It tilted its head and through its gnashing sharp teeth it told me, “Run.”
I could only feel relief that the sun was still high. Though overcast, I wouldn’t be running through the woods in the darkness. I turned heel and ran past the few behind me, barely dodging the stabs of their spears. They shouted as I began running, their giggles turning into a sound so wicked it echoed in my skull.
Now I was being hunted.
I ran awkwardly through the snow and ice, down the route I had taken just hours before. The high knee hop through the snow that has just been obliterating Alaska recently. As I ran the wind gusted and I would get blown off my feet, or the disturbed snow would fly into my face. Still I ran. I couldn’t quite see them when I looked back but I could sense it. They were behind me. They were next to me. They were above me in the trees.
Every time I tripped I cried out and I realized the voice was still with me. Still whispering “Run. Run. Run little flower or you’ll wilt and die.” I felt like it was mocking me. Mocking my name.
Shuddering, I felt the cooling beads of water on my forehead and cursed. Water means death. It means the minute I slow down hypothermia will kick in. And in the meantime I may frostbite because of the accumulated moisture in my gear.
But I couldn’t care about that. What would frostbite matter if I didn’t live? I’ve fought for my life before, I wouldn’t die this time.
My neck grew sore and I could feel that sense of impending doom. And I ran even harder, them watching my struggle and floundering about. I heard a thud near me and chanced a glance back to see a spear sticking out of the snow.
Gritting my teeth I pushed harder. The wind stroked the back of my neck and brought a sharp assault down the scars on my back. They began feasting on my fear.
But I could see it, the last stretch. I don’t know how I got through the steps but when I finally found the river and came to a pitching halt. I gasped and panted, tired and weighed down, muscles sore, bones slowly getting cold.
I made it to the river. I was safe. I was safe from the ones the hawk warned me of.
Until I wasn’t.
Until I heard a hoot, quickly turn into a screech.
I cursed. “Dena, why do you do this to me? What did I ever do?”
I heard the hoot again and shivered. I screamed at it. “Don’t you dare give me three.”
I didn’t wait for the third as once again they snickered at me.
I gritted my teeth and sprinted across the frozen river. I kept my legs pumping and moving until I tumbled over the other side. The other side and into my father with a shocked look on his face.
“Rosemary?”
I grabbed onto him. Felt him. Squeezed his arms tightly as I caught my breath.
“Ha… Ha ha. I made it.” I laughed out, shock taking hold. My laugh was short lived as I began coughing the blood that had pooled in my lungs from running in the cold.
I watched shadows cross my father’s face. Surprise, shock, relief, and finally something I hadn’t seen since I was a child. Fear.
He squeezed my face between his hands. “Stay with me. Don’t pass out.”
I continued laughing. “Me? Pass out? Never.” I stepped out of reach and bent over to vomit the blood that had built in my stomach from my broken nose.
My father shouted and I heard others come running from down the trail. “Calm down.”
Looking at him I grinned. “I made it.”
But then I heard it. It came through the trees. From all around. A swarm of giggles.
I watched my father pale. I heard the running footsteps from down the trail slow.
I shoved my father in the opposite direction. “RUN!”
And he listened. Bless the man, he listened.
He hurtled down the trail and when he saw the others in front of him he screamed at them to run. I came to a stuttering halt as I herded the others in front of me while the giggles came closer. Grew louder. Began swimming in my head again. I heard the swishing of snow falling as they ran by.
“Keep going!” I shouted at their backs until we got to the trail head, falling into the road. I screamed at the others to get in their cars. Luckily my family knows to listen without question. Their friends not so much. More corralling. More giggles. More movement in the corners of my eyes. At one point… a tug on my hair.
I got to my truck, hurtling into the side of it. Without pause I tossed my gear into the back and jumped inside. It felt like the old truck couldn’t turn on fast enough. All the while the wind swept through the trees and bullied it.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” My mantra of the day.
My head began to feel cold while the blood on my face became even more annoying. I threw my car into first and I practically screamed when I heard a knock on my window. My sister Leah was on the other side. “GET YOUR ASS IN DUMBASS!” The movement in the trees behind her was too close.
I watched the final few people get into their cars and I peeled out. Skipping from first straight into third on the dangerously snowy road. I tried to clench my busted hand around the wheel only to be blasted with pain. Still, I continued driving as quickly as the roads would allow.
I was a mile down the long road when I heard the whisper.
“Shhh… shhh… shhh… shhh…”
And the sound of it grew louder. Slow at first then it became all consuming. I heard the crumbling and rumbling of the mountainside.
I looked toward the sound coming from the east and my jaw dropped as I saw the mountainside sliding in real time. Something told me I was safe. Just a faint whisper in the back of my head and the fact that the pain had receded.
With some remaining trepidation I stopped my truck and stepped out. I watched in terror and awe as the mountain fell… and fell… and crossed the river. I swallowed and shook my head and heard another raptor scream in the distance.
I got in my truck, turned the heat on as high as I could. I was shaking. Clearly from the cold, right? With a shiver I threw my truck into gear again and we made our way back to town. All the while the wind mockingly laughed behind me.
“Where have you been?” Leah asked after several miles.
“At the Pillars.” I whispered through my scratchy throat.
She looked at me, pale. “You left two days ago.”
I frowned. “I left this morning.”
“It’s been a day and a half.”
I didn’t respond. Even after her many pestering questions I didn’t answer. We drove the rest of the way home in silence as my brain tumbled.
Once we were home I stumbled to the bathroom. I stared at my busted nose in the mirror before climbing into the shower. Bruises covered my body and my hand began swelling, broken.
I wasn’t even allowed rest after that though. As I ate a well earned dinner my father sat me down and grilled me on where I’d been. Why I had been gone so long.
I learned a few things from our conversation - that I had been gone more than a day. That I hadn’t been seen on the mountain at all. That supposedly I shouldn’t have been alone with others having climbed the same time as me.
It was as I was chewed out I told my father I saw them. That I had seen the little people of legends. What the Athabascans give no real name to beyond “small ones.” What the Yup’ik call the Ircenrraat. What westerners call fae.
As I explained that I had been caught in a hunt my father’s face grew more and more incredulous. Before finally admitting he didn’t believe me. He dismissed me with few words after that statement. It hurt, but I understood.
I was gone only a day. That’s why my father can’t believe.
They’ve never allowed anyone gone less than a year.

About Us

We are a North American couple in our late twenties - we love nature, food, and sightseeing. We are not a fan of partying or relaxing (haha), and we have limited vacation time so this trip was perfect for us. However we know that most people will find this trip too hectic/busy with too much travel time - different strokes for different folks! Hopefully this is still helpful.
We travelled for 14 days from late April to early May 2024.

Krabi

Day 0: Flight from Bangkok to Krabi at night, so just hit Ao Nang Landmark beach and the night market. Night market is nice but quite small. The Ao Nang Landmark beach was the most gorgeous 360 view of the sunset I’ve ever seen. Don’t be confused with the proper Ao Nang beach (10 min walk), which imo isn’t anywhere as nice for sunset views. But the proper Ao Nang Beach has free nighttime fire shows, which was fun to see.
Beware the multiple jellyfish at Ao Nang beach and in general while snorkelling in the Andaman coast. I wish I had brought a travel container filled with vinegar as a precaution.
Day 1: Day trip to Phi Phi Islands (highly recommend) with the One Asia corporation - they were excellent, well-organized with lots of free water bottles, juice and fruits. They also offered snorkels that had disposable personal mouthpieces (which I didn’t even consider). They said they were the only company that offered the disposable mouth pieces, which I can’t verify but I believe it.
In the evening, we did a hike up to Tiger Cave temple for the most gorgeous sunset. New rule is last entry is 5:30 pm so plan accordingly. It is 1260 steps and very hot/difficult but ACTUALLY WORTH IT, especially for sunset. You’ll also see monkeys! Take breaks and drink water. We took 40 minutes to go up, around 20 to go down. Modest clothes recommended but knee length is okay.
Day 2: Day trip to Hong Island, including kayaking through mangroves. Kayaking was definitely worth it but there are limited tours that offer this. Be careful swimming at Hong Island - we had small jellyfish stings that were very very mild, and we didn’t even see the small jellyfish although lots of big ones were visible while kayaking. Kayaking felt more safe. Snorkeling at Chewang Beach was pretty meh, quite cloudy.
In terms of longtail versus speedboat, I personally preferred speedboat because the journeys can be quite long otherwise. It’s just as scenic and also less noisy than the old motor of the longtail. Only benefit of longtail is nicer photos at the bow.
If we had more time, we would have gone to Railay Beach (but not interested in rock climbing so less cool). Other options are James Bond Island or Four Islands but to be honest, reviews weren’t as great.
We then took an InDrive to Khao Sok national park. Grab was not reliable as drivers could not see location first and then kept cancelling because far away. This was fine but kind of felt sketchy bc 2 hour drive. Maybe book with official company instead.
Food recommendations (best ones listed first) 1. Family Thaifood & Seafood (tied with Kodam Kitchen): try the fried crab with curry powder (best crab we have ever had at a restaurant), morning glory (excellent vegetable dish, necessary because limited vegetables in diet) and the coconut milkshake in a coconut. 2. Kodam Kitchen. Try the Massaman curry (with roti, which our waitress insisted we try and actually was an amazing combo) and the dried curry dish (Southern specialty) 3. Red Chilli Thai Cuisine - try the green curry (normally don’t like green curry bc less flavorful but this was delicious), blended mango drink, and steamed fish with lime/chilli.

Khao Sok

Day 0: Stayed legit just for sleep at the Khao Sok Green Valley Resort. Clean with no issues, very basic but just needed for sleeping
Day 1: Early morning pickup with Smiley Lakehouse Tour for a 2 day 1 night overnight tour at Chewong Lake on a lakehouse bungalow in the Khao Sok national park. The boat ride there is incredibly scenic and enjoyable.
We spent the afternoon kayaking and swimming in front of our lake house. It was really really ridiculously hot, just felt terrible because no AC anywhere. Thankfully cooled down at nighttime for sleeping - only fan-cooled room but still was okay once sun came down. The afternoon was absolutely brutal though. In evening, went on a boat safari that was fun.
Day 2: Early morning boat safari followed by a jungle trek + Nam Taloo cave tour, only available in dry season. The jungle trek was meh for views tbh, but the cave was spectacular with lots of bats and flowing water. Completely unique experience. You do have to swim around 5 m in flowing water that is over your head, so beware if you cannot swim.
Overall, Smiley was an excellent operation - just super super hot. Better food than other tours, clean rooms (we paid for upgrade). I’d still overall recommend it because overall the cave trek was great, but otherwise I think a day trip suffices if you’re in the middle of hot season. I also didn’t like how they don’t count off where you are/keep track of you, even in the cave portion, so you needed to be more aware and alert yourself.
We then took a van to Donsak Pier and headed to Koh Samui.

Koh Samui

Day 1: Relaxing day, just explored the area and beaches. Choengmon Beach is quiet, clean and nice for swimming. Then we explored the mall/outdoor market area of Central Samui - nice respite for AC and walkable to the Chewang Beach, which is more party vibes but also fun (worse for swimming but still ok). In the evening, went to the Four Seasons restaurant Koh Thai for a sunset view and dinner (see below) and then Fisherman Village night market for exploring.
Day 2: Day trip to Angthong National Marine Park. We did the big boat which was cheaper but less time at the park, which we were fine with. Then CocoTam for one of their nightly fire shows on the beach, and explored Fisherman Village for dinner.
If we had more time, we might have considered Koh Phanghan or Koh Tao for snorkelling. We also debated Koh Matsum (pig island) but didn’t seem worth it for a full tour + hard to self-arrange affordable transport.
Food recommendations: 1. Ban Thai - cute place where a grandma makes all the food. Recommend the Tom Yum soup and chicken pad gra prow. Pad Thai was mid but shrimp quality was excellent 2. Coconut Beach Bowls - if you’re a smoothie bowl aficionado, otherwise pass 3. Vegan Khunnay: really cute AYCE vegan buffet for only 120 bhat ($3 USD), right next to Chaweng Beach. Very authentic Thai food cooked by one grandma, cute experience for a snack even. 4. CocoNam: moreso for the vibe for their nightly fire shows on the beach. Go early to avoid lines and make sure you get a seat. The pad Thai here was surprisingly the best pad Thai I had in the south, delicious and most flavorful. 5. Koh Thai - fancy fancy fancy, located in the Four Seasons resort. It’s featured by Michelin Bib and is a location for White Lotus S3. Book for sunset for gorgeous views, it’s a bit of an experience to get there because you take a buggy up the hillside. Very luxurious feeling. Food was ACTUALLY excellent and tasted like a chef made it, if that makes sense. Delicious ingredients. We recommend the laab tuna, paad kapi goong moo sub, and coconut duo. The boneless lime fish was also good but didn’t taste too different than a normal restaurant. Go to BOTH bathrooms, including the one that is “al fresco” haha for the full experience. Rooms at the Four Seasons go over $1200 USD a night - our meal with two bottles of fancy water (unavoidable), one starter, two mains and a dessert was $100 USD including tax and service charge.

