So I had this dreams about a black cat who was in my estranged grandparents house. And for some reason I was terrified of him.
Which is very weird because I love cats. I have 2 cats myself, one of them is black actually. But the black cat in my dream was not mine. Also at first there was no reasons to be scared of him, he looked normal and not threatening.
But still « dream me » was horrified by his simple presence. I could feel myself paralysed by fear the first time I laid eyes on him.
The cat was coming to me slowly but surely. The moment he was in my reach I try to kill him. The blow should have been fatal, I struck a dagger straight to his neck, but as if nothing happened he continues to walk. The only difference was blood pouring from his neck. So I kept trying to kill him. He kept refusing to die and slowly walk to me without a sound. The only difference was the evidences of my brutality. He was missing a eye, his entrails where showing and one his legs was skinned.
I was woke up by fear,it’s like I was so afraid I had a small heart attack. And what’s weird I usually forget my dreams or my nightmare when I woke up. But I can’t seem to forget this one.
So I don’t know… seems somewhat meaningful. What should I make of it do you think? Or maybe I make something out of nothing?

I have migraines with aura, and I also get tension headaches. I also suffer from CVS AKA cyclic vomiting syndrome. Sometimes, a wonderful ( Obviously sarcasm) combination of both , called a mixed tension migraine with aura.
I do take rizatriptan if it's only a Migraine with aura . I also have promethazine oral and suppositories if I'm also having nausea and vomiting, or if I'm in a cycle of my CVS. But I also have fiorcet with codeine and 5 mg Valium that I take if I'm having a tension Migraine or a delightful ( Once again, sarcasm.) Mixed tension Migraine with aura. As well as numerous other health issues to the point I'm almost always in pain.
I am blessed to have an absolutely amazing primary care dr who also suffers from mixed tension migraines, so he knows exactly what I'm going through. So, I'm able to get my desperately needed medications from him instead of pain management or a neurologist.
But , in all honesty, I am blessed because I have amazing, i.e., very expensive, private family insurance. I pay a ton for it every month , so I'm sure this helps ! It is an absolute necessity for my child and I to have very good health insurance due to my health history.
I have a history of ovarian and cervical cancer. DVT blood clots, ( which I currently have 3 in my left arm, diagnosed after extensive imaging less than 11 days ago . Which they're guessing this time , that they're from a combo of laparoscopic surgery, plus my blood clotting disorder) last time I had 2 DVT blood clots , 1 in my arm , 1 in my leg from they're guessing , a combo of my blood clotting disorder plus IVF medications .
This led to pulmonary embolism twice in 2021, ( while undergoing IVF, thankfully, before my FET ) 1x before being in the hospital and then again while in the hospital.
I also unfortunately have 47 different severe allergies , some to food , medications, and different environmental factors , think animal dander, pollen, bee stings etc ( most of which are anaphylactic reactions), a rare blood clotting disorder which led to 11 miscarriages and 3 late term losses. As well as adenomyosis, endometriosis, severe stomach bleeding, uterine fibroids, Nonneoplastic polyps in my colon, diverticulitis, obviously migraines with aura and mixed tension migraines, tension headaches, CVS AKA cyclic vomiting syndrome, severe insomnia , anxiety. ( which , duh, look at my health history)
I was also in a devastating car wreck when I was 7, which left me in a coma for 13 months . I've had surgery on both shoulders twice, 4 times on my right ankle, and numerous other surgeries.
I also , after having an emergency c section due to a placental abruption at 31 weeks with my son . I then ended up having severe postpartum hemorrhage and sepsis 7 days later due to the on call dr leaving a piece of my placenta inside me ! ( I had to be admitted to the hospital , thank goodness it was the same hospital that my son had been transferred to because they had a level 4 NICU . The hemorrhage also resulted in me having to have blood and iron infusions numerous times . I also have the BRCA Gene 1 & 2 , an immediate family history of colon cancer and breast cancer, as well as AML AKA acute myeloid leukemia. Heart disease and numerous others.
I once semi jokingly said to my PCP ( primary care provideDr), do you ever get the feeling that God is trying to take you out ? Because it feels like that to me, lol . Being the absolutely amazing Dr that he is , he said , he's not trying to take you out , he's just showing/proving (to) you how strong and resilient you are. He has amazing things for you in the future ❤️ Sorry this was so long ! I didn't realize how long it was going to be !

Hi,
Last Friday I tried invoking King Pazuzu for the first time. Here’s how it went.
I went out earlier that day and cut him some different wildflowers for a bouquet (forget-me-nots, wild apple blossoms, etc..) and then before the ritual I made him a “bloody” hot chocolate with red food dye. A few days before I collected some wild clay and made a makeshift amulet of him. I placed my offerings, along with a candle, his seal, his amulet, and a piece of paper with my saliva and the tiniest smear of my blood on it. I sat down, lit the candle, and repeated his enn (sometimes out loud, sometimes in my head) for about 15-20 minutes. After that I asked him to make the candle flicker if he was there. It flickered on and off for the rest of the ritual. I asked him for his protection and confidence. I could definitely feel his presence. I had made a point of drinking a lot of water leading up to the ritual as I have heard that he can be very drying. I even had a glass of water I sipped on during the ritual. Despite this, my lips got REALLY dry and I got a decent crack in them that’s just healed. Beyond that, nothing crazy happened. I plan on contacting again in the next few days. I would definitely say that people over-hype how evil and scary he is. He’s just like any other powerful demon. If you've been considering working with Pazuzu I'd say be prepared, but beyond that he seems great.
Hail Pazuzu, son of Hanpa, king of the evil spirits of the air, which issues violently from the mountains causing much havoc!

I remember how it felt to read the Bible when I was twelve
like I was reading an overly complicated bedtime story that people took as gospel
I never understood the religion I tried so desperately to cling to
but when I finally let it go, I looked at it through the raindrops on my window
and it magnified the bits and pieces that had drawn me to it in the first place;
it was poetry.
I had never actually believed there was a big man in the sky who created the universe and everything within it
but I wanted to believe that the stories told about him held some significance that I could use as a lens for my glasses to see the world through
and I think they did; I think they do
but every so often
I regret looking at my glass in the sunlight and finding red wine in place of the blood of Christ.
I wonder, sometimes, what it would have been like to allow myself a baptism in blissful ignorance
to not see through the symbolism of holy water and communion crackers
to believe the written word of men who said God was moving their hands
to feel His presence in the eerie silence of the empty church basement.
But I do not want to believe that way so that I can follow a god and find him at the end of every road I travel
I do not feel it is necessary to devote myself so wholly to a romanticized personification of power
but as I lay in my unmade bed for sixteen hours on a Tuesday locked away inside my messy bedroom in a house I may soon come to lose,
as the safety nets carefully crafted and intricately woven beneath my feet begin to fray and fall away,
as my thoughts scream out my uselessness from the rooftops of every abandoned residence within my mind,
it would be nice to allow myself to think that someone can hear my prayers
that someone will answer them
that someone is listening to my pleas and sees the silent weeping on the nights I need it most
but I know better, unfortunately
that I can mutter under my breath and ask the Lord for daily bread as much as my battered heart desires
but it doesn't change the fact that he whose name be hallowed is nothing more than a gust of wind that will carry the prayers on my breath away to a dead leaf in the sand
and that my words will wither along with it.

Chapter II: The Sacred Whores of Satisfaction and Spiritual Union
In the depths of Khemu, where desire reigns supreme and passion flows like molten fire, there exists a sacred sisterhood known as the Whores of Satisfaction. These divine emissaries of pleasure and ecstasy are the embodiment of carnal desire, guiding seekers on a journey of sensual enlightenment and divine union.
The Whores of Satisfaction:
Within the darkened halls of Khemu, the Whores of Satisfaction hold court, their presence a beacon of temptation and allure. They are the guardians of forbidden desires, the keepers of hidden pleasures, and the conduits of divine ecstasy. To seek their company is to surrender to the depths of desire and embrace the fires of passion.
Spiritual Marriage Ceremony:
The Spiritual Marriage Ceremony is a sacred union between a seeker and a Sacred Whore of Satisfaction. It is a ritual of profound significance, marking the union of mortal and divine, flesh and spirit, in a bond of ecstatic love and union.
Preparation: 1. Sacred Space: Prepare a sanctified space for the ceremony, adorned with scarlet draperies, flickering candles, and the heady scent of exotic incense. Let the atmosphere be charged with anticipation and desire, invoking the presence of the infernal deities and the spirits of passion. 2. Invocation: Stand at the threshold of the sacred space and invoke the presence of the infernal deities with a chant of reverence and devotion. Call upon the powers of desire, passion, and ecstasy to bless the union that is to come.
Union: 1. Entrance of the Sacred Whore: As the Sacred Whore of Satisfaction enters the sanctified space, greet her with reverence and respect. Offer her a libation of wine and honey, symbolizing the sweetness of divine union. 2. Exchange of Vows: Stand before the Sacred Whore and exchange vows of devotion and commitment. Pledge yourself to her in body, mind, and spirit, and affirm your desire for union and ecstasy. 3. Blessing of the Deities: Call upon the infernal deities to bless the union, invoking their presence with prayers and invocations. Offer offerings of blood and incense to honor their divine grace and seek their blessing upon the union.
Step-by-Step Sex Ceremony: 1. Sacred Touch: Begin the ceremony with gentle caresses and touches, allowing the energy to flow between you and the Sacred Whore. Explore each other's bodies with reverence and intention, awakening the senses and kindling the fires of desire. 2. Invocation of Desire: Call upon the spirits of passion and lust to infuse the space with their fiery energies. Offer prayers and invocations to invoke their presence and invite them to partake in the sacred union. 3. Ecstatic Dance: Engage in a ritualistic dance of ecstasy and passion, moving your bodies in harmony with the rhythm of the divine. Surrender to the primal energies that surge between you, allowing them to guide your movements and awaken your senses. 4. Tantric Union: Merge your energies with the Sacred Whore in a tantric union of body, mind, and spirit. Explore the depths of divine ecstasy as you become one with each other and the infernal energies that surround you. 5. Sacred Release: As the ceremony reaches its climax, surrender to the waves of ecstasy and release, allowing yourself to be consumed by the fires of passion and pleasure. Merge with the divine in a moment of ecstatic union, transcending the boundaries of the mortal world and ascending to the realms of divine ecstasy.
Through the Sacred Whores of Satisfaction and the rituals of spiritual union, seekers are initiated into the mysteries of divine ecstasy and ecstatic communion. They are guided by the wisdom of the infernal deities and the sacred teachings of the underworld, paving the way for spiritual liberation and union with the divine.

