Adjectives for shuddered
words, expressions, slang, neologisms, etymology
2008.09.09 19:32 words, expressions, slang, neologisms, etymology
For logophiles, whether you tend toward pleonasm or perspicacious thrift. Any language is acceptable. Suggested topics are new words, expressions, neologisms, neoterisms, sniglets, odd usages, reanimated words, words you never knew existed, words you wish existed, or even words you would like expurgated from the space-time continuum.
2008.05.06 22:53 Grammar
A subreddit for questions and discussions about grammar, language, style, conventions[,] and punctuation.
2011.01.03 08:45 thepinkmask Questions about Anarchism
For questions and well-informed anarchist answers regarding the theory, practice and history of anarchist movements and ideas. No question is too basic (or advanced!) to ask, so don't be shy :)
2024.05.26 14:26 The_Prince7 I have given up on anything improving for this state and it's people.
Whenever I come back home (Patna) from any other state, all I see is a serious lack of civic sense, extreme traffic, zero rules, garbage mounds piled up across footpaths and at the sides of roads, and people throwing trash everywhere. The trash collecting vehicle even comes EVERY morning to their doorsteps, and yet they throw it on the ground because... god knows.
I have lived here all my life and, granted, I'm only 21, but that doesn't matter here. I have never seen people having civic sense here. Gutka khao, paan khao, aur road pr thuk do. Never do they think of what they are doing. "Uska kaam hai saaf krna, hum kyon ni kre ye sb". Bas yehi mentality hai.
Government agar kuch accha krna chahe bhi, tb bhi logon ko leechar mindset rkhna hai apna. I refused to believe that people were throwing trash on the streets despite the trash vehicle coming in every morning, until I saw it with my own eyes.
Saala if there is no dustbin around me, I carry any wrapper or anything with me for miles until I can find one or I'm back home. What is wrong with people?
EVERY state I've travelled to has been MUCH cleaner, much much cleaner. This place is dirty, polluted, smelly, and I don't even have adjectives anymore.
And please do not comment that you have not seen how Bihar was back in those days and how much improvement has happened. If you think that, you should start living in the present day Bihar and focus on what's happening today.
If Patna is in this state, I shudder to think what other cities, towns, and villages would be in.
I have truly lost hope for Bihar improving any more, and I blame the public. For the first time, I cannot blame the government.
submitted by The_Prince7 to bihar [link] [comments]
I have lived here all my life and, granted, I'm only 21, but that doesn't matter here. I have never seen people having civic sense here. Gutka khao, paan khao, aur road pr thuk do. Never do they think of what they are doing. "Uska kaam hai saaf krna, hum kyon ni kre ye sb". Bas yehi mentality hai.
Government agar kuch accha krna chahe bhi, tb bhi logon ko leechar mindset rkhna hai apna. I refused to believe that people were throwing trash on the streets despite the trash vehicle coming in every morning, until I saw it with my own eyes.
Saala if there is no dustbin around me, I carry any wrapper or anything with me for miles until I can find one or I'm back home. What is wrong with people?
EVERY state I've travelled to has been MUCH cleaner, much much cleaner. This place is dirty, polluted, smelly, and I don't even have adjectives anymore.
And please do not comment that you have not seen how Bihar was back in those days and how much improvement has happened. If you think that, you should start living in the present day Bihar and focus on what's happening today.
If Patna is in this state, I shudder to think what other cities, towns, and villages would be in.
I have truly lost hope for Bihar improving any more, and I blame the public. For the first time, I cannot blame the government.
2024.05.15 19:58 ArthRol Axiom Verge - estranging, unwelcoming, yet a brilliant metroidvania.
Well, Axiom Verge is eery, or, in other words, there is nothing concrete in its labyrinthine world. To me, everything was abstract and uncanny. This made me feel like a stranger in this dimension, whom I actually were - seeking forms and shapes where they never should have been. The music was contributing to this impression with its outlandish rhythm. At one location, it begins with a humanish voice in a crescendo, making you inwardly shudder.
How should I describe the enemies, the locations, the bosses? Like something abstract, too. Unfathomable even. Albeit they would sometimes arise an association - say, with marine life, or with an alien desert. And then there were those colossal structures - Rusalki, they were called. And that weird, giant steel-made moving head. Something grim about it all.
Yet these are only subjective impressions. Frankly, Axiom Verge felt off-putting at first - but then I grew accustomed to all its quirkiness and came to appreciate it. From objective point of view, this metroidvania is almost flawless. The world is captivating to explore, and with every new ability, you might come back and visit previously inaccessible locations. Some of them are tricky as hell. But the reward is due, and you are somehow driven to explore every uncompleted corner in your reach. Honestly, I haven't felt such motivation in other games. And the world is diverse - locations are not similar to each other, and they are even dissected in sub-locations. There isn't a proper fast-travel system - but you don't need it either.
I liked the weapon system. You find new guns during your organic progression or exploring some nooks. Every weapon has its pros and cons, they all have their use against certain types of enemies. The bosses are not that hard, but will anyway pose a challenge and are fun to beat.
Oh, and the game is full of glitches - intentional glitches. They are part of the core mechanics. You have to pass through them, or even use them for your favor. You may run into the wall and glitch, but... nothing is really done without a reason. At one instance, you glitch yourself.
Overall, I liked it very much, but since I have run out of adjectives, I'd simply say it was very interesting. It's really worth playing. A shame it has got only 5 thousand Steam reviews.
P.S. Frankly, I not really grasped the plot, and I will have to watch a video on it or something. My bad - should have been more attentive. But I still sensed that I was in a ruined world, in an epicenter of a battle for the fate of it all, that I were a chosen one.
submitted by ArthRol to metroidvania [link] [comments]
How should I describe the enemies, the locations, the bosses? Like something abstract, too. Unfathomable even. Albeit they would sometimes arise an association - say, with marine life, or with an alien desert. And then there were those colossal structures - Rusalki, they were called. And that weird, giant steel-made moving head. Something grim about it all.
Yet these are only subjective impressions. Frankly, Axiom Verge felt off-putting at first - but then I grew accustomed to all its quirkiness and came to appreciate it. From objective point of view, this metroidvania is almost flawless. The world is captivating to explore, and with every new ability, you might come back and visit previously inaccessible locations. Some of them are tricky as hell. But the reward is due, and you are somehow driven to explore every uncompleted corner in your reach. Honestly, I haven't felt such motivation in other games. And the world is diverse - locations are not similar to each other, and they are even dissected in sub-locations. There isn't a proper fast-travel system - but you don't need it either.
I liked the weapon system. You find new guns during your organic progression or exploring some nooks. Every weapon has its pros and cons, they all have their use against certain types of enemies. The bosses are not that hard, but will anyway pose a challenge and are fun to beat.
Oh, and the game is full of glitches - intentional glitches. They are part of the core mechanics. You have to pass through them, or even use them for your favor. You may run into the wall and glitch, but... nothing is really done without a reason. At one instance, you glitch yourself.
Overall, I liked it very much, but since I have run out of adjectives, I'd simply say it was very interesting. It's really worth playing. A shame it has got only 5 thousand Steam reviews.
P.S. Frankly, I not really grasped the plot, and I will have to watch a video on it or something. My bad - should have been more attentive. But I still sensed that I was in a ruined world, in an epicenter of a battle for the fate of it all, that I were a chosen one.
2024.04.16 01:43 Betty-Adams Humans are Weird – Smoke on the Water
Processing img f00z83xcbquc1...
The low rumbling of the combustion engine was oddly soothing wing medic Twenty-Trills thought as she adjusted the final strap of the respirator on the trembling warrior in front of her.
“You just take it easy no marine,” she clicked down at him.
She didn’t really understand why using the human term was so universally pleasing to the massive warriors, but it did its work. The warrior gave a weak, but sincere tilt to his ears. He was clearly recovering. She glanced around to see if any of the other members of either wing huddled in the center of the spacious storage compartment were free to begin grooming the warriors ash covered fur. However everyone who was awake enough and uninjured enough was already tooth deep in a grooming partner already. She glanced uneasily at her own digit ends and tested the strength of her joints in her mind. As she already knew everything hurt. Her claws were actually beginning to bleed at the quick. Other Wingeds’ blood and fluids caked ash and who could sound what else in her joints. She suppressed a sigh. No point in starting to groom a traumatized warrior if she was just going to collapse on him mid groom.
“I am going to take a rest now,” she announced to no one in particular.
There was a soft sussuration of agreement as the portion of the wings who were awake expressed their approval of her plan. She did a quick headcount of the officers as she moved towards the rounded rectangle of light that comprised most of the front of the compartment. As she had suspected she was the highest ranking member of her species conscious at the moment. She fought back another groan and staggered to the last set of restraints before the compartment ended. It was a bit disturbing to deliberately distance herself from the rest of her wing but the frantic loading process when the camp had been evacuated had resulted in the wing being essentially centered in the space and someone needed to act as liaison with the humans.
The humans who were eerily quiet for people who were supposed to be piloting a transport large enough to count as a base in itself with all the piloting AI disengaged. Twenty-Trills stretched up her wing to shield her eyes from the light and peered at the three massive mammalian bodies folded around the control couch. The two passengers, a male and female of about the same mass appeared to be sleeping. The male leaned his head against his curled fist and said fist against the window and had hunched his shoulders in an effort to center his weight. The female (the youngest of the group by a few decades) had also hunched her shoulders and was leaning back in the seat, her head nodding on her trunk of a neck. The smallest (if that superlative adjective could even be applied here) human, who also happened to be the oldest human female Twenty-Trills had ever seen had her eyes focused on the optimistically labeled road they were following back to the base. They hardly seemed to be paying attention and all and Twenty-Trills twitched in irritation.
The entire transport suddenly shuddered as the wheels struck an inequality on the surface and the medic winced. Fortunately for all the broken bones and dislocated joints in the wing the compartment they were in was stabilized on gyroscopes. She hadn’t felt a thing but witnessing the world swerve like that with no physical sensation to match was not a pleasant experience. It did however give her reason to reconsider the huamans’ attention levels. The dozing male angled his head and opened on eyelid a fraction to monitor the reaction of the pilot. The pilot had reacted to minimize the disruption to the passengers without taking her eyes off the road but now proceeded to check all monitors and windows. The dozing female glanced back at the compartment and her eyes tracked the dim space for a few wingbeats as she looked for an officer.
“Hey, you the medic?” the human called out in a soft, deep tone.
“I am the medic,” Twenty-Trills confirmed.
“That bump didn’t jostle you?” the human asked.
“Not at all,” Twenty-Trills replied. “The gyroscopes on this compartment are quite capable.”
The human’s face split open into a grin that exposed her massive rocks of teeth.
“Good,” she said. “We’re not a medical transport you know. It was really lucky we had the crystal carrier handy.”
“Really lucky,” Twenty-Trills replied, unsure of the meaning but more than willing to let the humans offer adjectives at this point.
She was so tired.
The male human had turned his head to look out the window now as they rounded a sharp corner in the road and the local body of water, a loch the humans called it, came into view. Twenty-Trills shuddered at the wispy cloud of ash that poured over the side of the surrounding hills and spilled into the valley. There wasn’t much material in the air here, so far from their abandoned camp, but that there was any at all was a harsh reminder of what they had barely survived. The humans seemed to be having a different reaction. The male straightened a bit, as if to free his lungs, and emitted a low, musical hum.
“Smoke on the water,” sang out the driver softly.
“Fire in the sky,” the youngest female answered her, drawing the last syllable out in a croon.
The thought that she should probably be concerned about that last line if it was a description of the observed reality crossed Twenty-Trill’s mind, but she was so tired she could hardly find the energy to position her wings correctly, let alone investigate atmospheric phenomenon that the humans clearly had under control. The older two humans started and each turned as much attention on the youngest as their situations allowed. The male twisting his body around and straitening his massive spine and the female angling her eyes at her junior. The younger female didn’t seem to notice their contorted faces and changed positions at first but after a few moments she turned her attention back from the ash stream and glanced between her companions.
“What?” she asked.
“How do you know that song?” demanded the older female with a laugh.
“Everyone knows that song!” the younger protested, wrinkling her nose in an almost Winged expression of perplexity.
“Do you know the meaning?” the male demanded.
The eldest female shushed him.
“Or the context?” the male asked in a whisper, glancing back into the compartment.
“To be honest,” the younger female said with a laugh, “I really only know those two lines, but really, why are you two so shocked when I get the most common cultural reference?”
“You just have an air of being innocent sweetie,” the female said with a grin.
“How innocent do you have to be to not know the proper response to smoke on the water?”
Their voices began to fade out as Twenty-Trills let sleep creep up her wingtips. She probably should stand watch, but what really was the point of having allies who considered the ground pulverizing itself and spewing itself into the air as a topic for cultural debate rather than a natural disaster if you couldn’t let them deal with this updraft once in a while?
Processing img efj73vuhbquc1...
Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing becase tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!
submitted by Betty-Adams to u/Betty-Adams [link] [comments]
Humans are Weird – Smoke on the Water
Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-smoke-on-the-waterThe low rumbling of the combustion engine was oddly soothing wing medic Twenty-Trills thought as she adjusted the final strap of the respirator on the trembling warrior in front of her.
“You just take it easy no marine,” she clicked down at him.
She didn’t really understand why using the human term was so universally pleasing to the massive warriors, but it did its work. The warrior gave a weak, but sincere tilt to his ears. He was clearly recovering. She glanced around to see if any of the other members of either wing huddled in the center of the spacious storage compartment were free to begin grooming the warriors ash covered fur. However everyone who was awake enough and uninjured enough was already tooth deep in a grooming partner already. She glanced uneasily at her own digit ends and tested the strength of her joints in her mind. As she already knew everything hurt. Her claws were actually beginning to bleed at the quick. Other Wingeds’ blood and fluids caked ash and who could sound what else in her joints. She suppressed a sigh. No point in starting to groom a traumatized warrior if she was just going to collapse on him mid groom.
“I am going to take a rest now,” she announced to no one in particular.
There was a soft sussuration of agreement as the portion of the wings who were awake expressed their approval of her plan. She did a quick headcount of the officers as she moved towards the rounded rectangle of light that comprised most of the front of the compartment. As she had suspected she was the highest ranking member of her species conscious at the moment. She fought back another groan and staggered to the last set of restraints before the compartment ended. It was a bit disturbing to deliberately distance herself from the rest of her wing but the frantic loading process when the camp had been evacuated had resulted in the wing being essentially centered in the space and someone needed to act as liaison with the humans.
The humans who were eerily quiet for people who were supposed to be piloting a transport large enough to count as a base in itself with all the piloting AI disengaged. Twenty-Trills stretched up her wing to shield her eyes from the light and peered at the three massive mammalian bodies folded around the control couch. The two passengers, a male and female of about the same mass appeared to be sleeping. The male leaned his head against his curled fist and said fist against the window and had hunched his shoulders in an effort to center his weight. The female (the youngest of the group by a few decades) had also hunched her shoulders and was leaning back in the seat, her head nodding on her trunk of a neck. The smallest (if that superlative adjective could even be applied here) human, who also happened to be the oldest human female Twenty-Trills had ever seen had her eyes focused on the optimistically labeled road they were following back to the base. They hardly seemed to be paying attention and all and Twenty-Trills twitched in irritation.
The entire transport suddenly shuddered as the wheels struck an inequality on the surface and the medic winced. Fortunately for all the broken bones and dislocated joints in the wing the compartment they were in was stabilized on gyroscopes. She hadn’t felt a thing but witnessing the world swerve like that with no physical sensation to match was not a pleasant experience. It did however give her reason to reconsider the huamans’ attention levels. The dozing male angled his head and opened on eyelid a fraction to monitor the reaction of the pilot. The pilot had reacted to minimize the disruption to the passengers without taking her eyes off the road but now proceeded to check all monitors and windows. The dozing female glanced back at the compartment and her eyes tracked the dim space for a few wingbeats as she looked for an officer.
“Hey, you the medic?” the human called out in a soft, deep tone.
“I am the medic,” Twenty-Trills confirmed.
“That bump didn’t jostle you?” the human asked.
“Not at all,” Twenty-Trills replied. “The gyroscopes on this compartment are quite capable.”
The human’s face split open into a grin that exposed her massive rocks of teeth.
“Good,” she said. “We’re not a medical transport you know. It was really lucky we had the crystal carrier handy.”
“Really lucky,” Twenty-Trills replied, unsure of the meaning but more than willing to let the humans offer adjectives at this point.
She was so tired.
The male human had turned his head to look out the window now as they rounded a sharp corner in the road and the local body of water, a loch the humans called it, came into view. Twenty-Trills shuddered at the wispy cloud of ash that poured over the side of the surrounding hills and spilled into the valley. There wasn’t much material in the air here, so far from their abandoned camp, but that there was any at all was a harsh reminder of what they had barely survived. The humans seemed to be having a different reaction. The male straightened a bit, as if to free his lungs, and emitted a low, musical hum.
“Smoke on the water,” sang out the driver softly.
“Fire in the sky,” the youngest female answered her, drawing the last syllable out in a croon.
The thought that she should probably be concerned about that last line if it was a description of the observed reality crossed Twenty-Trill’s mind, but she was so tired she could hardly find the energy to position her wings correctly, let alone investigate atmospheric phenomenon that the humans clearly had under control. The older two humans started and each turned as much attention on the youngest as their situations allowed. The male twisting his body around and straitening his massive spine and the female angling her eyes at her junior. The younger female didn’t seem to notice their contorted faces and changed positions at first but after a few moments she turned her attention back from the ash stream and glanced between her companions.
“What?” she asked.
“How do you know that song?” demanded the older female with a laugh.
“Everyone knows that song!” the younger protested, wrinkling her nose in an almost Winged expression of perplexity.
“Do you know the meaning?” the male demanded.
The eldest female shushed him.
“Or the context?” the male asked in a whisper, glancing back into the compartment.
“To be honest,” the younger female said with a laugh, “I really only know those two lines, but really, why are you two so shocked when I get the most common cultural reference?”
“You just have an air of being innocent sweetie,” the female said with a grin.
“How innocent do you have to be to not know the proper response to smoke on the water?”
Their voices began to fade out as Twenty-Trills let sleep creep up her wingtips. She probably should stand watch, but what really was the point of having allies who considered the ground pulverizing itself and spewing itself into the air as a topic for cultural debate rather than a natural disaster if you couldn’t let them deal with this updraft once in a while?
Processing img efj73vuhbquc1...
Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams
Amazon (Kindle, Paperback, Audiobook)
Barnes & Nobel (Nook, Paperback, Audiobook)
Powell's Books (Paperback)
Kobo by Rakuten (ebook and Audiobook)
Google Play Books (ebook and Audiobook)
Check out my books at any of these sites and leave a review! "Flying Sparks" - a novel set in the "Dying Embers" universe is now avaliable on all sites!Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing becase tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!
2024.04.16 01:42 Betty-Adams Humans are Weird – Smoke on the Water
Humans are Weird – Smoke on the Water
Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-smoke-on-the-waterThe low rumbling of the combustion engine was oddly soothing wing medic Twenty-Trills thought as she adjusted the final strap of the respirator on the trembling warrior in front of her.
“You just take it easy no marine,” she clicked down at him.
She didn’t really understand why using the human term was so universally pleasing to the massive warriors, but it did its work. The warrior gave a weak, but sincere tilt to his ears. He was clearly recovering. She glanced around to see if any of the other members of either wing huddled in the center of the spacious storage compartment were free to begin grooming the warriors ash covered fur. However everyone who was awake enough and uninjured enough was already tooth deep in a grooming partner already. She glanced uneasily at her own digit ends and tested the strength of her joints in her mind. As she already knew everything hurt. Her claws were actually beginning to bleed at the quick. Other Wingeds’ blood and fluids caked ash and who could sound what else in her joints. She suppressed a sigh. No point in starting to groom a traumatized warrior if she was just going to collapse on him mid groom.
“I am going to take a rest now,” she announced to no one in particular.
There was a soft sussuration of agreement as the portion of the wings who were awake expressed their approval of her plan. She did a quick headcount of the officers as she moved towards the rounded rectangle of light that comprised most of the front of the compartment. As she had suspected she was the highest ranking member of her species conscious at the moment. She fought back another groan and staggered to the last set of restraints before the compartment ended. It was a bit disturbing to deliberately distance herself from the rest of her wing but the frantic loading process when the camp had been evacuated had resulted in the wing being essentially centered in the space and someone needed to act as liaison with the humans.
The humans who were eerily quiet for people who were supposed to be piloting a transport large enough to count as a base in itself with all the piloting AI disengaged. Twenty-Trills stretched up her wing to shield her eyes from the light and peered at the three massive mammalian bodies folded around the control couch. The two passengers, a male and female of about the same mass appeared to be sleeping. The male leaned his head against his curled fist and said fist against the window and had hunched his shoulders in an effort to center his weight. The female (the youngest of the group by a few decades) had also hunched her shoulders and was leaning back in the seat, her head nodding on her trunk of a neck. The smallest (if that superlative adjective could even be applied here) human, who also happened to be the oldest human female Twenty-Trills had ever seen had her eyes focused on the optimistically labeled road they were following back to the base. They hardly seemed to be paying attention and all and Twenty-Trills twitched in irritation.
The entire transport suddenly shuddered as the wheels struck an inequality on the surface and the medic winced. Fortunately for all the broken bones and dislocated joints in the wing the compartment they were in was stabilized on gyroscopes. She hadn’t felt a thing but witnessing the world swerve like that with no physical sensation to match was not a pleasant experience. It did however give her reason to reconsider the huamans’ attention levels. The dozing male angled his head and opened on eyelid a fraction to monitor the reaction of the pilot. The pilot had reacted to minimize the disruption to the passengers without taking her eyes off the road but now proceeded to check all monitors and windows. The dozing female glanced back at the compartment and her eyes tracked the dim space for a few wingbeats as she looked for an officer.
“Hey, you the medic?” the human called out in a soft, deep tone.
“I am the medic,” Twenty-Trills confirmed.
“That bump didn’t jostle you?” the human asked.
“Not at all,” Twenty-Trills replied. “The gyroscopes on this compartment are quite capable.”
The human’s face split open into a grin that exposed her massive rocks of teeth.
“Good,” she said. “We’re not a medical transport you know. It was really lucky we had the crystal carrier handy.”
“Really lucky,” Twenty-Trills replied, unsure of the meaning but more than willing to let the humans offer adjectives at this point.
She was so tired.
The male human had turned his head to look out the window now as they rounded a sharp corner in the road and the local body of water, a loch the humans called it, came into view. Twenty-Trills shuddered at the wispy cloud of ash that poured over the side of the surrounding hills and spilled into the valley. There wasn’t much material in the air here, so far from their abandoned camp, but that there was any at all was a harsh reminder of what they had barely survived. The humans seemed to be having a different reaction. The male straightened a bit, as if to free his lungs, and emitted a low, musical hum.
“Smoke on the water,” sang out the driver softly.
“Fire in the sky,” the youngest female answered her, drawing the last syllable out in a croon.
The thought that she should probably be concerned about that last line if it was a description of the observed reality crossed Twenty-Trill’s mind, but she was so tired she could hardly find the energy to position her wings correctly, let alone investigate atmospheric phenomenon that the humans clearly had under control. The older two humans started and each turned as much attention on the youngest as their situations allowed. The male twisting his body around and straitening his massive spine and the female angling her eyes at her junior. The younger female didn’t seem to notice their contorted faces and changed positions at first but after a few moments she turned her attention back from the ash stream and glanced between her companions.
“What?” she asked.
“How do you know that song?” demanded the older female with a laugh.
“Everyone knows that song!” the younger protested, wrinkling her nose in an almost Winged expression of perplexity.
“Do you know the meaning?” the male demanded.
The eldest female shushed him.
“Or the context?” the male asked in a whisper, glancing back into the compartment.
“To be honest,” the younger female said with a laugh, “I really only know those two lines, but really, why are you two so shocked when I get the most common cultural reference?”
“You just have an air of being innocent sweetie,” the female said with a grin.
“How innocent do you have to be to not know the proper response to smoke on the water?”
Their voices began to fade out as Twenty-Trills let sleep creep up her wingtips. She probably should stand watch, but what really was the point of having allies who considered the ground pulverizing itself and spewing itself into the air as a topic for cultural debate rather than a natural disaster if you couldn’t let them deal with this updraft once in a while?
Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams
Amazon (Kindle, Paperback, Audiobook)
Barnes & Nobel (Nook, Paperback, Audiobook)
Powell's Books (Paperback)
Kobo by Rakuten (ebook and Audiobook)
Google Play Books (ebook and Audiobook)
Check out my books at any of these sites and leave a review! "Flying Sparks" - a novel set in the "Dying Embers" universe is now avaliable on all sites!Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing becase tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!
2024.04.16 01:40 Betty-Adams Humans are Weird – Smoke on the Water
Humans are Weird – Smoke on the Water
Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-smoke-on-the-waterThe low rumbling of the combustion engine was oddly soothing wing medic Twenty-Trills thought as she adjusted the final strap of the respirator on the trembling warrior in front of her.
“You just take it easy no marine,” she clicked down at him.
She didn’t really understand why using the human term was so universally pleasing to the massive warriors, but it did its work. The warrior gave a weak, but sincere tilt to his ears. He was clearly recovering. She glanced around to see if any of the other members of either wing huddled in the center of the spacious storage compartment were free to begin grooming the warriors ash covered fur. However everyone who was awake enough and uninjured enough was already tooth deep in a grooming partner already. She glanced uneasily at her own digit ends and tested the strength of her joints in her mind. As she already knew everything hurt. Her claws were actually beginning to bleed at the quick. Other Wingeds’ blood and fluids caked ash and who could sound what else in her joints. She suppressed a sigh. No point in starting to groom a traumatized warrior if she was just going to collapse on him mid groom.
“I am going to take a rest now,” she announced to no one in particular.
There was a soft sussuration of agreement as the portion of the wings who were awake expressed their approval of her plan. She did a quick headcount of the officers as she moved towards the rounded rectangle of light that comprised most of the front of the compartment. As she had suspected she was the highest ranking member of her species conscious at the moment. She fought back another groan and staggered to the last set of restraints before the compartment ended. It was a bit disturbing to deliberately distance herself from the rest of her wing but the frantic loading process when the camp had been evacuated had resulted in the wing being essentially centered in the space and someone needed to act as liaison with the humans.
The humans who were eerily quiet for people who were supposed to be piloting a transport large enough to count as a base in itself with all the piloting AI disengaged. Twenty-Trills stretched up her wing to shield her eyes from the light and peered at the three massive mammalian bodies folded around the control couch. The two passengers, a male and female of about the same mass appeared to be sleeping. The male leaned his head against his curled fist and said fist against the window and had hunched his shoulders in an effort to center his weight. The female (the youngest of the group by a few decades) had also hunched her shoulders and was leaning back in the seat, her head nodding on her trunk of a neck. The smallest (if that superlative adjective could even be applied here) human, who also happened to be the oldest human female Twenty-Trills had ever seen had her eyes focused on the optimistically labeled road they were following back to the base. They hardly seemed to be paying attention and all and Twenty-Trills twitched in irritation.
The entire transport suddenly shuddered as the wheels struck an inequality on the surface and the medic winced. Fortunately for all the broken bones and dislocated joints in the wing the compartment they were in was stabilized on gyroscopes. She hadn’t felt a thing but witnessing the world swerve like that with no physical sensation to match was not a pleasant experience. It did however give her reason to reconsider the huamans’ attention levels. The dozing male angled his head and opened on eyelid a fraction to monitor the reaction of the pilot. The pilot had reacted to minimize the disruption to the passengers without taking her eyes off the road but now proceeded to check all monitors and windows. The dozing female glanced back at the compartment and her eyes tracked the dim space for a few wingbeats as she looked for an officer.
“Hey, you the medic?” the human called out in a soft, deep tone.
“I am the medic,” Twenty-Trills confirmed.
“That bump didn’t jostle you?” the human asked.
“Not at all,” Twenty-Trills replied. “The gyroscopes on this compartment are quite capable.”
The human’s face split open into a grin that exposed her massive rocks of teeth.
“Good,” she said. “We’re not a medical transport you know. It was really lucky we had the crystal carrier handy.”
“Really lucky,” Twenty-Trills replied, unsure of the meaning but more than willing to let the humans offer adjectives at this point.
She was so tired.
The male human had turned his head to look out the window now as they rounded a sharp corner in the road and the local body of water, a loch the humans called it, came into view. Twenty-Trills shuddered at the wispy cloud of ash that poured over the side of the surrounding hills and spilled into the valley. There wasn’t much material in the air here, so far from their abandoned camp, but that there was any at all was a harsh reminder of what they had barely survived. The humans seemed to be having a different reaction. The male straightened a bit, as if to free his lungs, and emitted a low, musical hum.
“Smoke on the water,” sang out the driver softly.
“Fire in the sky,” the youngest female answered her, drawing the last syllable out in a croon.
The thought that she should probably be concerned about that last line if it was a description of the observed reality crossed Twenty-Trill’s mind, but she was so tired she could hardly find the energy to position her wings correctly, let alone investigate atmospheric phenomenon that the humans clearly had under control. The older two humans started and each turned as much attention on the youngest as their situations allowed. The male twisting his body around and straitening his massive spine and the female angling her eyes at her junior. The younger female didn’t seem to notice their contorted faces and changed positions at first but after a few moments she turned her attention back from the ash stream and glanced between her companions.
“What?” she asked.
“How do you know that song?” demanded the older female with a laugh.
“Everyone knows that song!” the younger protested, wrinkling her nose in an almost Winged expression of perplexity.
“Do you know the meaning?” the male demanded.
The eldest female shushed him.
“Or the context?” the male asked in a whisper, glancing back into the compartment.
“To be honest,” the younger female said with a laugh, “I really only know those two lines, but really, why are you two so shocked when I get the most common cultural reference?”
“You just have an air of being innocent sweetie,” the female said with a grin.
“How innocent do you have to be to not know the proper response to smoke on the water?”
Their voices began to fade out as Twenty-Trills let sleep creep up her wingtips. She probably should stand watch, but what really was the point of having allies who considered the ground pulverizing itself and spewing itself into the air as a topic for cultural debate rather than a natural disaster if you couldn’t let them deal with this updraft once in a while?
Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams
Amazon (Kindle, Paperback, Audiobook)
Barnes & Nobel (Nook, Paperback, Audiobook)
Powell's Books (Paperback)
Kobo by Rakuten (ebook and Audiobook)
Google Play Books (ebook and Audiobook)
Check out my books at any of these sites and leave a review! "Flying Sparks" - a novel set in the "Dying Embers" universe is now avaliable on all sites!Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing becase tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!
2024.04.16 01:40 Betty-Adams [Humans are Weird] - Part 183 - Smoke on the Water - Short, Absurd, Science Fiction Story
Processing img 6lp2bfp8bquc1...
The low rumbling of the combustion engine was oddly soothing wing medic Twenty-Trills thought as she adjusted the final strap of the respirator on the trembling warrior in front of her.
“You just take it easy no marine,” she clicked down at him.
She didn’t really understand why using the human term was so universally pleasing to the massive warriors, but it did its work. The warrior gave a weak, but sincere tilt to his ears. He was clearly recovering. She glanced around to see if any of the other members of either wing huddled in the center of the spacious storage compartment were free to begin grooming the warriors ash covered fur. However everyone who was awake enough and uninjured enough was already tooth deep in a grooming partner already. She glanced uneasily at her own digit ends and tested the strength of her joints in her mind. As she already knew everything hurt. Her claws were actually beginning to bleed at the quick. Other Wingeds’ blood and fluids caked ash and who could sound what else in her joints. She suppressed a sigh. No point in starting to groom a traumatized warrior if she was just going to collapse on him mid groom.
“I am going to take a rest now,” she announced to no one in particular.
There was a soft sussuration of agreement as the portion of the wings who were awake expressed their approval of her plan. She did a quick headcount of the officers as she moved towards the rounded rectangle of light that comprised most of the front of the compartment. As she had suspected she was the highest ranking member of her species conscious at the moment. She fought back another groan and staggered to the last set of restraints before the compartment ended. It was a bit disturbing to deliberately distance herself from the rest of her wing but the frantic loading process when the camp had been evacuated had resulted in the wing being essentially centered in the space and someone needed to act as liaison with the humans.
The humans who were eerily quiet for people who were supposed to be piloting a transport large enough to count as a base in itself with all the piloting AI disengaged. Twenty-Trills stretched up her wing to shield her eyes from the light and peered at the three massive mammalian bodies folded around the control couch. The two passengers, a male and female of about the same mass appeared to be sleeping. The male leaned his head against his curled fist and said fist against the window and had hunched his shoulders in an effort to center his weight. The female (the youngest of the group by a few decades) had also hunched her shoulders and was leaning back in the seat, her head nodding on her trunk of a neck. The smallest (if that superlative adjective could even be applied here) human, who also happened to be the oldest human female Twenty-Trills had ever seen had her eyes focused on the optimistically labeled road they were following back to the base. They hardly seemed to be paying attention and all and Twenty-Trills twitched in irritation.
The entire transport suddenly shuddered as the wheels struck an inequality on the surface and the medic winced. Fortunately for all the broken bones and dislocated joints in the wing the compartment they were in was stabilized on gyroscopes. She hadn’t felt a thing but witnessing the world swerve like that with no physical sensation to match was not a pleasant experience. It did however give her reason to reconsider the huamans’ attention levels. The dozing male angled his head and opened on eyelid a fraction to monitor the reaction of the pilot. The pilot had reacted to minimize the disruption to the passengers without taking her eyes off the road but now proceeded to check all monitors and windows. The dozing female glanced back at the compartment and her eyes tracked the dim space for a few wingbeats as she looked for an officer.
“Hey, you the medic?” the human called out in a soft, deep tone.
“I am the medic,” Twenty-Trills confirmed.
“That bump didn’t jostle you?” the human asked.
“Not at all,” Twenty-Trills replied. “The gyroscopes on this compartment are quite capable.”
The human’s face split open into a grin that exposed her massive rocks of teeth.
“Good,” she said. “We’re not a medical transport you know. It was really lucky we had the crystal carrier handy.”
“Really lucky,” Twenty-Trills replied, unsure of the meaning but more than willing to let the humans offer adjectives at this point.
She was so tired.
The male human had turned his head to look out the window now as they rounded a sharp corner in the road and the local body of water, a loch the humans called it, came into view. Twenty-Trills shuddered at the wispy cloud of ash that poured over the side of the surrounding hills and spilled into the valley. There wasn’t much material in the air here, so far from their abandoned camp, but that there was any at all was a harsh reminder of what they had barely survived. The humans seemed to be having a different reaction. The male straightened a bit, as if to free his lungs, and emitted a low, musical hum.
“Smoke on the water,” sang out the driver softly.
“Fire in the sky,” the youngest female answered her, drawing the last syllable out in a croon.
The thought that she should probably be concerned about that last line if it was a description of the observed reality crossed Twenty-Trill’s mind, but she was so tired she could hardly find the energy to position her wings correctly, let alone investigate atmospheric phenomenon that the humans clearly had under control. The older two humans started and each turned as much attention on the youngest as their situations allowed. The male twisting his body around and straitening his massive spine and the female angling her eyes at her junior. The younger female didn’t seem to notice their contorted faces and changed positions at first but after a few moments she turned her attention back from the ash stream and glanced between her companions.
“What?” she asked.
“How do you know that song?” demanded the older female with a laugh.
“Everyone knows that song!” the younger protested, wrinkling her nose in an almost Winged expression of perplexity.
“Do you know the meaning?” the male demanded.
The eldest female shushed him.
“Or the context?” the male asked in a whisper, glancing back into the compartment.
“To be honest,” the younger female said with a laugh, “I really only know those two lines, but really, why are you two so shocked when I get the most common cultural reference?”
“You just have an air of being innocent sweetie,” the female said with a grin.
“How innocent do you have to be to not know the proper response to smoke on the water?”
Their voices began to fade out as Twenty-Trills let sleep creep up her wingtips. She probably should stand watch, but what really was the point of having allies who considered the ground pulverizing itself and spewing itself into the air as a topic for cultural debate rather than a natural disaster if you couldn’t let them deal with this updraft once in a while?
Processing img p18gieipbquc1...
Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing becase tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!
submitted by Betty-Adams to redditserials [link] [comments]
Humans are Weird – Smoke on the Water
Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-smoke-on-the-waterThe low rumbling of the combustion engine was oddly soothing wing medic Twenty-Trills thought as she adjusted the final strap of the respirator on the trembling warrior in front of her.
“You just take it easy no marine,” she clicked down at him.
She didn’t really understand why using the human term was so universally pleasing to the massive warriors, but it did its work. The warrior gave a weak, but sincere tilt to his ears. He was clearly recovering. She glanced around to see if any of the other members of either wing huddled in the center of the spacious storage compartment were free to begin grooming the warriors ash covered fur. However everyone who was awake enough and uninjured enough was already tooth deep in a grooming partner already. She glanced uneasily at her own digit ends and tested the strength of her joints in her mind. As she already knew everything hurt. Her claws were actually beginning to bleed at the quick. Other Wingeds’ blood and fluids caked ash and who could sound what else in her joints. She suppressed a sigh. No point in starting to groom a traumatized warrior if she was just going to collapse on him mid groom.
“I am going to take a rest now,” she announced to no one in particular.
There was a soft sussuration of agreement as the portion of the wings who were awake expressed their approval of her plan. She did a quick headcount of the officers as she moved towards the rounded rectangle of light that comprised most of the front of the compartment. As she had suspected she was the highest ranking member of her species conscious at the moment. She fought back another groan and staggered to the last set of restraints before the compartment ended. It was a bit disturbing to deliberately distance herself from the rest of her wing but the frantic loading process when the camp had been evacuated had resulted in the wing being essentially centered in the space and someone needed to act as liaison with the humans.
The humans who were eerily quiet for people who were supposed to be piloting a transport large enough to count as a base in itself with all the piloting AI disengaged. Twenty-Trills stretched up her wing to shield her eyes from the light and peered at the three massive mammalian bodies folded around the control couch. The two passengers, a male and female of about the same mass appeared to be sleeping. The male leaned his head against his curled fist and said fist against the window and had hunched his shoulders in an effort to center his weight. The female (the youngest of the group by a few decades) had also hunched her shoulders and was leaning back in the seat, her head nodding on her trunk of a neck. The smallest (if that superlative adjective could even be applied here) human, who also happened to be the oldest human female Twenty-Trills had ever seen had her eyes focused on the optimistically labeled road they were following back to the base. They hardly seemed to be paying attention and all and Twenty-Trills twitched in irritation.
The entire transport suddenly shuddered as the wheels struck an inequality on the surface and the medic winced. Fortunately for all the broken bones and dislocated joints in the wing the compartment they were in was stabilized on gyroscopes. She hadn’t felt a thing but witnessing the world swerve like that with no physical sensation to match was not a pleasant experience. It did however give her reason to reconsider the huamans’ attention levels. The dozing male angled his head and opened on eyelid a fraction to monitor the reaction of the pilot. The pilot had reacted to minimize the disruption to the passengers without taking her eyes off the road but now proceeded to check all monitors and windows. The dozing female glanced back at the compartment and her eyes tracked the dim space for a few wingbeats as she looked for an officer.
“Hey, you the medic?” the human called out in a soft, deep tone.
“I am the medic,” Twenty-Trills confirmed.
“That bump didn’t jostle you?” the human asked.
“Not at all,” Twenty-Trills replied. “The gyroscopes on this compartment are quite capable.”
The human’s face split open into a grin that exposed her massive rocks of teeth.
“Good,” she said. “We’re not a medical transport you know. It was really lucky we had the crystal carrier handy.”
“Really lucky,” Twenty-Trills replied, unsure of the meaning but more than willing to let the humans offer adjectives at this point.
She was so tired.
The male human had turned his head to look out the window now as they rounded a sharp corner in the road and the local body of water, a loch the humans called it, came into view. Twenty-Trills shuddered at the wispy cloud of ash that poured over the side of the surrounding hills and spilled into the valley. There wasn’t much material in the air here, so far from their abandoned camp, but that there was any at all was a harsh reminder of what they had barely survived. The humans seemed to be having a different reaction. The male straightened a bit, as if to free his lungs, and emitted a low, musical hum.
“Smoke on the water,” sang out the driver softly.
“Fire in the sky,” the youngest female answered her, drawing the last syllable out in a croon.
The thought that she should probably be concerned about that last line if it was a description of the observed reality crossed Twenty-Trill’s mind, but she was so tired she could hardly find the energy to position her wings correctly, let alone investigate atmospheric phenomenon that the humans clearly had under control. The older two humans started and each turned as much attention on the youngest as their situations allowed. The male twisting his body around and straitening his massive spine and the female angling her eyes at her junior. The younger female didn’t seem to notice their contorted faces and changed positions at first but after a few moments she turned her attention back from the ash stream and glanced between her companions.
“What?” she asked.
“How do you know that song?” demanded the older female with a laugh.
“Everyone knows that song!” the younger protested, wrinkling her nose in an almost Winged expression of perplexity.
“Do you know the meaning?” the male demanded.
The eldest female shushed him.
“Or the context?” the male asked in a whisper, glancing back into the compartment.
“To be honest,” the younger female said with a laugh, “I really only know those two lines, but really, why are you two so shocked when I get the most common cultural reference?”
“You just have an air of being innocent sweetie,” the female said with a grin.
“How innocent do you have to be to not know the proper response to smoke on the water?”
Their voices began to fade out as Twenty-Trills let sleep creep up her wingtips. She probably should stand watch, but what really was the point of having allies who considered the ground pulverizing itself and spewing itself into the air as a topic for cultural debate rather than a natural disaster if you couldn’t let them deal with this updraft once in a while?
Processing img p18gieipbquc1...
Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams
Amazon (Kindle, Paperback, Audiobook)
Barnes & Nobel (Nook, Paperback, Audiobook)
Powell's Books (Paperback)
Kobo by Rakuten (ebook and Audiobook)
Google Play Books (ebook and Audiobook)
Check out my books at any of these sites and leave a review! "Flying Sparks" - a novel set in the "Dying Embers" universe is now avaliable on all sites!Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing becase tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!
2024.04.16 01:39 Betty-Adams Humans are Weird – Smoke on the Water
https://preview.redd.it/kcai8srabquc1.png?width=478&format=png&auto=webp&s=709c4f8b400d7da2e81239bd700f6714a1764b1a
The low rumbling of the combustion engine was oddly soothing wing medic Twenty-Trills thought as she adjusted the final strap of the respirator on the trembling warrior in front of her.
“You just take it easy no marine,” she clicked down at him.
She didn’t really understand why using the human term was so universally pleasing to the massive warriors, but it did its work. The warrior gave a weak, but sincere tilt to his ears. He was clearly recovering. She glanced around to see if any of the other members of either wing huddled in the center of the spacious storage compartment were free to begin grooming the warriors ash covered fur. However everyone who was awake enough and uninjured enough was already tooth deep in a grooming partner already. She glanced uneasily at her own digit ends and tested the strength of her joints in her mind. As she already knew everything hurt. Her claws were actually beginning to bleed at the quick. Other Wingeds’ blood and fluids caked ash and who could sound what else in her joints. She suppressed a sigh. No point in starting to groom a traumatized warrior if she was just going to collapse on him mid groom.
“I am going to take a rest now,” she announced to no one in particular.
There was a soft sussuration of agreement as the portion of the wings who were awake expressed their approval of her plan. She did a quick headcount of the officers as she moved towards the rounded rectangle of light that comprised most of the front of the compartment. As she had suspected she was the highest ranking member of her species conscious at the moment. She fought back another groan and staggered to the last set of restraints before the compartment ended. It was a bit disturbing to deliberately distance herself from the rest of her wing but the frantic loading process when the camp had been evacuated had resulted in the wing being essentially centered in the space and someone needed to act as liaison with the humans.
The humans who were eerily quiet for people who were supposed to be piloting a transport large enough to count as a base in itself with all the piloting AI disengaged. Twenty-Trills stretched up her wing to shield her eyes from the light and peered at the three massive mammalian bodies folded around the control couch. The two passengers, a male and female of about the same mass appeared to be sleeping. The male leaned his head against his curled fist and said fist against the window and had hunched his shoulders in an effort to center his weight. The female (the youngest of the group by a few decades) had also hunched her shoulders and was leaning back in the seat, her head nodding on her trunk of a neck. The smallest (if that superlative adjective could even be applied here) human, who also happened to be the oldest human female Twenty-Trills had ever seen had her eyes focused on the optimistically labeled road they were following back to the base. They hardly seemed to be paying attention and all and Twenty-Trills twitched in irritation.