Overnight Trip to Pai

Day 0.5: Flight to Chiang Mai then private taxi ($45 CAD) to Pai for 2.5 h because bus ran out of tickets. Pai Canyon for sunset (gorgeous) and explored Pai Walking Street and night market.
Day 1: Relaxing brunch then Nam Lod Cave - so freaking cool, huge cave that you float in a bamboo raft through. Then took back to Chiang Mai! We took the bus - it’s around 5 bucks PP, 4 hours.
If we had more time (and the weather was less hot), we would have done Sai Ngam Hotsprings. We weren’t too interested in the White Buddha, Bamboo bridge, or strawberry cafe etc - although we did see them from afar during our tour. Mostly just here for vibes, it’s cute.
There are NO GRABS or taxis here, it’s quite remote. But you don’t need to ride a motorbike - you just show up and do tours (don’t need to book in advance, does not show up online but easy to find).
Food recommendations: 1. Nam’s Kitchen 2. Charlie & Iek 3. Lemon Thyme Cafe for drinks 4. Nice Mangos - try the ice cream/mango sticky rice combo, legit best dessert

Chiang Mai

Day 0: Got rained out so ate dinner and slept!
Day 1: Group tour to Don Inthanon Park with a hike and visit to an indigenous Thai village - really recommend. Great way to beat the heat because the summit is 15 degrees cooler than the city, plus informative to learn about local culture.
At night, we did the 6ixcret drag show - THE BEST NIGHT ACTIVITY WE DID IN THAILAND. SOOOO fun creative, and professionally done, not sketchy at all. Insane SFX and choreography. It’s free but need to buy two drinks PP (normal prices), definitely worth. Don’t need to book in advance, just show up right before 9:30 pm. The drag show is also next to Chiang Mai Night Bazaar, so very convenient for exploring. Unfortunately the main night markets are only open Sat/Sunday but Chiang Mai Night Bazaar is open every night.
Day 2: Day trip to Elephant Nature Park! Sells out, so need to book weeks in advance. It’s the most legit and largest OG elephant sanctuary, highly ethical and professional. The Walking with Elephants tour was incredible. Then we visited Wat Chedi Luang (lovely temple in city centre but tbh can skip, only visited bc we had free time) before taking a Grab to Monk trail/Doi Suthep temple for nighttime temple and city views. It is absolutely gorgeous and unique to do at night. We ended the night by exploring more street food and night market.
Day 3: Half Day cooking class at Grandma’s Kitchen, included market and farm tour. Very interesting and enjoyable activity, we learned a lot. We tried durian at the market because it was in season, I was personally a huge fan. For the cooking class, you should request the air conditioned room in advance because there is only one. We then did a trip to Sticky Waterfalls - we negotiated a trip again on InDrive. This was one of the most unique nature experiences we have ever done and super fun. We ended our evening by exploring One Nimman shopping area/neighborhood, which was lovely and romantic. Then flew to BKK!
Food recommendations: 1. Roti Pa Day: delicious Michelin guide street food 2. Maadae Slow Fish Kitchen: SO GOOD. Also Michelin guide. Try Hor Mok, sardine jerky (trust me, it was the number one dish we tried + it’s deliciously warm), and pomelo fish salad plus their homemade sodas. 3. Chum North Kitchen: different Northern-style dishes 4. Khao Soi Masee: Michelin guide again, best Khao Soi ever in a very simple cute place. Very flavourful. 5. Jia Tong Heng: Dim sum located conveniently in One Nimman area, previously Michelin guide then demoted. Went for just snacks. Can skip but tbh the salted egg custard bun was celestial. Go just for that if you want.

Bangkok

Day 1: Temple hopping of Wat Arun, Wat Pho then Grand Palace. Your enjoyability of this depends on how much you like temples. Pro tip is to bring socks for when the sun scorches the titles and you can’t wear shoes. Initially we wanted to skip Wat Pho but I’m glad we went because the Reclining Buddha is excellent in person, surpassed our expectations and better than photographs. In the evening, we visited Jodds Fair (very cute vibe for a market) and closed our night with dinner at a Michelin star restaurant.
Day 2: Chatuchat Weekend Market then lunch at Kua Kling for delicious Sourhern food. ICONSiam afterwards - such a fancy yet chaotic “Disneyworld” of a mall, complete with huge market and street food scene. Then ended with exploring Yaowarat Road then Khao San Road for lots of street food and vibes. Ended our night at the Big C for souvenirs.
Day 3: Breakfast then flew out! Sad to leave :)
Food recommendations: 1. Kor Panich - best mango sticky rice hands down, deserving of its Michelin recommendation, and near temples 2. Natthapon Ice Cream (right next to Kor Panich) - cute cozy spot, recommend black sesame and coconut. The peanuts were very polarizing. 3. Nawa: newly awarded 1 Michelin star, very fun experience even for people who aren’t very highbrow like us. Interesting to learn about Thai ingredients and unique delicious dishes. <5k bhat per person. 4. Kua Kling Pad Sod - try the Kua kling and stink bean 5. Guay Jub Ouan Pochana in Yaowarat
Overrated/meh but glad we tried it: 1. Thipsamai pad thai 2. Yaowarat toasted buns 3. Pa Tong Go Savoey

General Tips:

Be careful of the carry-on luggage weights with domestic flights - they only allow 7 kg which is abnormally minuscule.
The weather played a massive role in picking our itinerary. Beware of burning season in Chiang Mai (we went for the tail end) and rainy seasons. Not every hotel has AC so make sure you prioritize that.
One downside of the tours is that the food is meh on them, just FYI. Even if a tour advertises “water bottles provided”, it can be just ONE for a whole day so bring your own emergency water.
Grab was surprisingly annoying to find in Bangkok, FYI.

Random things to pack:

• We brought mini personal fans that you wear around your neck and it was actually so clutch for the hikes.
• Coral-safe sunscreen
• Loperamide/gravol/ginger lozenges/tylenol
• Small container of vinegar for jellyfish stings
• Mini alcohol swabs to disinfect snorkel gear
• I brought an inflatable life “belt” and it was very nice as peace of mind, especially in the cave.
• For my high maintenance girlies, mini hair masks and oil samples because I was washing my hair legit every day
• Long pants and t shirt for temples
• Mini beach towels were NOT necessary because it was so hot, so we dried off instantly with the sun. Every tour said to bring them but did not use a single time.

Keys to a ridiculously packed trip:

• Prioritize, prioritize, prioritize. Many places can have overlapping themes like a night market, kayaking, temples, gorgeous hikes that lead to a temple, etc so pick and choose based on location. You can’t see every “highlight” of each city so instead think that you’re trying to see “overall highlights”. To avoid temple fatigue, pick your favourites + try to do them at different times like daytime, sunset, and nighttime for varied experiences.
• Whenever our accommodation was walkable from the night market, it made evenings more enjoyable and smooth. We did this in the south but not in CM/Bangkok and wish we did!
• Schedule a relaxing day - the tours can be exhausting so we scheduled a relaxing day after a string of island tours
• Try to book long transportation hours either: at night when you won’t be doing anything OR after a busy sweaty tour where you’re exhausted and want to relax during peak hotness (11 am to 2 pm) in somewhere air conditioned. Consider transportation as a relaxing break for phone time/reading with a great view.
• Something WILL go wrong - embrace it! Key is to stick and move :)

Feel free to ask any questions!