As If It Were Kismet: Prologue
Matt tore through the brush, blind in the dark. He didn’t care where he was going. He only knew he needed to be elsewhere. Far from here.
Behind him a creature howled that shocked his mind. It’s form was cruel and dangerous, though female. Nothing like the young woman she had once been. Nothing but a girl, a small and slight female.
It’s guttural growls and howls only grew closer as Matt tried to pick between seeing where he was going and getting away. The few times he looked he caught sight of the creature behind him. Hopping through the air with a speed that told him he was being toyed with. As if he were a mouse being played with by a cat.
But the reflex in him to run kept him going. His adrenaline going as hard as it could. The tightness and burning in his core tensing and locking up as his legs felt like there were being burned from within while taking on more of a heaviness.
His lungs were starting to betray him as he tried to gulp big breaths of air but only rapid and shallow breaths were all that he could manage. His brain was starting to burn….and then he was falling.
Falling down the side of a hill he saw the creature dart in a spring towards him, imperceivably fast almost. Catching him in mid air it seemed.
Managing to wrap its body around him and cushion his impact against the ground as they rolled. His mind barely took in what was happening during the roll. Only starting to understand what was happening once they were still.
The creature's triple D-cup breasts were unmistakably pressed hard against his back as he laid facing up at the night sky.
For a few seconds the world stilled and the needle light pain hitting the center of his brain took over for the cooking heat his brain had felt. His whole body felt heavy and reluctant to move.
Even if he could have really moved, a dull ache came over his limbs making them feel stilled and trapped as if by immeasurable amounts of sand that had engulfed him.
Slowly the arms holding him started to move. Moving so the creature's hands could start exploring him. Causing Matt to unstoppably let out a pathetic moan that made him go cold inside as hands lifted up his shirt and started to touch his exposed stomach and then his chest.
He would have whimpered so pathetically had he not still been in the depths of terror.
As its hands felt and groped his pecs he tried to situp as if to get away. For his efforts, his reward was a hand around his throat and a collection snarls and growls against his ear. A beastly, guttural voice spat words at him while somehow holding a feminine tone.
“Don’t move….I don’t know if I can calm down…”
Her words were not helped by her moans in his ear and the subsequent kissing of his ear. The flesh of his ear going between her lips as she moaned and seemed to pant. Releasing it and licking the side of his face with a moist warmth. He could feel its spittle, viscous and coating his flesh where the tongue touched. He could smell something in his saliva. Something that subtly entranced him.
Matt went stock still with fear and the confusion of mixed arousal. He barely perceived her right hand traveling lower on his body. A surprised moan and shudder echoed in the night from Matt’s lips as she took ahold of him. Her hand above his pants but still….stimulating him.
A light squeezing and almost probing of her digits kept him aroused and confused within her grasp. Resigning himself to the strange fate, Matt looked up at the stars as his mind tried not to shatter under the strange maelstrom of events and sensation that had started mere minutes ago.
His mind was only more confused as a slight figure, feminine in build, how it seemed to thunk the ground audibly as she landed on her feet out nowhere. Her knees barely bending under the pressure of the landing. Yet dirt was kicked up anyways and some of it onto Matt. Feeling it pepper his shirt and pants as it fell.
The figure, lit only faintly by moonlight, roared some dark tone Matt could only perceive as a demon as her eyes went bright with a crimson light. A light in the darkness that should not have been. “Let him go you bitch.” Was its words following the roar. Spittle escaping its mouth with faint droplets hit Matt's face.
The creature holding him by his throat and crotch seemed to tighten the grasp of both hands as it roared back. “HE IS MINE!”
The figure paused with a moment's hesitation. He was also her quarry. She had felt his fear without him knowing. His confused arousal. His fear. His terror.
And now he laid at the center of a struggle between two monsters. Unsure of who he wanted to win.
As If It Was Kismet Ch. 1
Matthew Berkshire hadn’t seen his mom in two years. Not that he had seen her much over the last six years.
A messy divorce between messy people and mom’s chaotic want for a life in Alaska had been one of the most…upsetting times in life. Setting him up for so much of what had defined his life thus far but then that had really started two years before he ever turned.
His ear buds were basic and simple. A part of cheap five pack, common for his life as he was known to lose little things. Small things. They had a mix of metal and hard rock playing in them. Some classics, some alternative. Whatever made him feel something, anything. Even if it was hate. Anger. Rage. It was better than feeling numb. Not belonging.
The escalator down to his lone bag to go with his lone carry on showed his mom waiting for him. His had a type, that’s for damn sure. Not that it helped him in the genetics department as he was stuck at 5’9” to go along with his mother’s five foot even as his dad stood six foot. Forever leaving him to feel small, to pale, under his dad’s shadow. Did he ever stand a chance?
The guy next to her with the unkempt former seventies porn stache was “Dave.” He’d met him twice when his mother came and visited him in Florida. To his credit the guy didn’t look annoyed. Kind of concerned kind of which made Matthew want to break his frozen look but he was well practiced. Having removed any note of sadness from his face through much…tribulation.
His mother’s look on her face betrayed a hint of worry as the bruises on his face lightly showed up close. Saying his name was his like a distant echo that belonged to someone else.
Dave cut in and pulled out his right headphone. “What the hell bud, they knock you hard enough to hurt hearing? Your mom’s asking how you are doing.”
Matthew pulled out the other bud and grunted an empty “sorry.”
“You still have bruises after two week? What did they do to you?” His mom’s voice was full of worry. Something he hadn’t heard in….too long. Too long to make him feel anything. To ever make him believe there was any sincerity to her words. To not think her voice and mannerisms were an act. An act by someone who…wasn’t really there.
“It’s only fair. I took a nose. Fractured a couple orbital bones. Left one with having to get his jaw wired shut. And one will never walk right again for what I did to his knee cap.” Matthew said it all with a bored and disinterested tone. Perhaps well rehearsed.
“My man, handing out ass kickings, not bothering to take names.” Dave was quick to be the typical man’s man about it. Matthew wasn’t quite done yet. Lifting up his shirt to expose the right side near his kidney. Revealing a nasty scar from a six inch blade. “Luckily they gave me this first so they could rule it all in self-defense. The fuck didn’t get it in more than inch before I ruined his knee cap and then I took the nose of one of the fucks holding me.” Now he chose to smile keeping the well practiced dead look in his eyes.
No retorts. No questions. Just horrified looks on their faces. As he liked. As he preferred. They could hate him. They could be disgusted by him. But by God they would fear him.
“Well the doc did a good job sewing you up.” Dave commented uncomfortably. “Dissolving sutures. Ain’t they grand.” He smiled again and let it abruptly fall off his face and started walking to the carousel for the baggage claim.
Waiting and making small talk with Dave as his mother stood in silence. He was not the little boy she abandoned. The little boy she left with an angry man. While never hitting him. Left him in constant fear till he turned twelve and just didn’t care anymore. Something snapped. Broke. And he didn’t care if he died. Didn’t care if he stole. Didn’t even care if he killed. He just knew not to get caught. Something left over from his grandfather’s wisdom which came to make more and more sense with each passing year of life since that thing inside him broke.
Finally his bag came around and Dave went to try first to grab it but Dave practically leapt ahead of him. “Is that your grandfather’s rucksack bag?” his mother asked in a perplexed voice.
“Figured it’s been around since Viet Nam. So it’d serve me better than any of the worthless stuff they called luggage.” Dave commented after Matthew’s words. “Well hell yeah I still got mine from Desert Storm. You know the first one.” Dave laughed and Matthew eyed him oddly. Be it in the south or whether it was Alaska, country boys are country boys he guessed.
The car ride to the two people’s house, as Matthew thought of them. Was uneventful and full of vistas he imagined metropolitan types wetting themselves over. At most they meant isolation to him. Furtherness from the world as there were no mountains in Florida. And what mountains he had last seen in another state had been when he was eight. Another life, to Matthew it felt like. A life alien to him.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 2
Dave and his mom’s place was some two story type tucked into a tree line far up an elevated point. It was by no means the highest point in the mountain but it certainly felt up there.
Rocks were where the driveway should have been Matthew thought. Grabbing his backpack and rucksack from Dave’s jeep was no hard thing for him. Matthew was in formidable shape for someone his age, maybe even five years older. He had gotten a mix of fairly big shoulders and arms along with the chest to go for it when compared to most kids his age. A side effect of working out at least twice a day. First thing in the morning, some time in the evening, and the school’s gym when had had a good semester in school before he had to leave Florida.
Dave tried to come up and help him but Matthew walked past him towards the house. His mom was not sure what to make of his demeanor. Matthew was not the sweet kind boy he had once been. But she had been gone from his life essentially for a long time.
Ushering him into the house she cracked some joke he did not hear. He was too busy looking about and seeing a mix of old outdated decorating mixed with the strange and odd flair of his mother. Color contrasting against drab and dated. Like brightly painting over an old home that was falling apart he thought.
“Your room is this way Mattie.” His mom brightly intoned.
Without expressing any interest he followed his mother. Still faced and nonplussed. Just going along with the current. Pushed and pulled with its roll like a piece of driftwood.
The room was simple. A single small bed. A set of rubber weights with a curl bar and barbells. “Your dad said you were into weight lifting so we got you a bunch of stuff. Dave says it looks like his department’s gym almost. The woman’s smile felt very alien to him.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ve got most of my stuff from home.” Matthew starting unpacking his rucksack and pulled out cables of repetitive and mixed colors. A single plastic barbell handle. The ruck sack could be filled with water bottles for added weight during pushups he figured. Remembering a Michael Keaton movie he watched with his dad post-Batman movies where he played a convicted killer using plastic bags filled with water for weights.
Matthew caught movement outside his lone fairly large window that could let him step out onto the roof of the house given its layout.
He saw a number of people running together through what he guessed was the backyard of the property, not that it had any fences to mark boundaries
They wore clothes that looked similar yet different from each other at the same time.”Oh those are the Johnston’s. Really nice bunch of people. Been on the mountain for a long time Dave tells me.”
Matthew looked at the group of people running and noticed the lack of resemblance. “They are related?” Matthew quizzically asked. Seeing a black and possibly a hispanic person amongst the bland looking white people.
“Oh well they are all adopted but for one or two of them…besides the parents of course. The family has a long tradition of taking in orphans they say. Real nice of them to do that don’t you think.”
Matthew looked at his mother and the hosier accent made no sense to him as he arched his left eye brow. Her and his dad were both from Florida. Born and raised. Sure her parents were from New York city but…
Matthew shook his lightly without turning to look at his mother as his vision was grabbed by one of the runners in particular. A girl of moderate height. Soft brunette. A plain beauty he figured with a slim build….and lack of remarkable breasts and rear to make any note of but….girls in general were his type at his age.
She was pretty enough. He couldn’t deny that but he found himself transfixed by her visage.
But the way she turned and looked at him, especially at that distance felt very disconcerting to him. Even if she was smiling like…she was a taste of a bright shiny day. Somehow.
Matthew’s mom noticed the exchange and smiled to herself with closed lips. “Oh that’s Vicky. She’s your age I think. Very sweet girl, who does the charity functions. You know bake sales, blood drives, car washes and the like. I think you should get to know her. Might be good for you.”
A truck horn sounded a couple of beeps in rather succession. “Oh that must be Mack, he said he might come by later this evening but he seems early.”
Matthew’s mother turned and left his room. Leaving Matthew to exchange a few looks with the alluring Vicky as she turned her head away from him to talk to the others in her group and look back at him.
Still Matthew’s left eyebrow was arched. In a way that reminded him of Spock from Star Trek that he and his grandpa used to watch on some streaming service or another.
As he heard ambient chatter elsewhere outside the house he figured to check it out as the alluring sight of Vicky would be around he figured. It was dull to stare at artwork. He was a boy who preferred jet skis and the like. Something he could ride and enjoy immensely. Even if at times it got him stabbed.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 3
Matthew sauntered out of the house and down the rockway that stood in for a driveway.
A few new people had come over from what he could first surmise of the situation. As he got closer it was obvious they were indigenous people. A couple of grown men…and a girl?
She was mousey. Maybe five foot. Hiding behind glasses and a big camo jacket that was far too big for her. It looked made for a grown man and the backwards trucker hat on her head kept her long black a beautiful mess of sorts.
She was cute in a way. A little androgynous but she had a cute energy to her. She reminded him of the more tomboyish Puerto Rican girls he had gotten into back in Florida. Given the deer corpses in the back of the truck….probably more dangerous to play with given the men in her family.
Small chatter passed between the adults when the girl noticed but turned away, trying to hide the tiny hint of a smile.
“Oh Mattie, this is Mack. He works with Dave at the sheriff’s department and John, he’s with fish and wildlife.” Matthew nodded at his mom’s words with some blankness as he looked at the deer the in the back of the pickup truck.
“Gale tells us you hunted with your dad some in Florida and Georgia.” Mack offered with a light hearted laugh camouflaged by his big simple and cheery but husky way he spoke.
Looking in the back of the truck he spoke. “We used lever action thirty-thirties and Mosin Nagants in seven-six-two-fifty-four-rimmed.” Mack and John whistled in an exaggerated fashion. Leaving Matthew to wonder if they were mocking him.
Mack spoke. “Well we just used thirty-odd-six in a custom gussied Garand.” That caught Matthew’s attention. “You have a Garand…” Matthew finally demonstrated interest in anything. “My dad has an SVT-40 and a Hakim 8mm but he always wanted a Garand but was too cheap to buy one.”
Gale, his mother, chimed in loudly. “Oh his Dad loved his guns but was such an odd duck about how he bought or why he bought them. Never made sense to me how he wasn’t a collector but he didn’t get the latest and greatest.” Gale laughed uncomfortably. At least it seemed that way to Matthew.
Matthew pointed to the girl with an underhanded pointing hand. “And who is this? A cute little mute mouse or does she have a name?” Dave and the other men laughed.
Mack again spoke. “Well you people call her Rebecca, she’s my adopted daughter.” Matthew was taken aback by what he heard. “You people?”
Rebecca kindly spoke with a soft but almost melodic voice as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “White people or rather not members of our tribe. It’s just easier to appease the colonizer kind of thing. Borrowed from when the Jesuit missionaries chased us up here.”
Mack stepped in. “It’s just easier to have white people names than have them try to say our tribal names. And we don’t want them shortening or Anglicising our names kind of thing.” Rebecca stepped back into the conversation cutting off her adopted father. “It’s an insult to our history basically.”
Matthew cocked his head sideways raising his eyebrows shortly before letting them drop. “Well as soon as I’m eighteen I’m out of here and back to Florida so I’m a sort of involuntary colonizer of sorts. So I won’t be taking any of your land from you. The Seminoles on the other hand are still shit out of luck.”
Rebecca’s smile caused Matthew to reflexively smile. Mack made the moment more awkward. “See Becca, I told you someone off the reservation would like you some. You just have to be creative.” Mack laughed in a chiding manner…Matthew presumed. He sensed that he was the butt of some kind of cultural joke. Like marrying a white guy was some sort of insult or mark of shame. That kind of thing.
Rebecca turning away from him was not something he had been expecting. Her then getting in the truck in a huff left the group in a silence for a moment.
Dave spoke to break the awkward silence. “Well just bring the truck to work on Monday and leave it for me to grab up.” Mack acknowledged Dave and they started to get off as Rebecca looked at Matthew for another instance. Matthew couldn’t look away for some reason as the two seemed to lock eyes for an instance.
Till Vicky and family seemed to come jogging down the road. While Matthew’s eyes diverted from Rebecca’s. Hers did not till she realized he was looking elsewhere. And her vision found Vicky and what had been a hint of smile on her face turned glum and disappointed.
Matthew did not look away from the vision of Vicky but instead of a starry eyed fool looking longingly. It was a baffled look. Well baffled for him, with his eyes drawn narrow and night with a focus.
There was something about her…he couldn’t quite put a name too. The way she appeared to him. One second brunette. The next second blonde or blonde like. As if the color appeared in her air and disappeared in fractions of seconds. Much the same way her body almost seemed to…shift…very subtly…smoothly. A nicer bum. Larger breasts. And then back to a simple and plain form. Feminine no doubt. Attractive. But not so…remarkable.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 4
The next two days passed without incident. Nothing of any real substance or challenge to note.
Matthew got settled somewhat and started working out almost immediately. Exploring around the woods but Dave told him not to go far. Especially without a hunting rifle. Dave had left a simple semi-auto Winchester out for him. His bear gun as Dave referred to it with its four round magazine. But Matt figured till he got some practice with the rifle to leave it alone. He made a hiking stick like his grandpa taught him and treated it over a low fire. He would take some electrical tape for the end his hand would grip around. Plenty enough to ward off anything smaller than a bear he figured.
The ride to school was a pain in the neck but simple enough. Dave would let him use a clunker pickup truck he had laying around. It wasn’t pretty but it would get him to and from. Even if it was from the eighties and still backfired on occasion. But for now Dave and his mom took him on their way to the sheriff’s department.
It wasn’t much of a school. It wanted to be modern but its fifties original construction was very obvious. It serviced the pipeline families and familys’ of fisherman who worked the seasons in between their time at the pipeline.
Matt was to report to the principal for some reason Dave and his mom wouldn’t share. Which annoyed him but he figured it was to read him the law of land. Small towns with their big views of the outside world and like.
Dressed in jeans, a grey sweatshirt under a light jacket with steel toed boots set him more apart then he expected. His buzzed head didn’t help matters. Already he was feeling like a stranger in a strange land but he was quite strange after all. And he liked it that way. Normal people were so pathetically disappointing to him.
A secretary or assistant or some such led him to the principal’s office. Where it reeked of real wood that was old and fabric and upholstery that needed to be updated for the last twenty years, Matt figured.
“This is Matthew Berkshire, Principal Andrews.” The man was turned with his back to the door and he was quick to wave her off as he turned her around.
He was an older man. Fat and large. Tall with a body built like he had once been fit and a demeanour of annoyed and irate already as he fixed Matt with a scowl and look of disgust. Another worthless government whore. Matt thought to himself. His father and his grandfather had bestowed unto him a natural disrespect for government workers and the figures that wore unjustified authority as a shield but pretended the weight of the state was not at their back ready to crush all who resisted. Little figures of valor pretending to be mighty and alone but acting with the tyranny of the state and all the backing.
“Mr. Berkshire, please sit down.” His tone wasn’t unusually hostile, just gruff. As if he had better things to do.
Matt complied and took a seat in the chair while maintaining a friendly facade. Not everyone was an enemy. And not everyone needed to be an enemy. Even if anybody could be any enemy. There was no reason to make enemies you didn’t have to. Another of his grandfather’s bastardised wisdoms.
“Well I looked over you file and you have quite the history Mr. Berkshire.” Matt resisted qiuping back a joke. Instead he waited for Principal Andrews to continue as he remained nonplussed and looking as if he felt no need to respond. A simple head tilt with dead eyes looking back at the principle as if he was not even there would suffice.
Matt’s reaction or lack of a reaction rather made Principal Andrews only narrow his eyes with examination. He was not used to a kid not responding to him. Especially with his gruff and hard act going on.
“Well by all accounts you moved here after some problems at your last school. A fight broke out and you did some real harm to your fellow students it appears.” Of course, he would take the side of the perpetrators. School administrators always did. Especially when they weren’t white. Just a fact of the times. Cowardice and pathetic mediocrity was the way they leaned, like good government workers sucking the dick of Big Daddy government. Worthless whores.
Matt chose to reply. “Oh you mean the criminals that stabbed me. Got arrested at the hospital and then pled to felonies. Yeah Florida, with the American counties are good like that.” Principal Andrews went real still. No shame. No fear. No penitence. He didn’t like that.
“Well be it as it may Mr. Berkshire we don’t tolerate that kind of behaviour here…” Matt cut him off responding with a deadpan tone. “You mean self-defense meant to save one’s own life while the cowardly and pathetic school workers look on with zero interest but to keep their money rolling in and will allow known gang members with records of violent acts and crimes that should have them expelled many times over, where in certain Democrat counties such cowardice and idiocy empowered a couple school shooters?”
Principal Andrews looked at the Matt with a note of disgust. “Look here Mr. Berkshire, your beliefs matter not one bit here. This isn’t Florida. We don’t like our way of life being disrupted by outside agitators who have problems with authority.”
Matt did his best not to roll his eyes and let the older fat man drone own as he dead-stared him. Lifeless and without emotion.
The man came to a finish and Matt spoke up without having listened to him or paid him any attention. “Great now that’s taken care of. Can I please get to class and finish my sentence of two years at your wonderful school?”
Principal Andrews huffed and snorted before calling in Vicky. Vicky stood in the corner after entering with a quiet and seamless presence. Matt felt disturbed and tried not betray his feelings as the young Vicky was perceived and not perceived to be moving.
Principal Andrews made the introductions and Matt nodded back. She was to be his chaperone for the day. They had the same classes and she was to show him the ropes so to speak. The ins and outs of the school. The locations of their classes.
He recognized her. It was hard not to. The way her appearance seemed to shift fluidly almost. The petite and skinny brunette ever so lightly had a big bust and blonde hair with curves added when she seemed to shift before his eyes. Like watching a film but each frame had a different person.
Matt didn’t say anything about it. Even if he did he would only be acknowledging his crazed state, if he had one. If.
Unlike an obedient puppy dog he got up in a slow and awkward fashion and followed behind her as his oddly disproportionate frame allowed. Causing her a note of concern for some reason. As if she was seeing something she shouldn’t have been….Or he was just weird. And Matt could admit to himself he was just weird. Part of his charm, he would jest about it at times. Not that he had many people to jest to now.
As If It Were Kismet Ch. 5
Following Vicky into the hall off to their first class was simple. She exchanged small talk and he slightly smiled as if to obviously suggest he was just being polite.
Inside his head, Matt was trying to figure out if he was having a psychotic break. The way Vicky looked kept changing and he looked at the other people around him and they stayed the same.
He was searching his mind as they were walking. And thus he wasn’t paying attention to where he was looking and so fell to his face forward over his feet seemingly out of nowhere.
A series of laughs erupted as it sunk in that he was obviously tripped. Like in prison this was a challenge to his superiority. If he let this pass he would be mocked and sneered at by this same group of boys. He wouldn’t walk to them like he was going to do nothing like a little bitch.
In a rage he turned and punched the stomach of the first face he saw. Some typical blonde haired wannabe jock. He knew from experience not to aim for the ribs. Instead he needed to aim for where he thought the belly button was.
Yells and screams blindly echoed around him as his after the punch he followed up his elbow of the opposite arm slamming into the face of the jock. Harder than a fist, the elbow struck the jock’s jaw and seemingly dropped him against a locker. Just in time to catch an errant and soft punch to the nose that sure enough hurt but did little to slow him down as his dad had taught him to fight through the pain. Blood and scars happened. They were a natural consequence of life to a man.
Taking the punch and falling further into his red state Matt headbutted the punch thrower before another guy arm bared his throat from behind. Which he managed to get his grip on the arm over a letterman jacked and jerk the unprepared boy to the side with him still latched on.
A few feet away from the lockers Matt knew his only chance was to jump and push off the lockers and knock the boy to the ground and so he did. He heard a thunk of the boy’s skull bouncing off the ground and he turned to pull out of the grapple.
The beatings he had taken from his father, the grapples, being choked unconscious. Had prepared him for fighting little bitches who didn’t know what a fight was. It wasn’t gay porn with rabbit punch fists flying.
Blood was running down his face and the pain started to hit him as the threats had been eliminated. Only then did he remember to breathe. Taking breathes as Vicky came up to him with tissues and took a hold of his nose.
“Owww owww owww what the fuck my nose could be broken.” He said to Vicky as she pulled his head up and back.
“It’s ok Carl. It’s done.” Matt tried to look to see who Vicky was talking to. It was a boy taller than his 5’9” by more than a small margin. The boy eyed him bored and annoyed before speaking. “What happened here?” An unoriginal line but one Matt couldn’t be a smart aleck about. “Well you see there was an outbreak of tripping and we all tripped over my dick. It happens.” Matt was about to laugh when Vicky seemed to pull up while still gripping his nose causing Matt no small amount of pain which he audibly evidenced.
Vicky spoke in a tone he wasn’t expecting. As if she was accustomed to issuing orders. “Keep Iris away from the hall till we sanitize the site. We have blood from at least three people contaminating the site. And have Jake bring me a spare jacket and shirt for this moron.”
Carl seemed to acknowledge her orders and seemed to blink away. Maybe the punch hit harder than he expected. He had no time to wonder as Vick took her hand away from his and pushed him against the lockers. With ease he had not been expecting from her form and stature.
Before he could respond Vicky licked his blood covered chin and then his lips and spoke to him. “Focus on me you little blood bag.” Her tone had an annoyed yet feminine sneer.
“Look into my eyes. Look at me. You belong to me. You are just another food source in a collection of food sources.” Her eyes were a beautiful hazel Matt thought. Almost green. Pretty like jewels in some old treasure collections. The eyes he could get lost in before kissing her. Finally Vicky was just a slight and petite brunette and he thought she was beautiful.
She would make a hell of a girlfriend. Some cute thing he could see laying on the beach in Florida on their sides laughing and smiling before trading light kisses while hands wandered innocently. Before his mind could drift further he felt her lips on his. It took him a second to mentally grasp the kiss but his arms were around her back as her hands were at his sides. His eyes reflexively closed as he saw hers close.
It was ineffable to Matt. Beyond words, what was happening. The kiss, the moments beforehand. The way his brain tickled with electricity and gentle warmth. He had never had a kiss like this and he had traded more than a few kisses with at least a few girls.
The kiss was like a warm bath with his consciousness slipping beneath the surface. Their lips only parted to try new angles and approaches as Matt struggled to take in breath. It was a moment he could have stayed trapped in for….he didn’t know. But a curt throat clearing by another girl pulled them out of the moment.
The girl was taller than Vicky. Blonde. With slight curves. Vicky addressed her bewildered and gobsmacked, and perhaps a bit embarrassed. “Tina?”

Hi everyone! I'm currently looking for any feedback on the first chapter of my short novel, which has just reached the second draft stage. It's about the main character being forced into eliminating the heads of an island conquered by vampires. The title is referencing a blood moon which remains present only on the island, always draping it in darkness and making it perfect for its inhabitants. I see it as a gothic Suicide Squad with less characters.
Thanks!
The chateau remarked itself as the jewel of the street.
The building rose above its accompanying homes, two stories larger than its nearest neighbours. A grand display of the original owner’s wealth, it now belonged to the vampires, like the rest of Prache. Looking down the street, Hitchforth recognised it from afar, his target for tonight’s mission. He watched stylish vampires enter through the front gate, greeted by ushers at the entrance, checking their invitations. Checking the inner pocket of his greatcoat, he searched for the invitation given to him, satisfied it was there. Hitchforth looked to his left and saw the rookie’s for tonight’s mission checking for his invitation. The rookie searched throughout his body, appearing to have lost the card, but found it before Hitchforth could scold him, offering it to his Educator.
The rookies they gave him rarely survived his missions. Sometimes he thought they were sent as a punishment, a test to see if they could survive. In his old age he had seen countless rookies, forgetting countless names and faces. This one beside him seemed nervous, adjusting his collar, wiping the sweat from his brow, avoiding eye contact with Hitchforth. This one might as well have been sentenced to an execution. What was his name? Anton? Arthur? It wouldn’t matter in the end, but the rookie’s nervousness could jeopardise the mission entirely.
“Tell me,” he said, seriousness in his tone. “Are you afraid of me or the vampires?”
The rookie fidgeted with his fingers before responding, wiping his brow from the new sweat that dripped. “B-b-both, sir.”
“Breathe. Fill your lungs and empty them. Like this.” Hitchforth demonstrated for the rookie, taking extra care to show the slow speed of the action.
The rookie did as instructed, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
“It helps?” Hitchforth asked.
“Yes sir,” the words spoken with more clarity and calmness.
“Good, let’s go into the lion’s den then.”

