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I was at a disadvantage before, looking around in unknown territory, but here? This is my house. My country. My library! I have walked around these halls so many times that I have a pretty good mental map of where everything is. Considering the most requested academic tomes are under the protection of the Librarian, I go investigate the shelves on the first floor, where you find mostly reference books.

All this confidence I managed to build up disappears the instant I notice there’s a group of students in the lodges to the side of the hall, just minding their own business. My throat dries up, my knees shake a little bit.

Saints damn it, why aren’t you all on vacation!?

And they are sitting right on my way, between me and the shelves. I am sure the symbol has to be on the shelves…

“Time to turn tail and run, like always.”

“You can do it. Take a deep breath, look straight onwards and walk!”

Taking her advice, I do my best to not look at ANYTHING and just go straight as an ant to the shelves.

“Wait. What if any of them say hi? Oh no. Uhm. Take a quick look! But make it super, super quick!”

Damn it.

My eyes slowly turn to the left as I am walking. Are they looking at me? Did they look at me? WILL they look at me? They don’t seem to even notice me. Should I call for their attention? Should I say hi? I don’t even know them, that would be weird. But what if I do know them and I just don’t remember? There’s lots of law students around, maybe they are law students? I can’t see their books from this distance, maybe I need glasses. Would glasses make me look unassuming? I wish people didn’t look at me…

Eventually I reach the shelves without exchanging a single word with these people. I really, really hope I didn’t look like a nervous wreck while walking by, but I guess there isn’t much I can do about that now, can I? Ugh, I can barely focus as I start looking on the shelf itself, trying to find anything out of the ordinary…

“You’re nervous when there’s a lot of people, and you’re nervous when there’s few people. What will it take for you to be happy about something, huh!? Tiresome bitch…”

I sigh loudly. I left my S.O.S. at home, so I can’t really get rid of these voices tonight… I’ll have to brave them.

“It will be a hard time… but you can do it.”

Taking a deep breath, I continue trying to focus on finding that damn ‘golden symbol’ around the shelves, even taking out a few suspiciously out of place books, just to check if the symbol could be carved on the back of the shelf or something…

Nothing.

I spend a good long hour checking each shelf on the first floor as methodically as my body allows… before I know it, I have given up on everything and am sitting on a bean couch at the main hall, letting my eyes close slowly…

… When I open them again, I practically jump out of my chair.

Did I just fall asleep!?

“Oh boy.”

I pick up my phone to check… It's 2 in the morning.

“Oh boy! Who could have guessed things would go wrong, huh?”

I can still feel the sleepiness in my limbs, my eyelids feel so heavy. Saints, help your poor servant!

The lights feel so vibrant here, so annoying and white. I can practically hear them buzz… but then, I notice something else. The smell of decent coffee, recently brewed. I look around, quickly finding the librarian at her desk, serving cups of coffee to the group I saw… I think of going over and taking one but that would probably imply conversation. And I am not ready for conversation! I—

“Oi! You finally woke up!” The librarian catches me instantly with a knowing smirk. “Want a cuppa?”

I freeze. For a moment I think: ‘hey, let’s pretend I didn’t hear her!’, but I don’t have my headphones on and I made eye contact. I am trapped, TRAPPED.

“M-Mhm.” I manage to whimper, nodding my head quickly.

“Then come over, don’t be shy. We’re all night owls here.”

There is a sense of community there that’s quite alluring, but the curious looks of that group of students really feel like cold daggers on my chest. Still, I gather all my courage and robotically walk over to the group, taking a styrofoam cup, and then watching the woman fill it up slowly with coffee as black as my soul. Just like I like it… just with a hint of sugar, though.

“So you finally came around again. I was wondering what happened to you.” The old lady looked at me, knowingly.

“You… you recognize me?” I can’t help but feel a mixture of happiness and abject horror mounting on my back.

“My child, I recognize every single person who comes to my library! I know them all, believe it or not! Including these rascals over here.”

The others laughed. I just looked at my coffee while mixing a teaspoon of sugar in it. She’s probably joking, right? I mean… there’s no way she actually memorizes every visitor, right?

“Maybe she’s a witch.”

Knowing what I know now? I wouldn’t be surprised. I just take a sip of my coffee.

“You’re not here to study for the special tests, are you?” The lady again read me like a saints’ damned book. “You’re looking for something special.”

“It’s nothing that ominous.” I quickly cover. “I am just looking for a particular book, but I am not sure where I could find it in the library.”

“Why not ask for help? I am right here, precisely for that!” The Librarian puffed up her chest. “If I don’t get anything to do, I get bored.”

“Ah, well, you see…” I start getting nervous again. I can’t just tell her the truth! What if I slip and this woman turns out to be a cloak testing me? Or worse, a sleeper! I am quite sure the whole ‘Secret of magic’ is a very serious matter! I could get her and myself in a big pickle!

The woman seems to notice my distress… and instead of trying to reassure me, the damn crone just goes and says:

“Is it poooorn you’re after, boy?~”

Saints help me.

The others are laughing and looking at me all smiley, why!? Why must this lady put me in a situation like this!?

“T-There’s the internet for stuff like that!” I blurt without thinking. “I mean! Ah! Damn it!”

More laughs. At this point my face must be lighting up red and radiating hotter than active uranium.

“I. Can’t. It’s a symbol!”

“A symbol?” One of the other students tilted his head with curiosity. “What kind of symbol? Are we talking chemical or arcane?”

“Nerd spotted. You’re among comrades here, breathe easy.”

It’s hard to breathe easy when people are actively laughing at me, saints damn it!

“It… symbolizes gold.” I finally relented. “I am not sure which one of the many, many interpretations it could be. I thought of the alchemical symbol for gold, or a Sun, who knows…”

“That’s a little vague.” The student said, frowning a little bit and rubbing the back of his neck. “The symbol is in the book? Like, on the cover?”

What am I even supposed to answer to that!?

“I. Think?”

“Well.” The Librarian recovers the reigns of the conversation with a grin. “If that thing you are looking for isn’t here? It may be a literature tome. You know, on the second floor.”

“Y-Yeah…” I sigh. This whole conversation has just been so stressful.

“Well! It could be the Golden Ratio!” One of the girls says. “You know the Golden Ratio?”

“Isn’t that the whole shell inside a rectangle thing?” I blink.

“Yeah! They use the helenian letter ‘phi’ to represent it.”

The girl is nice enough to draw it for me…

Phi
I stare at the symbol on the paper for a moment. That’s… actually useful. And it does make sense! It could be this! Suddenly inspired, I stand right up and finish what’s left from my coffee in one gulp, not even caring that it burns my damn throat as I do so.

“Okay, this works. Thank you!” Without even feeling the anxiety attack me again, I bow my head and turn around to go right for the stairs!


When Tav had turned around and moved out, the Leader of the Coven looked at her young apprentice with a frown, shaking her finger slowly at the girl.

“You shouldn’t be so obvious with your hints, young girl.” The woman shook her head softly. “We could have had fun with her for at least another hour!”

“I didn’t feel like being cruel today.” The apprentice said with a sleepy grin, while some of the others ruffled her hair and called her a ‘softie’. “The Bastard needs a way to learn! And it would be sad to see the Overseer waiting for another night…”


I rush past the empty reception desk on the second floor, joging without even caring about the ‘No Running’ rule as I go head first into the wooden shelves of the literature section. And it doesn’t even take me that many attempts to finally see something: a symbol carved on the wooden side of one of the shelves.

Phi. Lower case. Small enough to not be disruptive, but big enough to be noticeable.

My eyes widen, and I immediately approach the symbol with awe invading my body. I don’t even dare to touch it at first, that’s how big my excitement is! Whatever does this mean!? Is this whole building the Elysium? Or just the second floor? Isn’t this place way too public for what they mean to do?

Finally giving up on trying to be cautious, I just touch the symbol. For a moment nothing happens, and I feel the panic starting to take over again.

“Trust the process, maybe it takes a moment!”

I keep my finger pressed on the carved symbol for a moment, taking slow, deep breaths as I try to keep myself from going into a saints damned anxiety attack. But then, something does happen. Octarine, that strange colour, starts filtering from my very veins and into the symbol, filling in the carving before flowing on the air like a river of vibrant purple-green. It advances in front of my eyes, dancing and spiraling before flowing deeper into the library.

“What…?”

“What are you waiting for!?”

“Follow it!”

I don’t have to tell myself twice! My legs don’t have the energy to keep running, but the colour is not flowing super fast, so I can just walk behind it until it reaches an empty wall on the deepest side of the second floor. I put my hand against it and push slightly, this time trying to cause the flow myself! My excitement knows no bounds when the colours flow from my forearm to my palm, and then spread on the wall like vines growing in all directions.

“Idiot! What if someone can see you!?”

Biting my lower lip, I quickly turn around. No one followed me, good! I can focus again on the wall, or in this case the lack of it: where there was a wall now there’s an entrance, a black hole just waiting for me to jump in. With a sigh, I decide to ignore my anxieties and just go into the darkness, being quickly surrounded by it as the wall quickly appears again behind me.

It takes a moment for my eyes to get used to the room, but when they do the way is clear: a spiral stairway going up.

“More stairs… why do people here love their stairs!?”

With a frustrated grumble, I take a step on the stairs, only for them to start moving on their own. Huh. Now that’s convenient! I just let them take me higher and higher, without even questioning how they move without mechanisms or electricity. Magic is just Like That™.

It doesn’t take long until the light hits me: a faint, gentle blue light, like a beautiful night sky. My observation proves right on the money, for what I find on top of the stairway is a tremendous planetarium: a dome of darkness with distant white lights showing the spectacle of the stars right above us.

There are some tables and chairs around, some bookshelves too… and sitting on one of them, was the specter of someone I know. The figure of a certain book vendor.

Miss Pelafina gently brushed some of her dyed black hair behind her ear to look at me with a mocking grin.

“Took you long enough, didn’t it? Kid.”

I wrote this for a writing prompt in writingprompts, but not many people will see it because the prompt is a little old. I just wanted to share. Wrote during breaks at work so forgive me if it’s a little rough around the edges.
The prompt was, “Watching the man or woman of your dreams fall in love with someone else.”
feedback appreciated
::Caitlyn::
I watched her through her kitchen window.
She stood by the sink—wine glass in her hand, gently swirling it as she looked at her phone. God, she was pretty tonight. The yellow kitchen light cast a glow upon her skin, and I swear she was the brightest thing in the room—more so even than the bulb itself. Fishnet lace snaked up her legs, red as summer wine, and her bathrobe parted just enough at the top to tease—just enough to draw your attention to it so that she could playfully scold you for looking.
It’s what she did.
I knew what she was waiting for, though. This was the first night he hadn’t shown up in over a week.
I didn’t get it. That guy—the guy who tracks muddy boots through the house, the guy that smokes cigarettes in the laundry room even when she specifically tells him not to, the guy who hasn’t touched a single dirty dish in as long as he’d been there—a dirty anything for that matter, and he’s the one she swoons for? Fucking bastard. That’s all he was. A dirty fucking bastard that didn’t deserve a woman even half as nice as my Caitlyn.
No, she didn’t get it—really, she didn’t and it made me feel kind of sorry for her. God, I mean if she only knew the things I’d do for her—the things that we have in common. We would be so happy together.
I like to read just like she does, the same genres and everything. I even picked up the book she started last week, and it’s already one of my favorites. She likes to jog; I like to jog; she likes binging shows; I like binging shows. Both of us have a horrible sweet tooth as well. I can never help but smile at the thought of that.
Now, it’s three hours past eight, which was the time that he was supposed to arrive. She’d moved to the couch and was lying on her back, letting one leg dangle to the floor. Blue light from the TV illuminated her features in the dark of the room, and it wasn’t difficult to tell that she was upset. God, I hate to see her cry.
Occasionally, she would glance over. She would peer out the window with that sad face and look in my direction. At first, I thought she was trying to see over me, to look over the hedge and into the trees behind her drive. After a few of her glances, though, I wasn’t sure anymore. I was almost convinced that she noticed me and was looking directly at me.
Maybe she needed me. Perhaps this was her way of saying, “Come get me, Richard.” And what if it was? What if this was my chance, and I missed it because I thought about it too hard? Maybe she knew I’d been out here, watching all along, for all this time. If that was the case, then she surely knew that I wouldn’t be able to resist those watery eyes.
It was time—time to be the man she needed—to finally confess my love for her, then hold her tight in my arms as she did the same.
I straightened myself—no more hiding. No more lurking in the shadows while she filled the void in her heart with all of these other worthless men. It was time she had a real man, a man who cared.
I walked to the door. For a second, I wondered if she’d left it unlocked for me. She’d done that before and pretended she was asleep whenever I made my way inside. She always did like to tease like that. I almost just opened it and walked straight in, but on second thought, I figured it might’ve been a little jarring. I decided to knock instead.
My throat felt as tight as a fist. Why was I so nervous? She loved me; I knew she did, but still, I was nervous. Sweat beaded down the side of my face like condensation. I wiped it away with my sleeve and took a deep breath. This was it. In a few moments, I’d finally have my Caitlyn. I’d finally hold her in my arms like I’d always dreamed.
I brought my fist to the door, and my stomach tightened into a knot.
Just as I was about to do it, I heard gravel crunch in the distance.
Quickly, I darted back into the safety of the shadows. I could see two bright headlights through the trees as they bounced down the dirt road.
It was him—the old Chevy Silverado with the silver toolbox in the back.
Of course, it had to be him.
He’d messed up this time, though; there was no way she’d forgive him now, not after tonight. With a smirk, I watched, wondering what kind of pitiful attempt he’d make to try and win her back this time, knowing that whatever it was wouldn’t be enough. Then he stepped out of his truck.
He was covered in black grease from head to foot and wore a mechanic uniform. He held something small in his arms, something with a bright red bow tied around its neck. It was hard to tell, but it looked like a little black lab from where I stood. Trustingly, it pressed its head against his chest and darted its eyes around the new scenery.
He walked up the porch steps. He was going to knock, but before he could, Caitlyn flung the door inward and glared at him. As much as I hated how she felt, that twisted expression of anger she shot him gave me more joy than I could’ve imagined. That joy was only fleeting, though. The man flashed a smile as he looked down at his arms, rubbing the puppy’s head. It melted the expression right off of her face.
“Oh my God!” She squealed, happily shuffling her feet as she held her arms out.
I was appalled. A puppy? A little dog and all of his sins are erased?
The two of them seemed so giddy together. They laughed and hugged and spoke in high voices to the puppy while they rubbed its head. The whole scene made me sick to my stomach if you really want to know the truth.
I don’t know how he did it—how he managed to weasel his way back into her heart and occupy the space that was so rightfully mine—truly, I didn’t. Who knows, maybe it was all an act. Perhaps it was her way of telling me, “you should’ve knocked.” And now, this was my punishment.
Maybe I should’ve. Maybe then I could’ve been the one to answer that door. A puppy wouldn’t soften my eyes, not like hers. I failed her, I know, but I will not fail her again. That is the last night he will ever come knocking on her door. I’m certain of it.