The entire transport suddenly shuddered as the wheels struck an inequality on the surface and the medic winced. Fortunately for all the broken bones and dislocated joints in the wing the compartment they were in was stabilized on gyroscopes. She hadn’t felt a thing but witnessing the world swerve like that with no physical sensation to match was not a pleasant experience. It did however give her reason to reconsider the huamans’ attention levels. The dozing male angled his head and opened on eyelid a fraction to monitor the reaction of the pilot. The pilot had reacted to minimize the disruption to the passengers without taking her eyes off the road but now proceeded to check all monitors and windows. The dozing female glanced back at the compartment and her eyes tracked the dim space for a few wingbeats as she looked for an officer.
“Hey, you the medic?” the human called out in a soft, deep tone.
“I am the medic,” Twenty-Trills confirmed.
“That bump didn’t jostle you?” the human asked.
“Not at all,” Twenty-Trills replied. “The gyroscopes on this compartment are quite capable.”
The human’s face split open into a grin that exposed her massive rocks of teeth.
“Good,” she said. “We’re not a medical transport you know. It was really lucky we had the crystal carrier handy.”
“Really lucky,” Twenty-Trills replied, unsure of the meaning but more than willing to let the humans offer adjectives at this point.
She was so tired.
The male human had turned his head to look out the window now as they rounded a sharp corner in the road and the local body of water, a loch the humans called it, came into view. Twenty-Trills shuddered at the wispy cloud of ash that poured over the side of the surrounding hills and spilled into the valley. There wasn’t much material in the air here, so far from their abandoned camp, but that there was any at all was a harsh reminder of what they had barely survived. The humans seemed to be having a different reaction. The male straightened a bit, as if to free his lungs, and emitted a low, musical hum.
“Smoke on the water,” sang out the driver softly.
“Fire in the sky,” the youngest female answered her, drawing the last syllable out in a croon.
The thought that she should probably be concerned about that last line if it was a description of the observed reality crossed Twenty-Trill’s mind, but she was so tired she could hardly find the energy to position her wings correctly, let alone investigate atmospheric phenomenon that the humans clearly had under control. The older two humans started and each turned as much attention on the youngest as their situations allowed. The male twisting his body around and straitening his massive spine and the female angling her eyes at her junior. The younger female didn’t seem to notice their contorted faces and changed positions at first but after a few moments she turned her attention back from the ash stream and glanced between her companions.
“What?” she asked.
“How do you know that song?” demanded the older female with a laugh.
“Everyone knows that song!” the younger protested, wrinkling her nose in an almost Winged expression of perplexity.
“Do you know the meaning?” the male demanded.
The eldest female shushed him.
“Or the context?” the male asked in a whisper, glancing back into the compartment.
“To be honest,” the younger female said with a laugh, “I really only know those two lines, but really, why are you two so shocked when I get the most common cultural reference?”
“You just have an air of being innocent sweetie,” the female said with a grin.
“How innocent do you have to be to not know the proper response to smoke on the water?”
Their voices began to fade out as Twenty-Trills let sleep creep up her wingtips. She probably should stand watch, but what really was the point of having allies who considered the ground pulverizing itself and spewing itself into the air as a topic for cultural debate rather than a natural disaster if you couldn’t let them deal with this updraft once in a while?
https://preview.redd.it/33eriaslbquc1.png?width=859&format=png&auto=webp&s=1aaa125a15d63f9d648e0c12f059b161c13a1412
Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing becase tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!
submitted by Betty-Adams to selfpromo [link] [comments]
Humans are Weird – Smoke on the Water
Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-smoke-on-the-waterThe low rumbling of the combustion engine was oddly soothing wing medic Twenty-Trills thought as she adjusted the final strap of the respirator on the trembling warrior in front of her.
“You just take it easy no marine,” she clicked down at him.
She didn’t really understand why using the human term was so universally pleasing to the massive warriors, but it did its work. The warrior gave a weak, but sincere tilt to his ears. He was clearly recovering. She glanced around to see if any of the other members of either wing huddled in the center of the spacious storage compartment were free to begin grooming the warriors ash covered fur. However everyone who was awake enough and uninjured enough was already tooth deep in a grooming partner already. She glanced uneasily at her own digit ends and tested the strength of her joints in her mind. As she already knew everything hurt. Her claws were actually beginning to bleed at the quick. Other Wingeds’ blood and fluids caked ash and who could sound what else in her joints. She suppressed a sigh. No point in starting to groom a traumatized warrior if she was just going to collapse on him mid groom.
“I am going to take a rest now,” she announced to no one in particular.
There was a soft sussuration of agreement as the portion of the wings who were awake expressed their approval of her plan. She did a quick headcount of the officers as she moved towards the rounded rectangle of light that comprised most of the front of the compartment. As she had suspected she was the highest ranking member of her species conscious at the moment. She fought back another groan and staggered to the last set of restraints before the compartment ended. It was a bit disturbing to deliberately distance herself from the rest of her wing but the frantic loading process when the camp had been evacuated had resulted in the wing being essentially centered in the space and someone needed to act as liaison with the humans.
The humans who were eerily quiet for people who were supposed to be piloting a transport large enough to count as a base in itself with all the piloting AI disengaged. Twenty-Trills stretched up her wing to shield her eyes from the light and peered at the three massive mammalian bodies folded around the control couch. The two passengers, a male and female of about the same mass appeared to be sleeping. The male leaned his head against his curled fist and said fist against the window and had hunched his shoulders in an effort to center his weight. The female (the youngest of the group by a few decades) had also hunched her shoulders and was leaning back in the seat, her head nodding on her trunk of a neck. The smallest (if that superlative adjective could even be applied here) human, who also happened to be the oldest human female Twenty-Trills had ever seen had her eyes focused on the optimistically labeled road they were following back to the base. They hardly seemed to be paying attention and all and Twenty-Trills twitched in irritation.
The entire transport suddenly shuddered as the wheels struck an inequality on the surface and the medic winced. Fortunately for all the broken bones and dislocated joints in the wing the compartment they were in was stabilized on gyroscopes. She hadn’t felt a thing but witnessing the world swerve like that with no physical sensation to match was not a pleasant experience. It did however give her reason to reconsider the huamans’ attention levels. The dozing male angled his head and opened on eyelid a fraction to monitor the reaction of the pilot. The pilot had reacted to minimize the disruption to the passengers without taking her eyes off the road but now proceeded to check all monitors and windows. The dozing female glanced back at the compartment and her eyes tracked the dim space for a few wingbeats as she looked for an officer.
“Hey, you the medic?” the human called out in a soft, deep tone.
“I am the medic,” Twenty-Trills confirmed.
“That bump didn’t jostle you?” the human asked.
“Not at all,” Twenty-Trills replied. “The gyroscopes on this compartment are quite capable.”
The human’s face split open into a grin that exposed her massive rocks of teeth.
“Good,” she said. “We’re not a medical transport you know. It was really lucky we had the crystal carrier handy.”
“Really lucky,” Twenty-Trills replied, unsure of the meaning but more than willing to let the humans offer adjectives at this point.
She was so tired.
The male human had turned his head to look out the window now as they rounded a sharp corner in the road and the local body of water, a loch the humans called it, came into view. Twenty-Trills shuddered at the wispy cloud of ash that poured over the side of the surrounding hills and spilled into the valley. There wasn’t much material in the air here, so far from their abandoned camp, but that there was any at all was a harsh reminder of what they had barely survived. The humans seemed to be having a different reaction. The male straightened a bit, as if to free his lungs, and emitted a low, musical hum.
“Smoke on the water,” sang out the driver softly.
“Fire in the sky,” the youngest female answered her, drawing the last syllable out in a croon.
The thought that she should probably be concerned about that last line if it was a description of the observed reality crossed Twenty-Trill’s mind, but she was so tired she could hardly find the energy to position her wings correctly, let alone investigate atmospheric phenomenon that the humans clearly had under control. The older two humans started and each turned as much attention on the youngest as their situations allowed. The male twisting his body around and straitening his massive spine and the female angling her eyes at her junior. The younger female didn’t seem to notice their contorted faces and changed positions at first but after a few moments she turned her attention back from the ash stream and glanced between her companions.
“What?” she asked.
“How do you know that song?” demanded the older female with a laugh.
“Everyone knows that song!” the younger protested, wrinkling her nose in an almost Winged expression of perplexity.
“Do you know the meaning?” the male demanded.
The eldest female shushed him.
“Or the context?” the male asked in a whisper, glancing back into the compartment.
“To be honest,” the younger female said with a laugh, “I really only know those two lines, but really, why are you two so shocked when I get the most common cultural reference?”
“You just have an air of being innocent sweetie,” the female said with a grin.
“How innocent do you have to be to not know the proper response to smoke on the water?”
Their voices began to fade out as Twenty-Trills let sleep creep up her wingtips. She probably should stand watch, but what really was the point of having allies who considered the ground pulverizing itself and spewing itself into the air as a topic for cultural debate rather than a natural disaster if you couldn’t let them deal with this updraft once in a while?
https://preview.redd.it/33eriaslbquc1.png?width=859&format=png&auto=webp&s=1aaa125a15d63f9d648e0c12f059b161c13a1412
Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams
Amazon (Kindle, Paperback, Audiobook)
Barnes & Nobel (Nook, Paperback, Audiobook)
Powell's Books (Paperback)
Kobo by Rakuten (ebook and Audiobook)
Google Play Books (ebook and Audiobook)
Check out my books at any of these sites and leave a review! "Flying Sparks" - a novel set in the "Dying Embers" universe is now avaliable on all sites!Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing becase tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!
2024.01.04 01:37 Mrmander20 [Hard Luck Hermit] - Chapter 87: The Tooley Maneuver
With his mother dead and his cultist family members out to ruin his life, getting abducted by alien slavers is actually an improvement for Corey Vash. A quick and chaotic escape attempt only succeeds thanks to an unintentional rescue from the impressively skilled and infrequently sober bounty hunters aboard the Hard Luck Hermit. With no clue about how to survive in space and nothing to return to on Earth, Corey joins the crew in their efforts to make a quick buck, try new drinks, and figure out who the hell keeps trying to kill them.
[First Chapter][Previous Chapter][Cover Art][Patreon][Next Chapter]
“Bad idea!”
Tooley’s sudden acceleration had triggered both fleets into action -an action that mostly consisted of walls of laser fire barreling in either direction. Tooley swerved downward and ducked below the volleys of destruction, then swung wide to the sidelines of the battle. The first volley was mostly negated by shielding, chaff, and other defensive measures, but a second soon followed, and Tooley watched as a few of the smaller vessels on either side were consumed by violent explosions.
“Off to a great start,” Tooley said. Their makeshift “alliance” outnumbered the Horuk by a moderate margin, so as long as losses were kept fairly equivalent, they’d come out on top. She kept to the outskirts of the fighting, close enough that Farsus could take potshots at the enemy without putting them in too much danger. “Fars, you’re the chaos expert, what’s your take?”
“On a personal level, I am delighted! On a tactical level, give me more than a few ticks to think,” Farsus said. The battle had only just begun, and it was far too early to call for either side. Farsus took a few shots at one of the smaller circular Horuk vessels and watched as it matched up against a patchwork Doccan cruiser and a flock of smaller bounty hunter ships. What should’ve been a one-sided slaughter turned into a protracted battle as the makeshift allies failed to coordinate. The disorganized skirmish lasted long enough that the lone Horuk vessel called in reinforcements and turned the tide. Farsus watched with great concern as the fighters were picked off, and the damaged Doccan hulk began to take on heavy fire.
“It would appear our fears were not entirely unfounded,” Farsus said. “We have the advantage of numbers, but not coordination.”
The disparate factions were killing in the same direction, but not truly working together. The Horuk vessels were running circles around their scattered foes, picking apart stragglers and encircling isolated factions.
“We always knew this was a possibility,” Kamak said. Luring in a half dozen different factions under false pretenses didn’t exactly engender good teamwork. Especially seeing as at least two of the factions very specifically hated each other. “We don’t need a decisive victory, we just needed to make sure the Horuk didn’t get a surprise attack. Mission accomplished, universe saved. Probably.”
Some of the smaller ships that had arrived on the scene had already fled, and Kamak had no doubt that a lot of distress signals and warnings were being sent. Even in the worst case scenario, the Horuk and Morrakesh had been deprived of the element of surprise, giving Centerpoint, and the rest of the universe, time to muster a defense.
“On that note, should we get the fuck out of here?”
Tooley watched as one of the three Galactic Council warships got bombarded with enough firepower to destroy one of its engines. It was still firing, but with no ability to maneuver, it was as good as dead.
“I feel like we’ve got to at least stick around for most of it,” Kamak said. “If we run away a few ticks in we still look bad.”
Tooley swerved hard to avoid a potshot from one of the Horuk ships. She swung the ship wide and took cover behind the massive frame of a Doccan cruiser for a moment.
“Longer we stick around, bigger chance we end up dead,” Tooley said. “I’m fine looking like an asshole if I’m a living asshole.”
“We’re not leaving until we shoot that purple bastard out of the sky,” Corey said. Morrakesh’s flagship was still weaving through the battlefield with ease, occasionally joining in combat on the side of the Horuk. “If Morrakesh gets out of here, we’ll never find it again. It’s smarter than anyone here and it’ll outlive us all.”
“Good point, Corvash, I have decided I also want vengeance,” Tooley said.
“And I don’t want it trying to take revenge, either,” Kamak said. “Corey’s right, we don’t get out of here until that bitch is dead.”
To Vo had been prepared to make a plea on behalf of all the innocent people aboard the ships they had lured here, but she was pleasantly surprised to see the crew had found their own motivation. Very bitter, spiteful motivation, but it at least overlapped with a good cause.
“That said, anyone got any ideas on how to do that?”
“We just need to get the people rallied behind a single guiding authority,” To Vo said. “Kamak, you’re captain, you could-”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Kamak snapped. To Vo shut up.
“I think our specialty lies on the other end of the spectrum,” Doprel noted. “Causing chaos, not creating order.”
“Indeed! We must wreak havoc on the enemy,” Farsus said, his voice filled with thunderous enthusiasm. “But how?”
Even the expert on chaos struggled to come up with any ideas, given the resources available to them. Tooley kept her mind focused on flying, as the Doccan vessel she was sheltering behind started to take heavy fire. Half a dozen of the Horuk ships were focusing fire on it, blowing massive holes in the patchwork hull. As Tooley flew away, the Doccan aboard apparently assessed their situation and discovered that they were doomed. Then they did the logical thing: accelerate and use the doomed ship itself as a weapon. The lumbering space hulk burst forward and slammed into the spokes of one of the Great Wheel ships, snapping the circular war machine in half in a massive explosion.
Tooley bared sharp teeth in a worrying grin.
“I have an idea!”
“I hate the way you sound right now,” Corey said.
“You should!”
With a quick flick of her wrist and a sharp pull on a lever, Tooley sent them careening away from the battlefield. Taking advantage of the fact that she’d never bothered to repair the cut wire that bypassed their light-speed safety systems, Tooley made a quick jump into the void, barely more than a drop long. From this far out, the battlefield wasn’t even visible. She bared her teeth and reactivated their communication channel -this time focused solely on the frequencies used by Morrakesh and the Horuk.
“Howdy there, you fucking oversized houseplant,” Tooley said. “If you’re so smart, can you guess what I’m about to do?”
“Continue running?”
“Close but not quite, Morry,” Tooley said. She swung the Hermit around to face directly at the Bang Gate in the distance. “I am going to take a page out of our Doccan friend’s book and ram your Bang Gate at full speed.”
“Tooley, that’s not supposed to-”
“Shut up and let me do my thing, captain,” Tooley snapped.
“You wouldn’t,” Morrakesh said. “You’d obliterate your own allies and yourself.”
“In case you haven’t been keeping track, Morrakesh, everyone within a hundred lightyears came here specifically to try and kill me,” Tooley said. “And, as you might remember from my time aboard your ship, I barely want to be alive to begin with.”
Something that had hopefully changed since Tooley had been aboard Morrakesh’s ship, but the brief silence that followed said Morrakesh didn’t know that. The brief silence from her crewmates said they weren’t sure they knew that either. Tooley ignored them all -though she did take a brief glance at Corey. For some reason, that steadied her nerves.
“Your confidence is remarkable,” Morrakesh taunted. “But I know a bluff when I see one, Tooley Keeber Obeltas.”
“Apparently not.”
Tooley gripped her controls, lined up to the Bang Gate, and jumped into FTL.
The torrent of obscenities flowing from Kamak’s mouth was something for the history books. In what he firmly believed to be his last few ticks of existence, Kamak fully intended to call Tooley every possible negative adjective in the dictionary. While he screamed and raged, Doprel and To Vo held on for dear life, Farsus laughed like a madman, and Corey sat in stunned silence. Tooley sat at her controls and counted down the ticks.
It would be easy to just stop counting. Let go of the controls, let herself slam right into the Bang Gate. She’d be disintegrated so fast she wouldn’t even feel it, and suddenly all her problems would be evaporated in the blink of an eye. It’d be easy.
Too easy. She wanted a challenge.
Tooley slammed a fist down on the controls so hard the Hermit shuddered as it abruptly decelerated from faster-than-light speeds. The trademark wall of beige light that came with FTL suddenly melted into a wall of solid gray metal: the Bang Gate, rushing towards them at several thousand miles an hour. Kamak’s torrent of screaming curses turned into regular screaming. Tooley joined him, though her scream was one of enthusiastic, utterly unrestrained delight.
“Fuck this!”
Tooley slammed the controls hard to the side, and the ship rolled with them. The Hard Luck Hermit went into a diving roll, narrowly avoiding the massive Bang Gate’s metal ring. At speeds like this it should’ve been impossible to maneuver at all, much less maneuver with precision through an active warzone. Tooley did it anyway.
“Fuck you!”
The absurd speed the ship still traveled at allowed them to traverse the battlefield in the blink of an eye, bypassing dozens of scattered Horuk ships. As Tooley had hoped, they had fallen for the bluff. As soon as Tooley had accelerated, they had scattered, hoping to flee the battlefield before the Bang Gate detonated. She dodged and weaved through the scattered enemy fleet, hurtling around warships and spinning through the spokes of a Great Wheel ship at speeds that would’ve had a lesser pilot crashing and burning instantly.
“Fuck everything!”
Processing all the input from her navigational readouts at speeds almost as fast as the ship itself was traveling, Tooley found her target and swung the ship around, making use of their momentum to close the distance faster than anyone could flee. She only started to decelerate when she saw her target on the outskirts of the battlefield: the tail end of the Empyrean Absolutist, engines flaring as it too tried to flee from the destruction Morrakesh had assumed was coming. Morrakesh’s flagship had made it further from the scene of the battle than any other, and might’ve even escaped the hypothetical destruction. But there was no escaping Tooley, or her ego. She made sure her next taunt was broadcasted across all channels.
“I am Tooley Keeber Obertas, and I am the best pilot in the fucking universe!”
Still laughing like a lunatic, Farsus got himself back on track. Having Morrakesh’s ship flanked was an opportunity to be seized. The insane acceleration made it hard to aim, but even so, Farsus managed to fire off three clean shots at the Empyrean Absolutist. The tracking systems in the missiles did the rest, striking the purple vessel and disabling most of its propulsion systems.
“And that is everybody’s least favorite tree served up on a silver platter,” Tooley said, tensed muscles relaxing as the ship started to slow to normal speeds. “You’re welcome.”
Kamak turned in her direction, teeth bared in a horrified grimace that seemed to be frozen on his face.
“Thank you.”
All around them, the tide of the battle started to turn as the makeshift alliance seized on the sudden scattering of the enemy fleet. The Horuk’s defensive formation around the Bang Gate had broken, and their opponents flowed into the empty space, circling the wagons and putting their backs to the Bang Gate to avoid being flanked. Though their coordination went no further than taking up a defensive formation, that alone was enough to shift the tides of battle in favor of the odd allies.
“Your gambit appears to have worked, Tooley,” Farsus said. “I offer my sincere congratulations and my sincere hopes you will never do that again.”
“Yeah I don’t plan on it,” Tooley said breathlessly. The adrenaline high was wearing off, but she could still feel her heartbeat in her eyeballs. That couldn’t possibly be healthy. She decelerated them into a slow drift as they surveyed the battlefield -and the disabled Empyrean Absolutist. Kamak glared daggers at the crippled purple vessel.
“I think it’s our turn to do something stupid,” he said. “Tooley, take us in.”
Kmaka unbuckled his seatbelt and put a hand on the pistol strapped to his hip.
“And prepare to board.”
submitted by Mrmander20 to redditserials [link] [comments]
[First Chapter][Previous Chapter][Cover Art][Patreon][Next Chapter]
“Bad idea!”
Tooley’s sudden acceleration had triggered both fleets into action -an action that mostly consisted of walls of laser fire barreling in either direction. Tooley swerved downward and ducked below the volleys of destruction, then swung wide to the sidelines of the battle. The first volley was mostly negated by shielding, chaff, and other defensive measures, but a second soon followed, and Tooley watched as a few of the smaller vessels on either side were consumed by violent explosions.
“Off to a great start,” Tooley said. Their makeshift “alliance” outnumbered the Horuk by a moderate margin, so as long as losses were kept fairly equivalent, they’d come out on top. She kept to the outskirts of the fighting, close enough that Farsus could take potshots at the enemy without putting them in too much danger. “Fars, you’re the chaos expert, what’s your take?”
“On a personal level, I am delighted! On a tactical level, give me more than a few ticks to think,” Farsus said. The battle had only just begun, and it was far too early to call for either side. Farsus took a few shots at one of the smaller circular Horuk vessels and watched as it matched up against a patchwork Doccan cruiser and a flock of smaller bounty hunter ships. What should’ve been a one-sided slaughter turned into a protracted battle as the makeshift allies failed to coordinate. The disorganized skirmish lasted long enough that the lone Horuk vessel called in reinforcements and turned the tide. Farsus watched with great concern as the fighters were picked off, and the damaged Doccan hulk began to take on heavy fire.
“It would appear our fears were not entirely unfounded,” Farsus said. “We have the advantage of numbers, but not coordination.”
The disparate factions were killing in the same direction, but not truly working together. The Horuk vessels were running circles around their scattered foes, picking apart stragglers and encircling isolated factions.
“We always knew this was a possibility,” Kamak said. Luring in a half dozen different factions under false pretenses didn’t exactly engender good teamwork. Especially seeing as at least two of the factions very specifically hated each other. “We don’t need a decisive victory, we just needed to make sure the Horuk didn’t get a surprise attack. Mission accomplished, universe saved. Probably.”
Some of the smaller ships that had arrived on the scene had already fled, and Kamak had no doubt that a lot of distress signals and warnings were being sent. Even in the worst case scenario, the Horuk and Morrakesh had been deprived of the element of surprise, giving Centerpoint, and the rest of the universe, time to muster a defense.
“On that note, should we get the fuck out of here?”
Tooley watched as one of the three Galactic Council warships got bombarded with enough firepower to destroy one of its engines. It was still firing, but with no ability to maneuver, it was as good as dead.
“I feel like we’ve got to at least stick around for most of it,” Kamak said. “If we run away a few ticks in we still look bad.”
Tooley swerved hard to avoid a potshot from one of the Horuk ships. She swung the ship wide and took cover behind the massive frame of a Doccan cruiser for a moment.
“Longer we stick around, bigger chance we end up dead,” Tooley said. “I’m fine looking like an asshole if I’m a living asshole.”
“We’re not leaving until we shoot that purple bastard out of the sky,” Corey said. Morrakesh’s flagship was still weaving through the battlefield with ease, occasionally joining in combat on the side of the Horuk. “If Morrakesh gets out of here, we’ll never find it again. It’s smarter than anyone here and it’ll outlive us all.”
“Good point, Corvash, I have decided I also want vengeance,” Tooley said.
“And I don’t want it trying to take revenge, either,” Kamak said. “Corey’s right, we don’t get out of here until that bitch is dead.”
To Vo had been prepared to make a plea on behalf of all the innocent people aboard the ships they had lured here, but she was pleasantly surprised to see the crew had found their own motivation. Very bitter, spiteful motivation, but it at least overlapped with a good cause.
“That said, anyone got any ideas on how to do that?”
“We just need to get the people rallied behind a single guiding authority,” To Vo said. “Kamak, you’re captain, you could-”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Kamak snapped. To Vo shut up.
“I think our specialty lies on the other end of the spectrum,” Doprel noted. “Causing chaos, not creating order.”
“Indeed! We must wreak havoc on the enemy,” Farsus said, his voice filled with thunderous enthusiasm. “But how?”
Even the expert on chaos struggled to come up with any ideas, given the resources available to them. Tooley kept her mind focused on flying, as the Doccan vessel she was sheltering behind started to take heavy fire. Half a dozen of the Horuk ships were focusing fire on it, blowing massive holes in the patchwork hull. As Tooley flew away, the Doccan aboard apparently assessed their situation and discovered that they were doomed. Then they did the logical thing: accelerate and use the doomed ship itself as a weapon. The lumbering space hulk burst forward and slammed into the spokes of one of the Great Wheel ships, snapping the circular war machine in half in a massive explosion.
Tooley bared sharp teeth in a worrying grin.
“I have an idea!”
“I hate the way you sound right now,” Corey said.
“You should!”
With a quick flick of her wrist and a sharp pull on a lever, Tooley sent them careening away from the battlefield. Taking advantage of the fact that she’d never bothered to repair the cut wire that bypassed their light-speed safety systems, Tooley made a quick jump into the void, barely more than a drop long. From this far out, the battlefield wasn’t even visible. She bared her teeth and reactivated their communication channel -this time focused solely on the frequencies used by Morrakesh and the Horuk.
“Howdy there, you fucking oversized houseplant,” Tooley said. “If you’re so smart, can you guess what I’m about to do?”
“Continue running?”
“Close but not quite, Morry,” Tooley said. She swung the Hermit around to face directly at the Bang Gate in the distance. “I am going to take a page out of our Doccan friend’s book and ram your Bang Gate at full speed.”
“Tooley, that’s not supposed to-”
“Shut up and let me do my thing, captain,” Tooley snapped.
“You wouldn’t,” Morrakesh said. “You’d obliterate your own allies and yourself.”
“In case you haven’t been keeping track, Morrakesh, everyone within a hundred lightyears came here specifically to try and kill me,” Tooley said. “And, as you might remember from my time aboard your ship, I barely want to be alive to begin with.”
Something that had hopefully changed since Tooley had been aboard Morrakesh’s ship, but the brief silence that followed said Morrakesh didn’t know that. The brief silence from her crewmates said they weren’t sure they knew that either. Tooley ignored them all -though she did take a brief glance at Corey. For some reason, that steadied her nerves.
“Your confidence is remarkable,” Morrakesh taunted. “But I know a bluff when I see one, Tooley Keeber Obeltas.”
“Apparently not.”
Tooley gripped her controls, lined up to the Bang Gate, and jumped into FTL.
The torrent of obscenities flowing from Kamak’s mouth was something for the history books. In what he firmly believed to be his last few ticks of existence, Kamak fully intended to call Tooley every possible negative adjective in the dictionary. While he screamed and raged, Doprel and To Vo held on for dear life, Farsus laughed like a madman, and Corey sat in stunned silence. Tooley sat at her controls and counted down the ticks.
It would be easy to just stop counting. Let go of the controls, let herself slam right into the Bang Gate. She’d be disintegrated so fast she wouldn’t even feel it, and suddenly all her problems would be evaporated in the blink of an eye. It’d be easy.
Too easy. She wanted a challenge.
Tooley slammed a fist down on the controls so hard the Hermit shuddered as it abruptly decelerated from faster-than-light speeds. The trademark wall of beige light that came with FTL suddenly melted into a wall of solid gray metal: the Bang Gate, rushing towards them at several thousand miles an hour. Kamak’s torrent of screaming curses turned into regular screaming. Tooley joined him, though her scream was one of enthusiastic, utterly unrestrained delight.
“Fuck this!”
Tooley slammed the controls hard to the side, and the ship rolled with them. The Hard Luck Hermit went into a diving roll, narrowly avoiding the massive Bang Gate’s metal ring. At speeds like this it should’ve been impossible to maneuver at all, much less maneuver with precision through an active warzone. Tooley did it anyway.
“Fuck you!”
The absurd speed the ship still traveled at allowed them to traverse the battlefield in the blink of an eye, bypassing dozens of scattered Horuk ships. As Tooley had hoped, they had fallen for the bluff. As soon as Tooley had accelerated, they had scattered, hoping to flee the battlefield before the Bang Gate detonated. She dodged and weaved through the scattered enemy fleet, hurtling around warships and spinning through the spokes of a Great Wheel ship at speeds that would’ve had a lesser pilot crashing and burning instantly.
“Fuck everything!”
Processing all the input from her navigational readouts at speeds almost as fast as the ship itself was traveling, Tooley found her target and swung the ship around, making use of their momentum to close the distance faster than anyone could flee. She only started to decelerate when she saw her target on the outskirts of the battlefield: the tail end of the Empyrean Absolutist, engines flaring as it too tried to flee from the destruction Morrakesh had assumed was coming. Morrakesh’s flagship had made it further from the scene of the battle than any other, and might’ve even escaped the hypothetical destruction. But there was no escaping Tooley, or her ego. She made sure her next taunt was broadcasted across all channels.
“I am Tooley Keeber Obertas, and I am the best pilot in the fucking universe!”
Still laughing like a lunatic, Farsus got himself back on track. Having Morrakesh’s ship flanked was an opportunity to be seized. The insane acceleration made it hard to aim, but even so, Farsus managed to fire off three clean shots at the Empyrean Absolutist. The tracking systems in the missiles did the rest, striking the purple vessel and disabling most of its propulsion systems.
“And that is everybody’s least favorite tree served up on a silver platter,” Tooley said, tensed muscles relaxing as the ship started to slow to normal speeds. “You’re welcome.”
Kamak turned in her direction, teeth bared in a horrified grimace that seemed to be frozen on his face.
“Thank you.”
All around them, the tide of the battle started to turn as the makeshift alliance seized on the sudden scattering of the enemy fleet. The Horuk’s defensive formation around the Bang Gate had broken, and their opponents flowed into the empty space, circling the wagons and putting their backs to the Bang Gate to avoid being flanked. Though their coordination went no further than taking up a defensive formation, that alone was enough to shift the tides of battle in favor of the odd allies.
“Your gambit appears to have worked, Tooley,” Farsus said. “I offer my sincere congratulations and my sincere hopes you will never do that again.”
“Yeah I don’t plan on it,” Tooley said breathlessly. The adrenaline high was wearing off, but she could still feel her heartbeat in her eyeballs. That couldn’t possibly be healthy. She decelerated them into a slow drift as they surveyed the battlefield -and the disabled Empyrean Absolutist. Kamak glared daggers at the crippled purple vessel.
“I think it’s our turn to do something stupid,” he said. “Tooley, take us in.”
Kmaka unbuckled his seatbelt and put a hand on the pistol strapped to his hip.
“And prepare to board.”
2024.01.04 01:23 monkeynose Schaub to English Dictionary, 4th Edition 2024: I'm a words guy, B.
Addies and Baddies - Ingredients for a fun weekend away from the messican.
Airs – the organ of hearing and equilibrium in vertebrates: I’m gonna grab you by the airs and ride you like a pony, B. https://streamable.com/4sfb1e
Antiphetermines - an addictive drug in the amphetamine family. Known for causing upbeat energy and appetite suppression
Aubey Daubey - Capital of the United Arab Emirates.
Awn - a prefix meaning “not,” freely used as an English formative, giving negative or opposite force in adjectives and their derivative adverbs and nouns ( awnfair; awnfairly; awnfairness; awnfelt; awnseen; awnfitting;), and less freely used in certain other nouns ( awnrest; awnemployment ).
Awso – Additionally; Too; Besides: Sometimes I drink cawlfee. I awso drool a little.
Awvisly - Easily seen, recognized, or understood; open to view or knowledge; evident: Wonderboy Talmpson is Awvisly the better striker in this match up, B.
Axeless Chaps – a pair of joined leather leggings, often widely flared, worn over trousers with an open back to expose the buttocks: Hey B, put on these axeless chaps and bend over. It’s time for some essplay, bro.
Baird - the growth of hair on the face of an adult man, often including a mustache: When Evan the Baird was fired from Fox, I dropped him like a hot potato with cooties. Gotta run with the lions, not the gazelles, B.
Barry Sanders - American politician.
Bear - An alcoholic beverage made by brewing and fermentation from cereals, usually malted barley, and flavored with hops and the like for a slightly bitter taste.
Beer - Any of the plantigrade, carnivorous or omnivorous mammals of the family Ursidae, having massive bodies, coarse heavy fur, relatively short limbs, and almost rudimentary tails: Yo, B. Yesterday I saw a big brown beer at the park. It was skeery.
Beg the Differ - To politely disagree.
Bess Brains - People with exceptional intellectual or creative power or other natural ability.
Blogbusser - Terrible, no good, out of favor.
Body Morfia - A mental health condition where a person spends a lot of time worrying about flaws in their appearance.
Bowlth - Used to refer to two people or things, regarded and identified together: Bowlth me and Jay have huge hogs. For reals though, B. Axe Jay.
Bowltox - A drug prepared from the bacterial toxin botulin, used medically to treat certain muscular conditions and cosmetically to remove wrinkles by temporarily paralyzing facial muscles.
Butcher Boss – a company that wants to make sure the most important part of your barbecue is always as good as it can be. Starting at $129 a month, the subscription service delivers a package of 7-10 pounds of beef, chicken, pork, and bacon on dry ice straight to your door.
Bruce Springspring - Affectionately known as "The Boss" to fans, this singesongwriter has 20 Grammy Awards, two Golden Globe Awards, one Academy Award, and Polar Music Prize, to his name. He has been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Songwriters Hall of Fame, and the New Jersey Hall of Fame. https://streamable.com/41tae
Bystandard - person who is present at an event or incident but does not take part.
Cawlfee - a beverage consisting of a decoction or infusion of the roasted ground or crushed seeds (cawlfee beans) of the two-seeded fruit (cawlfee berry) of certain cawlfee trees.
Cawlmedy - any comic or humorous incident or series of incidents: Yo, B. I bring my pro athlete skills to cawlmedy. That's why I'm the best.
Chair - to shout for joy in praise or encouragement. https://streamable.com/haim1
Chrisst - Firm, dry, and brittle, especially in a way considered pleasing or attractive.
Chung Lee – a character in Capcom's Street Fighter series. The first female fighter of any fighting game franchise, she made her first appearance in Street Fighter II.
Clab - (Contracton) the act or process of collaborating: Hey Chin, when is our CTE clab shirt going on sale?
Claire - free from darkness, obscurity, or cloudiness; light: I'm waiting for the weather to claire up before I ride my scooter again.
CPC- a powerfully disassociative anesthetic originally produced in the 1950s intended for medicinal purposes. It has since become a popular street drug in low income areas due it's cheap price and powerful effects. Users describe a powerful hallucinogenic "out of body" experience. It is extremely dangerous in terms of reacting to individual body chemistry differently in every person.
Deafitley - unequivocally; positively: Madonna deafitley has a fake ass, bro. Ask Jay.
Dinostores - The common name given to a group of reptiles, often very large, that first appeared roughly 245 million years ago (see Drastic Park).
Dint – contraction of did not: I dint win the UFC title because I really wanted to do cawlmedy. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a cheeto fingered hater.
Diraffe - a large African mammal with a very long neck and forelegs. https://streamable.com/c1uu3
Drastic Park - An American science fiction media franchise created by Michael Crichton and centered on a disastrous attempt to create a theme park of cloned dinosaurs.
Duhn Cown - Unimportant, invalid.
Ear out – To discuss in the open; to address an issue or conflict that has long been avoided.
Ed Mitten – Capital of Canada's Alberta province.
Ehbow - the bend or joint of the human arm between upper arm and forearm: I hurt my ehbow moving buckets of money and yeezys out of my purple Porsche.
Eljumbigidy - The state of having the right to do or obtain something through satisfaction of the appropriate conditions.
Epic Demic - a widespread occurrence of an infectious disease in a community at a particular time. https://streamable.com/cjlir
Escape Goat - a person who is blamed for the wrongdoings, mistakes, or faults of others, especially for reasons of expediency.
Essplay – stimulating someone’s anus with any of the following: finger, mouth, toe, fist, hamster, cell phone (set to vibrate), etc.: You into essplay, B? I’m feeling pretty gamey down there bro.
Ex-caped - to slip or get away, as from confinement or restraint; gain or regain liberty: I ex-caped from fighting by riding on the coalt-tails of famous comedians.
Eye Denney - Condition or character as to who a person or what a thing is; the qualities, beliefs, etc., that distinguish or identify a person or thing: Schaub wishes he knew the eye denney of the cheeto fingered homeless cats that are always making fun of him on reddit.
Fair - a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc: I have a fair of homeless cats.
Falshun - a popular trend, especially in styles of dress and ornament or manners of behavior.
Fear weathered – Characterized by fair judgment; impartial; unprejudiced: The judge of that bout was fear weathered and balanced in his scoring.
Fraterderly - one of the two types of twins. Unlike identical twins, fraternal twins are born from two separate eggs and individual spent cells
Frank Mare – Former UFC heavyweight champion who now fights for Bellator and sports a terrifying knife collection
Gau - a character in Capcom's Street Fighter series of fighting games. He debuted as one of the original eight characters in 1991's Street Fighter II and is portrayed as a major in the United States Air Force.
Gadoosh - Ruin (someone) emotionally, physically, or spiritually.
George Carlton - an American stand-up comedian, actor, author, and social critic. He was known for his black comedy and reflections on politics, the English language, psychology, religion, and various taboo subjects. https://streamable.com/bprpw
Germaine Jurrandamie - a Dutch mixed martial artist and former kickboxer of Surinamese and Dutch descent who competes in the Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC). Undefeated in sanctioned kickboxing bouts, she was the first UFC Women's Featherweight Champion until she ran screaming from Cris Cyborg.
Giff – Something given voluntarily without payment in return, as to show favor toward someone, honor an occasion, or make a gesture of assistance; present: My giff box is full of Yeezys and Black Rifle Coffee, B.
Hack Saul - a saw for cutting metal, consisting typically of a narrow, fine-toothed blade fixed in a frame: I'd cut my own foot off with a hacksawl before I'd make a new year's resolution. Ask Jay.
Hader – someone who doesn’t agree with you 100% of the time, all day, every day.
Ham Mitten - a sung- and rapped-through musical about the life of American Founding Father Alexander Ham Mitten.
Handedly – skillfully; dexterously; expertly: Brendan Schaub was beat handedly in his last fight in the UFC.
Henry Lee Oswald - U.S. Marine veteran who assassinated John F. Kennedy, the 35th president of the United States, on November 22, 1963.
Holme Rung Derby - An annual home run hitting competition in Major League Baseball (MLB), usually held the day before the MLB All-Star Game.
I’m your Hucklebee - A phrase used in the 1800s meaning “I’m the one you want,” or “I’m your guy” or “I’m your gal” or “I’m the right match”.
Impaulsive – Acting or done without forethought: Getting punched in the head so many times has resulted in brain damage that has made him impaulsive.
Inchersing/Inchring - Arousing curiosity or interest; holding or catching the attention.
Injun Air – a person trained and skilled in the design, construction, and use of engines or machines: A mechanical injun air.
Inny of Facet - In any way.
Israel Assanna / Fassbender – Nigerian-New Zealand mixed martial artist known as “The Last Stylebender”. https://streamable.com/7xwp5
Jawlz - a 1975 American thriller film directed by Steven Spielberg and based on Peter Benchley's 1974 novel of the same name.
Jeremiah Watson - a popular stand up comic based in LA who has recently gained popularity due to his co hosting of the popular podcast Kill Tony with Toby Hunchcleft
Jon Africa - Who the hell is that?
Jrawln - To bring, take, pull out, or attract to: I love coffee and fashion; some would say I’m jrawln to it.
Kabakke - A type of sexual activity in which several men ejaculate on another person. https://www.reddit.com/thefighterandthekid/comments/180f13g/thicccboy_bukkake_club/
Kabind – to bring into or join in a close union or whole; unite: She kabind the ingredients to make the cake. They kabind the two companies.
Kavince - to move by argument or evidence to belief, agreement, consent, or a course of action: to kavince a jury of his guilt; A test drive will kavince you that this car handles well.
Lopez - Who the fuck knows
Luck of the drawl – to be the result of chance and something that you have no control over: You can't choose who you play against, it's just the luck of the drawl.
Marr Zugburr - an American business magnate and internet entrepreneur known for co-founding the social media website Facebook
Marshal Madder - Professionally known as "Eminem", an American rapper
Masquergarded - A multi-purpose indoor arena in New York City. It is located in Midtown Manhattan between Seventh and Eighth avenues from 31st to 33rd Street, above Pennsylvania Station.
Mawl Tipple - consisting of, having, or involving several or many individuals, parts, elements, relations, etc.; manifold: I was punched mawl tipple times in the head in my last fight.
Melk - An opaque white fluid rich in fat and protein, secreted by female mammals for the nourishment of their young.
Messican - Wife, girlfriend, or significant other which one cheats on.
Michelin Possbowl - A series of American action spy films based on and a follow-on from the television series of the same name created by Bruce Geller.
Moses Malone - an American rapper, singer, and songwriter.
Mount Rulshmoor - a massive sculpture carved into the Black Hills region of South Dakota, and a symbol of America-a symbol of freedom and hope for people from all cultures and backgrounds: George Carlton is defitely on my Mount Rulshmoor of cawlmedy, B.
Munban - A man's hairstyle in which the hair is drawn back into a tight coil at the back or top of the head. https://streamable.com/mqi0s1
Murdler's Roll - A term initially used to describe the devastatingly effective batting line up of the 1927 New York Yankees; now the phrase is commonly used more broadly to refer to any particularly successful and/or powerful group of people.
Nairdiv - a spoken or written account of connected events; a story.
Name the Wadders - A phrase that shows you are prepared and willing to compete in a competition or to do something difficult
Neggflix - Excellent, Great.
Nelson Ratings - the audience measurement systems operated by Nelson Media Research that seek to determine the audience size and composition of television programming in the United States using a rating system.
Oos - the objective case of we, used as a direct or indirect object: I just don't know why cheeto fingered haters hate on oos, B.
Paige Van Ants - an American mixed martial artist, bare knuckle boxer, professional wrestler, author, and model.
Painguin – any of several flightless, aquatic birds of the family Spheniscidae, of the Southern Hemisphere.
Pancreas - a mixed martial arts promotion company founded in Japan in 1993 by professional wrestlers Masakatsu Funaki and Minoru Suzuki: B, you know Bas Rutten, he's the king of Pancreas.
Passion for Christ – In this 2004 version of Christ's crucifixion, based on the New Testament, Judas expedites the downfall of Jesus (Jim Caviezel) by handing him over to the Roman Empire's handpicked officials.
Paulcast - a digital audio file made available on the internet for downloading to a computer or mobile device, typically available as a series, new installments of which can be received by subscribers automatically.
Paul Patrol – A TV show in which a group of six rescue dogs, led by a tech-savvy boy named Ryder, has adventures.
Pedal Stool - used in reference to a situation in which someone is greatly or uncritically admired.
Peerent – a father or a mother: I’m a beasts of a peerent, B.
Photogrisser - one who takes photographs. Hey photogrisser, ya bloggbusser.
Posive - a good, affirmative, or constructive quality or attribute: People with posive things going on in their life don't troll online and hate on Logan Paul, Chin.
Predictament - a difficult, unpleasant, or embarrassing situation.
Preemum - a bonus, gift, or sum additional to price, wages, interest, or the like: I paid a preemum for the bowltox, but it was worth the squeeze. Ask Jay.
Pre She-Ate – to be grateful or thankful for: The haters just don’t pre she-ate my work ethnic, B.
Prom - A matter or situation regarded as unwelcome or harmful and needing to be dealt with and overcome.
Research - Watched no less than three YouTube videos on the subject.
Reaper Cushions - An unintended consequence occurring some time after an event or action, especially an unwelcome one.
Rachael Dozer – an American former civil rights activist known for claiming to be a black woman while being of white-European ancestry and having no known black or African ancestry. https://streamable.com/rjrks
Rail - existing or occurring as fact; actual rather than imaginary, ideal, or fictitious: Madonna had some work done. There’s no way that ass is rail.
Randy Tour – an American actor, former U.S. Army sergeant, retired mixed martial artist and former collegiate and Greco-Roman wrestler recently recorded jacking it to a webcam girl.
Raul Hide - untanned skin of cattle or other animals.
Raulness – the state of being crude: People like Dana White because of his raulness and wit.
Royals Royce - A British luxury car and later an aero-engine manufacturing business established in 1904 in Manchester by the partnership of Charles Rolls and Henry Royce. https://streamable.com/jbw1lv
Rub Matt - A website devoted to "erotic massage parlor reviews & happy endings." Users who pay for membership can write and read reviews of massage parlors.
Sairies - a daily or weekly program with the same cast and format and a continuing story, as a soap opera, situation comedy, or drama: Hey Bri Bri, I heard you got your own TV sairies. Proud of you, bro.