They approached the front entrance, lining up to be ushered in. Carmilla’s festivity had attracted the richest of Prache’s vampires, adorned in foreign jewels and extravagant clothing. The rookie almost slipped on an exceptionally long dress, caught by the cuff by Hitchforth. Looking behind him, he saw the fury in their red eyes, that Humanity’s Hope had been invited. Reaching the usher, Hitchforth handed his and the rookie’s invitations, inspecting the vampire’s face. The slightest twinge of shock showed on his face, but was quickly concealed with a stern, professional demeanour. He waved them both in, shooting a questioning glance as they passed by.
The building appeared larger inside than it was outside, if possible. The minimal red torches fitted on sconces and the amount of vampires fitted into the building helped accentuate its size. A sea of suits and dresses spread throughout its floor, different colours and materials shining in the ambient light. Imported marble made up the floor, dark and white tiles patterned intricately. Large windows draped by exotic curtains furnished the walls throughout the building, paintings spread in between the spaces. Hitchforth could just make out the paintings as portraits, the closest to him being a group of five vampires.
What surprised Hitchforth the most was the sounds that filled his ears. Music played by a orchestra filled the building with the sounds of strings, woodwinds, percussion and brass sections. Pushing past the crowd that had congregated near the front entrance, Hitchforth saw dancing. Vampires dancing in line with their partners to the music, alternating between partners, spinning with arms outstretched.
Behind the dance floor a grand staircase rose from the floor, providing access to the two other stories of the building. It was there that Hitchforth saw the target for tonight’s mission come down the stairs, stopping high enough to be seen, but low enough to be heard. Immediately the orchestra ceased its playing, the dancers also ceasing their dancing. The congregation around the entrance strode to the dance floor, taking Hitchforth and the rookie with them, waiting for her words.
She was tall and deathly beautiful, more civilised and confident than the others. She wore a dark crimson dress, accenting her red eyes and slender face. Her moonlight coloured hair draped straight down past her shoulders, shining despite the lack of light. Her red lips parted into a savage smile, displaying the pointed canines she shared with every member of her race. Hitchforth noticed she looked directly at him, her eyes sizing him as a lion would to its prey. Carmilla Sanguine had arrived.
She spoke to the guests, keeping her eyes on Hitchforth. “Welcome all, to the festivities of tonight. I hold today’s ball as a celebration of our independence as a species, our freedom from humanity.” The guests cheered at the words, delighted at the words. “And please give our warm Prache hospitality to our sanctioned guests of Humanity’s Hope, who have joined us.”
The vampires did not cheer at those words, hushing and hissing silently as they turned to see Hitchforth and the rookie. It was easy to find them, both wearing their issued dark green greatcoats. Hitchforth had refused formal attire for the event for himself and his rookie, knowing they would stand out regardless.
“Enjoy your time tonight and as always, long live our king.”
“Long live our king,” the crowd shouted out in unison, mirroring Carmilla’s words.
Carmilla stepped down the stairs, her guests returning to conversation and dancing. She mingled with her guests, leaving Hitchforth and the rookie alone.
“Sir, what now?” the rookie asked.
“She will come to us, she can’t help herself,” Hitchforth said whilst looking over her watching her conversations. From a distance he could still see the power she held, the fear in the faces of the vampires she held conversations with. From what he had been told, the heads of Prache kept to themselves mostly, only communicating when necessary. The mission would not be hindered by reinforcements, or so he had been told.
Carmilla made her way over to where Hitchforth and the rookie stood, flanked by two bodyguards in suits. She looked over the rookie, smiling and looking into his eyes. Hitchforth saw the rookie smile back, his nervousness gone. Already her mind games had begun.
“Hello, Carmilla,” he said, breaking her eye contact with the rookie.
“Greetings, Educator Hitchforth. And who might this be here?”
“My rookie. You know my name?” Carmilla had come closer to the rookie, stroking his cheek with her hand as Hitchforth spoke. Hitchforth saw the sharp nails on her hand, softly grazing the rookie’s skin.
“Isn’t fresh blood the best? We don’t get a lot of humans here, I’m sure you know.” Carmilla moved her hand away, turning and answering the Educator. “Of course, who doesn’t know the only Lycan Educator in Humanity’s Hope? I’m sure everyone here has smelt it already.”
“Fair enough. Can we talk in a more…,” Hitchforth looked around, noticing most of the guests were paying attention to their conversation. “Private place?”
“Of course, Educator. Allow me to lead the way,” she said, taking hold of the rookie’s hand and walking ahead. Hitchforth stared at him from behind to let go yet he continued, unable to escape her trance. Playing along, he followed Carmilla up the stairs, leaving behind the vampires to dance and socialise below.

Carmilla lead Hitchforth and the rookie up the stairs to the second floor, passing through multiple hallways and doors to reach their destination. The building’s halls and rooms seemed to continue endlessly, doors leading to more doors and longer hallways. They walked down a long staircase, perhaps made for the servants of the building. They walked through a large hallway containing Carmilla’s thralls, lined up against the wall, saluting as she passed. Eventually they reached a cold room with a large table in the centre with a fireplace emitting red flames. Red ash was a new invention created since the vampires had conquered Prache, a harmless light source for their needs. They had invested heavily into the island as their home and Hitchforth knew they would not give it up easily. Looking above the mantle place, Hitchforth noticed the familiar painting from the ballroom.
All the five vampires matched the descriptions he was told, to the point he could recognise them all. At the forefront sat Harrow Sanguine, the self-appointed king of Prache. He looked younger than the rest of his family, his ashen skin painted flawlessly. His fierce eyes stared back into Hitchforth, instilling fear from even his heart. To his right stood his wife, Rose Sanguine, who bore a strong resemblance to Carmilla, matching hair and all. To the king’s left stood Varney Sanguine, wearing his familiar grey suit and matching brown flat cap. Standing next to Varney was Father Nostra, the religious leader of Prache, wearing his black cassock. Finally, standing next to her mother was Carmilla Sanguine, identical to her real life presence.
“Where are we?” Hitchforth asked.
“A meeting room under the chateau. We won’t be disturbed here.”
“And your guests? They won’t be afraid you’ve gone missing?”
Carmilla laughed. “Those fools will be too blood drunk in the morning to remember their past few days. Our meeting will be fine.” She ordered her guards out of the room, instructing them to stay outside, just in case. “The guards will be waiting outside,” she said, warning in her tone.
“What do you want?”
“When my father sanctioned a member of Humanity’s Hope to visit the island, I was surprised they chose you.”
Hitchforth shrugged. “I’m expendable.”
“Yes, they do see you in that way, and that may be so. But I see more.”
Hitchforth furrowed his eyebrows. “Like what?”
“I see opportunity. I see power. I see a new path.”
“Care to explain?”
“You are the only Educator that is not human. On Prache we can give you freedom, like we have achieved.”
Hitchforth thought over what Carmilla said, processing her words. She had to have been desperate to separate him from any prying eyes, eager to keep her plans secret. The only choice was to continue.
“I see. They say a hand that lends help is matched by a hand that waits repayment. What is the repayment you seek from me?”
Carmilla smiled more than she had before, looking more unnatural than she ever had before. Her smile outstretched to the corners of her face and Hitchforth thought he saw her eyes darken lustfully. Not lust for blood, but lust for power. “The crown. With my connections and Humanity’s Hope, we can topple my father’s regime. He is outdated, out of touch with the population’s desires and needs. I can give it to them.”
Hitchforth scoffed at the words. “And you believe Humanity’s Hope is willing to partner with a vampire?”
“They partnered with you didn’t they? I see no difference.”
“I have no partnership. Something much worse.”
“It doesn’t matter. My father is eager to enact revenge for the prosecution vampires have felt for millennia. I am willing to move on.”
Hitchforth looked to the rookie, who had remained silent throughout the conversation. He sweated through his coat, leaving visible stains. The trance Carmilla had put him through had broken, putting her attention to Hitchforth. He could feel the slight strings pulling him in the direction she wanted, appealing to his emotions and desires. He considered over her terms, it made sense to accept the deal. Why would he protect his captors? His mind travelled elsewhere, to a farmhouse and her tending to her flower garden. He thought of her smile, and the little one that accompanied her.
“Do we have a deal? You have no choice either way, Educator,” Carmilla said, snapping Hitchforth back to reality.
He looked to his rookie, signalling under the table to warn him. Hitchforth saw him nod subtly, trying not to give away the motion.
“No,” Hitchforth said, raising the table above his head, smashing it into Carmilla’s body, sending her flying.

I’m trying to understand if I’m the problem or if there’s really something to this. I am surrounded by Cancers (by blood or career, not by choice) and they ALL annoy tf out of me to the point where I’ve had to keep my own Cancer mom at arm’s length bc of not being able to stand her personality. Here are the common Cancer traits that I’ve noticed:

• Self-absorbed, they make everything about THEM. Example: I casually mention I have a headache and they immediately have to one-up me with their own headache story and how they also didn’t sleep well and their nose hairs hurt. Or someone mentions going through a breakup and they suddenly have some long, sad breakup story of their own to tell. They always claim to “know exactly how you feel” but they’re not even remotely close to knowing and have no desire to understand. They just want to talk about themselves.
• Poor listeners, including frequently interrupting/trying to finish others’ sentences.
• Passive aggressive!!! Whiny and sniffling about something always but won’t just outright tell you what tf is wrong when you ask them. Why should I have to play 20 questions to get someone to just say what they want/need? Cancers can’t EVER seem to express themselves without passive aggressive whining. It’s exhausting.
• Emotionally manipulative behavior. All the Cancers I know try to win attention and compliments by making self-effacing comments like “I’m so ugly” or “I’m so fat.” It’s so cringey and self-centered.
• They use gifts (sometimes money) to try to win people over and then get unreasonably sad/mopey if the recipient isn’t over the top thrilled and gushing with gratitude and adoration
• Instead of having an actual argument, they love to play the martyr and will shut down and play the punching bag instead of working out disagreements through conversation
• They naively claim to be super “independent”, but they’re actually just too self-obsessed to have healthy relationships, so they naturally end up alone
• They are OBSESSED with the past and can’t let go. They’re never forward-thinking or solution-driven. Every Cancer I know just loves to commiserate about what went wrong in the past and dwell in their sad thoughts about what could have been, instead of taking any action to fix or improve things.
• They brag about the same things for YEARS. They once hit a home run in little league and haven’t played sports since then, but, at age 40, they still tell the story annually and brag how athletic they are. Or someone once hit on them at a bar in college and at age 73 they still brag about how “hot” they looked that night.
• They are lazy. They spend 40 seconds cleaning one window and act like they expect an award for world’s best housekeeper. They never have any energy and love to just sit around doing anything but being productive.
• They expect people to make a big deal over them whenever they enter a room and then act like Eeyore if everyone doesn’t drop everything to gush over them and thank them for their presence. Then they’ll pull you aside and say things like “Does this outfit look okay?” when we all know what they’re really asking is: Why didn’t everyone notice me and drop everything to tell me how great I look?

I have many more qualms with Cancers but these are the main traits that I find extremely off-putting. It’s the ONLY sign that I don’t enjoy being with! I really want to know if I am the only one who feels this way about Cancers or if others notice it too.
(FYI: I’m also a water sign, a healthcare provider, an empath, and a nurturer. I am not simply insensitive or cold-hearted. I just can’t stand those personality traits I mentioned above. I’m very much open to being reproached and the possibility that I’m the problem. Lay it on me!)

i emailed this to agencies that deal with hunting and wildlife problems
pasts@varam.gov.lv
info@wildlifesos.org
reportmisconduct@undp.org
there is no obvious place to report this and expect a serious hearing from someone fluent in English and scientifically minded
the following is what I wrote a month ago after the event
i can't judge after hand how much danger i was in but i would treat it seriously
luckily has not happened again in this country for a month. hopefully never happens again. although the next time i will have the benefit of having experienced it already
when police arrived i demanded prison for the dog owner in clearest possible way i could. after my speach was done they did not ask me a single word. they could tell i was furious of fear. and better to talk another time. i am so drained from global security work that i can't follow up on this but this should be available for anyone to read that might experience it themselves or take upon their self to wander around this globe as i do
i will probably feel guilty if the owner lose his dogs or hunting permit or reputation in his community. i am not going to judge anyone extremely harshly
if they ask me to fill out a criminal report according to some kind of format standards i am not going to do it myself an experienced prosecutor that has done it before is free to report this or pass it along. just not going to fill in report fields in some kind of form. you do it for me if you want to. i am not doing it. should be enough information to find
http://geohash.org/u6p4gj36
is the exact location and anyone can guess where the dogs came from probably the nearest mansion two thousand metres away to the east across p111 near upsede. upsede mansion. good luck asking them about it they don't speak a word of English here development is seventy years behind the west

preface

this is so incredulous that it could be picked up by news
still in shock six hours later at dawn
just the title should give you the general idea
i have never heard of such outrageous neglect in dog keeping in my life
the dogs escape unnoticed at night and hunt without human supervision and presumably return in the morning without anyone doing anything about it
this dog owner would make the top ten list anywhere in history
the dogs occasional howl brought up pictures of wolf movies the grey with that guy from Schindler's list the guy that played Oscar Schindler fighting with wolves with broken glass and a big knife to his death but i can safely discard all theories besides a runaway hunting dog militia on four legs in a large pack sounded like at least ten animals
in that immense fear of a completely unfamiliar situation in a life of hiking around the globe thoughts whirled around all possible night mares before i realised it is obviously hunting dogs all else is pure fantasy wolves are absolutely ruled out
they did not retreat when they sensed my presence but stayed in full alarm perhaps as when they encounter prey on a supervised hunt to alert the humans. even though they knew they were alone and no one to alert, they knew i was probably not prey, did not know enough to EVER be alone unsupervised anywhere but home preferably inside, but did NOT know or predict the length of the prison sentence they just brought on their owner by this nightly escapade. whoops
the locals will predictably put the lid on but the power of the internet is a wonderful thing
i can not imagine any circumstance that would make this less than prison anywhere in the union or West europe. now this is the old east. no one understands English etc. one escaped dog barking in the forest. fine. slap on the wrist. possibly losing care of the animal...ten rabid hunting dogs in full alarm scaring the life out of a hiker resting at night. shake those bars for three months. watch that prison television. and there won't be any Marlborough or beers in prison

the entire report

the exact location is near the highest hunting tower on the old railway trail passing by upsede north east of liepaja that is used for hunting commonly judging by all the towers lining the road there
This began around Four hours after dark on the early night of Sunday 28 April 2024 or exactly 1:00 o'clock
I will first describe exactly what happened and after that separately my interpretation in hindsight when recalling these events three hours later when I can calm down
This is a rather long story so I will get to my point right here before the story
What can I do if I encounter a dog pack like this again except tell at them and calmly leave. What if they hunt me or behave like they are guarding a territory. However remotely that might seems. There is a reason this is a serious crime. Too much uncertainty
Can you confirm that this kind of incessant barking is absolutely impossible in any other animal
In no circumstance whatsoever would any wolf pack or any deer flock behave like this even if I stood right on their den with ten kids inside
The occasional howling is something that dogs still retain from their wolf origin not long ago
It is not unlikely that a pack of hunting dogs alone would howl occasionally
Despite yelling at them several times there was no yell back from a human. Very likely the dogs escape at night without anyone caring about it extremely dangerous and frightening to a hiker that need. Rest at night not the fright of a life time
I could not imagine that in a relatively rich country anyone ever would drive their dogs for a night hunt. Would be absolute insanity. Neglect and alcoholism depression (försupen dumhet Swedish) I can easily imagine. Not outright insanity. Even if night hunting permits are sometimes issued in Germany for "animal control" "population control" of wild pigs. This is a completely separate topic that I will not say more about than that I am working on these issues on and off. My view as a progressive world ambassador could not be further from the idea of shooting at anything anywhere for any reason. Except tranquilizer darts for humane population control of CAPTURED animals not hunted. Captured. It is clear in Sweden that shooting anything anywhere with fire arms does not belong in the future society. Now this is all I will say about this. We are working on this as fast as is possible. The education effort still left on this planet is still enormous and daunting
Regarding dog behaviour in detail I know very little despite inspecting a manuscript by the foremost scientist on the subject that work in Budapest that is most famous for working on the Philippine paradise fish ten years ago before they changed to dogs and removed their aquarium
Dogs in particular have very little room in the professional literature since most pros are not anthropo centric. All mammals share common traits like an early recognition of friend and foe. Dogs in particular has almost never been studied at least not dogs for guarding or hunting. There might be one single work perhaps by one single biologist or behaviour ist ethology biology for shepherds dogs that life with grazing livestock
All books cover territory selection and protection and pack hunting or other flock behaviour. But almost nothing has apparently been possible or interesting to anyone to publish as a professional seeking a career in science in ethology animal behaviour or population biology. so i am not the only one drawing a blank when trying to explain the behaviour with any satisfaction more than anecdotal that is hard to call science

what I experienced

A sudden bark that I expect to be a roe deer that bark and run away. happens all the time
Although the bark was not quite right. more like a dog which I have never encountered at night
Suddenly a roaring festival of barking and occasional howling
The distance is extremely uncertain but perhaps five hundred meters
The direction was towards road p111 to the east toeards Upsede. i am by the big tower. There is one house near the road that the dogs could belong to if they crossed p111
Now my primal instinct set in and I envision a pack, a large pack, of wolves near their den the core of their territory. Frothing over my intrusion and ready to approach in full alarm
In hindsight this is just the occasional howling that caused this and everything about this speaks against wolves
IF wolves can behave like this or has been observed or heard doing this in ANY circumstance whatsoever I absolutely need to hear about it because it would bear on my future expeditions
If there is this single wolf dog hybrid pack maybe only one in Europe that I happened to encounter I absolutely need more information. feral dogs that would possibly go unnoticed in Belarus has crossed over to Latvia?
I have never heard of anything like that
All wolf incidents as rare as they are in Poland or anywhere have been with lone wolves that are sick or hungry and have lost their feir of humans
I have never heard of an aggressive wolf pack in Europe or anywhere on the planet
I have seen wolf droppings so many times and spent so much time day and night in wolf territory that I would never expect them to be so aggressive about human scent or sound like that
I have certainly had wolves near me many times but never heard a peep. In Sweden and Norway on long expeditions all summer and even winter and on and off for years from Spain to France Belgium Germany Poland and now here in the Baltics for one month so far direction Finland
The pack was in full alarm with barking and an occasional howl that dogs will still use. But much less than wolves. Wolves never bark together like this in any circumstance I have ever heard it seen if
It is with near certainty the pack of dogs that have hunted there before that happens to live on the farm on the opposite side of the road and escaped west around thousand metres into the forest.
Perhaps they do this regularly but no one cares
And now I happened to be there
Hiking and trekking and wild camping is MUCH more common in Sweden and Norway than anywhere in the world even Finland that is a close second. It is the Scandinavian spirit. As has recently been proven paleo lithic pre farming humans breed into the farming population only in Scandinavian nowhere else in Europe. I am personally absolutely at peace in nature and hate combustion engines that bother few others
Without getting off track completely I am continuing my expedition around Europe and almost all ground breaking record breaking endeavour of exploration has come from Scandinavia specifically. First settlement of the new world five hundred years before another European country etc etc etc first man on the south pole endless list of did what no one else could ot would. I am not placing my breed on a pedestal just explaining that if anyone would encounter something like this most likely it would be a Swede and the locals are most likely entirely puzzled why I am not living my life in doors at home or in a comfortable guest house
But this is beside the point just a side track to explain my presence in this rare encounter

in hindsight what happened

It is clear to me now that a pack of large hunting dogs. Not the small loud ones. Tax in Swedish. I have never owned a dog or hunted. I am a scientist. So I don't know much of anything about dog breeds. But presumably Large dogs that can hunt and kill on their own that have been trained to not kill the prey but only stalk it or drive it and make a loud alarm to draw the apes (not condescending just scientific classification of my species)
This is all speculation I just can't imagine what I heard to be a pack of tax (Swedish) small rabbit hunting dogs. These were large animals certainly with courage to act alone without humans
But I don't know anything about common hunting dogs in this region or anywhere so I can't suggest what breed it could have been that could behave this way
When I yelled at them they silenced for a moment then the roar continued
They had no intention to move back. I called for a police to meet me on road p111 and moved. I could hear the dogs for one thousand metres which gave me the impression that they moved after me at a safe distance perhaps curious about what I was
Again. If wolves can ever in any circumstance behave with this curiosity or aggressive confidence on human scent AND loud roaring. I yelled at them as a three hundred kilos silver back gorilla would try to show how big and powerful he was. No wolves ever no matter how big their biggest packs are in Europe would do anything but withdraw. These animals stayed at a distance and gave me the impression that they followed me on the road even. But not close
Distance is extremely uncertain but my best guess would be five hundred meters
This location has been used before for hunting and these dogs have been released during supervised legal (presumably) hunting in this exact location
They have smelled or sensed a wild animal and followed it into the forest where they have hunted before