Perhaps accidentally, the party managed to wrap up a couple of major quests on floor 2 this session. In addition to a very cute dog in attendance irl, we had:
-Freyja, Half Elf Paladin of Mielekee, a gothic woman seeking vengeance on her’s father’s killer.
-Nazar, Goliath Paladin of Tyr, an upright man in exceptional armour, seeking a holy relic.
-Felicity, Aaracockra Bard, a cunning and curious birdfolk with dark musical tastes.
-Archimedes, Gnome Artificer in his owl themed armor, seeking to make magical items.
-Goba, Dwarf-Duergar Fighter-Barbarian, a noble bounty hunter on someone’s trail.
They also have Nanaz, Goba’s manservant, and the vengeful revenant Halleth, as companions.
MIDNA’S SHADOWS
The session began with battle against Halleth’s final murderer, Midna, Cleric of Shar. Her plush chamber was plunged into darkness that especially obscured things to Nazar- except, oddly, the Shrine of Shar which remained unnaturally visible in the black.
Ten shades were conjured alongside two shadow mastiffs to bog down the party, while Midna shot their one light source- a little clockwork flash-walker Archimedes had made. Nazar held the line, barely buffeted by the shades, while Freyja and Archimedes stabbed and zapped her black hounds. Halleth used his new ability, with a cry of “onwards, for Vengeance!” to let him and Goba rush forwards without opportunity attacks to corner her.
Quickly, the shades and hounds fell, and Nazar, able to see only one thing, threw a rock at the shrine of Shar and charged over. This immediately elevated him as Midna’s main target, and she tried to hack at him with a cursed sickle, only for Goba to run her through. Midna died surprisingly peacefully, muttering that it didn’t matter.
In the aftermath, as the light returned, Nazar pulled out his warhammer and set about demolishing the statue of the dark goddess. He felt a brief call, an offer that he could gain the power to see through the darkness like his allies, but he turned it down and smashed the shrine apart. Earning a Curse of Shar.
Curse of Shar- Plagued by the dark goddesses wrath, you are weakened as your memories fade. While cursed you have disadvantage on Saving Throws against Magic, and lose proficiency in one random skill. Each long rest, make a DC 18 Wisdom Saving Throw. On a failure, you lose proficiency in another random skill.
Nazar lost memories of conversations had around campfires, losing a portion of his charm and the Persuasion skill first.
CALL OF VENGEANCE
While others were looted the room for gold, suspecting the feast of poison, and finding nice clothes, Halleth remained animated, stabbing Midna again and again. When Archimedes intervened and removed her holy symbols- offering the undead cleric the symbol of Waukeen, he looked at it with barely any emotion on his bleeding face.
“She never opened her gates to me. Why would that change now?” Halleth growled, “There are more debts to collect. More wrongs to right. So much evil to punish. Can’t you hear the call of vengeance?”
They couldn’t but Halleth grumbled that something- an angel- had reached out to him when he last lay dead, promising to slay the evils of undermountain. And somehow, with this being’s power, the revenant doesn’t die yet. Instead, the party watched uncertainly as he tried to leave, collapsed as his body fell apart, and his soul seemed to sink down into the stonework.
They have completed his quest for vengeance, but something calls him to linger on in the dungeon. Archimedes pocketed the two holy symbols of Waukeen and Shar, and after desecrating the rest of this room, they left.
SPIDER EYES WATCHPOST
Or more like Snake Eyes Watchpost.
With the party still in good shape, they decided to go tick off another notch of a quest, and returned to the northernmost Xanathar Watchpost to take it down. This was a tricky fight, against a dozen bugbears, a handful of human mobsters, a mutant drow, and a corridor full of traps.
Well, it was tricky in theory.
Only Goba and Nazar actually had to face the trapped pressure plates littering the corridor, and their toughness and armour turned aside every dart. Felicity flew over them, Archimedes spider-climbed to run along the ceiling, and Freyja pulled out her bow and sniped from the corridor’s end.
Against terrifying blades and thunderous magic, most of the bugbear runts fell like bowling pins. Shun, the spider-faced drow, commanded his men to try and shoot down the “turkey”, littering Felicity with far more feathers than she was meant to have, and tried to bring down Goba and Nazar with poisoned bolts. He failed. He panicked, and he retreated behind a screen of mobsters and bugbears.
Said goons immediately almost died to Archimedes’ shatter, then were put to Sleep by Felicity, allowing the frontliners to run over them and hack the cowardly drow apart. The rest died quickly in the aftermath, with only a brief tussle where a brawler yanked Felicity out of the air, slammed her onto a pressure plate, and got his mate shot and killed by the dart trap.
Another Outpost clear! Two outta three!
In the chambers beyond, they found a mountainous larder of rations, enough to sustain the party for a hundred days if only they could carry it all. Which they can, using the portable hole. Rex’s body was discarded.
The outpost had a rough map of the floor, some other chests for which they found keys. In one, a crimson eyeball abruptly lurched out, floating into the air with a sinuous tentacle hanging it from it like a malevolent ocular jellyfish.
“SHUN, WHAT’S THE STATU- OH, WHO THE HELL ARE YOU, BOY?”
It’s telepathic voice blared into their skulls, taking in the scene before demanding the Xanathar password- how many eyes does the Xanathar have?
Apparently nine was not the correct answer, and so the eye blasted Nazar with a burst laser blast. Felicity was quick to flit into the air and stab it with a psychic blade, hearing one final thought blare into her mind as it died.
“BRING IT ON, FOOL, I KNOW YOUR FACES, AND MY EYES ARE ALWAYS OPEN.”
Xanathar has seen them.

Hi all! I have been diving into the world of voxels recently and I have come to sort of a standstill.
First of all I tried to use Marching Cubes to get (semi) realistic looking terrain that players can edit but it mostly flew over my head, so I decided on good old cubes. (if I should revisit marching cubes, let me know)
My second attempt was... horrible to say the least, I don't even want to post the code because you could probably point out something wrong/inefficient with every line lol
My third attempt can be seen here: https://pastebin.com/DyzGX94N Not very efficient, overall not a good approach. Moving on!
However, my fourth/current attempt was actually more promising... until it wasnt. I had a 32x32x1024 chunk of voxels and up to 256 voxels from the ground were "solid" and not "null" voxels (null voxels in my code = air voxels)
I did have a problem where the top-left-corner of the voxel layer at 257 (first null layer) were solid, could not for the life of me figure out why.
Anyways, the code can be seen here: (its still very inefficient) https://pastebin.com/Y26qJEiv
It is WAY too CPU-heavy, blocking the game thread when its (supposed to be) running on a different thread, taking multiple seconds to build a chunk when editing voxels. It also messes up UV/face geometry (just writing this, I forgot that I have to take 4 away from every index in Chunk.Triangles to cover up the UV problem... but that would just add more CPU strain so I'm still sure my solution is not going in a good direction.)
I'm not really looking for an error list in my code, just generally asking: - How SHOULD voxel mesh data be stored? By-voxel or by-chunk? Guessing by-chunk. - How should chunks be updated? For instance, making a solid voxel -> air voxel. Do I re-build (recalculate triangles not just recreate the mesh itself) the entire chunk or just the voxel and its surroundings? - Any other feedback, resources, etc welcome
Thank you!

I (20f) had this fabulous friend back in high school. In every class, we were automatic partners, and I feel we just meshed and gelled so well together. We had so many common interests, and she was just so cool I felt myself subconsciously wanting to impress her. It didn't help that she was exactly my type, as I was beginning to find out as a closeted bisexual. I never did get the feeling there would be anything more though, as her religion, which she was very much involved in, severely rejects all forms of homosexuality. Thus, I was content to just be her good friend, even if our relationship was just confined to the classroom. The thing was that we were purely school friends, and while I devoted a majority of my attention to her in school, we never actually hung out outside of class. This was why, once we graduated high school and went our separate ways, we never stayed in touch. While we could have texted, most of our previous text conversations were just continuations of school banter, and the change in dynamic didn't naturally transition into anything else.
Fast forward to now. I am a sophomore in college, and she has just reached out to me to let me know that I should stop by her place of employment, which is within walking distance of my university. Of course I wanted to see her, so I dolled myself up and headed down to see her. When she saw me, she gave me a hug, which was new and appreciated, and we got to chatting. She let me know that she has been working there for almost a year, which caused me to internally question her reaching out now. She also mentioned how she has been having a bit of a rough time, but how she is now on the up and up. When I asked why, she said how this girl she was with, who she was really into, had kind of broken her heart. As we continued to talk, I told her how she should come check me out at my new place of employment, a waitressing gig at a nearby restaurant. I mentioned how initially I was put off by the idea of being a waitress, but how I honestly make bank. She cut in to say "yeah, because you're gorgeous." Eventually she had to return to her shift, and I returned to my dorm.
My question here is twofold. How do I transition to the kind of relationship where we could physically hang out together? I don’t want to force anything, and I feel like a sudden invitation to hang out may appear unnatural. I’ve never actually dated before, but I would honestly love to give this my best shot, and need all the advice I can get. Secondly, what are so neutral hang out options that don’t sway strongly romantic/platonic. I want to toe that line until I establish if I actually might have a chance here or not? Are minigolf and movies good?