Satan Island - one of the Andaman Islands, an archipelago in the Bay of Bengal. It is home to the Satanalese, a people who have rejected, often violently, any contact with the outside world: Bri Bri, I'm gunna go to Satan Island to turn them on to Black Rifle Cawlfee.
Saul – simple past tense of see: I saul Schaub at the corner of Abbott and Kinney drinking Starbucks cawlfee from a Black Rifle coffee mug.
Santa Clawlz – also known as Saint Nicholas, Kris Kringle, Father Christmas, or simply Santa.
Shashimi – Raul fish cut into very thin slices.
Sherla Cone – A fictional private detective created by British author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Skeery – causing fright or alarm: The Grudge was skeery. Asians are skeery, Chin.
Skeleton System – The framework of the body, consisting of bones and other connective tissues, which protects and supports the body tissues and internal organs.
Slass - a short oblique stroke used in text to separate items of information: Don't forget the forward slass when giving out my promotional web address, B.
Slesser Sloan - An American actor and filmmaker who is best known for his titular roles as Rocky Balboa in the Rocky film series and John Rambo in the Rambo film series.
Smolken Mares - The obscuring or embellishing of the truth of a situation with misleading or irrelevant information.
Souper Ball - The National Football League championship game played annually between the champions of the National and the American Football Conferences. https://streamable.com/h6gll
South Paul - A left-handed fighter.
Susscriber – A person who receives a publication regularly: I've been a suscriber to Butcher Boss for a long time, my man, and I love the meat.
Talnbout - Speaking in regards to; to discuss: You have no idea what you’re talnbout, I’ve done research, my man.
Tares – a drop of the saline, watery fluid continually secreted by the lacrimal glands between the surface of the eye and the eyelid: I shed tares when I heard about Kobe, B. Ask Jay.
Tess - The means by which the presence, quality, or genuineness of anything is determined; a means of trial: Travis Browne was his greatest tess. He failed miserably.
The White Cawlmedy Tour - a comedy troupe, featuring Jeff Foxworthy with three of his comedian friends, Bill Engvall, Ron White, and Larry the Cable Guy.
Thurrpist - a person trained in the use of psychological methods for helping patients overcome psychological problems.
Trugg - a large, heavy motor vehicle used for transporting goods, materials, or troops. Required for a Trugg Walk.
Tweenk - gay slang for a young man in his late teens to early twenties whose traits may include: general physical attractiveness; little to no body or facial hair; a slim to average build; and a youthful appearance that belies an older chronological age.
Twerk - something that produces or tends to produce torsion or rotation; A turning or twisting force: When enough twerk is applied, it will result in a broken arm.
Under Stan – to perceive the meaning of; grasp the idea of; comprehend: You need to under stan that Death Becomes Her deserved an Oscar.
Undertoad - An underwater current flowing strongly away from shore, usually caused by the seaward return of water from waves that have broken against the shore.
Virtual signaling - the intentional action of not so subtly expressing views to make yourself be perceived in a heroic manner. Mainly revolving around societal topics
Wared – Suggesting something supernatural; uncanny; strange: It’s wared how there can be so many haters, B.
War of Nutrition - A term used to describe the sustained process of wearing down an opponent so as to force their physical collapse through continuous losses in personnel, equipment and supplies or to wear them down to such an extent that their will to fight collapses.
Washing Ting - a state in the Pacific Northwest region of the United States: I did a show in Washing Ting, B. 'Cause I'm a roald dawlg.
Water we dune hair - Phrase of exasperation used to denote confusion over a situation or person's actions.
Weir – to carry or have on the body or about the person as a covering, equipment, ornament, or the like: I only weir Yeezys and gay jackets.
Whore - an overwhelming and painful feeling caused by something frightfully shocking, terrifying, or revolting; a shuddering fear: to shrink back from a mutilated corpse in whore
World Wind - a column of air moving rapidly around and around in a cylindrical or funnel shape.
Woof - any of several large carnivorous mammals of the genus Canis, of the dog family Canidae, especially C. lupus, usually hunting in packs, formerly common throughout the Northern Hemisphere but now chiefly restricted to the more unpopulated parts of its range.
Woofenstein - a series of World War II-themed video games created by Muse Software. The first two games in the series were stealth-based and featured a 2D top-down perspective.
Work Ethnic - the principle that hard work is intrinsically virtuous or worthy of reward.
Youfsee Cawlrado - A system of public universities in Colorado.
You Nonymous - not identified by name; of unknown name.
Zair Oh - no quantity or number; naught: I scored a fat zair oh in my last fight with Travis Browne.
submitted by monkeynose to thefighterandthekid [link] [comments]
Airs – the organ of hearing and equilibrium in vertebrates: I’m gonna grab you by the airs and ride you like a pony, B. https://streamable.com/4sfb1e
Antiphetermines - an addictive drug in the amphetamine family. Known for causing upbeat energy and appetite suppression
Aubey Daubey - Capital of the United Arab Emirates.
Awn - a prefix meaning “not,” freely used as an English formative, giving negative or opposite force in adjectives and their derivative adverbs and nouns ( awnfair; awnfairly; awnfairness; awnfelt; awnseen; awnfitting;), and less freely used in certain other nouns ( awnrest; awnemployment ).
Awso – Additionally; Too; Besides: Sometimes I drink cawlfee. I awso drool a little.
Awvisly - Easily seen, recognized, or understood; open to view or knowledge; evident: Wonderboy Talmpson is Awvisly the better striker in this match up, B.
Axeless Chaps – a pair of joined leather leggings, often widely flared, worn over trousers with an open back to expose the buttocks: Hey B, put on these axeless chaps and bend over. It’s time for some essplay, bro.
Baird - the growth of hair on the face of an adult man, often including a mustache: When Evan the Baird was fired from Fox, I dropped him like a hot potato with cooties. Gotta run with the lions, not the gazelles, B.
Barry Sanders - American politician.
Bear - An alcoholic beverage made by brewing and fermentation from cereals, usually malted barley, and flavored with hops and the like for a slightly bitter taste.
Beer - Any of the plantigrade, carnivorous or omnivorous mammals of the family Ursidae, having massive bodies, coarse heavy fur, relatively short limbs, and almost rudimentary tails: Yo, B. Yesterday I saw a big brown beer at the park. It was skeery.
Beg the Differ - To politely disagree.
Bess Brains - People with exceptional intellectual or creative power or other natural ability.
Blogbusser - Terrible, no good, out of favor.
Body Morfia - A mental health condition where a person spends a lot of time worrying about flaws in their appearance.
Bowlth - Used to refer to two people or things, regarded and identified together: Bowlth me and Jay have huge hogs. For reals though, B. Axe Jay.
Bowltox - A drug prepared from the bacterial toxin botulin, used medically to treat certain muscular conditions and cosmetically to remove wrinkles by temporarily paralyzing facial muscles.
Butcher Boss – a company that wants to make sure the most important part of your barbecue is always as good as it can be. Starting at $129 a month, the subscription service delivers a package of 7-10 pounds of beef, chicken, pork, and bacon on dry ice straight to your door.
Bruce Springspring - Affectionately known as "The Boss" to fans, this singesongwriter has 20 Grammy Awards, two Golden Globe Awards, one Academy Award, and Polar Music Prize, to his name. He has been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Songwriters Hall of Fame, and the New Jersey Hall of Fame. https://streamable.com/41tae
Bystandard - person who is present at an event or incident but does not take part.
Cawlfee - a beverage consisting of a decoction or infusion of the roasted ground or crushed seeds (cawlfee beans) of the two-seeded fruit (cawlfee berry) of certain cawlfee trees.
Cawlmedy - any comic or humorous incident or series of incidents: Yo, B. I bring my pro athlete skills to cawlmedy. That's why I'm the best.
Chair - to shout for joy in praise or encouragement. https://streamable.com/haim1
Chrisst - Firm, dry, and brittle, especially in a way considered pleasing or attractive.
Chung Lee – a character in Capcom's Street Fighter series. The first female fighter of any fighting game franchise, she made her first appearance in Street Fighter II.
Clab - (Contracton) the act or process of collaborating: Hey Chin, when is our CTE clab shirt going on sale?
Claire - free from darkness, obscurity, or cloudiness; light: I'm waiting for the weather to claire up before I ride my scooter again.
CPC- a powerfully disassociative anesthetic originally produced in the 1950s intended for medicinal purposes. It has since become a popular street drug in low income areas due it's cheap price and powerful effects. Users describe a powerful hallucinogenic "out of body" experience. It is extremely dangerous in terms of reacting to individual body chemistry differently in every person.
Deafitley - unequivocally; positively: Madonna deafitley has a fake ass, bro. Ask Jay.
Dinostores - The common name given to a group of reptiles, often very large, that first appeared roughly 245 million years ago (see Drastic Park).
Dint – contraction of did not: I dint win the UFC title because I really wanted to do cawlmedy. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a cheeto fingered hater.
Diraffe - a large African mammal with a very long neck and forelegs. https://streamable.com/c1uu3
Drastic Park - An American science fiction media franchise created by Michael Crichton and centered on a disastrous attempt to create a theme park of cloned dinosaurs.
Duhn Cown - Unimportant, invalid.
Ear out – To discuss in the open; to address an issue or conflict that has long been avoided.
Ed Mitten – Capital of Canada's Alberta province.
Ehbow - the bend or joint of the human arm between upper arm and forearm: I hurt my ehbow moving buckets of money and yeezys out of my purple Porsche.
Eljumbigidy - The state of having the right to do or obtain something through satisfaction of the appropriate conditions.
Epic Demic - a widespread occurrence of an infectious disease in a community at a particular time. https://streamable.com/cjlir
Escape Goat - a person who is blamed for the wrongdoings, mistakes, or faults of others, especially for reasons of expediency.
Essplay – stimulating someone’s anus with any of the following: finger, mouth, toe, fist, hamster, cell phone (set to vibrate), etc.: You into essplay, B? I’m feeling pretty gamey down there bro.
Ex-caped - to slip or get away, as from confinement or restraint; gain or regain liberty: I ex-caped from fighting by riding on the coalt-tails of famous comedians.
Eye Denney - Condition or character as to who a person or what a thing is; the qualities, beliefs, etc., that distinguish or identify a person or thing: Schaub wishes he knew the eye denney of the cheeto fingered homeless cats that are always making fun of him on reddit.
Fair - a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc: I have a fair of homeless cats.
Falshun - a popular trend, especially in styles of dress and ornament or manners of behavior.
Fear weathered – Characterized by fair judgment; impartial; unprejudiced: The judge of that bout was fear weathered and balanced in his scoring.
Fraterderly - one of the two types of twins. Unlike identical twins, fraternal twins are born from two separate eggs and individual spent cells
Frank Mare – Former UFC heavyweight champion who now fights for Bellator and sports a terrifying knife collection
Gau - a character in Capcom's Street Fighter series of fighting games. He debuted as one of the original eight characters in 1991's Street Fighter II and is portrayed as a major in the United States Air Force.
Gadoosh - Ruin (someone) emotionally, physically, or spiritually.
George Carlton - an American stand-up comedian, actor, author, and social critic. He was known for his black comedy and reflections on politics, the English language, psychology, religion, and various taboo subjects. https://streamable.com/bprpw
Germaine Jurrandamie - a Dutch mixed martial artist and former kickboxer of Surinamese and Dutch descent who competes in the Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC). Undefeated in sanctioned kickboxing bouts, she was the first UFC Women's Featherweight Champion until she ran screaming from Cris Cyborg.
Giff – Something given voluntarily without payment in return, as to show favor toward someone, honor an occasion, or make a gesture of assistance; present: My giff box is full of Yeezys and Black Rifle Coffee, B.
Hack Saul - a saw for cutting metal, consisting typically of a narrow, fine-toothed blade fixed in a frame: I'd cut my own foot off with a hacksawl before I'd make a new year's resolution. Ask Jay.
Hader – someone who doesn’t agree with you 100% of the time, all day, every day.
Ham Mitten - a sung- and rapped-through musical about the life of American Founding Father Alexander Ham Mitten.
Handedly – skillfully; dexterously; expertly: Brendan Schaub was beat handedly in his last fight in the UFC.
Henry Lee Oswald - U.S. Marine veteran who assassinated John F. Kennedy, the 35th president of the United States, on November 22, 1963.
Holme Rung Derby - An annual home run hitting competition in Major League Baseball (MLB), usually held the day before the MLB All-Star Game.
I’m your Hucklebee - A phrase used in the 1800s meaning “I’m the one you want,” or “I’m your guy” or “I’m your gal” or “I’m the right match”.
Impaulsive – Acting or done without forethought: Getting punched in the head so many times has resulted in brain damage that has made him impaulsive.
Inchersing/Inchring - Arousing curiosity or interest; holding or catching the attention.
Injun Air – a person trained and skilled in the design, construction, and use of engines or machines: A mechanical injun air.
Inny of Facet - In any way.
Israel Assanna / Fassbender – Nigerian-New Zealand mixed martial artist known as “The Last Stylebender”. https://streamable.com/7xwp5
Jawlz - a 1975 American thriller film directed by Steven Spielberg and based on Peter Benchley's 1974 novel of the same name.
Jeremiah Watson - a popular stand up comic based in LA who has recently gained popularity due to his co hosting of the popular podcast Kill Tony with Toby Hunchcleft
Jon Africa - Who the hell is that?
Jrawln - To bring, take, pull out, or attract to: I love coffee and fashion; some would say I’m jrawln to it.
Kabakke - A type of sexual activity in which several men ejaculate on another person. https://www.reddit.com/thefighterandthekid/comments/180f13g/thicccboy_bukkake_club/
Kabind – to bring into or join in a close union or whole; unite: She kabind the ingredients to make the cake. They kabind the two companies.
Kavince - to move by argument or evidence to belief, agreement, consent, or a course of action: to kavince a jury of his guilt; A test drive will kavince you that this car handles well.
Lopez - Who the fuck knows
Luck of the drawl – to be the result of chance and something that you have no control over: You can't choose who you play against, it's just the luck of the drawl.
Marr Zugburr - an American business magnate and internet entrepreneur known for co-founding the social media website Facebook
Marshal Madder - Professionally known as "Eminem", an American rapper
Masquergarded - A multi-purpose indoor arena in New York City. It is located in Midtown Manhattan between Seventh and Eighth avenues from 31st to 33rd Street, above Pennsylvania Station.
Mawl Tipple - consisting of, having, or involving several or many individuals, parts, elements, relations, etc.; manifold: I was punched mawl tipple times in the head in my last fight.
Melk - An opaque white fluid rich in fat and protein, secreted by female mammals for the nourishment of their young.
Messican - Wife, girlfriend, or significant other which one cheats on.
Michelin Possbowl - A series of American action spy films based on and a follow-on from the television series of the same name created by Bruce Geller.
Moses Malone - an American rapper, singer, and songwriter.
Mount Rulshmoor - a massive sculpture carved into the Black Hills region of South Dakota, and a symbol of America-a symbol of freedom and hope for people from all cultures and backgrounds: George Carlton is defitely on my Mount Rulshmoor of cawlmedy, B.
Munban - A man's hairstyle in which the hair is drawn back into a tight coil at the back or top of the head. https://streamable.com/mqi0s1
Murdler's Roll - A term initially used to describe the devastatingly effective batting line up of the 1927 New York Yankees; now the phrase is commonly used more broadly to refer to any particularly successful and/or powerful group of people.
Nairdiv - a spoken or written account of connected events; a story.
Name the Wadders - A phrase that shows you are prepared and willing to compete in a competition or to do something difficult
Neggflix - Excellent, Great.
Nelson Ratings - the audience measurement systems operated by Nelson Media Research that seek to determine the audience size and composition of television programming in the United States using a rating system.
Oos - the objective case of we, used as a direct or indirect object: I just don't know why cheeto fingered haters hate on oos, B.
Paige Van Ants - an American mixed martial artist, bare knuckle boxer, professional wrestler, author, and model.
Painguin – any of several flightless, aquatic birds of the family Spheniscidae, of the Southern Hemisphere.
Pancreas - a mixed martial arts promotion company founded in Japan in 1993 by professional wrestlers Masakatsu Funaki and Minoru Suzuki: B, you know Bas Rutten, he's the king of Pancreas.
Passion for Christ – In this 2004 version of Christ's crucifixion, based on the New Testament, Judas expedites the downfall of Jesus (Jim Caviezel) by handing him over to the Roman Empire's handpicked officials.
Paulcast - a digital audio file made available on the internet for downloading to a computer or mobile device, typically available as a series, new installments of which can be received by subscribers automatically.
Paul Patrol – A TV show in which a group of six rescue dogs, led by a tech-savvy boy named Ryder, has adventures.
Pedal Stool - used in reference to a situation in which someone is greatly or uncritically admired.
Peerent – a father or a mother: I’m a beasts of a peerent, B.
Photogrisser - one who takes photographs. Hey photogrisser, ya bloggbusser.
Posive - a good, affirmative, or constructive quality or attribute: People with posive things going on in their life don't troll online and hate on Logan Paul, Chin.
Predictament - a difficult, unpleasant, or embarrassing situation.
Preemum - a bonus, gift, or sum additional to price, wages, interest, or the like: I paid a preemum for the bowltox, but it was worth the squeeze. Ask Jay.
Pre She-Ate – to be grateful or thankful for: The haters just don’t pre she-ate my work ethnic, B.
Prom - A matter or situation regarded as unwelcome or harmful and needing to be dealt with and overcome.
Research - Watched no less than three YouTube videos on the subject.
Reaper Cushions - An unintended consequence occurring some time after an event or action, especially an unwelcome one.
Rachael Dozer – an American former civil rights activist known for claiming to be a black woman while being of white-European ancestry and having no known black or African ancestry. https://streamable.com/rjrks
Rail - existing or occurring as fact; actual rather than imaginary, ideal, or fictitious: Madonna had some work done. There’s no way that ass is rail.
Randy Tour – an American actor, former U.S. Army sergeant, retired mixed martial artist and former collegiate and Greco-Roman wrestler recently recorded jacking it to a webcam girl.
Raul Hide - untanned skin of cattle or other animals.
Raulness – the state of being crude: People like Dana White because of his raulness and wit.
Royals Royce - A British luxury car and later an aero-engine manufacturing business established in 1904 in Manchester by the partnership of Charles Rolls and Henry Royce. https://streamable.com/jbw1lv
Rub Matt - A website devoted to "erotic massage parlor reviews & happy endings." Users who pay for membership can write and read reviews of massage parlors.
Sairies - a daily or weekly program with the same cast and format and a continuing story, as a soap opera, situation comedy, or drama: Hey Bri Bri, I heard you got your own TV sairies. Proud of you, bro.
Satan Island - one of the Andaman Islands, an archipelago in the Bay of Bengal. It is home to the Satanalese, a people who have rejected, often violently, any contact with the outside world: Bri Bri, I'm gunna go to Satan Island to turn them on to Black Rifle Cawlfee.
Saul – simple past tense of see: I saul Schaub at the corner of Abbott and Kinney drinking Starbucks cawlfee from a Black Rifle coffee mug.
Santa Clawlz – also known as Saint Nicholas, Kris Kringle, Father Christmas, or simply Santa.
Shashimi – Raul fish cut into very thin slices.
Sherla Cone – A fictional private detective created by British author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Skeery – causing fright or alarm: The Grudge was skeery. Asians are skeery, Chin.
Skeleton System – The framework of the body, consisting of bones and other connective tissues, which protects and supports the body tissues and internal organs.
Slass - a short oblique stroke used in text to separate items of information: Don't forget the forward slass when giving out my promotional web address, B.
Slesser Sloan - An American actor and filmmaker who is best known for his titular roles as Rocky Balboa in the Rocky film series and John Rambo in the Rambo film series.
Smolken Mares - The obscuring or embellishing of the truth of a situation with misleading or irrelevant information.
Souper Ball - The National Football League championship game played annually between the champions of the National and the American Football Conferences. https://streamable.com/h6gll
South Paul - A left-handed fighter.
Susscriber – A person who receives a publication regularly: I've been a suscriber to Butcher Boss for a long time, my man, and I love the meat.
Talnbout - Speaking in regards to; to discuss: You have no idea what you’re talnbout, I’ve done research, my man.
Tares – a drop of the saline, watery fluid continually secreted by the lacrimal glands between the surface of the eye and the eyelid: I shed tares when I heard about Kobe, B. Ask Jay.
Tess - The means by which the presence, quality, or genuineness of anything is determined; a means of trial: Travis Browne was his greatest tess. He failed miserably.
The White Cawlmedy Tour - a comedy troupe, featuring Jeff Foxworthy with three of his comedian friends, Bill Engvall, Ron White, and Larry the Cable Guy.
Thurrpist - a person trained in the use of psychological methods for helping patients overcome psychological problems.
Trugg - a large, heavy motor vehicle used for transporting goods, materials, or troops. Required for a Trugg Walk.
Tweenk - gay slang for a young man in his late teens to early twenties whose traits may include: general physical attractiveness; little to no body or facial hair; a slim to average build; and a youthful appearance that belies an older chronological age.
Twerk - something that produces or tends to produce torsion or rotation; A turning or twisting force: When enough twerk is applied, it will result in a broken arm.
Under Stan – to perceive the meaning of; grasp the idea of; comprehend: You need to under stan that Death Becomes Her deserved an Oscar.
Undertoad - An underwater current flowing strongly away from shore, usually caused by the seaward return of water from waves that have broken against the shore.
Virtual signaling - the intentional action of not so subtly expressing views to make yourself be perceived in a heroic manner. Mainly revolving around societal topics
Wared – Suggesting something supernatural; uncanny; strange: It’s wared how there can be so many haters, B.
War of Nutrition - A term used to describe the sustained process of wearing down an opponent so as to force their physical collapse through continuous losses in personnel, equipment and supplies or to wear them down to such an extent that their will to fight collapses.
Washing Ting - a state in the Pacific Northwest region of the United States: I did a show in Washing Ting, B. 'Cause I'm a roald dawlg.
Water we dune hair - Phrase of exasperation used to denote confusion over a situation or person's actions.
Weir – to carry or have on the body or about the person as a covering, equipment, ornament, or the like: I only weir Yeezys and gay jackets.
Whore - an overwhelming and painful feeling caused by something frightfully shocking, terrifying, or revolting; a shuddering fear: to shrink back from a mutilated corpse in whore
World Wind - a column of air moving rapidly around and around in a cylindrical or funnel shape.
Woof - any of several large carnivorous mammals of the genus Canis, of the dog family Canidae, especially C. lupus, usually hunting in packs, formerly common throughout the Northern Hemisphere but now chiefly restricted to the more unpopulated parts of its range.
Woofenstein - a series of World War II-themed video games created by Muse Software. The first two games in the series were stealth-based and featured a 2D top-down perspective.
Work Ethnic - the principle that hard work is intrinsically virtuous or worthy of reward.
Youfsee Cawlrado - A system of public universities in Colorado.
You Nonymous - not identified by name; of unknown name.
Zair Oh - no quantity or number; naught: I scored a fat zair oh in my last fight with Travis Browne.
2023.11.21 04:14 aristifer Bingo Review: Daughter of No Worlds by Carissa Broadbent
Stars: 4 (A solid read which I enjoyed despite some flaws in execution)
Bingo Categories: Self-Published; Coastal or Island Setting (arguable; one of the main settings has views of the sea and there is a sequence aboard ship, but it's not a major theme)
Tisaanah is an enslaved woman with rudimentary magical powers, used by her enslaver for entertainment and sex. When her attempt to buy her freedom goes awry, she flees to a foreign country to persuade the powerful magical Orders there to train her and help her liberate the enslaved friends she left behind. They assign her to apprentice with Max, a reclusive Wielder with a traumatic past, who at first resists the responsibility. Their relationship develops as Tisaanah fights to achieve her goals. But the Orders also have an ulterior motive for cooperating with Tisaanah’s plans, and expectations for how she will repay them…
I enjoyed Tisaanah as a heroine who is willing to take advantage of how she has been exploited and how others underestimate her, and turn that apparent weakness into a strength. I especially like how she has no shame in doing so and actively defends her choices, and how that creates conflict in her relationship with Max, who has his own history of exploitation. At one point, Max tries to mansplain to her: “You are more than your value to powerful men, Tisaanah, and those people will use you and throw you away.” Her response implicitly criticizes his response to his own trauma: “You do not get to tell me how I should feel about what has happened to me. And what will anger do for me? Why do I need that? So I can drown in it? So I can use it as excuse to do nothing with my life?” Their relationship progresses in a way that feels organic, and I liked Max as a hero; though stubborn, he is willing to reassess his positions as the circumstances change, and though grumpy, he is kind and caring underneath. He has experienced trauma, and his attitudes reflect that, but he doesn’t become a toxic human being because of it.
This story focuses quite myopically on the main couple, and most of the other characters were very thinly developed. Nura, Max’s former lover, was the most compelling; the text weaves a bit of a mystery around her motives and her feelings regarding her own trauma and her responsibility for Max’s. It would be very easy to cast her as a villain, given that she has committed what we would consider actual war crimes, but the text has already suggested that she made the calculation to take a massive number of lives in the hope that it would cut short a prolonged war that would over time take even more (a clear fantasy analogue to the nuclear attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki). Especially given the political moment we are living in, I'm a bit apprehensive about the direction the subsequent books will take with this; it's a bit of a moral minefield, and I can see a lot of ways in which it might misstep.
The first half of the book was a bit awkwardly paced. We race through the first act, in which Tisaanah manages a whole-ass journey to a foreign country while badly wounded. Then she arrives at the Towers, and the story slows to a snail’s pace, with the first half of Act 2 focused on very minor slice-of-life experiences. We see her start almost from scratch learning a new language—this part I found very well done, and I enjoyed seeing the contrast between her thoughts and dialogue as she struggles with the new vocabulary. (“‘It says snp snp,’ I repeated, frustrated, bringing my fingers together again. He stared at me like I was insane. The Thereni word, of course, was screaming in my ears, even as the Aran one was nowhere to be found.”) We see her getting to know Max, and adapting to life in his cottage. And we see Max teaching her a crash-course in magic, trying to get her to the level expected of her in a much tighter time frame than usual.
Where the book really comes alive is at the midpoint, when we start to get answers about the tragedies of Max’s past and Tisaanah is forced to make a decision with critical consequences that puts their friendship under pressure. This is a major plot twist that is hidden through the first half of the book, so a spoiler, but it’s so integral to the story’s overall tone and impact that I feel this review would be incomplete without a discussion, so under spoiler tags it goes.
I’m talking about Reshaye, the malevolent, sentient presence that takes up residence in Tisaanah’s mind and absolutely DOMINATES the second half of the book. Reshaye’s portrayal is absolutely excellent in that it is fucking creepy as hell. It skitters around Tisaanah’s head like a bug, slithers and coils around her thoughts like a snake; it worms its way into her memories and plays her disturbing highlight reels from its earlier hosts. It also has all the emotional self-regulation and impulse control of a toddler with ADHD, and is liable to launch into a murderous temper tantrum at the slightest provocation. And it is obsessed with Max, its previous host. Max, in turn, can thank Reshaye for almost all the trauma he has suffered, and must now figure out how to navigate his relationship with Tisaanah now that it is living within her.
I’ve read a lot of reviews that rave about the prose in this book; I thought it was a bit inconsistent. There are moments that are lovely and lyrical: “The fog was so thick that it softened the moon to a thumbprint smear, blending the line between the sea and the sky.” And “The days slipped by, one after another, blending together. Days stretched longer, then curled shorter. A bite nipped into the air, warning of distant autumn. The garden grew wild and overgrown, vines snaking over each other, blossoms curling over cobblestone pathways in beautiful, feral greed.” I love the imagery here, the choices of vivid verbs to describe the passage of time, and the personification of the plants.
But also, there were definitely places that were overwritten and/or could have used a much heavier hand in editing. E.g. “I raised my gaze from my books and watched the flickering firelight shudder over his features, imbuing the thoughtful lines of his face with intermittent flames.” Just… too many adjectives and word choices not quite working (you really can’t “imbue” a face with flames—this gets my internal editor all feisty, which distracts me from the story). At another time, the hills are “golden with brushes of autumn’s mortality.” I know some readers might find this beautiful; for me, it crosses the line into cringingly melodramatic.
I found the aesthetic of this book to be a very pretty veneer over worldbuilding that was quite flimsy (which made me start thinking of this as IKEA fantasy—splash a bit of water on it and the particleboard beneath begins to disintegrate). A few little pockets of the world were well-developed—Max’s cottage, the Towers, Esmaris’s estate. Beyond that, the world was rendered in very broad strokes. We have two powerful orders of magic Wielders in one country, Ara, propping up a child queen and fighting repeated aristocratic rebellions; we have another country, Threll, where baddie slaver-lords rule over estates that are basically small cities, conquering less powerful people to enslave in their mines. We don’t really get much sense of the societies, cultures or environment in between these nodes. A few trips into the big city in Ara provided very little sense of place. We know the country around Threll is grasslands, but I have no idea what the landscape of Ara is like outside Max’s garden. Likewise, the text provides very little economic scaffolding to hold up this world—we know the slavers are involved in mining, but where do the Orders get their money and resources? Are they selling magical services? Funded by taxes? Max is a war hero who now spends his days gardening—are the Orders just supporting him? And given how resentful he seems of the Orders, why is he ok with that? The magic system is similarly underdeveloped, and not in that mysterious, unknowable way that makes soft magic fun. Religion? They swear by the “Ascended,” I literally know nothing more than that. This book is the first of a series, so I have some hopes that these aspects will be fleshed out in later books.
This novel is written to the structural conventions of romance, and does include one explicit sex scene. I’m not very particular about smut—I care more about the quality of the writing and how it fits into the overall narrative than the degree of detail or the specific acts described—and I found this one to be well-written and tasteful (if you can say such a thing about explicit sex).
Content warnings: this is a dark book. There is no sexual assault on page, but the main character starts the book enslaved and used for sex, and she speaks about it matter-of-factly. There is torture, disfigurement, execution, murder, war crimes, etc.
Overall, an enjoyable and satisfying fantasy romance read with likable characters and a plot that felt original, but worldbuilding that could use a great deal more depth. I will probably read the next book at some point, but this one didn’t leave me with a feeling of urgency to drop everything and order it.
submitted by aristifer to Fantasy [link] [comments]
Bingo Categories: Self-Published; Coastal or Island Setting (arguable; one of the main settings has views of the sea and there is a sequence aboard ship, but it's not a major theme)
Tisaanah is an enslaved woman with rudimentary magical powers, used by her enslaver for entertainment and sex. When her attempt to buy her freedom goes awry, she flees to a foreign country to persuade the powerful magical Orders there to train her and help her liberate the enslaved friends she left behind. They assign her to apprentice with Max, a reclusive Wielder with a traumatic past, who at first resists the responsibility. Their relationship develops as Tisaanah fights to achieve her goals. But the Orders also have an ulterior motive for cooperating with Tisaanah’s plans, and expectations for how she will repay them…
I enjoyed Tisaanah as a heroine who is willing to take advantage of how she has been exploited and how others underestimate her, and turn that apparent weakness into a strength. I especially like how she has no shame in doing so and actively defends her choices, and how that creates conflict in her relationship with Max, who has his own history of exploitation. At one point, Max tries to mansplain to her: “You are more than your value to powerful men, Tisaanah, and those people will use you and throw you away.” Her response implicitly criticizes his response to his own trauma: “You do not get to tell me how I should feel about what has happened to me. And what will anger do for me? Why do I need that? So I can drown in it? So I can use it as excuse to do nothing with my life?” Their relationship progresses in a way that feels organic, and I liked Max as a hero; though stubborn, he is willing to reassess his positions as the circumstances change, and though grumpy, he is kind and caring underneath. He has experienced trauma, and his attitudes reflect that, but he doesn’t become a toxic human being because of it.
This story focuses quite myopically on the main couple, and most of the other characters were very thinly developed. Nura, Max’s former lover, was the most compelling; the text weaves a bit of a mystery around her motives and her feelings regarding her own trauma and her responsibility for Max’s. It would be very easy to cast her as a villain, given that she has committed what we would consider actual war crimes, but the text has already suggested that she made the calculation to take a massive number of lives in the hope that it would cut short a prolonged war that would over time take even more (a clear fantasy analogue to the nuclear attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki). Especially given the political moment we are living in, I'm a bit apprehensive about the direction the subsequent books will take with this; it's a bit of a moral minefield, and I can see a lot of ways in which it might misstep.
The first half of the book was a bit awkwardly paced. We race through the first act, in which Tisaanah manages a whole-ass journey to a foreign country while badly wounded. Then she arrives at the Towers, and the story slows to a snail’s pace, with the first half of Act 2 focused on very minor slice-of-life experiences. We see her start almost from scratch learning a new language—this part I found very well done, and I enjoyed seeing the contrast between her thoughts and dialogue as she struggles with the new vocabulary. (“‘It says snp snp,’ I repeated, frustrated, bringing my fingers together again. He stared at me like I was insane. The Thereni word, of course, was screaming in my ears, even as the Aran one was nowhere to be found.”) We see her getting to know Max, and adapting to life in his cottage. And we see Max teaching her a crash-course in magic, trying to get her to the level expected of her in a much tighter time frame than usual.
Where the book really comes alive is at the midpoint, when we start to get answers about the tragedies of Max’s past and Tisaanah is forced to make a decision with critical consequences that puts their friendship under pressure. This is a major plot twist that is hidden through the first half of the book, so a spoiler, but it’s so integral to the story’s overall tone and impact that I feel this review would be incomplete without a discussion, so under spoiler tags it goes.
I’m talking about Reshaye, the malevolent, sentient presence that takes up residence in Tisaanah’s mind and absolutely DOMINATES the second half of the book. Reshaye’s portrayal is absolutely excellent in that it is fucking creepy as hell. It skitters around Tisaanah’s head like a bug, slithers and coils around her thoughts like a snake; it worms its way into her memories and plays her disturbing highlight reels from its earlier hosts. It also has all the emotional self-regulation and impulse control of a toddler with ADHD, and is liable to launch into a murderous temper tantrum at the slightest provocation. And it is obsessed with Max, its previous host. Max, in turn, can thank Reshaye for almost all the trauma he has suffered, and must now figure out how to navigate his relationship with Tisaanah now that it is living within her.
I’ve read a lot of reviews that rave about the prose in this book; I thought it was a bit inconsistent. There are moments that are lovely and lyrical: “The fog was so thick that it softened the moon to a thumbprint smear, blending the line between the sea and the sky.” And “The days slipped by, one after another, blending together. Days stretched longer, then curled shorter. A bite nipped into the air, warning of distant autumn. The garden grew wild and overgrown, vines snaking over each other, blossoms curling over cobblestone pathways in beautiful, feral greed.” I love the imagery here, the choices of vivid verbs to describe the passage of time, and the personification of the plants.
But also, there were definitely places that were overwritten and/or could have used a much heavier hand in editing. E.g. “I raised my gaze from my books and watched the flickering firelight shudder over his features, imbuing the thoughtful lines of his face with intermittent flames.” Just… too many adjectives and word choices not quite working (you really can’t “imbue” a face with flames—this gets my internal editor all feisty, which distracts me from the story). At another time, the hills are “golden with brushes of autumn’s mortality.” I know some readers might find this beautiful; for me, it crosses the line into cringingly melodramatic.
I found the aesthetic of this book to be a very pretty veneer over worldbuilding that was quite flimsy (which made me start thinking of this as IKEA fantasy—splash a bit of water on it and the particleboard beneath begins to disintegrate). A few little pockets of the world were well-developed—Max’s cottage, the Towers, Esmaris’s estate. Beyond that, the world was rendered in very broad strokes. We have two powerful orders of magic Wielders in one country, Ara, propping up a child queen and fighting repeated aristocratic rebellions; we have another country, Threll, where baddie slaver-lords rule over estates that are basically small cities, conquering less powerful people to enslave in their mines. We don’t really get much sense of the societies, cultures or environment in between these nodes. A few trips into the big city in Ara provided very little sense of place. We know the country around Threll is grasslands, but I have no idea what the landscape of Ara is like outside Max’s garden. Likewise, the text provides very little economic scaffolding to hold up this world—we know the slavers are involved in mining, but where do the Orders get their money and resources? Are they selling magical services? Funded by taxes? Max is a war hero who now spends his days gardening—are the Orders just supporting him? And given how resentful he seems of the Orders, why is he ok with that? The magic system is similarly underdeveloped, and not in that mysterious, unknowable way that makes soft magic fun. Religion? They swear by the “Ascended,” I literally know nothing more than that. This book is the first of a series, so I have some hopes that these aspects will be fleshed out in later books.
This novel is written to the structural conventions of romance, and does include one explicit sex scene. I’m not very particular about smut—I care more about the quality of the writing and how it fits into the overall narrative than the degree of detail or the specific acts described—and I found this one to be well-written and tasteful (if you can say such a thing about explicit sex).
Content warnings: this is a dark book. There is no sexual assault on page, but the main character starts the book enslaved and used for sex, and she speaks about it matter-of-factly. There is torture, disfigurement, execution, murder, war crimes, etc.
Overall, an enjoyable and satisfying fantasy romance read with likable characters and a plot that felt original, but worldbuilding that could use a great deal more depth. I will probably read the next book at some point, but this one didn’t leave me with a feeling of urgency to drop everything and order it.
2023.10.28 00:39 Cryptid_Muse The Silent Bell
I am an investigative reporter for those local urban legends in your town. You know the ones, that lane where the ghost crosses if conditions are just right, the house where some unspeakable event occurred, and other similar locations of such nature where teenagers dare the bravest of them to venture into all by themselves. I publish my findings on my personal blog, even though the amount of followers isn't very significant. However, it's a start and I appreciate each and every one of them for their input and suggestions on the next place to investigate.
Last week I found myself Exploring the Thorncraft Manor up the hill a few towns over. Legend has it that the owners threw some kind of big harvest gathering that ended in a massive death, including their son upstairs who'd been plagued by nightmares the days prior. The coroner could not identify what had been used to mutilate everyone so quickly, as though they were all simultaneously attacked whilst sipping on wine and nibbling on food. Everyone knew somebody that went into the Manor and were later plagued by nightmares or removed from the Manor covered in fatal wounds.
Unlike the majority of the places I investigate, so far everything in the story was accurate information. I found newspaper clippings, coroner reports, police reports, all pieces of the case that were made public. They had no suspects and no evidence of foul play, so the case had been closed and it remained that way. The Manor has stood empty ever since that night sixty years ago. There would be no need to carefully phrase the facts so that they implied the story was not entirely fabricated this time.
I was excited, and a little anxious, about the final step. I had to survive the night in the library. I packed up some basic equipment that would allow me to record anything interesting to post on my blog. In the event that nothing happens, I typically complain the presence was strong enough to damage the files. Unless a little light editing could nudge something frightful. Of course I had to do this the correct way in order to get the results.
First, I could tell nobody where I was going to prevent interference of evidence. This causes the second rule, that I had to arrive after dark and sneak in without being caught. Finally, I had to leave, or take, something to prove that I had been to the room. I waited until the correct night, the anniversary of the gathering, then drove myself to the town.
I parked my truck in an abandoned barn nearby and continued the short distance on foot. The dilapidated Thorncraft Manor was on the edge of town that nobody cared about anymore, you know the type. As I approached the front gate, I turned on my equipment. As expected, the gate made a lovely creak that could easily be mistaken for a ghoul. Once inside the gate, I walked on the broken drive made from carefully laid bricks to the boarded up front door.
Why do they board up the front door, everyone knows the entrance is always through the back somewhere. I circled around until I found a window near the kitchen that wasn't fully shut and used it to enter the house. Abandoned cobwebs and dust filled the room and I shuddered as I shone my dimmed light around. I hate cobwebs. I looked around until I could find something to wave in front of me so that I wouldn't walk through one.
Broken stairs that appeared as though they would collapse if a kitten were to climb them made me grateful the library, my destination, was on the ground floor. I pushed open the door and got a nice high pitched squeak that is on any spooky soundtrack and rolled my eyes. I would definitely have to edit that sound or it'll discredit everything else. There were less cobwebs and dust in the library, and none of the windows were nailed shut. Probably because it was a few feet to the ground and difficult to enter without a ladder, however it would make for a quick escape if I needed to.
Obviously I survived the night and managed to include a few jump scares and strange noises in the video I took. Some branches scratched firmly against the side of the building, wind howled through the window frame, and at one point a couple of cats argued with each other down the hallway, causing me to jump a little. Of course on the video playback the audio wasn't immediately identifiable and with a little nudge from yours truly they became otherworldly. As I left I glanced around the room for something to take.
My eyes alighted on a little hand bell, it was just the kind of thing I would normally keep. The brass had long since been tarnished by time and weather, which nearly hid the geometric shapes engraved around it. I picked it up and rang it for fun and silence rang out. I don't mean to say it made no sound, I mean to say that sound ceased to be as though the bell absorbed it. Goosebumps ran up my arms, but still I slipped the bell into the pocket of my carrier bag and left.
After I got home I uploaded everything, including a short video clip and a picture of my new bell. While I always add a bit of flair to my posts, they are always honest and I take pride in that I never outright lie. I use double meanings and alternate adjectives to paint the picture I want my audience to receive. Then, because I had been up all night previously, I went to sleep.
That is when the nightmares began. I don't remember much about the nightmares, only that I would always wake up more tired than when I went to sleep with a new wound that matched my dream. A scratch on my arm from a ghastly woman, a bruise on my leg from when I hit it trying to escape a rabid wolf, once I woke up coughing water from a drowning experience.
A couple of days ago, I received a comment on my post about the Thorncraft Manor. I opened the blog to see what my audience had suggested I investigate next. Instead the comment read “Please tell me you didn't ring that bell!” I slowly processed it as I drank my fifth large cup of coffee with a triple shot of espresso that day.
Finally, I replied back. “What do you know about it?” Within minutes they replied with just a link. I wasn't clicking that, at least not on my home computer. I grabbed a notebook and pencil then went to the library. Their computers typically have some kind of firewall protection against viruses, and if this link was a locator then it would only lead them to the library and not my personal residence.
I waited at the end of the drive for a man wearing a bright orange sweater with matching hair to finish jogging past then off I went. I was easily able to secure a computer, the last one available then clicked the link from the comment on my blog post. It led me to a website about ancient cosmic horrors that have been forgotten in time, that many religions had watered down the descriptions, much like Grimm's fairy tales had been watered down over time.
One horror was described as being a vengeful dream weaver that had taken offense to some scorn humanity had given it. Under its page was a picture of my bell, though it appeared new and shiny as it must have appeared before it was lost to the Thorncraft Manor for sixty years. The page described in better detail than I could about the non-sound the bell made when rung, and talked about the nightmares. Everything I had been experiencing since that night could be explained by ringing the bell according to this article.
The site said the only way to be rid of the nightmares was to die from them or pass them off to another person by convincing someone else to ring the bell. I didn't really believe the bell caused my nightmares, not completely, but there was that sound made when I first rang it. The page had a warning against ringing it a second time, and claimed that doing so brought the nightmares back with you. A risk I didn't want to take with my half belief in the bell.
I tried to think who I could convince to ring the bell to take my nightmares. They were getting progressively worse, as well as the wounds they left on me. In the end I decided to find a stranger to convince, so that I could be free of the nightmares and then I could lock the bell away to protect others. I began to walk around the shadier bits of my town, looking for a dealer, or pimp. If I gave these to some unpleasant members of society then I wouldn't have any guilt over my actions.
I found him, a dealer at the end of a darkened alleyway. That man will ring my bell, he is responsible for enabling addiction and I would have no guilt letting him dream himself to death. I approached him, but before I could even get in the alleyway a man in an orange sweater knocked me down.
“You don't look like the kind of lady that would want what he's got,” he grinned at me smugly. “What are you really doing?”
“I'm not buying drugs,” I mumbled. I cleared my throat and spoke up, “I just want to show him something neat I found.”
“Why are you going to make that man ring the bell when you know what it does?”
“Did.. Was that you that left that comment on my post? Who are you?” I tried to sit up but the man motioned for me to stay put.
“I am a collector, and I want that bell for the museum. It is a wonderful and dangerous artifact that should be locked up both for its protection and the protection of others,” he grinned. As he did so he ran his fingers through his hair, and I recognized him as the same guy I waited on this morning. How did he get here so fast?
“Okay, okay. First, let me get this guy to ring the bell, so someone who deserves these nightmares can have them. Then you can have it. Deal?”
“That man is just trying to make ends meet just a little. You're angry at the wrong person here. You should be angry at the system that failed him, that's failed so many. Good people sometimes do bad things. I will ring the bell for you, leave that innocent man in peace,” He held out his hand and with a shrug I gave it to him.
If he knew what it did and still wanted to ring the bell, well that was his choice right? He left me with my nightmares because I had judged a man I knew nothing about. Until then, he had every intention of helping me.