will anyone stop this. how common is this

The police said they would call the nearest farms and ask about their dogs and the hunters that set up the hunting towers there in that old railway road where the dogs live that they bring to hunt there
But unfortunately I don't expect them to do anything when the response is "I know nothing". This is obviously a massive incident since I told them I am a scientist that will likely enquire with other scientist and if they cover this up it will explode big time. this is not s minor incident
Jägarna is a popular Swedish movie about the sad reality of this kind of stuff. anything related to mis management with hunting or dogs is so deeply rooted in human behaviour since the stone age that the local police do anything they can to forget about it. "Probably just a barking deer" or "wolves are common in the forest" and might bark despite my sincere explanation that this is hunting dogs not wolves and carries a prison sentence if heard in front of a magistrate
if you imagine "i like logic circuit design" the absolute opposite is "i like dogs and hunting". it's as different as a von Neumann machine is from sticks and stones in technological achievement. and a massive education effort is still needed for that population should they not cause a complete collapse of civilization like 1930s Germany. you might like NATURE you certainly don't like fire arms or dogs. has nothing to do with investigating nature. it is not conscious behaviour. but only photographers and hunters visit nature? you are obviously not a scientist ("what is this?" looking at bowling ball in small Lebowskis bath room. "you are obviously not a golfer")
I don't expect them to even ask anyone and just hope I forgot about it or they never have any other hikers near that spot at night
The "police report" that I received when they returned from the spot I told them to investigate was exactly that "it was probably just a deer and now I will go home and sleep". that only told ne that the pack had moved or did not respond to a car or they went to the wrong place or most likely could not be less motivated to find them
I gave the female officer that spoke English a stern explanation what would happen in Sweden. Prison. Absolutely nothing else than prison. Grave negligence in dog oversight. No hunting license and no dogs for the rest of his life
This is extremely serious that this is seen as a minor mistake that hunting dogs are stalking wild animals alone at night. Only in Sweden do we understand clearly that HUMANS are in the forest at night sometimes. We have palaeolithic blood lines and the world's foremost paleo biologist among other things. I am a renowned explorer. My father and uncle is one of the world's foremost wildlife photographer for WWF NG etc. Wild life is strictly monitored and controlled and this kind of neglect is absolutely treated with utmost sincerity
Our society is not in a state of civil war. Escaped hunting dogs hunting alone at night. Prison. Period. And the local police that tries to suppress it or treat it with a yawn will be investigated by internal affairs and released from service and prohibited from similar work with a responsibility to investigate seriously
We in sweden have the most aggressive policy in the world to combat this suppression of neglect related to hunting from the local community or any kind of coverup attempt or failure to investigate serious neglect, crime or not, we are not "paragraph riders" (paragraf ryttare) we investigate serious problems. anyone can understand how serious this is before digging after paragraphs

more about dog behaviour in general that might be relevant

Regarding dogs that hunt alone. I will not name any names but I have met a couple that lived in a remote valley in Portugal where their two large extremely aggressive dogs (even after ten minutes they were extremely uncomfortable with my presence and would not listen to their owner's calm regarding my encounter near their caravan on Canary islands) hunt together and bring home food. Literally drag it home to the family. Needless to say they have no kids and I will not say more about it more than the point that large dogs can easily on their own learn to hunt wild game. Possibly several breeds. They are still all close relatives of animals that do exactly that to survive. Guard territory identify intruder stalk and hunt prey is their basic behaviour anything else would result from actively counter acting instinctive behaviour that has become common to convert security staff patrol units and killers to social support animals because morons absolutely need to own a dog
Recall that in less developed countries like Chile dogs bark all night EVERYWHERE and run free in the day
I was in Chile for six months and never encountered dogs at night but had to suffer through the incessant noise if "guarding" at night. EVERYONE has night guard dogs. it is completely incomprehensible if you ever passed first grade with honours that they blindly follow a relict tradition for no other reason. Those dogs are GUARD dogs that have no experience of hunting ever. And when they encounter a human in the forest during their daily adventure they are never aggressive that far away from home
In western Europe outside Spain almost never dogs that bark all night. Same in Latvia. Two weeks in Lithuania don't think I ever heard a dog at night. A welcome serenity from Chile that I just arrived from after completing my record breaking expedition there

Ruby groaned as the alarm went off signaling that one of her charges had arrived back from their mission. While troublesome in its own right, what really got under her skin was that she only had one charge at the moment, and that edge lord piece of shit wasn’t supposed to complete his task for AT LEAST another 4 deca-cycles according to the prediction algorithm. Grumbling to herself, she rolled out of bed and poured herself a glass of water to offset the hangover she was trying to recover from.

A few moments later she was gliding down the hall to the meeting room. She knew Jason was going to pitch a fit that she had left him waiting, the self-entitled brat always did think the world revolved around him; but perhaps he should have thought about that before freaking dying so early. If he wanted her to be there to meet him upon death, he could at least have the decency to not die the morning after one of her binges.

Other staff members gave her a wide berth, even if it was a hollow title, she was still technically far above basically anyone else in the pecking order, at least those who had a physical presence within the Agency. She knew they all mocked her behind her back, even divine beings were sadly prone towards gossip. She put the anger at her subordinates/coworkers out of her mind for now; even if she didn’t particularly LIKE Jason, he still didn’t deserve her coming in with baggage.

Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed that she’d arrived in front of the conference room door. She had been mulling over her thoughts, just staring into nothingness, for several minutes before she finally snapped back to the present. With a soft rap on the door, she opened it and floated inside. Jason was lounging, sprawled out on the regally padded chair throne he so fancied.

They exchanged pleasantries before she sat down to go over the mission summary. Upon seeing the cause of death, she had regrettably lost her composure and started to laugh uncontrollably. Her mighty subordinate had been felled by a goblin?! The mighty Jason Alexander Coyle, “mercenary extraordinaire”, had gotten his shit kicked in by a lowly goblin using what looked like a shiny butter knife. Oh, it was just too rich to not laugh at the absurdity.

It took her much longer than she would like to admit, to stop laughing. Jason of course wore a sour look through the entire endeavor. She shrugged it off, she had little doubt that if the same thing had happened to someone else, he would have been right beside her doubled over in laughter. Hell, once he was in a less pissy mood, she might even be able to get him to laugh about it later.

As luck would have it, it appeared that Jason’s actions had been enough to alter the tides of the war. The kingdom, and its divinity, would still lose many to the battles ahead, but Jason had done enough that the Agency could still bill the client for services rendered. As she spoke, she could see the disdain the man had for her, he always complained that she was drunk and reeked of liquor. Sure, that was often true, but he didn’t need to be such a stick in the mud about it all.

She went ahead and authorized the transfer of credits to Jason’s account. As soon as she did so, he opened up the store page and tuned her out. She watched him open up the back-channel site and purchase something, a small part of her wondered who was going to get roasted over the coals this time for allowing their admin privileges to be hacked. She toyed with the idea of bringing up his illegal actions, but truth be told she didn’t really give a shit. The other divinities were far too lax with their security, it had been child's play for one of her previous wards to hack into the Agency’s system and build the black site.

She’d ask him once about the whole thing, didn’t really grasp as much as she would have liked, but basically it functioned by spoofing a handler's credentials. This allowed the user to gain access to encrypted parts of the network, specifically access to certain privileged services that handlers enjoyed and most importantly, access to the mission assignment database. Users could buy and sell restricted or banned goods, and a part of the profits would be siphoned off to her ward’s personal account.

With Jason’s attention otherwise occupied, Ruby went ahead and reviewed the logs for his previous mission. Something about it was nagging at her. She couldn’t put it into words; however, the whole series of events just didn’t feel like ‘bad luck’. Using her divine authority, she rewound events, watching Jason’s lungs unfill with blood and refill with air.

The goblin skulked back to its den of corpses, resheathing the dagger at its hips, and reburied itself underneath the bodies. She let it rewind another few moments before stopping the feed and letting it run at normal time. She watched the goblin, slowly shifting the bodies out of the way, making sure they made no noise when it moved them. Slowly, carefully, it began to creep towards Jason’s exposed back. It drew the blade, again slowly and quietly. It closed the distance making sure to never let Jason see it or to give him any reason to think someone was behind him. Then in a flash of movement it leapt, burying the dagger right into a joint in Jason’s armor. The placement was perfect, no resistance, so the blade sank to the hilt. Allowing it to puncture Jason’s right lung.

Ruby rewound the log once more. This was wrong, very wrong. The goblin was way too good to just be some random grunt. Its movements were too smooth, its aim too precise. No, she was sure of it now, this was not a normal goblin. She focused her attention on the thing, aiming to scan the goblin for abnormalities, the dust covering it offering a surprising level of resistance to her scan. Not enough to stop her from doing what she wanted, but more resistance than she felt was reasonable for the anti-magic powder.

When she finally gained access to the monster’s stat block, her suspicions were proven correct. That was no normal goblin, that was a Redcap, a Redcap assassin no less. What in the dozen hells was a Redcap assassin doing in the middle of a freaking battlefield?! Such a valuable unit wouldn’t be used on the front lines, their skill set was terribly suited for the chaos that was an active battle. No, something was very wrong here and Ruby was going to figure out what.

As her mind raced trying to puzzle out what the actual fuck was going on, something else about the goblin flagged in her mind. It had come out of the corpse pile with the dagger already in its possession. She highlighted the various bodies that had made up the goblin's hidey hole, and then rewound the scene back. Every time one of the highlighted bodies met their fate, she froze the moment and pulled the scene into a separate window. It took a few minutes, but she eventually had all of the corpses frozen in the heartbeat before their deaths. She went through and scanned every single individual. Not a single one had been equipped with a magic disruptor blade. “So, where the fuck did the Redcap get a kingdom issued disruptor?”

Looking up, she saw that Jason was still fiddling with whatever it was that he bought. She tried to make idle conversation with the man, but he had gone full auto pilot, giving curt one-to-two word answers when asked a question or having to respond to a comment. She rolled her eyes, as much as she and him butted heads, she did have to admit that she did kind of like the guy. He had been going a little too hard into the whole dark and brooding edge lord thing recently, but that was hardly his fault. The human soul was ill suited to withstand the trauma of death, much less multiple deaths. The Agency usually did a memory scrub every couple missions, to prevent that kind of issue, but Jason had been dodging the screenings. For a moment she considered just letting sleeping dogs lie. Jason was dead and the mission was over regardless of what she might find, but the whole thing just rubbed her the wrong way.

Taking a little nip from her pocket flask, she once more focuses her attention on the Redcap. After scrubbing through the last several months of the creature’s life, she finally finds what she was looking for. The blade had come from one of Jason’s personal guards.

Ruby did a deep dive on the guard, and what came back made her blood run cold. The man had recently lost his lover. Jason had ordered a company to mop up a fleeing enemy force, before it could regroup and cause more issues. The entire thing had been a ruse and the company had been slaughtered to the last. The guard's lover had been part of that company. The loss had hit the man hard, driving him to the only rock left in his life. His deep belief in the kingdom’s divinity.

And wouldn’t you know it, apparently the kingdom’s divinity had some issues with Jason that it couldn’t be bothered to address through the proper channels. So instead of letting Ruby handle the trainwreck that was Jason’s social skills, this little scum lord of a God, had taken upon themself to deal with the issue. Several months of holy visions were enough to convince the grieving widow to betray everyone and everything he had ever known.

Once the guard had been properly brainwashed into turning his coat, it had been a simple matter to worm his way on to all of Jason’s post-fight surveys of the battlefield. The magic scanners that were exclusive to Jason’s retinue, had allowed him to see that Jason’s inhuman ability to avoid taking damage was really just a creative use of high-level magic. High-level magic that could have easily been used to save many of the kingdom’s soldiers. But of course, Jason believed himself too good to give the common man a means to protect themselves and those they loved. All this knowledge was of course worthless to the guard, he was nowhere near skilled enough to actually challenge Jason. But wouldn’t you know it, the divinity had thought of that too.

The podunk worm had brokered a secret deal with the enemy he’d contracted the Agency to deal with. In exchange for getting rid of a thorn in the God’s side, it would use its powers to scale back the war. Instead of facing a war of eradication, the enemy would be allowed to keep some of the land it had conquered.

At the urging of his God, the guard held a series of clandestine meetings with the Redcap. Imparting all the information he had learned in the months of shadowing Jason. He also gave the beast two gifts, the first was a Disruptor blade the guard had swiped from a fellow honor guard; when Jason’s corpse was found the blade would be traced back to the unfortunate guard instead of the traitor. The second was a satchel of Grarothian powder that had been blessed by the divinity, to ensure that Jason wouldn’t see the attack coming. It had worked of course; Jason hadn’t even known he was in danger till the blade was already buried in his lung. Oh, she was going to have the wannabe God’s head on a pike after this.

It pained her to admit it, but Jason deserved the final say in how this was all going to go down. She attempted to grab his attention, but the man was lost in his own little world. She tried waving her hands, ignored. She tried snapping her fingers in his ears, ignored. She even went so far as to beat her wings, blasting his face with the wind force of just under a category 1 hurricane; again ignored. Her rage was starting to reach fever pitch. So, she defaulted to the most tried and true method of stress reduction she had in her arsenal. She decided the only way for herself and Jason, once he knew the truth, to calm down would be to relax with a drink of the finest Earth treats.

With a heavy heart she opened up her most beloved extra planer storage space. This place was used for the only two things Ruby really cared about anymore. It was where she kept her most prized and coveted liquor, and where she kept the last few mementos, she possessed of her fallen wards. Her eyes scanned the room, she needed to pick the right apology gift. As she carefully made her way towards the back, she saw it. Tucked in about two thirds of the way to the back wall, stood a single hogshead of ancient scotch whiskey. The second to last gift she had received from one of her dearest friends, all those years ago.

Yes, this was the correct one. She felt it deep within her chest, a proper atonement requires a proper level of sacrifice. With a heavy heart she lifted the barrel over her head and began to stride out of the extra dimensional space. As she neared the opening, the soft clink of something falling and a flash of gold caught her eye. Sitting on a tiny end table was a small pouch of coins, one of which had somehow gotten loose and tumbled face up onto the polished table face.

For a moment she hesitated, she knew exactly what those coins were; and knew how much trouble she would get into if upper management found out she had them. That said, she also knew a sign when she saw one. The artifacts that she held within this place were the last remnants of those she had failed most of all. She pondered the meaning behind the fact that two of her previous charges seemed to have taken a shine to Jason, offering up to him their most precious of gifts. With a heavy heart and a plea to those long lost, she grabbed the coin before closing the pocket dimension.

With a loud *CLUNK* She set the hogshead down. Apparently, the sound of the barrel had finally made enough noise to draw Jason’s attention away from his screen. From a much smaller storage pocket she produced two crystal glasses. Pouring a hefty serving into each glass, she set one down in front of herself and the other in front of Jason. Locking eyes with the man, she said a single word.

“Drink”

The man twisted his face up in disgust at the sight of the liquor.

“Thanks, but no thanks, I’m not inclined to degr...”

“I said, DRINK!” Ruby growl bellows, casting the Command spell on the last word. Jason, despite his best efforts to ignore the compulsion, is forced to do as he is told, and takes a hearty swig of his hundred-year-old Scotch. With a smile on her lips, Ruby takes the opportunity to sip the illustrious gift. The hours melt away as they both sip and savor the deep complex flavors of this legendary brew.

As the drink flows her recollection of events becomes just a tad bit hazy. She can’t really remember how long it takes, but she does eventually come clean about the reason for this impromptu bout of drinking. It comes as little shock that Jason is... less than pleased to learn about the events that led to his death. He downs the rest of his drink in a single gulp, a waste of grand booze in Ruby’s opinion, and demands she fill his next one to the brim. For the first time in FAR too long, Ruby gets to see the Jason she had known all those years ago was still in there.

As the festivities carried on, she would occasionally catch him fiddling with the token he had bought. Curiosity finally getting the better of her, she decided to ask him about it, deciding to NOT mention that she knew it was illicitly purchased. He was cagey about it at first, but eventually loosened up and told her the truth.

He had grown bored with the usual missions that he had been assigned. He was sick of always having to play support, always cleaning up someone else’s messes, always laying the groundwork for someone else’s story. So, he had decided to cash in his points, and finally make use of the vacation time he had accrued. He had picked out what looked to be a pretty basic Isekai mission. Ruby suggested not mentioning his luck to anyone else, even she was aware how rare and coveted those missions were.

As the night wound to a close, they said their goodbyes. Before taking her leave, Ruby remembered the other present she had for Jason. A sharp whistle was the only warning she gave him before flicking the coin at his head. Even drunk, the man’s senses were still a thing to marvel at as he caught it in midair .

“The fuck is this?”

“Think of it as a gift.” She snorts.

“Oh, how generous of you. A whole gold coin, whatever will I spend it on.” Jason responds as he jangles the large coin pouch at his hip.

“Oh, fuck off. I’ll take it back if you’re going to be a brat about it.”

Jason drops the coin into his wallet and shakes it again for good measure. “Oops, too late now. Guess you’ll just have to let me keep it.” He gives her a smug grin.

She scoffed before turning around and making for the door. She could hear him activate the token as she closed the door behind her. As she wandered down the hallways back to her room, she pondered the events of the day. The rogue client would need to be dealt with, but she still wasn’t sure if burying him in legal paperwork for the next millennia or two, or just giving him a good old fashion human curb stomping, was the better punishment for his actions.

The choices bounced around in her head till she finally reached her residence. Having made no real progress in deciding her actions, she elected to just table the decision till she woke up next. The God was small time, so it wasn’t like it was going anywhere.

She took her time getting ready to sleep. Being a divine being herself, she didn’t actually NEED to sleep, but she did so enjoy the human customs surrounding the whole process. She took a long hot bath to unwind, before summoning a pair of adorable pajamas. Her body clean, and her mind at peace she laid down in her oversized excessively fluffy bed.

She had barely closed her eyes and began to drift off to blissful sleep, before she was awoken once again by the sound of her alarm going off.

“You have got to be shitting me. HOW?!?!”

Elevate Your Dental Health with Root Canal Therapy
Root canal treatment, also known as endodontic therapy, is a misunderstood hero in the realm of dental care. Far from the daunting procedure many imagine a root canal is a standard treatment designed to save a tooth that is severely damaged or infected. Let’s unpack the root canal process, its significance, and how it can be a game-changer for your oral health and smile.
Understanding the Root Canal Process
A root canal targets the tooth’s pulp, a soft tissue containing nerves and blood vessels that can become inflamed or infected due to various factors, including deep decay, repeated dental work, cracks, chips, or trauma. Ignoring the infection can lead to severe complications, such as abscesses, bone loss, or even tooth loss.
Recognizing the Need for a Root Canal
Key indicators that suggest the need for root canal therapy include:

• Persistent and severe tooth pain, especially when chewing or applying pressure.
• Prolonged sensitivity to hot or cold stimuli.
• Gum swelling, tenderness, or the presence of a pimple-like bump near the affected tooth.
• A noticeable darkening of the tooth.

The Root Canal Procedure Unveiled

• Initial Diagnosis: A thorough examination, including X-rays, is conducted to determine the necessity of a root canal.
• Anesthesia and Access: The area around the tooth is numbed with local anesthesia to ensure a pain-free experience. An access hole is then made in the tooth to reach the damaged pulp.
• Pulp Removal: The infected pulp is meticulously removed, and the tooth’s root canals are cleaned, shaped, and disinfected to eliminate bacteria.
• Filling and Sealing: The cleaned canals are filled with gutta-percha, a biocompatible material, and the access hole is sealed to prevent further infection.
• Restoration: A crown or filling may be applied to reinforce the tooth’s structure, function, and appearance.