Spoilers ahead…
Dear Karthik Subbaraj,
Congratulations on yet another interesting movie, and for resisting the impulse to name this one, too, after a food item. Iraivi is an unusual feminist film, in the sense that it’s seen entirely through the prism of sympathetic male characters. Your men aren’t monsters who drink or cheat on their wives or subject them to torture. They do these things, yes, but… differently. Arul (SJ Surya) drinks, but only to drown out his sense of failure – he’s a director and his film is in the cans, being held hostage by a sadistic producer. Michael (Vijay Sethupathi) has sex with Malarvizhi (Pooja Devariya), and he continues to lust after her after his marriage to Ponni (Anjali) – I love that all your women have names that suggest classical heroines, including Arul’s wife Yazhini (Kamalini Mukherjee) – but it’s a marriage he committed to in a hurry and he still hasn’t reconciled himself to it. He’s being a bastard, certainly, but he’s not a one-note villain. And the torture they inflict isn’t the stubbing-a-cigarette-into-the-wife’s-bare-arm variety. It’s more mental than physical.
So we get women who are collateral damage – and I include Arul’s comatose mother (Vadivukkarasi), and the nurse who’s not allowed to do her duty – of men being men. They’re being babies, really. Yazhini tells Arul that he should get on with his life, write another story, make another movie. He says it’s like her trying to have another child while still pregnant with their daughter. (Yes, all these men end up with girl children.) He’s a wallower – but maybe all artists are. You like to do that, don’t you Karthik? Even in a film like this, you deliver a commentary about filmmaking and the artist. Why, even Arul’s father is a sculptor, and though we never see him ill-treating his wife (thank you for sparing us the clichés of raised hands and raised voices), we’re informed that he’s responsible for her state. His son’s following the father’s footsteps. Maybe you’re trying to say that the wives of obsessed artists are doomed to become collateral damage. Your films make us think, Karthik, so thank you for that.
All your stories have at their centre a filmmaker, or at least (in the case of your first film, Pizza) a storyteller. And through them, we seem to hear your voice. “Works of art should not be in places where they are not respected.” “Namma padam pesanum, naama pesa koodadhu.” You compare masala movies to a massage with a happy ending. (I laughed, but please don’t judge me when I say I rather like massages with happy endings – I refer to masala movies, of course.) We even get a line of dialogue about Dolby Atmos. (What will the B/C-centre audience make of this, Karthik? But then you don’t really give a shit, do you? More power to you.) And you like your insider jokes. That crass, egoistic producer who does not care about art – he reminded me of the crass producer from your earlier film, Jigarthanda. You like Rajinikanth too. You referenced Thillu Mullu in Pizza, Thalapathi in Jigarthanda, and now you have Arul singing Malayala karayoram, Michael singing Oorai therinjikitten.
Or is that more of an Ilayaraja homage? You like to keep the audience guessing, right? When the Bobby Simha character in Jigarthanda said he was a Shankar-Ganesh fan, it appeared that you were mocking the endless Ilayaraja nods in Tamil cinema, but here you are, doffing your hat to the maestro. “Raja Raja dhaan.” Arul says this… twice. (By the way, which is that nightclub which plays Maanguyile poonguyile? Do let us know.) And the reuse of Unnai thaane – first in a scene between Michael and Malarvizhi; later in a scene between Michael and Ponni – is the kind of Easter egg we come to your films for. Let me list some others, though I’ll probably need to watch the film a second (or third) time to get them all. The name of the bachelors’ quarters is Ambal Mansion – it goes with your theme and title. I didn’t get the bit about the windmills (something connected to the gust of wind that makes the row of cycles fall over in the first scene?), or why you showcased the book of Shanta Shishunala Sharif’s poems. (I confess. I Googled up that name. I can’t remember the last time a Tamil film made me Google something up. Madras, maybe.) And despite your note at the beginning that Iraivi is inspired by the works of K Balachander (he made female-centric films, but I don’t know if I’d call them feminist films), this is really more of an ode to Mani Ratnam, isn’t it? Specifically, Aayidha Ezhuthu. The three men, one of them – the impulsive one – named Michael. The film starting out as Arul’s story, then becoming Michael’s story, and finally Jagan’s (Bobby Simha) story. The finale with the woman on the train. Plus, the arc of the Madhavan-Meera Jasmine plot was essentially about being easily misled (in the case of the man) and becoming collateral damage (in the case of the woman.) And yes, the rain. All that rain. As though the skies were weeping for these women.
Am I digressing, Karthik? If I am, I’m just following your style, which is the opposite of simple and linear. As a result, I find your films longer than they need to be. (You may feel the same about my reviews.) For instance, I did not care for the scene in the nightclub where a director is felicitated. I realise it was there as a last straw for Yazhini, but it felt redundant. But I suppose they couldn’t be any other way, because you like these shaggy-dog stories that you then embellish with novelistic detail. I love the way you introduce your characters, the time you take with them. Our films lay out characters and their relationship to each other the minute we set eyes on them, but you make us wait to know how Arul is related to Jagan and where Michael fits in and so on. And when it appeared that a semblance of a plot was kicking in (something about Arul needing money to buy back his film), I dug out my phone and checked: it was a whole hour into the movie. Borrowing an image from Malarvizhi’s profession (oh wait, she’s an artist too; she’s literally an artist), it’s like daubs of paint slowly forming a bigger picture.
And you really like an expansive canvas. Not only does the crass producer have a brother, you also bring in his wife later on, to conclude a deal he began making. These segments practically form a mini-movie, with another woman left reeling by the actions of her man. Your films have this… density. They’re packed – with characters, with complications, with information doled out in bits and pieces. (A character says, “Un kitta onnu sollanum.” And instead of hearing what he has to say, we cut to someone else.) Take the scene where Michael asks Arul for money he is owed. You just need to get Michael to Arul’s antiques shop, so the next part of the plot can be staged. Arul could have told Michael to collect the money at the shop. Instead, this is what we get. Arul tells Michael to wait for a week, when he can get the 50 lakhs he is owed. Michael says he wants only 10 lakhs. Arul says he has only 8 lakhs, he’ll give the remainder later. Michael goes to Arul’s father, in the hospital. He has only 5 lakhs. And he directs Michael to the shop, to get the remaining 3 lakhs. Your signature intercutting adds to this texture, Karthik. Shots of Michael and Arul’s father in the hospital are intercut with shots of Arul hunting for booze. Shots of Michael and Jagan outside a courtroom are intercut with shots of Arul being consoled by his father. Happenings are stretched and meshed the way they would be in real life, and not compacted according to the page-per-minute requirement of screenplay-writing textbooks.
I could never predict where the film was going (win!), what these people were going to do (again, win!) –though I must admit I found this to be the weakest of your “twists.” The subplot about stealing sculptures, too, I found rather conceit-y, something half-heartedly cooked up to fit with the title and the theme, rather than something plausible, something these people would do. When Michael, here, commits murder, with a hammer, I went, “This mild-mannered chap? Really?” But then, even in Jigarthanda, I wasn’t quite convinced that the characters would do the things they did. They seemed to be puppets of a screenplay rather than credible human beings, whose actions evolve organically from who they are (or at least, who they seem to be).
But even if I am not convinced by the overall trajectory of your characters, I love how fleshed-out they are on a moment-to-moment basis. I loved the scene where Arul barges into Yazhini’s house, after their separation, on the day of her engagement to someone else. In a lesser film, she would have asked him to get out, and he’d have dug his heels in, and she’d have cooled down and… But here, she rushes straight into his arms. And you make us see why. She was frustrated, fed up with him. But she’s also confused. Was she hasty in abandoning this man? Should she move on with another man? Does she even need a man? With just this one scene, you’ve compensated for the underwritten heroine of Jigarthanda. The story arc may be Arul’s, but Yazhini registers as a fully formed character. Similarly, Michael’s arc allows for the delineation of Ponni and Malarvizhi, and through Jagan, we get glimpses of his mother, and possibly of all womanhood as viewed by a compassionate man. And then you say that women don’t need even this compassionate man (poor chap!), that they have to emancipate themselves instead of looking for a penis-wielding emancipator. What delicious irony, given that you begin the film with women talking about marriage, tying themselves to a man!
Or not, in the case of Malarvizhi, who is easily the film’s most interesting character. Her husband is dead, and she doesn’t want love anymore – only sex. When Michael buys her a diamond necklace, she gives it back to him – she can buy her own trinkets, thank you very much. But the character feels shoe-horned into the film, Karthik. I felt betrayed – and I bet she did too – that after a point, she was used simply as a plot device to get Michael and Ponni together, and also to illustrate Michael’s (who is now standing in for all of mankind) hypocrisy. I felt she deserved more. And yet, I appreciated your generosity in fleshing her out like all the others, without judging her. She gets to be the rare woman in Tamil cinema who dumps the man, and the way she lets go of Michael is echoed in the way Arul lets go of Yazhini, with a heavy heart and some playacting. A side effect of the Malarvizhi subplot is the reassurance that Vijay Sethupathi is still interested in making cinema, rather than just massy entertainers targeted at the box office.
Ponni gets a better deal (and Anjali is terrific, raw and expressive in a way she has never been). In a great scene – rather, a set of book-ending scenes – Michael tells Ponni that he was forced to marry her, and she’s going to have to “adjust” to this if she wants to be with him. Much later, she throws the “adjust” word back on his bearded face when he asks her if she slept with someone else. In a different kind of movie, we’d be invited to see this symmetry, stand up and applaud. But you’re too subtle for that, Karthik. Iraivi is your subtlest film. Which is why I winced at the melodramatic lines about men and women, most of which came towards the end. Aan, using the long-sounding vowel, versus penn, with the shorter one – for such a visual filmmaker (this is another outstandingly shot film, less showy than Jigarthanda and probably richer for that), do you really need the crutch of linguistic special effects from another era of filmmaking? Also, when the rest of your film is so allusive, isn’t there another way you can explain the twist without having a character resort to such an inelegant information dump?
And why is it that your films come together more in the head than in the heart? Why are they easier to admire than love wholeheartedly? I used to think it was because your characters are essentially deceitful, self-serving and unsympathetic, so though we were invested in what they did, we didn’t really warm up to them. But here, you have Ponni and Yazhini and Malarvizhi – and they’re still remote. But perhaps this is bound to happen when there are so many people, so many strands, when we don’t follow one person’s simplistic “you go, girl” journey like we do in, say, 36 Vayadhinile? But when the parts are so well-crafted, we don’t complain as much about their sum not adding up to a satisfying whole. I am sure that you will, one day, make that wholly satisfying film, but for now, thank you for these parts. Thank you for the ambition. I felt there were too many songs (some good work by Santhosh Narayanan), but thank you for ensuring that they don’t break character, the way songs usually do when a character speaking in his or her voice suddenly segues into the playback singer’s voice. Thank you for giving us SJ Surya, the actor – I never dreamed he had such a capacity to hold a scene, to hold the screen. Thank you for continuing not to sell out. Thank you for trying to do so much, even if not all of it needed to have been tried. And thank you for making me fight with myself, for not making it easy to decide if you’ve made a “good” film or a merely “okay” film. For now, Iraivi is a fascinating film, and that’s enough.
Sincerely, etc.