Audio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l42yKCnUBa0
Jean Baudrillard, a famous writer on the topic of “postmodernism,” explained postmodernism by means of four stages that symbols and objects have progressed through.
Stage 1: “Basic reflection of reality.” Here, symbols and objects attempt to create an objective reflection of reality. For example a chair is made to be sat on and is valuable if it fulfills its purpose, and a shirt is valuable if it covers your skin. The symbols, stories, myths, etc. of our ancestors were an attempt to describe reality as best they could (agree with the results or not). A symbol or image of a god was meant to represent an objectively existent force in reality. Here I see a comparison to very early Polytheism and the Stellar Tradition, where we accepted the objective, dualistic and spiritual nature of reality, the existence of the gods, and so on, with very complex systems that understood reality itself is complex. Inherently this can only ever be, at best, an attempt at metaphysical knowledge about reality, but it is an honest attempt.
Stage 2: "Perversion of reality.” Here the relationship between value and objective reality begins to shift, for example a chair may still serve its primary function, but be more valuable if made with a rare material, by someone of note, and/or for someone of great importance. There may be no practical difference between the stage 1 and stage 2 chairs, and yet the stage 2 chair is given more value. Symbols (perhaps most famously the serpent) are also twisted, for example as a means to control people, or even by demonizing all gods and saying there is only One True God. The complexity of reality is ignored, in favor of a simple “good vs. evil” breakdown, where everything is either Godly or Demonic. The comparison here is the SolaAgricultural tradition and, especially, Monotheism. There is an acceptance of some sort of reality, but that reality is twisted intentionally, whether that be to control people, confuse them, or anything of the sort.
Stage 3: “Pretense of reality.” Here we have the appearance of reality, but much more of a detachment from it. The idea that gods are "just archetypes," or that magic is “just psychology,” illustrate this, along with Physicalism at large. People pretend these are the totality of reality, of which they consider themselves to be the "true seekers," but in the end they outright ignore the most important aspects of our reality. Christian Nationalism is another illustration, where leaders outright lie and fabricate history under the pretense of truth, such as the U.S. being founded as a Christian nation. Objects mainly have value thanks to Materialism and Consumerism, not to mention advertising, and the rejection of higher reality makes such things easier to fall for.
Stage 4: "Bears no relation to any reality whatsoever." This is what may be called "postmodernism," total detachment from reality. An very worrying illustration is the democratization of science, where politics and public opinion now hold as much (or more) sway as empirical evidence (with strict empiricism or “scientism” already falling under "stage 3,” since there are so many other forms of knowledge than empirical knowledge.). Here, a shirt or chair like from stage 1 may be significantly less valuable than an identical shirt or chair endorsed by a famous celebrity. We all know politicians lie when they make promises and yet cheer any time they make one anyways. Our symbols only represent our made up realities: watered-down Christianized ideology such as we see running rampant in polytheistic revival, or modern pop-cultural fictions and multiverses, for example.
Baudrillard gives the example of Main Street at Disney Parks. Not only do we spend more time and money on these fabrications than reality (e.g. replacing the gods on our altars with Disney stuff), but our very differentiation between the "real world" and "Disney world" is a delusion. Disneyland is part of the “real world”. There is no inner child to most adults which is in hiding and in need of release, rather they are very outwardly children yet still wield great power. The world is childish and run by mental and spiritual children. The "perfect world" of Disney is still draining your so-called "real" money (which itself belongs to stage 3, as paper money has no objective value).How often do we obsess over the lives and stories of fictional people, such as families in TV shows, meant purely as consumer content? Even I am guilty of this. Our biggest "influencers" are literal morons on terrible platforms, platforms which encourage us to pretend our true selves are only the best moments we choose to share online.
Stage 5: To these 4 stages I propose adding a 5th in the 21st century: “replacement of reality.” Artificial intelligence, virtual and alternate realities, one of the most recent symbols of status at the time of writing this is the new Apple headset, costing thousands of dollars, people just walking around and existing in a totally manufactured reality, one which will inevitably be shaped by those in positions of power and wealth. The popularity of fake news also may deserve ranking in this new, 5th stage, perhaps even something like plastic surgery.
It is important to note that I do not believe we necessarily pass linearly through these stages. For example there are currently people whose beliefs and practices conform to any one of these 4+ stages, or they fit different stages depending on the context.
Morality is another way to look at the stages, and for this I will use the modern example of the debate on abortion. In stage 1, morality is a quest for objective truth, so for instance with abortion we would realize that the issue is objectively complicated.
In stage 2, morality is twisted to fit the reality promoted by those in power, so for us this would be that abortion is always wrong. They still believe in an objective morality in theory, but twist and simplify that morality.
Stage 3 brings us Moral Relativism, whether abortion is right or wrong depends on who you ask, what culture you were raised in, etc. There is no objective morality, but this itself is an objective truth in a way. This is opposed to the second stage Monotheists who believe abortion is objectively wrong all together, or first stage folks who know the topic can be more complicated than black and white. Basically whatever the culture says is moral, is. Whatever morals the Relativist has, they do not believe them to be more correct than any other morals.
Finally in stage 4+, morality is completely dependent on what those in power (politicians, corporations, influencers, etc.) say is moral. It's a warped form of Moral Relativism, really. This individual believes that morals are relative, but not to culture or anything of the sort. Instead, morals are relative to whatever suits them best at the time, and whatever they are told by "authorities" of high symbol/object value. They do not believe the values and morals of others are equally valid to theirs (stage 3), nor do their actions suggest any belief in a consistent objective morality, warped or otherwise (stage 1 and 2). Instead, their morals are relative to whatever their own pseudo-reality is, whatever is to their benefit, and this itself mainly stems from the aforementioned authorities. And note that someone may be, say, a stage 2 monotheist when it comes to religion, but a stage 4 on morality, and so on.
"Whataboutism" is another illustration of moral Postmodern manipulation. Say a person is telling you how evil the current president of the U.S. is because they do X. You ask, "what about the fact that your favorite president did X too, were they also evil?" The Postmodernist will then say you are engaging in "whataboutism." To one who accepts Moral Realism it is immediately clear why the question is valid though: the answer determines if the person is truly opposed to X or simply using it against those they don’t like, special pleading. Postmodernists simply believe whatever they need or want to at the time to support their own biases, not that X is actually immoral.
Our paper money is another example of stage 3, “pretense of reality.” The paper money system is entirely theoretical, in reality the paper is worth very, very little. It's just tied to this conceptual system that, were it to be cast aside, would make all cash meaningless paper. Stage 1 would be things like services, sustenance, shelter, useful things, symbols that were thought to impact reality, etc., objective things all people need. Stage 2 is illustrated by gold, we give it meaning beyond what it has, but it's a real thing with a limited amount of it in the world, you cannot get trillions in debt just printing new gold into existence as with stage 3 cash. And for stage 4+, what better example than NFTs and Bitcoin, or views, likes, and upvotes?
Social media gives us insight into the world of stage 4 / Postmodernism. All the big-name forums or social media platforms, as well as many smaller ones, are oversaturated with advertisements, these new religious symbols and their new valuable objects, to the point where advertisers choose which platforms or outlets survive and which crash and burn. Whole sites wield the power to silence dissenters of whichever ideologies they find unappealing. In many cases people are extremely limited in the number of characters they can use at once, making true discourse impossible. People live entirely fake lives to instill jealousy in others, who go on to lie to themselves and others as well, and groupthink is encouraged through voting systems which create hiveminds and drive out any independent thought. All these fit with Baudrillard’s fourth stage - none of this is reality. Consumerism is objectively less valuable than individuation and freedom, it is not a valid way to live life, it only wastes life, time, and resources. Human thought is not limited by a character count, this does not describe reality in any way, instead creating a new "reality" where any idea longer than a few sentences is a "word salad" and cannot hold one's attention. There are fewer and fewer "great thinkers," and they are not the ones being heard and viewed. The endless, manufactured, touched up selfies, vacations wasted taking pictures instead of living, time lost in the imagery rather than the real event - this is not objective reality. It not only rejects reality but twists and perverts it, replacing it with a manufactured (simulated) one.
Cancel culture is another unfortunate offspring of Postmodernist thought. Due to the power held and used by the creators and maintainers of all these stage 4 images and objects, "reality" is now defined by such entities. A famous actor was fired from all his roles including a massive franchise on mere accusations of abuse, before the crimes were even brought to court (where it turned out things were not so clear cut). If it can happen to a rich, beloved movie star, imagine what could happen to you. I am not suggesting you feel bad for a billionaire who helps fabricate reality, nor do I believe we have a great and trustworthy justice system in place. All I want to illustrate is how a mere accusation led to guilt and punishment because corporations and the more popular political party said they were guilty, and culture followed blindly, before it even reached the justice system at all. Even in cases where someone ends up being guilty, they cannot be found guilty before investigation and judgment. But this does not matter in a world where reality is whatever is most popular at the time.
All forms of media contribute to this, there is no longer any reality in culture outside of the images and realities created for us, created to distract us from this disturbing rejection of reality. Games, shows, movies, children’s content, fiction and non-fiction works, governments, news outlets… not every single individual instance of these may be wholly negative, but the positive ones are becoming more and more rare. I’ve found an interesting source of philosophy on this matter in the poetry of Jim Morrison, famously known as the singer of The Doors, whose father was all too familiar with the fabrication of reality. Morrison wrote about how the powers that be use content from films to museums (where we simulate history) and everything in between to blind citizens to their power over us, our values, even our own meanings regarding life. He feared that humans had become simple spectators, staring blankly into the screen, letting it write their reality for them. He even predicted the "meta" nature of our modern culture, where everything has become self-referential, filled with cameos and easter eggs, dead actors resurrected and old ones de-aged, because media-created reality is now the only reality. All it can reference is itself, lest it shatter the illusion or acknowledge reality. Just look at how our culture cannot even create new content, just remakes, sequels, shared universes, etc.
"There are no longer “dancers,” the possessed. The cleavage of men into actor and spectators is the central fact of our time. We are obsessed with heroes who live for us and whom we punish. If all the radios and televisions were deprived of their sources of power, all the books and paintings burned tomorrow, all shows and cinemas closed, all the arts of vicarious existence… We are content with the “given” in sensation’s quest. We have been metamorphosized from a mad body dancing on hillsides to a pair of eyes staring in the dark." - Jim Morrison
Another great example of postmodernism is the idea of secularism, that we can separate the public from the religious, or that there are actually people who have no religion whatsoever. This rejects the reality that religion applies to many aspects of life, that someone who is non-theistic or simply “spiritual” still is often religious. For example we can look to sports, where all sorts of weird rituals and ceremonies take place that have nothing to do with the layman understanding of religion, gods, the divine, etc, but are studied as such by religious scholars nonetheless. It can even tie back to the Disneyland example, such as how we pretend America is a secular country, or delude ourselves into thinking the hateful Atheism of France (or places like the USSR before it) is somehow not its own form of religion. In stage 1 we recognized there was no separating the spiritual and religious from daily life. Stage 2 keeps this mostly in place but twists it to fit monotheism. It's not until stage 3 that this really changes to keeping religion “private,” and stage 4 flips the whole thing on its head to where the state and corporations have become god, and the gods have become fantasy.
Postmodernism has even seeped into the WLHP to a great extent. For example, with the identification of the Christian entity Satan with all sorts of beings that have no correlation to him. The Satanist who says that The Devil is Setesh, the Serpent, Prometheus, or any other such deity is placing objective reality on the backburner in favor of a popular cultural meme - that all these beings are Satan, despite their histories, characteristics, mythologies, etc. It is Postmodernism which allows certain groups from the late 1900s to claim absurd things like being the first and only Satanists with no regard for objective reality, or which allows organizations to claim the title of Romantic Satanists when their values and acts fly in the face of that literary movement. It's why people who think they are on the WLHP can still fall for things like Physicalism against all evidence and reason. It's how occultists can create completely made up identities for themselves that, even after being exposed as fraudulent, are still parroted blindly by their followers. And in a wider sense it applies to modern polytheism overall, where new age, fluff bunny occultists come in changing polytheism to monotheism, or saying all male and female goddesses are just a manifestation of duo-theism. There is no escaping Postmodern irrationality.
Our symbols of the divine, of deeper spiritual meanings and truths, of a reality beyond this one, have all been replaced with corporate logos, meme templates, and easter eggs. Like me, many others also have altars in every room of the house, their altars are simply shrines to brands, consumer content, companies, political parties, famous actors, etc. The utility of an object no longer defines it, but instead it is the fabricated social status a thing is supposed to create, such as an uncomfortable designer chair being ten times the cost of a more comfortable and practical one. If your car can reliably get you place to place, but isn’t sporting the right hood ornament, or a fresh coat of paint, all the fancy add ons and a high floor price, then the object simply is not as valuable as if it had these entirely unnecessary things, and therefore the individual themselves is judged as less valuable. Two identical shirts can vary in price by hundreds of dollars based solely on the name printed on the tag inside. All of these values are entirely manufactured and completely detached from objective reality.
Perhaps worst of all is that people and objects have become harder to tell apart, as best exemplified with celebrities. They are fake people with false personalities who we are supposed to see as the ideal human beings. All of their flaws are edited and filtered out, and then we are condemned for not being on par. To postmodern companies, the individual is literally just an object to be used as a means to an end, a cog in a machine rather than an individual with needs, goals, drives, etc. Politicians are themselves celebrities now, and I do not only mean literal actors running for office, but rather that people cheer for them like they do a rock star, consume their media like it is a drug, defend them as if they were their favorite comic character… What gives these politicians and celebrities their power? An association with the new system of symbols and objects of value, the system which disregards reality all together in order to encourage things like Consumerism and obedience.
Postmodernism has an influence over almost every aspect of our lives. It encourages people to believe any fleeting thing they want, or more often are told to want, is of foremost importance or value. It allows constant advertising to empty us of any "inconvenient" meaning or value and fill the void with Consumerism and material things, or to fill it with work lives that are ultimately pointless and amount to nothing more than some conceptual material wage (money itself not even being "real"). The value of objects defines and overtakes the value of the individual. A disregard for objectivity means a disregard for the scientific method itself, allowing science to become a process of authoritarianism at worst and democracy at best, a process of media propaganda rather than a quest for truth. Whatever facts benefit the high-object-value people and the symbols they associate with are true, and facts which do not are false, being able to change at the drop of a hat as needed.
Postmodernism is clearly the natural outcome of our move from profound reality to a fabricated simulation of reality created to control, stifle, and subdue human beings… an immoral and dangerous metaphysics too blind to see that without any objective reality nobody can ever be correct, including themselves.