The Benefits of Root Canal Therapy

• Root canal treatment offers numerous advantages, including: Pain Alleviation: It effectively eliminates the discomfort caused by pulp infection or inflammation.
• Tooth Preservation: The procedure saves the natural tooth, maintaining the integrity of your smile and obviating the need for more invasive solutions like implants or bridges.
• Infection Control: Root canal therapy halts the spread of infection, protecting adjacent teeth and bone.
• Durability: A properly cared-for tooth after root canal therapy can function normally for a lifetime.

Conclusion
If you’re experiencing symptoms indicative of a pulp infection, consult your dentist promptly. A root canal might just be the key to restoring your tooth’s health and preserving your beautiful smile. Embrace the advancements in dental technology and the expertise of dental professionals, who can make your root canal experience comfortable and effective.
Remember, maintaining diligent oral hygiene and scheduling regular dental check-ups are essential steps in preventing dental issues and ensuring your smile stays bright and healthy for years to come. Don’t let fear hold you back from the treatment you need—root canal therapy is a proven path to dental wellness and a radiant smile.
Article Source: https://www.sterlingsmilesazle.com/make-your-smile-right-again-with-a-root-canal/

Camp Half-Blood Official Camper Entry Report #JDB7YC
First report is based on initial interviews with Camp Half-Blood staff. NOT FOR CAMPER VIEWING.

Name	Age	D.O.B	Height	Weight	Hair	Eyes	Parentage
Isaac Sheppard	16	August 16th	5'10"	109kg	Chestnut	Hazel-Green	Heracles

Origin
Camper Isaac Sheppard, preferably referred to as 'Shepard' simply has detailed his younger years of upbringing as more typical of what we consider mortal activities. Unaware of his lineage, he was raised by his mother, Jennifer Sheppard, in the boroughs of Hartfort, Conneticut without recorded incident. Shepard hinted towards his mother knowing more but quickly halted further questioning, insisting that she wouldn't have hidden facts from him. Shepard dictated mortal schooling had no outstanding events save his performance in physical sports. Regular disciplining regarding a laxidase attitude at any sports, despite exemplary performance in nearly every field. Shepard stated the only one he liked the sound of was archery but the school's facilities did not support this outside of occasional yearly excursions to more advanced facilities.
Satyr Protector Member 38821 was tasked with investigating a phoned-in anonymous report submitted to Camp Half-Blood of a teenager presenting with physical strength exceeding that of even typical demigods. Whilst this tip-off left no further detailing beyond the city of Hartford and to look for excessive physical capabilities, the suspected caller is believed to be Jennifer Sheppard. Protector 38821 was able to determine Isaac's school and infiltrate his class in order to breach the topic of introducing him to the reality of being a son of the god Heracles. Days later, Hartford Police Department reported arson at the home address of Isaac and Jennifer Sheppard. Isaac presented statements of 'scaled individuals' fleeing the scene but mortal services dismissed these as distressed claims of a teenager in shock of losing his mother. Protector 38821 was able to retrieve Shepard from intervening social services and was in the process of transporting them both to camp via train when they both came into contact with individuals described by Shepard as 'guys but with these glowing eyes and armoured...or metal?'. For reporting's sake, contact is assumed to be hostile automata of origin unknown.
Protector 38821 and Shepard were able to reach Long Island whilst under extended assault from these automata, roughly 7 hours later according to statements from Shepard though accuracy of these estimates is lowered due to stress and high fatigue from protecting both himself and Protector 38821. Shepard openly admits that without the help of campers from Camp Half-Blood, he would not have survived the final stint to camp boundaries and his fate would have matched that of Protector 38821.
Powers:

• Legendary Strength AKA 'Unstoppable Force' [Minor]

Isaac displays one of the highest levels of strength and stamina known of half-bloods. He has been recorded being able to lift up to 600 lbs. (or 272.16 kg) and can punch through concrete. Thankfully Isaac is aware of this and seems to have been informed of this by his mother for a significant portion of his life and can control this, despite not knowing of his bloodline.

• Electrical Resistance [Minor]

First displayed during Shepard's extraction to camp, he shows a resistance to the harmful effects of electrical attacks such to a degree that he is able to withstand badly interacting with small appliances.

• X [Minor]

Shepared has yet to display any further abilities. We do not yet know if this is an intentional action of obscuring them or whether Shepard simpy does not have any more abilities.

• Herculean Fortitude AKA 'Immovable Object' [Major]

Isaac possesses a complete immunity to mental and emotional power. This includes reading his mental or emotional state. Those who attempt to influence or read his mental state report the sensation of attempting to read a blank slate, an immutable, unreadable presence some have found disconcerting. His presence/location can still be detected by these powers if a user were to attempt to locate him via these abilities. As a side-effect of these powers, he cannot be positively influenced or 'buffed' by other powers, excluding healing magic.

• Summon Weapon [Domain]

Shepard is capable of summoning a weapon related to his godly parent, though his personal experiences have shaped the typical club that his siblings are capable of spawning into something a bit...scrappier. Whilst not as lethal as a Celestial Bronze weapon, the makeshift maul is entirely capable of lethal strikes when fuelled by Shepard's enhanced strength.

• Alternate Vision [Domain]

Beginner Tier - Shepard describes this as an overlaid indicator in the form of a customisable crosshair over his own field of view that will show Shepard where an arrow will land if it is loosed at his current draw and aim. By drawing the string further and aim differently, so too will the indicator adjust. Shepard has determined quickly that this does not work with melee or thrown items.
Intermediate level - Shepard partially draws strength from his grandfather’s domain here, completely unable to control the winds beyond the air in his lungs but he can observe them. When the HUD is up, he can determine wind-speed and direction, as well as how that will impact his shot with the aiming indicator being able to now compensate for wind.
Master tier - As Shepard masters this power over time, judging distance, aim, and after regular usage, he is able to use the HUD as a range finder to within a metre's precision.

• Enhanced Skill Proficiency [Domain]

Isaac shows a increased proficiency in physical activities when he wishes to put the effort in in, particularly those that Heracles was renowned for such as wrestling, fighting, archery, and overall shows of strength.

Personality
Shepard's time at camp is only just beginning, with a greater report on his tendencies and personality still pending until he has shown his hand and can be interacted with. First impressions are guarded, the boy still getting to grips with this introduction of a new reality. Perhaps we may be able to discern more once he has completed what we believe to be a more introspective assessment, determining who he is in Camp Half-Blood and how demigods fit into what is to him, a new world.
Notes

• No discernible reason behind the dismissal of his first name, 'Shepard' simply being a misspelling of his last name that he has stuck with.
  
• Shepard appears to enjoy what he calls 'tinkering', idle adjustment and construction of functionless trinkets or pieces from mechanical parts. Notions of some kind of link to Hephaestus have been dismissed but camp officials may wish to nudge him towards campers with a proclivity of crafting to engage in Shepard's curiosity or ease any initial worries about joining camp
  
• Be on watch for any conflicts regarding possessions, as Shepard's rushed retrieval has meant he has arrived at camp with only the clothes on his back. Initial talks with him have shown he is very protective of his 'home clothes'. Whilst he has taken to camp clothing without incident, Shepard may be harbouring thoughts of loss beyond just his mother.
  

End report. Begin report JDB36T on camper activities.

But the full tale of Shepard is a story we'll hear later. For now, we cut to the boy himself...
Shepard stood out in the open, placing himself accidentally at the centre of camp with his back to the Big House. His two saviours had to depart to carry on with their own business and so the clueless teen turned slowly to attempt to take in the enormity of where he stood, and what that meant for his tomorrow. Hopefully someone noticed the kid not in camp clothes, scratching his head and epitomising the term 'paralysed in indecision', and could offer kind words. Or even better, directions to the bathroom?

https://www.reddit.com/ParanormalEncounters/s/nJGw3cgmyM - previous post
I morphed into the presence that haunted me
This is the 2nd dream I've had of myself turning into an evil entity
The first dream I had when I was 17, 2 years ago. I was sleeping and woke up on my back to see myself sitting on my desk at the end of my room. All the lights in my room where on and it felt safe. I spoke with myself about things I don't remember and we laughed. Then this figure who was me kept laughing and laughing and the room got darker and darker with only a red light that seemed to radiate on the figures face. I lunged at it and threw it to the floor and we fought and it started clawing at me and blood covered my hands and face
I ran to my parents and they dismissed me acting like I wasn't even there. I woke up bed. It was a false awakening.
I turned over and closed my eyes only to open them to be standing in front of an old hospital and a voice calling me as i rose into the air and I started crying and saying NO until the voice dropped me. I felt my knees ache and the dirt under my hands. I looked at my hands and saw the blood from the previous dream mixed with the dirt from the ground on my hands.
I woke up ONCE AGAIN and just tried to steady my breathing. I opened my eyes to be standing in an empty field with a single tree I just closed my eyes and when I woke up this time I was covered in sweat. I walked to my parents room and i just cried and cried while my mom held me and I asked her if this was reality
I managed to get past these dreams and sort of accept that I'll never understand them.
The problem is last night I had a dream in a similar vain. I saw myself. It looked as though I was staring at myself in a mirror. He was laughing and looking at me as well. His skin slowly started to go bleach white and his hair grew and grew until it covered his eyes and he just kept laughing and smiling.
I woke up in a cold sweat and ran to my mom and she calmed me down.
I know this dream sounds silly and normally at my big age I'd laugh it off and go back to bed. The problem is that I've seen that man before. The man I became in my dream.
When I was younger I was at a church camp and I went inside the church alone to get something while everyone was outside. I saw a man with bleach white skin and long hair laughing and calling to me. They found me inside and said I had been seizing. Haven't had a seizure before or since.
It's like when I see myself in these dreams, it's as if I'm being lured into a false sense of security and when I drop my guard this thing that appears as me, the person I'm most comfortable with, it reveals itself. It feels like a completely separate being to myself.
I'm worried if this means something and I really hope it doesn't. My friend thinks something is either trying to scare me or trying to posses me. My mom thinks something has been attached to me since I was younger and I'm just a bit worried and scared.
A comment by a user who said he had a similar experience with the pale man https://www.reddit.com/ParanormalEncounters/s/ip2FpRMvTk

Here. And I’d like to start by noticing that Steve Sailer is obviously Delicious Taco’s dad. Having said this.
Good episode. Lots of engagement which I suppose is a net positive for all involved. Obviously a lot of the injury stems from a distortion. The episode’s content fantasized and in fantasy warped into something constituting a threat (no, an outright assault) to the listener’s person. One can simply listen to the episode and see that some (in fact the bulk) of the negative responses are from people reacting to some spectral absent-presence rather than to what is actually being said over the course of the 2 hour long episode. The voices and the discourse have instead been shaped into sonic receptacle containing the reflection of something wildly ugly. Injuriously ugly.
Past few days have been brutal. Found myself doom-viewing the main sub, should know better at this age. Feels like I’ve been transmogrified into an absurd and wretched thing. Must've transgressed against a gnome or something. Fascinating to think about.
I would like nothing more than to shame you.
Miami Summer is a killer. Urine is blood-orange. And my mother deserves better sons.
Why would A&D do this?
Witnessing the rankest comments. In bygone age I’d found them tolerable. Having imagined them delivered by high society homosexual. A damned dandy; chubby, sinister, and flamboyant. Capri on a stick limply held between index and middle fingers, twirling wrist ash’ing on expensive Persian rug. The blurry ghosts of his mother and the kid brother who drowned in the pond all those years ago glaring at him from far-off corner. Clearing throat he launches into sing-song slander head peeling back cackling at his own wickedness. Vile and venomous but charming. Instead what we get is 30+ year old mentally-ill men. Men whose Twitter activity has atrophied their cock and balls. Genitals withering away like the Worker's State, in its place a gasping cloaca, worry not I can clock em from miles away. The odious cloaca-havers are soon joined by ruined drug-addled children and the other women. They talk about A&D in disgusting ways. This is unfair and nasty. I confess to being angry. Sweating blood-specked kerosene. Let the scent fill up the empty air between us. My wrath singeing those overgrown nose hairs.
Of the two I think Anna is the one that inspires the harshest parasocial spite. So much so that I’d recommend she take some protective measures against evil eye and tongue. Maybe take baths with hyssop herb, rose water perfume, and holy water.
It’s as if Anna Khachiyan is a Giant Floating Vagina with teeth and a noticeable overbite. Viewed from another angle it transforms into a Madonna encircled by cherubim. Perhaps we are cruel to Anna in order to be kind to our mothers.
All very pre-Oedipal.
Had to step back and parse it out. Anna draws a comparison between herself and Sailer while also asking him a great question,
07:12-07:49
Anna: “I started reading it during the pandemic because it was the pandemic. I was pregnant and bored and I really relate to you as a person who everyone thinks is like evil and monstrous on the internet, but is actually like quite agreeable and mild mannered in real life. And I was going to ask you this question last, but I may as well just ask it now. How do you feel about your new found popularity? And especially, how do you feel about the fact that you have been effectively adopted by or identified with the hard right?”
The first part of the above extract, the sympathetic recognition, brings to mind a bit of 20th century Hermetic theory concerning harmful thought-forms. Our unconscious self-destructive impulses animating the fantasy-phantasm of the other. Inhabiting their shape. Gaining a degree of autonomy. This artificial entity is vampiric by default, provoking what the Czech magician Franz Bardon calls a "magical persecutory complex"... He goes into detail about such entities in Step VI of his seminal work, Initiation into Hermetics. Describing different types of artificial elementals and phantasms along with details on how to consciously go about creating and dissipating them. One of those artificial psychic entities, the one that concerns us, he calls the schemata. Bardon details two variants, one connected with paranoid persecutory fantasies and the other with erotic obsession. The first type comes about when someone who is “easily excitable, easily influenced or self-important” (Narcissist?) has a run in with another person who has, to put it mildly, a memorable visage and dark personality. The schemata is born from the phantasm modeled after this demonic-looking disagreeable person. The victim begins to attribute all kinds of minor inconveniences to the influence of the ugly person. Deludes themselves into thinking that the ugly/disagreeable person is a powerful black magician. Everything appears to reinforce their paranoid delusions. The schema grows in power feeding off the anxieties of their creatohost. The person might end up committing suicide. This was the persecutory schemas desire, having achieved its goal Bardon notes, “how great is the shock when such a spirit realizes on the mental plane that he has committed a very successful magical suicide. What a bitter disappointment! The demonic looking person, however, has no idea what happened; he was actually only the means to an end.”
God gave us eyes so that we might notice things.
The way I see it:
Being social animals the subject of our fantasy, of our fixations, is the fantasy of the other. What makes the human Human is not that we desire but rather that we desire the desire of the other. An excess desire. We fantasize about what the other is fantasizing and enjoying. Our fantasy of the fantasy of the other is the outlines a fundamental lack within our person, a negativity. Experienced as a splitting of consciousness. Intuiting this lack, becoming aware of it, and attempting to articulate it, we are self-consciousness. This negativity or void is in psychoanalytic terms, the unconscious. We likewise intuit that there had once been some original state. One without lack and contradiction. A state of fullness, without the division between self and object. A harmonious whole. A pure consciousness or as Freud refers to it in Civilization and its Discontents an oceanic feeling. The Original Desire, one that is authentically my own, which was not the desire of the other but which unites our desires in itself. This desire is the extinction of all desires.
The eye that perceives the lovely is at once the eye that perceives what I lack. Perceiving this lack, which explains my present condition, I covet. This is an evil eye. The lover’s gaze is of the same type as the infirm or pathic gaze. Reminded of Zizek’s formulation of one of Hegel’s insights, “Evil resides in the very gaze which perceives Evil all around itself" itself a variation of Meister Eckhart’s “the eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me.” The recognition of evil, the ability to see and judge evil, stems from our ability to recognize disparity. This disparity is already present within our own person, the split-consciousness. The feeling cognized, the awareness of our condition as beings separated from the whole. The clairvoyance of the tyrant and the philosopher.
Suppose that psychopathology is born from our inability to recognize an image as an image.
I intuit something more in this person, something they’re hiding. It can’t just be envy, no. It has to be because I can feel that this thing they’re hiding is sinister. It can’t just be that I feel animosity towards this person, no. It has to be because this person is evil and not just an isolated evil but rather a symptom of a much larger evil. An evil that is responsible for all the suffering in the World, for why my World isn’t the way it should be. It can’t just be attraction, no. It has to be that I intuit something more in this person, something hidden, that I must destroy in order to go on living.
If vile shit comes to mind (as vile things often do, especially when one is immersed in ambient algorithmically-summoned vileness, namely outrage and atrocity porn) they won't affirm it to themselves or try to justify or rationalize it or present it as a rational political stance. And they don’t abstract this particular form of vileness into the primary lens through which they view and interpret cultural phenomena. Unreflexive racial animosity is ugly and fetid. We’re capable of recognizing it, feeling it, as something pathological. We’re also capable of laughing at it. Laughing at ourselves. Look at what our ladies have to say about Stuart Seldowitz (the dude who went viral harassing a halal street vendor) in I’ll Be Missinger. “He sucks,” “he’s a loser,” “he’s obviously sick,” and that he gives the impression of someone who lives alone, will die alone, and will be found weeks or even months after the fact.
Perhaps Red Scare is special in how it manages to elicit absurd, wildly inappropriate responses from listeners. Vulgar and revelatory was it? Steve Sailer elicits a similar response and has become an expert in turning said absurd reactions to his advantage. Generally the cooler-head in any given exchange. While the other person shouts obscenities at a ghost, smashing fists against the post, looking crazy, like a proper hysteric. Sailer breaks the fourth-wall, making eye-contact with the would-be noticer, with a little shake of the head, a little chuckle, a little shrug… “you’re noticing right? See what I have to put up with? Imagine these people defining my legacy.” Still he seems to take it with the good humor of an uncle who will still call you on your birthday, despite your drunken outburst during holiday get-together he will admit to not having resisted the temptation to provoke you, it use to be fun, recall all the cool bands I introduced you too? We use to be best buds, “do you really think anything I’ve said merits this sort of response? Honestly?”
Has to be a cheap trick. A technique employed by an old trickster in decades long honing of craft. Maybe not. Maybe what we see is precisely what we get. Most of the very upsetting things being jokes sincerely intended to lighten the mood. Steve Sailer doesn’t care about the particular political orientation of his audience. He just cares that he has an audience. Grateful for the fans he has. Nonetheless happy that they’re not seething malcontent racists. Even if one disagrees with the methodology, the heuristic, the conclusions. That’s secondary, perhaps even tertiary to the recognition sought. His craftsmanship as a writer.
Why I loved his conflict with Will Stancil. Stancil inspired a lot of pondering for me. Putting things in place…
01:29:22-01:29:28
Anna: “You come for the race science and stay for the prose-styling and vivid story-telling.”
In trying to survive as a writer exiled from Mainstream Conservative media (ConInc) during the Bush Jr years. In fact, correct me if I’m wrong but the cancelation that actually impacted Steve Sailer, setting him down the path we find him in, was brought about not by blue-haired hall monitor millennial leftists but by his “fellow” Conservatives. I imagine that he just went with whoever was willing to take him adapting to the editorial standards and audience sensibilities of the publications willing to provide him succor. Not charity mind you but an ability to engage in his own little labor of love.
Read some Sailer. Might get into that later. But that’s the initial impression I got from Steve. Would be utterly mortified if memorialized as a Racialist Ideologue rather than as an entertaining and thought-provoking journalist. Think I also benefited from seeing how he’s actually received by people who are navigating through (or in certain cases, are mired in) the marginal “Hard Right”-spaces or the Rightwing Digital Ghetto. End up realizing that he isn’t hateful, that what you see is precisely what you get, that he privileges craft over ideology, that his reception and exile from Neocon dominated media outlets (remember these are the people gushing ecstatic over the US invasion of Iraq, manufacturing consent for our adventures in the Middle East) was exceedingly unfair but that he nonetheless managed to persevere. And that he really never goes beyond Norm McDonald in terms of his sardonic wit or The Boondocks animated series in terms of his criticisms. His normality is a great source of stability and comfort for his readers; “noticing” and speculating about these topics doesn’t necessarily lead to one becoming a seething racist.
Returning for a moment to Will Stancil, this was what he inspired:
As the last man standing I spend countless hours immersed in detailed fantasies about the coming apocalypse and my enemy's bliss. A dumb and wicked happiness proportional to my suffering. Easy to imagine other people happy. Hearts unbroken. Unburdened, hydrated, sexually satisfied, debt-free, lucky, successful in all business endeavors. Brute, jezebel, schemer, parasite, rival, betrayer... the whole lot of them thriving. Frolicking in my mind's eye. When the time comes I won't forget that they were happy while...others...suffered.
Find that trying to void your mind of all thought or sit perfectly still for 10 minutes. End up feeling like something requires much less energy from us than nothing. Causes coalescing. Conspiring, to what ends?
You see. The very same principle appears to be at work here. Same pathological base that undergirds genuine racial or ethnic animosity. Fantasizing about the other’s enjoyment and being unable to distinguish between the persecutory Phantasm and the actual human being whose shape it appropriates.
Had a friend recommend forgetting. Forgetting is a dialectical exercise, first you have to acknowledge the thing living rent free in your head and acknowledge its origins... then you have to take the steps to stop feeding it. Letting the thought-form dissolve. Let it be put to rest. Reminded of the practice Orthodox Christian contemplatives call Nepsis.
Other approaches as well, acknowledging the presence of anima veiled in shadow.
But listen…
The podcasts I consume, are a reflection of me as a person. Being what I associate and consume. What does it say about me in particular? Reveal about me? That they should have Steve Sailer on the pod. Settling down. Perhaps some responses could be understood in this light. That a Sailer episode reflects poorly on the listener. Constituting a great betrayal of the love and energy and time I have dedicated over the years to you.
I’m not a racist.
Show me your likes on Twitter and I’ll tell you who you are. The most punitive and brutal god. The idea of the AI nu-god being this, utilizing that standard, is horrifying. Show me your likes on Twitter and I’ll tell you who you are, everything you are, and whether or not you qualify to live.
Shamed, I quietly remove the upvote I gave to the hysterical person and the downvote I gave to him.
Hysteria like a yawn is an empathic contagion.
Back to Anna it’s not because she’s ugly and it sucks that she might nurse this delusion. I actually think Anna is really pretty. Rather I think it’s because she’s a mom. She registers as a maternal figure. That’s one of the reasons I think people respond to her the way they do. As stated earlier. We are cruel to Anna in order to forgive our moms.
[To be continued: Wherein I say horrible things that should never be said to the people I claim to love. Will also interrogate Sailor Socialism]