Hodadenon: The Last One Left and the Chestnut Tree
Long ago a boy and his uncle lived together in an elm bark lodge.
The boy’s name was Hodadenon, which means “The Last One Left.”
All of the rest of his family had disappeared over the years and it was thought they had been killed by those who were ‘otgont’, possessed of wicked powers.
Each morning the uncle would feed Hodadenon and then go out of the lodge to hunt, leaving the boy by himself. Each evening he would return, again feed the boy, and then go to sleep.
One day Hodadenon was playing by himself in the lodge.
He began to think. “Enh,” he said, “why is it that I never see my uncle eat?”
Then he took a bone awl and made a small hole in the deerskin he used as a blanket each night.
“Tonight,” said Hodadenon, “I shall see what happens after we go to bed.”
That evening as always the uncle returned. He fed the boy and told him to go to sleep. Hodadenon lay down on one side of the fire and on the other side the uncle lay down on his couch, which was made of saplings and covered with many animal skins.
Pulling the deerskin over his head, Hodadenon pretended to sleep, but he could still see his uncle through the small hole he had made.
After a time, the uncle stood up and went over to the fire.
“Hodadenon,” said the uncle in a soft voice, but the boy did not answer.
Three times more the uncle called his name, but Hodadenon still pretended to sleep. Coming closer to the fire, the uncle blew very hard into it.
Sparks flew out, landing on the boy’s legs.
“Hodadenon,” said the uncle, “be careful. You are going to be burned.”
But even though some of the sparks fell on his bare skin and burned him Hodadenon did not move.
“Nyoh,” said the uncle, “the boy is indeed asleep.”
He went over to his couch and removed the skins.
He lifted off the top of the couch and took out a box made of birch bark.
All of this Hodadenon watched through the hole in his blanket.
Opening the box made of birch bark, the uncle took out a small pot.
It was so small that it fit easily in the palm of his hand.
From inside the pot he took out another object which the boy could not clearly see though it looked to be smaller than an acorn.
Using a little knife, the uncle scraped tiny shavings from the thing into the pot.
Then, putting the tiny pot over the fire, he blew on it and sang this song:
Grow, pot, grow in size
Grow, pot, grow in size
And as Hodadenon watched, the pot grew in size as the uncle sang his song and blew on it. Finally the pot was as large as a normal cooking pot and the odour of something delicious came from it.
Before long the food was ready and the uncle ate it all.
When he was through, he blew once more on the pot and sang this song:
Shrink, pot, shrink in size
Shrink, pot, shrink in size
And once again the pot became small enough to hold in the palm of his hand.
Replacing the thing he had scraped in the tiny pot, Hodadenon’s uncle replaced the pot in the birch bark box and again hid everything in the secret compartment under his couch. Then he went to sleep.
The next morning, as always, the uncle went out hunting and left the boy alone in the lodge. For a time Hodadenon played around the lodge.
He shot his small bow and arrow at a target and did other things, but the song his uncle sang to the pot kept going through his head.
Finally he could stand it no longer.
“My uncle will be back soon from his hunting,” he said. “He will be very hungry. I should prepare a meal for him.”
Hodadenon went over to his uncle’s couch, pulled off the skins and opened the compartment.
Taking out the box of birch bark, he opened it and found the tiny pot.
Within it was half of a small dry nut.
“So this is my uncle’s food,” said Hodadenon, “but it is almost gone.
If I want to make enough for him to eat, I must use it all.
I am sure he can get more.” So Hodadenon took a knife and scraped all that was left of the nut into the tiny pot.
Then, placing the pot over the fire, he blew on it and sang:
Grow, pot, grow in size
Grow, pot, grow in size
Sure enough, just as it had done for his uncle, the pot became larger.
Now it was the size of a normal cooking pot and it was boiling and boiling.
But Hodadenon was not satisfied, “surely my uncle will be more hungry than this when he comes home.
I must make more.”
Then he blew on the pot and again sang:
Grow, pot, grow in size
Grow, pot, grow in size
Now the pot was so large and bubbling so fast that Hodadenon had to stretch to stir the contents, which smelled very good indeed.
“Neh,” said Hodadenon, “this isn’t enough. What if my uncle wishes to share this good food with me.
After all, he will be grateful that I prepared it.
I must make more.”
So, once more, he blew on the kettle and sang the song.
Again the pot grew and now it was so large that Hodadenon had to stand on top of his uncle’s couch and use a canoe paddle to stir the contents, but he was so excited that he did not want to stop.
“This is almost enough for us,” he said, “but what if we should have visitors?
We should have enough to offer them as well.”
So, for a fourth time, Hodadenon blew on the pot and sang the magic song.
The pot grew so big that Hodadenon had to get out of the lodge because it filled the whole place from side to side! It was so big that the only way the boy could stir it was by taking a long pole up to the roof and reaching down to stir it through the smoke hole!
When Hodadenon’s uncle came back from hunting, the first thing he saw was the pudding bubbling out of the door of the lodge.
He heard someone singing above him and looked up.
There was Hodadenon, swinging his legs in the smoke hole, still stirring the pudding and singing happily:
What a good cook I am
What a good cook I am
We all will eat well now
What a good cook I am
“Nephew,” called the old man, “come down from there.
What you have done has killed me.”
Then Hodadenon’s uncle blew on the pot through the door of the lodge and sang the song to make it grow small.
When it was down to the size it had been at the beginning, he entered the lodge, lay down on his couch and began to weep.
Hodadenon, who had come down from the smoke hole, walked over to where the old man lay.
“Uncle,” said Hodadenon, “what is wrong?”
“Hodadenon,” said the uncle, “you have used up all of the only food I can eat.
Now I will starve to death.
This is why I never allowed you to see me eat.
I knew that you would do this.”
“Uncle,” said the boy, “things can’t be that bad.
Just go and get another of those little nuts.”
“Neh,” said the uncle, “that is the kind of food called a chestnut.
Long ago, though it was very dangerous, I obtained that one.
All these years I have eaten it and it would have lasted for many more.
Now I am too old to get another one.”
“Wah-ah,” said Hodadenon, “this is my doing.
I shall go and bring back many chestnuts.”
“It is not possible,” said the old man.
“The way is long and guarded by many terrible creatures.
Others of your family have gone there but none have ever returned.”
Yet Hodadenon would not give up. Finally the uncle agreed to tell him the way.
“Go straight to the north, the uncle said. “There you will find a narrow path.
At its first turn it is guarded by two great rattle snakes, slaves to the evil ones who own the chestnut trees.
No one can get past them.”
“But what if I do, Uncle?” asked Hodadenon.
If anyone by good luck passes the great snakes, he will next encounter two huge hears.
They guard a passageway between the rocks.
They too are slaves of the evil ones.
They will tear apart anyone who tries to pass.
“Further on down the path are two giant Panthers which leap upon anyone who attempts to get by them. Hodadeno, it cannot be done.”
“Is that all, Uncle?” Hodadenon said.
“Is it not enough?” said the old man.
“Neh, that is only the beginning. Next is the place where the chestnut trees grow.
There live the seven sisters who own the trees.
All of them are strong in ‘otgont’ power.
If anyone comes to steal the chestnuts, they run from their long lodge and beat the person to death with their clubs.
No one can hope to go undetected, for a flayed human skin hangs in the top of a tree looking down on the chestnut grove and it sings a warning when anyone comes close.”
“Nyah-weh, Uncle,” said Hodadenon, “I thank you for your good advice.
Now I must he on my way. I shall return with the food you need if all goes well.”
Taking two sticks, he tied them together and placed them standing near the fire.
“Watch these sticks, Uncle,” said the boy. “If all is well with me they will not move, but if I am killed they will break apart.”
Now Hodadenon set out on his way.
He went straight to the north and found a narrow path.
“This must be the road my uncle told me of,” said Hodadenon. “It looks easy enough to travel.”
The boy continued along and soon the path began to twist and wind.
Ahead, it turned sharply to the left. Hodadenon stopped, crept off the path, went through the trees, and peered out cautiously.
There on either side of the path, were two great rattlesnakes, coiled and ready to strike.
“Uncle,” said Hodadenon, “you know this road well.” He went and caught two chipmunks. Holding one in each hand he again began to walk the path.
When he came to the two rattlesnakes he threw a chipmunk into the mouth of each before they could strike him.
“Tca,” he said, “you seem to be in need of food.
Now I have given you that which you should hunt for yourselves.
Hawenio, our Creator, did not make any of his beings to be slaves. Go from this place.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the two rattlesnakes uncoiled and crawled off in different directions, leaving the road unguarded as Hodadenon went along his way.
Meanwhile, back at the lodge, the two tied sticks which had been quivering now stood still as Hodadenon’s uncle watched them intently.
Now the path entered a rocky place.
Again Hodadenon left the trail to scout ahead.
There, where the way dipped between two big boulders, were a pair of giant bears, crouched and ready to tear apart anybody who tried to go by.
“Uncle,” said Hodadenon, “you have travelled this road before.”
He climbed a tree where he heard the buzzing of many bees, pulled out two combs of honey and went back onto the path.
When he came to the bears, he hurled the combs of honey into their mouths before they could grab him.
“Hunh,” the boy said, “it looks to me as if you were hungry.
Now I have given you that which you like best of all.
The one who gave us breath, Hawenio, did not make us to be the slaves of anyone.
Go from this place.”
At his words, the two bears turned and went away,each in a different direction as Hodadenon continued down the trail.
Meanwhile, back at the uncle’s lodge, the two tied sticks stopped quivering and Hodadenon’s uncle breathed a sigh of relief.
Now the path entered a deep forest and wound between large trees.
Leaving the trail, Hodadenon crept along till he could see the place where two huge panthers, eyes glowing like green flames, hid behind a pair of giant pines on either side of the path.
“Uncle,” Hodadenon said, “you remember your travels well.”
Taking his bow and arrows, he killed two deer.
Carrying them over his shoulders, he went down the trail once more.
Before the panthers could leap upon him, he threw each of them a deer.
“Ee-yah,” he said, “I see that you were in need of food.
Now I have given you that which you are supposed to hunt.
Know that the one who gave us strength to walk around, Hawenio, did not intend that any living creature should serve another as a slave.
Go from this place.”
In two different directions away into the trees slunk the panthers and the boy continued along his way.
Meanwhile, back at the lodge, the two sticks which had been shaking as if struck by a strong wind once more stood still as Hodadenon’s uncle watched them.
The path in front of Hodadenon was very straight and wide. It looked to have been travelled by many feet.
The boy listened very carefully and soon he began to hear a very faint song coming from the treetops.
Crawling forward through the brush, he peered up and saw the one who was singing.
It was the skin of a woman tied in the top of a tree.
This was her song:
Gi-nu, gi-nu, gi-nu
I am the one who sees all,
I see you
The song was very soft.
Hodadenon could barely hear it, but he knew it would grow loud indeed if she caught a glimpse of him.
Below her was a grove of trees.
They were covered with a fruit which had burrs all over it.
These, Hodadenon knew, must be the chestnuts.
Beyond the skin woman and the trees was a great pile of human bones and just to the other side of them was the long lodge of the seven witches.
“Tcu,” said Hodadenon, “now I shall need some help.”
Going to a basswood tree, he peeled a long strip of bark.
With a burned stick and the juice of berries, he decorated the piece of bark until it looked just like a long wampum belt.
Slinging it over his shoulder, he knelt down and tapped four times on the earth.
“My friend,” he said, “I am in need of help.”
Up out of the ground poked the nose and then the head of a female mole.
“Nyoh, Hodadenon! How can I help you?” asked the mole.
“Grandmother,” said the boy, “if I make myself very small, will you carry me under the earth with you?”
“That’s too easy,” said the mole. “Let’s go!”
Then Hodadenon began to rub himself with his hands.
As he did so he grew smaller and smaller until he was small enough to travel with the mole under the earth.
Down into the ground they went, coming up beneath the very tree where the Skin Woman was swaying back and forth.
Once again Hodadenon rubbed himself with his hands until he was back to normal.
Then he called up to Skin Woman.
“Sister,” he called, “I have seen you first.
Do not tell the others I am here and I will give you this fine belt of wampum.”
“Wah-ah!” said Skin Woman, “I did not see you, Hodadenon.
Give me the belt and I will not warn them you are here.”
Hodadenon tossed the belt up to Skin Woman.
She put it on and immediately it wrapped itself so tightly about her she could not speak. Under the tree, Hodadenon quickly filled his pouch with chestnuts.
Then, making himself small once more, he called for his friend, Mole, to take him back under the earth.
Up in the tree, Skin Woman finally got her breath. She began to sing:
Gi-nu, gi-nu, gi-nu
Someone has bribed me
I cannot say who
Out from the long lodge ran the seven witches.
Each of them carried a long club.
They ran to the place where Skin Woman hung, but they saw no one.
“Someone has been here,” said one of the witches.
“Some of our chestnuts are gone,” said another.
“Skin Woman,” said a third witch, “you are our slave.
Speak and tell us who has been here.”
But Skin Woman did not answer the question.
All she did was swing back and forth in the wind, singing this song:
Gi-nu, gi-nu, gi-nu
I’ve been given a wampum belt
Shining and new
“You are a fool,” said another of the witches.
“That is only the bark from a tree.”
“It must have been The Last One Left.” said the fifth witch, “the boy whose uncle stole from us long ago.”
“If he comes back,” said the sixth witch, “we will catch him and kill him.”
“Nyoh,” said the last witch, “now we must punish our slave.”
She took her club and struck Skin Woman a heavy blow.
Each of the others did the same.
Then the seven witches went back into the long lodge, leaving the Skin Woman covered with bruises, but still singing softly of her fine new belt of wampum.
Meanwhile, back in the lodge of Hodadenon’s uncle, the two sticks had fallen over on the floor.
Picking them up and standing them upright once more, the old man watched them with great concern.
From his hiding place in the earth, Hodadenon had listened to all that was said by the seven sisters. “It is not right,” he said “that those terrible creatures should go on like this.
Friend Mole, we must go back there.”
The mole dove deeper into the earth.
She carried Hodadenon under the long lodge and came up beneath the couch where the sisters slept.
There, tied to a string of sinew, were seven hearts.
Quick as a spark leaping from the fire, Hodadenon grabbed the string of hearts and ran from the lodge.
Seeing him, the seven witches grabbed their clubs and gave chase.
Now back in the lodge of Hodadenon’s uncle the two sticks fell over once more.
The old man was so disheartened that he did not stand them up again.
He lay there staring at them, certain that his nephew would now never return alive.
From the top of her tree, Skin Woman sang as the seven witches chased Hodadenon:
Gi-nu, gi-nu, gi-nu
Hodadenon has your hearts
This will be the end of you
Now the first witch had almost caught up with the boy and raised her club to strike him.
As she did so, Hodadenon squeezed one of the hearts on the sinew string and the witch fell dead.
Now the second witch was about to strike.
Again Hodadenon squeezed a heart and the second witch died also.
In the end, he had squeezed all seven of the hearts and all seven of the evil sisters had fallen dead.
Climbing to the top of the tree, Hodadenon cut loose the cords which held Skin Woman.
He brought her down and placed her on top of the pile of human bones.
Then he began to push against a great dead hickory tree which was near the pile.
“Get yourselves up, my relatives!” he shouted. “A tree is about to fall on you!”
Immediately Skin Woman and all of the people whose bones were piled there leaped up and came back to life.
Skin Woman was, indeed, the sister of Hodadenon.
Long ago the evil witches had caught her and the others of his family whose bones lay in that pile.
There before him were his parents, his brothers, and all his relations.
All were very happy to be alive and thanked the boy again and again.
Taking the chestnuts from the ground, Hodadenon passed them out to all his relatives.
“Plant these all over,” he said. “Food will be shared with everyone from now on.”
Finally, his pouch filled with chestnuts, Hodadenon went back to the lodge of his uncle.
The old man lay there on his couch, thin as a skeleton, his eyes fixed on the two tied sticks.
“Uncle,” said Hodadenon, “I have returned.”
The old man jumped up and embraced the nephew.
To this day he still sits in that lodge, making chestnut pudding in his pot.
And from that time on, the chestnuts, like all the other good things given to us by Hawenio, our Creator, no longer belong to just one family, no matter how powerful they are, but are shared by all.

im going to be building my first pc and wanted some help with choosing the parts , i have a $720 budget and this is the build i've gone for
1)what are some things that i can change/replace to get a better build? the main doubt i have is for the gpu , i saw some benchmarks and concluded that 4060 is the best card for me , if anyone else has any suggestion , feel free to comment
2) will the psu hold up?
3) im new to pc building so if anyone can also help me with making sure that all the components will fit , i'd greatly appreciate it , ive made sure that the motherboard and case are both matx , but i really dont know how to check it with the gpu and psu
im sorry about the currency and that it may make it a bit hard for people to help me
the currency is inr
[PCPriceTracker Build](https://pcpricetracker.in/b/s/89d4e80a-9c17-45bb-9008-3f9be37f58e4)
CategorySelectionSourcePrice
:----:----:--------:
**Processor** [INTEL CORE I3-12100F DESKTOP PROCESSOR (12M CACHE, UP TO 4.30GHZ)](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/5ff8a0fec9097443280ecb56d399ab9e) Vedant Computers 7960
**Motherboard** [Ant Value H610MAD4-N Motherboard (Intel Socket 1700/13th and 12th Generation Core Series CPU/ Max 64GB DDR4 3200MHz Memory)](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/1c68cf4a2d2961a1381fb897e12e5b8c) MDComputers 5670
**Graphic Card** [Inno3D Rtx 4060 Twin X2 8Gb Graphics Card (N40602-08D6-173051N)](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/631c76b9ff4ef753eb8c572b08ce9004) MDComputers 29000
**Power Supply** [Ant Esports RX Series RX650 80Plus Bronze Power Supply](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/8433f9d86b6bb19e4d7057222dfb4594) Vedant Computers 3650
**Cabinet** [Ant Esports ICE-100 Air Mini Mesh (M-ATX) Mini Tower Cabinet with Tempered Glass Side Panel (White)](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/f6856bbee8cf0b35fcca1646609d621f) Vedant Computers 2950
**Memory** [G.Skill F4-3200C16S-8GIS Desktop Ram Aegis Series 8GB (8GBx1) DDR4 3200MHz Black](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/bb06c7488707caa104abd65be4cc0f28) Vedant Computers 1720
**Additional Memory** [G.Skill F4-3200C16S-8GIS Desktop Ram Aegis Series 8GB (8GBx1) DDR4 3200MHz Black](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/bb06c7488707caa104abd65be4cc0f28) Vedant Computers 1720
**Hard drive**
**SSD drive** [Western Digital Black SN770 1TB M.2 NVMe Internal SSD (WDS100T3X0E)](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/5a5b74dc9ce44d5358d2b8835bdebe81) Vedant Computers 6670
**Monitor**
**Additional Monitor**
**CPU Cooler**
**Keyboard**
**Mouse**
**Headset**
**Case Fans**
**Grand Total** **INR 59340**

im going to be building my first pc and wanted some help with choosing the parts , i have a $720 budget and this is the build i've gone for
1)what are some things that i can change/replace to get a better build? the main doubt i have is for the gpu , i saw some benchmarks and concluded that 4060 is the best card for me , if anyone else has any suggestion , feel free to comment
2) will the psu hold up?
3) im new to pc building so if anyone can also help me with making sure that all the components will fit , i'd greatly appreciate it , ive made sure that the motherboard and case are both matx , but i really dont know how to check it with the gpu and psu
im sorry about the currency and that it may make it a bit hard for people to help me
the currency is inr
[PCPriceTracker Build](https://pcpricetracker.in/b/s/89d4e80a-9c17-45bb-9008-3f9be37f58e4)
CategorySelectionSourcePrice
:----:----:--------:
**Processor** [INTEL CORE I3-12100F DESKTOP PROCESSOR (12M CACHE, UP TO 4.30GHZ)](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/5ff8a0fec9097443280ecb56d399ab9e) Vedant Computers 7960
**Motherboard** [Ant Value H610MAD4-N Motherboard (Intel Socket 1700/13th and 12th Generation Core Series CPU/ Max 64GB DDR4 3200MHz Memory)](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/1c68cf4a2d2961a1381fb897e12e5b8c) MDComputers 5670
**Graphic Card** [Inno3D Rtx 4060 Twin X2 8Gb Graphics Card (N40602-08D6-173051N)](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/631c76b9ff4ef753eb8c572b08ce9004) MDComputers 29000
**Power Supply** [Ant Esports RX Series RX650 80Plus Bronze Power Supply](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/8433f9d86b6bb19e4d7057222dfb4594) Vedant Computers 3650
**Cabinet** [Ant Esports ICE-100 Air Mini Mesh (M-ATX) Mini Tower Cabinet with Tempered Glass Side Panel (White)](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/f6856bbee8cf0b35fcca1646609d621f) Vedant Computers 2950
**Memory** [G.Skill F4-3200C16S-8GIS Desktop Ram Aegis Series 8GB (8GBx1) DDR4 3200MHz Black](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/bb06c7488707caa104abd65be4cc0f28) Vedant Computers 1720
**Additional Memory** [G.Skill F4-3200C16S-8GIS Desktop Ram Aegis Series 8GB (8GBx1) DDR4 3200MHz Black](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/bb06c7488707caa104abd65be4cc0f28) Vedant Computers 1720
**Hard drive**
**SSD drive** [Western Digital Black SN770 1TB M.2 NVMe Internal SSD (WDS100T3X0E)](https://pcpricetracker.in/products/5a5b74dc9ce44d5358d2b8835bdebe81) Vedant Computers 6670
**Monitor**
**Additional Monitor**
**CPU Cooler**
**Keyboard**
**Mouse**
**Headset**
**Case Fans**
**Grand Total** **INR 59340**

Well, Hi all! again! 4Th Wall here, I figured since I just got power back, I might as well play some catch up on both series. Hope you enjoy this episode!!
Yup, I fucked that up. This is a repost with the correct Episode number, LOL! It's been a while since I've done that.
First, Previous, Next (Patreon)
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Benjamin smiled, watching the girls skip ahead of him. Today was a testing day of sorts for him. Unwilling to release firearms into this world haphazardly, yet unwilling to go without them as a backup; he had pulled from one of his sister’s favorite video games. He had “melted down” his bowie knife, repurposing the metal to be used in his latest creation. The final product rode on his hip like a short sword, but Ben was satisfied in the design when the vast majority of the people he passed ignored it as just another adventurer’s blade. Benjamin hoped, that with the existence of Majik, that he would be able to pass off any… peculiarities... as the realm of the supernatural.