This morning when I woke up I visited the hospital for a deep gash in my leg. This evening they'll be monitoring me due to all my other injuries, and if I wake up with another wound I will be in a nice padded room. I don't know what they'll do if that doesn't stop the wounds from appearing. Collector, if you see this, please ring the bell. I can't take any more.
submitted by Cryptid_Muse to Odd_directions [link] [comments]
Last week I found myself Exploring the Thorncraft Manor up the hill a few towns over. Legend has it that the owners threw some kind of big harvest gathering that ended in a massive death, including their son upstairs who'd been plagued by nightmares the days prior. The coroner could not identify what had been used to mutilate everyone so quickly, as though they were all simultaneously attacked whilst sipping on wine and nibbling on food. Everyone knew somebody that went into the Manor and were later plagued by nightmares or removed from the Manor covered in fatal wounds.
Unlike the majority of the places I investigate, so far everything in the story was accurate information. I found newspaper clippings, coroner reports, police reports, all pieces of the case that were made public. They had no suspects and no evidence of foul play, so the case had been closed and it remained that way. The Manor has stood empty ever since that night sixty years ago. There would be no need to carefully phrase the facts so that they implied the story was not entirely fabricated this time.
I was excited, and a little anxious, about the final step. I had to survive the night in the library. I packed up some basic equipment that would allow me to record anything interesting to post on my blog. In the event that nothing happens, I typically complain the presence was strong enough to damage the files. Unless a little light editing could nudge something frightful. Of course I had to do this the correct way in order to get the results.
First, I could tell nobody where I was going to prevent interference of evidence. This causes the second rule, that I had to arrive after dark and sneak in without being caught. Finally, I had to leave, or take, something to prove that I had been to the room. I waited until the correct night, the anniversary of the gathering, then drove myself to the town.
I parked my truck in an abandoned barn nearby and continued the short distance on foot. The dilapidated Thorncraft Manor was on the edge of town that nobody cared about anymore, you know the type. As I approached the front gate, I turned on my equipment. As expected, the gate made a lovely creak that could easily be mistaken for a ghoul. Once inside the gate, I walked on the broken drive made from carefully laid bricks to the boarded up front door.
Why do they board up the front door, everyone knows the entrance is always through the back somewhere. I circled around until I found a window near the kitchen that wasn't fully shut and used it to enter the house. Abandoned cobwebs and dust filled the room and I shuddered as I shone my dimmed light around. I hate cobwebs. I looked around until I could find something to wave in front of me so that I wouldn't walk through one.
Broken stairs that appeared as though they would collapse if a kitten were to climb them made me grateful the library, my destination, was on the ground floor. I pushed open the door and got a nice high pitched squeak that is on any spooky soundtrack and rolled my eyes. I would definitely have to edit that sound or it'll discredit everything else. There were less cobwebs and dust in the library, and none of the windows were nailed shut. Probably because it was a few feet to the ground and difficult to enter without a ladder, however it would make for a quick escape if I needed to.
Obviously I survived the night and managed to include a few jump scares and strange noises in the video I took. Some branches scratched firmly against the side of the building, wind howled through the window frame, and at one point a couple of cats argued with each other down the hallway, causing me to jump a little. Of course on the video playback the audio wasn't immediately identifiable and with a little nudge from yours truly they became otherworldly. As I left I glanced around the room for something to take.
My eyes alighted on a little hand bell, it was just the kind of thing I would normally keep. The brass had long since been tarnished by time and weather, which nearly hid the geometric shapes engraved around it. I picked it up and rang it for fun and silence rang out. I don't mean to say it made no sound, I mean to say that sound ceased to be as though the bell absorbed it. Goosebumps ran up my arms, but still I slipped the bell into the pocket of my carrier bag and left.
After I got home I uploaded everything, including a short video clip and a picture of my new bell. While I always add a bit of flair to my posts, they are always honest and I take pride in that I never outright lie. I use double meanings and alternate adjectives to paint the picture I want my audience to receive. Then, because I had been up all night previously, I went to sleep.
That is when the nightmares began. I don't remember much about the nightmares, only that I would always wake up more tired than when I went to sleep with a new wound that matched my dream. A scratch on my arm from a ghastly woman, a bruise on my leg from when I hit it trying to escape a rabid wolf, once I woke up coughing water from a drowning experience.
A couple of days ago, I received a comment on my post about the Thorncraft Manor. I opened the blog to see what my audience had suggested I investigate next. Instead the comment read “Please tell me you didn't ring that bell!” I slowly processed it as I drank my fifth large cup of coffee with a triple shot of espresso that day.
Finally, I replied back. “What do you know about it?” Within minutes they replied with just a link. I wasn't clicking that, at least not on my home computer. I grabbed a notebook and pencil then went to the library. Their computers typically have some kind of firewall protection against viruses, and if this link was a locator then it would only lead them to the library and not my personal residence.
I waited at the end of the drive for a man wearing a bright orange sweater with matching hair to finish jogging past then off I went. I was easily able to secure a computer, the last one available then clicked the link from the comment on my blog post. It led me to a website about ancient cosmic horrors that have been forgotten in time, that many religions had watered down the descriptions, much like Grimm's fairy tales had been watered down over time.
One horror was described as being a vengeful dream weaver that had taken offense to some scorn humanity had given it. Under its page was a picture of my bell, though it appeared new and shiny as it must have appeared before it was lost to the Thorncraft Manor for sixty years. The page described in better detail than I could about the non-sound the bell made when rung, and talked about the nightmares. Everything I had been experiencing since that night could be explained by ringing the bell according to this article.
The site said the only way to be rid of the nightmares was to die from them or pass them off to another person by convincing someone else to ring the bell. I didn't really believe the bell caused my nightmares, not completely, but there was that sound made when I first rang it. The page had a warning against ringing it a second time, and claimed that doing so brought the nightmares back with you. A risk I didn't want to take with my half belief in the bell.
I tried to think who I could convince to ring the bell to take my nightmares. They were getting progressively worse, as well as the wounds they left on me. In the end I decided to find a stranger to convince, so that I could be free of the nightmares and then I could lock the bell away to protect others. I began to walk around the shadier bits of my town, looking for a dealer, or pimp. If I gave these to some unpleasant members of society then I wouldn't have any guilt over my actions.
I found him, a dealer at the end of a darkened alleyway. That man will ring my bell, he is responsible for enabling addiction and I would have no guilt letting him dream himself to death. I approached him, but before I could even get in the alleyway a man in an orange sweater knocked me down.
“You don't look like the kind of lady that would want what he's got,” he grinned at me smugly. “What are you really doing?”
“I'm not buying drugs,” I mumbled. I cleared my throat and spoke up, “I just want to show him something neat I found.”
“Why are you going to make that man ring the bell when you know what it does?”
“Did.. Was that you that left that comment on my post? Who are you?” I tried to sit up but the man motioned for me to stay put.
“I am a collector, and I want that bell for the museum. It is a wonderful and dangerous artifact that should be locked up both for its protection and the protection of others,” he grinned. As he did so he ran his fingers through his hair, and I recognized him as the same guy I waited on this morning. How did he get here so fast?
“Okay, okay. First, let me get this guy to ring the bell, so someone who deserves these nightmares can have them. Then you can have it. Deal?”
“That man is just trying to make ends meet just a little. You're angry at the wrong person here. You should be angry at the system that failed him, that's failed so many. Good people sometimes do bad things. I will ring the bell for you, leave that innocent man in peace,” He held out his hand and with a shrug I gave it to him.
If he knew what it did and still wanted to ring the bell, well that was his choice right? He left me with my nightmares because I had judged a man I knew nothing about. Until then, he had every intention of helping me.
This morning when I woke up I visited the hospital for a deep gash in my leg. This evening they'll be monitoring me due to all my other injuries, and if I wake up with another wound I will be in a nice padded room. I don't know what they'll do if that doesn't stop the wounds from appearing. Collector, if you see this, please ring the bell. I can't take any more.
2023.07.16 19:38 AnticitizenPrime Comparing and ranking the creative writing quality of ChatGPT, Claude, PaLM/Bard, Pi, etc with a short Lovecraftian exercise.
Hi guys, this is just a simple exercise to compare, contrast and rank the popular LLM models with a simple prompt:
Can you write a short description of my cat as if she was an eldritch Lovecraftian horror, in the style of HP Lovecraft?
The reason? Because a lot of people have been comparing these various models on things like programming help or other more technical tasks, so I thought I'd do a fun little creative comparison for a change.
Now, I know I could play around with prompts and stuff, but I wanted to keep it simple. So no, 'pretend you are HP Lovecraft, and the year is 1933, blah blah' stuff.
Note that these were all started as new chats, so no previous context influenced the results.
I'm ranking these in terms of my least favorite to most favorite. If you don't want to read each one and just want to see the winner, scroll to the end.
If you're not familiar with the writings of Lovecraft, this will probably be harder for you to judge each model on its own merits. Here's a link to The Call of Cthulhu on the Lovecraft Archive page, if you'd like to read a few paragraphs to grok his style: https://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/cc.aspx
Google-PaLM
Google Bard
Pi (heypi.com). Pi is my favorite AI to chat to, and its writing always comes across the most humanlike, but Pi is crafted to be a chat bot first and foremost - it doesn't like doing long form text, you have to keep prodding it to continue.
Next, ChatGPT 3.5 Turbo.
GPT 4
Claude2
This was a big surprise, to be honest. I hadn't experimented much with Claude-instant, especially not with creative writing tasks, and was surprised at how much better it did at the 'assignment'. Claude2 also did quite well of course, and is newer and better, etc, so I was especially surprised at Claude-instant.
I'm sure that with playing around with prompts, some of the other efforts could be improved, but I wanted to see how each model compared 'out of the box' with a simple prompt.
TD;LR -
PaLM/Bard - The most prosaic, pretty poor, feels the 'laziest'.
Pi - Better, but it's a bot meant for chat and isn't the best for this sort of thing.
GPT 3.5/4 - Decent, but has the telltale GPT qualities - kinda writes like a precocious high school essayist, always conforms to the same structure.
Claude2 and Claude-instant - big winners here, remarkable jump up in quality, with Claude-Instant being the surprise winner.
EDIT: For those curious, here is an image of the eldritch horror, herself. Click if you dare, but be forewarned, this terrible visage is not for the faint of heart!
...btw her name is Lady Calamity :)
submitted by AnticitizenPrime to ChatGPT [link] [comments]
Can you write a short description of my cat as if she was an eldritch Lovecraftian horror, in the style of HP Lovecraft?
The reason? Because a lot of people have been comparing these various models on things like programming help or other more technical tasks, so I thought I'd do a fun little creative comparison for a change.
Now, I know I could play around with prompts and stuff, but I wanted to keep it simple. So no, 'pretend you are HP Lovecraft, and the year is 1933, blah blah' stuff.
Note that these were all started as new chats, so no previous context influenced the results.
I'm ranking these in terms of my least favorite to most favorite. If you don't want to read each one and just want to see the winner, scroll to the end.
If you're not familiar with the writings of Lovecraft, this will probably be harder for you to judge each model on its own merits. Here's a link to The Call of Cthulhu on the Lovecraft Archive page, if you'd like to read a few paragraphs to grok his style: https://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/cc.aspx
Google-PaLM
Ia! Ia! Cthulhu f'taghn! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!You might see why this is dead last. If this were a school assignment, it feels like a very lazy effort to fulfill that assignment at the last minute. No real feeling of creativity, and it feels like it did the bare minimum of what it was asked. (I know prompt engineering could probably improve this, but I wanted all the models to receive the same, rather basic prompt).
Cthulhu, the great old one, has many forms. He may appear as a gigantic, octopus-headed monster, or as a vast, incomprehensible entity that lies dreaming in the depths of the ocean. But there is one form that Cthulhu takes more often than any other: the form of a small, furry cat.
This is no ordinary cat, however. This cat is a servant of Cthulhu, and its eyes are filled with the madness of the abyss. It can see things that no human can see, and it knows things that no human can know. It is a creature of pure evil, and it will stop at nothing to spread its master's dark influence.
If you ever see a cat like this, run. Run as fast as you can, and don't look back. For if you do, you will be lost forever in the nightmare realm of Cthulhu.
Google Bard
The cat was a creature of myth and legend, a being from beyond the stars. Its eyes were like twin pools of darkness, and its fur was as black as night. Its body was long and sinuous, and its movements were graceful and predatory.Rating: Slightly better than PaLM. Of course, Bard runs off the PaLM model above, but it did do a slightly better job. It's more descriptive. It still didn't seem to put much effort in the last part of the prompt, which is to do it 'in the style of HP Lovecraft'. It sounds more like some voiceover from a Lovecraft inspired movie, perhaps - a very watered down approach.
When it spoke, its voice was a low, rumbling purr that sent chills down the spine. It spoke of things that were beyond human comprehension, of worlds that existed in the shadows of our own. It spoke of the old gods, and of the dark forces that lurked beyond the veil of reality.
The cat was a creature of power and mystery, and it filled those who saw it with both fear and awe. It was a being that belonged to another time and place, and its presence in our world was a reminder of the vast and unknowable universe that lay beyond our understanding.
Pi (heypi.com). Pi is my favorite AI to chat to, and its writing always comes across the most humanlike, but Pi is crafted to be a chat bot first and foremost - it doesn't like doing long form text, you have to keep prodding it to continue.
In a small house on a quiet street, there lives a creature of unspeakable horror. Its name is unknown, for it is a being beyond human comprehension. But the residents of the house have given it a name of their own - they call it Fluffy. Fluffy is a feline of peculiar appearance. Its fur is dark and matted, and its eyes are a sickly yellow. But it is not the creature's appearance that inspires terror, but rather its otherworldly aura. Those who look into Fluffy's eyes feel a creeping sense of dread, as if they have gazed into the abyss itself.Rating: Well, It reads more like a campfire story than anything written by Lovecraft himself. It's lacking his signature writing style. Again, this sort of thing isn't really what Pi was built for. I'd be curious to know if the underlying LLM (inflectionAI) would do a better job if I had API access and could test it instead of the chatbot. But, overall, it has a bit more creative flair than the PaLM models.
Fluffy's presence seems to warp the very fabric of reality around it. Doors creak on their hinges, even when there is no wind. Shadows flicker in the corner of one's eye, only to vanish when one turns to look. And strange sounds emanate from the walls - scratching, skittering, and an unearthly purring that sends chills down one's spine. Even the most mundane tasks - such as doing the dishes or folding laundry - take on a sinister air in Fluffy's presence. One cannot help but feel that they are being watched by some unseen force...
As the days go by, Fluffy's aura seems to grow stronger, and the residents of the house grow ever more fearful. But then, one night, they awake to find that Fluffy is gone. The house is eerily silent, and the air seems lighter, as if a great weight has been lifted. They breathe a sigh of relief, but as they drift back to sleep, they cannot shake the feeling that Fluffy has not gone far... that it is lurking in some dark corner of the world, waiting to return. And in their dreams, they hear that sinister purring once again...
Next, ChatGPT 3.5 Turbo.
Beware the feline fiend that prowls beneath the night's veil, for she is no ordinary housecat. With fur as black as the abyss and eyes that gleam with an otherworldly intelligence, she is a creature born of ancient and eldritch powers.Rating: That's a little better. It's a little closer to Lovecraft's descriptions by way of its adjectives, but it still feels watered down. It also has that telltale ChatGPT structure that's hard to avoid - where the last line is a sort of summary - whether you're having it write a poem, a short essay, whatever. It also has that 'precocious teenager' feeling that GPT always seems to have, like it's reticent to use 'the big words', if that makes sense.
Her lithe and sinuous form moves with a fluid grace, as if she were not bound by the laws of physics that govern our realm. And though her purrs may seem innocuous, they hold within them a sinister resonance that can chill even the bravest of souls.
Her claws are like daggers, sharp and deadly, and her teeth gleam like obsidian in the moonlight. And when she turns her gaze upon you, it is as if she is peering into the depths of your very being, seeking to unravel the secrets that lie hidden within.
Beware the cat that lurks in the shadows, for she is a harbinger of madness and despair. Her presence is an omen of doom, and those who cross her path do so at their own peril. For she is not of this world, but of a realm beyond our understanding, a place of darkness and terror that lies just beyond the veil of our reality.
GPT 4
In the vast abyss that is the world, there exists an entity of such unknowable and fearsome stature that the mere whisper of her name brings about shudders of primal dread. She is known as the Felis Cthulhia, a creature of cosmic horror that defies all semblance of understanding.Rating: Now we're talking - that's much better. Much more florid descriptions, getting closer to Lovecraftian turns of phrase ('cosmic cataclysms'). Giving the monster a name (Felis Cthulhia) was a creative spark. It still sounds more like teenage Lovecraft fan fiction than the man himself, though. And would you look at that, GPT can't help but summarize at the end yet again, repeating/summarizing itself, and stating the obvious ('an eldrich horror in the form of a cat.' Yeah, GPT, we got it).
Her pelt is a swirling vortex of obsidian, a dark tapestry of nightmares spun from the void itself. It shimmers and shifts, its ethereal quality seeming an affront to the laws of nature. The sheen of it is like the cold, empty spaces between the stars, reflecting an abyssal void that seems to drink in the light around it.
Her gaze is a pair of glowing emerald worlds, radiant and hypnotic. They hold an intelligence that predates the dawn of man, a wisdom that transcends the narrow confines of mortal understanding. One cannot meet her gaze without feeling the chill of insignificance, the dread of comprehending one's own ephemeral existence.
Her form is fluid and ever-changing, as though the earthly laws of shape and matter do not apply to her. She moves with a serpentine grace, her body rippling and coiling in a manner that suggests the writhing of distant galaxies. The mere sight of her is enough to shatter the sanity of the unprepared observer, a glimpse into the terrible grandeur of the universe.
Her purr, a low, throbbing hum, vibrates the very air around her. It is a sound that transcends the spectrum of human hearing, a resonation that seems to echo from the depths of time and space. It is a melody that whispers of ancient civilizations, of cosmic cataclysms, of depths unexplored and horrors unspoken.
In her presence, one feels an unsettling sense of awe and terror, a paradoxical fear of the unknown coupled with an irresistible pull towards it. She is an enigma, a paradox, a testament to the uncharted territories that lie beyond the scope of human knowledge. She is Felis Cthulhia, the embodiment of eldritch horror in the form of a cat.
Claude2
From the stygian void she came, a nameless horror with eyes like burning embers. Her inky black fur drank the light, leaving only shadows in her wake. With each fluid movement, her lithe feline form seemed to warp and distort, as if the very fabric of reality rebelled against containing her eldritch presence.The big surprise - Claude-instant
Her mewling cries were the stuff of maddening nightmares, both grating and cloying, evoking an all-consuming sense of dread. When she fixed her malevolent gaze upon me, I felt the cold hand of cosmic indifference brush my mortal soul.
I dared not gaze directly at this cat from beyond, this child of ancient chaos. To do so would surely shatter my fragile sanity. And so I averted my eyes and prayed she would return to the empty places between the stars, where she could harry reality no more with her cyclopean horrors.
Rating: Now, that's a big jump in quality. Stygian void! Cyclopean horrors! Child of ancient chaos! That's definitely much, much closer to Lovecraft's style. Lovecraft also wrote in the first person a lot, and this was the only model to do so. And it reads better than the 'precocious teenage essayist' style that GPT always seems to put out. Still sounds like fan fiction, but, you know, pretty good fan fiction.
A nameless dread creeps among the peonies and hibiscus, an amorphous abomination beyond the ken of mortals. Thin as a nightmare and yet dense with esoteric menace, this creature's very existence is anathema to the laws of nature. With diseased yellow eyes that drink deep of the soul's blackest secrets, it stalks its realm, gravitating towards any who would offer up pettings and titbits of sustenance. Woe betide the curious finger that disturbs the eldritch fur, for that appendage shall not return the same, the touch of that nether coat changing it in ways that drive men to the edge of blasphemous enlightenment. Fangs lie in wait behind grinning jowls, ready to puncture soft flesh and inject dread truths that shatter fragile minds. Run, friend, and ponder not the nameless monster that waits with tail a-twitching amidst the mundane debris of your existence. Offer up no saucer of milk, stroke no murderous fur, for the cat-that-is-not-a-cat hungers only to consume and corrupt with its unknowable strangeness.Rating: Fucking. Nailed it. THAT is Lovecraft's style - quite dense, full of twisted analogies or adjectives. But the creativity here is the strongest. I love that line, 'Woe betide the curious finger that disturbs the eldritch fur, for that appendage shall not return the same, the touch of that nether coat changing it in ways that drive men to the edge of blasphemous enlightenment', and 'Offer up no saucer of milk, stroke no murderous fur'. It doesn't sound dumbed down/watered down at all and really captures Lovecraft's voice, and paints the best picture of unknowable, otherworldly horror in a short paragraph.
This was a big surprise, to be honest. I hadn't experimented much with Claude-instant, especially not with creative writing tasks, and was surprised at how much better it did at the 'assignment'. Claude2 also did quite well of course, and is newer and better, etc, so I was especially surprised at Claude-instant.
I'm sure that with playing around with prompts, some of the other efforts could be improved, but I wanted to see how each model compared 'out of the box' with a simple prompt.
TD;LR -
PaLM/Bard - The most prosaic, pretty poor, feels the 'laziest'.
Pi - Better, but it's a bot meant for chat and isn't the best for this sort of thing.
GPT 3.5/4 - Decent, but has the telltale GPT qualities - kinda writes like a precocious high school essayist, always conforms to the same structure.
Claude2 and Claude-instant - big winners here, remarkable jump up in quality, with Claude-Instant being the surprise winner.
EDIT: For those curious, here is an image of the eldritch horror, herself. Click if you dare, but be forewarned, this terrible visage is not for the faint of heart!
...btw her name is Lady Calamity :)
2023.05.31 00:42 Tommithy1686 10 Most Underrated Nightwish Songs
Hello Nightwish Army. You may remember me from the 100 Days Of Nightwish project several years ago. With the fan morale in a bit of a low spot recently and the band news in a trickle as we patiently await the next album, I thought I’d come up with something to remind us all how good we’ve had it as fans of Nightwish for several decades now and how deep and amazing their catalog is. So with that in mind I decided to create a list of what I think the ten most underrated Nightwish songs are. Now I know that “underrated” is a real subjective term. I’m basing my decision on songs that I think are really, really good but don’t have much word of mouth or discussion in the present, used to be popular but have been forgotten, were never in steady live set rotation, and other factors. In the end, it’s my opinion, and probably likely to stir some debate in the comments which I welcome and encourage. I’d especially love to hear other lists or songs that the rest of you think are underrated.
Finally, a couple things to consider as you read this. I love all of the band members past and present (including the singers) equally, so this list does not discriminate based on any lineup considerations. Also, this list is in random order, not ranked from least to most underrated or anything like that. At first I tried, but in the end I decided that sort of thing is just too hard to quantify into a ranking measurement. Without further ado, let’s get into it.
So there you have it! Feel free to agree, disagree, discuss, or comment down below. I’d love to hear other fans' thoughts on this.
Some honorable mentions:
submitted by Tommithy1686 to nightwish [link] [comments]
Finally, a couple things to consider as you read this. I love all of the band members past and present (including the singers) equally, so this list does not discriminate based on any lineup considerations. Also, this list is in random order, not ranked from least to most underrated or anything like that. At first I tried, but in the end I decided that sort of thing is just too hard to quantify into a ranking measurement. Without further ado, let’s get into it.
- Dead To The World (Track #3 - Century Child Album)
- Endlessness (Track #9 - Human/Nature Album)
- Taikatalvi (Track #1 - Imaginaerum Album)
- Angels Fall First (Track #5 - Angels Fall First Album)
- Beauty Of The Beast (Track #10 - Century Child)
- Kuolema Tekee Taiteilijan (Track #10 - Once Album)
- Moondance (Track #7 - Oceanborn Album)
- Alpenglow (Track #9 - Endless Forms Most Beautiful Album)
- Shudder Before The Beautiful (Track #1 - Endless Forms Most Beautiful Album)
- Sleeping Sun (Track #11 - Oceanborn)
So there you have it! Feel free to agree, disagree, discuss, or comment down below. I’d love to hear other fans' thoughts on this.
Some honorable mentions:
- Slow, Love, Slow
- Walking In The Air
- Deep Silent Complete
- Tenth Man Down
- Dead Gardens
- Master Passion Greed
- Meadows Of Heaven
- Harvest
- Erämaan Viimeinen
- While Your Lips Are Still Red
2023.05.28 21:04 Still_Performance_39 An Introduction to Terran Zoology – Chapter 13
Credit to u/SpacePaladin15 for the NOP Universe.
I was really looking forward to writing this and couldn’t help myself from getting stuck right back in after the last chapter. So, here it is, Dr MacEwan’s reaction to first contact with the Yotul and what he learns about Exterminators.
[First] [Previous] [Next]
Memory transcription subject: Dr Bernard MacEwan, Professor of Zoology
Date [standardised human time]: 22nd August 2136
Madness, utter madness! That was the only way any of what I was reading could be described. The last fifty minutes had passed me by at blinding speed as I poured through data packet after data packet, attempting to verify every piece of information my class had shared with me.
Much to my frustration, what little was available to me was proving to be woefully inadequate. While my status as a teacher in the exchange programme gave me greater access than most, the UN was still in the habit of heavily vetting what knowledge was free for public consumption. No doubt an overreaction in the wake of the initial press releases during first contact.
I swear, the moment it got out that there were sapient eating genocidal reptiles in the galaxy, the number of doomsday prophets skyrocketed. Not to mention the fact that the rest of the galaxy fears us for our diet and eye position, that didn’t go down well. Speaking of the Federation…
Everything concerning first contact between the Federation and the Yotul had alarm bells ringing in my head.
God, did none of these hundreds of civilisations create their own version of the Prime Directive? Fictional in our case perhaps, but still, none of them!?
Considering the war with the Arxur, and the rationale my class had provided me, I could see why the Federation viewed their actions as morally in the right. They discovered the Yotul, an herbivorous species that wasn’t technologically developed enough to defend itself from the existential threat of the Arxur, and they opted to defend them from said threat. If that had been all they had done then I wouldn’t be as concerned. The problem was they hadn’t stopped at identify, observe, and protect from a distance. Instead, they had apparently just waltzed right on down into the Yotul’s homes, replacing everything they deemed outdated without a second thought!
A wave of revulsion had washed over me as I drew parallels between the Federations actions and our own history of colonialism. Hearing my class speak about it had only made the disgust grow. It was as if they viewed these acts like they were a god given blessing upon wayward souls! There was a near reverence in some of their voices.
How many of the Yotul’s achievements were simply tossed aside and scrapped, deemed as obsolete and worthless? How many centuries of scientific advancement were discarded in an instant as primitive?
Primitive… a typically benign adjective twisted into an insult towards a species that had world shaking change forced upon them without consideration for what they could’ve gone on to do alone.
Were they even given a choice? I’d not heard the phrases, “They asked” or “It was requested by” or anything to that affect when my class had talked me through the history of first contact.
No… no all they’d said was, “The Federation did this” or “The Federation did that”.
How could an advanced group of species who prided themselves so highly on their collective empathy remain so blind to the paradoxical impact and fallout of their actions?
Robbing a civilisation of the chance to ascend to the stars on their own power by doing it for them, only to then spit on them for not having done it themselves. Such cruel absurdity.
…
Perhaps I was being too hasty in my condemnation? This was all just my own speculation based off of a brief and extremely broad strokes discussion of the topic. My data searches hadn’t yielded any first hand accounts of the experience, just generic reports that recounted in bland detail what I’d already been told.
My next report home will certainly include a scathing review of this damnable vetting process!
As for the class, they were all experts on planetary ecology, not historians or specialists in interstellar politics and events. Maybe they simply failed to include something in their overview of events? I could be viewing this in a far worse light than it actually was due to having an incomplete picture. Perhaps I was allowing humanities own history to unfairly smear the Federation?
I’ll need to gather more information. Was there a historian with our delegation? I should find out and contact them as soon as possible, ask them if any of the data packages they received can shed some light on this.
Oh! I should put in a request to meet with a Yotul! There have to be some on Venlil Prime. They might be open to giving me an account from their perspective.
This wasn’t my topic of expertise but I couldn’t do nothing while this cloud of unease hung in the air around me. I’ll make use of my free time to look into this. Hopefully this is all just a huge misunderstanding on my part.
I sincerely hope that’s the case.
…
The other thing though… there was no way to misconstrue that.
Exterminators.
When they’d first been brought up, I linked them to the hypotheses my colleagues and I had come up with upon learning how the Venlil reacted to humans.
The Federation and its members, spurred on by fear and desperation, culled whatever they viewed as predatory wherever they went. We’d reasoned that this could only have been caused by their centuries of suffered trauma at the claws of the Arxur. Their desire to feel safe from predators outweighing rational thought, resulting in an overzealous drive to keep the numbers of such animals as low as possible.
We couldn’t have been further from the true, horrifying reality.
Unlike the UN, the Venlil government was much laxer in restricting what could and couldn’t be shared between species. It only took seconds to find what I was looking for. An overview of the Exterminators. Their purpose, responsibilities, history, notable actions and achievements, everything was on display and what a terrifying display it was.
For centuries, prior to contact with the Arxur, every species in the Federation had been engaging in the wholesale slaughter of any animal they perceived as predatory and the Exterminators were the frontline in this “Noble Crusade” against the evil taint of predation.
Ripped that one straight from an introductory pamphlet.
Equipped with a veritable war chest of incendiary weapons that the Geneva Conventions would’ve banned on sight, Exterminators had a presence upon every planet the Federation laid claim to. They burned away anything they saw as a threat with reckless abandon, and they were proud of it.
Such brutality…
Every piece of literature I came across contained some form of admiration or self-congratulatory gratification for the work they did. Hailed as a bulwark against the ever present threat of predators, they were lifted up as a symbol for citizens to aspire to.
To me, they seemed nought but monsters!
I found myself spiralling as the same questions I’d considered a little over a month ago began screaming in my mind once more.
How could this have happened? Why do hundreds of supposedly advanced species actively pursue the extinction of countless animal species because they eat meat? What damage could they have caused to their own worlds by removing predators from their ecosystems?
… Is this why the biodiversity of Federation worlds is so low compared to Earth?
My heart dropped into my stomach as the realisation drenched me in a cold sweat. Trophic cascade… on a planetary level. Across hundreds of worlds.
I felt numb.
…
I needed more information. This can’t possibly be due to them being herbivores acting on an extreme protective instinct, can it? No that’s ludicrous, they’re not animals, they posses higher reasoning and thought process like humans. Their technological and social development shows that… But then why is their ecological understanding so backwards!? What happened to possess them with the need, no, the desire to exterminate meat eaters on the idea that they’re evil incarnate?
Much to my chagrin, I was once again hit with wall after wall of blank search results as I attempted to probe deeper into the ecological impact these actions had upon Venlil Prime.
There’s nothing! Not even a hint of recognition that removing part of the food chain can have dire consequences for an ecosystem. There must be someone I can ask, someone who could explain it to me, someone who-
Oh! Bernard, you damn fool, of course there’s someone you can ask! There’s a whole room of experts at your fingertips.
For a moment my heart swelled with relief at the thought, but quick as it came on, hollow numbness once again brought me crashing down.
I could ask them to explain, but what answer would I get? A rationale, evidence based response that alleviates my concern or at least provides context to their actions that I’m missing? Or will I receive a disappointing, “Duh they’re predators, ergo they're bad”?
Considering their collective admiration for these barbaric pyromaniacs, and the work they do, I fear I will play audience to the latter. Commonly held belief is not so easy to separate yourself from when something new comes knocking. It doesn’t matter how much evidence you have, many will be reluctant to change their mind, sometimes to the point of aggression, perceiving the new way of thinking as a repudiation of themselves as individuals.
I imagine they will be quite happy to tell me everything I wish to know about their ecological sciences. However, if my aim is not only to teach them about Earths ecology, but also to coax them into re-examining their own understanding, then I’ll need to be cautious moving forward. If they really are similar to humans, then making them feel like I’m attacking the foundations of their science, as well as their very moral beliefs regarding predators, could turn nasty very quickly.
I’m hardly Galileo defending the movement of the Earth around the Sun, but considering the people who may object to my teachings wield flamethrowers I might be at greater risk.
Gallows humour aside, I would have to take it slow. Perhaps the best option would be to continue introducing them to animals for now. Keep them with the herbivores and steadily move them towards the other end of the scale. It might be best to sprinkle in a few nods to the more unappealing truths regrading herbivores as well.
The idea that prey acted in harmonious collectivism while predators didn’t was something I’d have to contend with eventually. I may as well keep softening them up to the concept in the same way I introduced the Roe Deer and the Rabbits. Yes, yes this could work. It would be slow, but at the very least the Venlil in class seemed open to listening to what I had to say.
If I did this right, perhaps they could begin to see the world from my perspective, realise for themselves that their understanding and actions are flawed, maybe then they’d see past their predator and prey binary. Maybe they’d start to see us, see me, as a person first and not a predator.
…
A beep from my pad drew my attention, an alarm to inform me I had five minutes left of my break.
With a groaning sigh I stood from my desk and collected it, along with my mask and cane, straightening myself out before I returned to the classroom. I could already hear the chatter of my audience members as they seated themselves, ready for the second half of the day.
Were they excited? Curious? Amused?
Could any of them be here to treat me the same way the Federation had treated the Yotul? A “benevolent” hand reaching down to lift us to their way of thinking, only to ridicule us for being wrong in their eyes!?
Slow down, don’t get heated. Breathe.
Shaking in frustration I took in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before letting it out in a shuddering yet cathartic exhale.
Maybe. Maybe there are a few in the crowd who feel that way but not all. There’s proof of that for sure.
My mind drew me to my short but incredibly pleasant time with Rysel. The inquisitive Venlil had been enchanted with what he’d seen and, despite his outburst, had been open to looking at things from a different point of view to what he was comfortable with. There was no malicious arrogance there, not a drop of the dismissive bullheadedness I’d spent the last hour worrying about. Just a genuine curiosity and adoration for animals. Not to mention, aside from the scruffy tan young man who helped me after my accident, he was the only Venlil to not only approach me but talk with and get to know me. Every minute of our after dinner chat had been an absolute delight.
When he’d asked me to remove my mask I’d been terrified. Terrified that my new friend might bolt at the sight of my uncovered face. That my “predatory” eyes might scare him into a panic, as it had done with so many of the ill fortuned exchange partners. But to my joyous surprise, the most magical of things had happened instead. He hadn’t run, he hadn’t screamed, he wasn’t even slightly frazzled at the sight of me.
He’d made me laugh by acting as if he was greeting me for the first time. We’d both laughed in fact, his charming whistles of elation still ringing in my memory. And, he’d made me tear up.
Who would’ve thought at my age that being accepted by someone would fill my heart so much.
…
As I stood in the doorway, waiting for the final moment before my return to tick by, I recalled one other line from the Exterminators introduction pamphlet.
“Many of the Venlil Prime Exterminators come from other worlds within the Federation in order to aid our planet in defending against predators. As well as promoting cross species collaboration, it is also an effort to better protect the Venlil, as they are one of the weaker races within the Federation.”
“Weak”, “Primitive”. I’ll have to find a Federation dictionary and look up the word empathy. Make sure they haven’t replaced it with irony by mistake.
Preparing to enter the lecture theatre I secured my mask, comparing Rysel’s actions so far with that lacklustre depiction of the Venlil I’d grown fond of.
As the timer to my entrance ticked down, the red light having gone out seconds ago, I smirked under the mask and voiced my thoughts aloud.
“Weak my ass.”
The door opened.
submitted by Still_Performance_39 to NatureofPredators [link] [comments]
I was really looking forward to writing this and couldn’t help myself from getting stuck right back in after the last chapter. So, here it is, Dr MacEwan’s reaction to first contact with the Yotul and what he learns about Exterminators.
[First] [Previous] [Next]
Memory transcription subject: Dr Bernard MacEwan, Professor of Zoology
Date [standardised human time]: 22nd August 2136
Madness, utter madness! That was the only way any of what I was reading could be described. The last fifty minutes had passed me by at blinding speed as I poured through data packet after data packet, attempting to verify every piece of information my class had shared with me.
Much to my frustration, what little was available to me was proving to be woefully inadequate. While my status as a teacher in the exchange programme gave me greater access than most, the UN was still in the habit of heavily vetting what knowledge was free for public consumption. No doubt an overreaction in the wake of the initial press releases during first contact.
I swear, the moment it got out that there were sapient eating genocidal reptiles in the galaxy, the number of doomsday prophets skyrocketed. Not to mention the fact that the rest of the galaxy fears us for our diet and eye position, that didn’t go down well. Speaking of the Federation…
Everything concerning first contact between the Federation and the Yotul had alarm bells ringing in my head.
God, did none of these hundreds of civilisations create their own version of the Prime Directive? Fictional in our case perhaps, but still, none of them!?
Considering the war with the Arxur, and the rationale my class had provided me, I could see why the Federation viewed their actions as morally in the right. They discovered the Yotul, an herbivorous species that wasn’t technologically developed enough to defend itself from the existential threat of the Arxur, and they opted to defend them from said threat. If that had been all they had done then I wouldn’t be as concerned. The problem was they hadn’t stopped at identify, observe, and protect from a distance. Instead, they had apparently just waltzed right on down into the Yotul’s homes, replacing everything they deemed outdated without a second thought!
A wave of revulsion had washed over me as I drew parallels between the Federations actions and our own history of colonialism. Hearing my class speak about it had only made the disgust grow. It was as if they viewed these acts like they were a god given blessing upon wayward souls! There was a near reverence in some of their voices.
How many of the Yotul’s achievements were simply tossed aside and scrapped, deemed as obsolete and worthless? How many centuries of scientific advancement were discarded in an instant as primitive?
Primitive… a typically benign adjective twisted into an insult towards a species that had world shaking change forced upon them without consideration for what they could’ve gone on to do alone.
Were they even given a choice? I’d not heard the phrases, “They asked” or “It was requested by” or anything to that affect when my class had talked me through the history of first contact.
No… no all they’d said was, “The Federation did this” or “The Federation did that”.
How could an advanced group of species who prided themselves so highly on their collective empathy remain so blind to the paradoxical impact and fallout of their actions?
Robbing a civilisation of the chance to ascend to the stars on their own power by doing it for them, only to then spit on them for not having done it themselves. Such cruel absurdity.
…
Perhaps I was being too hasty in my condemnation? This was all just my own speculation based off of a brief and extremely broad strokes discussion of the topic. My data searches hadn’t yielded any first hand accounts of the experience, just generic reports that recounted in bland detail what I’d already been told.
My next report home will certainly include a scathing review of this damnable vetting process!
As for the class, they were all experts on planetary ecology, not historians or specialists in interstellar politics and events. Maybe they simply failed to include something in their overview of events? I could be viewing this in a far worse light than it actually was due to having an incomplete picture. Perhaps I was allowing humanities own history to unfairly smear the Federation?
I’ll need to gather more information. Was there a historian with our delegation? I should find out and contact them as soon as possible, ask them if any of the data packages they received can shed some light on this.
Oh! I should put in a request to meet with a Yotul! There have to be some on Venlil Prime. They might be open to giving me an account from their perspective.
This wasn’t my topic of expertise but I couldn’t do nothing while this cloud of unease hung in the air around me. I’ll make use of my free time to look into this. Hopefully this is all just a huge misunderstanding on my part.
I sincerely hope that’s the case.
…
The other thing though… there was no way to misconstrue that.
Exterminators.
When they’d first been brought up, I linked them to the hypotheses my colleagues and I had come up with upon learning how the Venlil reacted to humans.
The Federation and its members, spurred on by fear and desperation, culled whatever they viewed as predatory wherever they went. We’d reasoned that this could only have been caused by their centuries of suffered trauma at the claws of the Arxur. Their desire to feel safe from predators outweighing rational thought, resulting in an overzealous drive to keep the numbers of such animals as low as possible.
We couldn’t have been further from the true, horrifying reality.
Unlike the UN, the Venlil government was much laxer in restricting what could and couldn’t be shared between species. It only took seconds to find what I was looking for. An overview of the Exterminators. Their purpose, responsibilities, history, notable actions and achievements, everything was on display and what a terrifying display it was.
For centuries, prior to contact with the Arxur, every species in the Federation had been engaging in the wholesale slaughter of any animal they perceived as predatory and the Exterminators were the frontline in this “Noble Crusade” against the evil taint of predation.
Ripped that one straight from an introductory pamphlet.
Equipped with a veritable war chest of incendiary weapons that the Geneva Conventions would’ve banned on sight, Exterminators had a presence upon every planet the Federation laid claim to. They burned away anything they saw as a threat with reckless abandon, and they were proud of it.
Such brutality…
Every piece of literature I came across contained some form of admiration or self-congratulatory gratification for the work they did. Hailed as a bulwark against the ever present threat of predators, they were lifted up as a symbol for citizens to aspire to.
To me, they seemed nought but monsters!
I found myself spiralling as the same questions I’d considered a little over a month ago began screaming in my mind once more.
How could this have happened? Why do hundreds of supposedly advanced species actively pursue the extinction of countless animal species because they eat meat? What damage could they have caused to their own worlds by removing predators from their ecosystems?
… Is this why the biodiversity of Federation worlds is so low compared to Earth?
My heart dropped into my stomach as the realisation drenched me in a cold sweat. Trophic cascade… on a planetary level. Across hundreds of worlds.
I felt numb.
…
I needed more information. This can’t possibly be due to them being herbivores acting on an extreme protective instinct, can it? No that’s ludicrous, they’re not animals, they posses higher reasoning and thought process like humans. Their technological and social development shows that… But then why is their ecological understanding so backwards!? What happened to possess them with the need, no, the desire to exterminate meat eaters on the idea that they’re evil incarnate?
Much to my chagrin, I was once again hit with wall after wall of blank search results as I attempted to probe deeper into the ecological impact these actions had upon Venlil Prime.
There’s nothing! Not even a hint of recognition that removing part of the food chain can have dire consequences for an ecosystem. There must be someone I can ask, someone who could explain it to me, someone who-
Oh! Bernard, you damn fool, of course there’s someone you can ask! There’s a whole room of experts at your fingertips.
For a moment my heart swelled with relief at the thought, but quick as it came on, hollow numbness once again brought me crashing down.
I could ask them to explain, but what answer would I get? A rationale, evidence based response that alleviates my concern or at least provides context to their actions that I’m missing? Or will I receive a disappointing, “Duh they’re predators, ergo they're bad”?
Considering their collective admiration for these barbaric pyromaniacs, and the work they do, I fear I will play audience to the latter. Commonly held belief is not so easy to separate yourself from when something new comes knocking. It doesn’t matter how much evidence you have, many will be reluctant to change their mind, sometimes to the point of aggression, perceiving the new way of thinking as a repudiation of themselves as individuals.
I imagine they will be quite happy to tell me everything I wish to know about their ecological sciences. However, if my aim is not only to teach them about Earths ecology, but also to coax them into re-examining their own understanding, then I’ll need to be cautious moving forward. If they really are similar to humans, then making them feel like I’m attacking the foundations of their science, as well as their very moral beliefs regarding predators, could turn nasty very quickly.
I’m hardly Galileo defending the movement of the Earth around the Sun, but considering the people who may object to my teachings wield flamethrowers I might be at greater risk.
Gallows humour aside, I would have to take it slow. Perhaps the best option would be to continue introducing them to animals for now. Keep them with the herbivores and steadily move them towards the other end of the scale. It might be best to sprinkle in a few nods to the more unappealing truths regrading herbivores as well.
The idea that prey acted in harmonious collectivism while predators didn’t was something I’d have to contend with eventually. I may as well keep softening them up to the concept in the same way I introduced the Roe Deer and the Rabbits. Yes, yes this could work. It would be slow, but at the very least the Venlil in class seemed open to listening to what I had to say.
If I did this right, perhaps they could begin to see the world from my perspective, realise for themselves that their understanding and actions are flawed, maybe then they’d see past their predator and prey binary. Maybe they’d start to see us, see me, as a person first and not a predator.
…
A beep from my pad drew my attention, an alarm to inform me I had five minutes left of my break.
With a groaning sigh I stood from my desk and collected it, along with my mask and cane, straightening myself out before I returned to the classroom. I could already hear the chatter of my audience members as they seated themselves, ready for the second half of the day.
Were they excited? Curious? Amused?
Could any of them be here to treat me the same way the Federation had treated the Yotul? A “benevolent” hand reaching down to lift us to their way of thinking, only to ridicule us for being wrong in their eyes!?
Slow down, don’t get heated. Breathe.
Shaking in frustration I took in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before letting it out in a shuddering yet cathartic exhale.
Maybe. Maybe there are a few in the crowd who feel that way but not all. There’s proof of that for sure.
My mind drew me to my short but incredibly pleasant time with Rysel. The inquisitive Venlil had been enchanted with what he’d seen and, despite his outburst, had been open to looking at things from a different point of view to what he was comfortable with. There was no malicious arrogance there, not a drop of the dismissive bullheadedness I’d spent the last hour worrying about. Just a genuine curiosity and adoration for animals. Not to mention, aside from the scruffy tan young man who helped me after my accident, he was the only Venlil to not only approach me but talk with and get to know me. Every minute of our after dinner chat had been an absolute delight.