Intro

It’s not much of a stretch to say that violence is the primary form of interaction in video games. With a handful of exceptions, most video games involve guys whacking other guys, with varying degrees of brutality. Even chill games fall into this - Stardew Valley has sections with combat in them! Considering the pervasiveness of violence in video games, there has been a ton of amateur and academic commentary on the topic. However, while this is a well-established school of thought, I haven’t seen people try to apply this to Fire Emblem specifically.
So, let’s do that now! In this post, I’ll be exploring how violence in Fire Emblem is implemented - what limitations are placed on violence, how it warps wider game and narrative design, and what it implicitly says and does not say. I hope this post doesn’t come off as too early-2010s “makes you think”-y, but I do think there are multiple interesting things worth talking about here!
Despite the length of this post, "a brief discussion" is an appropriate title, as we won't be able to go into depth on everything. After all, video games are holistic works, so the attitude towards violence is relevant to every aspect of their design. However, I have managed to wrangle some of these threads into the following structure: first a discussion on the fundamental mode of interaction in Fire Emblem, then how stories are constructed with regards to violence, and ending with the aesthetics of violence and how they relate to characters. Also, as FE is a huge series, be aware that I am gonna be making some broad statements which may not apply to each individual plot point of every game. I actually planned to write 3 case studies around Thracia 776, Fates, and Three Houses (which have the most interesting attitudes to violence in the series IMO) which point out these deviations, but this post is way too long and full of tangents already. If people are interested, I’ll make a followup to this post which goes into them in more detail. Also also, because of the nature of this post, I’ll actually give a useful TL;DR for once:
TL;DR: Nintendo games must be fun mechanically, and they can’t be too uncomfortable narratively. If you try to provide a counterpoint by saying “oh this Kirby final boss is super dark it eats 100 morbillion galaxies”, you do not deserve rights. IntSys has to keep to this as a 2nd party publisher, but they also have to deal with the fact that their games are at least nominally about ‘war’ (or at least they put their toes into that particular thematic pool). This conflict between making a fun video game for children/teens and the wider framing of the narrative leads to interesting narrative and aesthetic tensions. also fun is cringe, misery is based

“Do you like hurting other people?” (or The Fundamental Mode of Interaction)

OK LISTEN I KNOW I LITERALLY JUST SAID THAT I DIDN’T WANT TO COME ACROSS AS A EARLY 2010s “VIOLENCE IN VIDYA BAD :O????” PERSON BUT I SWEAR I’M GOING SOMEWHERE WITH THIS
The best place to start when talking about violence in video games is to think about the primary form of interaction in said game. In the case of Fire Emblem, this is in the in-chapter gameplay. Sure, in objective terms the player moves arbitrary objects across a 2D grid which perform subtraction on arbitrary objects controlled by the computer, but this is always framed as controlling a squad of soldiers to engage in (typically lethal) combat with enemies (who are normally also soldiers). When you’re not doing this in-chapter gameplay, you are preparing for the next chapter of combat. This involves surveying the area of combat, preparing weapon loadouts, etc, however more recent entries also include light life-sim-esque elements. To summarize, Fire Emblem’s interactivity involves ordering violence as well as the preparations to order said violence.
For players, this strategic thinking is extremely fun and is the primary draw of the series! You have all these tier lists of who’s better at killing, discussion of the maps where you do the killing, complaints about the length of gameplay sections where you don’t do killing, etc. This is by design, as while I don’t know the core brand tenets of Nintendo, I imagine the Reggie quote “If it isn’t fun, why bother?” is carved into a solid gold statue of Mario in the office lobby. This then is enforced on all associated studios, including IntSys and so Fire Emblem. While I would disagree with that Reggie quote (especially the bit where he says “If it’s not a battle, where’s the fun?” which is a wild statement to make about an entire medium), this approach to making games is ultimately fine, and so IntSys tailored the strategic gameplay to be satisfying to your dopamine receptors. You could analyse what the normalisation of violence even in ‘just for fun’ games says about wider gaming culture, but I won’t get into that here. In any case, let’s dig into a few specifics of FE’s interactivity.
One thing that’s interesting with regard to strategy games is the detached perspective of the player. You order units and observe the resulting violence, but it’s not tactile, you don’t directly swing the sword or shoot the bow or cast the spell like with action games. This adds a layer of separation between the player and what fundamentally happens, at least within the framing that the game provides. It’s not like Call of Duty, where your relationship to the violence is very visceral, where you view everything down the barrel of a gun. OK, I probably shouldn’t use a series that I have very little personal experience with (I only listen to the supplementary lore material, so let’s talk about Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice. While you’re not directly in the driver’s seat, John Sekiro reacts to your every input with extreme responsiveness, so overcoming the game’s challenges i.e. stabbing people is incredibly visceral and satisfying. While this violence is fantastical in nature, there is sufficient blood and explicit sword-action to clearly say “oh yeah you are violently killing all of those bozos with a katana”. Coming back to FE, not only are you far more detached from the violence, it is presented in an extremely cartoony manner… but let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, we’ll get to the aesthetics later. Point is, Fire Emblem gives the viewpoint of a stoic commander, who Does What Needs To Be Done™, and not the viewpoint of an actual soldier who has to do the actual killing.
Now let’s view the player’s perspective on violence from a different angle. Fire Emblem intends for its combat to be relatively relaxed on the player side of things - the turn-based nature allows the player to calmly think through all of their moves, and you typically have perfect information on the enemies. The only exceptions to this are Fog of WaSame Turn Reinforcements, which are rare and typically unpopular amongst the fanbase. This leans into ‘combat as sport’, where (going back to the Reggie quote) you have a fun time picking apart a puzzle with the tools you have, and we all collectively enjoy this! This is a valid way of designing strategy games, and I like what IntSys has done. However, it’s not the only way of making these games - for example, in Total War you have to juggle all your battalions in real time whilst the enemy is bearing down on you, and the XCOM games always have Fog of War and limited information on the enemies, with you never knowing what kind of awful new monster is going to suddenly charge at you. Don’t get me wrong, neither of these follow ‘combat as war’, the principle that violence should properly mimic the stress, tension and unfairness of actual conflict. Hell, neither of them are particularly mature either - Total War is the strategy game equivalent of smashing action figures together, and XCOM emulates a pulp sci-fi alien invasion story. However, the additional pressures these games have make them hew slightly closer to actual conflict, putting you more in that mindset in a way that the clean fun Fire Emblem doesn’t really do. Again, I want to say FE’s approach to violence in in-map gameplay is fine, but when all three of these franchises have an explicit narrative framing of ‘warfare’, it does make Fire Emblem’s narrative a little more… stretched.
Finally, I want to briefly mention the maps. To steal from a brilliant Jacob Geller video, these are Worlds Designed For Violence. At least outside of the Kaga games, the maps you fight on are primarily designed around how the player interacts with them, i.e. fights on them. While I imagine the narrative designers and artists at IntSys are involved throughout the map design process, the gameplay flow probably takes precedence most of the time. Maps are not designed to resemble realistic places that you have to fight through, they are instead designed primarily to provide fun gameplay experiences before being dressed up by the artists to look realistic/fit the specific story beat. This is a more consistently entertaining approach to map design - heaven knows we have a lot of Kaga castle assault maps which are as fun as actually assaulting an entrenched position IRL - but this lack of friction could potentially take the bite out of the intended vibe, neuter any commentary on violence throughout the story.
You may have noticed that we’ve only talked about the “in-map” gameplay for now, when there’s an entire second half of these games, i.e. all the gameplay between the maps. Don’t worry, we’ll get to all of that, but this may fit better in:

Something something “ludonarrative” something something (or Narrative Implications)

(To clarify, here I’m going to talk about the wider plots and narrative structure as opposed to characterisation, as that fits more into the aesthetics of the series)
It’s not bold to say that the narratives of games have to warp around the core gameplay structure. Especially in AAA video game production, the narrative designers usually have to take a back seat to the systems and level designers, at least outside of the initial rough outline they provide in the original game pitch. In this case, the job of the writer is to form vaguely coherent connective tissue between individual levels, setpieces and expensive pre-rendered cutscenes. This must be a very difficult job, and is probably the reason why most video game stories are the way they are. I am not privy to IntSys internal meetings, but I imagine they abide by this paradigm, trying to give a reason for why you fight 20 battles which roughly align with plot beats that were decided years ago.
Put another way, the writers of Fire Emblem must contrive a reason why the characters fight a vast number of violent battles in a strategic manner. This has a pretty easy solution - war! We have found something it’s good for, as whenever the gameplay designers decide that an extra map is required, the writers can just insert “oh no there’s a blockade of enemy soldiers in the way, guess you gotta kill them all”. This is the case for almost all the games and is a fair enough narrative choice, as it’s frankly one of the few scenarios where you could reasonably contrive so many battles, but it’s worth examining this in a bit more detail.
Even in the framing of warfare, there are still a lot of skirmishes, which sometimes the narrative or tone fails to support - or at least, their presence means that violence isn’t taken that seriously. Let’s take an example from early in Awakening: Emmeryn sends the Shepherds to negotiate an alliance with Regna Ferox. On the way, they are ambushed by Risen on the Northroad (1), have to fight the border guards who think Chrom is a bandit I think??? (2), and then after arriving they need to take part in Regna Ferox’s ritual combat to secure their alliance (3). These beats aren’t necessarily bad, and I actually think Awakening uses these opportunities quite well: the Risen are established as a constant threat to the world (except not really in the main story but that’s a whole other thing), “Marth'' gets more development, we set up Regna Ferox as fighty people who like to fight, and while the middle encounter is very tenuous it does set up a funny joke in Cynthia’s paralogue. However, I want to communicate that if the map/encounter designers need X maps between plot points A and B - in this case, needing low-stakes trials in the tutorial period - then there’s gonna be a fair bit of narrative filler. That is to say, there must be multiple combat encounters that kinda just happen, which makes violence a lot more casual in the narrative. See also the myriad examples of “oh shit random bandits attack!”, used to have a lower stakes map, with bandits appearing and vanishing as needed. This works fine enough in the context of ‘combat as sport’, allowing your favourite scrunglo to build up a triple-digit body count, but this casual attitude circumvents potentially interesting ideas with regards violence. Taking the example further, banditry and its causes are never seriously explored, as bandits are just treated as a filler enemy (except in Based As Hell Thracia 776).
Another narrative consequence of needing so many fights is that… you need to fight. That is to say, any anti-war sentiment or appeal to diplomacy in the series is fundamentally undercut by a) strategic combat being a core appeal of the series and b) narrative beats needing to be structured around fighting enemies. It’s a struggle to have moments of diplomacy and reconciliation when you had a fight within 3 minutes of said moment, lest some people start screaming that things are getting boring. This also makes any appeals to pacifism kinda moot. Xander’s quote about “war bad” in Conquest is utter bullshit, as a huge part of the marketing around that route focuses on the coolness of the tactical combat and its challenge. Eirika and Ephraim can never be equal, because Ephraim’s “fighting is fucken awesome” is encouraged by the gameplay, and Eirika can NEVER save 11037 because we need a final boss and no-one else fits the bill.
Speaking of, in video games it’s best practice to have a big bad guy you fight at the end of the story, the toughest mechanical challenge coinciding with the narrative climax. In Fire Emblem, you have one grand final battle which decides the fate of the war and/or world, before cutting to a brief wrap-up and then credits. This is an attempt to make these games satisfying, which is fine, but this is at odds with an anti-war message (which FE often gestures towards) - that is, actual wars tend to be deeply unsatisfying in a narrative sense! Oftentimes, after a decisive battle, things just kinda keep going for a little while afterwards with casualties continuing to pile up until peace terms are agreed. In the few cases where there is a final battle, it’s more of a formality as the decisive moment occurred months ago. See World War 1 and… World War 2 for examples of each, not to mention a whole host of war-related books and films. The problem with doing this in a video game is that it would require having multiple one-sided fights past the most climatic fight, which would be unfun, and we return to that fucking Reggie quote again. While video games can effectively explore this anti-war narrative space - This War of Mine is a fantastic example - it just doesn’t gel with the fun games that IntSys wants to make. I bring this up in the context of FE because Fire Emblem has such an aesthetic focus on warfare compared to other video games, so it sticks out even further. Even in FE6/FE9 where the war is effectively over in the final few maps, the enemies still remain extremely challenging, because if they didn’t things would be boring.
A few minor things that didn’t fit in above before we wrap up this section. First of all, in making an action packed story, Fire Emblem neglects an important aspect of army life in warfare - the “hurrying up and waiting”. In the majority of cases, the breaks between fights is under 10 minutes, it’s just glossed over. Fire Emblem Three Houses is the exception to this, but there it’s more framed as school life. Some people may say “what’s the point in having large amounts of timewasting where nothing happens in my game about war” and to that I would say fuck you, I want to play Jarhead Emblem. Next, Fire Emblem involves fighting people AND monsters, but these targets are typically given equal narrative weight, outside of maybe a funny line of dialogue about someone being afraid of monsters. In 99% of cases, enemy soldiers you fight have no more humanity than literal monsters. The death of any of your beloved soldiers is a tragedy with big sad death quotes, the death of those poor fuckers is quite literally a statistic which is proudly used to rank how well your guys have done at the end of the game. Finally, the limited scope of the violence the series can show limits the potential impact of scenes. In some cases, this is good as the implication is enough, e.g. the ‘Monica’ scene in Sacred Stones is wonderfully grim and would be weakened by anything explicit. However, a number of other scenes are neutered by the limitations on violence. This fundamentally relates to the aesthetics of the series:

insert prozd tweet/skit here (or Aesthetics, Tone, and Characters)

I’ve been talking a lot about ‘the violence committed’, and this might have seemed a bit weird to you. It’s a true statement, but because the violence is mostly cartoony and abstracted - bad guys disappear into nothingness, there’s no blood, etc - it’s hard to think of it in that way. It’s basically impossible to place Fire Emblem in the same artistic sphere as, say, All Quiet on the Western Front. This aesthetic sense was partially tech-limited in the early NES and SNES games, which was grandfathered into the more graphically complex titles, but it’s also related to how the aesthetics unavoidably warp the tone of the work. IntSys needs their games to be relatively lighthearted and unconcerned with the consequences of its violence, as one of the core appeals of these games is the charming cast of characters. As you would expect, it would be a lot harder to appreciate your goofy blorbos and their lighthearted chats about nothing if you could see the brutal consequences of their triple digit body counts. If violence was more realistic, there would be a lot less “ooh I like training and/or this one hyperspecific food” or “I like peace, but I guess violence may be possibly needed sometimes” and there would have to be a lot more trauma and dourness. There are also age rating concerns, as you can’t exactly sell Come And See Emblem to pre-teens. And once more, to clarify: Fire Emblem as it exists now is fine! I like the lighthearted tone of this series, and I like the characters that reside within it. However, a few problems do arise from IntSys’s approach to violence, as occasionally they brush up against darker ideas but (due to similar reasons to the above) they can never commit to them, which neuters their potential impact. This is especially troublesome with regards to characterisation, as the little dudes are a core appeal, so if something is off that could cause problems. In a sense, at points we have severe aesthetic tension.
A fairly useful case study to see how this affects characterisation is with Mozu in Fire Emblem Fates. Mozu is a charming character, a genial country bumpkin with a bit of an edge at times, who has fond memories of her hometown. This lines up with the lighthearted tone of her recruitment paralogue, where (checks notes) her entire village gets massacred by inhuman monsters, with her mother literally being murdered right in front of her, and she joins up with Corrin’s party because there is literally nothing left of her old life. I understand that people who experience extreme trauma do still manage to live meaningful lives, and that IntSys wouldn’t want to have a character who is a barely functional traumatised mess for 90% of the campaign. However, this doesn’t explain the sheer dissonance between the relatively normal and well-adjusted Mozu who quietly remembers her lost loved ones, and the fact that her village got My Lai’d a handful of weeks ago in the game’s timeline. IMO this would work a lot better if there were a few survivors (instead of literally everyone else dying), with Mozu actively choosing to leave her old life to help others instead of being forced to leave by circumstance. This reduction in scope would mitigate the dissonance between the character and what actually happens to her. This is by far the most extreme example in the series, however I’m sure you can think of others. My issue here is not with having ‘normal’ characters, or with them suffering tragedies, my issue is the dissonance between the two when viewing the scope of said tragedies. This is just one way the series wants to get into darker territory, then swiftly backing off instead of delving into the consequences.
This aesthetic restriction also affects the potential impact of dramatic scenes in the main story, limiting what the focus of these scenes can actually be. This little bit will involve heavy spoilers for Genealogy of the Holy War and Spec Ops: The Line (I KNOW THESE GAMES ARE VERY DIFFERENT WITH VERY DIFFERENT INTENDED DEMOGRAPHICS IN VERY DIFFERENT CULTURAL CONTEXTS, SHUT UP). Both have a very important narrative moment around their midpoints, involving fire magic/white phosphorus respectively. In each game, the deaths that occur are utterly horrific when you think about them. In FE4 the focus is on the drama of the plot twist and effects on the characters, with the actual effects of the violence being left to implication. We don’t know if this was the original intent of Kaga and the team, or if this was enforced by various tech- and publisher-related restrictions, but in either case we do not see anything explicit. In any case, in Spec Ops: The Line, the horror and graphic nature of the violence is completely inescapable, and therefore forms the core of the turning point of the story. The specifics of the violence itself are crucial - the game does not work if you don’t see the consequences of the white phosphorus - and it leads beautifully to the complete descent of its endgame. You may be saying “of course you couldn’t show that violence in FE, it’s a kids game” which is true, and in any case the scene in Genealogy is very good, even without showing the violence. I imagine if we get a remake in the year 202X we wouldn’t see anything explicit anyway, partially due to the publisher but also because the scene doesn’t necessarily need it. The point I am trying to make is that the aesthetics form a limitation on what Fire Emblem can explore, narrative space that the series fundamentally cannot reach.
One more thing, and this isn’t really about the games themselves but the impressions leading into them, and how the aesthetics can affect that. Do you guys remember when the intro cutscene of Three Houses was released a few weeks before release? I do, and I also remember the collective shock of the community when seeing the early previews. It was so drastically different to everything that had come before, and consequently was really intriguing - you can see a lot of speculation in the above comments. To clarify, I don’t want to pretend that 3H is some kind of super mature ultra gritty war story, or that blood = good game, but that beginning cutscene gave one hell of a first impression. Even though the game isn’t that much darker than any other FE game, the sheer unexpectedness put people off-kilter in a kinda awesome way. Does the game actually deliver? YMMV, but I think this (and some of the later cutscenes, such as the mid-game Dimitri one) work quite well. Sometimes, a little injection of harsher violence can go a long way.