The three of them arrived at the tailor’s establishment, and the girls were met with a customary indifference that seemed to present itself when a slave’s “master” was present. The moment Benjamin entered, the seamstress ceased to pay attention to the girls, and instead addressed him directly, “Ah, The Forgemaster’s Protégé. What can I do for you this day.” She said cooly, bowing slightly in welcome. “I’m here commission some clothing for these two, a reward for good service.” Benjamin began. It was technically true; the success of the forge had afforded him much more coin than a mere apprentice could have made. Qort had taken him on as a true partner, and Benjamin earned enough to comfortably afford to cloth his “slaves” in whatever he chose.

Some stigma’s remained however, and the seamstress seemed to glare sideways at the girls as they perused the fabrics adorning the walls. “Is that wise? A slave could lose her place with such gifts.” she asked, her polite tone barely hiding her disapproval. Benjamin sighed internally, ‘oh for fucks sake’ he groaned in his own mind before putting on facad, “I find that proper reward, afforded on the right servant can result in” he paused, projecting a smug expression and blatantly looking the girls up and down. “a profound dedication to their duties” he finished with a satisfied smile as the seamstress covered her mouth with a hand to hide a smile of her own. The gambit worked, and the Seamstress was obviously satisfied that the “Aereesen slave whores” were being properly “used”. “Ah, I understand. What did you have in mind for them.” She practically moaned back at Benjamin. ‘This hag needs a good pounding….’ Benjamin’s inner monologue threatened to crack his facade, “That’s the fun part, my good lady. It’s their choice. The surprise is half the excitement.” He chuckled.

The seamstress openly smiled at him this time before nodding and stepping over to the two girls. Benjamin breathed a sigh of relief as she seemed to treat them at least marginally more warmly. The old racist bag didn’t need to know that Benjamin was secretly building a small nest egg for his girls, or that his sending them out to do errands for him was how he was teaching them about money, value, and the application of Mathematics. She also didn’t need to know that the full Cutlery set that she had purchased last week had been made by Vi’s own hand as her first full solo commission set. Benjamin had stamped his “mark” on them, because slaves were not allowed to own anything, including their own work; but Vi had begun with raw steel and finished with one of the finest cooking knife sets he had seen in this world or his.

Benjamin settled onto a bench outside, using the excuse of wanting to enjoy the morning air to afford his girls some privacy. Now that Viola and Valtrya were eating a healthy diet, and the right calorie amount; they had blossomed into absolute bombshells. Their hair had recovered, and both sported long flowing locks that boasted a silky satin black color and texture that betrayed hints of deep royal purple. The color reminded Benjamin of one of those expensive custom car paints that changed color depending on the lighting.

Their skin recovered almost as quickly as their hair. The sickly, scabbed look was quickly replaced with the same satin quality as their hair to the touch, but with a light grey coloring that almost seemed to tease the edge of hinting at a greyish purple. A dense pattern of Small freckles of the same dark, almost royal, purple as the highlights in their hair frolicked on both girl’s cheeks, and down the sides of their necks. Because of their early lack of understanding on modestly, Ben knew that those freckles traveled much further. The sad truth was that Benjamin understood fully why Aereesen’s were the prize of slavers and brothels, and he silently prayed that he could give them enough self-worth and skill to have a better life than that, once he got them out of the Principality.

A door’s soft creaking broke Benjamin from his thoughts as the two sisters stepped out smiling, “Get everything you need?” he asked standing as the three of them departed the establishment. Val nodded vigorously, and Vi smiled as she spoke, “I think so, but I had to practically beg the woman to stop showing us lingerie… what did you tell her?” Benjamin felt his cheeks heat as he responded, “What I had to. The old hag doesn’t get enough at home. It’s not my fault that your ‘enthusiasm’ is in the forge and your studies, not between the sheets. I didn’t lie to her, I just let her draw her own conclusions, sorry.”

Vi’s eyes twinkled for a second, “Oh,” She smirked, “Thaaat’s why she broke out the silk. Some of her options were..” She blatantly bit her lip at Benjamin. “You didn’t…” He asked in shock, and Vi lifted up on her tippy toes to brush her lips against his ear, “Not telling” she purred, setting Bens senses on fire. She backed up a step, openly smirking at his beet red face. “But your expression is adorable… My Lord” She stated the last two words with a deep sultry tone, knowing that Ben couldn’t scold her in public before taking his hand, “May we visit the bazar next? Val saw some jewelry she wanted to look at.” Benjamin gave her a pointed look, that turned into a smile as she beamed at him, “Ok, sounds good. I need to pick up some food for the week.”

It was later that afternoon when the three of them left the bazar. They found Jukha waiting on the bench in front of their home. “Jukha! How are you!” Benjamin called, clasping the Orc’s hand firmly as the girls rushed inside to put up their purchases. Jukha reciprocated, if somewhat stiffly, to the strange to him gesture. “Benjamin, it is good to see you well.” His tone stopped Ben in his tracks, “What is it. Is your wife, ok?”
Jukha shook his head, “Vilora is well, but I have been tasked with finding you.” He said carefully, “The slaver, the one you dueled for those two,” he nodded to Vi and Val as they stepped back out of the building, “The Heir of The Romoregin house is here. He has lodged an official demand for satisfaction, and he brought a champion.”

Benjamin stiffened, “Another duel? You said an ‘official demand’… what happens if I refuse.” Jukha winced at Ben’s tone, “It is an archaic practice of my people, rarely remembered, and even more rarely demanded. You cannot deny a satisfaction claim, but should you prevail, no further claims can be made upon your person. I am sorry Benjamin, but if you flee or refuse, your life is forfeit; and your property goes to the claimant.” Jukha looked pointedly at Viola and Valtrya. “The young puke has put me in danger as well, if I do not deliver you and them to the duel, I can be detained. If they torture me….” Benjamin’s eyes widened before hardening in understanding. “Jukha…” He turned to find Viola standing next to him, with his musket in one arm and his ammunition bag in the other, and sighed, “Fuck”. He loaded his musket with a single roundball cartridge this time, unwilling to fire buck and ball in the town streets. He pealed the ball out of the paper wading after pouring the poweder, reaching into his haversack to retrieve a small round patch made of pillow ticking. Jukha looked on in mild fascination as Benjamin spit on the cloth patch before wrapping the ball in it and ramming the whole thing down the barrel. It wasn’t much, but it reduce windage, ensuring at least reasonable enough accuracy from the smoothbore to keep from hitting innocent bystanders. It would also virtually eliminate blow-by, upping the chamber pressure and giving him a little more velocity. “I’m ready.”

The four of them entered the small city square to be met with Qort and three Org guards. These soldiers wore different insignia that Benjamin had been taught were the mark of the capital. “Beenjaymen Shayfe” one of them butchered his name, “I am.” Ben nodded firmly, the other guard nodded, “And your two slaves, good. Has Jukha informed you of the proceedings.” Benjamin scowled, “A legalized way to attempt a revenge killing? Yea, I’ve been told.” Ben didn’t bother to hide his vitriol, “So I have to kill a motherfucker for defending myself from his father?”

“Not quite. The Heir has brought a champion. The rules are simple, all forms of combat are allowed” The first guard began as the second one began chaining the wrists of Viola and Valtrya. Benjamin began to move before thinking, only to be held back by Jukha, “Peace albino. They must do this. Fighting them will cause a forfeit.” Benjamin looked at the terrified faces of the two girls. He forced himself to calm down outwardly, but Benjamin could feel the rage building. He had worked so hard to save those two, to get them out.. now some snot nosed brat was going to try to kill him because his father didn’t know when to fuck off. Benjamin stepped out from around the guards. The “heir” was a young Durr. Ben had no frame of reference for age, but the Heir was substantially shorter, and his facial tentacles were almost mere buds. Beside him stood a crimson colossus, the same species as the Hunter he had shot saving Jukha. He was taller than that female, and was wearing plate armor, gilded in silver. He hefted a great sword of some kind and smiled openly at Benjamin. It was not a pleasant expression. “Ah, so You’re the puke I’ll be cleaning from my blade. I am Krastorin. Come here, pale one, I’ll make it quick.”

Benjamin looked him over, subtly shifting into a shooting stance but keeping his musket looking like he was resting the butt of a spear on the ground. “You look accomplished, what makes you do the bidding of the boy.” He asked, blatant scorn on his tone. The Young Durr flinched, his small tentacle buds writhing violently. “H’Dare Yee!” he bellowed, voice cracking with the strain of fury, “Aye’ll ‘ave Yee Head on Me’Wall!!”
Benjamin ignored him, focusing on the Hellirine. The man looked back at the boy with a raised eyebrow, “The young puke promised me one of those.” He pointed at Vi and Val, who had reverted to their former trembling submissive postures that Ben had met them in. “It appears that they are as well kept as claimed. I look forward to sampling them.” He leered. Benjamin looked over at the Young Durr and found his face a mixture of relief and anger. ‘Ah, lied about daddy’s slaves.’ He turned to the soldier standing next to him, “Is the duel on?” he growled.

“Combatants! Begin!” was the Soldiers response, and the crimson mercenary lifted his sword from his shoulders advancing forward with a long confident stride, “at last, let’s get this over wi..” a clap of thunder echo’d through the Feral wood, and most of the crowd cried out in surprise as Benjamin disappeared, seemingly behind a bubble of fire, and brimstone. The single round ball ignored the mercenary’s plate armor. Punching straight through as the soft lead mushroomed out into a ragged disk that measured almost an inch and a half. The mangled projectile, still travelling at almost half the speed of sound, eviscerated the chest cavity of the Mercenary before blowing a one foot wide hole out of the crimson man’s back. The exit wound missed Krastorin’s spine by an inch, but it didn’t matter. The projectile embedded itself into a post, thankfully missing any bystanders by mere inches in some cases. The Young Durr, who was standing just behind and to the side of his champion, was screaming as he pawed at the bits of pale yellow blood, bones, and fragments of internal organs now covering him from head to toe.

Benjamin handed the smoking musket to Jukha, drawing his short sword and walking over to a sputtering, choking, and coughing Krastorin. The Hellirine lay face down on the ground, having fallen that way from the momentum of his initial advance. The back of Benjamins mind was sickly amused as he remembered the old Hollywood trope of bullets throwing people backward, and a pinch of regret sparked in his soul as his opponent death rattled. He stepped up to the Heir, resting the blade against his neck, “Are we done here. Be a better man than your father and learn when to save your own life.” The Young Durr froze, staring up at him in abject terror for several moments as a puddle formed at his feet. Benjamin opened his mouth to speak again when the boy simply passed out, falling into the puddle of his own mess as his mind refused to stay conscious.

Benjamin turned to walk back towards Jukha and the girls. “Unchain them.” Benjamin’s tone could have frozen a raging forge’s inferno. To his surprise, two of the soldiers drew their weapons on him, “You need to come with us. All Touched must be registered with...” Benjamin pointed his short sword at the one talking… and pulled the trigger. The percussion revolver built into the hilt of the short sword was zero’d using a notch Benjamin cut into the crossguard, and the tip of the curved blade as a crude set of open sights. The barrel of the revolver lay along one side of the blade, and was rifled. The speaking soldier orc’s took the smaller pistol round through the forehead, exploding the back of his skull in a cone of dark green and grey mist. The exit wound showered his companion in bits of bone and brains. Benjamin’s thumb found the hammer, and four satisfying clicks echo’d in the stunned silence, “HEAR ME!” He growled, “I, am touched by the Gods. I posses the power to end any life I choose using the power of Hell itself!” ‘if I have to show them a gun, might as well throw them off the trail’ “The violence of the raging volcano obeys my very fingertips.” His revolvesword bucked a second time as another soldier orc made a move to rush him. The smaller pistol round still punched through the orcs armor and out the back, but only left him screaming on the ground. Benjamin re-cocked, and leveled his weapon at the orc holding the chains to Val and Vi. “Now, release them.” This last remaining Orc did as asked, before gathering up his screaming companion as the girls rushed to Benjamin, he pulled them close, whispering, “I’m sorry we wont be able to pick up your dresses.”