When he’d asked me to remove my mask I’d been terrified. Terrified that my new friend might bolt at the sight of my uncovered face. That my “predatory” eyes might scare him into a panic, as it had done with so many of the ill fortuned exchange partners. But to my joyous surprise, the most magical of things had happened instead. He hadn’t run, he hadn’t screamed, he wasn’t even slightly frazzled at the sight of me.
He’d made me laugh by acting as if he was greeting me for the first time. We’d both laughed in fact, his charming whistles of elation still ringing in my memory. And, he’d made me tear up.
Who would’ve thought at my age that being accepted by someone would fill my heart so much.
…
As I stood in the doorway, waiting for the final moment before my return to tick by, I recalled one other line from the Exterminators introduction pamphlet.
“Many of the Venlil Prime Exterminators come from other worlds within the Federation in order to aid our planet in defending against predators. As well as promoting cross species collaboration, it is also an effort to better protect the Venlil, as they are one of the weaker races within the Federation.”
“Weak”, “Primitive”. I’ll have to find a Federation dictionary and look up the word empathy. Make sure they haven’t replaced it with irony by mistake.
Preparing to enter the lecture theatre I secured my mask, comparing Rysel’s actions so far with that lacklustre depiction of the Venlil I’d grown fond of.
As the timer to my entrance ticked down, the red light having gone out seconds ago, I smirked under the mask and voiced my thoughts aloud.
“Weak my ass.”
The door opened.
2023.01.22 17:05 monkeynose Schaub to English Dictionary, 3rd Edition 2023: Talnbout Words, B.
Airs – the organ of hearing and equilibrium in vertebrates: I’m gonna grab you by the airs and ride you like a pony, B. https://streamable.com/4sfb1e
Antiphetermines - an addictive drug in the amphetamine family. Known for causing upbeat energy and appetite suppression
Aubey Daubey - Capital of the United Arab Emirates.
Awn - a prefix meaning “not,” freely used as an English formative, giving negative or opposite force in adjectives and their derivative adverbs and nouns ( awnfair; awnfairly; awnfairness; awnfelt; awnseen; awnfitting;), and less freely used in certain other nouns ( awnrest; awnemployment ).
Awso – Additionally; Too; Besides: Sometimes I drink cawlfee. I awso drool a little.
Awvisly - Easily seen, recognized, or understood; open to view or knowledge; evident: Wonderboy Talmpson is Awvisly the better striker in this match up, B.
Axeless Chaps – a pair of joined leather leggings, often widely flared, worn over trousers with an open back to expose the buttocks: Hey B, put on these axeless chaps and bend over. It’s time for some essplay, bro.
Baird - the growth of hair on the face of an adult man, often including a mustache: When Evan the Baird was fired from Fox, I dropped him like a hot potato with cooties. Gotta run with the lions, not the gazelles, B.
Barry Sanders - American politician.
Bear - An alcoholic beverage made by brewing and fermentation from cereals, usually malted barley, and flavored with hops and the like for a slightly bitter taste.
Beer - any of the plantigrade, carnivorous or omnivorous mammals of the family Ursidae, having massive bodies, coarse heavy fur, relatively short limbs, and almost rudimentary tails: Yo, B. Yesterday I saw a big brown beer at the park. It was skeery.
Blogbusser - Terrible, no good, out of favor.
Bowlth - used to refer to two people or things, regarded and identified together: Bowlth me and Jay have huge hogs. For reals though, B. Axe Jay.
Butcher Boss – a company that wants to make sure the most important part of your barbecue is always as good as it can be. Starting at $129 a month, the subscription service delivers a package of 7-10 pounds of beef, chicken, pork, and bacon on dry ice straight to your door.
Bruce Springspring - Affectionately known as "The Boss" to fans, this singesongwriter has 20 Grammy Awards, two Golden Globe Awards, one Academy Award, and Polar Music Prize, to his name. He has been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Songwriters Hall of Fame, and the New Jersey Hall of Fame. https://streamable.com/41tae
Cawlfee - a beverage consisting of a decoction or infusion of the roasted ground or crushed seeds (cawlfee beans) of the two-seeded fruit (cawlfee berry) of certain cawlfee trees.
Cawlmedy - any comic or humorous incident or series of incidents: Yo, B. I bring my pro athlete skills to cawlmedy. That's why I'm the best.
Chair - to shout for joy in praise or encouragement. https://streamable.com/haim1
Chrisst - Firm, dry, and brittle, especially in a way considered pleasing or attractive.
Chung Lee – a character in Capcom's Street Fighter series. The first female fighter of any fighting game franchise, she made her first appearance in Street Fighter II.
Clab - (Contracton) the act or process of collaborating: Hey Chin, when is our CTE clab shirt going on sale?
Claire - free from darkness, obscurity, or cloudiness; light: I'm waiting for the weather to claire up before I ride my scooter again.
CPC- a powerfully disassociative anesthetic originally produced in the 1950s intended for medicinal purposes. It has since become a popular street drug in low income areas due it's cheap price and powerful effects. Users describe a powerful hallucinogenic "out of body" experience. It is extremely dangerous in terms of reacting to individual body chemistry differently in every person.
Deafitley - unequivocally; positively: Madonna deafitley has a fake ass, bro. Ask Jay.
Dinostores - The common name given to a group of reptiles, often very large, that first appeared roughly 245 million years ago (see Drastic Park).
Dint – contraction of did not: I dint win the UFC title because I really wanted to do cawlmedy. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a cheeto fingered hater.
Diraffe - a large African mammal with a very long neck and forelegs. https://streamable.com/c1uu3
Drastic Park - An American science fiction media franchise created by Michael Crichton and centered on a disastrous attempt to create a theme park of cloned dinosaurs.
Duhn Cown - Unimportant, invalid.
Ear out – To discuss in the open; to address an issue or conflict that has long been avoided.
Ed Mitten – Capital of Canada's Alberta province.
Ehbow - the bend or joint of the human arm between upper arm and forearm: I hurt my ehbow moving buckets of money and yeezys out of my purple Porsche.
Eljumbigidy - The state of having the right to do or obtain something through satisfaction of the appropriate conditions.
Epic Demic - a widespread occurrence of an infectious disease in a community at a particular time. https://streamable.com/cjlir
Escape Goat - a person who is blamed for the wrongdoings, mistakes, or faults of others, especially for reasons of expediency.
Essplay – stimulating someone’s anus with any of the following: finger, mouth, toe, fist, hamster, cell phone (set to vibrate), etc.: You into essplay, B? I’m feeling pretty gamey down there bro.
Ex-caped - to slip or get away, as from confinement or restraint; gain or regain liberty: I ex-caped from fighting by riding on the coalt-tails of famous comedians.
Eye Denney - Condition or character as to who a person or what a thing is; the qualities, beliefs, etc., that distinguish or identify a person or thing: Schaub wishes he knew the eye denney of the cheeto fingered homeless cats that are always making fun of him on reddit.
Fair - a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc: I have a fair of homeless cats.
Falshun - a popular trend, especially in styles of dress and ornament or manners of behavior.
Fear weathered – Characterized by fair judgment; impartial; unprejudiced: The judge of that bout was fear weathered and balanced in his scoring.
Fraterderly - one of the two types of twins. Unlike identical twins, fraternal twins are born from two separate eggs and individual spent cells
Frank Mare – Former UFC heavyweight champion who now fights for Bellator and sports a terrifying knife collection
Gau - a character in Capcom's Street Fighter series of fighting games. He debuted as one of the original eight characters in 1991's Street Fighter II and is portrayed as a major in the United States Air Force.
George Carlton - an American stand-up comedian, actor, author, and social critic. He was known for his black comedy and reflections on politics, the English language, psychology, religion, and various taboo subjects. https://streamable.com/bprpw
Germaine Jurrandamie - a Dutch mixed martial artist and former kickboxer of Surinamese and Dutch descent who competes in the Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC). Undefeated in sanctioned kickboxing bouts, she was the first UFC Women's Featherweight Champion until she ran screaming from Cris Cyborg.
Giff – Something given voluntarily without payment in return, as to show favor toward someone, honor an occasion, or make a gesture of assistance; present: My giff box is full of Yeezys and Black Rifle Coffee, B.
Hack Saul - a saw for cutting metal, consisting typically of a narrow, fine-toothed blade fixed in a frame: I'd cut my own foot off with a hacksawl before I'd make a new year's resolution. Ask Jay.
Hader – someone who doesn’t agree with you 100% of the time, all day, every day.
Ham Mitten - a sung- and rapped-through musical about the life of American Founding Father Alexander Ham Mitten.
Handedly – skillfully; dexterously; expertly: Brendan Schaub was beat handedly in his last fight in the UFC.
I’m your Hucklebee - A phrase used in the 1800s meaning “I’m the one you want,” or “I’m your guy” or “I’m your gal” or “I’m the right match”.
Holme Rung Derby - An annual home run hitting competition in Major League Baseball (MLB), usually held the day before the MLB All-Star Game.
Impaulsive – Acting or done without forethought: Getting punched in the head so many times has resulted in brain damage that has made him impaulsive.
Injun Air – a person trained and skilled in the design, construction, and use of engines or machines: A mechanical injun air.
Israel Assanna / Fassbender – Nigerian-New Zealand mixed martial artist known as “The Last Stylebender”. https://streamable.com/7xwp5
Jawlz - a 1975 American thriller film directed by Steven Spielberg and based on Peter Benchley's 1974 novel of the same name.
Jeremiah Watson - a popular stand up comic based in LA who has recently gained popularity due to his co hosting of the popular podcast Kill Tony with Toby Hunchcleft
Jon Africa - Who the hell is that?
Jrawln - To bring, take, pull out, or attract to: I love coffee and fashion; some would say I’m jrawln to it.
Kabakke - A type of sexual activity in which several men ejaculate on another person. https://www.reddit.com/thefighterandthekid/comments/180f13g/thicccboy_bukkake_club/
Kabind – to bring into or join in a close union or whole; unite: She kabind the ingredients to make the cake. They kabind the two companies.
Kavince - to move by argument or evidence to belief, agreement, consent, or a course of action: to kavince a jury of his guilt; A test drive will kavince you that this car handles well.
Lopez - Who the fuck knows
Luck of the drawl – to be the result of chance and something that you have no control over: You can't choose who you play against, it's just the luck of the drawl.
Marr Zugburr - an American business magnate and internet entrepreneur known for co-founding the social media website Facebook
Masquergarded - A multi-purpose indoor arena in New York City. It is located in Midtown Manhattan between Seventh and Eighth avenues from 31st to 33rd Street, above Pennsylvania Station.
Mawl Tipple - consisting of, having, or involving several or many individuals, parts, elements, relations, etc.; manifold: I was punched mawl tipple times in the head in my last fight.
Messican - Wife, girlfriend, or significant other which one cheats on.
Michelin Possbowl - A series of American action spy films based on and a follow-on from the television series of the same name created by Bruce Geller.
Moses Malone - an American rapper, singer, and songwriter.
Mount Rulshmoor - a massive sculpture carved into the Black Hills region of South Dakota, and a symbol of America-a symbol of freedom and hope for people from all cultures and backgrounds: George Carlton is defitely on my Mount Rulshmoor of cawlmedy, B.
Munban - A man's hairstyle in which the hair is drawn back into a tight coil at the back or top of the head. https://streamable.com/mqi0s1
Murdler's Roll - A term initially used to describe the devastatingly effective batting line up of the 1927 New York Yankees; now the phrase is commonly used more broadly to refer to any particularly successful and/or powerful group of people.
Nairdiv - a spoken or written account of connected events; a story.
Neggflix - Excellent, Great.
Nelson Ratings - the audience measurement systems operated by Nelson Media Research that seek to determine the audience size and composition of television programming in the United States using a rating system.
Oos - the objective case of we, used as a direct or indirect object: I just don't know why cheeto fingered haters hate on oos, B.
Paige Van Ants - an American mixed martial artist, bare knuckle boxer, professional wrestler, author, and model.
Painguin – any of several flightless, aquatic birds of the family Spheniscidae, of the Southern Hemisphere.
Pancreas - a mixed martial arts promotion company founded in Japan in 1993 by professional wrestlers Masakatsu Funaki and Minoru Suzuki: B, you know Bas Rutten, he's the king of Pancreas.
Passion for Christ – In this 2004 version of Christ's crucifixion, based on the New Testament, Judas expedites the downfall of Jesus (Jim Caviezel) by handing him over to the Roman Empire's handpicked officials.
Paulcast - a digital audio file made available on the internet for downloading to a computer or mobile device, typically available as a series, new installments of which can be received by subscribers automatically.
Paul Patrol – A TV show in which a group of six rescue dogs, led by a tech-savvy boy named Ryder, has adventures.
Pedal Stool - used in reference to a situation in which someone is greatly or uncritically admired.
Peerent – a father or a mother: I’m a beasts of a peerent, B.
Photogrisser - one who takes photographs. Hey photogrisser, ya bloggbusser.
Posive - a good, affirmative, or constructive quality or attribute: People with posive things going on in their life don't troll online and hate on Logan Paul, Chin.
Predictament - a difficult, unpleasant, or embarrassing situation.
Preemum - a bonus, gift, or sum additional to price, wages, interest, or the like: I paid a preemum for the bowltox, but it was worth the squeeze. Ask Jay.
Pre She-Ate – to be grateful or thankful for: The haters just don’t pre she-ate my work ethnic, B.
Research - Watched no less than three YouTube videos on the subject.
Rachael Dozer – an American former civil rights activist known for claiming to be a black woman while being of white-European ancestry and having no known black or African ancestry. https://streamable.com/rjrks
Rail - existing or occurring as fact; actual rather than imaginary, ideal, or fictitious: Madonna had some work done. There’s no way that ass is rail.
Randy Tour – an American actor, former U.S. Army sergeant, retired mixed martial artist and former collegiate and Greco-Roman wrestler recently recorded jacking it to a webcam girl.
Raul Hide - untanned skin of cattle or other animals.
Raulness – the state of being crude: People like Dana White because of his raulness and wit.
Royals Royce - A British luxury car and later an aero-engine manufacturing business established in 1904 in Manchester by the partnership of Charles Rolls and Henry Royce. https://streamable.com/jbw1lv
Sairies - a daily or weekly program with the same cast and format and a continuing story, as a soap opera, situation comedy, or drama: Hey Bri Bri, I heard you got your own TV sairies. Proud of you, bro.
Satan Island - one of the Andaman Islands, an archipelago in the Bay of Bengal. It is home to the Satanalese, a people who have rejected, often violently, any contact with the outside world: Bri Bri, I'm gunna go to Satan Island to turn them on to Black Rifle Cawlfee.
Saul – simple past tense of see: I saul Schaub at the corner of Abbott and Kinney drinking Starbucks cawlfee from a Black Rifle coffee mug.
Santa Clawlz – also known as Saint Nicholas, Kris Kringle, Father Christmas, or simply Santa.
Shashimi – Raul fish cut into very thin slices.
Sherla Cone – A fictional private detective created by British author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Skeery – causing fright or alarm: The Grudge was skeery. Asians are skeery, Chin.
Skeleton System – The framework of the body, consisting of bones and other connective tissues, which protects and supports the body tissues and internal organs.
Slass - a short oblique stroke used in text to separate items of information: Don't forget the forward slass when giving out my promotional web address, B.
Slesser Sloan - An American actor and filmmaker who is best known for his titular roles as Rocky Balboa in the Rocky film series and John Rambo in the Rambo film series.
Smoken Mares - The obscuring or embellishing of the truth of a situation with misleading or irrelevant information.
Souper Ball - The National Football League championship game played annually between the champions of the National and the American Football Conferences. https://streamable.com/h6gll
South Paul - A left-handed fighter.
Susscriber – A person who receives a publication regularly: I've been a suscriber to Butcher Boss for a long time, my man, and I love the meat.
Talnbout - Speaking in regards to; to discuss: You have no idea what you’re talnbout, I’ve done research, my man.
Tares – a drop of the saline, watery fluid continually secreted by the lacrimal glands between the surface of the eye and the eyelid: I shed tares when I heard about Kobe, B. Ask Jay.
Tess - The means by which the presence, quality, or genuineness of anything is determined; a means of trial: Travis Browne was his greatest tess. He failed miserably.
The White Cawlmedy Tour - a comedy troupe, featuring Jeff Foxworthy with three of his comedian friends, Bill Engvall, Ron White, and Larry the Cable Guy.
Thurrpist - a person trained in the use of psychological methods for helping patients overcome psychological problems.
Trugg - a large, heavy motor vehicle used for transporting goods, materials, or troops. Required for a Trugg Walk.
Tweenk - gay slang for a young man in his late teens to early twenties whose traits may include: general physical attractiveness; little to no body or facial hair; a slim to average build; and a youthful appearance that belies an older chronological age.
Twerk - something that produces or tends to produce torsion or rotation; A turning or twisting force: When enough twerk is applied, it will result in a broken arm.
Under Stan – to perceive the meaning of; grasp the idea of; comprehend: You need to under stan that Death Becomes Her deserved an Oscar.
Undertoad - An underwater current flowing strongly away from shore, usually caused by the seaward return of water from waves that have broken against the shore.
Virtual signaling - the intentional action of not so subtly expressing views to make yourself be perceived in a heroic manner. Mainly revolving around societal topics
Wared – Suggesting something supernatural; uncanny; strange: It’s wared how there can be so many haters, B.
War of Nutrition - A term used to describe the sustained process of wearing down an opponent so as to force their physical collapse through continuous losses in personnel, equipment and supplies or to wear them down to such an extent that their will to fight collapses.
Washing Ting - a state in the Pacific Northwest region of the United States: I did a show in Washing Ting, B. 'Cause I'm a roald dawlg.
Water we dune hair - Phrase of exasperation used to denote confusion over a situation or person's actions.
Weir – to carry or have on the body or about the person as a covering, equipment, ornament, or the like: I only weir Yeezys and gay jackets.
Whore - an overwhelming and painful feeling caused by something frightfully shocking, terrifying, or revolting; a shuddering fear: to shrink back from a mutilated corpse in whore
World Wind - a column of air moving rapidly around and around in a cylindrical or funnel shape.
Woof - any of several large carnivorous mammals of the genus Canis, of the dog family Canidae, especially C. lupus, usually hunting in packs, formerly common throughout the Northern Hemisphere but now chiefly restricted to the more unpopulated parts of its range.
Woofenstein - a series of World War II-themed video games created by Muse Software. The first two games in the series were stealth-based and featured a 2D top-down perspective.
Work Ethnic - the principle that hard work is intrinsically virtuous or worthy of reward.
Youfsee Cawlrado - A system of public universities in Colorado.
You Nonymous - not identified by name; of unknown name.
Zair Oh - no quantity or number; naught: I scored a fat zair oh in my last fight with Travis Browne.
submitted by monkeynose to thefighterandthekid [link] [comments]
Antiphetermines - an addictive drug in the amphetamine family. Known for causing upbeat energy and appetite suppression
Aubey Daubey - Capital of the United Arab Emirates.
Awn - a prefix meaning “not,” freely used as an English formative, giving negative or opposite force in adjectives and their derivative adverbs and nouns ( awnfair; awnfairly; awnfairness; awnfelt; awnseen; awnfitting;), and less freely used in certain other nouns ( awnrest; awnemployment ).
Awso – Additionally; Too; Besides: Sometimes I drink cawlfee. I awso drool a little.
Awvisly - Easily seen, recognized, or understood; open to view or knowledge; evident: Wonderboy Talmpson is Awvisly the better striker in this match up, B.
Axeless Chaps – a pair of joined leather leggings, often widely flared, worn over trousers with an open back to expose the buttocks: Hey B, put on these axeless chaps and bend over. It’s time for some essplay, bro.
Baird - the growth of hair on the face of an adult man, often including a mustache: When Evan the Baird was fired from Fox, I dropped him like a hot potato with cooties. Gotta run with the lions, not the gazelles, B.
Barry Sanders - American politician.
Bear - An alcoholic beverage made by brewing and fermentation from cereals, usually malted barley, and flavored with hops and the like for a slightly bitter taste.
Beer - any of the plantigrade, carnivorous or omnivorous mammals of the family Ursidae, having massive bodies, coarse heavy fur, relatively short limbs, and almost rudimentary tails: Yo, B. Yesterday I saw a big brown beer at the park. It was skeery.
Blogbusser - Terrible, no good, out of favor.
Bowlth - used to refer to two people or things, regarded and identified together: Bowlth me and Jay have huge hogs. For reals though, B. Axe Jay.
Butcher Boss – a company that wants to make sure the most important part of your barbecue is always as good as it can be. Starting at $129 a month, the subscription service delivers a package of 7-10 pounds of beef, chicken, pork, and bacon on dry ice straight to your door.
Bruce Springspring - Affectionately known as "The Boss" to fans, this singesongwriter has 20 Grammy Awards, two Golden Globe Awards, one Academy Award, and Polar Music Prize, to his name. He has been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Songwriters Hall of Fame, and the New Jersey Hall of Fame. https://streamable.com/41tae
Cawlfee - a beverage consisting of a decoction or infusion of the roasted ground or crushed seeds (cawlfee beans) of the two-seeded fruit (cawlfee berry) of certain cawlfee trees.
Cawlmedy - any comic or humorous incident or series of incidents: Yo, B. I bring my pro athlete skills to cawlmedy. That's why I'm the best.
Chair - to shout for joy in praise or encouragement. https://streamable.com/haim1
Chrisst - Firm, dry, and brittle, especially in a way considered pleasing or attractive.
Chung Lee – a character in Capcom's Street Fighter series. The first female fighter of any fighting game franchise, she made her first appearance in Street Fighter II.
Clab - (Contracton) the act or process of collaborating: Hey Chin, when is our CTE clab shirt going on sale?
Claire - free from darkness, obscurity, or cloudiness; light: I'm waiting for the weather to claire up before I ride my scooter again.
CPC- a powerfully disassociative anesthetic originally produced in the 1950s intended for medicinal purposes. It has since become a popular street drug in low income areas due it's cheap price and powerful effects. Users describe a powerful hallucinogenic "out of body" experience. It is extremely dangerous in terms of reacting to individual body chemistry differently in every person.
Deafitley - unequivocally; positively: Madonna deafitley has a fake ass, bro. Ask Jay.
Dinostores - The common name given to a group of reptiles, often very large, that first appeared roughly 245 million years ago (see Drastic Park).
Dint – contraction of did not: I dint win the UFC title because I really wanted to do cawlmedy. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a cheeto fingered hater.
Diraffe - a large African mammal with a very long neck and forelegs. https://streamable.com/c1uu3
Drastic Park - An American science fiction media franchise created by Michael Crichton and centered on a disastrous attempt to create a theme park of cloned dinosaurs.
Duhn Cown - Unimportant, invalid.
Ear out – To discuss in the open; to address an issue or conflict that has long been avoided.
Ed Mitten – Capital of Canada's Alberta province.
Ehbow - the bend or joint of the human arm between upper arm and forearm: I hurt my ehbow moving buckets of money and yeezys out of my purple Porsche.
Eljumbigidy - The state of having the right to do or obtain something through satisfaction of the appropriate conditions.
Epic Demic - a widespread occurrence of an infectious disease in a community at a particular time. https://streamable.com/cjlir
Escape Goat - a person who is blamed for the wrongdoings, mistakes, or faults of others, especially for reasons of expediency.
Essplay – stimulating someone’s anus with any of the following: finger, mouth, toe, fist, hamster, cell phone (set to vibrate), etc.: You into essplay, B? I’m feeling pretty gamey down there bro.
Ex-caped - to slip or get away, as from confinement or restraint; gain or regain liberty: I ex-caped from fighting by riding on the coalt-tails of famous comedians.
Eye Denney - Condition or character as to who a person or what a thing is; the qualities, beliefs, etc., that distinguish or identify a person or thing: Schaub wishes he knew the eye denney of the cheeto fingered homeless cats that are always making fun of him on reddit.
Fair - a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc: I have a fair of homeless cats.
Falshun - a popular trend, especially in styles of dress and ornament or manners of behavior.
Fear weathered – Characterized by fair judgment; impartial; unprejudiced: The judge of that bout was fear weathered and balanced in his scoring.
Fraterderly - one of the two types of twins. Unlike identical twins, fraternal twins are born from two separate eggs and individual spent cells
Frank Mare – Former UFC heavyweight champion who now fights for Bellator and sports a terrifying knife collection
Gau - a character in Capcom's Street Fighter series of fighting games. He debuted as one of the original eight characters in 1991's Street Fighter II and is portrayed as a major in the United States Air Force.
George Carlton - an American stand-up comedian, actor, author, and social critic. He was known for his black comedy and reflections on politics, the English language, psychology, religion, and various taboo subjects. https://streamable.com/bprpw
Germaine Jurrandamie - a Dutch mixed martial artist and former kickboxer of Surinamese and Dutch descent who competes in the Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC). Undefeated in sanctioned kickboxing bouts, she was the first UFC Women's Featherweight Champion until she ran screaming from Cris Cyborg.
Giff – Something given voluntarily without payment in return, as to show favor toward someone, honor an occasion, or make a gesture of assistance; present: My giff box is full of Yeezys and Black Rifle Coffee, B.
Hack Saul - a saw for cutting metal, consisting typically of a narrow, fine-toothed blade fixed in a frame: I'd cut my own foot off with a hacksawl before I'd make a new year's resolution. Ask Jay.
Hader – someone who doesn’t agree with you 100% of the time, all day, every day.
Ham Mitten - a sung- and rapped-through musical about the life of American Founding Father Alexander Ham Mitten.
Handedly – skillfully; dexterously; expertly: Brendan Schaub was beat handedly in his last fight in the UFC.
I’m your Hucklebee - A phrase used in the 1800s meaning “I’m the one you want,” or “I’m your guy” or “I’m your gal” or “I’m the right match”.
Holme Rung Derby - An annual home run hitting competition in Major League Baseball (MLB), usually held the day before the MLB All-Star Game.
Impaulsive – Acting or done without forethought: Getting punched in the head so many times has resulted in brain damage that has made him impaulsive.
Injun Air – a person trained and skilled in the design, construction, and use of engines or machines: A mechanical injun air.
Israel Assanna / Fassbender – Nigerian-New Zealand mixed martial artist known as “The Last Stylebender”. https://streamable.com/7xwp5
Jawlz - a 1975 American thriller film directed by Steven Spielberg and based on Peter Benchley's 1974 novel of the same name.
Jeremiah Watson - a popular stand up comic based in LA who has recently gained popularity due to his co hosting of the popular podcast Kill Tony with Toby Hunchcleft
Jon Africa - Who the hell is that?
Jrawln - To bring, take, pull out, or attract to: I love coffee and fashion; some would say I’m jrawln to it.
Kabakke - A type of sexual activity in which several men ejaculate on another person. https://www.reddit.com/thefighterandthekid/comments/180f13g/thicccboy_bukkake_club/
Kabind – to bring into or join in a close union or whole; unite: She kabind the ingredients to make the cake. They kabind the two companies.
Kavince - to move by argument or evidence to belief, agreement, consent, or a course of action: to kavince a jury of his guilt; A test drive will kavince you that this car handles well.
Lopez - Who the fuck knows
Luck of the drawl – to be the result of chance and something that you have no control over: You can't choose who you play against, it's just the luck of the drawl.
Marr Zugburr - an American business magnate and internet entrepreneur known for co-founding the social media website Facebook
Masquergarded - A multi-purpose indoor arena in New York City. It is located in Midtown Manhattan between Seventh and Eighth avenues from 31st to 33rd Street, above Pennsylvania Station.
Mawl Tipple - consisting of, having, or involving several or many individuals, parts, elements, relations, etc.; manifold: I was punched mawl tipple times in the head in my last fight.
Messican - Wife, girlfriend, or significant other which one cheats on.
Michelin Possbowl - A series of American action spy films based on and a follow-on from the television series of the same name created by Bruce Geller.
Moses Malone - an American rapper, singer, and songwriter.
Mount Rulshmoor - a massive sculpture carved into the Black Hills region of South Dakota, and a symbol of America-a symbol of freedom and hope for people from all cultures and backgrounds: George Carlton is defitely on my Mount Rulshmoor of cawlmedy, B.
Munban - A man's hairstyle in which the hair is drawn back into a tight coil at the back or top of the head. https://streamable.com/mqi0s1
Murdler's Roll - A term initially used to describe the devastatingly effective batting line up of the 1927 New York Yankees; now the phrase is commonly used more broadly to refer to any particularly successful and/or powerful group of people.
Nairdiv - a spoken or written account of connected events; a story.
Neggflix - Excellent, Great.
Nelson Ratings - the audience measurement systems operated by Nelson Media Research that seek to determine the audience size and composition of television programming in the United States using a rating system.
Oos - the objective case of we, used as a direct or indirect object: I just don't know why cheeto fingered haters hate on oos, B.
Paige Van Ants - an American mixed martial artist, bare knuckle boxer, professional wrestler, author, and model.
Painguin – any of several flightless, aquatic birds of the family Spheniscidae, of the Southern Hemisphere.
Pancreas - a mixed martial arts promotion company founded in Japan in 1993 by professional wrestlers Masakatsu Funaki and Minoru Suzuki: B, you know Bas Rutten, he's the king of Pancreas.
Passion for Christ – In this 2004 version of Christ's crucifixion, based on the New Testament, Judas expedites the downfall of Jesus (Jim Caviezel) by handing him over to the Roman Empire's handpicked officials.
Paulcast - a digital audio file made available on the internet for downloading to a computer or mobile device, typically available as a series, new installments of which can be received by subscribers automatically.
Paul Patrol – A TV show in which a group of six rescue dogs, led by a tech-savvy boy named Ryder, has adventures.
Pedal Stool - used in reference to a situation in which someone is greatly or uncritically admired.
Peerent – a father or a mother: I’m a beasts of a peerent, B.
Photogrisser - one who takes photographs. Hey photogrisser, ya bloggbusser.
Posive - a good, affirmative, or constructive quality or attribute: People with posive things going on in their life don't troll online and hate on Logan Paul, Chin.
Predictament - a difficult, unpleasant, or embarrassing situation.
Preemum - a bonus, gift, or sum additional to price, wages, interest, or the like: I paid a preemum for the bowltox, but it was worth the squeeze. Ask Jay.
Pre She-Ate – to be grateful or thankful for: The haters just don’t pre she-ate my work ethnic, B.
Research - Watched no less than three YouTube videos on the subject.
Rachael Dozer – an American former civil rights activist known for claiming to be a black woman while being of white-European ancestry and having no known black or African ancestry. https://streamable.com/rjrks
Rail - existing or occurring as fact; actual rather than imaginary, ideal, or fictitious: Madonna had some work done. There’s no way that ass is rail.
Randy Tour – an American actor, former U.S. Army sergeant, retired mixed martial artist and former collegiate and Greco-Roman wrestler recently recorded jacking it to a webcam girl.
Raul Hide - untanned skin of cattle or other animals.
Raulness – the state of being crude: People like Dana White because of his raulness and wit.
Royals Royce - A British luxury car and later an aero-engine manufacturing business established in 1904 in Manchester by the partnership of Charles Rolls and Henry Royce. https://streamable.com/jbw1lv
Sairies - a daily or weekly program with the same cast and format and a continuing story, as a soap opera, situation comedy, or drama: Hey Bri Bri, I heard you got your own TV sairies. Proud of you, bro.
Satan Island - one of the Andaman Islands, an archipelago in the Bay of Bengal. It is home to the Satanalese, a people who have rejected, often violently, any contact with the outside world: Bri Bri, I'm gunna go to Satan Island to turn them on to Black Rifle Cawlfee.
Saul – simple past tense of see: I saul Schaub at the corner of Abbott and Kinney drinking Starbucks cawlfee from a Black Rifle coffee mug.
Santa Clawlz – also known as Saint Nicholas, Kris Kringle, Father Christmas, or simply Santa.
Shashimi – Raul fish cut into very thin slices.
Sherla Cone – A fictional private detective created by British author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Skeery – causing fright or alarm: The Grudge was skeery. Asians are skeery, Chin.
Skeleton System – The framework of the body, consisting of bones and other connective tissues, which protects and supports the body tissues and internal organs.
Slass - a short oblique stroke used in text to separate items of information: Don't forget the forward slass when giving out my promotional web address, B.
Slesser Sloan - An American actor and filmmaker who is best known for his titular roles as Rocky Balboa in the Rocky film series and John Rambo in the Rambo film series.
Smoken Mares - The obscuring or embellishing of the truth of a situation with misleading or irrelevant information.
Souper Ball - The National Football League championship game played annually between the champions of the National and the American Football Conferences. https://streamable.com/h6gll
South Paul - A left-handed fighter.
Susscriber – A person who receives a publication regularly: I've been a suscriber to Butcher Boss for a long time, my man, and I love the meat.
Talnbout - Speaking in regards to; to discuss: You have no idea what you’re talnbout, I’ve done research, my man.
Tares – a drop of the saline, watery fluid continually secreted by the lacrimal glands between the surface of the eye and the eyelid: I shed tares when I heard about Kobe, B. Ask Jay.
Tess - The means by which the presence, quality, or genuineness of anything is determined; a means of trial: Travis Browne was his greatest tess. He failed miserably.
The White Cawlmedy Tour - a comedy troupe, featuring Jeff Foxworthy with three of his comedian friends, Bill Engvall, Ron White, and Larry the Cable Guy.
Thurrpist - a person trained in the use of psychological methods for helping patients overcome psychological problems.
Trugg - a large, heavy motor vehicle used for transporting goods, materials, or troops. Required for a Trugg Walk.
Tweenk - gay slang for a young man in his late teens to early twenties whose traits may include: general physical attractiveness; little to no body or facial hair; a slim to average build; and a youthful appearance that belies an older chronological age.
Twerk - something that produces or tends to produce torsion or rotation; A turning or twisting force: When enough twerk is applied, it will result in a broken arm.
Under Stan – to perceive the meaning of; grasp the idea of; comprehend: You need to under stan that Death Becomes Her deserved an Oscar.
Undertoad - An underwater current flowing strongly away from shore, usually caused by the seaward return of water from waves that have broken against the shore.
Virtual signaling - the intentional action of not so subtly expressing views to make yourself be perceived in a heroic manner. Mainly revolving around societal topics
Wared – Suggesting something supernatural; uncanny; strange: It’s wared how there can be so many haters, B.
War of Nutrition - A term used to describe the sustained process of wearing down an opponent so as to force their physical collapse through continuous losses in personnel, equipment and supplies or to wear them down to such an extent that their will to fight collapses.
Washing Ting - a state in the Pacific Northwest region of the United States: I did a show in Washing Ting, B. 'Cause I'm a roald dawlg.
Water we dune hair - Phrase of exasperation used to denote confusion over a situation or person's actions.
Weir – to carry or have on the body or about the person as a covering, equipment, ornament, or the like: I only weir Yeezys and gay jackets.
Whore - an overwhelming and painful feeling caused by something frightfully shocking, terrifying, or revolting; a shuddering fear: to shrink back from a mutilated corpse in whore
World Wind - a column of air moving rapidly around and around in a cylindrical or funnel shape.
Woof - any of several large carnivorous mammals of the genus Canis, of the dog family Canidae, especially C. lupus, usually hunting in packs, formerly common throughout the Northern Hemisphere but now chiefly restricted to the more unpopulated parts of its range.
Woofenstein - a series of World War II-themed video games created by Muse Software. The first two games in the series were stealth-based and featured a 2D top-down perspective.
Work Ethnic - the principle that hard work is intrinsically virtuous or worthy of reward.
Youfsee Cawlrado - A system of public universities in Colorado.
You Nonymous - not identified by name; of unknown name.
Zair Oh - no quantity or number; naught: I scored a fat zair oh in my last fight with Travis Browne.
2022.12.18 01:38 HyaedesSing (Spoilers Main) Infection, death, and undeath
As he opened the door to the captain's cabin, the dusky woman turned toward him, silent and smiling … but when she saw the red priest at his side her lips drew back from her teeth, and she hissed in sudden fury, like a snake. Victarion gave her the back of his good hand and knocked her to the deck. "Be quiet, woman. Wine for both of us." He turned to the black man. "Did the Vole speak true? You saw my death?"Throughout ADWD, Victarion is slowly dying of an infection. Even the mightiest warrior can be brought low by an improperly treated cut. This isn't a first for the books, Drogo died, and then was brought into a vegetative half-life by such an injury, Gregor is cut with a poisoned blade and spends days dying in agony before probably being brought back as an undead knight. Victarion's own brother, Urrigon, was killed by an infection after losing several fingers in the finger dance, and the resulting poor medical treatment he received resulted in an infection and death.
"That, and more."
"Where? When? Will I die in battle?" His good hand opened and closed. "If you lie to me, I will split your head open like a melon and let the monkeys eat your brains."
"Your death is with us now, my lord. Give me your hand."
"My hand. What do you know of my hand?"
This resulted in Victarion's anti-maester attitude and his refusal to get his infection suitably treated until its too late. By the time he is having this conversation with Moqorro, the infection is already spreading far beyond just his hand, given it is turning black and green, and by the time he is showing it to moqorro attempting to clench it is causing a pain so intense it is making him almost throw up and barely able to speak. His maester, the one Victarion allows to be raped and killed, tells Victarion that he has acted too late, and that the hand must be cut off to save the rest. Victarion, in his paranoia of both Euron and Maesters, refuses this treatment. And frankly, given the description of the wound, it really is the only course of action by this point. Even bread moulds are beyond curing this.
Along comes Moqorro, a Red Priest from the Temple of Light in Volantis. He then says:
"My hand. What do you know of my hand?"
"I have seen you in the nightfires, Victarion Greyjoy. You come striding through the flames stern and fierce, your great axe dripping blood, blind to the tentacles that grasp you at wrist and neck and ankle, the black strings that make you dance."
"Dance?" Victarion bristled. "Your nightfires lie. I was not made for dancing, and I am no man's puppet." He yanked off his glove and shoved his bad hand at the priest's face. "Here. Is this what you wanted?" The new linen was already discolored by blood and pus. "He had a rose on his shield, the man who gave this to me. I scratched my hand on a thorn."
"Even the smallest scratch can prove mortal, lord Captain, but if you will allow me, I will heal this. I will need a blade. Silver would be best, but iron will serve. A brazier as well. I must needs light a fire. There will be pain. Terrible pain, such as you have never known. But when we are done, your hand will be returned to you."
They are all the same, these magic men. The mouse warned me of pain as well. "I am ironborn, priest. I laugh at pain. You will have what you require … but if you fail, and my hand is not healed, I will cut your throat myself and give you to the sea."
Moqorro bowed, his dark eyes shining. "So be it."
All seems... I hesitate to use the words, "normal" enough. We can argue about Silver over Iron, with silver being typically a metal associated with healing, but iron, especially cold iron, being associated in asoiaf with anti-Other properties.
But then, we have the most damning, so far, of our paragraphs. This one is huge.
The iron captain was not seen again that day, but as the hours passed the crew of his Iron Victory reported hearing the sound of wild laughter coming from the captain's cabin, laughter deep and dark and mad, and when Longwater Pyke and Wulfe One-Eye tried the cabin door they found it barred. Later singing was heard, a strange high wailing song in a tongue the maester said was High Valyrian. That was when the monkeys left the ship, screeching as they leapt into the water.
This is one of two times in ASOIAF where the perspective changes mid-chapter. From limited third person to a far broader omniscient narrator. It's as if Victarion's mind has been removed from the world for a while, and we are unable to look through his eyes. We, like Wulfe and Pyke, are not allowed to see or understand this ritual, only see its shadow. I'd consider this the strongest initial evidence that there is far more to this "healing" than simply burning away the dead flesh or anything like that. Or at least, there appears to be.
The only other time this shift in perspective occurs is when Mirri-Maz Dur is casting her spell upon Drogo. The two events are very, very heavily paralleled. Same imagery, same desired result (to save the life of a man dying from infection), same shift in perspective, different outcomes. Nobody enters the cabin; multiple people enter the tent.
So, did Dany interrupt a ritual to kill Drogo and resurrect him in his own body? Had Jorah not brought Dany into the tent, would Drogo yet live with a burning scar across his chest, and molten rock in his heart? Who could say, but in Drogo's case, he is brought back from the brink of death into a vegative state, unable to stand, unable to clean himself, unable even to think. When Victarion emerges from the cabin, he has a molten arm, and can clearly think as much as Victarion usually can.
So, maybe he was just cured? And Drogo was too, but only partially?
Maybe, not impossible. However, we know of no other Fire magic known to heal. Surely if the Red priests had the art of healing infections they'd use that in all their preaching. They'd rave about it, use it to gather followers. What we do know they have is the kiss of life, the kiss of flame that brings men back from the dead. Except there's a reason they don't advertise this magic. Because it doesn't heal; injuries and scars remain, and the cost of resurrection is the ressurectee's soul. Bit by bit, their memories and life are gnawed away by the flames. It is necromancy, not healing. So I posit that Moqorro killed Victarion, then brought him back as a fire wight. That was the easy part. Binding his arm in flames, contorting and strengthening the dead flesh and hiding the rot beneath, that was where the ululating, song and terror come in.
Is there any proof? No, course not, this is ASOIAF. Worse, ASOIAF magic. This entire theory is very, in Glidus' words, "vibes based", but there is always prophecy and portent "evidence" to maybe back it up.
One of Dany's many house of the Undying visions reads as follows:
A corpse standing at the prow of a ship with bright eyes and grey smiling lips'Obviously, there are a billion possible interpretations, but given that so far Victarion is the Sailor most involved in the coming Dany plot, I'll stick with him. "Grey smiling lips" is, of course, a "Grey Joy". Now, "Smiling" is an adjective typically tied to Euron, and there's no doubt there are shadows of Euron all across the Victarion story, but Euron is not yet a corpse (bar certain greyscale/why Euron doesn't age theories). Victarion was a dying man heading towards Dany at the prow of a ship, and maybe he is indeed just a corpse, not a dying man, but a dead one. Standing at the prow of a ship does not necessarily mean in command of the ship, but could mean he is the figurehead itself, something attached to a ship for good luck, while its real captain stands at the rear castle, watching, commanding, smiling with his own Grey Joy.
There are strange goings on with the dusky woman and the Moqorro of Victarion's chapters. Compared to Tyrion's description of him, Moqorro in Victarion's chapters doesn't merely have dark brown skin that Tyrion describes him as having, but pitch black skin with tattoos in flames. The Moqorro of Victarion's chapters motives for helping Victarion are, in a word, suspect, as is his own survival at sea for ten days. And entire posts could be written on the dusky woman and who she really is (my favourite is that she's one of Euron's tongueless mutes, and therefore part of the Silent Hivemind of Euron's, and Euron is vicariously being fucked by his brother because that's the exact kind of fucked up shit both Euron and GRRM love). With these bizarre elements in mind, we can begin to possibly assign motive to the act. Obviously, Euron needs Victarion, at least for now. He strangely trusts Victarion to carry out his plan, despite being fully aware of how much Victarion hates Euron. It may be as simple as Hornbinder is bound to Euron, and won't work for Victarion himself, but even then Euron entrusted Victarion with the best of the Ironborn fleet at a time when he could really use those ships. If it were merely as simple as blowing the horn while in Meereen, Euron could've done it himself when he was there during ACOK/ASOS, or he could've sent a single ship, with a trusted crew, rather than an entire fleet.
However, if Euron were to somehow ensnare the mind of Victarion, he could save the Dany cause, get her to Westeros, bind a dragon to himself and get his best fleet back, and have in his thrall a decent naval commander. But enthralling someone is pretty difficult. I assume there's more that goes into the Euron Hivemind than just slicing off someone's tongue. If Aeron's WOTW chapter is anything to go by, it may take months or weeks of torture and breaking them down, something Euron likely doesn't want to do to Victarion when he can use him in the interim. However, fire wights in ASOIAF are obsessed with a particular goal in mind. Usually something connected with their death. With Beric, it was a single minded determination in "The King's Peace" or "The King's justice", when the king he served was dead, was a terrible king beside, and he now served no king. With Stoneheart, it was vengeance. To kill every Frey, every Bolton, every Lannister. With Victarion, it's the Horn. Once Victarion's arm is made molten, Victarion becomes truly obsessed with Dragonbinder.
"A dragon's horn from Valyria," said Victarion. "Aye, it's cursed. I never said it wasn't." He brushed his hand across one of the red gold bands and the ancient glyph seemed to sing beneath his fingertips. For half a heartbeat he wanted nothing so much as to sound the horn himself. Euron was a fool to give me this, it is a precious thing, and powerful. With this I'll win the Seastone Chair, and then the Iron Throne. With this I'll win the world.
Look at that. It is a precious thing is full on gollum mode. Compare and contrast it with an earlier conversation Victarion has with his brother.