Audio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l42yKCnUBa0
Jean Baudrillard, a famous writer on the topic of “postmodernism,” explained postmodernism by means of four stages that symbols and objects have progressed through.
Stage 1: “Basic reflection of reality.” Here, symbols and objects attempt to create an objective reflection of reality. For example a chair is made to be sat on and is valuable if it fulfills its purpose, and a shirt is valuable if it covers your skin. The symbols, stories, myths, etc. of our ancestors were an attempt to describe reality as best they could (agree with the results or not). A symbol or image of a god was meant to represent an objectively existent force in reality. Here I see a comparison to very early Polytheism and the Stellar Tradition, where we accepted the objective, dualistic and spiritual nature of reality, the existence of the gods, and so on, with very complex systems that understood reality itself is complex. Inherently this can only ever be, at best, an attempt at metaphysical knowledge about reality, but it is an honest attempt.
Stage 2: "Perversion of reality.” Here the relationship between value and objective reality begins to shift, for example a chair may still serve its primary function, but be more valuable if made with a rare material, by someone of note, and/or for someone of great importance. There may be no practical difference between the stage 1 and stage 2 chairs, and yet the stage 2 chair is given more value. Symbols (perhaps most famously the serpent) are also twisted, for example as a means to control people, or even by demonizing all gods and saying there is only One True God. The complexity of reality is ignored, in favor of a simple “good vs. evil” breakdown, where everything is either Godly or Demonic. The comparison here is the SolaAgricultural tradition and, especially, Monotheism. There is an acceptance of some sort of reality, but that reality is twisted intentionally, whether that be to control people, confuse them, or anything of the sort.
Stage 3: “Pretense of reality.” Here we have the appearance of reality, but much more of a detachment from it. The idea that gods are "just archetypes," or that magic is “just psychology,” illustrate this, along with Physicalism at large. People pretend these are the totality of reality, of which they consider themselves to be the "true seekers," but in the end they outright ignore the most important aspects of our reality. Christian Nationalism is another illustration, where leaders outright lie and fabricate history under the pretense of truth, such as the U.S. being founded as a Christian nation. Objects mainly have value thanks to Materialism and Consumerism, not to mention advertising, and the rejection of higher reality makes such things easier to fall for.
Stage 4: "Bears no relation to any reality whatsoever." This is what may be called "postmodernism," total detachment from reality. An very worrying illustration is the democratization of science, where politics and public opinion now hold as much (or more) sway as empirical evidence (with strict empiricism or “scientism” already falling under "stage 3,” since there are so many other forms of knowledge than empirical knowledge.). Here, a shirt or chair like from stage 1 may be significantly less valuable than an identical shirt or chair endorsed by a famous celebrity. We all know politicians lie when they make promises and yet cheer any time they make one anyways. Our symbols only represent our made up realities: watered-down Christianized ideology such as we see running rampant in polytheistic revival, or modern pop-cultural fictions and multiverses, for example.
Baudrillard gives the example of Main Street at Disney Parks. Not only do we spend more time and money on these fabrications than reality (e.g. replacing the gods on our altars with Disney stuff), but our very differentiation between the "real world" and "Disney world" is a delusion. Disneyland is part of the “real world”. There is no inner child to most adults which is in hiding and in need of release, rather they are very outwardly children yet still wield great power. The world is childish and run by mental and spiritual children. The "perfect world" of Disney is still draining your so-called "real" money (which itself belongs to stage 3, as paper money has no objective value).How often do we obsess over the lives and stories of fictional people, such as families in TV shows, meant purely as consumer content? Even I am guilty of this. Our biggest "influencers" are literal morons on terrible platforms, platforms which encourage us to pretend our true selves are only the best moments we choose to share online.
Stage 5: To these 4 stages I propose adding a 5th in the 21st century: “replacement of reality.” Artificial intelligence, virtual and alternate realities, one of the most recent symbols of status at the time of writing this is the new Apple headset, costing thousands of dollars, people just walking around and existing in a totally manufactured reality, one which will inevitably be shaped by those in positions of power and wealth. The popularity of fake news also may deserve ranking in this new, 5th stage, perhaps even something like plastic surgery.
It is important to note that I do not believe we necessarily pass linearly through these stages. For example there are currently people whose beliefs and practices conform to any one of these 4+ stages, or they fit different stages depending on the context.
Morality is another way to look at the stages, and for this I will use the modern example of the debate on abortion. In stage 1, morality is a quest for objective truth, so for instance with abortion we would realize that the issue is objectively complicated.
In stage 2, morality is twisted to fit the reality promoted by those in power, so for us this would be that abortion is always wrong. They still believe in an objective morality in theory, but twist and simplify that morality.
Stage 3 brings us Moral Relativism, whether abortion is right or wrong depends on who you ask, what culture you were raised in, etc. There is no objective morality, but this itself is an objective truth in a way. This is opposed to the second stage Monotheists who believe abortion is objectively wrong all together, or first stage folks who know the topic can be more complicated than black and white. Basically whatever the culture says is moral, is. Whatever morals the Relativist has, they do not believe them to be more correct than any other morals.
Finally in stage 4+, morality is completely dependent on what those in power (politicians, corporations, influencers, etc.) say is moral. It's a warped form of Moral Relativism, really. This individual believes that morals are relative, but not to culture or anything of the sort. Instead, morals are relative to whatever suits them best at the time, and whatever they are told by "authorities" of high symbol/object value. They do not believe the values and morals of others are equally valid to theirs (stage 3), nor do their actions suggest any belief in a consistent objective morality, warped or otherwise (stage 1 and 2). Instead, their morals are relative to whatever their own pseudo-reality is, whatever is to their benefit, and this itself mainly stems from the aforementioned authorities. And note that someone may be, say, a stage 2 monotheist when it comes to religion, but a stage 4 on morality, and so on.
"Whataboutism" is another illustration of moral Postmodern manipulation. Say a person is telling you how evil the current president of the U.S. is because they do X. You ask, "what about the fact that your favorite president did X too, were they also evil?" The Postmodernist will then say you are engaging in "whataboutism." To one who accepts Moral Realism it is immediately clear why the question is valid though: the answer determines if the person is truly opposed to X or simply using it against those they don’t like, special pleading. Postmodernists simply believe whatever they need or want to at the time to support their own biases, not that X is actually immoral.
Our paper money is another example of stage 3, “pretense of reality.” The paper money system is entirely theoretical, in reality the paper is worth very, very little. It's just tied to this conceptual system that, were it to be cast aside, would make all cash meaningless paper. Stage 1 would be things like services, sustenance, shelter, useful things, symbols that were thought to impact reality, etc., objective things all people need. Stage 2 is illustrated by gold, we give it meaning beyond what it has, but it's a real thing with a limited amount of it in the world, you cannot get trillions in debt just printing new gold into existence as with stage 3 cash. And for stage 4+, what better example than NFTs and Bitcoin, or views, likes, and upvotes?
Social media gives us insight into the world of stage 4 / Postmodernism. All the big-name forums or social media platforms, as well as many smaller ones, are oversaturated with advertisements, these new religious symbols and their new valuable objects, to the point where advertisers choose which platforms or outlets survive and which crash and burn. Whole sites wield the power to silence dissenters of whichever ideologies they find unappealing. In many cases people are extremely limited in the number of characters they can use at once, making true discourse impossible. People live entirely fake lives to instill jealousy in others, who go on to lie to themselves and others as well, and groupthink is encouraged through voting systems which create hiveminds and drive out any independent thought. All these fit with Baudrillard’s fourth stage - none of this is reality. Consumerism is objectively less valuable than individuation and freedom, it is not a valid way to live life, it only wastes life, time, and resources. Human thought is not limited by a character count, this does not describe reality in any way, instead creating a new "reality" where any idea longer than a few sentences is a "word salad" and cannot hold one's attention. There are fewer and fewer "great thinkers," and they are not the ones being heard and viewed. The endless, manufactured, touched up selfies, vacations wasted taking pictures instead of living, time lost in the imagery rather than the real event - this is not objective reality. It not only rejects reality but twists and perverts it, replacing it with a manufactured (simulated) one.
Cancel culture is another unfortunate offspring of Postmodernist thought. Due to the power held and used by the creators and maintainers of all these stage 4 images and objects, "reality" is now defined by such entities. A famous actor was fired from all his roles including a massive franchise on mere accusations of abuse, before the crimes were even brought to court (where it turned out things were not so clear cut). If it can happen to a rich, beloved movie star, imagine what could happen to you. I am not suggesting you feel bad for a billionaire who helps fabricate reality, nor do I believe we have a great and trustworthy justice system in place. All I want to illustrate is how a mere accusation led to guilt and punishment because corporations and the more popular political party said they were guilty, and culture followed blindly, before it even reached the justice system at all. Even in cases where someone ends up being guilty, they cannot be found guilty before investigation and judgment. But this does not matter in a world where reality is whatever is most popular at the time.
All forms of media contribute to this, there is no longer any reality in culture outside of the images and realities created for us, created to distract us from this disturbing rejection of reality. Games, shows, movies, children’s content, fiction and non-fiction works, governments, news outlets… not every single individual instance of these may be wholly negative, but the positive ones are becoming more and more rare. I’ve found an interesting source of philosophy on this matter in the poetry of Jim Morrison, famously known as the singer of The Doors, whose father was all too familiar with the fabrication of reality. Morrison wrote about how the powers that be use content from films to museums (where we simulate history) and everything in between to blind citizens to their power over us, our values, even our own meanings regarding life. He feared that humans had become simple spectators, staring blankly into the screen, letting it write their reality for them. He even predicted the "meta" nature of our modern culture, where everything has become self-referential, filled with cameos and easter eggs, dead actors resurrected and old ones de-aged, because media-created reality is now the only reality. All it can reference is itself, lest it shatter the illusion or acknowledge reality. Just look at how our culture cannot even create new content, just remakes, sequels, shared universes, etc.
"There are no longer “dancers,” the possessed. The cleavage of men into actor and spectators is the central fact of our time. We are obsessed with heroes who live for us and whom we punish. If all the radios and televisions were deprived of their sources of power, all the books and paintings burned tomorrow, all shows and cinemas closed, all the arts of vicarious existence… We are content with the “given” in sensation’s quest. We have been metamorphosized from a mad body dancing on hillsides to a pair of eyes staring in the dark." - Jim Morrison
Another great example of postmodernism is the idea of secularism, that we can separate the public from the religious, or that there are actually people who have no religion whatsoever. This rejects the reality that religion applies to many aspects of life, that someone who is non-theistic or simply “spiritual” still is often religious. For example we can look to sports, where all sorts of weird rituals and ceremonies take place that have nothing to do with the layman understanding of religion, gods, the divine, etc, but are studied as such by religious scholars nonetheless. It can even tie back to the Disneyland example, such as how we pretend America is a secular country, or delude ourselves into thinking the hateful Atheism of France (or places like the USSR before it) is somehow not its own form of religion. In stage 1 we recognized there was no separating the spiritual and religious from daily life. Stage 2 keeps this mostly in place but twists it to fit monotheism. It's not until stage 3 that this really changes to keeping religion “private,” and stage 4 flips the whole thing on its head to where the state and corporations have become god, and the gods have become fantasy.
Postmodernism has even seeped into the WLHP to a great extent. For example, with the identification of the Christian entity Satan with all sorts of beings that have no correlation to him. The Satanist who says that The Devil is Setesh, the Serpent, Prometheus, or any other such deity is placing objective reality on the backburner in favor of a popular cultural meme - that all these beings are Satan, despite their histories, characteristics, mythologies, etc. It is Postmodernism which allows certain groups from the late 1900s to claim absurd things like being the first and only Satanists with no regard for objective reality, or which allows organizations to claim the title of Romantic Satanists when their values and acts fly in the face of that literary movement. It's why people who think they are on the WLHP can still fall for things like Physicalism against all evidence and reason. It's how occultists can create completely made up identities for themselves that, even after being exposed as fraudulent, are still parroted blindly by their followers. And in a wider sense it applies to modern polytheism overall, where new age, fluff bunny occultists come in changing polytheism to monotheism, or saying all male and female goddesses are just a manifestation of duo-theism. There is no escaping Postmodern irrationality.
Our symbols of the divine, of deeper spiritual meanings and truths, of a reality beyond this one, have all been replaced with corporate logos, meme templates, and easter eggs. Like me, many others also have altars in every room of the house, their altars are simply shrines to brands, consumer content, companies, political parties, famous actors, etc. The utility of an object no longer defines it, but instead it is the fabricated social status a thing is supposed to create, such as an uncomfortable designer chair being ten times the cost of a more comfortable and practical one. If your car can reliably get you place to place, but isn’t sporting the right hood ornament, or a fresh coat of paint, all the fancy add ons and a high floor price, then the object simply is not as valuable as if it had these entirely unnecessary things, and therefore the individual themselves is judged as less valuable. Two identical shirts can vary in price by hundreds of dollars based solely on the name printed on the tag inside. All of these values are entirely manufactured and completely detached from objective reality.
Perhaps worst of all is that people and objects have become harder to tell apart, as best exemplified with celebrities. They are fake people with false personalities who we are supposed to see as the ideal human beings. All of their flaws are edited and filtered out, and then we are condemned for not being on par. To postmodern companies, the individual is literally just an object to be used as a means to an end, a cog in a machine rather than an individual with needs, goals, drives, etc. Politicians are themselves celebrities now, and I do not only mean literal actors running for office, but rather that people cheer for them like they do a rock star, consume their media like it is a drug, defend them as if they were their favorite comic character… What gives these politicians and celebrities their power? An association with the new system of symbols and objects of value, the system which disregards reality all together in order to encourage things like Consumerism and obedience.
Postmodernism has an influence over almost every aspect of our lives. It encourages people to believe any fleeting thing they want, or more often are told to want, is of foremost importance or value. It allows constant advertising to empty us of any "inconvenient" meaning or value and fill the void with Consumerism and material things, or to fill it with work lives that are ultimately pointless and amount to nothing more than some conceptual material wage (money itself not even being "real"). The value of objects defines and overtakes the value of the individual. A disregard for objectivity means a disregard for the scientific method itself, allowing science to become a process of authoritarianism at worst and democracy at best, a process of media propaganda rather than a quest for truth. Whatever facts benefit the high-object-value people and the symbols they associate with are true, and facts which do not are false, being able to change at the drop of a hat as needed.
Postmodernism is clearly the natural outcome of our move from profound reality to a fabricated simulation of reality created to control, stifle, and subdue human beings… an immoral and dangerous metaphysics too blind to see that without any objective reality nobody can ever be correct, including themselves.