The three of them packed up that night. Qort had understood, knowing all too well what the Principality would do to acquire a Touched of Benjamins ability. “Stay safe my friend. I pray our paths cross again.” Jukha snuck them out of the village that night, using his wagon to get them to his home. They stayed a week, laying low while they planned their next move. The girls spent their time learning recipes from Jukha’s wife, and ben took the time to unwind a bit. Jukha and He went on a hunt, and Benjamin was given a run down on the flora and fauna of the Feral wood. The two of them brought back a pair of Stags, and the three women cooked them a feast.

“Dinner’s ready!!” called Viola, setting the last of the sides on the table as the dutch oven roasted meat was brought off of the stove top. It was a simple yet elegant meal. Stag, potatoes, some kind of Kale style vegetable that Benjamin had never seen before. Soon enough, everyone at the table was leaning back, as full as they could make themselves. “So, pinkskin,” Jukha asked, “Where do you plan on going. I wouldn’t mind you staying with me. I could use another hunter, but I suspect that they would notice the extra product I brought to the village.”

Benjamin Hummed, “The Maridian Combine. Qort told me that they banned slavery over a century ago, the girls have learned so much already. It would be easy to find jobs for them.” Vi and Val drooped slightly but hid it well. Jukha noticed it but said nothing. “A good choice, their boarders are well guarded, you would need to free them before you cross, or end up in a dungeon yourself.”

“Good point, I can write up a simple writ of freedom. Something I can sign and give to them.” Benjamin nodded, “I can get started on that to…” he paused as a hand fell on his. He looked to see Viola staring at him, fighting back tears, “Hey, what’s wrong. You will be free…” Jukha nodded slowly and stood. “love,” he said to Vilora, “I need some help with the livestock” The Farie met his eyes in unspoken understanding, fluttering out the front door with Jukha.

“Vi, what’s wrong.” Benjamin asked gently.

“No… go… Val… stay…” Both of them turned to Valtrya in shock. She was trembling, “I wont..leave.”

“You speak?” Benjamin looked in shock, but Viola spoke next, “Benjamin, we don’t want to leave. We want to stay, with you. I…” She paused. Ben sighed, “I want you to stay too.” He said, finally admitting it to himself, “But I can’t own you. It’s killing me that you are my property.” He reached up and wiped a tear from Vi’s eyes, “You are so much more than property. I feel evil, every day that I wake up knowing that I could do anything I wanted to you, or worse, die and have someone else hurt you for the fun of it.” Benjamin bowed his head. Viola reached out, lifting his chin to look into his eyes, “Then come with us.” She whispered as Val stood up and stepped around the table, “yes.. You, come.” She wrapped herself around Ben from the side leaning in until she was resting her head against his shoulder, “I’m… staying.. with you.” she said softly. Viola nodded, “Benjamin, how old do you think we are.”

Ben looked at her in confusion, “I have no idea, I’ve always assumed you were teenagers. 13-14 years old for Val, maybe 16 for you, but that was when you were skin and bones.” He admitted.

Viola’s eyes widened in understanding. “You did not want to bed us because you thought us children.” Benjamin nodded slowly, answering. “And forcing sex on a child is the worst kind of crime on my world”. Viola and Valtrya looked at each other, before Vi spoke. “Ben, my sister will turn one hundred and three in a fortnight. I just had my one hundred and fifteenth birthday last week.” She leaned in, pressing her lips to Bens as she kissed him passionately for a moment. “We are no children,” Viola paused as Valtrya leaned in, kissing Ben lightly on the neck, “You are not forcing us to do anything, but leave.” Viola whispered as she began to close in to a surprised Benjamin for another kiss.

The door to the cabin flew open violently, and the girls pulled back to a more modest distance. Jukha walked in, carrying a panting Vilora. “What happened.” Ben asked hurriedly, hoping he wasn’t blushing as hard as the heat on his cheeks suggested. Vilora waved a hand as Jukha set her down in her chair, “The Vin… My sisters… they reached out… They wish to meet…” The Farie gathered herself, “They also sent a warning. We must leave, tonight… hunters.”
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
If you made it this far, I very much appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed the episode! If you believe I have earned it, I have a Patreon that is two episodes ahead of the free releases for this series. I hope you feel taking a look is worth it. Either way, come hang out in the comments. Everyone's welcome! I've discovered Im a bit of a "warts and all" poster, so even critical comments are welcome. Hell, You might even teach me something (it happens more than I'd like to admit).
I have heard people off and on reference Royal road, So I am going to give it another shot. I'll be adding the Royal Road link from now on. If you like reading over there, It is on the same schedule as here. I would greatly appreciate a like/review/comment if you feel so inclined. Thank you again for stopping by.
First, Previous, Next (Patreon) Royal Road

This was inspired by a rent I recently went on about how the Bowyer is the worst background in the game as it inspired me to try to think of a way of buffing some Backgrounds without just giving them a lot of stats.
Bowyer Maybe give them a special ability of just having their ranged weapons degrade slower or repair faster just for flavor
Make their bow event better. First lower its trigger time since sometimes it just never pops. Make it so with just lumber you get the usual event with the 50% fail rate. If you fail and have another lumber you can reroll in an attempt to fix the mistake.
Also let them create a strong named bow if you’re instead also carrying schrat wood and resin, spider web and Ifrit sulfur. Named ranged weapons already feel rare so being able to generate one in a way that makes it so you also have to earn it by fighting annoying enemies is neato.
The apprentice isn’t one of the worst but it is a little dull. Figure a neat event for them would be their ‘graduation’ event - squire should also get it just to maintain flavor despite squire being one of the best.
Apprentice/Squire Add more training events for them that buffs their stats based on who teaches them. They have a few already but add some others like hunter training for range, Gladiator for resolve (showmanship), Assassin for initiative and so on. I know it’s a lot of events but they’re meant to be many, varied and difficult since your party is varied.
Now with that in mind the events on their own are already boons but imagine you get all of them to trigger and give you an educated and skilled character. What would be a suitable reward? They change background from apprentice/journeyman and squire/knight. Their reward is an additional perk - and resolve for good measure.

Title is pretty self explanatory, so here we go!
Cave
I didn’t really get hooked on Showbiz tracks until somewhat recently, so when I re-listened, I was surprised at how incredible this song was! Absolutely love the driving verse, melodic chorus with the stunning high notes, and the piano interlude. It would be so cool if they bring it back live even if it’s in an alternate key, since it sounded excellent a half step down in 2009/2010!
Futurism
Damn does this song get me hyped up for literally anything. The eargasmic bassline and powerful high notes make this B-side truly remarkable, despite that being an appropriate description for about half of Muse’s songs. I can’t believe it didn’t make the cut on OOS because it elevates that masterpiece even more in my opinion.
Sing for Absolution
I wasn’t huge on Absolution for quite some time since the dystopian and dark vibe didn’t really grab me. A recent re-listen got me really digging this song though. The haunting feel that the piano provides and the desperation in Matt’s vocals make this one of their most noteworthy slower songs in my eyes. The ending is definitely a contender for some of Matt’s most sustained A4 phrases as well! He never seemed to fully go for it live which totally makes sense but is kind of a bummer at the same time.
Take a Bow
I’ve never heard a song use modulations like this one does, but it works so damn well! The gradual buildup keeps me on the edge of my seat and the synth arpeggios followed by that huge beat drop never fails to give me goosebumps. Side note: if you haven’t listened to Ian Cologne’s orchestral interpretation of this track then I highly recommend checking it out on YouTube!
Animals
Most of The 2nd Law has grown on me at this point, but I wanted to give a special shoutout to this track for being one of the most sublime in their entire discography. I love how calming the instrumentation is until the heavy bridge kicks in. Even if the lyrics evoke anger, I think it’s such a soothing song overall. I hope they experiment with odd time signatures more often in future songs too!
Defector
This Drones song doesn’t seem to get much love. I get that it follows the titans that are Reapers and The Handler, but I think it totally continues the momentum! The chorus is pretty fun and the instrumental section with the backing synths is beautiful. I’ve lately found that listening to this album from start to finish is one of my favourite journeys in their repertoire due to there being nothing that interrupts the concept and theme.
The Void
The lyrics are so damn repetitive and uninspired, but the instrumentation is gorgeous so it more than makes up for it. I think it concludes the ST theme so well with the futuristic/retro feel that about half the songs provide, and I especially admire how the melody comes full circle when the closing piano part mirrors the synth in the beginning. Those bass thuds at the end can blow up a subwoofer for sure.
Thanks for reading if you made it this far, and let me know what Muse songs have grown on you!

Hello, I really need advice, I will try to give as much background as possible. I’m a female age 25, he is male age 43. We just made it past a year together.
2 weeks ago i typed this up but couldnt find out how to post it lol: My boyfriend has made it very clear that he is not okay with, as he puts it, “new male friends”. Hes okay with my male friend I’ve had since before we got together (except one, that I decided to let it go because it wasn’t worth it anyways).
I was in a school program for 7 months, I was the class “ambassador” as they call it, people came to me with any questions and I would give everyone my number if they had questions, our teacher actually asked this of us. I was passing all my classes with 98% and above.
Queue a new student, A, weird quirky dude, plays a game that none of my current friends do (league of legends).
Fast forward to one night, my boyfriend has already gone to sleep - and I’m up late with my little brother and A and we made plans for the next morning to play a different game that I had just bought, all three of us. Not A and I alone, me my little brother AND A. I go to sleep thinking I will text my boyfriend whats up when I wakeup - but he calls me at 705AM out of my sleep before I ever planned to wakeup and asks me to play a game with him. I said I’m sorry I can’t I already made plans with my little brother and A - here starts our relationship issues.
Tonight it has come down to if I don’t cut A out of my life we are over. He already brokeup with me technically 2 weeks ago over the same thing but I came by the house and fought for the relationship.
He always crosses my boundaries (seperate issue sorry), I ask him not to drink because when he drinks he is an asshole and … can scream at me or be a little crazy (never physical abuse) but yeah, and I’ve always forgiven him. He tells me I’m controlling that I ask him not to drink, but its from lived experienced while with him that weve both come to the conclusion that he should not drink.
I’ve never been friends with another “male” (as he says) and been unfaithful or been shady, in fact I have only played games with A 3 times, and ALWAYS with my little brother involved.
Tonight he got a beer of course, and he freaked out on me and everything tells me this relationship isnt healthy but I love him so much
I guess my base question is: is it okay to restrict someone from having friends?
He always says ok well if you have male friends I’m gunna go get female friends - I feel like that he is doing it in a spiteful way so therefore it has malicious intent and I don’t like that, but under normal circumstances yes go ahead. I trust him to never cheat on me (sober).
I’m just so lost 😞
I’m sorry if this isnt right for this reddit, I just need advice.

• current

I’m not one of those girls that has a ton of male friends, I just so happened to make this one while going to class everyday. The basis of the friendship was the games we both had in common. I had no malicious intent.
We are in couples therapy now, weve had one session. I put A on hiatus so I can work on my relationship, but today A messaged me asking when we can game. I told him to please respect the space I asked for and that I would reach out when I’m ready (with my boyfriends consent).
I wanted to transparent with my boyfriend tonight so when he got off work I let him know that A reached out to me and it seemed to make him upset. He did the whole thing he did before sayinf he was going to get female friends specifixay one named Staceyfrom work whom I’ve never even heard of!!
Its just frustratinf. Sometimes I wonder if I just let go of this one thing we could be happy and I could get married and have kids, besides this one thing hes really great to me.
Would someone more "submissive" be better for him? I’m starting to wonder if maybe we just don’t mesh together because of this one thing - but isnt that stupid to throw a whole relationship away?
Please be kind, only constructive advice - I’m open to all perspectives but I just ask that you be kind
Thank you
Edit: read what the automod said, please ignore any "is this okay" questions but I did try to delete them already - just looking for advice!

Ok, I’m slowly going through the lyric videos and I relate to the chorus whole heartedly. But I was slightly confused by the first line about she’s asking for someone to tell her something awful. I was pondering why? Then I go through the song and it’s an answer to all those people that always come up with your so famous and rich what are you complaining about and she’s turning it back around and tell me about your life situation that I long for. And she’s feeling lonely and bitter but she’s managing. And the one thing that makes her truly happy is writing, performing, and entertaining and she feels at peace for a moment. At the end she comes back around after saying all these things she asks the question is your situation worse than mine? I feel her anger and passive aggressive attitude.
This song just got even more sadder than it seemed to me. We always ponder what exactly is going through her mind all the time. Especially now that she put up this wall that didn’t exist before. The OGs know how extremely open she was with everyone fans, press, and media. Now she’s extremely hesitant to express anything that’s not in a song. Then, took us on a journey on why. I think she changed her title from Miss Americana to a Tortured Poet like many before her. Clara Bow, Cassandra, Patty Smith, Dylan Thomas, and many more I’m missing from referencing on the album. This album to me is why she’s labeling herself as a Tortured Poet. And justified so. Now I feel bad and want to give her a hug and apologize though I never met her.