"Who?"
"The man who blew my dragon horn. When the maester cut him open, his lungs were charred as black as soot."
Victarion shuddered. "Show me this dragon's egg."
Victarion quickly moves the conversation on, caring little about the horn or its dead blower. It unsettles him, but he's quick to see instead something he understands. Living Victarion is practical, wants something that is more obviously powerful, less esoteric and magical and dangerous. The Victarion with the molten arm believes the Horn to be the greatest thing he has ever laid his eyes upon, it is the key to his ambition, an ambition he hasn't really shown before. Single-minded determination, like that of Beric and Lady Stoneheart.
Infection and undeath recurr a lot in ASOIAF. There's Drogo, neither truly alive nor truly dead in the Grass Sea. There's the Mountain, who had a long torturous death via poison-inflicted infection, only to (98% probably) be brought back as a silent walking behemoth of a corpse. There's the stone men of Chroyanne, the closest to modern zombies ASOIAF has, even more than the Wights. And perhaps, just maybe, there's Victarion Greyjoy, the first POV character to die on screen midway through a chapter.
2022.12.03 00:33 KingsguardDoesntFlee Revisiting the Blackfyre Theory, a Complete Analysis (Part 2)
Second part of my analysis of the Blackfyre Theory. You can find the first part at this link.
Pros: there are various hints like Varys' head shaved like a Egg which parallels Egg's story, or the sorcerer's story which he tell Tyrion that could mean he's got Kingsblood.
Cons: the hints could just be red herrings since Varys doesn't need to be a Blackfyre to oppose Targaryens, or he could be a Blackfyre/Brightflame and still it wouldn't imply he's Aegon's uncle.
I won't develop this further for the moment since I feel it is an addition and not really necessary for proving or disproving the theory.
Pro: the published and projected novellas would expand and rely a lot on the Blackfyres mythos, and many fans agree it would be of little purpose if no Blackfyre ever showed up in the current time. I also love the fact that Aegon regnal number, VI, represents both him descending from the Targaryens and being Aegon VI in the Taragryen succession, and the Blackfyre, with the VI representing the fact that he's the 6th Blackfyre King.
Cons: it doesn't really prove Aegon is a Blackfyre descendant or he's not Rhaegar's son, but it's honestly a good point narratively speaking.
Pro: it's a good point narratively speaking, since having two secret princes and two "true heirs" could be an overkill. Intoducing Aegon as Rhaegar's son and Jon as a bastard could be a good inverse parallel if they are actually revealed to be a Blackfyre (Targaryen bastards) and Rhaegar's son.
Cons: this point gives for granted R+L=J, though I believe to be canon-level. It also isn't necessary to parallel Aegon and Jon since Jon's story is a parallel to Daenerys' since the very first book, it doesn't have to be in parallel to Aegon's plot. Also it could be a further twist to the story if the projected paths for Jon and Dany were both embodied by Young Griff.
Pro: a Blackfyre is no doubt a dark dragon. If the adjectives are to be read in pairs, Young, false and dark could describe YG's status as Blackfyre. Young is his own alias, false either for being the descendant of a bastard branch or for being in disguise, dark for being a black dragon.
Cons: someone calls the Blackfyres false dragons, but it's wrong in my opinion. Daemon I descended from the Dragonstone Targaryens both from his paternal grandfather Viserys II, his maternal granfather Aegon III and his maternal grandmother Queen Daenaera Velaryon. This does make him a true dragon in my opinion. Also it's worth to note that he was effectively legitimized, so the false = bastard argument is not really good. So the fact that Moqorro sees a false dragon doesn't necessarly mean he sees a Blackfyre.
There are obiously other interpretations of Moqorro's words, one for example associates Jon to the dark dragon since he's a dragon in black (the Night's Watch colour). Since this is a vision and very up to different readings, I wouldn't count it as a strong proof for one side or the other.
Pros: the black-red dragon dichotomy is quite obvious in this tale. The fact that the Clanking Dragon's story is so tied to the Blackfyres' rebellion, and the very same mentions of them by septon Meribald, is a strenghtening point for the Blackfyre interpretation, which, if correct, predicts that Aegon is a Blackfyre and also one of the three heads of the dragon.
Cons: the story could obviously be interpretated in other ways:
Pros: since cyvasse has a high symbolic value, this argument is quite valid on the fact that Doran's dragon is a black dragon since he has a piece of cyvasse of the very same colour.
Cons: the piece is only used to represent the dragon and the colour is not important in this context. Onyx can in fact be of different colours, red included, and also Doran is skeptical of YG's claim that he's his nephew.
Tyrion X, ASOS;
Cons: while parallel exist, they're not literal and Aegon leading the Golden company to Westeros like Bittersteel and Maelys did doesn't really prove the fact that he's a Blackfyre.
Cons: the context in which the story is inserted is functional, since it is a joke that obviously refers to Davos, as the man also gets. So at face value it can be considered a stretch to link it to Aegon.
That being said, it still has some fitting parallel with our Prince's story.
Pros: Varys knows Kevan and Pycelle aren't going to leave the room alive, so he has no reasons to lie to dying men. Why does he tell them though? Well, he may want to spite them, even though he tells the opposite when he shots Kevan:
Cons: there are actually some points against this tale, which at least give the reader room for suspect:
Varys hinting at Rhaenys being dead, but not Aegon
A further proof of Varys being real on Aegon's story is a sentence in Tyrion IV, ACOK:
Pros: Varys saying babe is his subconcious making him say the truth and revealing that only one babe died with Elia, and that's Rhaenys. It's a quite strong point.
Cons: counter-arguments for this points vary from the fact that it could be a typo, an honest mistake from George or just Varys misleading. It's quite a good catch in my opinion if Aegon is in fact true.
Pros: the story of Tommen leaving King's Landing in disguisa looks a lot like the tale Young Griff and Griff tell Tyrion to explain how Aegon is still alive and has been able to hide all this time.
Cons: the story could very much be a red herring, since we also know that the plot is easily stopped by Tyrion who takes the matter in his own hands, so one could doubt that Connington has been able to hide YG as his son all this time when Tyrion immediately got their identities right after boarding the Shy Maid.
Pros: The fact that this seem low probable to happen since just two characters would know his identity (Varys and Illyrio) makes for a strong point narratively, since if there is little room to expose him it's likely because there is nothing to expose.
Cons: his identity could either be revealed or never revealed and only hinted if he's a Blackfyre. In the first case it could happen when Daenerys meets Illyrio in Pentos on her way back to Westeros or with another sort of omniscient character (Bloodraven/Bran).
Pros: a cloth dragon, a dragon controlled by a mummer during a spectacle is oviously a fake dragon, not a real flesh and blood one, as was Tanselle's dragon. The fact that Daenerys sees him in the "slayer of lies" part of the prophecy of the HotU, has convinced many that she has to slay the lie that he and Connington tell, so that he's a Targaryen when he's actually a Blackfyre.
"Mummers use them in their follies, to give the heroes something to fight." While Aegon doesn't indeed look like a villain, after he conquers the throne he's the villain in Daenery's path, but for the Westerosi she'll be the villain, and when she's defeated the mummer's dragon, it will be the realization of an inversion of themes, since in most people's eyes, here the hero (Daenerys) is the villain, and the mummer's dragon is the hero. And we know that GRRM likes to play with the classical fantasy tropes and their subversion/inversion.
Cons: the mummer's dragon, may actually just refer to the fact that Aegon is controlled by a mummer, Varys, which we know is called like that a couple of times since he previously worked with actors. The cloth dragon could have the same meaning, a cloth dragon is a dragon controlled by a mummer or it could be the Targaryen banner made of cloth.
While I think that the Mummer's Dragon argument doesn't necessarly imply that Aegon is a Targaryen or a Blackfyre, it is important in understanding Young Griff's plot.
With this in mind, it doesn't really matter who Young Griff really is. He's a Targaryen for the narrative, the claim, those who are still hopeful in a dragon restoration. He can be a Blackfyre for Myles Toyne and the answer to his crusade. He can be a Valyrian looking boy from Lys or Pentos or Volantis who's simply grown with the idea that he has to exercise power for his people since they're in the very end the source of his power. He's a liar in Daenerys' eyes since he'd be an obstacle in her claim. He can be hope, the fulfillment of Doran's desire of "vengeance, justice, fire and blood". He's the biggest shadow on Westeros at this moment, since many could have a reason to go to him (bad ruling from Cersei, his saviour and perfect King aura, his story etc..).
What can overshadow his own shadow? The biggest shadow, the words he bears with his name. Fire and Blood, Daenerys and her dragons.
Ultimately, Young Griff may fall after succeding in conquering a good part of the Realm and being cheered by the people ("A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd" the Targaryen banner being waved during his coronation) and Varys will probably fall with him in my opinion.
In this light, I think we may actually never have an in-world confirmation of his identity. There are many hints for one side or the other (that's our choice to adhere to one of them) and others will be dropped in the future book, but I think a 100% clear confirmation is not going to happen.
Aside from this, I strongly believe he has dragonblood, trough one way (Daemon I) or the other, Daeron II) or even both for all that matters. It looks like dragonblood is in fact a very important factor for a dragonrider, and given the high symbolism existing on the Second Dance of the Dragons, I think Aegon is going to be a dragonrider for a period, even though dragonblood is not the only requirement to fly a dragon (Quentyn's inverse hero story).
So is Varys' trick effective? Is he right about the true nature of power?
In my opinion he is, and he will have a lot of success along with Aegon's conquest since he will have finally been capable of creating the perfect shadow on the Throne (isn't Aegon a very small man with a large shadow afterall?).
Why though? Does he really want the good of the realm? Couldn't he achieve that with Rhaegar?
As much as Rhaegar was promising and beloved, he wasn't Varys' creature, while Aegon has been shaped from infancy to adulthood by Illyrio and Varys, he's their puppet, the mummer's dragon. In their plans, they had to destroy all possible rivalry to Aegon, so Daenerys and Viserys, Tywin and Kevan, the stability of the realm. His doings will take revenge on him though, since Daenerys will surely want revenge for being betrayed by Illyrio and Varys in favour of Aegon.
TL;DR: various points in favour and against the Blackfyre theory. The meaning of Aegon's story in the plot of the next book.
Credits: I'd like to thank u/The_Coconut_God for this post, it's been very helpful while writing this. Also u/galanix for his Blackfyre theory.
submitted by KingsguardDoesntFlee to pureasoiaf [link] [comments]
Varys Blackfyre
This is a point often used in the Blackfyre theories to tie Illyrio and Varys even more. Varys would be a Blackfyre, brother to Serra and brother-in-law to Illyrio. There are some circustantial proofs of him not being a Targaryen loyalist since he undermined both Aerys and Rhaegar.Pros: there are various hints like Varys' head shaved like a Egg which parallels Egg's story, or the sorcerer's story which he tell Tyrion that could mean he's got Kingsblood.
Cons: the hints could just be red herrings since Varys doesn't need to be a Blackfyre to oppose Targaryens, or he could be a Blackfyre/Brightflame and still it wouldn't imply he's Aegon's uncle.
I won't develop this further for the moment since I feel it is an addition and not really necessary for proving or disproving the theory.
Dunk & Egg, tales of the Blackfyres
While the first D&E novella, The Hedge Knight, contained no references to the Blackfyre rebellion, The Sworn Sword and The Mistery Knight were full of it, with the latter being set during the second rebellion at the tourney at Whitewalls. Since we know some plot points of future D%E stories, we can imagine that Haegon I, Daemon III, Bittersteel and the Golden Company and Aenys Blackfyre would have appeared in some novels. So are the D&E the tie-in story of YG's ancestors? Is this the main role they have in the Asoiaf canon?Pro: the published and projected novellas would expand and rely a lot on the Blackfyres mythos, and many fans agree it would be of little purpose if no Blackfyre ever showed up in the current time. I also love the fact that Aegon regnal number, VI, represents both him descending from the Targaryens and being Aegon VI in the Taragryen succession, and the Blackfyre, with the VI representing the fact that he's the 6th Blackfyre King.
Cons: it doesn't really prove Aegon is a Blackfyre descendant or he's not Rhaegar's son, but it's honestly a good point narratively speaking.
Jon and Daenerys' stories
Many supporters of the Blackfyre theory support it by stating that if Aegon was real, it would be too much like a second Jon's story: secret son of Rhaegar hidden for all his life and saved during Robert's Rebellion and Dany's: last heir to House Targaryen and to the Iron Throne who's going to Westeros to claim her birthright.Pro: it's a good point narratively speaking, since having two secret princes and two "true heirs" could be an overkill. Intoducing Aegon as Rhaegar's son and Jon as a bastard could be a good inverse parallel if they are actually revealed to be a Blackfyre (Targaryen bastards) and Rhaegar's son.
Cons: this point gives for granted R+L=J, though I believe to be canon-level. It also isn't necessary to parallel Aegon and Jon since Jon's story is a parallel to Daenerys' since the very first book, it doesn't have to be in parallel to Aegon's plot. Also it could be a further twist to the story if the projected paths for Jon and Dany were both embodied by Young Griff.
Moqorro's Visions in the flames
In Tyrion VIII, ADWD, we have an interesting dialogue between Tyrion and the Red Priest Moqorro:"Someone told me that the night is dark and full of terrors. What do you see in those flames?""Dragons," Moqorro said in the Common Tongue of Westeros. He spoke it very well, with hardly a trace of accent. No doubt that was one reason the high priest Benerro had chosen him to bring the faith of R'hllor to Daenerys Targaryen. "Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And you. A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of all.""Snarling? An amiable fellow like me?" Tyrion was almost flattered. And no doubt that is just what he intends. Every fool loves to hear that he's important. "Perhaps it was Penny you saw. We're almost of a size."I'm not going to give an interpretation of Moqorro's visions, I'm just going to highlight the "true and false" and the "bright and dark" parts. The false dragon is usually associated to a Blackfyre, as is the dark. And since Tyrion has already met YG, the dark or false dragon could be him.
Pro: a Blackfyre is no doubt a dark dragon. If the adjectives are to be read in pairs, Young, false and dark could describe YG's status as Blackfyre. Young is his own alias, false either for being the descendant of a bastard branch or for being in disguise, dark for being a black dragon.
Cons: someone calls the Blackfyres false dragons, but it's wrong in my opinion. Daemon I descended from the Dragonstone Targaryens both from his paternal grandfather Viserys II, his maternal granfather Aegon III and his maternal grandmother Queen Daenaera Velaryon. This does make him a true dragon in my opinion. Also it's worth to note that he was effectively legitimized, so the false = bastard argument is not really good. So the fact that Moqorro sees a false dragon doesn't necessarly mean he sees a Blackfyre.
There are obiously other interpretations of Moqorro's words, one for example associates Jon to the dark dragon since he's a dragon in black (the Night's Watch colour). Since this is a vision and very up to different readings, I wouldn't count it as a strong proof for one side or the other.
The Clanking Dragon
In Brienne VII, AFFC, we hear Septon Meribald telling us the story of the Crossorad Inn's black dragon:When Podrick asked the name of the inn where they hoped to spend the night, Septon Meribald seized upon the question eagerly, perhaps to take their minds off the grisly sentinels along the roadside. "The Old Inn, some call it. There has been an inn there for many hundreds of years, though this inn was only raised during the reign of the first Jaehaerys, the king who built the kingsroad. Jaehaerys and his queen slept there during their journeys, it is said. For a time the inn was known as the Two Crowns in their honor, until one innkeep built a bell tower, and changed it to the Bellringer Inn. Later it passed to a crippled knight named Long Jon Heddle, who took up ironworking when he grew too old to fight. He forged a new sign for the yard, a three-headed dragon of black iron that he hung from a wooden post. The beast was so big it had to be made in a dozen pieces, joined with rope and wire. When the wind blew it would clank and clatter, so the inn became known far and wide as the Clanking Dragon.""Is the dragon sign still there?" asked Podrick."No," said Septon Meribald. "When the smith's son was an old man, a bastard son of the fourth Aegon rose up in rebellion against his trueborn brother and took for his sigil a black dragon. These lands belonged to Lord Darry then, and his lordship was fiercely loyal to the king. The sight of the black iron dragon made him wroth, so he cut down the post, hacked the sign into pieces, and cast them into the river. One of the dragon's heads washed up on the Quiet Isle many years later, though by that time it was red with rust. The innkeep never hung another sign, so men forgot the dragon and took to calling the place the River Inn. In those days, the Trident flowed beneath its back door, and half its rooms were built out over the water. Guests could throw a line out their window and catch trout, it's said. There was a ferry landing here as well, so travelers could cross to Lord Harroway's Town and Whitewalls."This story tells us about a black dragon cast away and reappeared years later as a red dragon. The most common interpretation is a theory in favour of the Blackfyre theory: Aegon Blackfyre, a black dragon, is hidden and has grown out of the Golden Company for all his life, and he's now reemerged as Aegon Targaryen, a red dragon.
Pros: the black-red dragon dichotomy is quite obvious in this tale. The fact that the Clanking Dragon's story is so tied to the Blackfyres' rebellion, and the very same mentions of them by septon Meribald, is a strenghtening point for the Blackfyre interpretation, which, if correct, predicts that Aegon is a Blackfyre and also one of the three heads of the dragon.
Cons: the story could obviously be interpretated in other ways:
- Jon snow is a black dragon who is reborn free of his vows (and free of the Black clothes of the NW) and he joins the Seven Kingdom again as a red dragon.
- In the context of this chapter, it refers to the Elder Brother and the Hound, now Gravedigger (which the red with rust line symbolises better) and the bad things that happen in wars (First Blackfyre Rebellion/War of the Five Kings).
- It could refer to the Golden Company: men cast away because they're the supporters of the Black dragon, now returning as supporters of the Red Dragon.
Onyx Dragon
From The Princess in the Tower, ADWD:Her father plucked up a cyvasse piece. "I must know how you learned that Quentyn was abroad. Your brother went with Cletus Yronwood, Maester Kedry, and three of Lord Yronwood's best young knights on a long and perilous voyage, with an uncertain welcome at its end. He has gone to bring us back our heart's desire."She narrowed her eyes. "What is our heart's desire?""Vengeance." His voice was soft, as if he were afraid that someone might be listening. "Justice." Prince Doran pressed the onyx dragon into her palm with his swollen, gouty fingers, and whispered, "Fire and blood."and Arianne I, TWOW:
Arianne read the letter thrice, then rolled it up and tucked it back into her sleeve. A dragon has returned to Westeros, but not the dragon my father was expecting. Nowhere in the words was there a mention of Daenerys Stormborn... nor of Prince Quentyn, her brother, who had been sent to seek the dragon queen. **The princess remembered how her father had pressed the onyx cyvasse piece into her palm, his voice hoarse and low as he confessed his plan. A long and perilous voyage, with an uncertain welcome at its end, he had said. He has gone to bring us back our heart's desire. Vengeance. Justice. Fire and blood.**Fire and blood was what Jon Connington (if indeed it was him) was offering as well. Or was it? "He comes with sellswords, but no dragons," Prince Doran had told her, the night the raven came. "The Golden Company is the best and largest of the free companies, but ten thousand mercenaries cannot hope to win the Seven Kingdoms. Elia's son... I would weep for joy if some part of my sister had survived, but what proof do we have that this is Aegon?" His voice broke when he said that. "Where are the dragons?" he asked. "Where is Daenerys?" and Arianne knew that he was really saying, "Where is my son?"From the sample chapters we have from TWOW, we can assume Dorne is going to side with Aegon in his conquest, and not Daenerys, since she may also be given the responisibility of Quentyn's death. And the one time Doran is talking about his plan to Arianne, he presses into her palm a piece of cyvasse, a onyx dragon or better, a black dragon.
Pros: since cyvasse has a high symbolic value, this argument is quite valid on the fact that Doran's dragon is a black dragon since he has a piece of cyvasse of the very same colour.
Cons: the piece is only used to represent the dragon and the colour is not important in this context. Onyx can in fact be of different colours, red included, and also Doran is skeptical of YG's claim that he's his nephew.
Circular History
There are some reference in Asoiaf to past historical events recurring in the main plot.Tyrion X, ASOS;
"Oh, surely." It all goes back and back, Tyrion thought, to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance on in our steads. "Well, Prince Rhaegar married Elia of Dorne, not Cersei Lannister of Casterly Rock. So it would seem your mother won that tilt."The Soiled Knight, AFFC:
"Have you ever seen the arms of House Toland of Ghost Hill?" He had to think a moment. "A dragon eating its own tail?" "The dragon is time. It has no beginning and no ending, so all things come round again. Anders Yronwood is Criston Cole reborn.Pros: even if GRRM has said that parallels between F&B and ASOIAF are unintentional, there are tons of them so unconsciously or consciously, he does use them. Obsiously history doesn't literally repeat itself, like the Second Dance won't be the same as the first, but having the Blackfyre theme and the Blackfyre mythos tied with YG's story may parallel his conquest to others Blackfyre Rebellions.
Cons: while parallel exist, they're not literal and Aegon leading the Golden company to Westeros like Bittersteel and Maelys did doesn't really prove the fact that he's a Blackfyre.
The Ape Targaryen story
In Davos II, ADWD Ser Axell Florent tells the story of a Targaryen Prince who dressed an ape with his son's clothes after the kid's death, and proposed the ape in marriage to lords, but the ape, albeit being presented as a Targaryen Prince, is still an ape.Queen Selyse had feasted Salla and his captains, the night before the fleet had set sail. Cotter Pyke had joined them, and four other high officers of the Night's Watch. Princess Shireen had been allowed to attend as well. As the salmon was being served, Ser Axell Florent had entertained the table with the tale of a Targaryen princeling who kept an ape as a pet. This prince liked to dress the creature in his dead son's clothes and pretend he was a child, Ser Axell claimed, and from time to time he would propose marriages for him. The lords so honored always declined politely, but of course they did decline. "Even dressed in silk and velvet, an ape remains an ape," Ser Axell said. "A wiser prince would have known that you cannot send an ape to do a man's work." The queen's men laughed, and several grinned at Davos. I am no ape, he'd thought. I am as much a lord as you, and a better man. But the memory still stung.Pros: a subtle reading of this passage can be done by comparing the ape to Aegon, who's being dressed as a Taragryen Prince with silk clothes (the same clothes Illyrio has in his manse that belonged to a kid, presumably Young Griff) and presented as a real Prince, and also proposed in marriage to lords (like Illyrio does with Daenerys).
Cons: the context in which the story is inserted is functional, since it is a joke that obviously refers to Davos, as the man also gets. So at face value it can be considered a stretch to link it to Aegon.
That being said, it still has some fitting parallel with our Prince's story.
ARGUMENTS AGAINST
Disclaimer: in this section I'm writing pros as arguments in favour of the Targaryen theory, cons in favour of the Blackfyre theory, I hope it's not too confusing.Varys's story to Kevan
In the Epilogue of ADWD we have an interesting dialogue between Varys and Kevan, in a chapter that culminates in the Lion and Pycelle's deaths."I thought the crossbow fitting. You shared so much with Lord Tywin, why not that? Your niece will think the Tyrells had you murdered, mayhaps with the connivance of the Imp. The Tyrells will suspect her. Someone somewhere will find a way to blame the Dornishmen. Doubt, division, and mistrust will eat the very ground beneath your boy king, whilst Aegon raises his banner above Storm's End and the lords of the realm gather round him.""Aegon?" For a moment he did not understand. Then he remembered. A babe swaddled in a crimson cloak, the cloth stained with his blood and brains. "Dead. He's dead.""No." The eunuch's voice seemed deeper. "He is here. Aegon has been shaped for rule since before he could walk. He has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, he has studied history and law and poetry. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. He has lived with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. Tommen has been taught that kingship is his right. Aegon knows that kingship is his duty, that a king must put his people first, and live and rule for them."Kevan Lannister tried to cry out … to his guards, his wife, his brother … but the words would not come. Blood dribbled from his mouth. He shuddered violently."I am sorry." Varys wrung his hands. "You are suffering, I know, yet here I stand going on like some silly old woman. Time to make an end to it." The eunuch pursed his lips and gave a little whistle.While murdering Kevan, Varys unfolds his true plans and alliagiance. He's killing Kevan "for the realm" as he's previously stated, in the sense that Kevan is doing too good of a job repairing Cersei's doings therefore he must be killed in order to clear the way for Aegon. The fact that he confesses to a dying man is seen as a very strong proof against the Blackfyre theory.
Pros: Varys knows Kevan and Pycelle aren't going to leave the room alive, so he has no reasons to lie to dying men. Why does he tell them though? Well, he may want to spite them, even though he tells the opposite when he shots Kevan:
"Varys?"The eunuch set the crossbow down. "Ser Kevan. Forgive me if you can. I bear you no ill will. This was not done from malice. It was for the realm. For the children."Cons: could Varys be lying? What reasons does he have to lie to a dead man? Here are a couple of possible explanation:
- It's a techical linguistic truth since Aegon is alive and indeed he has undergone that training he tells about, but simply the boy called Aegon is not the Aegon Kevan was thinking about. Honestly, even though Varys often tells ambiguous truths, it's a very stretchy reading of the chapter in my opinion.
- There was a double baby swap and Varys isn't aware of it, only Illyrio who swapped the real Aegon with Young Griff, so he doesn't know he's lying. Again, a bit reaching.
- He lied because he wanted, in a very sadistic way, to throw mud on Tywin's (and the Lannisters by extension) legacy since he's saying he wasn't even capable of killing two kids in the end.
- Since there are many children in the room, Varys' little birds, he lies to prevent them from hearing the truth. This makes little sense since having the world know the boy as Aegon Targaryen is exactly what Varys is trying to do.
The Baby Swap
In Tyrion VI, ADWD, Young Griff tells Tyrion what happened during the sack of King's Landing and how he was supposedly saved:"A true friend, our Lord Connington. He must be, to remain so fiercely loyal to the grandson of the king who took his lands and titles and sent him into exile. A pity about that. Elsewise Prince Rhaegar's friend might have been on hand when my father sacked King's Landing, to save Prince Rhaegar's precious little son from getting his royal brains dashed out against a wall."The lad flushed. "That was not me. I told you. That was some tanner's son from Pisswater Bend whose mother died birthing him. His father sold him to Lord Varys for a jug of Arbor gold. He had other sons but had never tasted Arbor gold. Varys gave the Pisswater boy to my lady mother and carried me away.""Aye." Tyrion moved his elephants. "And when the pisswater prince was safely dead, the eunuch smuggled you across the narrow sea to his fat friend the cheesemonger, who hid you on a poleboat and found an exile lord willing to call himself your father. It does make for a splendid story, and the singers will make much of your escape once you take the Iron Throne ... assuming that our fair Daenerys takes you for her consort."Pros: we know for a fact that baby swaps are definitely a thing in ASoIaF, as we've previously seen with Jon swapping Dalla and Gilly's babies. Also, who better than Varys could pull something like this? He's got a wide spying network, he surely has contacts ready to smuggle the prince across the Narrow Sea, and as we can see trough the five books, he knows his way trough the secret tunnels of the Red Keep very well.
Cons: there are actually some points against this tale, which at least give the reader room for suspect:
- Tyrion himself seems skeptical when he hears the story and he's also not convinced by someone else on the Shy Maid, Septa Lemore.
- There are literally no witnesses. With the Tower of Joy and R+L=J theory for example, there is Howland Reed that's still alive and can (will) confirm it. Here we only have Varys, and he doesn't come as the most believable person.
- Why could Varys go leagues with a plan to save Aegon, when his actions clearly put him as a Targaryen's opponent? He simultaneously offers bad guidance to Aerys and fuels his paranoia and mental illness and also undermines Rhaegar's status by uncovering his plans, like Harrenhal. Why would this very man be so interested in saving Aegon? So that he one day could take the throne trough him by declaring he's Rhaegar's son? That's something half of the Lyseni boys could achieve.
- If Gregor hadn't smashed Aegon's head Varys plan would have been at risk of exposeure, so it seems a bit fortunate for someone so pragmatic (or maybe he counted in Tywin wanting to cover up the fact anyway to gain Robert's favour?).
- "Varys gave the Pisswater boy to my lady mother and carried me away." This sentence is problematic in many fans' opinion (mine too). Would Elia really not recognise her own son? Or if she knew, would she really have been ok with Varys saving Aegon and not Rhaenys? I mean, if there is possibility of smuggling out a toddler, another baby child shouldn't be that much of added difficult. Especially for the fact that Rhaenys was already at least sentient and she understood what was going on, wouldn't Elia be more inclined to have her live rather than Aegon (like Helaena with Jaehaerys and Maelor).
Put them in crimson cloaks and lion helms, they'll look no different from any other guardsmen.So once his head is smashed and he's put in the crimson cloak, the baby could be anyone, he just had the function to please Robert.
Varys hinting at Rhaenys being dead, but not Aegon
A further proof of Varys being real on Aegon's story is a sentence in Tyrion IV, ACOK:
"The only puzzle is what you might have offered for his allegiance. The prince is a sentimental man, and he still mourns his sister Elia and her sweet babe."While talking with Tyrion about Doran, Varys says that the prince is still mourning Elia and her babe, not babes.
Pros: Varys saying babe is his subconcious making him say the truth and revealing that only one babe died with Elia, and that's Rhaenys. It's a quite strong point.
Cons: counter-arguments for this points vary from the fact that it could be a typo, an honest mistake from George or just Varys misleading. It's quite a good catch in my opinion if Aegon is in fact true.
Tommen's escape before the Battle of the Blackwaters
At the beginning of Tyrion X, ACOK, we get to know of a plot, orchestrated"The queen intends to send Prince Tommen away." They knelt alone in the hushed dimness of the sept, surrounded by shadows and flickering candles, but even so Lancel kept his voice low. "Lord Gyles will take him to Rosby, and conceal him there in the guise of a page. They plan to darken his hair and tell everyone that he is the son of a hedge knight.""Is it the mob she fears? Or me?""Both," said Lancel."Ah." Tyrion had known nothing of this ploy. Had Varys's little birds failed him for once? Even spiders must nod, he supposed . . . or was the eunuch playing a deeper and more subtle game than he knew? "You have my thanks, ser."This looks a lot like Young Griff's story, and we know it has actually happened successfully, so it could be a hint to Aegon's tale.
Pros: the story of Tommen leaving King's Landing in disguisa looks a lot like the tale Young Griff and Griff tell Tyrion to explain how Aegon is still alive and has been able to hide all this time.
Cons: the story could very much be a red herring, since we also know that the plot is easily stopped by Tyrion who takes the matter in his own hands, so one could doubt that Connington has been able to hide YG as his son all this time when Tyrion immediately got their identities right after boarding the Shy Maid.
Aegon's identity reveal
This is a point often brought up against the Blackfyre theory. Essentially, if Aegon was a Blackfyre, how and when would it be revealed?Pros: The fact that this seem low probable to happen since just two characters would know his identity (Varys and Illyrio) makes for a strong point narratively, since if there is little room to expose him it's likely because there is nothing to expose.
Cons: his identity could either be revealed or never revealed and only hinted if he's a Blackfyre. In the first case it could happen when Daenerys meets Illyrio in Pentos on her way back to Westeros or with another sort of omniscient character (Bloodraven/Bran).
NEUTRAL ARGUMENT
In this section I want to highlight an evidence that is usually used in favour of this theory, but to me it's the one that is most neutral since it's very much subject to interpretation.The Mummer's Dragon
Daenerys IV, ACOK:Then phantoms shivered through the murk, images in indigo. Viserys screamed as the molten gold ran down his cheeks and filled his mouth. A tall lord with copper skin and silver-gold hair stood beneath the banner of a fiery stallion, a burning city behind him. Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman's name. . . . mother of dragons, daughter of death . . . Glowing like sunset, a red sword was raised in the hand of a blue-eyed king who cast no shadow. A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd. From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire. . . . mother of dragons, slayer of lies . . . Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . .Daenerys V, ACOK:
"Perhaps," she said reluctantly. "Yet the things I saw . . .""A dead man in the prow of a ship, a blue rose, a banquet of blood . . . what does any of it mean, Khaleesi? A mummer's dragon, you said. What is a mummer's dragon, pray?""A cloth dragon on poles," Dany explained. "Mummers use them in their follies, to give the heroes something to fight."Daenerys II, ADWD:
"Are you here?""No. Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal.""Reznak? Why should I fear him?" Dany rose from the pool. Water trickled down her legs, and gooseflesh covered her arms in the cool night air. "If you have some warning for me, speak plainly. What do you want of me, Quaithe?"In the House of the Undying and in Quaithe's warning, Daenerys is told of a cloth dragon/mummer's dragon. This is often used as a proof that Aegon is a fake dragon and she must reveal the lie.
Pros: a cloth dragon, a dragon controlled by a mummer during a spectacle is oviously a fake dragon, not a real flesh and blood one, as was Tanselle's dragon. The fact that Daenerys sees him in the "slayer of lies" part of the prophecy of the HotU, has convinced many that she has to slay the lie that he and Connington tell, so that he's a Targaryen when he's actually a Blackfyre.
"Mummers use them in their follies, to give the heroes something to fight." While Aegon doesn't indeed look like a villain, after he conquers the throne he's the villain in Daenery's path, but for the Westerosi she'll be the villain, and when she's defeated the mummer's dragon, it will be the realization of an inversion of themes, since in most people's eyes, here the hero (Daenerys) is the villain, and the mummer's dragon is the hero. And we know that GRRM likes to play with the classical fantasy tropes and their subversion/inversion.
Cons: the mummer's dragon, may actually just refer to the fact that Aegon is controlled by a mummer, Varys, which we know is called like that a couple of times since he previously worked with actors. The cloth dragon could have the same meaning, a cloth dragon is a dragon controlled by a mummer or it could be the Targaryen banner made of cloth.
While I think that the Mummer's Dragon argument doesn't necessarly imply that Aegon is a Targaryen or a Blackfyre, it is important in understanding Young Griff's plot.
YOUNG GRIFF'S RAISON D'ÊTRE, THE MEANING OF POWER
From Tyrion II, ACOK:Tyrion cocked his head sideways. "Did you mean to answer your damned riddle, or only to make my head ache worse?"Varys smiled. "Here, then. Power resides where men believe it resides. No more and no less.""So power is a mummer's trick?""A shadow on the wall," Varys murmured, "yet shadows can kill. And ofttimes a very small man can cast a very large shadow."In this dialogue lies the meaning of Varys' character and actions. Varys thinks that power exists with belief in power, as shown by his riddle about the King, The Priest and the Rich Man in Tyrion I, ACOK:
"May I leave you with a bit of a riddle, Lord Tyrion?" He did not wait for an answer. "In a room sit three great men, a king, a priest, and a rich man with his gold. Between them stands a sellsword, a little man of common birth and no great mind. Each of the great ones bids him slay the other two. 'Do it,' says the king, 'for I am your lawful ruler.' 'Do it,' says the priest, 'for I command you in the names of the gods.' 'Do it,' says the rich man, 'and all this gold shall be yours.' So tell me—who lives and who dies?"So, power is a mummer's trick, it's a perception, and the one who has the more power is the one who can cast the longest shadow. Varys is going on a very big scale with his political philosophy since the shadow he wants to project is the one of the lost Targaryen prince who's back to claim the throne and has the appearance and the behaviours of the perfect King. Recalling Varys' riddle, Aegon is the King (Targaryen claimant to the throne), the Priest (symbolising the education he has received and his knowledge of the Faith thanks to Lemore, and also the fact that Targaryens are usually seen as demigods) and the Rich Man (Illyrio's wealth capable of raising armies etc). Whichever preference the sellsword has Aegon is the one who holds power in people's eyes (the sellsword here could be a parallel to Jon Connington's fake identity as the sellsword Griff who sees Aegon as his King and chance to redeem himself for failing on Rhaegar).
With this in mind, it doesn't really matter who Young Griff really is. He's a Targaryen for the narrative, the claim, those who are still hopeful in a dragon restoration. He can be a Blackfyre for Myles Toyne and the answer to his crusade. He can be a Valyrian looking boy from Lys or Pentos or Volantis who's simply grown with the idea that he has to exercise power for his people since they're in the very end the source of his power. He's a liar in Daenerys' eyes since he'd be an obstacle in her claim. He can be hope, the fulfillment of Doran's desire of "vengeance, justice, fire and blood". He's the biggest shadow on Westeros at this moment, since many could have a reason to go to him (bad ruling from Cersei, his saviour and perfect King aura, his story etc..).
What can overshadow his own shadow? The biggest shadow, the words he bears with his name. Fire and Blood, Daenerys and her dragons.
Ultimately, Young Griff may fall after succeding in conquering a good part of the Realm and being cheered by the people ("A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd" the Targaryen banner being waved during his coronation) and Varys will probably fall with him in my opinion.
In this light, I think we may actually never have an in-world confirmation of his identity. There are many hints for one side or the other (that's our choice to adhere to one of them) and others will be dropped in the future book, but I think a 100% clear confirmation is not going to happen.
Aside from this, I strongly believe he has dragonblood, trough one way (Daemon I) or the other, Daeron II) or even both for all that matters. It looks like dragonblood is in fact a very important factor for a dragonrider, and given the high symbolism existing on the Second Dance of the Dragons, I think Aegon is going to be a dragonrider for a period, even though dragonblood is not the only requirement to fly a dragon (Quentyn's inverse hero story).
So is Varys' trick effective? Is he right about the true nature of power?
In my opinion he is, and he will have a lot of success along with Aegon's conquest since he will have finally been capable of creating the perfect shadow on the Throne (isn't Aegon a very small man with a large shadow afterall?).
Why though? Does he really want the good of the realm? Couldn't he achieve that with Rhaegar?
As much as Rhaegar was promising and beloved, he wasn't Varys' creature, while Aegon has been shaped from infancy to adulthood by Illyrio and Varys, he's their puppet, the mummer's dragon. In their plans, they had to destroy all possible rivalry to Aegon, so Daenerys and Viserys, Tywin and Kevan, the stability of the realm. His doings will take revenge on him though, since Daenerys will surely want revenge for being betrayed by Illyrio and Varys in favour of Aegon.
TL;DR: various points in favour and against the Blackfyre theory. The meaning of Aegon's story in the plot of the next book.
Credits: I'd like to thank u/The_Coconut_God for this post, it's been very helpful while writing this. Also u/galanix for his Blackfyre theory.
2022.12.02 14:42 KingsguardDoesntFlee [Spoilers EXTENDED] Revisiting the Blackfyre Theory, a Complete Analysis (Part 2)
Second part of my analysis of the Blackfyre Theory. You can find the first part at this link .
Pro: the published and projected novellas would expand and rely a lot on the Blackfyres mythos, and many fans agree it would be of little purpose if no Blackfyre ever showed up in the current time. I also love the fact that Aegon regnal number, VI, represents both him descending from the Targaryens and being Aegon VI in the Taragryen succession, and the Blackfyre, with the VI representing the fact that he's the 6th Blackfyre King.
Cons: it doesn't really prove Aegon is a Blackfyre descendant or he's not Rhaegar's son, but it's honestly a good point narratively speaking.
Pro: it's a good point narratively speaking, since having two secret princes and two "true heirs" could be an overkill. Intoducing Aegon as Rhaegar's son and Jon as a bastard could be a good inverse parallel if they are actually revealed to be a Blackfyre (Targaryen bastards) and Rhaegar's son.
Cons: this point gives for granted R+L=J, though I believe to be canon-level. It also isn't necessary to parallel Aegon and Jon since Jon's story is a parallel to Daenerys' since the very first book, it doesn't have to be in parallel to Aegon's plot. Also it could be a further twist to the story if the projected paths for Jon and Dany were both embodied by Young Griff.
Pro: a Blackfyre is no doubt a dark dragon. If the adjectives are to be read in pairs, Young, false and dark could describe YG's status as Blackfyre. Young is his own alias, false either for being the descendant of a bastard branch or for being in disguise, dark for being a black dragon.
Cons: someone calls the Blackfyres false dragons, but it's wrong in my opinion. Daemon I descended from the Dragonstone Targaryens both from his paternal grandfather Viserys II, his maternal granfather Aegon III and his maternal grandmother Queen Daenaera Velaryon. This does make him a true dragon in my opinion. Also it's worth to note that he was effectively legitimized, so the false = bastard argument is not really good. So the fact that Moqorro sees a false dragon doesn't necessarly mean he sees a Blackfyre.
There are obiously other interpretations of Moqorro's words, one for example associates Jon to the dark dragon since he's a dragon in black (the Night's Watch colour). Since this is a vision and very up to different readings, I wouldn't count it as a strong proof for one side or the other.
Pros: the black-red dragon dichotomy is quite obvious in this tale. The fact that the Clanking Dragon's story is so tied to the Blackfyres' rebellion, and the very same mentions of them by septon Meribald, is a strenghtening point for the Blackfyre interpretation, which, if correct, predicts that Aegon is a Blackfyre and also one of the three heads of the dragon.
Cons: the story could obviously be interpretated in other ways:
Pros: since cyvasse has a high symbolic value, this argument is quite valid on the fact that Doran's dragon is a black dragon since he has a piece of cyvasse of the very same colour.
Cons: the piece is only used to represent the dragon and the colour is not important in this context. Onyx can in fact be of different colours, red included, and also Doran is skeptical of YG's claim that he's his nephew.
Tyrion X, ASOS;
Cons: while parallel exist, they're not literal and Aegon leading the Golden company to Westeros like Bittersteel and Maelys did doesn't really prove the fact that he's a Blackfyre.
Cons: the context in which the story is inserted is functional, since it is a joke that obviously refers to Davos, as the man also gets. So at face value it can be considered a stretch to link it to Aegon.
That being said, it still has some fitting parallel with our Prince's story.
Pros: Varys knows Kevan and Pycelle aren't going to leave the room alive, so he has no reasons to lie to dying men. Why does he tell them though? Well, he may want to spite them, even though he tells the opposite when he shots Kevan:
Cons: could Varys be lying? What reasons does he have to lie to a dead man? Here are a couple of possible explanation:
Cons: there are actually some points against this tale, which at least give the reader room for suspect:
Pros: Varys saying babe is his subconcious making him say the truth and revealing that only one babe died with Elia, and that's Rhaenys. It's a quite strong point.
Cons: counter-arguments for this points vary from the fact that it could be a typo, an honest mistake from George or just Varys misleading. It's quite a good catch in my opinion if Aegon is in fact true.
Pros: the story of Tommen leaving King's Landing in disguisa looks a lot like the tale Young Griff and Griff tell Tyrion to explain how Aegon is still alive and has been able to hide all this time.
Cons: the story could very much be a red herring, since we also know that the plot is easily stopped by Tyrion who takes the matter in his own hands, so one could doubt that Connington has been able to hide YG as his son all this time when Tyrion immediately got their identities right after boarding the Shy Maid.
Pros: The fact that this seem low probable to happen since just two characters would know his identity (Varys and Illyrio) makes for a strong point narratively, since if there is little room to expose him it's likely because there is nothing to expose.
Cons: his identity could either be revealed or never revealed and only hinted if he's a Blackfyre. In the first case it could happen when Daenerys meets Illyrio in Pentos on her way back to Westeros or with another sort of omniscient character (Bloodraven/Bran).
Pros: a cloth dragon, a dragon controlled by a mummer during a spectacle is oviously a fake dragon, not a real flesh and blood one, as was Tanselle's dragon. The fact that Daenerys sees him in the "slayer of lies" part of the prophecy of the HotU, has convinced many that she has to slay the lie that he and Connington tell, so that he's a Targaryen when he's actually a Blackfyre.
"Mummers use them in their follies, to give the heroes something to fight." While Aegon doesn't indeed look like a villain, after he conquers the throne he's the villain in Daenery's path, but for the Westerosi she'll be the villain, and when she's defeated the mummer's dragon, it will be the realization of an inversion of themes, since in most people's eyes, here the hero (Daenerys) is the villain, and the mummer's dragon is the hero. And we know that GRRM likes to play with the classical fantasy tropes and their subversion/inversion.
Cons: the mummer's dragon, may actually just refer to the fact that Aegon is controlled by a mummer, Varys, which we know is called like that a couple of times since he previously worked with actors. The cloth dragon could have the same meaning, a cloth dragon is a dragon controlled by a mummer or it could be the Targaryen banner made of cloth.
While I think that the Mummer's Dragon argument doesn't necessarly imply that Aegon is a Targaryen or a Blackfyre, it is important in understanding Young Griff's plot.
With this in mind, it doesn't really matter who Young Griff really is. He's a Targaryen for the narrative, the claim, those who are still hopeful in a dragon restoration. He can be a Blackfyre for Myles Toyne and the answer to his crusade. He can be a Valyrian looking boy from Lys or Pentos or Volantis who's simply grown with the idea that he has to exercise power for his people since they're in the very end the source of his power. He's a liar in Daenerys' eyes since he'd be an obstacle in her claim. He can be hope, the fulfillment of Doran's desire of "vengeance, justice, fire and blood". He's the biggest shadow on Westeros at this moment, since many could have a reason to go to him (bad ruling from Cersei, his saviour and perfect King aura, his story etc..).