Audio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l42yKCnUBa0
Jean Baudrillard, a famous writer on the topic of “postmodernism,” explained postmodernism by means of four stages that symbols and objects have progressed through.
Stage 1: “Basic reflection of reality.” Here, symbols and objects attempt to create an objective reflection of reality. For example a chair is made to be sat on and is valuable if it fulfills its purpose, and a shirt is valuable if it covers your skin. The symbols, stories, myths, etc. of our ancestors were an attempt to describe reality as best they could (agree with the results or not). A symbol or image of a god was meant to represent an objectively existent force in reality. Here I see a comparison to very early Polytheism and the Stellar Tradition, where we accepted the objective, dualistic and spiritual nature of reality, the existence of the gods, and so on, with very complex systems that understood reality itself is complex. Inherently this can only ever be, at best, an attempt at metaphysical knowledge about reality, but it is an honest attempt.
Stage 2: "Perversion of reality.” Here the relationship between value and objective reality begins to shift, for example a chair may still serve its primary function, but be more valuable if made with a rare material, by someone of note, and/or for someone of great importance. There may be no practical difference between the stage 1 and stage 2 chairs, and yet the stage 2 chair is given more value. Symbols (perhaps most famously the serpent) are also twisted, for example as a means to control people, or even by demonizing all gods and saying there is only One True God. The complexity of reality is ignored, in favor of a simple “good vs. evil” breakdown, where everything is either Godly or Demonic. The comparison here is the SolaAgricultural tradition and, especially, Monotheism. There is an acceptance of some sort of reality, but that reality is twisted intentionally, whether that be to control people, confuse them, or anything of the sort.
Stage 3: “Pretense of reality.” Here we have the appearance of reality, but much more of a detachment from it. The idea that gods are "just archetypes," or that magic is “just psychology,” illustrate this, along with Physicalism at large. People pretend these are the totality of reality, of which they consider themselves to be the "true seekers," but in the end they outright ignore the most important aspects of our reality. Christian Nationalism is another illustration, where leaders outright lie and fabricate history under the pretense of truth, such as the U.S. being founded as a Christian nation. Objects mainly have value thanks to Materialism and Consumerism, not to mention advertising, and the rejection of higher reality makes such things easier to fall for.
Stage 4: "Bears no relation to any reality whatsoever." This is what may be called "postmodernism," total detachment from reality. An very worrying illustration is the democratization of science, where politics and public opinion now hold as much (or more) sway as empirical evidence (with strict empiricism or “scientism” already falling under "stage 3,” since there are so many other forms of knowledge than empirical knowledge.). Here, a shirt or chair like from stage 1 may be significantly less valuable than an identical shirt or chair endorsed by a famous celebrity. We all know politicians lie when they make promises and yet cheer any time they make one anyways. Our symbols only represent our made up realities: watered-down Christianized ideology such as we see running rampant in polytheistic revival, or modern pop-cultural fictions and multiverses, for example.
Baudrillard gives the example of Main Street at Disney Parks. Not only do we spend more time and money on these fabrications than reality (e.g. replacing the gods on our altars with Disney stuff), but our very differentiation between the "real world" and "Disney world" is a delusion. Disneyland is part of the “real world”. There is no inner child to most adults which is in hiding and in need of release, rather they are very outwardly children yet still wield great power. The world is childish and run by mental and spiritual children. The "perfect world" of Disney is still draining your so-called "real" money (which itself belongs to stage 3, as paper money has no objective value).How often do we obsess over the lives and stories of fictional people, such as families in TV shows, meant purely as consumer content? Even I am guilty of this. Our biggest "influencers" are literal morons on terrible platforms, platforms which encourage us to pretend our true selves are only the best moments we choose to share online.
Stage 5: To these 4 stages I propose adding a 5th in the 21st century: “replacement of reality.” Artificial intelligence, virtual and alternate realities, one of the most recent symbols of status at the time of writing this is the new Apple headset, costing thousands of dollars, people just walking around and existing in a totally manufactured reality, one which will inevitably be shaped by those in positions of power and wealth. The popularity of fake news also may deserve ranking in this new, 5th stage, perhaps even something like plastic surgery.
It is important to note that I do not believe we necessarily pass linearly through these stages. For example there are currently people whose beliefs and practices conform to any one of these 4+ stages, or they fit different stages depending on the context.
Morality is another way to look at the stages, and for this I will use the modern example of the debate on abortion. In stage 1, morality is a quest for objective truth, so for instance with abortion we would realize that the issue is objectively complicated.
In stage 2, morality is twisted to fit the reality promoted by those in power, so for us this would be that abortion is always wrong. They still believe in an objective morality in theory, but twist and simplify that morality.
Stage 3 brings us Moral Relativism, whether abortion is right or wrong depends on who you ask, what culture you were raised in, etc. There is no objective morality, but this itself is an objective truth in a way. This is opposed to the second stage Monotheists who believe abortion is objectively wrong all together, or first stage folks who know the topic can be more complicated than black and white. Basically whatever the culture says is moral, is. Whatever morals the Relativist has, they do not believe them to be more correct than any other morals.
Finally in stage 4+, morality is completely dependent on what those in power (politicians, corporations, influencers, etc.) say is moral. It's a warped form of Moral Relativism, really. This individual believes that morals are relative, but not to culture or anything of the sort. Instead, morals are relative to whatever suits them best at the time, and whatever they are told by "authorities" of high symbol/object value. They do not believe the values and morals of others are equally valid to theirs (stage 3), nor do their actions suggest any belief in a consistent objective morality, warped or otherwise (stage 1 and 2). Instead, their morals are relative to whatever their own pseudo-reality is, whatever is to their benefit, and this itself mainly stems from the aforementioned authorities. And note that someone may be, say, a stage 2 monotheist when it comes to religion, but a stage 4 on morality, and so on.
"Whataboutism" is another illustration of moral Postmodern manipulation. Say a person is telling you how evil the current president of the U.S. is because they do X. You ask, "what about the fact that your favorite president did X too, were they also evil?" The Postmodernist will then say you are engaging in "whataboutism." To one who accepts Moral Realism it is immediately clear why the question is valid though: the answer determines if the person is truly opposed to X or simply using it against those they don’t like, special pleading. Postmodernists simply believe whatever they need or want to at the time to support their own biases, not that X is actually immoral.
Our paper money is another example of stage 3, “pretense of reality.” The paper money system is entirely theoretical, in reality the paper is worth very, very little. It's just tied to this conceptual system that, were it to be cast aside, would make all cash meaningless paper. Stage 1 would be things like services, sustenance, shelter, useful things, symbols that were thought to impact reality, etc., objective things all people need. Stage 2 is illustrated by gold, we give it meaning beyond what it has, but it's a real thing with a limited amount of it in the world, you cannot get trillions in debt just printing new gold into existence as with stage 3 cash. And for stage 4+, what better example than NFTs and Bitcoin, or views, likes, and upvotes?
Social media gives us insight into the world of stage 4 / Postmodernism. All the big-name forums or social media platforms, as well as many smaller ones, are oversaturated with advertisements, these new religious symbols and their new valuable objects, to the point where advertisers choose which platforms or outlets survive and which crash and burn. Whole sites wield the power to silence dissenters of whichever ideologies they find unappealing. In many cases people are extremely limited in the number of characters they can use at once, making true discourse impossible. People live entirely fake lives to instill jealousy in others, who go on to lie to themselves and others as well, and groupthink is encouraged through voting systems which create hiveminds and drive out any independent thought. All these fit with Baudrillard’s fourth stage - none of this is reality. Consumerism is objectively less valuable than individuation and freedom, it is not a valid way to live life, it only wastes life, time, and resources. Human thought is not limited by a character count, this does not describe reality in any way, instead creating a new "reality" where any idea longer than a few sentences is a "word salad" and cannot hold one's attention. There are fewer and fewer "great thinkers," and they are not the ones being heard and viewed. The endless, manufactured, touched up selfies, vacations wasted taking pictures instead of living, time lost in the imagery rather than the real event - this is not objective reality. It not only rejects reality but twists and perverts it, replacing it with a manufactured (simulated) one.
Cancel culture is another unfortunate offspring of Postmodernist thought. Due to the power held and used by the creators and maintainers of all these stage 4 images and objects, "reality" is now defined by such entities. A famous actor was fired from all his roles including a massive franchise on mere accusations of abuse, before the crimes were even brought to court (where it turned out things were not so clear cut). If it can happen to a rich, beloved movie star, imagine what could happen to you. I am not suggesting you feel bad for a billionaire who helps fabricate reality, nor do I believe we have a great and trustworthy justice system in place. All I want to illustrate is how a mere accusation led to guilt and punishment because corporations and the more popular political party said they were guilty, and culture followed blindly, before it even reached the justice system at all. Even in cases where someone ends up being guilty, they cannot be found guilty before investigation and judgment. But this does not matter in a world where reality is whatever is most popular at the time.
All forms of media contribute to this, there is no longer any reality in culture outside of the images and realities created for us, created to distract us from this disturbing rejection of reality. Games, shows, movies, children’s content, fiction and non-fiction works, governments, news outlets… not every single individual instance of these may be wholly negative, but the positive ones are becoming more and more rare. I’ve found an interesting source of philosophy on this matter in the poetry of Jim Morrison, famously known as the singer of The Doors, whose father was all too familiar with the fabrication of reality. Morrison wrote about how the powers that be use content from films to museums (where we simulate history) and everything in between to blind citizens to their power over us, our values, even our own meanings regarding life. He feared that humans had become simple spectators, staring blankly into the screen, letting it write their reality for them. He even predicted the "meta" nature of our modern culture, where everything has become self-referential, filled with cameos and easter eggs, dead actors resurrected and old ones de-aged, because media-created reality is now the only reality. All it can reference is itself, lest it shatter the illusion or acknowledge reality. Just look at how our culture cannot even create new content, just remakes, sequels, shared universes, etc.
"There are no longer “dancers,” the possessed. The cleavage of men into actor and spectators is the central fact of our time. We are obsessed with heroes who live for us and whom we punish. If all the radios and televisions were deprived of their sources of power, all the books and paintings burned tomorrow, all shows and cinemas closed, all the arts of vicarious existence… We are content with the “given” in sensation’s quest. We have been metamorphosized from a mad body dancing on hillsides to a pair of eyes staring in the dark." - Jim Morrison
Another great example of postmodernism is the idea of secularism, that we can separate the public from the religious, or that there are actually people who have no religion whatsoever. This rejects the reality that religion applies to many aspects of life, that someone who is non-theistic or simply “spiritual” still is often religious. For example we can look to sports, where all sorts of weird rituals and ceremonies take place that have nothing to do with the layman understanding of religion, gods, the divine, etc, but are studied as such by religious scholars nonetheless. It can even tie back to the Disneyland example, such as how we pretend America is a secular country, or delude ourselves into thinking the hateful Atheism of France (or places like the USSR before it) is somehow not its own form of religion. In stage 1 we recognized there was no separating the spiritual and religious from daily life. Stage 2 keeps this mostly in place but twists it to fit monotheism. It's not until stage 3 that this really changes to keeping religion “private,” and stage 4 flips the whole thing on its head to where the state and corporations have become god, and the gods have become fantasy.
Postmodernism has even seeped into the WLHP to a great extent. For example, with the identification of the Christian entity Satan with all sorts of beings that have no correlation to him. The Satanist who says that The Devil is Setesh, the Serpent, Prometheus, or any other such deity is placing objective reality on the backburner in favor of a popular cultural meme - that all these beings are Satan, despite their histories, characteristics, mythologies, etc. It is Postmodernism which allows certain groups from the late 1900s to claim absurd things like being the first and only Satanists with no regard for objective reality, or which allows organizations to claim the title of Romantic Satanists when their values and acts fly in the face of that literary movement. It's why people who think they are on the WLHP can still fall for things like Physicalism against all evidence and reason. It's how occultists can create completely made up identities for themselves that, even after being exposed as fraudulent, are still parroted blindly by their followers. And in a wider sense it applies to modern polytheism overall, where new age, fluff bunny occultists come in changing polytheism to monotheism, or saying all male and female goddesses are just a manifestation of duo-theism. There is no escaping Postmodern irrationality.
Our symbols of the divine, of deeper spiritual meanings and truths, of a reality beyond this one, have all been replaced with corporate logos, meme templates, and easter eggs. Like me, many others also have altars in every room of the house, their altars are simply shrines to brands, consumer content, companies, political parties, famous actors, etc. The utility of an object no longer defines it, but instead it is the fabricated social status a thing is supposed to create, such as an uncomfortable designer chair being ten times the cost of a more comfortable and practical one. If your car can reliably get you place to place, but isn’t sporting the right hood ornament, or a fresh coat of paint, all the fancy add ons and a high floor price, then the object simply is not as valuable as if it had these entirely unnecessary things, and therefore the individual themselves is judged as less valuable. Two identical shirts can vary in price by hundreds of dollars based solely on the name printed on the tag inside. All of these values are entirely manufactured and completely detached from objective reality.
Perhaps worst of all is that people and objects have become harder to tell apart, as best exemplified with celebrities. They are fake people with false personalities who we are supposed to see as the ideal human beings. All of their flaws are edited and filtered out, and then we are condemned for not being on par. To postmodern companies, the individual is literally just an object to be used as a means to an end, a cog in a machine rather than an individual with needs, goals, drives, etc. Politicians are themselves celebrities now, and I do not only mean literal actors running for office, but rather that people cheer for them like they do a rock star, consume their media like it is a drug, defend them as if they were their favorite comic character… What gives these politicians and celebrities their power? An association with the new system of symbols and objects of value, the system which disregards reality all together in order to encourage things like Consumerism and obedience.
Postmodernism has an influence over almost every aspect of our lives. It encourages people to believe any fleeting thing they want, or more often are told to want, is of foremost importance or value. It allows constant advertising to empty us of any "inconvenient" meaning or value and fill the void with Consumerism and material things, or to fill it with work lives that are ultimately pointless and amount to nothing more than some conceptual material wage (money itself not even being "real"). The value of objects defines and overtakes the value of the individual. A disregard for objectivity means a disregard for the scientific method itself, allowing science to become a process of authoritarianism at worst and democracy at best, a process of media propaganda rather than a quest for truth. Whatever facts benefit the high-object-value people and the symbols they associate with are true, and facts which do not are false, being able to change at the drop of a hat as needed.
Postmodernism is clearly the natural outcome of our move from profound reality to a fabricated simulation of reality created to control, stifle, and subdue human beings… an immoral and dangerous metaphysics too blind to see that without any objective reality nobody can ever be correct, including themselves.