Shortly before a final paper with pre-assigned topics was due for one of my last courses at Columbia University, our professor sent us an email telling us to forego the previous parameters of the essay, and to instead write about the events that had occurred not even forty-eight hours earlier, as well as our reflections on them, to be done in any manner we chose. Here is a very lightly revised version of what I submitted: read it, ignore it, upvote it, downvote it, hate it, love it.
I am prefacing this essay by stating that it is the culmination of several intense emotions that I have been dealing with over the last few weeks, more specifically, the last several days. It is a free-form expression of the many things occupying my mind, and, as such, it may seem overwhelming or disjointed. Nevertheless, I will do my best to convey my feelings into something representative of my beliefs, and my time at this institution.
My time at Columbia University has been bookended in an almost comically bad way; it started with Zoom classes during the COVID-19 pandemic, and now it ends with Zoom final exams due to the lockdown of Columbia’s campus after protests regarding the Israel – Palestine conflict reached a fever pitch not just within Morningside Campus, but the international stage. My classmates and I missed in-person orientation, and now, given recent developments, we will not have a University Commencement, a fact I found out not from Columbia, but a New York Times alert, somehow lowering my opinion of this administration’s handling of recent events even more. While the circumstances around my time at Columbia have now both begun and finished in the same manner, I am proud to say that I have not. I do not mean that Columbia has simply made me a better writer, a more critical thinker, or more well read, although it certainly has done those things, sometimes forcing me to when I was not particularly in the mood to do so, but those improvements pale in comparison to the maturity and empathy my time at this university has given me.
When the decision to transition to remote learning during the Spring 2020 semester was made, occurring only a short time after I had received my acceptance letter (email), my first thought was how the pandemic would affect my transfer from community college to Columbia in September. Admittedly, this was a selfish perspective, considering the tremendous challenges that many would endure during the ensuing lockdowns and other upheavals of life. My concerns were solely focused on myself because I was on a simple track to graduate, place my degree on my resumé, and continue my trajectory of military service to college to employment, leaving little else to consideration, to include other people who were not in my immediate circle. Sitting here now, two weeks from graduation, with a job at a Fortune 500 company lined up, I should be happy, with the plans I had made years ago coming to fruition. Yet I cannot help feeling a sense of sadness and concern for the school I have spent years of my life at, and for the world as a whole.
James Hatch, a former member of the United States’s elite Naval Special Warfare Development Group, or DEVGRU, for short, more commonly known by its nickname, Seal Team Six, famous for its involvement in the killing of Osama Bin Laden and the rescue of the Maersk Alabama Captain Richard Phillips from pirates, amongst other things, spent over twenty years in the military. After being wounded on a mission to rescue American serviceman sergeant Bowe Bergdahl from enemy forces, he was medically discharged, and would eventually attend Yale University. While there, he wrote a piece titled My Semester with the Snowflakes (please give this a read, it will help people who have never been in the military understand its culture, along with some of the challenges veterans face when transitioning to college), where he details his initial discomfort with being in a vastly different environment than the military, surrounded by individuals who possessed opinions and beliefs contrary to the ones he was accustomed to. He recalls witnessing a student protest the country he spent over two decades serving by coating her hand in red paint, and leaving a palm print on an American flag, and details his shock when a classmate of his explained to him what a “safe space” was, as well as his pride when he began to understand the nuances of life both inside and outside of the nation he dedicated twenty-six years to.
I can relate to Mr. Hatch, (despite my service paling in comparison to his, as well as the fact that Columbia is far superior to Yale), because, like his friends who make fun of him for attending college with a bunch of “snowflakes,” mine do the same. More significantly, however, his personal growth during his time at school is something that I have experienced myself. When I started at Columbia, I did not even know which major I would choose, and was largely lost in a world very different than the one I had come from. Despite this, I made the decision to avoid communities such as MilVets and the students who made it very clear that they came from a military background, with their style of dress and demeanor, not because those organizations and individuals are a detriment; I know for a fact that MilVets has helped countless students succeed at Columbia and beyond, and the veterans that I have relationships with are all phenomenal people, but because I wanted to pressure myself into being exposed to something different. I was uncomfortable at first, but this turned out to be the right decision. I learned as much from simply talking to people whom I would normally never converse with about topics and ideas that I had never encountered as I did during classes about great works of art, polar and Cartesian coordinates, literature, astronomy, the list goes on.
If the protests about the Israel – Palestine conflict had occurred when I first started at Columbia, I would have been frustrated by the students taking up space, forcing us to be funneled on to campus by restricted access points and identification checks. Likely irritated by the disturbance of the quiet during finals season, I would have agreed with the people who called for students to simply focus on their assignments and stop inconveniencing others by shouting about something occurring on the other side of the world. Instead, I decided to learn about the conflict, educating myself about both sides of a war that has roots extending back millennia. While Columbia University did not agree to the demands of the protestors, they achieved something else they surely desired, reaching a goal they did not state to President Shafik and her advisors: they brought attention to their cause by educating at least one additional person about it.
After reading, talking to people, listening to input from students within various classes, and understanding that things such as the intertwined nature of financial workings, as well as conflicts not just in the Middle East, but all over the world, are a level of complexity that baffles some of the most brilliant minds of ours and previous generations, I will leave my thoughts about Israel and Palestine separate from this paper. I recognize that it is important to choose a side, as remaining impartial helps no one. However, when every news agency, group and individual makes their voice heard, satirical sources such as The Onion make these kind of posts, or Adult Swim’s Rick, the nihilistic, narcissistic, psychopathic, misanthropic lead character from the series Rick and Morty, addresses the conflict in this manner, I feel that it is better to relegate myself to a much smaller part of this debate, namely the occurrences on Columbia University’s Morningside Campus.
During basic training for the United States Army, a sense of brotherhood and camaraderie is hammered into recruits’ identities. When you graduate and are assigned to a unit, one where you could be thousands of miles from home on the opposite side of the country, or even in a completely different country, serving on one of the international bases, approaching someone who you have never met before is easy. Talking to them about shared experiences and stories you have in common, and the bonding that occurs, is the product of an indoctrination process and lifestyle that has existed longer than any of us have been alive, and is proof of its effectiveness. This sense of familiarity tends to continue even when one leaves the military. The Veterans of Foreign Wars community is a place for prior servicemembers of all conflicts to share a drink, a laugh, and sometimes a tear. When I go to the Veterans Administration Hospital for periodic check-ups or the occasional injury, men and woman wearing hats commemorating their service during Vietnam waiting for their appointments greet me with a smile and a handshake, as if we have known each other for years. While working at a golf club’s greens department before I transferred to Columbia from community college, a coworker of mine who had served in the Gulf War had heard from our supervisor that I had been in the Army, and he introduced himself to me on my first day, before anyone else, telling me that if I needed anything, I only had to ask. This camaraderie has expanded to encompass not just veterans, but first responders such as firemen, EMT’s, and the police as well.
Underneath the picture on my driver’s license, the word “veteran” is emblazoned next to a star, written in bright red text and all capital letters. I know for a fact that this one-and-a-half-inch indicator has helped me during interactions with law enforcement on multiple occasions. Only earlier this semester, during Presidents’ Day weekend, I went upstate to spend time with my family. While driving back, in an effort to make the seven-hour trip at a reasonable time, I was stopped for going twenty miles-per-hour over the speed limit. The officer who pulled me over, initially reserved, became noticeably more friendly when I handed him my license and registration. Ultimately, he gave me what amounted to a parking ticket for my actions, rather than the point-incurring, heavily fined moving violation he could have charged me with.
The ‘Thin Blue Line,’ as it is known, is a reference to the idea that the police are the barrier between law abiding citizens and criminals, order and chaos. The most common representation of this concept is a black-and-white American flag, with a single blue line in the place where a red or white stripe would normally be. This style has been expanded to include numerous other colors representing other first-responders: green for the military, red and white no longer to be interpreted as the traditional stripes of the American flag, but instead meant to represent the fire department and paramedics, and even grey for corrections officers. Seeing the appropriation of one of the most iconic symbols in the world, one that flies above the White House, schools, homes, national and international events, and even the Moon, I can say, as someone who has been unwillingly entangled within that appropriation, is nothing short of terrifying.
The fact that these entities and their supporters have literally sewn themselves into the fabric of the symbol of our nation makes one think that there is little room for the countless other occupations, aspects and people that make up this country. The idea of the police being the sole protectors of our society is patently absurd, and all one must do is point out the many instances of police brutality occurring over the years to refute it. I find myself thinking of how much power the officer who stopped me just three months ago had over me. Initially, I was happy that I had received a slap on the wrist, but recently I have found myself wondering what if my license did not state that I was a veteran, would he have charged me with a ticket that would have had much more serious implications? What if he was simply having a bad day, and he decided he did not like the look of me, or the color of my car, and I was the one who he ultimately decided to vent his frustrations on? This traffic infraction, an incredibly small incident compared to all the turmoil in the world, one that involves two strangers, supposedly bonded by our professions, on the side of a quiet, New York highway, serves as a metaphor to me, reminding me of the power structures at play on a much larger scale.
On April 22^nd, 2024, I received this email, one of the many Clery Crime Alerts that students are automatically sent. An affiliate of Columbia University had their car stolen at gunpoint by two masked men on Claremont Avenue, not even a five-minute walk from campus. I skimmed the report, and almost immediately forgot about it, recognizing that crime is an inevitability in major cities, and that I needed to start my commute to school. Days later, on the night of April 30^th, 2024, I received another email from Columbia, containing one of the most ominous messages I had ever seen, one that put the kind of fear in my heart that not even the alert of an armed carjacking could. Columbia’s Emergency Management Operations Team, offering no explanations, specifications, or even a greeting or sign-off, wrote in bold letters these three sentences: “Shelter in place for your safety due to heightened activity on the Morningside campus. Non-compliance may result in disciplinary action. Avoid the area until further notice.” Due to the protests on campus during recent weeks, President Shafik testifying before Congress, Columbia’s role as one of the main catalysts for student protests around the country, and the occupation of Hamilton Hall occurring in the earlier hours of that day, it was not hard to figure out what the email was referencing. Over the next several hours, I followed news agencies, remained glued to the Columbia subreddit, and listened to WKCR, in awe of these eighteen- to twenty-two-year-old students putting themselves at risk to deliver on the ground, accurate, unbiased coverage of one of the most significant events in the school’s history.
While tracking the events from multiple perspectives, to include the social media accounts of those near and on campus live streaming them, I held out hope that the university would make good on their promise from several days earlier to not invite the NYPD back, but a frightening picture began to unfold, one that I was intimately familiar with. One WKCR reporter stated that 114^th street had so many officers on it that he could not see the asphalt of the road beneath them, and I knew that the staging area the NYPD had chosen was one of the best routes for moving towards what the military, and presumably law enforcement, would call an ‘objective.’ The officers cleared the smaller ‘objective,’ the largely unoccupied tents in front of Butler, and then moved towards Hamilton Hall, ordering even those not associated with its occupation to disperse, raising my stress levels and likely those of others, as it is rarely a good sign when police do not want their actions recorded and archived. After the initial entry to campus and clearing of areas and people in the immediate vicinity of Hamilton Hall, came the Long-Range Acoustic Device, or LRAD, a device that makes a megaphone sound like a whisper, and one known for its crowd-control potential, capable of producing sounds loud enough to cause damage to ear-drums, nausea, and headaches, ordering individuals to clear away. The NYPD began its execution of tactics in a way that my fellow soldiers and I used to rehearse, tactics I never dreamed that I would witness outside of the military, and certainly not by police officers who vastly outnumbered unarmed students on their own campus. The NYPD created a perimeter, or a ‘second layer of security’ to both provide reinforcements for the officers entering the building, and to prevent the fleeing of what are called ‘squirters,’ or individuals who attempt to escape the building after the raid begins. While the ‘breach’ team moved towards the front doors, using tools from a ‘hooligan kit,’ such as bolt cutters, hand-held battering rams and crowbars, a siege machine was brought in to allow access from a window; when taking over a building, the idea is to enter it from as many different directions as possible to better disorient and overwhelm its occupants. Flash-bang grenades, described as non-lethal, but known to have harmful effects, were thrown inside, presumably before entering any room, hallway, or otherwise enclosed area to minimize the resistance of anyone unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of what can only be described as an assault on the visual and auditory senses. According to the Manhattan District Attorney, one of the officers inside Hamilton Hall had what is called in the military a “negligent discharge,” meaning his firearm went off unintentionally. While no one was hurt, the question remains why at least one, and more likely, numerous other officers were carrying guns loaded with live ammunition in the first place, when they so drastically outmatched the protestors in numbers and equipment. Additionally, a negligent discharge is an act of incompetence that would result in an active-duty soldier facing serious consequences, and derision from his peers. So far, the officer remains defended by his coworkers, and unpunished by his superiors.
As all this unfolded, I communicated with my friends from the past and present. My friends from the military checked on me to ensure that I was okay, as did my friends from school. The difference in how they viewed these events highlights what I believe is the change in myself that I stated I am most proud of at the beginning of this paper. My friends from the military were commenting that the assertion of order and control by way of militarized tactics was necessary, not concerning themselves with the human toll and destruction of trust that came along with it. Conversely, my schoolmates lamented the brutality and overstepping of boundaries that the NYPD and Columbia’s administration committed, one that turned a place meant to be a beacon of free speech, expression, and ideas, into what is now a police-state with strict control over who enters it.
My education inside and outside the classroom at this institution has challenged, thrilled, and changed me. Sitting here now, at the end of this paper, the end of the semester, and the end of my time at Columbia University, I am left feeling confused and sad regarding recent events, but also hopeful for the future. I know from experience that the students, teachers, and culture of this school have the power to encourage critical thinking and initiate personal growth. If it did those things for me, surely it can do the same for others