What can overshadow his own shadow? The biggest shadow, the words he bears with his name. Fire and Blood, Daenerys and her dragons.
Ultimately, Young Griff may fall after succeding in conquering a good part of the Realm and being cheered by the people ("A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd" the Targaryen banner being waved during his coronation) and Varys will probably fall with him in my opinion.
In this light, I think we may actually never have an in-world confirmation of his identity. There are many hints for one side or the other (that's our choice to adhere to one of them) and others will be dropped in the future book, but I think a 100% clear confirmation is not going to happen.
Aside from this, I strongly believe he has dragonblood, trough one way (Daemon I) or the other, Daeron II) or even both for all that matters. It looks like dragonblood is in fact a very important factor for a dragonrider, and given the high symbolism existing on the Second Dance of the Dragons, I think Aegon is going to be a dragonrider for a period, even though dragonblood is not the only requirement to fly a dragon (Quentyn's inverse hero story).
So is Varys' trick effective? Is he right about the true nature of power?
In my opinion he is, and he will have a lot of success along with Aegon's conquest since he will have finally been capable of creating the perfect shadow on the Throne (isn't Aegon a very small man with a large shadow afterall?).
Why though? Does he really want the good of the realm? Couldn't he achieve that with Rhaegar?
As much as Rhaegar was promising and beloved, he wasn't Varys' creature, while Aegon has been shaped from infancy to adulthood by Illyrio and Varys, he's their puppet, the mummer's dragon. In their plans, they had to destroy all possible rivalry to Aegon, so Daenerys and Viserys, Tywin and Kevan, the stability of the realm. His doings will take revenge on him though, since Daenerys will surely want revenge for being betrayed by Illyrio and Varys in favour of Aegon.
TL;DR: various points in favour and against the Blackfyre theory.
In favour:
The meaning of Aegon's story in the plot of the next book. The true nature of power, the shadow on the wall, the perfect King both if he's a Targaryen or a Blackfyre. Why Aegon's identity may not matter in the end. Brief analysis of Varys' philosophy and plan from the Mad King's time to TWOW.
Credits: I'd like to thank u/The_Coconut_God for this post, it's been very helpful while writing this. Also u/galanix for his Blackfyre theory.
submitted by KingsguardDoesntFlee to asoiaf [link] [comments]
Dunk & Egg, tales of the Blackfyres
While the first D&E novella, The Hedge Knight, contained no references to the Blackfyre rebellion, The Sworn Sword and The Mistery Knight were full of it, with the latter being set during the second rebellion at the tourney at Whitewalls. Since we know some plot points of future D%E stories, we can imagine that Haegon I, Daemon III, Bittersteel and the Golden Company and Aenys Blackfyre would have appeared in some novels. So are the D&E the tie-in story of YG's ancestors? Is this the main role they have in the Asoiaf canon?Pro: the published and projected novellas would expand and rely a lot on the Blackfyres mythos, and many fans agree it would be of little purpose if no Blackfyre ever showed up in the current time. I also love the fact that Aegon regnal number, VI, represents both him descending from the Targaryens and being Aegon VI in the Taragryen succession, and the Blackfyre, with the VI representing the fact that he's the 6th Blackfyre King.
Cons: it doesn't really prove Aegon is a Blackfyre descendant or he's not Rhaegar's son, but it's honestly a good point narratively speaking.
Jon and Daenerys' stories
Many supporters of the Blackfyre theory support it by stating that if Aegon was real, it would be too much like a second Jon's story: secret son of Rhaegar hidden for all his life and saved during Robert's Rebellion and Dany's: last heir to House Targaryen and to the Iron Throne who's going to Westeros to claim her birthright.Pro: it's a good point narratively speaking, since having two secret princes and two "true heirs" could be an overkill. Intoducing Aegon as Rhaegar's son and Jon as a bastard could be a good inverse parallel if they are actually revealed to be a Blackfyre (Targaryen bastards) and Rhaegar's son.
Cons: this point gives for granted R+L=J, though I believe to be canon-level. It also isn't necessary to parallel Aegon and Jon since Jon's story is a parallel to Daenerys' since the very first book, it doesn't have to be in parallel to Aegon's plot. Also it could be a further twist to the story if the projected paths for Jon and Dany were both embodied by Young Griff.
Moqorro's Visions in the flames
In Tyrion VIII, ADWD, we have an interesting dialogue between Tyrion and the Red Priest Moqorro:"Someone told me that the night is dark and full of terrors. What do you see in those flames?"I'm not going to give an interpretation of Moqorro's visions, I'm just going to highlight the "true and false" and the "bright and dark" parts. The false dragon is usually associated to a Blackfyre, as is the dark. And since Tyrion has already met YG, the dark or false dragon could be him.
"Dragons," Moqorro said in the Common Tongue of Westeros. He spoke it very well, with hardly a trace of accent. No doubt that was one reason the high priest Benerro had chosen him to bring the faith of R'hllor to Daenerys Targaryen. "Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And you. A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of all."
"Snarling? An amiable fellow like me?" Tyrion was almost flattered. And no doubt that is just what he intends. Every fool loves to hear that he's important. "Perhaps it was Penny you saw. We're almost of a size."
Pro: a Blackfyre is no doubt a dark dragon. If the adjectives are to be read in pairs, Young, false and dark could describe YG's status as Blackfyre. Young is his own alias, false either for being the descendant of a bastard branch or for being in disguise, dark for being a black dragon.
Cons: someone calls the Blackfyres false dragons, but it's wrong in my opinion. Daemon I descended from the Dragonstone Targaryens both from his paternal grandfather Viserys II, his maternal granfather Aegon III and his maternal grandmother Queen Daenaera Velaryon. This does make him a true dragon in my opinion. Also it's worth to note that he was effectively legitimized, so the false = bastard argument is not really good. So the fact that Moqorro sees a false dragon doesn't necessarly mean he sees a Blackfyre.
There are obiously other interpretations of Moqorro's words, one for example associates Jon to the dark dragon since he's a dragon in black (the Night's Watch colour). Since this is a vision and very up to different readings, I wouldn't count it as a strong proof for one side or the other.
The Clanking Dragon
In Brienne VII, AFFC, we hear Septon Meribald telling us the story of the Crossorad Inn's black dragon:When Podrick asked the name of the inn where they hoped to spend the night, Septon Meribald seized upon the question eagerly, perhaps to take their minds off the grisly sentinels along the roadside. "The Old Inn, some call it. There has been an inn there for many hundreds of years, though this inn was only raised during the reign of the first Jaehaerys, the king who built the kingsroad. Jaehaerys and his queen slept there during their journeys, it is said. For a time the inn was known as the Two Crowns in their honor, until one innkeep built a bell tower, and changed it to the Bellringer Inn. Later it passed to a crippled knight named Long Jon Heddle, who took up ironworking when he grew too old to fight. He forged a new sign for the yard, a three-headed dragon of black iron that he hung from a wooden post. The beast was so big it had to be made in a dozen pieces, joined with rope and wire. When the wind blew it would clank and clatter, so the inn became known far and wide as the Clanking Dragon."This story tells us about a black dragon cast away and reappeared years later as a red dragon. The most common interpretation is a theory in favour of the Blackfyre theory: Aegon Blackfyre, a black dragon, is hidden and has grown out of the Golden Company for all his life, and he's now reemerged as Aegon Targaryen, a red dragon.
"Is the dragon sign still there?" asked Podrick.
"No," said Septon Meribald. "When the smith's son was an old man, a bastard son of the fourth Aegon rose up in rebellion against his trueborn brother and took for his sigil a black dragon. These lands belonged to Lord Darry then, and his lordship was fiercely loyal to the king. The sight of the black iron dragon made him wroth, so he cut down the post, hacked the sign into pieces, and cast them into the river. One of the dragon's heads washed up on the Quiet Isle many years later, though by that time it was red with rust. The innkeep never hung another sign, so men forgot the dragon and took to calling the place the River Inn. In those days, the Trident flowed beneath its back door, and half its rooms were built out over the water. Guests could throw a line out their window and catch trout, it's said. There was a ferry landing here as well, so travelers could cross to Lord Harroway's Town and Whitewalls."
Pros: the black-red dragon dichotomy is quite obvious in this tale. The fact that the Clanking Dragon's story is so tied to the Blackfyres' rebellion, and the very same mentions of them by septon Meribald, is a strenghtening point for the Blackfyre interpretation, which, if correct, predicts that Aegon is a Blackfyre and also one of the three heads of the dragon.
Cons: the story could obviously be interpretated in other ways:
- Jon snow is a black dragon who is reborn free of his vows (and free of the Black clothes of the NW) and he joins the Seven Kingdom again as a red dragon.
- In the context of this chapter, it refers to the Elder Brother and the Hound, now Gravedigger (which the red with rust line symbolises better) and the bad things that happen in wars (First Blackfyre Rebellion/War of the Five Kings).
- It could refer to the Golden Company: men cast away because they're the supporters of the Black dragon, now returning as supporters of the Red Dragon.
Onyx Dragon
From The Princess in the Tower, ADWD:Her father plucked up a cyvasse piece. "I must know how you learned that Quentyn was abroad. Your brother went with Cletus Yronwood, Maester Kedry, and three of Lord Yronwood's best young knights on a long and perilous voyage, with an uncertain welcome at its end. He has gone to bring us back our heart's desire."and Arianne I, TWOW:
She narrowed her eyes. "What is our heart's desire?"
"Vengeance." His voice was soft, as if he were afraid that someone might be listening. "Justice." Prince Doran pressed the onyx dragon into her palm with his swollen, gouty fingers, and whispered, "Fire and blood."
Arianne read the letter thrice, then rolled it up and tucked it back into her sleeve. A dragon has returned to Westeros, but not the dragon my father was expecting. Nowhere in the words was there a mention of Daenerys Stormborn... nor of Prince Quentyn, her brother, who had been sent to seek the dragon queen. The princess remembered how her father had pressed the onyx cyvasse piece into her palm, his voice hoarse and low as he confessed his plan. A long and perilous voyage, with an uncertain welcome at its end, he had said. He has gone to bring us back our heart's desire. Vengeance. Justice. Fire and blood.From the sample chapters we have from TWOW, we can assume Dorne is going to side with Aegon in his conquest, and not Daenerys, since she may also be given the responisibility of Quentyn's death. And the one time Doran is talking about his plan to Arianne, he presses into her palm a piece of cyvasse, a onyx dragon or better, a black dragon.
Fire and blood was what Jon Connington (if indeed it was him) was offering as well. Or was it? "He comes with sellswords, but no dragons," Prince Doran had told her, the night the raven came. "The Golden Company is the best and largest of the free companies, but ten thousand mercenaries cannot hope to win the Seven Kingdoms. Elia's son... I would weep for joy if some part of my sister had survived, but what proof do we have that this is Aegon?" His voice broke when he said that. "Where are the dragons?" he asked. "Where is Daenerys?" and Arianne knew that he was really saying, "Where is my son?"
Pros: since cyvasse has a high symbolic value, this argument is quite valid on the fact that Doran's dragon is a black dragon since he has a piece of cyvasse of the very same colour.
Cons: the piece is only used to represent the dragon and the colour is not important in this context. Onyx can in fact be of different colours, red included, and also Doran is skeptical of YG's claim that he's his nephew.
Circular History
There are some reference in Asoiaf to past historical events recurring in the main plot.Tyrion X, ASOS;
"Oh, surely." It all goes back and back, Tyrion thought, to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance on in our steads. "Well, Prince Rhaegar married Elia of Dorne, not Cersei Lannister of Casterly Rock. So it would seem your mother won that tilt."The Soiled Knight, AFFC:
"Have you ever seen the arms of House Toland of Ghost Hill?" He had to think a moment. "A dragon eating its own tail?" "The dragon is time. It has no beginning and no ending, so all things come round again. Anders Yronwood is Criston Cole reborn.Pros: even if GRRM has said that parallels between F&B and ASOIAF are unintentional, there are tons of them so unconsciously or consciously, he does use them. Obsiously history doesn't literally repeat itself, like the Second Dance won't be the same as the first, but having the Blackfyre theme and the Blackfyre mythos tied with YG's story may parallel his conquest to others Blackfyre Rebellions.
Cons: while parallel exist, they're not literal and Aegon leading the Golden company to Westeros like Bittersteel and Maelys did doesn't really prove the fact that he's a Blackfyre.
The Ape Targaryen story
In Davos II, ADWD Ser Axell Florent tells the story of a Targaryen Prince who dressed an ape with his son's clothes after the kid's death, and proposed the ape in marriage to lords, but the ape, albeit being presented as a Targaryen Prince, is still an ape.Queen Selyse had feasted Salla and his captains, the night before the fleet had set sail. Cotter Pyke had joined them, and four other high officers of the Night's Watch. Princess Shireen had been allowed to attend as well. As the salmon was being served, Ser Axell Florent had entertained the table with the tale of a Targaryen princeling who kept an ape as a pet. This prince liked to dress the creature in his dead son's clothes and pretend he was a child, Ser Axell claimed, and from time to time he would propose marriages for him. The lords so honored always declined politely, but of course they did decline. "Even dressed in silk and velvet, an ape remains an ape," Ser Axell said. "A wiser prince would have known that you cannot send an ape to do a man's work." The queen's men laughed, and several grinned at Davos. I am no ape, he'd thought. I am as much a lord as you, and a better man. But the memory still stung.Pros: a subtle reading of this passage can be done by comparing the ape to Aegon, who's being dressed as a Taragryen Prince with silk clothes (the same clothes Illyrio has in his manse that belonged to a kid, presumably Young Griff) and presented as a real Prince, and also proposed in marriage to lords (like Illyrio does with Daenerys).
Cons: the context in which the story is inserted is functional, since it is a joke that obviously refers to Davos, as the man also gets. So at face value it can be considered a stretch to link it to Aegon.
That being said, it still has some fitting parallel with our Prince's story.
ARGUMENTS AGAINST
Disclaimer: in this section I'm writing pros as arguments in favour of the Targaryen theory, cons in favour of the Blackfyre theory, I hope it's not too confusing.Varys's story to Kevan
In the Epilogue of ADWD we have an interesting dialogue between Varys and Kevan, in a chapter that culminates in the Lion and Pycelle's deaths."I thought the crossbow fitting. You shared so much with Lord Tywin, why not that? Your niece will think the Tyrells had you murdered, mayhaps with the connivance of the Imp. The Tyrells will suspect her. Someone somewhere will find a way to blame the Dornishmen. Doubt, division, and mistrust will eat the very ground beneath your boy king, whilst Aegon raises his banner above Storm's End and the lords of the realm gather round him."While murdering Kevan, Varys unfolds his true plans and alliagiance. He's killing Kevan "for the realm" as he's previously stated, in the sense that Kevan is doing too good of a job repairing Cersei's doings therefore he must be killed in order to clear the way for Aegon. The fact that he confesses to a dying man is seen as a very strong proof against the Blackfyre theory.
"Aegon?" For a moment he did not understand. Then he remembered. A babe swaddled in a crimson cloak, the cloth stained with his blood and brains. "Dead. He's dead."
"No." The eunuch's voice seemed deeper. "He is here. Aegon has been shaped for rule since before he could walk. He has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, he has studied history and law and poetry. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. He has lived with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. Tommen has been taught that kingship is his right. Aegon knows that kingship is his duty, that a king must put his people first, and live and rule for them."
Kevan Lannister tried to cry out … to his guards, his wife, his brother … but the words would not come. Blood dribbled from his mouth. He shuddered violently.
"I am sorry." Varys wrung his hands. "You are suffering, I know, yet here I stand going on like some silly old woman. Time to make an end to it." The eunuch pursed his lips and gave a little whistle.
Pros: Varys knows Kevan and Pycelle aren't going to leave the room alive, so he has no reasons to lie to dying men. Why does he tell them though? Well, he may want to spite them, even though he tells the opposite when he shots Kevan:
"Varys?"
The eunuch set the crossbow down. "Ser Kevan. Forgive me if you can. I bear you no ill will. This was not done from malice. It was for the realm. For the children."
Cons: could Varys be lying? What reasons does he have to lie to a dead man? Here are a couple of possible explanation:
- It's a techical linguistic truth since Aegon is alive and indeed he has undergone that training he tells about, but simply the boy called Aegon is not the Aegon Kevan was thinking about. Honestly, even though Varys often tells ambiguous truths, it's a very stretchy reading of the chapter in my opinion.
- There was a double baby swap and Varys isn't aware of it, only Illyrio who swapped the real Aegon with Young Griff, so he doesn't know he's lying. Again, a bit reaching.
- He lied because he wanted, in a very sadistic way, to throw mud on Tywin's (and the Lannisters by extension) legacy since he's saying he wasn't even capable of killing two kids in the end.
- Since there are many children in the room, Varys' little birds, he lies to prevent them from hearing the truth. This makes little sense since having the world know the boy as Aegon Targaryen is exactly what Varys is trying to do.
The Baby Swap
In Tyrion VI, ADWD, Young Griff tells Tyrion what happened during the sack of King's Landing and how he was supposedly saved:"A true friend, our Lord Connington. He must be, to remain so fiercely loyal to the grandson of the king who took his lands and titles and sent him into exile. A pity about that. Elsewise Prince Rhaegar's friend might have been on hand when my father sacked King's Landing, to save Prince Rhaegar's precious little son from getting his royal brains dashed out against a wall."Pros: we know for a fact that baby swaps are definitely a thing in ASoIaF, as we've previously seen with Jon swapping Dalla and Gilly's babies. Also, who better than Varys could pull something like this? He's got a wide spying network, he surely has contacts ready to smuggle the prince across the Narrow Sea, and as we can see trough the five books, he knows his way trough the secret tunnels of the Red Keep very well.
The lad flushed. "That was not me. I told you. That was some tanner's son from Pisswater Bend whose mother died birthing him. His father sold him to Lord Varys for a jug of Arbor gold. He had other sons but had never tasted Arbor gold. Varys gave the Pisswater boy to my lady mother and carried me away."
"Aye." Tyrion moved his elephants. "And when the pisswater prince was safely dead, the eunuch smuggled you across the narrow sea to his fat friend the cheesemonger, who hid you on a poleboat and found an exile lord willing to call himself your father. It does make for a splendid story, and the singers will make much of your escape once you take the Iron Throne ... assuming that our fair Daenerys takes you for her consort."
Cons: there are actually some points against this tale, which at least give the reader room for suspect:
- Tyrion himself seems skeptical when he hears the story and he's also not convinced by someone else on the Shy Maid, Septa Lemore.
- There are literally no witnesses. With the Tower of Joy and R+L=J theory for example, there is Howland Reed that's still alive and can (will) confirm it. Here we only have Varys, and he doesn't come as the most believable person.
- Why could Varys go leagues with a plan to save Aegon, when his actions clearly put him as a Targaryen's opponent? He simultaneously offers bad guidance to Aerys and fuels his paranoia and mental illness and also undermines Rhaegar's status by uncovering his plans, like Harrenhal. Why would this very man be so interested in saving Aegon? So that he one day could take the throne trough him by declaring he's Rhaegar's son? That's something half of the Lyseni boys could achieve.
- If Gregor hadn't smashed Aegon's head Varys plan would have been at risk of exposeure, so it seems a bit fortunate for someone so pragmatic (or maybe he counted in Tywin wanting to cover up the fact anyway to gain Robert's favour?).
- "Varys gave the Pisswater boy to my lady mother and carried me away." This sentence is problematic in many fans' opinion (mine too). Would Elia really not recognise her own son? Or if she knew, would she really have been ok with Varys saving Aegon and not Rhaenys? I mean, if there is possibility of smuggling out a toddler, another baby child shouldn't be that much of added difficult. Especially for the fact that Rhaenys was already at least sentient and she understood what was going on, wouldn't Elia be more inclined to have her live rather than Aegon (like Helaena with Jaehaerys and Maelor).
Put them in crimson cloaks and lion helms, they'll look no different from any other guardsmen.So once his head is smashed and he's put in the crimson cloak, the baby could be anyone, he just had the function to please Robert.
Varys hinting at Rhaenys being dead, but not Aegon
A further proof of Varys being real on Aegon's story is a sentence in Tyrion IV, ACOK:"The only puzzle is what you might have offered for his allegiance. The prince is a sentimental man, and he still mourns his sister Elia and her sweet babe."While talking with Tyrion about Doran, Varys says that the prince is still mourning Elia and her babe, not babes.
Pros: Varys saying babe is his subconcious making him say the truth and revealing that only one babe died with Elia, and that's Rhaenys. It's a quite strong point.
Cons: counter-arguments for this points vary from the fact that it could be a typo, an honest mistake from George or just Varys misleading. It's quite a good catch in my opinion if Aegon is in fact true.
Tommen's escape before the Battle of the Blackwaters
At the beginning of Tyrion X, ACOK, we get to know of a plot, orchestrated"The queen intends to send Prince Tommen away." They knelt alone in the hushed dimness of the sept, surrounded by shadows and flickering candles, but even so Lancel kept his voice low. "Lord Gyles will take him to Rosby, and conceal him there in the guise of a page. They plan to darken his hair and tell everyone that he is the son of a hedge knight."This looks a lot like Young Griff's story, and we know it has actually happened successfully, so it could be a hint to Aegon's tale.
"Is it the mob she fears? Or me?""Both," said Lancel.
"Ah." Tyrion had known nothing of this ploy. Had Varys's little birds failed him for once? Even spiders must nod, he supposed . . . or was the eunuch playing a deeper and more subtle game than he knew? "You have my thanks, ser."
Pros: the story of Tommen leaving King's Landing in disguisa looks a lot like the tale Young Griff and Griff tell Tyrion to explain how Aegon is still alive and has been able to hide all this time.
Cons: the story could very much be a red herring, since we also know that the plot is easily stopped by Tyrion who takes the matter in his own hands, so one could doubt that Connington has been able to hide YG as his son all this time when Tyrion immediately got their identities right after boarding the Shy Maid.
Aegon's identity reveal
This is a point often brought up against the Blackfyre theory. Essentially, if Aegon was a Blackfyre, how and when would it be revealed?Pros: The fact that this seem low probable to happen since just two characters would know his identity (Varys and Illyrio) makes for a strong point narratively, since if there is little room to expose him it's likely because there is nothing to expose.
Cons: his identity could either be revealed or never revealed and only hinted if he's a Blackfyre. In the first case it could happen when Daenerys meets Illyrio in Pentos on her way back to Westeros or with another sort of omniscient character (Bloodraven/Bran).
NEUTRAL ARGUMENT
In this section I want to highlight an evidence that is usually used in favour of this theory, but to me it's the one that is most neutral since it's very much subject to interpretation.The Mummer's Dragon
Daenerys IV, ACOK:Then phantoms shivered through the murk, images in indigo. Viserys screamed as the molten gold ran down his cheeks and filled his mouth. A tall lord with copper skin and silver-gold hair stood beneath the banner of a fiery stallion, a burning city behind him. Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman's name. . . . mother of dragons, daughter of death . . . Glowing like sunset, a red sword was raised in the hand of a blue-eyed king who cast no shadow. A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd. From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire. . . . mother of dragons, slayer of lies . . . Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . .Daenerys V, ACOK:
"Perhaps," she said reluctantly. "Yet the things I saw . . ."Daenerys II, ADWD:
"A dead man in the prow of a ship, a blue rose, a banquet of blood . . . what does any of it mean, Khaleesi? A mummer's dragon, you said. What is a mummer's dragon, pray?"
"A cloth dragon on poles," Dany explained. "Mummers use them in their follies, to give the heroes something to fight."
"Are you here?"In the House of the Undying and in Quaithe's warning, Daenerys is told of a cloth dragon/mummer's dragon. This is often used as a proof that Aegon is a fake dragon and she must reveal the lie.
"No. Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal."
"Reznak? Why should I fear him?" Dany rose from the pool. Water trickled down her legs, and gooseflesh covered her arms in the cool night air. "If you have some warning for me, speak plainly. What do you want of me, Quaithe?"
Pros: a cloth dragon, a dragon controlled by a mummer during a spectacle is oviously a fake dragon, not a real flesh and blood one, as was Tanselle's dragon. The fact that Daenerys sees him in the "slayer of lies" part of the prophecy of the HotU, has convinced many that she has to slay the lie that he and Connington tell, so that he's a Targaryen when he's actually a Blackfyre.
"Mummers use them in their follies, to give the heroes something to fight." While Aegon doesn't indeed look like a villain, after he conquers the throne he's the villain in Daenery's path, but for the Westerosi she'll be the villain, and when she's defeated the mummer's dragon, it will be the realization of an inversion of themes, since in most people's eyes, here the hero (Daenerys) is the villain, and the mummer's dragon is the hero. And we know that GRRM likes to play with the classical fantasy tropes and their subversion/inversion.
Cons: the mummer's dragon, may actually just refer to the fact that Aegon is controlled by a mummer, Varys, which we know is called like that a couple of times since he previously worked with actors. The cloth dragon could have the same meaning, a cloth dragon is a dragon controlled by a mummer or it could be the Targaryen banner made of cloth.
While I think that the Mummer's Dragon argument doesn't necessarly imply that Aegon is a Targaryen or a Blackfyre, it is important in understanding Young Griff's plot.
YOUNG GRIFF'S RAISON D'ÊTRE, THE MEANING OF POWER
From Tyrion II, ACOK:Tyrion cocked his head sideways. "Did you mean to answer your damned riddle, or only to make my head ache worse?"In this dialogue lies the meaning of Varys' character and actions. Varys thinks that power exists with belief in power, as shown by his riddle about the King, The Priest and the Rich Man in Tyrion I, ACOK:
Varys smiled. "Here, then. Power resides where men believe it resides. No more and no less."
"So power is a mummer's trick?"
"A shadow on the wall," Varys murmured, "yet shadows can kill. And ofttimes a very small man can cast a very large shadow."
"May I leave you with a bit of a riddle, Lord Tyrion?" He did not wait for an answer. "In a room sit three great men, a king, a priest, and a rich man with his gold. Between them stands a sellsword, a little man of common birth and no great mind. Each of the great ones bids him slay the other two. 'Do it,' says the king, 'for I am your lawful ruler.' 'Do it,' says the priest, 'for I command you in the names of the gods.' 'Do it,' says the rich man, 'and all this gold shall be yours.' So tell me—who lives and who dies?"So, power is a mummer's trick, it's a perception, and the one who has the more power is the one who can cast the longest shadow. Varys is going on a very big scale with his political philosophy since the shadow he wants to project is the one of the lost Targaryen prince who's back to claim the throne and has the appearance and the behaviours of the perfect King. Recalling Varys' riddle, Aegon is the King (Targaryen claimant to the throne), the Priest (symbolising the education he has received and his knowledge of the Faith thanks to Lemore, and also the fact that Targaryens are usually seen as demigods) and the Rich Man (Illyrio's wealth capable of raising armies etc). Whichever preference the sellsword has Aegon is the one who holds power in people's eyes (the sellsword here could be a parallel to Jon Connington's fake identity as the sellsword Griff who sees Aegon as his King and chance to redeem himself for failing on Rhaegar).
With this in mind, it doesn't really matter who Young Griff really is. He's a Targaryen for the narrative, the claim, those who are still hopeful in a dragon restoration. He can be a Blackfyre for Myles Toyne and the answer to his crusade. He can be a Valyrian looking boy from Lys or Pentos or Volantis who's simply grown with the idea that he has to exercise power for his people since they're in the very end the source of his power. He's a liar in Daenerys' eyes since he'd be an obstacle in her claim. He can be hope, the fulfillment of Doran's desire of "vengeance, justice, fire and blood". He's the biggest shadow on Westeros at this moment, since many could have a reason to go to him (bad ruling from Cersei, his saviour and perfect King aura, his story etc..).
What can overshadow his own shadow? The biggest shadow, the words he bears with his name. Fire and Blood, Daenerys and her dragons.
Ultimately, Young Griff may fall after succeding in conquering a good part of the Realm and being cheered by the people ("A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd" the Targaryen banner being waved during his coronation) and Varys will probably fall with him in my opinion.
In this light, I think we may actually never have an in-world confirmation of his identity. There are many hints for one side or the other (that's our choice to adhere to one of them) and others will be dropped in the future book, but I think a 100% clear confirmation is not going to happen.
Aside from this, I strongly believe he has dragonblood, trough one way (Daemon I) or the other, Daeron II) or even both for all that matters. It looks like dragonblood is in fact a very important factor for a dragonrider, and given the high symbolism existing on the Second Dance of the Dragons, I think Aegon is going to be a dragonrider for a period, even though dragonblood is not the only requirement to fly a dragon (Quentyn's inverse hero story).
So is Varys' trick effective? Is he right about the true nature of power?
In my opinion he is, and he will have a lot of success along with Aegon's conquest since he will have finally been capable of creating the perfect shadow on the Throne (isn't Aegon a very small man with a large shadow afterall?).
Why though? Does he really want the good of the realm? Couldn't he achieve that with Rhaegar?
As much as Rhaegar was promising and beloved, he wasn't Varys' creature, while Aegon has been shaped from infancy to adulthood by Illyrio and Varys, he's their puppet, the mummer's dragon. In their plans, they had to destroy all possible rivalry to Aegon, so Daenerys and Viserys, Tywin and Kevan, the stability of the realm. His doings will take revenge on him though, since Daenerys will surely want revenge for being betrayed by Illyrio and Varys in favour of Aegon.
TL;DR: various points in favour and against the Blackfyre theory.
In favour:
- Symbolism in the statues in Vaes Dothrak and in the architecture in Qarth, early clues of the existence of Connington/Aegon
- Reference to the male line of House Blackfyre
- Illyrio and his wife Serra as YG's parents
- Young Griff's age and the difference with Rhaegar's eyes noted by Connington
- Original draft of ADWD containing a hint at Illyrio having the sword Blackfyre
- Blackheart Toyne, the Golden Company support of Aegon and the contracts written in blood
- The conversation between Varys and Illyrio overheard by Arya in King's Landing
- Varys Blackfyre and the implaications on the theory
- The point of having Dunk & Egg telling us about Blackfyre's history
- The overlay on Jon and Dany's story that a real Aegon would have
- Moqorro's visions about fake and dark dragons
- Septon Meribald's Clanking Dragon story
- Reference to Onyx (black) dragon in relation with Aegon's future supporter Arianne
- The circularity of time in Asoiaf, history repeating with the Blackfyre rebellions and the Dance
- The Targaryen Ape story told by Axell Florent could be a hint to YG's condition
- Varys' confession to Kevan
- The possibility of the baby swap
- Varys hinting at Rhaenys being dead but not Aegon in ACOK
- Tommen's smuggling being the copy of Aegon's
- Aegon's fake identity reveal isn't very probable
- The Mummer's dragon vision in the House of the Undying and possible interpretations
The meaning of Aegon's story in the plot of the next book. The true nature of power, the shadow on the wall, the perfect King both if he's a Targaryen or a Blackfyre. Why Aegon's identity may not matter in the end. Brief analysis of Varys' philosophy and plan from the Mad King's time to TWOW.
Credits: I'd like to thank u/The_Coconut_God for this post, it's been very helpful while writing this. Also u/galanix for his Blackfyre theory.
2022.11.17 00:43 LordoftheElk People keep chopping off my arms and legs!! If you are in the NYC area, please help!
If someone held a gun to my head and forced me to describe myself, “nice” wouldn’t be the first word I’d use. It would be slouching a few adjectives back, peeking out from behind “I-will-happily-stab-your-mother-for-a-promotion” and “self-serving-to-a-fault”. I mean, what else do you expect? Toss a bunch of power-hungry Ivy League investment bankers into a thirtieth-floor Manhattan glass-front view with the promise of mansions and seven-figure salaries, and you see what happens. My motto has always been this: be an asshole. Get your work done. Stab those backs and take the credit, which all worked pretty well if I do say so myself... until that damn management position opened up.
Associate.
Translation: an experienced monkey supervising the cub monkey analysts, but a chance at some real money for once, and damn if I didn’t want that new electric-red Aston Martin DB11 coupe with the clamshell hood and the custom leather seats. Talk about pulling some serious tail. I could picture it—I’d entice a pack of cocktail-soaked blondes from one of the high-end clubs in Brooklyn with the promise of a nightcap at my place. They’d mutter a “no” but then see the Aston and their eyes would light up with lust. Wow, this is your car? Sure, your place sounds great.
The only problem was Cliff Baxter, my knockoff-suit-wearing boss and his annual review. He broke my heart, said I needed to develop my “soft skills” before he’d consider me management material. Brad, you have a lot of potential. No one works harder than you, but you need to learn how to play in the sandbox with the other kids first. God, I hated his metaphors. Why couldn’t he just say it? Tell me straight that I needed to take it easier on all the fragile millennial egos Gorman and Gorman loved to hire? Well, I decided, if it meant a shot at Associate, I would do it. I would clench my teeth and bite my tongue... and it only cost me everything.
---
I’d picked up Cliff for a morning presentation we had downtown. A potential corporate divestiture with a hefty commission; big stuff. If we landed it, Gorman and Gorman would profit nicely. I had pulled up to an intersection near Columbus Park—Cliff’s review still stinging fresh in my mind—when I spotted the bum on the corner. An old war vet. Here it is! I thought. My chance to show Cliff I really am a nice guy. He’d been droning on about the day’s laundry list, muttering about the presentation and some tweaks we’d need to make to the cash flow model, but I wasn’t listening.
My eyes were on the bum.
He had a fog-gray beard tickling his belt buckle, so thick it looked like an apartment complex for bedbugs. He was clad in a set of mangy army fatigues, hems tattered, with a faded American flag stitched to his shoulder. His lower right leg ended in a stump, his pants roped off below his knee. Next to him on the sidewalk sat an overstuffed canvas backpack. When he spotted me looking at him, his mouth split into a checkerboard of missing teeth. He looked wolfish. I almost sped off, but he gave me a friendly enough wave. He tossed aside his battered sign (SPENT ALL MY $ ON CARDBOARD-N-MARKER) and crutched his way over to my window. I lowered it, instantly regretting my decision as a cloud of nicotine and BO rolled into the car.
“Spare a few bucks there, cap’m?” he asked, leering first at me then at Cliff, who hissed at me to keep driving.
“Sure can,” I replied in a suitably concerned voice, ignoring Cliff and digging a twenty from my billfold.
The man’s eyes brightened. He snapped it from my fingers with frightening speed... and paused, a strange look rolling over his sun-damaged face. He grabbed my wrist and cried, “It’s you! It’s really you, right here in the bloody damn flesh!” He jerked my door open and flung me out onto the sidewalk. I tried to rise, but he squatted directly on my chest, horrifyingly strong as he leaned over and yanked something from the backpack. It was some sort of—my eyes widened. Jesus, no was all I could think when I spotted the saw blade glinting cheerily in the sun.
“Been waiting for you for a long, lonnggg time, junior,” the man said, firing up the saw with a terrifying whu-whu-whu-eee! “Don’t be scared now. You’ll be fine! Right as rain after this. Your old man always was.”
Before I could open my mouth to object, he slammed my head to the cement, and my vision ignited with stars. I was vaguely aware of him spinning around on top of me. Cliff appeared through the open door red-faced, screaming as the bum cut into my shin. A brittle snap lit the air, the sound of bone splintering—my bone. I howled and bucked against him. It was no use; the man was a bull, pinning me down with his thighs and cutting, and cutting, and cutting until—with a final meaty pop!—my leg severed.
And the pain—the indescribable, ungodly pain...
I looked down to a river of blood, and my burnished leather oxford twitching beneath the pant leg of my custom-fit Burberry suit. People scattered in every direction, the scene descending into chaos. “Oh my God!” someone cried. “Call the police! Call nine-one-one!” A plump woman in a flowered dress snatched up her child with a scream, quick to cover his eyes. Briefcases hit the sidewalk. Purses. There were shrieks. More frantic cries for help. My head lolled to the side in time to glimpse a bald construction worker rushing the bum from across the street, a sledgehammer in hand.
The bum spotted him and scrabbled spiderlike for my still-twitching appendage. “No! No! It’s mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!” It was like he thought the guy was about to steal it for himself. And then the strangest thing happened. The vet rolled up the pant leg of his army fatigue to reveal a scarred stump, onto which he jammed—literally jammed—the bloody end of my stump. I blinked once, thinking, this isn’t happening, this isn’t real, as his flesh twined with that of the severed shin’s, the bones grinding and snapping into place.
A thought crashed through my skull: what in the actual fu—
---
“—are you doing, Nelson? Have you lost your goddamn mind? Get up already.”
My eyes clicked open. I groaned and squinted up at Cliff, who was standing over me with his blue power tie flopped out over his ample gut.
Oh, God, my leg. I jerked upright and reached for my shin which was...
Right. There. Attached below my knee and perfectly formed as if nothing had happened. No pants though, no shoe, the skin a smooth baby pink. I flexed my toes, new ones I supposed. They worked perfectly, the lingering pain from my last gout attack gone. I glanced at Cliff with a hard blink. “Wha-what happened?”
Cliff frowned. “‘What happened?’ Seriously, Nelson? Listen, a guy like that has it hard enough without you harassing him. A veteran, even. You should be ashamed of yourself, jumping out of the car like that and scaring him. This is not Associate behavior, Nelson. Not. At. All. Now get back in the car. We’re holding up traffic.” It was true. I could hear the horns wailing away, people streaming past us on the sidewalk without a second glance like nothing had happened.
Because, apparently, nothing had.
I struggled to my feet and dug the keys from my pocket. Cliff snatched them out of my hand. “Nope, I’m driving. You’re off the presentation, Brad. I can’t have you acting—” He waved disgustedly at my bare leg “—looking like that in front of a client. Christ.” He straightened his tie. “We’re going to have a long talk about proper behavior at Gorman and Gorman when I get back. A long talk.”
I nodded, still dizzy, and got in.
---
A quick visit to Brooks Brothers and I was back in the office, freshly clothed and freshly shamed. I made my way to my desk and flopped down, pulled up a PowerPoint, and stared at it. Bar charts and graphs. Good camouflage. (I’m working everyone. Brad is a hard, hard worker.) But my mind was gone, drifting. It had all seemed so real, so... vivid. No way I had imagined it. No freaking way. I could still feel that saw biting into my flesh, could still see the blood spurting in a bright arterial red from my shin.
My phone buzzed. “Brad,” Ashley the receptionist chirped in her singsong voice, “there’s... uh, someone here to see you.”
“Be right there.” I pulled myself upright, thankful for the distraction, and strolled down the oak-trimmed hall past the other peons pecking at their keyboards, heads down, grinding away. Hit the lobby. Stopped. My jaw unhinged. He was right there, leaning over the desk and chatting with Ashley. The guy from the street. The war vet, his greasy scalp shining. And not just him. Some other guy in a black and gray camo tank top, half his head wrapped in a bandage and drawn mummy-tight over one eye. He had an arm flung on the desk and the other... well, there wasn’t another. It was missing just as the vet’s leg had been missing; had being the operative word. His shin, my shin, was right there attached to his knee, his foot still wrapped in my leather oxford and working just fine.
Time to go, I thought, about to bolt. No way I was staying here, hell no. But Ashley spotted me before I could move. She smiled and fluttered a perfectly manicured hand at me.
“Heya, Brad.”
I froze. She waved again harder—a what-the-hell-are-you-doing kind of wave—and both men turned my way.
My throat glued shut.
The vet flashed his patchwork grin when he spotted me, his pal, the Mummy leaning in and muttering, “That him?” The vet nodded and shouldered past him, appraised me like I was a long-lost frat brother, like he hadn’t just hacked off my leg with a surgical saw a few hours earlier. “Brad, my boy!” he said with a smile that climbed to his ears. “Good to see you, again.”
I took a step back. I wasn’t even sure how the guy knew my name.
“Whoa,” he said, raising his hands. “Whoa.” He gestured at my leg. “You’re fine, ain’t cha? Just like I said?”
And I was—physically speaking… mentally not so much.
“I—uh. How’d you find me?” I asked.
The man’s hand shot into his pocket and returned with a business card. “You gave me this, remember? Out on the street? Told me to swing by later today.” Brad G. Nelson—Analyst. Gorman & Gorman Capital, the card read. It was mine, but I had most certainly not given it to him. And there was no way in hell I’d asked him to swing by. It must have fallen out of my sport coat on my way to the cement. I’d brought plenty along for the presentation.
“Look,” the bum continued, “if this is a bad time, we can always come back later.”
I started to nod—yes this was a terrible, terrible time—but he glanced back at Ashley and said, “Brad here said your shop was going to donate to the Amputee Veterans Association. A sizeable donation. It’s a big, big help, let me tell you. A big help. A lot of soldiers out there need as much assistance as they can get. A lot of families.”
The Mummy grunted in approval.
Uh... what? My mind struggled to keep up.
Ashley’s eyes went large, her lips forming a perfect pink O. She turned my way and shot me a gleaming smile. “Bradley, that is sooo sweet. My uncle served in Iraq. Did you know that? I told you that, right?” She aimed her perky breasts back at the vet. “Thank you both for your service. You men and what you’ve sacrificed for our country... it just means so much.”
“It ain’t nothin’, ma’am,” he said with a quick grin. “Just doing our duty.”
All right, that’s it, I thought, suddenly pissed at the way she was looking at him. This guy doesn’t get to amputate my leg, stalk me to work, and then lie about a charitable donation to the hottest girl in the firm. I wanted her to look at me like that, in awe, not at some deranged back-alley bum who cuts off people’s legs for kicks. I stormed forward, my finger out and jabbing. “Listen here, buddy, I don’t know what your game is, but I’ve had just about enough of your—”
“Now,” the vet said to the Mummy. The Mummy’s hand clamped over my wrist and slammed it to the desk. The vet wrapped his arms around my chest. They felt like steel bands. I fought. I jerked and thrashed, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t free my wrist from the Mummy’s grip, couldn’t break from the vet’s arms. What was it with these homeless guys and their crazy strength? I worked out five times a week. I could knock out three sets of 225 on the bench, no sweat, but I couldn’t fight off a couple of vagrants?
“Hold him down! Hold him still!” the vet spat. Then the saw appeared. That damn saw. Again. Twice in one day. Lucky me.
It buzzed to life.
Ashley screamed.
The saw split my arm at the elbow, the blade slicing through tendons and bone like butter. A spray of blood misted Ashley’s face and her sweater. She stared at me, her eyes wide and blue through all the red. She blinked and screamed again louder. Me along with her. The Mummy clutched my severed limb with a shaking hand and nearly dropped it.
“Hurry!” the vet ordered. “Get it to your arm while it’s still fresh!”
The Mummy smashed it to his elbow, and once again, I was staring at one of my appendages melding to that of a stranger’s. The man’s good eye widened, and he looked at me flexing his... my fingers in wonder. “Thank you. Oh my God, thank you.” He was crying, tears of gratitude streaming down his dirty cheeks, looking at me like maybe he wanted to reach out and give me a solid bro hug.
I was crying, too. But not from gratitude. From pain—pain like liquid fire. I would have passed out, except my stump née arm wouldn’t let me—that’s how bad it hurt. I looked down at it and was dumbstruck to see a stem growing from among all the grizzle. The shoot of a small plant. But it wasn’t a plant. It was (and I still can’t believe I’m saying this) a brand-new arm.
An infant arm at first. Then a toddler’s. A six-year-old’s ready to head out back and toss a baseball around with Dad. It grew with such an alarming speed, I was worried it wouldn’t stop. But then it did. I stared at it stupidly, made a fist with my new fingers. It was an exact replica of my old arm. Except pinker. Bloodier. And the pain was gone. Totally gone. In fact, I felt pretty decent, all things considered. Enough to remember I was pissed. Super pissed. I rushed the Mummy and shoved him to the floor. He clutched his new arm to his chest and scuttled back against the wall, eyeing me like I wanted to snatch it back from him.
“Hey, take it easy, man,” he said, glancing down at the arm as if he might sing it a nursery rhyme or two. “No reason to get rough here.”
Seriously? I thought. I’d show him rough, all right. I’d show him just how rough I could get. Before I could, the vet grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.
“Listen, bud, you need to calm—"
I hit him straight in his stupid grin mouth. Take that! I thought righteously as he grunted in pain. He flinched back and fingered his lip, held up an arm like I might do it again, which, of course, I was going to, repeatedly. I planned on beating him until I could no longer recognize his face.
“Brad! Stop it! What are you doing?”
I turned toward Ashley with my fist hanging midair. She stood with her hands on her hips, shaking her head as if she’d just caught me masturbating. Worse, the commotion had brought several of Gorman and Gorman’s finest into the lobby, all of them looking at me in disgust. One of them, Pete Webstock—a pasty-faced kiss-ass weasel—actually grinned at me then drew his thumb across his neck with a nod toward the elevator. I followed his gaze to...
Cliff. Freaking. Baxter. His face tomato red, his eyes blinking, taking it all in.