Audio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l42yKCnUBa0
Jean Baudrillard, a famous writer on the topic of “postmodernism,” explained postmodernism by means of four stages that symbols and objects have progressed through.
Stage 1: “Basic reflection of reality.” Here, symbols and objects attempt to create an objective reflection of reality. For example a chair is made to be sat on and is valuable if it fulfills its purpose, and a shirt is valuable if it covers your skin. The symbols, stories, myths, etc. of our ancestors were an attempt to describe reality as best they could (agree with the results or not). A symbol or image of a god was meant to represent an objectively existent force in reality. Here I see a comparison to very early Polytheism and the Stellar Tradition, where we accepted the objective, dualistic and spiritual nature of reality, the existence of the gods, and so on, with very complex systems that understood reality itself is complex. Inherently this can only ever be, at best, an attempt at metaphysical knowledge about reality, but it is an honest attempt.
Stage 2: "Perversion of reality.” Here the relationship between value and objective reality begins to shift, for example a chair may still serve its primary function, but be more valuable if made with a rare material, by someone of note, and/or for someone of great importance. There may be no practical difference between the stage 1 and stage 2 chairs, and yet the stage 2 chair is given more value. Symbols (perhaps most famously the serpent) are also twisted, for example as a means to control people, or even by demonizing all gods and saying there is only One True God. The complexity of reality is ignored, in favor of a simple “good vs. evil” breakdown, where everything is either Godly or Demonic. The comparison here is the SolaAgricultural tradition and, especially, Monotheism. There is an acceptance of some sort of reality, but that reality is twisted intentionally, whether that be to control people, confuse them, or anything of the sort.
Stage 3: “Pretense of reality.” Here we have the appearance of reality, but much more of a detachment from it. The idea that gods are "just archetypes," or that magic is “just psychology,” illustrate this, along with Physicalism at large. People pretend these are the totality of reality, of which they consider themselves to be the "true seekers," but in the end they outright ignore the most important aspects of our reality. Christian Nationalism is another illustration, where leaders outright lie and fabricate history under the pretense of truth, such as the U.S. being founded as a Christian nation. Objects mainly have value thanks to Materialism and Consumerism, not to mention advertising, and the rejection of higher reality makes such things easier to fall for.
Stage 4: "Bears no relation to any reality whatsoever." This is what may be called "postmodernism," total detachment from reality. An very worrying illustration is the democratization of science, where politics and public opinion now hold as much (or more) sway as empirical evidence (with strict empiricism or “scientism” already falling under "stage 3,” since there are so many other forms of knowledge than empirical knowledge.). Here, a shirt or chair like from stage 1 may be significantly less valuable than an identical shirt or chair endorsed by a famous celebrity. We all know politicians lie when they make promises and yet cheer any time they make one anyways. Our symbols only represent our made up realities: watered-down Christianized ideology such as we see running rampant in polytheistic revival, or modern pop-cultural fictions and multiverses, for example.
Baudrillard gives the example of Main Street at Disney Parks. Not only do we spend more time and money on these fabrications than reality (e.g. replacing the gods on our altars with Disney stuff), but our very differentiation between the "real world" and "Disney world" is a delusion. Disneyland is part of the “real world”. There is no inner child to most adults which is in hiding and in need of release, rather they are very outwardly children yet still wield great power. The world is childish and run by mental and spiritual children. The "perfect world" of Disney is still draining your so-called "real" money (which itself belongs to stage 3, as paper money has no objective value).How often do we obsess over the lives and stories of fictional people, such as families in TV shows, meant purely as consumer content? Even I am guilty of this. Our biggest "influencers" are literal morons on terrible platforms, platforms which encourage us to pretend our true selves are only the best moments we choose to share online.
Stage 5: To these 4 stages I propose adding a 5th in the 21st century: “replacement of reality.” Artificial intelligence, virtual and alternate realities, one of the most recent symbols of status at the time of writing this is the new Apple headset, costing thousands of dollars, people just walking around and existing in a totally manufactured reality, one which will inevitably be shaped by those in positions of power and wealth. The popularity of fake news also may deserve ranking in this new, 5th stage, perhaps even something like plastic surgery.
It is important to note that I do not believe we necessarily pass linearly through these stages. For example there are currently people whose beliefs and practices conform to any one of these 4+ stages, or they fit different stages depending on the context.
Morality is another way to look at the stages, and for this I will use the modern example of the debate on abortion. In stage 1, morality is a quest for objective truth, so for instance with abortion we would realize that the issue is objectively complicated.
In stage 2, morality is twisted to fit the reality promoted by those in power, so for us this would be that abortion is always wrong. They still believe in an objective morality in theory, but twist and simplify that morality.
Stage 3 brings us Moral Relativism, whether abortion is right or wrong depends on who you ask, what culture you were raised in, etc. There is no objective morality, but this itself is an objective truth in a way. This is opposed to the second stage Monotheists who believe abortion is objectively wrong all together, or first stage folks who know the topic can be more complicated than black and white. Basically whatever the culture says is moral, is. Whatever morals the Relativist has, they do not believe them to be more correct than any other morals.
Finally in stage 4+, morality is completely dependent on what those in power (politicians, corporations, influencers, etc.) say is moral. It's a warped form of Moral Relativism, really. This individual believes that morals are relative, but not to culture or anything of the sort. Instead, morals are relative to whatever suits them best at the time, and whatever they are told by "authorities" of high symbol/object value. They do not believe the values and morals of others are equally valid to theirs (stage 3), nor do their actions suggest any belief in a consistent objective morality, warped or otherwise (stage 1 and 2). Instead, their morals are relative to whatever their own pseudo-reality is, whatever is to their benefit, and this itself mainly stems from the aforementioned authorities. And note that someone may be, say, a stage 2 monotheist when it comes to religion, but a stage 4 on morality, and so on.
"Whataboutism" is another illustration of moral Postmodern manipulation. Say a person is telling you how evil the current president of the U.S. is because they do X. You ask, "what about the fact that your favorite president did X too, were they also evil?" The Postmodernist will then say you are engaging in "whataboutism." To one who accepts Moral Realism it is immediately clear why the question is valid though: the answer determines if the person is truly opposed to X or simply using it against those they don’t like, special pleading. Postmodernists simply believe whatever they need or want to at the time to support their own biases, not that X is actually immoral.
Our paper money is another example of stage 3, “pretense of reality.” The paper money system is entirely theoretical, in reality the paper is worth very, very little. It's just tied to this conceptual system that, were it to be cast aside, would make all cash meaningless paper. Stage 1 would be things like services, sustenance, shelter, useful things, symbols that were thought to impact reality, etc., objective things all people need. Stage 2 is illustrated by gold, we give it meaning beyond what it has, but it's a real thing with a limited amount of it in the world, you cannot get trillions in debt just printing new gold into existence as with stage 3 cash. And for stage 4+, what better example than NFTs and Bitcoin, or views, likes, and upvotes?
Social media gives us insight into the world of stage 4 / Postmodernism. All the big-name forums or social media platforms, as well as many smaller ones, are oversaturated with advertisements, these new religious symbols and their new valuable objects, to the point where advertisers choose which platforms or outlets survive and which crash and burn. Whole sites wield the power to silence dissenters of whichever ideologies they find unappealing. In many cases people are extremely limited in the number of characters they can use at once, making true discourse impossible. People live entirely fake lives to instill jealousy in others, who go on to lie to themselves and others as well, and groupthink is encouraged through voting systems which create hiveminds and drive out any independent thought. All these fit with Baudrillard’s fourth stage - none of this is reality. Consumerism is objectively less valuable than individuation and freedom, it is not a valid way to live life, it only wastes life, time, and resources. Human thought is not limited by a character count, this does not describe reality in any way, instead creating a new "reality" where any idea longer than a few sentences is a "word salad" and cannot hold one's attention. There are fewer and fewer "great thinkers," and they are not the ones being heard and viewed. The endless, manufactured, touched up selfies, vacations wasted taking pictures instead of living, time lost in the imagery rather than the real event - this is not objective reality. It not only rejects reality but twists and perverts it, replacing it with a manufactured (simulated) one.
Cancel culture is another unfortunate offspring of Postmodernist thought. Due to the power held and used by the creators and maintainers of all these stage 4 images and objects, "reality" is now defined by such entities. A famous actor was fired from all his roles including a massive franchise on mere accusations of abuse, before the crimes were even brought to court (where it turned out things were not so clear cut). If it can happen to a rich, beloved movie star, imagine what could happen to you. I am not suggesting you feel bad for a billionaire who helps fabricate reality, nor do I believe we have a great and trustworthy justice system in place. All I want to illustrate is how a mere accusation led to guilt and punishment because corporations and the more popular political party said they were guilty, and culture followed blindly, before it even reached the justice system at all. Even in cases where someone ends up being guilty, they cannot be found guilty before investigation and judgment. But this does not matter in a world where reality is whatever is most popular at the time.
All forms of media contribute to this, there is no longer any reality in culture outside of the images and realities created for us, created to distract us from this disturbing rejection of reality. Games, shows, movies, children’s content, fiction and non-fiction works, governments, news outlets… not every single individual instance of these may be wholly negative, but the positive ones are becoming more and more rare. I’ve found an interesting source of philosophy on this matter in the poetry of Jim Morrison, famously known as the singer of The Doors, whose father was all too familiar with the fabrication of reality. Morrison wrote about how the powers that be use content from films to museums (where we simulate history) and everything in between to blind citizens to their power over us, our values, even our own meanings regarding life. He feared that humans had become simple spectators, staring blankly into the screen, letting it write their reality for them. He even predicted the "meta" nature of our modern culture, where everything has become self-referential, filled with cameos and easter eggs, dead actors resurrected and old ones de-aged, because media-created reality is now the only reality. All it can reference is itself, lest it shatter the illusion or acknowledge reality. Just look at how our culture cannot even create new content, just remakes, sequels, shared universes, etc.
"There are no longer “dancers,” the possessed. The cleavage of men into actor and spectators is the central fact of our time. We are obsessed with heroes who live for us and whom we punish. If all the radios and televisions were deprived of their sources of power, all the books and paintings burned tomorrow, all shows and cinemas closed, all the arts of vicarious existence… We are content with the “given” in sensation’s quest. We have been metamorphosized from a mad body dancing on hillsides to a pair of eyes staring in the dark." - Jim Morrison
Another great example of postmodernism is the idea of secularism, that we can separate the public from the religious, or that there are actually people who have no religion whatsoever. This rejects the reality that religion applies to many aspects of life, that someone who is non-theistic or simply “spiritual” still is often religious. For example we can look to sports, where all sorts of weird rituals and ceremonies take place that have nothing to do with the layman understanding of religion, gods, the divine, etc, but are studied as such by religious scholars nonetheless. It can even tie back to the Disneyland example, such as how we pretend America is a secular country, or delude ourselves into thinking the hateful Atheism of France (or places like the USSR before it) is somehow not its own form of religion. In stage 1 we recognized there was no separating the spiritual and religious from daily life. Stage 2 keeps this mostly in place but twists it to fit monotheism. It's not until stage 3 that this really changes to keeping religion “private,” and stage 4 flips the whole thing on its head to where the state and corporations have become god, and the gods have become fantasy.
Postmodernism has even seeped into the WLHP to a great extent. For example, with the identification of the Christian entity Satan with all sorts of beings that have no correlation to him. The Satanist who says that The Devil is Setesh, the Serpent, Prometheus, or any other such deity is placing objective reality on the backburner in favor of a popular cultural meme - that all these beings are Satan, despite their histories, characteristics, mythologies, etc. It is Postmodernism which allows certain groups from the late 1900s to claim absurd things like being the first and only Satanists with no regard for objective reality, or which allows organizations to claim the title of Romantic Satanists when their values and acts fly in the face of that literary movement. It's why people who think they are on the WLHP can still fall for things like Physicalism against all evidence and reason. It's how occultists can create completely made up identities for themselves that, even after being exposed as fraudulent, are still parroted blindly by their followers. And in a wider sense it applies to modern polytheism overall, where new age, fluff bunny occultists come in changing polytheism to monotheism, or saying all male and female goddesses are just a manifestation of duo-theism. There is no escaping Postmodern irrationality.
Our symbols of the divine, of deeper spiritual meanings and truths, of a reality beyond this one, have all been replaced with corporate logos, meme templates, and easter eggs. Like me, many others also have altars in every room of the house, their altars are simply shrines to brands, consumer content, companies, political parties, famous actors, etc. The utility of an object no longer defines it, but instead it is the fabricated social status a thing is supposed to create, such as an uncomfortable designer chair being ten times the cost of a more comfortable and practical one. If your car can reliably get you place to place, but isn’t sporting the right hood ornament, or a fresh coat of paint, all the fancy add ons and a high floor price, then the object simply is not as valuable as if it had these entirely unnecessary things, and therefore the individual themselves is judged as less valuable. Two identical shirts can vary in price by hundreds of dollars based solely on the name printed on the tag inside. All of these values are entirely manufactured and completely detached from objective reality.
Perhaps worst of all is that people and objects have become harder to tell apart, as best exemplified with celebrities. They are fake people with false personalities who we are supposed to see as the ideal human beings. All of their flaws are edited and filtered out, and then we are condemned for not being on par. To postmodern companies, the individual is literally just an object to be used as a means to an end, a cog in a machine rather than an individual with needs, goals, drives, etc. Politicians are themselves celebrities now, and I do not only mean literal actors running for office, but rather that people cheer for them like they do a rock star, consume their media like it is a drug, defend them as if they were their favorite comic character… What gives these politicians and celebrities their power? An association with the new system of symbols and objects of value, the system which disregards reality all together in order to encourage things like Consumerism and obedience.
Postmodernism has an influence over almost every aspect of our lives. It encourages people to believe any fleeting thing they want, or more often are told to want, is of foremost importance or value. It allows constant advertising to empty us of any "inconvenient" meaning or value and fill the void with Consumerism and material things, or to fill it with work lives that are ultimately pointless and amount to nothing more than some conceptual material wage (money itself not even being "real"). The value of objects defines and overtakes the value of the individual. A disregard for objectivity means a disregard for the scientific method itself, allowing science to become a process of authoritarianism at worst and democracy at best, a process of media propaganda rather than a quest for truth. Whatever facts benefit the high-object-value people and the symbols they associate with are true, and facts which do not are false, being able to change at the drop of a hat as needed.
Postmodernism is clearly the natural outcome of our move from profound reality to a fabricated simulation of reality created to control, stifle, and subdue human beings… an immoral and dangerous metaphysics too blind to see that without any objective reality nobody can ever be correct, including themselves.

Just feeling a little proud and wanted to share! I started taking agility lessons last spring with one of my Standard Poodles, so am a bit of a newbie to the sport.
Recently I decided to train my Belgian Tervuren on weaves for his advanced trick dog title (not sure if we'll do agility trials in the future, but we'll see). Anyway, this is where we are currently - 4 straight poles! I know to take things slow with plenty of rest days since this is taxing on the spine, and I'm excited to see his gradual progress.
Thanks for reading! 🙂

So happy to report that this is an absolutely BANGING album. Incredible start to finished. Personally, I’d say it’s their best work post come around sundown (that being said, I love all albums). So I decided to make a new notes about each song
Ballerina radio - wow…just wow. Incredible way to open the album. The production on this song stands out. Hints of “daydreaming” by radiohead in the beginning. Jaret’s charging bass in the beginning sets it off.
Rainbow ball - Great song. I totally love the vibe on this one, in particular the lyrics . The production on this is incredible
Nowhere to run - Easily one of the best songs on the album. I can see why they’ve been teasing this one as a single. The song puts you through many different emotions. When Caleb belts out “nowhere to run” followed by the change in tempo is addictive as hell. 3/4 way through the song, the melody changes but fits perfectly as they bring it back at the end.
Mustang - Great song. This one calls back to their earlier days with simplistic, but catchy guitar riffs. Catchy chorus. Overall a great song
Actual daydream - Slow build but again, very well produced. Around the 45 second mark, Matthew and Jaret bring the song to life with catchy riffs that give it a country indie vibe
Split screen - I’ll be completely honest…I wasn’t overly sold on this song when it first came out. It did grow on me. After listening to the entirety of the album start to finish and seeing how it fits into the playlist, I’m a big fan of it now. It really showcases how much depth is on this album
Don’t stop the bleeding - beings very slow and melodic. Hearing the backup vocals belt “don’t stop the bleeding” gives me chills. It’s a bit slow, like split screen, but nonetheless packs lots of energy and emotion.
Nothing to do - perfect placement for a song after split screen and don’t stop the bleeding. Chaotic post punk vibe with high energy. I really love the fact that Caleb was willing to be crazy with the vocals, especially when you hear a bit of that voice cracking. Great song.
M Television- At this time…this song is a tie for best song on the record, next to nowhere to run. If this makes sense…it gives me a bit of california waiting vibes. Love the lyrics. Might be one of the best chorus on the album
Hesitation gen - such a fun and uplifting song. Reminds me a bit of echoing in that aspect. I picture myself skipping through a park on a sunny day when listening to this 😂 love it
Ease on me - Again, completely blown away by the depth on this album . This one slows things down a bit with a nice beach sounding country tune…if that makes sense. It doesn’t sound like muchacho but it’s got a similar vibe. Sounds like a song If you fused come around sundown with mechanical bull.
Seen - This song totally kicked my ass and it wasn’t what I was expecting for an album closer. Very dark and somber in all the right ways at the beginning but then picks up when Caleb sings the first line “there’s a home up on the hillside” very visual song and I loved every second of it. At the 1:38 mark you’ll hear backup vocals (can’t quite make out the exact words) that is arguably the best backup vocals on any of the last 4 kings of Leon albums.
ENDING REMARKS - very very happy with this album. Was well worth the wait. I think fans from every KOL era will find something to love and obsess over on this album. Kid Harpoon did an incredible job with these guys and it shows. Notably, Caleb was much more “free” on this album and didn’t appeared to be “hidden” like he might’ve been on WYSYS.
What do you guys think?