First...Previous
Colonist Memory Log: Captain Alan J. Emerson
UNS Evandra
Mechanical melodies of gears grinding together and switches flicking of their own accord surrounded the shrine room as before us the gramophone began softly to whistle and click. “He is here…” Kritivek announced, standing tall and bowing his head in rigid deference to his god.
After a few more seconds, the machine’s output grew in both volume and complexity until at last my GRIM could recognize the clicks as Chitaan language. “Hello, Kritivek.” It began, its voice smooth and rhythmic like something between the crackle of a geiger counter and a typewriter’s telltale racket. “I am glad to see you alive and well. Judging by the fact that Gheyk and Fevik are not with you, however, I calculate an 86% chance that they were not so lucky.”
“You are correct, Great One…” murmured Kritivek, the sadness in his tone underpinned by pure awe and reverence for this being.
For a few seconds, Omnus did not speak, but from the everpresent churn of gears we could quite literally hear him ‘thinking’. “I have logged their names in my backup database,” the machine eventually concluded, its words visibly bringing relief to Kritivek. “They shall be remembered for the remainder of my existence. Please, take solace in that…”
“May they frolic in your glory for all of time,” our Chitaan guide prayed aloud, his words followed by yet another long, smothering silence.
“You hath served me well, Kritivek.” Continued the machine, prompting a delighted chitter from the Chitaan priest. “You may go in peace, for I wish to speak with these Humans alone. Mourn your brothers and celebrate the time you spent together. Perhaps enjoy a flask of bogal poured out in their honor?”
“As you wish, my lord… I will inform those outside that you are in contemplation for this night and can take no more prayers until daybreak.”
Replicating with its gears the gentle rattle of a Chitaan chuckle, Omnus waited until his priest had left before at last speaking directly to the three of us. “You are not native to this planet, correct?” He asked, his words distinctly lacking the emotional inflections of Kritivek’s. “Your arrival here is without precedent, but not entirely unexpected.”
Though clearly far from divine in nature, the being with whom we conversed at this shrine was nevertheless a true marvel to behold: one born not of metaphysics, but rather mechanics. “You’re an AI!” I gasped, that last word having no direct translation in the Chitaan language and as such forcing my translator to make do with the clumsier phrase ‘thinking tool’.
“That is correct,” replied this machine, its words underscored by the distant hiss of steam valves and other clockwork components. “Allow me to offer my most sincere sympathies for the unfortunate demise of your homeworld. Taking into account the trajectory of your ship prior to landing, I presume its origin to be the Cichek system—a G-class star located [forty lightyears] away. Is this hypothesis accurate?”
Awkwardly clearing his throat in a bid to obtain the AI’s attention, it was Alex who next deigned to speak out. “You would be dead on,” he affirmed, his tone betraying an understandable degree of awe. “Though our name for it is the Sol system. How long have you known about our ship for?”
“I first detected the gravitational anomaly in our system approximately [3 months] ago. Initially, I had mistaken your vessel for an asteroid and as such expected it to continue on its prior trajectory. Asteroids, however, do not suddenly change course in the direction of nearby planets like your ship did [hours] ago.”
“Are you entirely clockwork?” I asked Omnus, gesturing incredulously toward its walls of grinding machinery. Surely, that could not be the case. For a convincingly sapient AI to be constructed on the basis of such primitive technology, it would require decades or perhaps even centuries of construction.
Again, silence fell over the room as Omnus mechanically contemplated my query, meeting it with a reply after some twenty seconds of deliberation. “What else might I be?” The machine asked, providing me implicitly with my answer. “While I have theorized several possible avenues for technologies more advanced than myself, including electronic and organic integration, such methods appear to have been beyond my creators' capabilities.”
“That brings up another question…” Alice interjected, recovering at last from the sheer shock of encountering a sapient machine. “Who built you and why?” Despite years of exponential advancement in the field of computer science, true AI nevertheless had continued to elude mankind. Convincing as our facsimiles of sapience could be at times, they nevertheless lacked the capacity for emotion and initiative characteristic of real consciousness. Whoever constructed this machine had done something thought impossible by over a century of Human engineers.
“In truth, I am not sure…” Omnus concluded after an even longer-than-usual pause. “My core memory bank was reset [9,462 years] ago. As such, I have no data on my creators nor their original intentions for me. However, I have largely ruled out the possibility of them having been Chitaan.”
Fascinating as this clockwork consciousness undoubtedly was, something about its relationship with the natives left a bad taste in my mouth all the same. "And why exactly are you masquerading as a god before these people?" I asked him, my words tipped in a venom the potency of which apparently surprised my companions. "What value do you derive from tricking them into worshipping you?"
Lengthy silence fell over the shrine chamber as its AI occupant contemplated my complaint, responding much quicker than it had to the previous question. "In all fairness, 'trick' is a rather strong word..." answered Omnus with a steam-valve sigh. "When first I encountered the Chitaan, I had attempted to explain my true nature to them. No matter how I worded things, however, they simply could not comprehend me as anything short of divine. Upon finding me, the Chitaan found a guide bearing great wisdom; and in turn, I found a species in need of guidance.”
Falling silent for a moment to parse this response within my mind, I was hardly surprised when Alex spoke up to question the computer in my stead. “Is this the only settlement that follows you or are there others?” He asked.
“This access point where you now stand is but one of several thousand, stretched out across [hundreds of thousands of miles],” explained Omnus, practically knocking the wind out of me with its sheer implied scale. “Currently, I am worshipped by the people of 2,147 city states, and through my guidance they are able to coexist in harmony.”
Perhaps at a later date, I reasoned, there would come a time to more closely study the inner workings of this clockwork deity. For the moment, however, my mind was occupied by far more salient concerns: anxieties related less so what this being was and more so to who. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell us what your end goal with the Chitaan is, would you?" I inquired, my tone saturated with appropriate suspicion.
Contrary to my expectations of some evasion or simplification, this AI seemed more than happy to comply with my questioning. "My primary objective regarding the Chitaan is to create a society which both minimizes individual suffering and maximizes civilizational longevity. To this end, I have instilled values into my followers that prioritize empathy and compassion above all else. By drip-feeding them the technologies of my creators, I am able to ensure that the Chitaan who follow these directives remain more advanced than their neighbors."
"And why do you want that?" I asked, sticking my head thoroughly within the gift horse's mouth. Machines as I understood them were built not upon sweet sentiments, but rather on cold, unfeeling logic. Even if this AI was benevolent, there nevertheless had to be some reason behind its desires.
"If you are searching for some vile ulterior motive, I am afraid I will have to disappoint you. My decision to aid the Chitaan is based upon two simple factors: necessity and curiosity. On the one claw, without regular maintenance, I will shut down and 'die'. The Chitaan can provide me with this maintenance, and as such it is in my best interest to keep them healthy and alive for as long as possible. More importantly, however, is the matter of sapience itself. It is clear to me that my creators are no longer around. For such an advanced species to die out is not only tragic, but also provides a rather pessimistic paradigm with which to judge intelligent life. Your arrival here following the self-inflicted destruction of your own world further suggests that civilization is unstable: a race between innovation and eradication. Perhaps with the assistance of a being such as myself, I can prevent the Chitaan from suffering a similar fate and as such create a functional spacefaring civilization.“
At that moment, the motivations of this machine made perfect sense. “So that’s what this is,” I growled contemptuously, glancing behind myself to the cave entrance as Kritivek politely dispersed the other worshippers. “It's all just a science experiment to you…”
"Perhaps my explanation was a tad overly clinical..." Replied the machine following a brief period of reassessment. "Make no mistake: I do care for Kritivek and his species. They are far more to me than variables on a spread sheet. Had I no love for them, then my experiments would surely spiral into abject cruelty."
Interrupting this line of conversation with a stern glare shot in my direction, Alice was next among our troupe to speak up. "Forgive Alan's weariness: he spent sixty years of his life alone maintaining our ship on its journey.”
“That sounds like a difficult use of one’s lifespan: especially one so long as those of your kind.” Omnus hummed, the low-pitch of his synthetic voice oddly relaxing.
“My combative behavior does have a reason!” I snapped at the physicist, my tone coming off as a bit more aggressive than intended. “Two thousand lives are in our hands and we need to find some place for them to settle.” As I spoke, my thoughts returned—as they so often did—to Mina. I made a promise to her mother that I would do everything in my power to take care of her, and I held no intention of going back on my word.
Hearing this, the AI fell silent for a long few seconds before at last dignifying my concerns with a response. “Perhaps I could be of some use to you…”
Behind us, the larger Chitaan clad in red stepped inside Omnus’ shrine room. Gently nudging me aside so as to access his ‘god’, the priest knelt down before this machine and with a low-pitched chitter began to commune with it. “Lord Omnus. Forgive my intrusion most indiscreet, for there is one amongst us who desperately seeks your aid.”
“Apologies, Humans: before we continue this riveting conversation, I must first tend to the concerns of my pod.” Began the AI, promptly shifting its focus toward the priest and addressing him directly. “You are forgiven, my child. Speak freely and tell me to whom I can be of assistance.”
“It is Vevik, my lord…” Clicked the priest in red, his tone strained somewhat by what I presumed to be emotion. “His daughter has fallen deathly ill. Our apothecaries have attempted to purge her body of the illness using your divinely-taught potions, but their efforts have been to no avail.”
“I presume Vevik is outside. Invite him inside so that I may hear his prayers.”
“As you demand, Lord Omnus!” Exclaimed the priest, shuffling off toward the cave entrance before returning with a smaller Chitaan whose eyes were just about level with Alex’s forehead.
“Speak, my child…” Hummed the AI, its monotone voice somehow underlined by a tenderness almost unnoticeable against the grinding of its ancient gears. “Tell me the nature of your offspring’s affliction.”
Immediately falling to his knees before the clockwork god, this Chitaan who I presumed to be Vevik began to pray in response. “Great one: my beloved Yitika is most terribly ill. Her body is plagued by violent bouts of seizure. She struggles to speak and walks as though drunken. When she does manage to communicate, she complains of splitting pain within her mind. Please, Omnus: I know that the [six years] I have spent with her have been in themselves gifts most priceless, and I have no right to implore you for more, but I beg of thee not to take her from me so soon…”
What followed must have been two minutes straight of silence from the computer as its gears ground away fervently. “The symptoms you have described to me are most troubling…” It concluded at last. “And you say none of the medications I’ve taught the apothecaries were effective?”
"Yes, Lord Omnus. Even your draught of respite has done little to ease her suffering!" Vevik affirmed, his tone saturated with desperation.
"I calculate a 94% chance that Yitika's suffering is the result of a brain tumor..." Continued the AI in cold, calculating monotone. "Alleviating such an illness is not impossible, but there are certain things I must ask of you, Vevik."
Hearing this, the Chitaan knelt before Omnus began to weep with joy. "I will undergo any trial you place before me, my god. What beast need I slay? What ritual need I complete to prove my unending faith and loyalty to you?"
"Retrieve for me one thistle of frojeth and two bilvarian roots. Bring these ingredients and your child to the bed of revival [six miles] east of here. Beware, however, the faithless tribes, for they have taken up residence in the area."
"We are unworthy even to be in your presence, o great one; yet still you do not forsake us in our times of need!" Professed Vevik before the AI, his body quivering with some emotion my Cogitolink struggled to identify .
"That, my child, is where you are incorrect." The machine responded rather matter-of-factly. "Your people are worthy of every gift I hath given you. Archpriest Jokuk: your task is to assist Vevik in gathering the ritual components. Go now in peace, for I wish to commune privately with these beings from the stars."
Chittering out their parting prayers of protection to the AI, Jokuk and Vevik wasted little time in exiting the cave and setting off in search of the ingredients mentioned by their god, leaving the three of us alone with it once more. "Again, I must apologize for that interruption." Omnus began, its gears having slowed down to a somewhat more relaxed rate of revolution. “Fascinated as I am by your arrival here, I nevertheless must fulfill my ‘divine’ obligations. I hope you do not terribly mind.”
Fortunate though it was for Vevik, this machine’s intervention nevertheless left the three of us with more questions than answers. “You mentioned something about a ‘bed of revival’?” Alice began curiously, voicing but one of our newfound gaps in knowledge. “What sort of ritual item is that, and why can’t you just make another here?”
“It is not a ritual item,” replied Omnus matter-of-factly, “The bed of revival is an automated surgery bay hooked up to one of my subsystems. With it, I can perform complex surgical operations far beyond the Chitaan’s current capabilities. Those herbs I sent Vevik to collect can be used as rudimentary anesthetics and antiseptics."
"So why not just tell them the truth?" I shrugged, curious as to why this AI would feel the need to lie by omission regarding something like surgery.
"When communicating with people so technologically primitive as the Chitaan, it is important to do so in terms they can understand. There will come a day when they will be ready to hear the whole truth, but as of yet my worshippers remain unprepared."
Alex never was one to wait his turn when it came to the procurement of knowledge, and as per usual he felt the need to interject with an inquiry of his own. "You spoke about the so-called 'faithless tribes' like they're dangerous," he began, his expression briefly tightening up as though the term itself was somehow bitter. "Why demonize people who don't worship you?"
"What sort of narcissist do you take me for?" Replied Omnus in monotone displeasure, his gears again churning against each other as he turned over the xenobiologist's question in his analog mind. "Not all tribes who do not follow me are 'faithless'. There are many as-of-yet unconverted groups that Kritivek's people remain on amicable terms with. Faithless is a term first coined by my Chitaan followers to describe a group of particularly brutal raider tribes."
Hearing this, the underlined aggression within Alex's voice fizzled out in favor of grim understanding. Though clearly quite peaceful compared to our own iron age, this civilization nevertheless would naturally have its own barbaric holdouts. "Okay... What makes these Chitaan more dangerous than other raiders?"
"One substantial part of it is their belief system," explained the AI, pausing for a long while as though in recollection. "Their cultural power structure can best be described as an atheistic militaristic gerontocracy. In essence, the faithless believe that rather than gods, the universe is governed by fundamental truths, and that these truths become more apparent as one ages and grows."
On Earth, such a belief system would be relatively innocuous: no more harmful than the average. On a planet like this one, however, on which age turns people into cannibalistic monsters, I could most definitely see the problem. "Let me guess: they worship the mad ones?"
"Correct. The faithless regard mad ones as the wisest beings to exist, and as such seek to emulate their behaviors: cannibalism and animalistic violence chief among them. In their society, the larger one can grow before truly losing their sanity and therefore 'ascending' to the state of a mad one, the more power and respect they are given within society." Another long pause fell over the shrine room as this machine seemed to contemplate before speaking out yet again. "Perhaps I could make you an offer..."
"Let's hear it," Alice shrugged, her husband mirroring the reply with an affirmative nod.
Loud clacking sounds like those of a typewriter rattled out of the console as a sliver of ancient parchment inscribed with what looked to be a map slid out from a previously-unseen paper slot. "This map depicts the local area," explained Omnus. "If you can clear out the faithless ones so that Vevik can bring his child to the bed of revival, I will provide you with assistance in setting up a new colony for your species. Deal?"
Awkwardly plucking the paper from it's resting place and scanning it over with my ancient eyes, I contemplated carefully what this deal might entail. "We'll need to head back to the Evandra first. There, we could theoretically thaw out a crew to help clear the place..."
"That will not be an issue," replied Omnus confidently. "I will send battle priests to assist you in your return... Assuming, of course, that we have an agreement?"
"We could definitely use this guy's help!" Alex affirmed, prompting a similar expression of agreement from Alice. Nevertheless, however, I still was the captain, and as such this was my choice.
And with that, I reached out my hand reflexively as though expecting the computer to reach back and shake it. "Deal..."