Conclusion

Frankly I don’t really have a conclusion, sorry. As you can see, there are so many disparate strands, I can’t possibly make one grand thesis statement. Maybe the inherent contradictions of having warfare in a family friendly video game weakens the potential end result? I guess, but I don’t want to imply that what we have now is bad, as it is pretty good tbh. So, uhh…
…
OK, if I had to say something, it’s more about the process of making this. Having to try and think about how violence intersects with a video game you like takes you in a number of different directions. Ultimately, this process was really fulfilling for me, and I would recommend that you do the same (for FE or anything else)! Trying to analyse something you enjoy from a perspective not usually applied is pretty neat. If you guys have any thoughts (on the points above or your own), I’d be very interested to hear them!
Also, if people are interested, I’ll try to make a few case studies. I would focus on Thracia 776, Fates, and Three Houses, as (when thinking on this topic) I found that these games were consistently the most intriguing, with the most interesting relationships to violence. This would probably take a while though, as I am gonna be very busy in June, and I probably won’t have time this month either.

Hi! I'm a male, 46 yo, 1.68 meters tall, 65 kg. In 2000, while preparing for a corneal transplant due to rapidly declining vision acuity caused by keratoconus I was feeling bad (pulsating pain in left arm, headaches, numb small finger on left arm). Going through different doctors, I was diagnosed with diabetes (marked as "probably MODY"), and put on a diet. Each time I ate too much, I started feeling bad again, but my blood sugar remained normal. In 2003 I was hospitalized again in the endocrinology ward, and again discharged on diet with 'diabetes', despite normal sugars; also was sent to geneticists, but they found nothing.
In 2010, while studying at courses (preparation for an institute), I went off the diet and ate more, because I was feeling tired; basically it was not overeating in normal person's terms; my blood sugars were okay. This overeating caused a kind of stressed stuporous state, but I persisted; I started having weird sensations in my left arm again.
After some days I had a "stroke-like episode" with dizziness and a kind of numbness in the left half of the lips, left arm, left foot. I was afraid and went back to my strict diet, took some cardio aspirin, resumed taking an ACE inhibitor, despite normal pressure. This was when I first had an MRI scan of the brain, and it revealed only an unrelated tumor of the trigeminal nerve (1 by 2 cm, invading a bit into the left orbital cavity), described as "probably a schwannoma" - this tumor has not grown a bit ever since, it has the same size on all scans since 2010. Except this tumor, located in the left cavernous sinus, nothing was found.
After this stroke-like episode, I could not properly read texts - upon reading, I was having attacks of dizziness and sudden strong ear blockage, a kind of 'airplane ear', and sensations of heaviness in my left arm. The same happened upon starting each meal. I was afraid of subsequent episodes, so I went on a really strict diet.
I then had myself hospitalized in the same endocrinology ward and asked the docs there to finally discover what this so-called "diabetes" was, with neurological symptoms and with normal blood sugars. They instead decided to put me on insulin therapy, on tiny doses, only 3 units of ultra-fast Apidra insulin per meal, with no long-acting insulin. Their reasoning was that I was having "anorexia nervosa" and that the insulin would "make me eat more". No amount of describing my neurological symptoms would dissuade them.
I signed an informed refusal to start on insulin, and they discharged me with a diagnosis of "diabetes, probably MODY" again. I then nearly starved myself, being afraid of overeating and having a new stroke-like episode. I could not read, so I spent time listening to audiobooks. Then, half-starved, I had myself voluntarily hospitalized there again and consented to start on this microdosing insulin treatment in November 2011.
Surprizingly, on this microdosing insulin regimen my strange left-sided sensations gradually diminished, over the course of the next 6 months, and I could read again without sudden attacks of "airplane ear" and dizziness and feelings of "my left arm is weirdly heavy/stiff all of a sudden". By the end of 2012, I was working as a translator, studying for a university again, jogging and bicycling.
On 20 April 2018 I had an attack of lower back pain after a bicycle ride in the cold; had some etorixocib prescribed for it; the pain went away in mere days, and bouts of severe fatigue set in. After each bicycle ride, however light, I was having 2 to 3 days of not being able to do anything. I could not translate, I was mentally too slow. My total urinary 24h cortisol was constantly at about 150% of the upper range and my blood potassium was slightly elevated. Doctors found nothing, I went to the psychiatry hospital and they found "sub-depression" (their tests showed that I was 1 point short of being in "light depression). We decided to try out escitalopram, and it worked - my cortisol normalized, I could work again.
In November 2020 I started having bouts of heavy feeling in my left flank some 1 hour after each meal, accompanied with extreme fatigue which lasted for many hours, until the food went completely through the GI tract. I could not work again: slow thinking, tiredness. In the summer 2023 I was hospitalized in the gastro ward of the same hospital, but they found nothing.
While in the gastro ward, I was asked to undergo a planned hospitalization for my diabetes, since they noticed that I had no such hospitalization ever since 2011. I said that I would only consent to that if during my stay I would be re-tested for the presence of diabetes, because I was highly suspicious on whether I actually had it. They agreed, and during my stay in the endo ward, I had a glucose tolerance test accompanied with two measurements of C-peptide. This revealed that my pancreas was producing insulin and I had no diabetes.
I still had several days to remain in the endo ward, so the doc and me decided that I would eat a lot of carb-rich food, and track my blood sugars with the Bluetooth sensor they put on my upper arm. I treated myself to cookies and honey and stuff, and my sugars were just fine - but I suddenly had the same neurological feelings that had vanished in 2012 upon starting on the microdose insulin regimen.
So I was discharged from that unit for the fifth time since 2000, only this time with "no diabetes" in my discharge paper instead of "diabetes, probably MODY" -- but I go on injecting micro-doses of insulin before meals, because otherwise the 'airplane ear' and 'heavy left arm' and 'numb left part of lips/external fingers on left foot/hand' reemerge. Stopping insulin increases these sensations, restarting insulin brings them gradually down.
I was sent to the geneticists again, and as a condition for seeing me they had me take another MRI scan. This time, to my amazement, the radiologist's impression contained a mention of a "lesion in the right part of the corpora quadrigemina area, probably an area of gliosis". The geneticists did some dry blood spot testing and found nothing.
I went to my neurosurgeon and asked what this lesion in the tectum (corpora quadrigemina) could be. She took all the MRI scans dating back to 2015 which I had with me, and after perusing them for a long time said that the same spot is visible on all previous scans; and that she has no idea what it is, but the spot is of the same size, so she indends to pursue watchful waiting, with follow-up MRI scans every 2 years.
I went home and managed to find the rest of the MRI scans dating back to February 2010, shortly after my "stroke-like episode". I can see the lesion there.
I have these questions: 1) Why would radiologists not mention a midbrain lesion in their impression papers for years? Is it clinically insignificant? 2) Could a lesion there be somehow related to my odd sensations? 3) What could have caused the lesion to arise there in the first place, while I was only 32 years old, or even 22 years old (if it arose there in 2000)? 4) Why insulin treatment diminishes these sensations, while going off insulin and eating a lot of carbs makes them worse?
What can I do to research my condition further? I have little confidence in local doctors in Russia, having been treated for a non-existent diabetes for 23 years. Recently I had some stress at work (my attention is flagging, so I had to go from being a translator to being a food delivery person), and my left arm is feeling heavy sometimes, despite the insulin, and I have weird sensations of being a little clumsy, despite not being clumsy in reality.
I'm ready to provide additional information. I'm currently taking 150 mg venlafaxine, 75 mcg thyroxine, 5 mg rosuvastatin, and 1600 to 2000 mcg methylfolate daily. I visit a psychiatrist for a follow up and to renew drug prescriptions. I'm trying to save for a psychotherapist, but my salary is peanuts, so I haven't been able thus far.
I have MRI scans from 2010, 2012, 2013, 2015, 2016, 2018, 2022 and 2024 - the lesion is visible on each of them, but is described only on the radiologist's impression from the spring of 2024. I can upload the scans somewhere if necessary. The lesion is described as "a T2-enhancing area, 6 by 6 by 8 mm in size, with no mass effect".

be me; ex LizarDM
be also me; Adonis Valintellis (Tiefling Paladin), Thalia Milakos (Human Ranger) and Zaahir Kehmet (Earth Genasi Wizard)
the soldier stifled a yawn as he patrolled the sandy beaches of Kalikos
clouds hid the island from the moon’s spectral glow, casting the land into darkness and turning the often silver seas black as coal
his shift had been a long one and just as boring as expected
where once his mind had been sharp and alert, it now lingered on thoughts of a cold drink and a warm bed
his eyes scanned the shore superficially, passing over the same stones and grassy knolls he’d seen a hundred times before
on any other night, he may have noticed the discrepancies in the shoreline
the new rock that appeared almost boat-like on second glance
but alas, his mind was a thousand miles away, and the javelin hit him without warning
the soldier collapsed to his knees, gasping for air like a fish on land
his armour had spared him from the worst of the damage, but the javelin had done its job
stunned and winded, he was rendered defenceless against the four figures that emerged from the darkness
a thought crossed his mind to sound the alarm; but his limbs refused to move and his lungs pleaded for breath
one member of the pack split from the rest. A stout dwarf with a full beard and a grim expression
they approached the helpless man, drawing a sharply curved short sword from their belt
the soldier tried to move
tried to yell
but the dwarf closed the distance between them and cut his throat, putting a violent end to his struggles
wiping the blood clean from his weapon, Oryk hauled the body behind cover before jogging to catch up with his companions
the Order of the Twins moved like shadows in the night. Their passage muffled by the spells woven about their feet
that said, their infiltration still proved easier than expected
skirting the edges of the island, the party avoided common paths and watchful eyes; slipping between gaps in the meagre defences they encountered
their route took them just below the peak of the island; where a lavish home stared out across the ocean
in the distance, tiny twinkling lights just barely outlined the Athosi mainland
the house itself was lit up like a beacon in the night, and roaming globules of fire identified the few guards on rotation. Six or seven at most
less than a third of what they had anticipated
counting their blessings, the small band of adventurers navigated the narrow pathways around the house and approached the island’s southern side, where a lonely dirt road wound its way towards a grove of trees
they moved swiftly and silently through the long grass that grew on either side, but they needn’t have bothered
the road was unguarded, and the entrance to the grove lay bare
“this is too easy,” Cyrene whispered; fidgeting nervously with an iron band around her wrist. “Where are the rest of the guards?”
she, like the rest of her companions, had a dishevelled look to her appearance
a thinness to her features that implied more than a couple missed meals
Oryk shot her a stern look, and the half orc immediately shut her mouth
turning his gaze to the two half elves to his rear, he was answered with obedient silence
Maia had always been thin, but now she was practically gaunt
her eyes carried a weight, and an ugly scar split her lip on the left side
Iris, her sister, had once identified herself with long curly hair
now, it was cut short, and crudely so. As if done with an altogether uncaring hand
both twins wore the same iron band as Cyrene around their left wrist
a thin piece of metal that coiled around their limb like a snake
with a commanding wave of his hand, Oryk led the party through the grove’s northern entrance and into the trees beyond
moving like ghosts between the thin trunks and shallow underbrush, the group made good progress before they heard the sudden snap of a twig in the darkness
Oryk raised a fist and the advance came to an abrupt stop, scanning their surroundings with tense expressions
a series of soft whispers drifted between the trees, accompanied by the rustling of leaves and groaning of branches
the dwarven fighter drew his sica and his companions complied, unsheathing their weapons in response
they began to spot lithe, feminine figures peering out at them from behind the trees. Staring at the strangers with bright, emerald eyes
the women had skin like mottled bark, and hair that plumed about them like foliage
“dryads,” Cyrene declared, lowering her rhomphaia with the faintest hint of relief
Iris and Maia exchanged a look before lowering their own weapons, albeit keeping them close at hand
Oryk, however, raised his short sword threateningly, and pointed it at the nearest nature spirit
“get back in your trees and stay there. Interfere, and we will not hesitate to kill you”
the dryad in question retreated, but the others stood their ground as a frantic whispering filled the trees around them
something dangerous glimmered in Oryk’s eyes, and his fingers tightened around the hilt of his sica
“NOW!” he suddenly bellowed, his voice deep and commanding
the drayds scattered into the trees, leaving a myriad of foul curses and even fouler odours in their wake
Oryk gave a satisfied grunt and turned to leave, only to nearly walk into the dryad that now stood in his way
a spirit with speckled, ashy skin and a stern, stubborn expression
Oryk approached them with his weapon raised
“get out of my way,” he growled. “I won’t ask a third time”
the dryad stared down at him like a disapproving adult would a petulant child, and when it spoke, it did so with a voice like wind through a canopy
“if you were wise, you would return to your masters. You will not find what you seek here”
its eyes lifted to the party, as if directing its words to them
with a snarl, Oryk swiped at the dryad, only to be met by a cloud of pollen and stinging nettles
cursing aloud between bouts of frantic coughing, the dwarf fled the swarm and started rubbing his eyes, which had already begun streaming with tears
muttering under her breath, Cyrene approached his side and laid a hand on his shoulder
“come now, let me see”
lowering his hands to his side, Oryk turned to face her with a grimace, his eyes puffy and red
“Archons above, Oryk,” Cyrene cursed. “You should know better than to taunt a dryad”
as the words left her mouth, the band on her wrist suddenly tightened and the half orc gave a small yelp of pain
glaring at her through bloodshot eyes, Oryk gave the cleric a venomous look
“and you should know better than to speak out of line”
Cyrene’s hands fumbled at the metal around her wrist, refusing to meet the dwarf’s cruel gaze
the cuff continued to coil and squeeze; writhing like a living being as Cyrene frantically whispered a foreign chant beneath her breath
the words seemed to appease the magic item, and it loosened its grip in response
witnessing this cruel display of discipline, the twins began unconsciously massaging the band around their own wrists; as if reminiscing on a similar experience
shaking the pain from her arm, Cyrene set to work curing Oryk’s ailment, uttering a slew of healing spells
with his eyesight restored, Oryk sheathed his weapon and pushed past Cyrene, wandering into the trees
with little other choice other than to follow, the group set off after him
the party walked for some time before a sound other than buzzing insects and murmured curses reached their ears
a low, rumbling that echoed through the trees. Like a dull droning that came in ebbs and flows
once more the group came to a stop, and before Oryk could even turn to look towards the twins, they had already begun to move
creeping forward with the lightest of footsteps, Maia and Iris stealthily approached the sound, deftly avoiding any stray branches or betraying stones
the droning grew louder and louder, until the pair had stopped just shy of its source
peering around a trunk with sharp blue eyes, Maia scanned what lay ahead
the trees parted around an ancient oak, its roots deep and its branches tall
a hollow sat about half way up the trunk. A small opening just wide enough to put a hand or two inside
but the tree was not so interesting as what lay beneath
coiled around the trunk was a creature with a long, serpentine body
its scales, green and flecked with brown, were hard and interlocked like shields in a phalanx
its head, immense and filled with razor sharp teeth, lay curled just below the hollow of the tree
the low rumbling emanated from the monster’s chest, as it uttered a long, prolonged snore
Maia’s jaw tightened and her eyes flitted over to her sister
Iris’ face had gone pale, and her hand had instinctively dropped to grab at the empty sheath on her belt
a prize taken by their employer
the twins locked eyes, and shared a moment of profound fear
wetting her suddenly very dry lips, Maia gestured back towards the trees and Iris nodded in silent agreement
the two stealthily retreated, keeping their footsteps light all the way back to their comrades
Oryk almost jumped when the twins materialised beside him, emerging from the darkness without warning
“well?” he hissed, his voice rising above the droning snores. “What did you find?”
Iris frantically gestured for the dwarf to quiet down, as Maia shot a terrified glance back in the direction of the oak tree
only when they heard the low droning of the monster’s snores did the pair relax enough to answer
“dragon”
the word held in the air like a curse
Cyrene’s eyes widened, and had it not been for the band on her wrist, she most certainly would have uttered a prayer
even Oryk’s permanently affixed scowl faded as the blood drained from his face
when he finally spoke, he did so with no semblance of his usual condescension
“...how big?”
“8 meters,” Iris answered. “No more than 12”
Oryk nodded, his brow knitting together as he dropped into a crouch
“a juvenile,” he thought aloud. “Hasn’t reached full adulthood. Scorch marks?”
“none that we could see”
“good. Then either it’s too young to breathe fire, or it spits poison”
his eyes narrowed to points as he mulled things over in his head
the group kept quiet, forced to listen to the distant, droning snores as their leader considered their options
after a long stretch of time, Oryk took a sharp inhale and straightened his posture
“it’s asleep?”
his eyes shifted to Maia, and the half elf tensed
“we think so but…”
“we don’t know for certain,” Iris quickly interrupted. “We’ve never encountered a dragon before. We should call off the mission and come back more prepared”
a deadly silence fell over the group as the dwarf went still
“call off the mission?” he repeated
his voice was calm, but the words held a distinct edge to them
like the blade of a meticulously sharpened knife
“and since when did you make the calls in this party?”
Maia shot her sister a look, and Iris lowered her eyes
“never,” she answered
“that’s right. Never,” Oryk reiterated, holding the half elf in his steely gaze. “We do things my way, as we always have”
Iris’ clamped her mouth shut and the dwarvish fighter turned to look at his other companions
“unless you have all forgotten what awaits us if we fail? What will happen if we come back empty handed?”
he was met with silence and a slow shake of Cyrene’s head
“failure isn’t an option,” he continued. “If the drakon is asleep, we need to act now”
his gaze shifted to Maia
“so can you do what I need you to?”
the half elf swallowed and tried to slow her racing heartbeat
“I think so,” she meekly answered
“good. The rest of us will wait in position. We’ll flank the tree from three sides and-”
“-I’ll do it,” Iris suddenly interjected
Oryk’s teeth flashed in a grimace before he turned to face her
“I’ll retrieve the objective,” Iris clarified, meeting the dwarf’s gaze
“Maia is quieter,” Oryk bluntly retorted. “She stands a better chance of getting to the tree than you do”
“but with my magic-”
“-your magic that we need for the escape,” he interrupted. “We have a plan, stick to it”
he turned back to the front and began drawing out a rough plan in the dirt with his sica
“-while Maia sneaks in, we hold here to provide support. Once we have what we came for, we leave back through the northern exit”
Iris’ eye twitched, and Maia reached out to drop a hand on her sister’s arm
“Iris-” she quietly started
but her warning went unheeded, and Iris spoke up again
“what’s the point of saving my magic if we don’t get what we came for?” she argued
Oryk spun with a stormy expression, pointing his blade to her chest
“because I said so!” he snapped. “And you will do what you’re told!”
he may have stood half a head shorter than Iris, but in that moment, Oryk felt like a giant, and in the silence of the trees, his voice sounded like a clap of thunder
Iris’ face paled and Oryk realised what he had done
instinctively, the party held their breath; anticipating a monstrous roar, or the crash of falling trees
but after a few tense seconds, all they heard was the rhythmic rumbling of distant snores
the group letting out a collective sigh of relief that cut through the tension like a knife
tension that returned the moment Oryk opened his mouth
“do you want to be sent across the Chronaean?” he hissed. “Do you want to leave your sister alone?”
Iris’ eyes shifted to Cyrene, searching for some glimmer of support
instead, the half orc looked away, leaving the half elf to face their leader alone
“of course I don’t,” Iris mumbled
“exactly,” Oryk spat. “Stay in line, do what you’re told, and keep your mouth shut”
he turned to Maia with an expression that encouraged absolute obedience
“get the objective, and get out. Nod if you understand”
Maia gave a slight jerk of her head
“good. Now get moving”
the dwarf stormed off into the trees, and Cyrene quickly shot up to follow him
Maia and Iris exchanged a look of resignation before joining their trusted comrades