^{3rd Moon, 6 AC}
Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.
So the rhythm goes within the hearts of Arryn lances, within the wooden cores of those pieces from that stupid Essosi game. Aye, so was Ronnel Arryn's own bloody heart thumping when he lead his first charge, when he snuck out of the Gates of the Moon to gather what boys he knew and push back the wildlings calling themselves the Sons of the Tree.
Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.
It was not just his own heart. It was the click of hooves against mud, the roar of riders in the wind. But a boy then, he still yelled the loudest, sat astride a galloping courser in the thick of battle and held.
Ronnel saw it true, he saw it all clearly when he was atop Vhagar, freer every time Visenya allowed him the escape: his lands, draped in the tranquil blue shine of the sky and brushed with green. Out of the thickets emerged castles, keeps and holdfasts buttressed the ridges, leagues of rolling fields dotted with towns and villages filled with His. People. To. Protect. That fact was doubly stressed when they veered too close to the margins of that tapestry, over snowy mountain peaks and to crueler lands nestled near the throat of the world. Sparse smoke, fires that burned bright in the night. Camps of warriors, not the hamlets of smallfolk.
Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.
He scouted. Laid the ambush, stakes and carts blocking the entrance to the valley while his men ascended up goat tracks. His gyrfalcon nearly gave them away, but by some stroke of luck, the wildlings were none the wiser. He was at the heart of the formation, leading his men when they crashed down the hillside. And he won.
Why, then, did that victory amount to naught when he looked at the knight slumped against a tree stump, gripping the earth in one hand while he struggled to get up? It wasn’t supposed to be like this. A smaller camp of raiders, easy to scatter, easy to defeat.
And here sat a man dying.
Ronnel Arryn knelt by his side. “A maester,” he said, “We can get—Jonos, get Harmune!”
The knight shook his head, before he raised up his sword-hand, slowly, weakly, plied by wheezing as he spoke a scarce few words.
The gyrfalcon cried when the blade landed on Ronnel’s shoulder.
“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.”
“In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just...”
^{12th Moon, 24 AC}
To hunt was to grip the wilds by their heart, squeeze till they bore fruit, to rule, truly, unfettered by the domain of words and compromises. There was respect to be shown to the creatures they slew, of course, and honorable conduct, and, and… the heady rush of victory could not be as potent without such trappings.
And by the seven above, he needed it. The Eyrie had taken on a much more different chord after the white raven had arrived and sparse snows began to blanket the courtyards. Dreary. Sullen, almost. The windows offered a peek into dark clouds and rain and freezing rain instead of valleys covered by a sheer blanket. It was not all bad. The hearthfires roared, the children—all except Robar—liked the snowfall well enough, and some quiet could be found, though that slipped away more often than not. Fur-laden lords and ladies were oft more straightforward, Ronnel found, when that hint of winter settled into minds and coated their words. No longer did he have to listen to lengthy, summery addresses.
Or he’d just conjured that story up to glean some good from the bad. It made no matter. Small comforts while they all waited for winter.
Beneath that, however, was a sense of… gnawing. A wait for the next raven, so that they might finally move down to the Gates at the perfect moment. Decreed by tradition, it was a week after Alyssa’s Tears slowed in their descent, but he grew impatient. Shook his leg up and down when holding court, and stilled that tic when Serena called.
It was with a deep exhale that Ronnel met the news of quarry. Good enough distraction. The huntsmen departed that night, and at dawn, a cast of hawks descended, first to Sky by way of the handholds, then meeting with the guides and their mules at Snow. Ronnel took the fore, his uncle Cortnay grumbled as he looked down the ledge, Cousin Denys was still half-asleep, and Marq Hardyng nudged him awake when he threatened to fall off his mule. A trio of handlers led them down the path to the Gates. Their leader in Maryam the Harelip gave glares and instructions to the servants, and quick nods when the Arryns spoke to her.
“Good weather today,” Marq noted idly.
“Good weather? We’re like to have supper at Stone at this pace.” replied Ronnel, the wind battering his voice. “Come on. Uncle, wake Denys up properly.”
Over the horizon were flocks of birds soaring over the valleys, villages beneath that looked like specks of dust, peaks of mountains caked in frost that reached out into the heavens. The Lord of the Eyrie could swear that he saw Vhagar somewhere in the shadow of the Giant’s Lance. Still, under his breath, Ronnel cursed the King Roland for the blight that was this descent. Such a mighty castle did he call his seat, but every love suffered some pitfalls.
Soon enough, they sighted the Gates of the Moon, and relief washed over them. They could make it in time… provided that they could attend to other obligations swiftly. Ronnel coughed twice as he dismounted.
Cavaliers, spearmen, and soldiers in sky-blue cloaks hailed them at the gates, and Ronnel had a mind to head right for the stables—before one face caught his attention. The man standing by the walls bowed then rose, halberd in hand.
“I know you.” Ronnel pointed a finger at him, the surprise clear in his tone. “Theron.”
“Theron of the Lungcatch!” Marq added with a chuckle. “Unhorsed Sers Donnerly and Shett in their heyday! A victory to remember.”
“The Tourney at Crossmont. Damn good show, but their prime was a year before then,” Ronnel objected, “before Donnerly caught that blow to the head and Shett went into his cups.” He spared a glance toward his cousin, the man’s eyes yet closed. “Best listen well, Denys! If you want to be half as good a jouster as this man.”
Cousin Denys shook himself awake, but his father interrupted before he could speak.
“My lord,” said Cortnay as he climbed down from his mule. “Perhaps we should visit with Mother sooner rather than later.”
Ronnel looked at his uncle for a beat before clapping Theron on the shoulder. “You earned your spurs then, aye? What’s happened since?”
Marq approached as well. “I heard you joined the Four-and-Forty. Could scarcely believe it, sorry lot that they are.” A few of the Cavaliers around them snickered at that.
Ronnel responded with a click of his tongue. “Enough of that.” Rivalries between the knightly orders, however friendly, were best cut off quickly.
Where Theron was straight-backed before, his stance eased when the lord met him with familiarity. “Thank you, milord. You know how it is; times change, horses and lances are too much of a rush when you’ve a family to feed. I served at the Bloody Gate for eight years, and the Keeper was gracious enough to name me a serjeant when I was transferred here.”
Another approached from the courtyard, a woman donning a gambeson with the badge of the Cavaliers sewn into it. “My lord,” she said with a bow. She motioned to the Falcon Tower, where the Queen Cynthea’s chambers and solar lay. She was awake, then.
“Right, right. Theron—you’ll come with us to the hunt. Take a horse from the stables. In fact,” Ronnel motioned over to a side. “Denys! Get this man a courser. Which one did you say was spirited last time, Hardyng?”
“Shade would do well enough,” Marq advised. With a sigh, Denys beckoned the serjeant over with him and trudged toward the stables.
So too were the remaining three—Ronnel, Marq, and Cortnay—escorted to the Falcon Tower. Before entering the Queen Grandmother’s solar, Ronnel and Cortnay near-interrogated a servant about her well-being. He replied with a nonchalant “same as always,” and the three were shown inside.
Myrish carpets and spring colors covered the room, while new oaken tables and baubles to decorate them were scattered about. The Queen Cynthea was nestled between cushions on a couch, her companion Jeyne sitting to her side. “Too bitter,” Cynthea muttered as she raised a spoonful of soup and took a sip. Her expression turned sour. A thin circlet rested on her brow, wrought of red gold and studded with garnets. The gold and the gems glistened as sunlight seeped into the room.
“Your Grace,” declared Ronnel as he stepped in. He gave a bow and placed a kiss on her outstretched hand.
“Still so courteous, Ron.” Cynthea looked him over before she waved over a servant. “Bring some tea!”
“Marq Hardyng. Come, come closer, boy. The beast next to you can wait.” Marq obliged while Cortnay grunted and took a seat. Cynthea pinched Marq’s cheek. “Look at him, hair on his chin and all. In Oswell’s time the men wore mustaches to imitate their king. I suppose it’s beards now.” That took on a note of disappointment.
“They all look so disheveled with them,” sighed Jeyne.
Cynthea continued. “Ronnel told me you went to the Free Cities. Was it Braavos? You know, when you were but a boy…”
Despite the delay, Ronnel found some comfort as he settled into a seat and the tea was brought. Cynthea continued conversing with Marq for a time, and Hardyng was poked at by questions from her companion as well.
“Ronnel,” Grandmother turned back to him. “How has the child been?”
“Robar?” Ronnel asked and offered a smile. He knew the answer already. “Artos? Or…”
“My daughter. Cynthea. Even Rowena and Arwen don’t visit me enough. Must you deprive me of my namesake too?”
“Do you remember that volume on wyverns you gifted her? She’s collected three of those books now. Scarcely even read them. Too taken with dragons, she is, though ice dragons have been close competition of late. She’s not wont to leave the Eyrie unless Vhagar flies her down. But,” he shrugged, “Serena would hardly allow that.”
“Dreadful creatures.” Cynthea said, aghast. “She’s right. I told your mother not to let you and your siblings fly at all, lest you think yourselves too lofty for us common folk.” With a scoff, she turned her eyes then to Cortnay.
The conversation shifted. By Grandmother’s mention of ‘that one’, Ronnel knew that they were speaking of Visenya. Something about banners and colors, blue-and-white and red-and-black. He drank down the tea while his thoughts once more drifted to the hunt. Plans to corner the boar at first, but then, something else. A thought that he couldn’t quite place a finger on.
With a lull in talk came another look from Grandmother. “Your brother stopped by earlier.”
Ronnel furrowed his brows. “Roland?”
“Would he come by without your knowing? No.” Cynthea wrinkled her nose. Jonos, then. “He brought his gyrfalcon with him. Have you seen it? A graceful bird, silver and dappled with black, but he boasted so much about it. It’s unbecoming, you know.”
Fucking Jonos.
Why was he here and not at the Bloody Gate?
“I’m sure he’s just proud of that raptor. I’ll talk to him.” Ronnel slowly rose to his feet. “But I’m afraid we must leave. We’ll be back soon enough, I promise. Our cook at the Eyrie,” he looked over to Cortnay, “send for him. I can’t let you settle for bitter soup, grandmother.”
Where they might have japed and drank before on this same rutted road, there was nothing of the sort now. Ronnel was sore angry, and the dozen riders that left the Gates of the Moon knew it well enough. There would be no tales of some bygone tourney, nor of a winesink they’d frequented in the days before the obligations mounted. Ronnel felt a scraping within his ribs, some itch that would not abate.
Once the dirt path turned and went deeper into the forest, they had arrived at the hunting grounds. He saw people there. His own hunters and trackers, and several that stood out, all gathered around tables and horses, and—a tent, blue and white with the livery of House Arryn.
They went to hail him as he climbed down his horse, but he held up a hand. There was that fucking bird, silver-and-black and perched with a hood on its head. As he drew closer, he heard voices from within the pavilion. Jonos’ voice.
“...Why, Lord Egen told me so himself. Lazy Lyn’s bed is barren, his head full of doubts, but he’s too much of a craven to speak such ‘treasons’ in public.” A snort of a chuckle. “This queen of theirs is listless, and her dragon grows weaker and fatter by the day. Why, then, must falcons limit their flight when we can soar so much higher?”
“A toast! To the—”
So soon as the tent opened did Ronnel throw a punch for his brother; caught unawares and already in his cups by the smell of him, Jonos reeled and hissed. Ronnel tugged on his arm to pull him outside.
“THERON!” Once the serjeant ran over, Ronnel swept a hand over the handful sitting about the tent. “Take them to the Gates. OUT, ALL OF YOU!”
When Theron took them outside, Ronnel’s attention turned to his damnable brother.
“Why are you here? Hm? Who gave you leave.” That was not a question. Ronnel paced about his brother. “You’ve spat on all that I’ve done for you. All the chances, all the posts and duties that I’ve afforded to you as my fucking blood—and you look at me not with respect, but envy. A gyrfalcon?!” A pause. Jonos knew what he meant. Ronnel raised his arms wide. “Is this what you do now? The old man turns his ear away, so you wring what dissent you can from your ranks of lickspittles and gutter knights?! You should thank the bloody gods that I did not hear more from you.”
“Are we ridding ourselves of pretense?” Jonos put in. “Fine. What of you, brother? So much do you give our enemy. Lands aplenty for her dragon to sully, a castle whole to hold her and her twisted brood, and you bow to an empty fucking throne for her sake. Is it so much that I ask to what end? How much more will you let them take? The Gates? The Eyrie? Or perhaps she’d ask for Robar’s head next. You’d assent, wouldn’t you?”
In a trice, a brawl had started with another blow from Ronnel—Jonos put up a fight, but the retainers quickly intervened to restrain the man from striking their lord.
“PICK A FUCKING SPEAR UP!” Ronnel yelled. “Bring him a spear. BRING HIM A SPEAR!”
All of those around them hushed. The Lord of the Eyrie took a boar spear in hand and marched into the forest. Jonos was not far behind.
Through the afternoon, the pair trudged over the undergrowth, ducking beneath fallen trees and pausing to examine tracks. Not a word was exchanged. Only glares when their eyes met.
The sun had approached the horizon when they heard the first noises. Their steps slowed, Ronnel cocked his head about to seek out the quarry. The clearing ahead looked to be the source of the growls.
When they stepped into the glade, Ronnel and Jonos exchanged a look. Jonos stepped on a branch; a crack resounded. Ronnel made to approach his brother, Jonos flinched, drew his spear closer—just as he did, the boar erupted squealing from a bush, he lunged, and…
The pork leg was skewered, sizzling and crackling when it was placed over the fire.
Night had fallen by the time that the maester arrived. Harmune appeared with his apprentice and boxes upon boxes of herbs in tow. Ronnel had not asked for his presence, but with the pain that erupted from the slash on his shoulder, he could not turn him away either.
“A clean cut,” Harmune remarked, otherwise silent as he worked to cleanse the wound and wrap it with linen.
The Lord of the Vale occupied a campfire alone, while the others had dispersed along the hunting grounds. Jonos was there, in the corner of Ronnel’s vision, flanked by Theron and another blue-cloaked guard.
The coughs had returned. Not too many. Not too consuming. But they were there, lingering, and Ronnel felt the scratch within his lungs worsening the more he held it in.
Once the wound was bandaged, Harmune waved his apprentice off and began. “My lord… I’ve consulted the tomes and exchanged correspondence with the Citadel. My previous reckoning was wrong. But I must needs examine your breathing again to come to a conclusion.”
Ronnel supposed it was time enough. “Not consumption, then?”
Harmune placed a hand on the Arryn’s chest. “I don’t believe so… breathe in?”
An inhale. An exhale. A cough. Then another, and another, each more hacking than the last. Ronnel’s hand went up.
The maester drew away. Focused 0n the fire, Ronnel could not discern the man’s expression. He would not hear the next words, either, but he sensed the shift in tone, the absence of a ‘take these herbs and drink that poultice’.
There were senses that he missed. The wind battering against his face as he clutched onto Vhagar’s saddle. High above, as high as honor and the gods, though nothing but the dirt underneath his riding boots truly made him feel free now.
The fire-given glow grew. The heat scorched.
To what end? What bloody end would he meet, would his family meet, would the whole kingdom meet?
There was nothing to the future but Fire and Blood and all the rotten fruits that Aegon had left behind. He felt an anger welling inside of him. Not the same kind of feeling that he’d felt when Jonos grew too truculent. It was something foreign, blade-sharp, pinpointed.
“...no more than a year.”
Silence filled the air. The flames danced.
Ronnel spoke.
“Do you remember that one—what was it, a story? The riddle that you used to tell us?”
Harmune puzzled a brow. “Which one, my lord?”
“You know the one,” Ronnel insisted, “the one about… mountains, something of the sort. You know. I never understood that one.”
“Ah,” the maester squinted, “I’ve forgotten the exact wording. Lord Jonos asked me to retell it many a time when he was poorly with fever. The first winter after Aegon’s landing, I believe…?”
Ronnel nodded twice. “He pestered me about it for days. Came up with near a hundred different answers, the halfwit. None fit. What the fuck was it?”
The wizened man gave a small shrug in response, the chains about his neck rattling as he did. “He asked me for a riddle. I could not think of one…” A pause. “I suppose there was no answer.”
The Defender of the Guarded Domains grunted to dismiss the maester. He held his hand up before the fire. Clenched it into a fist. Opened his palm, then observed as the smeared red droplets within winked under the light.