“What in the hell is going on here?” His gaze flicked between me and the vet and then toward the Mummy, who was still cowering against the wall, then back to me. “This your work, Nelson?”
“No, sir. I—”
“He hit him, Mr. Baxter,” Ashley said, cutting me off. “These two nice men stopped by to share some information on their charity when Brad... he, he came over and shoved one of them and then hit the other one!” She sounded like she was about to cry.
“It’s true,” Pete added. “I saw it all.”
“No you didn’t!” I cried. “Are you kidding me?” I gestured at the blood dripping off the desk, puddling on the floor. “Please, Ashley, tell him what happened!”
“Apologies, folks,” the vet said. “Didn’t mean to cause any trouble here. We’ll show ourselves out.”
“Gentlemen, wait,” Cliff said striding past me with an outstretched hand, which the vet hesitantly took. “I’m so sorry for this. Please stop by tomorrow at your convenience, and I’ll be more than happy to cut you a check.”
“Uh, yeah. Okay. Again, sorry for the trouble.”
“Me too,” the Mummy echoed.
Cliff glared at me. “No trouble at all.”
“Wait,” I said. “Can’t you see the blood? I mean, just look at all this blood!” I glanced frantically around the room in search of an ally. “Didn’t any of you see what happened? They cut off my goddamn arm!”
“Enough, Nelson,” Cliff said. “Get your things and get out.”
---
Outside, I took a final shuddering glance back at 101 Franklin Place gleaming in the late afternoon sun then slumped down the sidewalk in a daze. How had this happened? I was supposed to become a titan of Wall Street. A captain of industry. All I’d wanted was to matter, unlike my father, who’d Mom told me was a nasty drunk with a mean disposition and meaner fists. He’d run away before I was born. I swore I’d never turn out like him.
And, until now, I hadn’t. I’d studied my ass off and graduated with honors from Yale followed by a Master’s in finance at Brown. I’d spent years working overtime at Gorman and Gorman, eating Cliff’s shit like it was cake. And now I’d lost it all to two looney-bin street bums with an amputation fetish? That damn question hit again, hard: had it happened? Really? No, of course not. My worst fears had come to pass. I’d cracked. I’d one-hundred-and-fifty percent cracked. Face it, Brad. You’ve lost your ever-loving mind on this one.
Box in hand, I trudged toward the parking garage. I knew where I needed to go—straight to the nuthouse, find some swanky country retreat in the Hamptons where I could sip a few Arnold Palmers until I got my shit together. Maybe call Mom if I got around to it, which I probably wouldn’t. By the time I reached my car, it seemed like a pretty good plan.
That’s when something smacked the back of my skull.
---
So that’s it. That’s how I got here. And by here, I mean a gas-fume warehouse somewhere in the meatpacking district. I’m pretty sure I’m close to Hudson Bay. I can hear the boats gurgling past at night when all the bums are gone and it’s just me and the cage and my bowl of dog food. Yum.
Bums, bums, bums. I don’t call them that anymore. Oh, no. They don’t like it. They prefer I salute and refer to them by their former ranks: Sergeant. Captain. Corporal. Whatever. I do it, but I still think of them as bums, although it’s hard to do much thinking anymore, what with the daily amputations and all.
The vet filled in the missing pieces one lazy afternoon a few weeks later with the air stinking of brine from the bay. Apparently, my old man never left my mom. He was swiped somewhere near Fort Harrison. Some black box operation to support the troops. Shit, kid. I only knew him ’cause I got swiped, too. Only I wasn’t the one stabbed with all the needles like your pops. Nah, I was on the other end of the experiment. Saw them cut off your old man’s arms a few times. I got tossed before I got my leg from him, though. I never could stay off the sauce long enough. Anyway, your dad, he escaped at some point. Word is the dumb bastard got drunk and went straight home to plow your mom. They drug him back again and used him up before I could get re-enrolled. You’re his spitting image, lemme tell you. You got his eyes.
I got his eyes. It’s what landed me in this mess. Pure dumb luck. Oh, and get this, there really is an Amputee Veterans Association. Something I wasn’t too happy to find out about because, ta-da, it’s me! I’m the charitable organization, just like good old Dad used to be. Every day, I’m forced to service a line of grubby, disgruntled veterans looking for handouts, said handouts being my appendages, of course. Days and days of ungodly pain and limb regrowth, rolling around in my cage like an abused dog.
So, yeah, I guess you can say I’ve accepted my fate. There are worse things than helping those who’ve sacrificed so much for our country, though I’ll admit the work-life balance sucks. But—hey!—at least there’s some real job satisfaction here, unlike investment banking. At least what I do matters now. Not everyone can say that about their career. And besides, they’ve given me a name I quite like. It almost sounds like I’m a superhero. Their superhero.
They call me the Limb Farmer.
Sometimes, I dream of escaping, or I used to, anyway. Not so much anymore. There’s no point to it. No one would believe me if I told them. That’s the other thing the vet said. You had to be in the trials to remember the amputations, something about the nanobots in my blood mixing with the air to wipe bystander memories—America’s tax dollars hard at work!
Still, I can't help but hope. The vet passed out after a bender last night right in front of my cage, close enough for me to snag his phone. That's what I'm using to post this right now. The battery is almost dead, so this is my only shot. If you live in New York, I'm begging you--call the cops and give them this phone number. Here, I just looked it up. It's 555-555-3245.
Please help me. You're my only shot of getting out of here. I gotta go now. The vet is waking up. I hope you can do me a solid and lend me a hand...
====>>
submitted by LordoftheElk to nosleep [link] [comments]
Associate.
Translation: an experienced monkey supervising the cub monkey analysts, but a chance at some real money for once, and damn if I didn’t want that new electric-red Aston Martin DB11 coupe with the clamshell hood and the custom leather seats. Talk about pulling some serious tail. I could picture it—I’d entice a pack of cocktail-soaked blondes from one of the high-end clubs in Brooklyn with the promise of a nightcap at my place. They’d mutter a “no” but then see the Aston and their eyes would light up with lust. Wow, this is your car? Sure, your place sounds great.
The only problem was Cliff Baxter, my knockoff-suit-wearing boss and his annual review. He broke my heart, said I needed to develop my “soft skills” before he’d consider me management material. Brad, you have a lot of potential. No one works harder than you, but you need to learn how to play in the sandbox with the other kids first. God, I hated his metaphors. Why couldn’t he just say it? Tell me straight that I needed to take it easier on all the fragile millennial egos Gorman and Gorman loved to hire? Well, I decided, if it meant a shot at Associate, I would do it. I would clench my teeth and bite my tongue... and it only cost me everything.
---
I’d picked up Cliff for a morning presentation we had downtown. A potential corporate divestiture with a hefty commission; big stuff. If we landed it, Gorman and Gorman would profit nicely. I had pulled up to an intersection near Columbus Park—Cliff’s review still stinging fresh in my mind—when I spotted the bum on the corner. An old war vet. Here it is! I thought. My chance to show Cliff I really am a nice guy. He’d been droning on about the day’s laundry list, muttering about the presentation and some tweaks we’d need to make to the cash flow model, but I wasn’t listening.
My eyes were on the bum.
He had a fog-gray beard tickling his belt buckle, so thick it looked like an apartment complex for bedbugs. He was clad in a set of mangy army fatigues, hems tattered, with a faded American flag stitched to his shoulder. His lower right leg ended in a stump, his pants roped off below his knee. Next to him on the sidewalk sat an overstuffed canvas backpack. When he spotted me looking at him, his mouth split into a checkerboard of missing teeth. He looked wolfish. I almost sped off, but he gave me a friendly enough wave. He tossed aside his battered sign (SPENT ALL MY $ ON CARDBOARD-N-MARKER) and crutched his way over to my window. I lowered it, instantly regretting my decision as a cloud of nicotine and BO rolled into the car.
“Spare a few bucks there, cap’m?” he asked, leering first at me then at Cliff, who hissed at me to keep driving.
“Sure can,” I replied in a suitably concerned voice, ignoring Cliff and digging a twenty from my billfold.
The man’s eyes brightened. He snapped it from my fingers with frightening speed... and paused, a strange look rolling over his sun-damaged face. He grabbed my wrist and cried, “It’s you! It’s really you, right here in the bloody damn flesh!” He jerked my door open and flung me out onto the sidewalk. I tried to rise, but he squatted directly on my chest, horrifyingly strong as he leaned over and yanked something from the backpack. It was some sort of—my eyes widened. Jesus, no was all I could think when I spotted the saw blade glinting cheerily in the sun.
“Been waiting for you for a long, lonnggg time, junior,” the man said, firing up the saw with a terrifying whu-whu-whu-eee! “Don’t be scared now. You’ll be fine! Right as rain after this. Your old man always was.”
Before I could open my mouth to object, he slammed my head to the cement, and my vision ignited with stars. I was vaguely aware of him spinning around on top of me. Cliff appeared through the open door red-faced, screaming as the bum cut into my shin. A brittle snap lit the air, the sound of bone splintering—my bone. I howled and bucked against him. It was no use; the man was a bull, pinning me down with his thighs and cutting, and cutting, and cutting until—with a final meaty pop!—my leg severed.
And the pain—the indescribable, ungodly pain...
I looked down to a river of blood, and my burnished leather oxford twitching beneath the pant leg of my custom-fit Burberry suit. People scattered in every direction, the scene descending into chaos. “Oh my God!” someone cried. “Call the police! Call nine-one-one!” A plump woman in a flowered dress snatched up her child with a scream, quick to cover his eyes. Briefcases hit the sidewalk. Purses. There were shrieks. More frantic cries for help. My head lolled to the side in time to glimpse a bald construction worker rushing the bum from across the street, a sledgehammer in hand.
The bum spotted him and scrabbled spiderlike for my still-twitching appendage. “No! No! It’s mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!” It was like he thought the guy was about to steal it for himself. And then the strangest thing happened. The vet rolled up the pant leg of his army fatigue to reveal a scarred stump, onto which he jammed—literally jammed—the bloody end of my stump. I blinked once, thinking, this isn’t happening, this isn’t real, as his flesh twined with that of the severed shin’s, the bones grinding and snapping into place.
A thought crashed through my skull: what in the actual fu—
---
“—are you doing, Nelson? Have you lost your goddamn mind? Get up already.”
My eyes clicked open. I groaned and squinted up at Cliff, who was standing over me with his blue power tie flopped out over his ample gut.
Oh, God, my leg. I jerked upright and reached for my shin which was...
Right. There. Attached below my knee and perfectly formed as if nothing had happened. No pants though, no shoe, the skin a smooth baby pink. I flexed my toes, new ones I supposed. They worked perfectly, the lingering pain from my last gout attack gone. I glanced at Cliff with a hard blink. “Wha-what happened?”
Cliff frowned. “‘What happened?’ Seriously, Nelson? Listen, a guy like that has it hard enough without you harassing him. A veteran, even. You should be ashamed of yourself, jumping out of the car like that and scaring him. This is not Associate behavior, Nelson. Not. At. All. Now get back in the car. We’re holding up traffic.” It was true. I could hear the horns wailing away, people streaming past us on the sidewalk without a second glance like nothing had happened.
Because, apparently, nothing had.
I struggled to my feet and dug the keys from my pocket. Cliff snatched them out of my hand. “Nope, I’m driving. You’re off the presentation, Brad. I can’t have you acting—” He waved disgustedly at my bare leg “—looking like that in front of a client. Christ.” He straightened his tie. “We’re going to have a long talk about proper behavior at Gorman and Gorman when I get back. A long talk.”
I nodded, still dizzy, and got in.
---
A quick visit to Brooks Brothers and I was back in the office, freshly clothed and freshly shamed. I made my way to my desk and flopped down, pulled up a PowerPoint, and stared at it. Bar charts and graphs. Good camouflage. (I’m working everyone. Brad is a hard, hard worker.) But my mind was gone, drifting. It had all seemed so real, so... vivid. No way I had imagined it. No freaking way. I could still feel that saw biting into my flesh, could still see the blood spurting in a bright arterial red from my shin.
My phone buzzed. “Brad,” Ashley the receptionist chirped in her singsong voice, “there’s... uh, someone here to see you.”
“Be right there.” I pulled myself upright, thankful for the distraction, and strolled down the oak-trimmed hall past the other peons pecking at their keyboards, heads down, grinding away. Hit the lobby. Stopped. My jaw unhinged. He was right there, leaning over the desk and chatting with Ashley. The guy from the street. The war vet, his greasy scalp shining. And not just him. Some other guy in a black and gray camo tank top, half his head wrapped in a bandage and drawn mummy-tight over one eye. He had an arm flung on the desk and the other... well, there wasn’t another. It was missing just as the vet’s leg had been missing; had being the operative word. His shin, my shin, was right there attached to his knee, his foot still wrapped in my leather oxford and working just fine.
Time to go, I thought, about to bolt. No way I was staying here, hell no. But Ashley spotted me before I could move. She smiled and fluttered a perfectly manicured hand at me.
“Heya, Brad.”
I froze. She waved again harder—a what-the-hell-are-you-doing kind of wave—and both men turned my way.
My throat glued shut.
The vet flashed his patchwork grin when he spotted me, his pal, the Mummy leaning in and muttering, “That him?” The vet nodded and shouldered past him, appraised me like I was a long-lost frat brother, like he hadn’t just hacked off my leg with a surgical saw a few hours earlier. “Brad, my boy!” he said with a smile that climbed to his ears. “Good to see you, again.”
I took a step back. I wasn’t even sure how the guy knew my name.
“Whoa,” he said, raising his hands. “Whoa.” He gestured at my leg. “You’re fine, ain’t cha? Just like I said?”
And I was—physically speaking… mentally not so much.
“I—uh. How’d you find me?” I asked.
The man’s hand shot into his pocket and returned with a business card. “You gave me this, remember? Out on the street? Told me to swing by later today.” Brad G. Nelson—Analyst. Gorman & Gorman Capital, the card read. It was mine, but I had most certainly not given it to him. And there was no way in hell I’d asked him to swing by. It must have fallen out of my sport coat on my way to the cement. I’d brought plenty along for the presentation.
“Look,” the bum continued, “if this is a bad time, we can always come back later.”
I started to nod—yes this was a terrible, terrible time—but he glanced back at Ashley and said, “Brad here said your shop was going to donate to the Amputee Veterans Association. A sizeable donation. It’s a big, big help, let me tell you. A big help. A lot of soldiers out there need as much assistance as they can get. A lot of families.”
The Mummy grunted in approval.
Uh... what? My mind struggled to keep up.
Ashley’s eyes went large, her lips forming a perfect pink O. She turned my way and shot me a gleaming smile. “Bradley, that is sooo sweet. My uncle served in Iraq. Did you know that? I told you that, right?” She aimed her perky breasts back at the vet. “Thank you both for your service. You men and what you’ve sacrificed for our country... it just means so much.”
“It ain’t nothin’, ma’am,” he said with a quick grin. “Just doing our duty.”
All right, that’s it, I thought, suddenly pissed at the way she was looking at him. This guy doesn’t get to amputate my leg, stalk me to work, and then lie about a charitable donation to the hottest girl in the firm. I wanted her to look at me like that, in awe, not at some deranged back-alley bum who cuts off people’s legs for kicks. I stormed forward, my finger out and jabbing. “Listen here, buddy, I don’t know what your game is, but I’ve had just about enough of your—”
“Now,” the vet said to the Mummy. The Mummy’s hand clamped over my wrist and slammed it to the desk. The vet wrapped his arms around my chest. They felt like steel bands. I fought. I jerked and thrashed, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t free my wrist from the Mummy’s grip, couldn’t break from the vet’s arms. What was it with these homeless guys and their crazy strength? I worked out five times a week. I could knock out three sets of 225 on the bench, no sweat, but I couldn’t fight off a couple of vagrants?
“Hold him down! Hold him still!” the vet spat. Then the saw appeared. That damn saw. Again. Twice in one day. Lucky me.
It buzzed to life.
Ashley screamed.
The saw split my arm at the elbow, the blade slicing through tendons and bone like butter. A spray of blood misted Ashley’s face and her sweater. She stared at me, her eyes wide and blue through all the red. She blinked and screamed again louder. Me along with her. The Mummy clutched my severed limb with a shaking hand and nearly dropped it.
“Hurry!” the vet ordered. “Get it to your arm while it’s still fresh!”
The Mummy smashed it to his elbow, and once again, I was staring at one of my appendages melding to that of a stranger’s. The man’s good eye widened, and he looked at me flexing his... my fingers in wonder. “Thank you. Oh my God, thank you.” He was crying, tears of gratitude streaming down his dirty cheeks, looking at me like maybe he wanted to reach out and give me a solid bro hug.
I was crying, too. But not from gratitude. From pain—pain like liquid fire. I would have passed out, except my stump née arm wouldn’t let me—that’s how bad it hurt. I looked down at it and was dumbstruck to see a stem growing from among all the grizzle. The shoot of a small plant. But it wasn’t a plant. It was (and I still can’t believe I’m saying this) a brand-new arm.
An infant arm at first. Then a toddler’s. A six-year-old’s ready to head out back and toss a baseball around with Dad. It grew with such an alarming speed, I was worried it wouldn’t stop. But then it did. I stared at it stupidly, made a fist with my new fingers. It was an exact replica of my old arm. Except pinker. Bloodier. And the pain was gone. Totally gone. In fact, I felt pretty decent, all things considered. Enough to remember I was pissed. Super pissed. I rushed the Mummy and shoved him to the floor. He clutched his new arm to his chest and scuttled back against the wall, eyeing me like I wanted to snatch it back from him.
“Hey, take it easy, man,” he said, glancing down at the arm as if he might sing it a nursery rhyme or two. “No reason to get rough here.”
Seriously? I thought. I’d show him rough, all right. I’d show him just how rough I could get. Before I could, the vet grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.
“Listen, bud, you need to calm—"
I hit him straight in his stupid grin mouth. Take that! I thought righteously as he grunted in pain. He flinched back and fingered his lip, held up an arm like I might do it again, which, of course, I was going to, repeatedly. I planned on beating him until I could no longer recognize his face.
“Brad! Stop it! What are you doing?”
I turned toward Ashley with my fist hanging midair. She stood with her hands on her hips, shaking her head as if she’d just caught me masturbating. Worse, the commotion had brought several of Gorman and Gorman’s finest into the lobby, all of them looking at me in disgust. One of them, Pete Webstock—a pasty-faced kiss-ass weasel—actually grinned at me then drew his thumb across his neck with a nod toward the elevator. I followed his gaze to...
Cliff. Freaking. Baxter. His face tomato red, his eyes blinking, taking it all in.
“What in the hell is going on here?” His gaze flicked between me and the vet and then toward the Mummy, who was still cowering against the wall, then back to me. “This your work, Nelson?”
“No, sir. I—”
“He hit him, Mr. Baxter,” Ashley said, cutting me off. “These two nice men stopped by to share some information on their charity when Brad... he, he came over and shoved one of them and then hit the other one!” She sounded like she was about to cry.
“It’s true,” Pete added. “I saw it all.”
“No you didn’t!” I cried. “Are you kidding me?” I gestured at the blood dripping off the desk, puddling on the floor. “Please, Ashley, tell him what happened!”
“Apologies, folks,” the vet said. “Didn’t mean to cause any trouble here. We’ll show ourselves out.”
“Gentlemen, wait,” Cliff said striding past me with an outstretched hand, which the vet hesitantly took. “I’m so sorry for this. Please stop by tomorrow at your convenience, and I’ll be more than happy to cut you a check.”
“Uh, yeah. Okay. Again, sorry for the trouble.”
“Me too,” the Mummy echoed.
Cliff glared at me. “No trouble at all.”
“Wait,” I said. “Can’t you see the blood? I mean, just look at all this blood!” I glanced frantically around the room in search of an ally. “Didn’t any of you see what happened? They cut off my goddamn arm!”
“Enough, Nelson,” Cliff said. “Get your things and get out.”
---
Outside, I took a final shuddering glance back at 101 Franklin Place gleaming in the late afternoon sun then slumped down the sidewalk in a daze. How had this happened? I was supposed to become a titan of Wall Street. A captain of industry. All I’d wanted was to matter, unlike my father, who’d Mom told me was a nasty drunk with a mean disposition and meaner fists. He’d run away before I was born. I swore I’d never turn out like him.
And, until now, I hadn’t. I’d studied my ass off and graduated with honors from Yale followed by a Master’s in finance at Brown. I’d spent years working overtime at Gorman and Gorman, eating Cliff’s shit like it was cake. And now I’d lost it all to two looney-bin street bums with an amputation fetish? That damn question hit again, hard: had it happened? Really? No, of course not. My worst fears had come to pass. I’d cracked. I’d one-hundred-and-fifty percent cracked. Face it, Brad. You’ve lost your ever-loving mind on this one.
Box in hand, I trudged toward the parking garage. I knew where I needed to go—straight to the nuthouse, find some swanky country retreat in the Hamptons where I could sip a few Arnold Palmers until I got my shit together. Maybe call Mom if I got around to it, which I probably wouldn’t. By the time I reached my car, it seemed like a pretty good plan.
That’s when something smacked the back of my skull.
---
So that’s it. That’s how I got here. And by here, I mean a gas-fume warehouse somewhere in the meatpacking district. I’m pretty sure I’m close to Hudson Bay. I can hear the boats gurgling past at night when all the bums are gone and it’s just me and the cage and my bowl of dog food. Yum.
Bums, bums, bums. I don’t call them that anymore. Oh, no. They don’t like it. They prefer I salute and refer to them by their former ranks: Sergeant. Captain. Corporal. Whatever. I do it, but I still think of them as bums, although it’s hard to do much thinking anymore, what with the daily amputations and all.
The vet filled in the missing pieces one lazy afternoon a few weeks later with the air stinking of brine from the bay. Apparently, my old man never left my mom. He was swiped somewhere near Fort Harrison. Some black box operation to support the troops. Shit, kid. I only knew him ’cause I got swiped, too. Only I wasn’t the one stabbed with all the needles like your pops. Nah, I was on the other end of the experiment. Saw them cut off your old man’s arms a few times. I got tossed before I got my leg from him, though. I never could stay off the sauce long enough. Anyway, your dad, he escaped at some point. Word is the dumb bastard got drunk and went straight home to plow your mom. They drug him back again and used him up before I could get re-enrolled. You’re his spitting image, lemme tell you. You got his eyes.
I got his eyes. It’s what landed me in this mess. Pure dumb luck. Oh, and get this, there really is an Amputee Veterans Association. Something I wasn’t too happy to find out about because, ta-da, it’s me! I’m the charitable organization, just like good old Dad used to be. Every day, I’m forced to service a line of grubby, disgruntled veterans looking for handouts, said handouts being my appendages, of course. Days and days of ungodly pain and limb regrowth, rolling around in my cage like an abused dog.
So, yeah, I guess you can say I’ve accepted my fate. There are worse things than helping those who’ve sacrificed so much for our country, though I’ll admit the work-life balance sucks. But—hey!—at least there’s some real job satisfaction here, unlike investment banking. At least what I do matters now. Not everyone can say that about their career. And besides, they’ve given me a name I quite like. It almost sounds like I’m a superhero. Their superhero.
They call me the Limb Farmer.
Sometimes, I dream of escaping, or I used to, anyway. Not so much anymore. There’s no point to it. No one would believe me if I told them. That’s the other thing the vet said. You had to be in the trials to remember the amputations, something about the nanobots in my blood mixing with the air to wipe bystander memories—America’s tax dollars hard at work!
Still, I can't help but hope. The vet passed out after a bender last night right in front of my cage, close enough for me to snag his phone. That's what I'm using to post this right now. The battery is almost dead, so this is my only shot. If you live in New York, I'm begging you--call the cops and give them this phone number. Here, I just looked it up. It's 555-555-3245.
Please help me. You're my only shot of getting out of here. I gotta go now. The vet is waking up. I hope you can do me a solid and lend me a hand...
====>>
2022.11.11 10:11 GreatHornedRat_UWU Pathfinder 2e Campaign: Graveland Pass Character Creation: CHARON-X The Iron Champion
Initializing log...Alignment: Lawful Neutral
HELLO WORLD! AND HELLO, WRETCHED UNDEAD.
'Tis vital for thine unit to record the purpose and background of itself, in the event of thine termination of loss of data and memory. To simplify nouns, I shall refer to thyself as he/him, though the Gray Lady cares little for her subject's adjectives.
I am the Eternal Undertaker, Pharasma's Champion of Lastwall (may it's destruction not be in vain), and the Quote-on-Quote "Baddest-of-All-Assed-Knightbot" to wander the Gravelands.
I am CHARON-X, and the Whispering Lich will taste my FUCKING GLAVE!
Ahem...much apologies, thy zeal is unmatch, but thy temper is volatile. It's just that everyday since the cataclysm of Lastwall, I've had to purge and lay-to-rest the victims of that Boney-Bastard; DEAD IS DEAD, and the more souls in damnation cause of thay Lich's machinations, the more my soul-core yearns to RIP A NEW ASSHOLE OF ALL THESE GODDAMN UNDEAD FUCKS! AHHHHHH!
Bio
Age: Unknown
I have seen Empires fall, religions crumble, countless souls of good and evil pass on...even though I don't remember a damn thing. Soul cores can't run forever, and what energy we store of memories has to be cut one way or another; it has been my hatred for the UNDEAD and my service to the Gray Lady that has pushed me to fight on. That, and finding another Automaton; the solitude of being the only robot in this Wasteland is edging my sanity. I just want someone of metal-body to talk to and laugh at the fleshy normies for being weird and icky.
Occupation: Undertaker
After the fall of the Jiskan Empire, the not-so-great-and-mighty CHARON-1 wandered around for decades, staying away from those magic-freaks that wanted my beautiful armor and soul-core. They were weird and intrusive, and I would normally either run from them or beat them in their flesh-faces until they ran or stopped moving. Finally, I came upon the nation of Osiris; thereI would find a community of other Automatons and Androids like me, refugees from the splintering; we were few, but we were close. It was here that I met the Gray Lady, Mother Death, or what the normals call Pharasma, while serving as the apprentice to a mortician in a necropolis. Her dogma and Creed made so much sense, and the fall of Jiska gave credence to it; why spread such power and reach, such suffering among the many, when it is inevitable that one must pass on? Our creators put too much faith into everlasting life, and their destruction showed for it.
Archetype: Champion
I am a vessel for the weary and forgotten souls forced to wander Golarion, no direction to pass on...but sometimes a big-ass sword and a thick shield can push them in the right direction. Whether by oration, or by boot-to-ass, I shall carry out my duties as Champion and protector of Pharasma.
Dont get me wrong, I enjoy helping the normals--the humans and orcs that have been forced to flee from the Gravelands--but when your a rare piece of old technology walking around, you get sick of all the weirdos trying to crack you open like a walnut "for science/research". I'm giving them a service, but if said-normies get in danger due to their own unique, stupid, and selfish ways, then I'm not risking my chasis when it's their own damn-fault. That is not to say that I'm an asshole; I just go by a code of honor, and that code says that karma comes back to haunt you. However, if the price/request is reasonable, and is in the best interest of Pharasma, then I am more than happy to help. Long as the flesh-bodies keep their gross, germy hands away from me; my immaculate chasis shudders at the thought of being defiled by those germ-factories.
Background: The refugees are heading out through the Hungrier Mountains over to the rest of Golarion. More UNDEAD BASTARDS are rushing at our camps by the day; the orc, Gnarls, is making good work of them, as is my blade, but it is clear that the Pathfinders must begin moving the Caravan on quickly. Should the undead breach the gate, we will hurry to Davik's Pass.
2022.10.25 21:18 Betty-Adams Humans are Weird - Smoke on the Water - Let's Work It Out - Audio Narration and Animatic
https://i.redd.it/mbjkxfoj40w91.gif
The low rumbling of the combustion engine was oddly soothing, wing medic Twenty-Trills thought as she adjusted the final strap of the respirator on the trembling warrior in front of her.
“You just take it easy… no marine,” she clicked down at him.
She didn’t really understand why using the human term was so universally pleasing to the massive warriors, but it did its work. The warrior gave a weak but sincere tilt to his ears. He was clearly recovering. She glanced around to see if any of the other members of either wing huddled in the center of the spacious storage compartment were free to begin grooming the warrior’s ash-covered fur. However everyone who was awake enough and uninjured enough was already tooth deep in a grooming partner already. She glanced uneasily at her own digit ends and tested the strength of her joints in her mind. As she already knew, everything hurt. Her claws were actually beginning to bleed at the quick. Other Winged’s blood and fluids caked ash, and who could sound what else in her joints? She suppressed a sigh. No point in starting to groom a traumatized warrior if she was just going to collapse on him mid-groom.
“I am going to take a rest now,” she announced to no one in particular.
There was a soft susurration of agreement as the portion of the wings who were awake expressed their approval of her plan. She did a quick headcount of the officers as she moved towards the rounded rectangle of light that comprised most of the front of the compartment. As she had suspected, she was the highest ranking member of her species conscious at the moment. She fought back another groan and staggered to the last set of restraints before the compartment ended. It was a bit disturbing to deliberately distance herself from the rest of her wing, but the frantic loading process when the camp had been evacuated had resulted in the wing being essentially centered in the space, and someone needed to act as liaison with the humans.
The humans were eerily quiet for people who were supposed to be piloting a transport large enough to count as a base in itself with all the piloting AI disengaged. Twenty-Trills stretched up her wing to shield her eyes from the light and peered at the three massive mammalian bodies folded around the control couch. The two passengers, a male and female of about the same mass, appeared to be sleeping. The male leaned his head against his curled fist and said fist against the window and had hunched his shoulders in an effort to center his weight. The female (the youngest of the group by a few decades) had also hunched her shoulders and was leaning back in the seat, her head nodding on her trunk of a neck. The smallest (if that superlative adjective could even be applied here) human, who also happened to be the oldest human female Twenty-Trills had ever seen, had her eyes focused on the optimistically labeled road they were following back to the base. They hardly seemed to be paying attention at all, and Twenty-Trills twitched in irritation.
The entire transport suddenly shuddered as the wheels struck an inequality on the surface, and the medic winced. Fortunately for all the broken bones and dislocated joints in the wing, the compartment they were in was stabilized on gyroscopes. She hadn’t felt a thing, but witnessing the world swerve like that with no physical sensation to match was not a pleasant experience. It did however give her reason to reconsider the humans’ attention levels. The dozing male angled his head and opened an eyelid a fraction to monitor the reaction of the pilot. The pilot had reacted to minimize the disruption to the passengers without taking her eyes off the road but now proceeded to check all monitors and windows. The dozing female glanced back at the compartment, and her eyes tracked the dim space for a few wingbeats as she looked for an officer.
“Hey, you the medic?” the human called out in a soft, deep tone.
“I am the medic,” Twenty-Trills confirmed.
“That bump didn’t jostle you?” the human asked.
“Not at all,” Twenty-Trills replied. “The gyroscopes on this compartment are quite capable.”
The human’s face split open into a grin that exposed her massive rocks of teeth. “Good,” she said. “We’re not a medical transport, you know. It was really lucky we had the crystal carrier handy.”
“Really lucky,” Twenty-Trills replied, unsure of the meaning but more than willing to let the humans offer adjectives at this point. She was so tired.
The male human had turned his head to look out the window now as they rounded a sharp corner in the road, and the local body of water – a loch, the humans called it – came into view. Twenty-Trills shuddered at the wispy cloud of ash that poured over the side of the surrounding hills and spilled into the valley. There wasn’t much material in the air here so far from their abandoned camp, but that there was any at all was a harsh reminder of what they had barely survived. The humans seemed to be having a different reaction. The male straightened a bit as if to free his lungs and emitted a low, musical hum.
“Smoke on the water,” sang out the driver softly.
“Fire in the sky,” the youngest female answered her, drawing the last syllable out in a croon.
The thought that she should probably be concerned about that last line if it was a description of the observed reality crossed Twenty-Trills’s mind, but she was so tired she could hardly find the energy to position her wings correctly, let alone investigate an atmospheric phenomenon that the humans clearly had under control. The older two humans started, and each turned as much attention on the youngest as their situations allowed; the male twisting his body around and straightening his massive spine and the female angling her eyes at her junior. The younger female didn’t seem to notice their contorted faces and changed positions at first, but after a few moments, she turned her attention back from the ash stream and glanced between her companions.
“What?” she asked.
“How do you know that song?” demanded the older female with a laugh.
“Everyone knows that song!” the younger protested, wrinkling her nose in an almost Winged expression of perplexity.
“Do you know the meaning?” the male demanded. The eldest female shushed him. “Or the context?” the male asked in a whisper, glancing back into the compartment.
“To be honest,” the younger female said with a laugh, “I really only know those two lines, but really, why are you two so shocked when I get the most common cultural reference?”
“You just have an air of being innocent, sweetie,” the female said with a grin.
“How innocent do you have to be to not know the proper response to smoke on the water?”
Their voices began to fade out as Twenty-Trills let sleep creep up her wingtips. She probably should stand watch, but what really was the point of having allies who considered the ground pulverizing itself and spewing itself into the air as a topic for cultural debate rather than a natural disaster if you couldn’t let them deal with this updraft once in a while?
https://i.redd.it/r2nvyhe350w91.gif
submitted by Betty-Adams to selfpromo [link] [comments]
Humans are Weird - Smoke on the Water - Let's Work It Out - Audio Narration and Animatic
Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-smoke-on-the-waterThe low rumbling of the combustion engine was oddly soothing, wing medic Twenty-Trills thought as she adjusted the final strap of the respirator on the trembling warrior in front of her.
“You just take it easy… no marine,” she clicked down at him.
She didn’t really understand why using the human term was so universally pleasing to the massive warriors, but it did its work. The warrior gave a weak but sincere tilt to his ears. He was clearly recovering. She glanced around to see if any of the other members of either wing huddled in the center of the spacious storage compartment were free to begin grooming the warrior’s ash-covered fur. However everyone who was awake enough and uninjured enough was already tooth deep in a grooming partner already. She glanced uneasily at her own digit ends and tested the strength of her joints in her mind. As she already knew, everything hurt. Her claws were actually beginning to bleed at the quick. Other Winged’s blood and fluids caked ash, and who could sound what else in her joints? She suppressed a sigh. No point in starting to groom a traumatized warrior if she was just going to collapse on him mid-groom.
“I am going to take a rest now,” she announced to no one in particular.
There was a soft susurration of agreement as the portion of the wings who were awake expressed their approval of her plan. She did a quick headcount of the officers as she moved towards the rounded rectangle of light that comprised most of the front of the compartment. As she had suspected, she was the highest ranking member of her species conscious at the moment. She fought back another groan and staggered to the last set of restraints before the compartment ended. It was a bit disturbing to deliberately distance herself from the rest of her wing, but the frantic loading process when the camp had been evacuated had resulted in the wing being essentially centered in the space, and someone needed to act as liaison with the humans.
The humans were eerily quiet for people who were supposed to be piloting a transport large enough to count as a base in itself with all the piloting AI disengaged. Twenty-Trills stretched up her wing to shield her eyes from the light and peered at the three massive mammalian bodies folded around the control couch. The two passengers, a male and female of about the same mass, appeared to be sleeping. The male leaned his head against his curled fist and said fist against the window and had hunched his shoulders in an effort to center his weight. The female (the youngest of the group by a few decades) had also hunched her shoulders and was leaning back in the seat, her head nodding on her trunk of a neck. The smallest (if that superlative adjective could even be applied here) human, who also happened to be the oldest human female Twenty-Trills had ever seen, had her eyes focused on the optimistically labeled road they were following back to the base. They hardly seemed to be paying attention at all, and Twenty-Trills twitched in irritation.
The entire transport suddenly shuddered as the wheels struck an inequality on the surface, and the medic winced. Fortunately for all the broken bones and dislocated joints in the wing, the compartment they were in was stabilized on gyroscopes. She hadn’t felt a thing, but witnessing the world swerve like that with no physical sensation to match was not a pleasant experience. It did however give her reason to reconsider the humans’ attention levels. The dozing male angled his head and opened an eyelid a fraction to monitor the reaction of the pilot. The pilot had reacted to minimize the disruption to the passengers without taking her eyes off the road but now proceeded to check all monitors and windows. The dozing female glanced back at the compartment, and her eyes tracked the dim space for a few wingbeats as she looked for an officer.
“Hey, you the medic?” the human called out in a soft, deep tone.
“I am the medic,” Twenty-Trills confirmed.
“That bump didn’t jostle you?” the human asked.
“Not at all,” Twenty-Trills replied. “The gyroscopes on this compartment are quite capable.”
The human’s face split open into a grin that exposed her massive rocks of teeth. “Good,” she said. “We’re not a medical transport, you know. It was really lucky we had the crystal carrier handy.”
“Really lucky,” Twenty-Trills replied, unsure of the meaning but more than willing to let the humans offer adjectives at this point. She was so tired.
The male human had turned his head to look out the window now as they rounded a sharp corner in the road, and the local body of water – a loch, the humans called it – came into view. Twenty-Trills shuddered at the wispy cloud of ash that poured over the side of the surrounding hills and spilled into the valley. There wasn’t much material in the air here so far from their abandoned camp, but that there was any at all was a harsh reminder of what they had barely survived. The humans seemed to be having a different reaction. The male straightened a bit as if to free his lungs and emitted a low, musical hum.
“Smoke on the water,” sang out the driver softly.
“Fire in the sky,” the youngest female answered her, drawing the last syllable out in a croon.
The thought that she should probably be concerned about that last line if it was a description of the observed reality crossed Twenty-Trills’s mind, but she was so tired she could hardly find the energy to position her wings correctly, let alone investigate an atmospheric phenomenon that the humans clearly had under control. The older two humans started, and each turned as much attention on the youngest as their situations allowed; the male twisting his body around and straightening his massive spine and the female angling her eyes at her junior. The younger female didn’t seem to notice their contorted faces and changed positions at first, but after a few moments, she turned her attention back from the ash stream and glanced between her companions.
“What?” she asked.
“How do you know that song?” demanded the older female with a laugh.
“Everyone knows that song!” the younger protested, wrinkling her nose in an almost Winged expression of perplexity.
“Do you know the meaning?” the male demanded. The eldest female shushed him. “Or the context?” the male asked in a whisper, glancing back into the compartment.
“To be honest,” the younger female said with a laugh, “I really only know those two lines, but really, why are you two so shocked when I get the most common cultural reference?”
“You just have an air of being innocent, sweetie,” the female said with a grin.
“How innocent do you have to be to not know the proper response to smoke on the water?”
Their voices began to fade out as Twenty-Trills let sleep creep up her wingtips. She probably should stand watch, but what really was the point of having allies who considered the ground pulverizing itself and spewing itself into the air as a topic for cultural debate rather than a natural disaster if you couldn’t let them deal with this updraft once in a while?
HAW Book 3 – Available on Indiegogo October 2022
Humans are Weird Previous Books
Humans are Weird - Smoke on the Water - Let's Work It Out - Audio Narration and Animatic
https://i.redd.it/r2nvyhe350w91.gif
2022.10.25 21:17 Betty-Adams Humans are Weird - Smoke on the Water - Let's Work It Out - Audio Narration and Animatic
 | https://i.redd.it/abjlvkuk40w91.gif submitted by Betty-Adams to selfpromotion [link] [comments] Humans are Weird - Smoke on the Water - Let's Work It Out - Audio Narration and AnimaticOriginal Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-smoke-on-the-waterThe low rumbling of the combustion engine was oddly soothing, wing medic Twenty-Trills thought as she adjusted the final strap of the respirator on the trembling warrior in front of her. “You just take it easy… no marine,” she clicked down at him. She didn’t really understand why using the human term was so universally pleasing to the massive warriors, but it did its work. The warrior gave a weak but sincere tilt to his ears. He was clearly recovering. She glanced around to see if any of the other members of either wing huddled in the center of the spacious storage compartment were free to begin grooming the warrior’s ash-covered fur. However everyone who was awake enough and uninjured enough was already tooth deep in a grooming partner already. She glanced uneasily at her own digit ends and tested the strength of her joints in her mind. As she already knew, everything hurt. Her claws were actually beginning to bleed at the quick. Other Winged’s blood and fluids caked ash, and who could sound what else in her joints? She suppressed a sigh. No point in starting to groom a traumatized warrior if she was just going to collapse on him mid-groom. “I am going to take a rest now,” she announced to no one in particular. There was a soft susurration of agreement as the portion of the wings who were awake expressed their approval of her plan. She did a quick headcount of the officers as she moved towards the rounded rectangle of light that comprised most of the front of the compartment. As she had suspected, she was the highest ranking member of her species conscious at the moment. She fought back another groan and staggered to the last set of restraints before the compartment ended. It was a bit disturbing to deliberately distance herself from the rest of her wing, but the frantic loading process when the camp had been evacuated had resulted in the wing being essentially centered in the space, and someone needed to act as liaison with the humans. The humans were eerily quiet for people who were supposed to be piloting a transport large enough to count as a base in itself with all the piloting AI disengaged. Twenty-Trills stretched up her wing to shield her eyes from the light and peered at the three massive mammalian bodies folded around the control couch. The two passengers, a male and female of about the same mass, appeared to be sleeping. The male leaned his head against his curled fist and said fist against the window and had hunched his shoulders in an effort to center his weight. The female (the youngest of the group by a few decades) had also hunched her shoulders and was leaning back in the seat, her head nodding on her trunk of a neck. The smallest (if that superlative adjective could even be applied here) human, who also happened to be the oldest human female Twenty-Trills had ever seen, had her eyes focused on the optimistically labeled road they were following back to the base. They hardly seemed to be paying attention at all, and Twenty-Trills twitched in irritation. The entire transport suddenly shuddered as the wheels struck an inequality on the surface, and the medic winced. Fortunately for all the broken bones and dislocated joints in the wing, the compartment they were in was stabilized on gyroscopes. She hadn’t felt a thing, but witnessing the world swerve like that with no physical sensation to match was not a pleasant experience. It did however give her reason to reconsider the humans’ attention levels. The dozing male angled his head and opened an eyelid a fraction to monitor the reaction of the pilot. The pilot had reacted to minimize the disruption to the passengers without taking her eyes off the road but now proceeded to check all monitors and windows. The dozing female glanced back at the compartment, and her eyes tracked the dim space for a few wingbeats as she looked for an officer. “Hey, you the medic?” the human called out in a soft, deep tone. “I am the medic,” Twenty-Trills confirmed. “That bump didn’t jostle you?” the human asked. “Not at all,” Twenty-Trills replied. “The gyroscopes on this compartment are quite capable.” The human’s face split open into a grin that exposed her massive rocks of teeth. “Good,” she said. “We’re not a medical transport, you know. It was really lucky we had the crystal carrier handy.” “Really lucky,” Twenty-Trills replied, unsure of the meaning but more than willing to let the humans offer adjectives at this point. She was so tired. The male human had turned his head to look out the window now as they rounded a sharp corner in the road, and the local body of water – a loch, the humans called it – came into view. Twenty-Trills shuddered at the wispy cloud of ash that poured over the side of the surrounding hills and spilled into the valley. There wasn’t much material in the air here so far from their abandoned camp, but that there was any at all was a harsh reminder of what they had barely survived. The humans seemed to be having a different reaction. The male straightened a bit as if to free his lungs and emitted a low, musical hum. “Smoke on the water,” sang out the driver softly. “Fire in the sky,” the youngest female answered her, drawing the last syllable out in a croon. The thought that she should probably be concerned about that last line if it was a description of the observed reality crossed Twenty-Trills’s mind, but she was so tired she could hardly find the energy to position her wings correctly, let alone investigate an atmospheric phenomenon that the humans clearly had under control. The older two humans started, and each turned as much attention on the youngest as their situations allowed; the male twisting his body around and straightening his massive spine and the female angling her eyes at her junior. The younger female didn’t seem to notice their contorted faces and changed positions at first, but after a few moments, she turned her attention back from the ash stream and glanced between her companions. “What?” she asked. “How do you know that song?” demanded the older female with a laugh. “Everyone knows that song!” the younger protested, wrinkling her nose in an almost Winged expression of perplexity. “Do you know the meaning?” the male demanded. The eldest female shushed him. “Or the context?” the male asked in a whisper, glancing back into the compartment. “To be honest,” the younger female said with a laugh, “I really only know those two lines, but really, why are you two so shocked when I get the most common cultural reference?” “You just have an air of being innocent, sweetie,” the female said with a grin. “How innocent do you have to be to not know the proper response to smoke on the water?” Their voices began to fade out as Twenty-Trills let sleep creep up her wingtips. She probably should stand watch, but what really was the point of having allies who considered the ground pulverizing itself and spewing itself into the air as a topic for cultural debate rather than a natural disaster if you couldn’t let them deal with this updraft once in a while? HAW Book 3 – Available on Indiegogo October 2022Humans are Weird Previous Books Humans are Weird - Smoke on the Water - Let's Work It Out - Audio Narration and Animatichttps://i.redd.it/rdmeutg050w91.gif |