Maia stood in position by the edge of the clearing, mentally projecting her path to and from the hollow
it was a simple job, really
dart across the open ground
jump up to the low branch on the left side
climb over to the main trunk
grab the objective
and do it all again
simple
if it weren’t for the dragon in the way
Maia's heart began to pound in her chest until she felt a hand fall gently across her arm
she turned, meeting Iris' concerned gaze
“you don’t have to do this,” her sister whispered; practically breathing the words into Maia’s ear
“yes I do,” Maia answered, keeping her voice just as quiet. “You heard Oryk. We can’t go back empty handed”
“f*ck Oryk,” Iris cursed. “We’re only here because of him”
in spite of herself, a grim smile lifted the corner of Maia’s lips
it was a rare thing to hear Iris curse
“we could run, you know. Make a break for the mainland”
Maia’s smile dropped in an instant
“Iris, no”
“why not?” Iris replied earnestly. “We can make it. I know we can”
“they’ll catch us. And even if they don’t, what then? We’ve got nowhere to hide. No friends to help us. We’d be on our own”
“we’ve been alone before. We survived, didn’t we?”
Iris’ words were hopeful, but they couldn’t hide the desperation beneath
when Maia didn’t seem convinced, Iris took her sister’s face into her hands
“please don’t do this. I can’t lose you”
Maia’s eyes softened, and she placed her hands atop Iris’
“that’s why I have to do this”
she took a deep breath and tried to put on a half convincing smile
“you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got this. I promise”
Iris’ thumb traced the scar across her sister’s lip
“I’m older. It’s my job to worry about you”
a frown fell across Maia’s face
“older by 10 minutes”
“and I’ll never let you forget it”
Iris pulled her sister into a tight hug
“don’t you dare get yourself caught”
“when have I ever?”
the two reluctantly parted, and Iris held her sister at an arm’s length
“remember. Once you have it-”
“-run like the Hounds of Chaon are after me”
a smile touched Iris’ lips, and the shadows rose up to swallow her
when they parted, the monk was gone
inhaling a slow, shaky breath, Maia composed herself, and refocused on the tree
30ft to the centre
branch on the left side
over the dragon
down to the hollow
reverse and get out
she exhaled slowly, letting the shake fade from her breath
she had this
Maia broke from the tree line, moving in a swift but stealthy manner
every step carefully laid. Every movement intentional
the dragon’s snores rumbled like thunder, growing louder with each step
before she knew it, she was beneath the low branch
taking a quick stutter step to gain momentum, she threw herself upwards, catching the branch with both hands
thankfully, the branch held firm, and Maia swung her legs up and around it
shimmying along inch by inch, she drew closer to the trunk itself, inadvertently holding her breath as she passed over the sleeping body of the dragon
its breath reeked up close. Like spoiled fruit and vinegar
it took all her strength not to gag
before she knew it, she was at the trunk of the tree and at the next step of her plan
hoisting herself up to a crouched position, she flattened her body against the side of the trunk and began sliding her foot along its length
eventually, she found a suitable foothold and began clambering across to a more central position
the hollow was just beneath her now
and beneath that, the massive head of the dragon
this close, she realised just how easily such a creature could snap her up
with her small frame, she’d be gone in one or two bites
pushing such morbid thoughts out of her mind, she leaned down until her head and arm were low enough to reach inside the hollow
her lungs were beginning to burn from holding her breath for so long, but she dared not exhale
she wasn't sure how good a dragon's senses were, but she wasn't keen to find out either
reaching her arm into the hollow, her fingers touched loose leaves and knotted wood
she pushed a little deeper, searching for any sign of her prize
something cold
something metal
but instead, she felt the hard back of the hollow
frowning, she pressed again, but still felt only the rear of the hollow
had she somehow missed it?
her fingers scrambled around, but continued to feel only wood and leaves
her lungs were really burning now, and she could feel her face flushing with colour from being upside down
regardless, she removed her arm and leaned her head down further, trying to peer inside
in the black gloom of a moonless night, a human wouldn’t have been able to see a thing
but even with her enhanced elvish sight, Maia was granted only the slightest advantage
just enough to make out the shape of the interior and the contents within
dried leaves
knotted wood
a couple insect husks
and nothing else
sure she had somehow made a mistake, she looked again and again
but with each scan, the truth became undeniable
“you will not find what you seek, here”
the dryad’s words echoed in Maia’s head, and with a cold sense of dread, she realised that the spirit hadn’t been speaking rhetorically
the amulet wasn’t here
and with that realisation, Maia’s lungs could hold on no longer
her breath escaped all at once, her awkward position driving the air out in an undignified huff
she clamped a hand over her mouth, but the damage had been done
she had made a sound, however small, and already her breath was mixing with the cool air
time slowed to a crawl as the dragon’s snores came to a stop
she watched in terror as its head, mere inches below her, began to stir
its nostrils flared; drawing breath with a deep, rasping inhale, and its eyes rolled in their sockets
the dragon’s jaws cracked open, revealing a black, forked tongue and rows of fetid teeth
rancid breath assaulted Maia’s senses, making her stomach turn and her head spin
she waited for the creature to open its eyes
to see the tiny morsel dangling helplessly above it
but they never did
to her greatest relief, the dragon remained asleep and blissfully unaware of her presence
relief swiftly turned to dismay, however, as the dragon proceeded to shift; its scales rippling like water across its long, serpentine body
the tree shook violently as the monster scraped against its surface, shearing away bark and causing branches to groan and sway
wrapping her arms around whatever she could find, Maia clung desperately as the shaking threatened to throw her loose
after what felt like an eternity, the vibrations mercifully ended, and the dragon returned to its snoring
but even after the tree had long fallen still, Maia found herself unable move; as if every single muscle in her body had frozen solid
in a moment of clarity, she realised that her hand had found her dagger in the chaos, and that the weapon was now clutched in an iron grip at her side
she almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation
as if a dagger would keep her safe if the dragon had actually awoken
nonetheless, she kept it in her hand, unwilling to relinquish the one defence she had
lifting her gaze to scan the surrounding treeline, she spotted the pale faces of her companions waiting in position. Intently following her progress with their eyes
Iris looked just as high sprung as she was. All but ready to throw herself into the open in order to save her sister
Maia silently prayed that her twin could keep her composure for just a little longer
wetting her incredibly dry lips, the rogue began scaling the tree; taking care to avoid any of the small twigs and leaves that had been shaken loose by the dragon’s shifting
upon reaching her chosen branch she paused, taking a moment to slow her racing heart beat
in spite of everything telling her otherwise, she needed to calm down
stress would lead to mistakes
and mistakes would lead to her death
feeling her muscles relax ever so slightly, Maia continued, stretching her body out to reach the low branch
her feet found purchase, and the rogue began creeping along its length
a few more steps and she’d be home free
“Maia!”
a single word
muffled and distorted, and yet agonisingly loud
Maia’s eyes dropped to the bronze surface of her dagger and saw a young woman’s face staring back at her, their eyes grey and piercing
there was a flash of familiarity in the half elf’s mind, but in that moment, she could barely recall her own name
a million thoughts raced through her mind as her heart pounded like a drum in her ears
one thought, however, screamed louder than the rest
run
Maia’s feet moved before the thought had even finished forming, propelling her from the branch a split second before it detonated into an explosion of jagged splinters
she hit the ground hard, feeling something give in her shoulder
she didn’t have time to dwell on it, as an earth shattering roar tore the world asunder
her feet were under her in an instant, and she broke into a sprint, not daring to look behind her
she knew that if she turned, all she would see is a flash of green scales and a mouth full of fangs closing in to end her life
the air began to reek of rotten fruit and then a body collided with her, throwing her aside
a cloud of noxious fumes ripped through the space she had just occupied, causing grass to shrivel and trees to wither
she felt hands on her arms and shoulders, and then Iris was yelling at her, hauling her to her feet amidst pained racking coughs
they didn’t have time to stop, barrelling through the trees in a mad dash to get away
as furious roars filled the air behind them, Iris stumbled through the underbrush, her legs unsteady beneath her
Maia looped an arm under her shoulder, and now the twins were supporting each other in a tangle of limbs
minutes passed. Or maybe just seconds. And then the two broke from the tree line onto an open road
sea winds rushed up to meet them, and Iris' legs fully gave out as she began greedily sucking in gasps of fresh air
“come on!” Maia urged, trying to drag her sister to her feet
but Iris was of no use now, her eyes bulging and her face flushed with colour
something ripped its way out of the underbrush and Maia turned sharply, instinctively raising the dagger that was still clutched in a death grip
instead of the dragon she was expecting, she found Cyrene and her rhomphaia, halfway through a cut that would have cleaved her in two
recognising each other at the same time, the pair lowered their weapons and turned to the wheezing half elf at their feet
concern flashing across her face, Cyrene dropped to her knees in preparation to cast a spell
before she could begin, however, Oryk emerged from the grove, blood splattered across his hands
“we don’t have time for that. Get her up!”
he raced past them, leading the charge back towards the beach
with a grunt of exertion, Cyrene lifted Iris into her arms like a baby, shoving her rhomphaia into Maia's hands
keeping a wary eye on her sister, Maia followed the half orc as she began jogging after their leader
as they ran, Oryk settled into pace beside Maia, shooting her a questioning look between grunts of breath
“do you have it?”
the half elf's shoulders fell, and she quietly shook her head
“it wasn’t there”
Oryk’s face turned a dark shade of red, and a vein bulged in his head
“what do you mean it wasn’t there?!”
“the amulet is gone. We missed it”
a stream of vile curses flowed from Oryk’s lips, and Maia wisely chose to keep her eyes forward and mouth shut
they reached the beach in record time, and Cyrene carefully laid Iris down into their waiting boat
as Oryk and Maia began pushing the vessel into the rolling surf, the dwarf gave her a hateful glare
“hells spare you when they find out we failed”
“we...haven’t...failed...yet”
Oryk turned his ire on Iris, who lay curled across the edge of the boat trying her best to suck in what air she could
“we...know...where...its...going,” she continued between strained, wheezing breaths. “We...still...have...time...”
leaping into the boat with a splash of water, Oryk waited just long enough for his companions to get in before heaving away with the oars
“we’d better. For all our sakes”
he sliced through the water with powerful strokes, driving them into deeper and darker waters
Maia slunk down beside Iris, taking her sister’s hand into her own
Iris dropped her head onto Maia’s shoulder, and the twins watched as the shores of Kalikos drifted further and further away

First Post: https://www.reddit.com/CradledDnDStories/comments/x8zwpv/athos_1_a_new_world_of_opportunity/
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Debut film for Canadian director Ariane Louis-Seize who directs an adolescent film, a coming of age film with horror comedy tinges where issues such as suicide, bullying and oppression are addressed. Sasha is a vampire who doesn't want to kill, her fangs are slow to sprout, she is oppressed by her family, except a little for her father who represents parental oppression, the desire to force her daughter to grow up according to dogmas. Paul is a bullied boy who has no friends and is depressed. Both characters are suicidal and would like to end it hence their meeting and the future story between the two. It's interesting how Ariane Louis-Seize plays with the sexual references between the two characters. Sasha is unable to let out fangs, he is compassionate and would not want to kill, the presence of Paul, seeing him in danger however acts as an erection as on such occasions the fangs come out. It is therefore the female character who has to penetrate her partner, reversing the sexual dynamic. By its vampire nature, the film has a dark style and photography, the packaging, the basic staging is actually good. Due to the tendencies that Sasha and Paul have, their character, the underlying depression and melancholy, the pace of the film is cadenced and the direction also opts a lot for fixed shots. There are overtakes that work like the one in Sasha's room where the warm light slowly comes into the background. It's a debut film so the style is to be defined, certainly some moments could have been more rhythmic and perhaps more daring could have been done with the presence of blood and the dynamics of the vampire bites. Even other moments may perhaps be a little uncertain, such as when a boy at the bowling alley going to collect the glass of the broken glass in a dynamic. However, the direction manages to instill a staging and an underlying melancholy atmosphere, even if perhaps some visual sparks are missing that Ariane Louis-Seize will be able to develop in the future, the director already seems to have a good eye. Of particular note is the good camera movement towards the end when Sasha thinks of Paul in danger of growing fangs, alluding to the typically male masturbatory dynamic. Sasha and Paul, their alchemy works, a film pervaded by this depressed air although it has lightness as it is a teen comedy but where issues that are not light are addressed. Cute, we look forward to Ariane Louis-Seize's next works with curiosity

Symptoms of Chest Wall Cancer

The symptoms of chest wall cancer can vary depending on the type and stage of the tumor but generally include:

1. Pain: Persistent pain in the chest area that may worsen with movement or breathing.
2. Swelling or Lump: Noticeable mass or swelling in the chest wall.
3. Breathing Difficulties: Shortness of breath or difficulty breathing.
4. Chest Discomfort: General discomfort or tightness in the chest.
5. Weight Loss: Unintended weight loss.
6. Fatigue: Persistent tiredness or fatigue.
7. Neurological Symptoms: If the tumor presses on nerves, it can cause numbness, tingling, or weakness in the arms or legs.

Diagnosis of Chest Wall Cancer

Diagnosis involves several steps and tests to confirm the presence of cancer and its extent:

1. Physical Examination: Initial assessment by a healthcare provider, including a review of medical history and symptoms.
2. Imaging Studies:

• X-rays: Basic imaging to identify abnormalities in the chest wall.
• CT Scan (Computed Tomography): Detailed cross-sectional images to evaluate the size and spread of the tumor.
• MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging): High-resolution images for detailed view, particularly of soft tissues.
• PET Scan (Positron Emission Tomography): Detects metabolic activity of cancer cells to determine the extent of spread.

1. Biopsy:

• Needle Biopsy: A sample of the tumor tissue is taken using a needle for microscopic examination.
• Surgical Biopsy: Sometimes, a surgical procedure is necessary to obtain a tissue sample.

1. Blood Tests: To assess overall health and detect markers that might suggest cancer.

Treatment of Chest Wall Cancer

Treatment options depend on the type, size, location, and stage of the tumor, as well as the patient’s overall health:

1. Surgery:

• Resection: Removal of the tumor and some surrounding healthy tissue.
• Reconstructive Surgery: May be necessary to rebuild the chest wall using synthetic materials or tissue from other parts of the body.

1. Radiation Therapy: High-energy rays to kill cancer cells or shrink tumors. Often used before surgery (neoadjuvant) to reduce tumor size or after surgery (adjuvant) to destroy remaining cancer cells.
2. Chemotherapy: Drugs that kill cancer cells or stop them from growing. It can be systemic (throughout the body) or localized.
3. Targeted Therapy: Uses drugs or other substances to specifically target cancer cells without affecting normal cells.
4. Immunotherapy: Boosts the body's immune system to fight cancer.
5. Pain Management and Palliative Care: Focuses on relieving symptoms and improving quality of life for patients with advanced cancer.

Conclusion

Early detection and treatment are crucial for improving the prognosis of chest wall cancer. If you experience any persistent symptoms such as chest pain, swelling, or difficulty breathing, consult a healthcare provider promptly. Multidisciplinary approaches combining surgery, radiation, and systemic therapies offer the best outcomes, tailored to the individual needs of the patient.
Blaze0 notes Symptoms of Chest Wall Cancer
The symptoms of chest wall cancer can vary depending on the type and stage of the tumor but generally include:

1. Pain: Persistent pain in the chest area that may worsen with movement or breathing.
2. Swelling or Lump: Noticeable mass or swelling in the chest wall.
3. Breathing Difficulties: Shortness of breath or difficulty breathing.
4. Chest Discomfort: General discomfort or tightness in the chest.
5. Weight Loss: Unintended weight loss.
6. Fatigue: Persistent tiredness or fatigue.
7. Neurological Symptoms: If the tumor presses on nerves, it can cause numbness, tingling, or weakness in the arms or legs.

Diagnosis of Chest Wall Cancer

Diagnosis involves several steps and tests to confirm the presence of cancer and its extent:

1. Physical Examination: Initial assessment by a healthcare provider, including a review of medical history and symptoms.
2. Imaging Studies:

• X-rays: Basic imaging to identify abnormalities in the chest wall.
• CT Scan (Computed Tomography): Detailed cross-sectional images to evaluate the size and spread of the tumor.
• MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging): High-resolution images for detailed view, particularly of soft tissues.
• PET Scan (Positron Emission Tomography): Detects metabolic activity of cancer cells to determine the extent of spread.

1. Biopsy:

• Needle Biopsy: A sample of the tumor tissue is taken using a needle for microscopic examination.
• Surgical Biopsy: Sometimes, a surgical procedure is necessary to obtain a tissue sample.

1. Blood Tests: To assess overall health and detect markers that might suggest cancer.

Treatment of Chest Wall Cancer

Treatment options depend on the type, size, location, and stage of the tumor, as well as the patient’s overall health:

1. Surgery:

• Resection: Removal of the tumor and some surrounding healthy tissue.
• Reconstructive Surgery: May be necessary to rebuild the chest wall using synthetic materials or tissue from other parts of the body.

1. Radiation Therapy: High-energy rays to kill cancer cells or shrink tumors. Often used before surgery (neoadjuvant) to reduce tumor size or after surgery (adjuvant) to destroy remaining cancer cells.
2. Chemotherapy: Drugs that kill cancer cells or stop them from growing. It can be systemic (throughout the body) or localized.
3. Targeted Therapy: Uses drugs or other substances to specifically target cancer cells without affecting normal cells.
4. Immunotherapy: Boosts the body's immune system to fight cancer.
5. Pain Management and Palliative Care: Focuses on relieving symptoms and improving quality of life for patients with advanced cancer.

Conclusion

Early detection and treatment are crucial for improving the prognosis of chest wall cancer. If you experience any persistent symptoms such as chest pain, swelling, or difficulty breathing, consult a healthcare provider promptly. Multidisciplinary approaches combining surgery, radiation, and systemic therapies offer the best outcomes, tailored to the individual needs of the patient.