Dear Reddit, I hate to retell this experience I had as a child please be patient as I’m still trying to cope with my experiences and everything that’s happened to me in the year 1990.
Far up North in the wilderness in a small cottage with my grandma and brother Jack. There in the Summer time, I remember me and my brother would play at the nearest hillside east of the house close to the brush near our house surrounded by towering trees that seemed to whisper secrets with every rustle of their leaves. Little did we know, those whispers would soon turn into screams.
The locals warned us about the Blind Man, a serial killer who supposedly roamed the valley, preying on unsuspecting victims under the cover of darkness. They spoke of his empty eyes, devoid of sight but filled with an insatiable hunger for blood.
At first, we brushed off their warnings as nothing more than local folklore, but as strange occurrences began to plague our days and nights, we couldn't ignore the feeling that something sinister lurked in the shadows.
It started with whispers echoing through the trees, faint at first but growing louder and more sinister with each passing day. My brother and I would wake in the dead of night to the sound of footsteps outside our window, only to find no one there when we dared to look.
Then came the nightmares - vivid, haunting visions of a figure cloaked in darkness, its eyes as black as the void, reaching out to drag us into the abyss. We'd wake in a cold sweat, our hearts pounding in our chests, unable to shake the feeling of dread that hung over us like a shroud.
But the worst was yet to come.
One fateful night, we heard the unmistakable sound of a struggle coming from the depths of the forest. Against our better judgment, we ventured out into the darkness, following the desperate cries for help that echoed through the trees.
What we found still haunts me to this day - a grisly scene bathed in moonlight, the lifeless bodies of the Blind Man's victims strewn across the forest floor like discarded dolls. And there, lurking in the shadows, was the Blind Man himself, his eyes fixed on us with an intensity that sent shivers down our spines.
We fled, running faster than we ever thought possible, the echoes of his laughter following us through the night. Somehow, we made it back to the safety of our cottage, but the terror of that encounter would stay with us long after we left the valley behind.
To this day, I can't shake the feeling that the Blind Man is still out there, waiting in the darkness, his empty eyes watching, waiting for his next victim.
So, to anyone who dares to venture into the valley of trees, beware the legend of the Blind Man. For in the darkness, where the whispers grow loud and the shadows come alive, there are horrors beyond imagining waiting to claim their prey.

I have an epileptic Belgian Tervuren who has recently decided he isn't afraid of water. We went for his first "real" swim today (ie. He didn't retreat when his paws didnt touch the ground), and for his safety I had him fitted with a life jacket and a long lead which I held from shore so that I can easily access him in event of emergency.
I am concerned that the long leash itself may be risky. The leash clip on the vest is at his shoulders, which sometimes caused the leash to wrap around his legs. I checked his limbs for tangles before tossing the stick, and had to untangle him about 3/4 of the time. He generally would get tangled while at or very near shore; I noticed no issues when he was deep enough to swim. I developed a process for "casting and reeling in" my dog that minimized risk, but it's cumbersome and not perfect. The best way was to keep all of the leash away from his feet, and the leash section nearest the clip above him. But a wet 30 ft leash it does get bulky to hold up and maneuver.
I am not a fan of retractable leads due to risk of equipment failure, loss of control, and other horror stories. However, I'm wondering if this scenario might merrit a heavy-duty model. Throw the stick/toy into the water and get the dog back with no tangles. I imagine I'd have to hold it up well above the dog to prevent it wrapping his legs during takeoff from the beach, especially given that getting caught in a retractable cord leash is much more serious than a softer wider leash. The water resistance slowing my dog's movement should also be enough to prevent line snapping.
I'm hoping you can share your thoughts or experiences on using a durable retractable leash specifically for the purpose of shoreside fetch sessions. Or is the safest option still the long lead? It is not an option to send him into water without a life vest or leash.
This will generally be for lake or inlet swimming without things to get caught on, but occassionally rivers that could have more debris.

Neighbors behind/above us just got an absolutely massive behemoth new RV that they love to pull up right at the very edge of their property so the RV is maybe a foot max away from the fence. We live on a hillside and are worried about the RV damaging our shared retaining wall and causing some sort of landslide or something.
It is right behind/above our kids room and if anything were to ever happen and it were to go over the retaining wall it would for sure crash straight into their room. We just moved here recently and don’t know a lot about the place or the retaining wall that currently exists.
From the ground to the drawn red line in the pic linked below it is a pretty intense slope, maybe 65 or 70 degrees, then maybe a 15 or 20 degree incline up to the retaining wall. The retaining wall itself seems like it is in good condition, it looks like it’s maybe 8-10 inches thick, is maybe 6-7 feet above ground, no idea how deep down it goes into the ground or if it has any additional structural supports. The soil itself is mostly clay with lots of slate rock.
Any insight or help you can provide Reddit would be greatly appreciated, we’re really concerned about having our kids sleep in that room because of it!
Here is a pic: https://imgur.com/a/MDJ2f7t

Episode 4: Everyone Dies Renovating

Tonight! Four new homeowners discover a new tenant that doesn’t want to leave. Will their home values drop as the ancient terrors arise? Yes!
DM - Gina DeVivo Elly (Half-Elf Barbarian) - Saige Ryan Marnie (Half-Orc Barbarian) - Aabria Iyengar Mia (Wood Elf Paladin) - Paula Deming Mya (Wood Elf Warlock) - Josephine McAdam Purple Worm (BBEG) - Matthew Lillard
We open on a misty hillside. There are forests lining each side. It is Golden Hour. It steeps our entire scene in a glowy charming light. We see a set of ruins. It’s old and abandoned. You’re walking along it’s grounds taking in its potential, its possibility. Elly, your hand drapes along the wall as you imagine what it could be. As it trails up, we see you daydreaming about your new property. You all sit down on the floor together with a blanket…You sense a small rumble. You hear a snap just beneath your feet.

Ariana and Sandoval’s house and Ariana’s new house (Timestamp: 1:12:11) - Amanda: Something I'm dying to know is, it's been such a contentious topic on Vanderpump Rules this season, kind of like the money about the house and the authors and also the furniture. What are you kind of able to share from kind of your more expert perspective? - Lucinda: Yeah. So what I will say, and I don't want to speak for Ariana, but I'll speak to what I know. So what that he has put something forward now that's going to delay things even more. - Either Ann or Amanda say What?! - Lucinda: That's what I was told. I think. I'm not really sure she explained it to me. And I said, what is that? - Ann: Can I throw a theory? - Lucinda: I feel like I know a lot and I didn't know what it was. - Ann: Yeah - Lucinda: I was like, what's that? I have not talked to him. I've avoided him. The closest I've gotten to him was that day that we filmed when he was upstairs and I was downstairs. - Ann: Can we talk about that too? - Lucinda: The day that we filmed. Yeah, The day of my scene a couple episodes ago, when I was in the house going over the inventory with Ariana, was the same day that Ann was fired. And the same day as the water tasting. - Lucinda: And the day before, or two days before, we were supposed, Ariana and I were supposed to film, and you and Ariana were supposed to film, and he was not there. And that's the day that Maya got rushed to the hospital. So I showed up to film. - Ann: Yeah. - Lucinda: Ann was there. She was like, Ariana just left because Maya had to go to the vet. And all the crew was all there. We were all waiting, hoping like she was going to come back. We waited for like an hour. And they were like, we're just going to reschedule, you know, come back in a couple of days. - Ann: Once the vet did the x ray and saw all this stuff in Maya's tummy. Yeah. It was like, oh, we're going to have to pump. - Lucinda: Maya's wild. - Ann: Oh, Maya's so wild. I fucking miss her so much. - Lucinda: Oh, I got to see her the other day. In her new house! In her new yard! You know what? I feel like the scene that I was in didn't really well convey, like, why I was there. So why I was there was because she had asked me to make a list of all the things that they had bought - Ann: Right - Lucinda: Which I had. Because I have all the receipts. - Ann: Yes. - Lucinda: Receipts, proof - Ann: Timeline - Lucinda and Amanda: Screenshots - Lucinda: I have it all. So, and the way that, you know, a lot of their stuff was bought was he would buy stuff, she would buy stuff. Like, they didn't have like a joint account that we bought things from. And when I was doing that, because we had had like a phone call that was on a previous episode, and I had just kind of made a list of everything that I was giving to her attorney. So people were like, why are you getting involved? - Ann: Because it's your job. - Lucinda: Well, I was asked and I wanted to. - Ann: Yeah. And also you're friends with Ariana - Amanda: You're the one who knows, like you have the receipts, like you just have the information. It makes sense to go to the person with the information. - Lucinda: So anyway, I went over to go over things with her so that she could pass those on to her attorney because what she wanted to do, and I think it was revealed in the after show, and I don't really watch the after show, but I need to. I've seen a couple. - Lucinda: And what she wanted to do was, in her counter offer to his, we'll call it an offer to buy a house, she was proposing that they donate all of the furniture that they had bought together. - Ann: Love - Lucinda: To a woman’s shelter - Ann: Love - Lucinda: Which is a lovely thing to do - Ann: Because she’s lovely - Ann: Yes - Lucinda: And we knew, we knew he was going to lose his mind because he's so attached to like things. Like the fact that she bought that mirror and he thinks he bought it. The receipt says she bought it. The receipt says she bought it. It’s right there. And he was saying on the after show that we went together and we bought it together. And that is true. We were shopping him and I that day, but… - Ann: It's on her card. - Lucinda: It's on her card. It’s hers - Ann: Yeah she paid for it - Lucinda: So I told her that she should take the mirror and put it in her room. And that's going to be her gym mirror. I don't know if she will. - Lucinda: So there's a lot of things in the house, because for the most part, they didn't really have anything that we didn't buy for them as designers. So I don't know if she's going to take, and I told her, I was like, I think it's okay to bring some of the things into this new house. I said, you're in a good mindset. Who fucking cares? - Lucinda: But she is moved into her new house for the most part, but the old house is kind of still the way it is. Like she hasn't really taken anything out of there yet. - Ann: Oh, out of the bedroom? - Lucinda: Mmhmm - Ann: Oh, that's tough. - Lucinda: So the new house is we're working on it now. - Ann: Yay! - Lucinda: It’s super cute - Ann: I saw pictures. It's beautiful. - Lucinda: It's like a hillside home. - Amanda: Oh, my god - Lucinda: So much charm again, flippers that should be in jail, but I'm going to fix that. Yeah, I'm going to fix that. Yeah. So she's you know, she's excited. We're excited. We're going to have some really cool stuff
***end of recap